Coils

by Barbara Ann Wright

  A piece of shade fog drifted down to her, and she heard the voices of her sisters vibrating through it. “We are coming.”

  Medusa didn’t tell them what to do. They had the right to choose their oblivion. But she wouldn’t wait for them. Her snake form slid over her, and she circled June, looking for an opening.

  June hid behind the shield. “Stand away, Daughter of Snakes. I seek entrance to the Fields again, and killing the dead won’t get me there.”

  As if that mattered. Medusa leapt for her, but June swung the harpe in a wide arc, forcing Medusa back.

  “Agamemnon,” Medusa said, “give me your sword!”

  “Um.” He stood well back. “I don’t think—”

  “Now!” Something wrapped around her, sending her lurching to the side as several voices cried at her to look out.

  A ball of flames splashed across the ground where she’d been standing. Arachne’s webs were tangled around her.

  Medea laughed as she landed her chariot. “Stay out of her way, Medusa.”

  Pandora and Arachne moved to flank Medusa, each grabbing on to an arm. “She’s too powerful,” Pandora said in Medusa’s ear. “You’ll be killed.”

  Medusa tried to squirm away from them. She had to get to Perseus, cleave him in half if she could, choke him if she couldn’t.

  “Forget it, Snakes!” Arachne said. “You won’t get past Medea.”

  “Traitorous bastards, let me go!”

  “This time it’s for your own good,” Pandora said. “Think of Cressida! This love story isn’t going to be a very good one if you kill her aunt!”

  Sappy as it was, it made Medusa’s power slip back inside her. Cressida was staring between Medusa and June as if lost.

  “So, that’s it?” Medusa cried. “You get to kill me and walk away, Perseus? I thought your current incarnation felt sorry for my fate, for many of the women of myth.”

  June nodded. “It’s easy to muster sympathy for events that stand at a distance. Now I see the necessity of the times.” She moved past Cressida and circled the rest of them, wary but not attacking. Medusa frowned and looked at everyone else, wondering who June’s target would be. Everyone but Cressida and June were already dead. June needed something monumental enough to get her to the Elysian Fields a third time. Maybe the living world no longer held any tasks the gods considered worthy. Maybe June had always felt driven to the Underworld, seeking that last deed that would propel her to the Isles of the Blessed.

  “Look!” Adonis said, a crazed whisper that nevertheless cut through the silence.

  In the distance, from the direction of the Terrace, a cloud billowed; lightning flashed in its depths as it rose into the sky, pushing through the shade fog.

  “She’s coming,” Adonis said.

  Narcissus grabbed his arm. He’d wound a bandage around the bite mark. “But she never leaves the Terrace.”

  “She’s coming for me,” June said, head cocked to the side. “She’s coming because no one takes what’s hers.”

  Cressida trailed her aunt, still frowning. “We have to go. We can make it. We can leave before…” She cast a glance at Medusa, a look full of both hurt and longing, and Medusa leaned toward her, wishing she could reach out.

  “Kill her, June,” Medea said. “Kill Persephone, and the Isles of the Blessed are yours! Hades himself sanctions it, I swear by the River Styx!”

  Everyone gasped. June nodded slowly. “You go, Cressida. I’m going to secure my eternity.”

  “By killing Persephone?” Medusa muttered. “You’re going to kill a lover, just like that?” She glanced at Medea. “Why would you want her dead?”

  Medea winked. If she’d wanted Persephone dead this whole time, she’d had a convoluted plan indeed. She’d needed a mortal to wield the sword, and if she’d known Perseus was walking around in the world, she might have found some way to influence him, to prompt him toward the Underworld. Like Medusa’s plan, this one had to have been percolating in Medea’s mind a long time.

  And then June had come, but Persephone had grabbed her first, and Medea must have been waiting, biding her time and trying to figure out a way to unlock Perseus from June’s mind. And then Cressida had come like sweet ambrosia, and when she’d fallen into Medusa’s hands, Medea must have danced with glee. She’d known Medusa would come to her for help; they’d talked of Medusa’s need for revenge many times. Medea must have thought it was almost too easy. She knew Medusa needed to go to Tartarus, needed the harpe, and while they’d been there, she’d used Medusa to get the aegis, too, an object she needed to bring Perseus out and secure his victory over Persephone. She probably didn’t even need the harpe. She could have found another weapon, and having Perseus armed with the sword of Cronos had to feel like cake at this point.

  Even after Adonis had gotten hold of Cressida again, Medea must have known how closely she could manipulate the situation. She hadn’t even needed to bring Persephone here. Medusa had done it for her.

  But why? This felt as if it had another hand behind it.

  Medea stepped from her chariot but was smart enough to stay out of reach. “You should see your faces, everyone trying to figure it out.” She chuckled as the lightning cloud drew closer. “Persephone should have been expecting something like this, as brutal as she’s become. She drove Hades out years ago, and he’s gone wherever the rest of the gods disappeared to.”

  Everyone listened to her closely, faces half turned so they could watch the lightning cloud.

  “And the other gods can’t bring her to them. She’s as caught here as the rest of us. And that’s made her vengeful. And lonely, but who could blame her? That’s a pretty toxic combination for a god. Powerful but too erratic. It’s time for a new queen, one who thinks the dead and the living are ready for a bit of that old black magic.”

  Medusa had to bark a laugh, the sound making Pandora and Arachne jump. It was too much. The goddess whose name they’d all been dropping had been working through them from the beginning.

  “Hecate,” Cressida whispered. “Aunt June, you’re going to kill Persephone for Hecate?” She paused as if remembering something. “Wait, Medusa said lover…” Her eyebrows climbed to her hair. “You and Persephone were lovers?”

  June smiled over her shoulder. “I’ll tell you when you’re older. And I’m not doing this for anyone other than us.”

  “Hades promises it will get her into the Isles of the Blessed,” Medea said, “and you, Cressida, as her heir, will have a legacy. It will be a deed felt through the Underworld and into the mortal realm, and the world will know both your names, and when you die, you’ll be known and remembered even if you can’t get to the Elysian Fields on your own.” She faced the advancing cloud and breathed deep, smiling still. “You’ll be a force to be reckoned with, kiddo.”

  Cressida’s mouth worked as if she had no idea what to say. Medusa didn’t know what to say, either. Here she’d been lamenting how things would never change, and now it seemed they would do so all too quickly. And all she had to do was watch the epic fight of June-Perseus versus Persephone; the thought nearly made her bark another inappropriate laugh. June was about to get splattered across the pavement.

  “You can’t fight a god,” she whispered. But wasn’t this what tales of heroes were all about? Impossible odds? No, people thought they were like that, but how often was the hero in real danger? He usually had gods looking out for him and magical weapons and helpful sorceresses making sure he was all right in the end. Was Hecate watching? Undoubtedly yes, through the shade fog and her daughter; she might even be among them in one guise or another, and who knew what powers she’d back June with?

  And if Hades was on her side, too, that probably meant Zeus and the others were waiting for the outcome, though she couldn’t imagine that Demeter was too happy about her daughter being killed. Maybe the others were distracting her. None of the male gods would be happy having a woman in charge of the Underworld. Had Hecate told them that Hades could be in charge
again? From the way Medea was talking, it didn’t sound as if she’d be keeping that promise.

  “She’s going to die,” Cressida said. “I’ve got to stop her.”

  “Let me go!” Medusa said, her eyes locked on Cressida.

  Pandora and Arachne released her, and she ran to Cressida’s side. “June has the aegis of Zeus and the harpe of Cronos, the tools of the strongest gods of two different ages. She has the goodwill of a goddess older than Persephone. And she’s a hero of legend, Cressida! The deeds she’s done have already gotten her to the Elysian Fields twice!”

  Cressida stepped away from her. “Even if she wins, why do you care? Are you going to sneak up on her while she’s tired from battle and cut her head off so you can have her shade?”

  Well, at least they were talking. “That…wouldn’t work.” Oh, but it would feel so nice. “If she dies, she’ll move on to the Elysian Fields, and her body wouldn’t do me any good. She’s lost to me, Cressida. Perseus is lost.” Hold it together. She took a deep breath. “But this.” She pointed toward the cloud, close enough now to see the darkness at the heart of it: Persephone’s chariot. “This could change everything.”

  “You’re not suggesting we help her?”

  “Why not?” Narcissus said as he stepped up beside them. “Let’s have a change.”

  “It’s barbaric!” Adonis cried. “We can’t just stand here and watch a murder.”

  “She won’t go gently,” Medea said. “It’ll be a fair fight.”

  Narcissus sighed dramatically. “Adonis, how many times do I have to tell you that someone who really loves you wouldn’t hurt you? She needs to go.”

  Adonis stepped back as if he’d been slapped. “She…she doesn’t mean…”

  “I am so sick of hearing that,” Narcissus said. “It’s an excuse, like all the others.” He stabbed his finger at the cloud. “How many times have you talked about leaving her? And then she either buys your forgiveness or threatens you—”

  “Are we seriously doing this?” Agamemnon asked, looking between all of them. “That is the dread queen of the Underworld coming, and we’re standing here arguing? Except for most of your gang, who have fled, I might point out.”

  “If we’re going to leave, we’d better do it now,” Arachne said. “If this goes down, and we weren’t backing the winning side, we’re next on the chopping block.”

  Pandora nodded. “It might be better to remain neutral.”

  “Too late,” Medea said. “You’re all in this hip deep.” She made a fist. “Think of the rewards if you cheer for the winning team!”

  They fell to bickering, and Medusa tuned them out, turning for Cressida. “We’ve been static for so long down here.”

  “I can’t let my aunt die! Tell me this isn’t a fight to the death. Tell me that’s not how epic fights end!”

  Medusa wanted to, but she knew how stories like this went. “Even if she dies—”

  “I’m not ready to lose her!” Cressida turned to June. “June, get over here this instant. We are leaving!” It was probably a good approximation of her mother or maybe even June, and June’s shoulders twitched as if it worked on some level. Medusa felt a tingling in her own feet as if they really wanted to obey, but she fought to stay where she was.

  “Please,” Cressida said, her voice filled with sorrow. “Aunt June, please!”

  The person who looked over her shoulder was the same woman Medusa had briefly known, and yet it wasn’t. Her concern for Cressida was plain but also secondary, as if she’d finally accepted that destiny trumped everything else, including love. “I’m sorry, Cressi. I have to.”

  Cressida’s lip trembled as if her heart was breaking, and she didn’t know how to stop it. It roused everything in Medusa that used to be alive, cutting through the obsession that had kept her going for thousands of years. But even with that obsession, there had been some things she wouldn’t do, like have her sisters consume innocent souls. Some prices were just too high.

  “We could grab her,” Medusa said. “Maybe between us we can carry her to Cerberus’s cavern and force her inside.”

  “Don’t even think about it,” Medea said.

  Medusa sneered at her. “Hecate can do her own dirty work.”

  “Yeah,” Adonis said. When Narcissus glared at him, he added, “Persephone isn’t all bad. She doesn’t deserve to die! She needs help.”

  “I’m serious,” Medea said. “I don’t want to fight you when I should be watching the most epic fight I’ll probably ever see.”

  “She’ll keep trying to come back.” Agamemnon rested a hand on Cressida’s shoulder. “Even if you knock her out and drag her from here, she knows her destiny now, and nothing she will ever do in the mortal world will top what she might have done here. You’ll never get the hero out of her now.”

  A few tears slid down Cressida’s cheeks, and she dashed them away as if embarrassed by them.

  Medusa took a deep breath and reached hesitantly for Cressida’s shoulder. “Whatever you want to do, that’s what I’ll do. I know I’ve been a real ass. I know that nothing can make up for the fact that nearly every word out of my mouth has been a lie, but I am truly sorry, Cressida. My sisters are coming, and they’ll help you, too. You just have to tell us what you want.”

  Cressida turned teary eyes Medusa’s way. Bright pink spots bloomed in both cheeks, her strong emotions making the glow around her intensify. She made revenge seem almost trivial. Even visions of Stheno’s and Euryale’s murder, of her own, were nothing compared to the sight of Cressida’s eyes swimming with tears, nothing compared to the fact that Cressida needed her help.

  She was a fool, a dead, lovesick fool.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Cressida wanted everyone to live; that was the most important thing. But then it occurred to her as it had several times that Medusa wasn’t really alive. None of the people in the Underworld were. No matter what happened, no matter how she felt, she would have to travel back to the living world eventually and leave the dead to their fate.

  And now she was supposed to believe that June was actually Perseus, resurrected and meant for glorious deeds, including a glorious death. In a strange way, it made sense, but she wasn’t ready to watch June die, even if it meant her soul would travel to the Isles of the Blessed. Even with the tools of the gods, she might kill Persephone, but it would kill her in the process. That was the way epic tales worked.

  “What is Hecate going to do?” Cressida asked. “After Persephone is dead?”

  “Anything is better than never changing,” Narcissus said.

  Medea smiled like the cat with the canary. “She’s going to bring magic back to the mortal world and inspire belief in the gods again. Think of it! Your aunt will fulfill her ultimate purpose and go to the Isles of the Blessed, and you will get to return to a world where magic walks once more!”

  But what did that mean? Heroes and quests and magical artifacts? And monsters? Who the hell wanted those? “What will she do for the people here?” Cressida asked. “Can she bring them back to life?”

  Oh, how the ears perked up then! Everyone tore their eyes away from Persephone’s approach in order to listen to Medea’s answer, but her smile grew wider, and she shrugged.

  Cressida heard the gasps, but that shrug could mean anything.

  “Who?” Adonis asked. “Just sorcerers like you? Or anyone?”

  Another shrug. Either she didn’t know, she didn’t want to answer, or the answer was no. Still, the very idea would get quite a few people onto her side.

  Cressida could only picture the Minotaur or the Hecatonchires rampaging across the world. The gods and monsters and dead might return, but the living would be screwed.

  “No,” Medusa said quietly.

  Cressida turned to look at her and noticed two hazy forms wandering up behind her, her sisters frozen halfway between their snake and human forms, between thinking, reasoning beings and shades.

  “We’re dead,” Medusa said. “Al
l of us. We had our time, and it’s over.”

  Agamemnon clenched a fist and then regarded it as if he didn’t know quite what to do with it. “Some of our lives were cut short. Yours, too.”

  “That doesn’t make this right. The world belongs to the living.”

  “Living,” her sisters echoed.

  “We can fight all we want amongst ourselves, but the dead should stay buried.” Medusa took her sisters’ hands and seemed sadder than Cressida had ever seen her. Cressida wanted to put her arms around Medusa and hold her close, but she stayed where she was.

  Medea shrugged. “It’s not up to you, is it?”

  And she was right. Persephone was almost upon them. Her hair was inky black, dark as night, and her skin was a deep purple, her eyes shining with white fire. She wore a crown of blazing embers, and midnight black horses pulled her chariot, the clouds gathered around them. She lifted a hand from the reins and threw a ball of shadowy darkness.

  “Scatter!” someone cried.

  Cressida lurched to the side as someone pulled her away, but they needn’t have bothered. The ball of blackness streaked toward June, who raised the aegis and knocked it to the side, sending it toward the fence to the Elysian Fields where it hit the ground with a splat and rolled along like a giant ball of tar, consuming hungry ghosts in its wake.

  June lifted the aegis, and even from behind, Cressida felt power billow out from it. Medusa had said her powers were weaker in death—everyone’s were—but Cressida had never expected her petrifying gaze would have such weight. It felt as if even the empty space was solidifying and gaining mass, and she felt a rush as the air escaped. Persephone flung a hand in front of her eyes, but one of her nightmare steeds whinnied once, a shrill, piercing call, before it dropped from the air as stone, taking the chariot with it.

  The crowd cried out, but whether in joy, agony, or surprise, Cressida didn’t know. Persephone leapt free and landed on the pavement, her dress billowing around her like the petals of a flower. The ground cracked around her sandaled feet, and she stood easily, face drawn in a scowl. She lifted a hand, and darkness curled around it like a living thing.