Stalk the Moon

by Jessica Lynch

  I exhale and, squaring my shoulders, face off against the portal. Even after everything I’ve experienced in the Other, I’m having a hard time accepting that this is really going to work. Taking a deep breath, I extend my pointer finger. The instant it touches the shimmering display, I feel a zap and then, suddenly, I’m falling.

  I’m halfway through Cassandra’s portal when I realize something. No dimples. Hunter might’ve been grinning, but there wasn’t a single dimple to be found. He doesn’t believe me. He expects me to abandon him, the same way the other Apollo screwed Cassandra over.

  Well, I would show him.

  I would show all of them.

  37

  It’s a good thing that my blanket is still lying on the floor. When I finish flailing through the darkness that connects the Other to my room, I stumble out of the mirror, miss a step because I’m about six inches off the ground, and then fall flat on my face. The soft, fluffy blanket is probably the only reason why I don’t bust my head open.

  My poor nose isn’t so lucky. It hits the blanket first and I groan when it feels like it’s been shoved up into my skull. Tears come automatically, my eyes watering at the sudden pain.

  Jeez.

  I toppled over so hard, it makes me wonder if someone gave me a little extra push on the way out the portal. Ouch. I just hope the image winked out as soon as I was through. Last thing I need is Alex getting a front row seat to my crash and burn.

  He’d never let me live it down.

  To add insult to injury, when I don’t move off the ground quick enough, tiny claws prick at my ass.

  “Mrow.”

  Dudley!

  Ignoring the sting in my nose, I push up off the blanket, give my abused nose a tweak, and spin on my knees to find my cat. The big orange tabby is sitting on his haunches by my desk, watching me with a haughty expression that reminds me of the way Mom used to look when she caught me sneaking in way after curfew.

  Where have you been? demands his copper-colored eyes.

  I laugh, giddy and glad to be home. I lunge for Dudley, scooping him up in my arms before he has the chance to dart away.

  “Dudley, bud, I’d tell you but you wouldn’t believe me in a million years!”

  The sound of kisses smacking against the top of his fuzzy head echoes in the quiet of my bedroom. I give Dudley as many kisses as he tolerates—maybe three or four—before he yowls and, recognizing the warning, I place him back on his feet. As soon as he’s down, he races out of my room.

  Figuring he deserves a major helping of tuna as an apology for my disappearing act, I start to follow him out into the hall. Coming back for Dudley is the only reason I took the portal Cassandra offered me. If he’s not happy with me, I can’t just shove him in his carrier and drag him through the mirror. If there’s one thing I know, it’s that tuna will go a long way to earn Dud’s forgiveness.

  I’m careful to skirt around the mirror since I’m not sure what’ll happen if I touch it before I’m ready to return. I barely glance at it, in case someone’s looking back at me. Instead, I cast my gaze around my room, glad that everything is exactly as I left it.

  I might’ve come back a whole other person—literally—but at least my home is still the sanctuary it’s always been.

  Right as I’m walking toward my bedroom door, my eyes land on the alarm clock I keep perched on the edge of my dresser.

  The time reads 12:04.

  I do a double-take. My shades are still pulled, blackout curtains drawn across my windows. I can’t tell if it’s day or night out there. What time is it?

  Changing direction, I head for the dresser. I pick up the clock, as if that’ll help.

  I love this thing. It’s a throwback to my high school days. Mom insisted that I keep an alarm clock by my bed so that I wouldn’t oversleep and miss first period. I brought the clock with me when I went away to college—though I missed more than my fair share of early morning classes when I lived in the dorms—and it’s moved with me to my condo. Sure, I use my phone as an alarm because it’s easier, but I’ve kept the alarm clock because my mom gave it to me and she’s gone now.

  There’s nothing fancy about it. It’s a black box with a vibrant red display that tells the time. A little red dot in the bottom corner is supposed to tell me whether it’s 12:04 a.m. or p.m. I’ve had that clock for more than twelve years and I still have no idea which one.

  Great. I still don’t know what time it is. Come to think of it, I have no idea what time is it was when I left Cassandra’s house, either. It had to have been afternoon-ish. Late afternoon-ish. Definitely not 12:04 a.m. or p.m. so what the hell happened when I crossed back over?

  Wait—my phone. Where did I leave my phone?

  There! On my pillow, where I tossed it all those nights ago when I was getting ready to go to sleep.

  I lunge for my bed and grab my phone, expecting it to be dead. There’s no way that the battery in my outdated phone made it for as long as I’ve been gone. Habit makes me press the home button anyway. I stare at it when it turns on.

  There's more than half a charge left. What? How?

  And then I see the time, verifying that it matches the numbers on my alarm clock. 12:04 a.m. My eyes flicker to the date.

  Holy. Shit.

  It's just after midnight. On Sunday.

  Like Sunday, the day after Saturday. The day I fell into my mirror.

  My knees fold up beneath me as I swivel and drop down on a bed with a soft thump.

  I spent four nights in the Other and, somehow, it’s only been like twenty minutes in the real world. If that. How long did it take me to wash up and get ready for bed after I finished that last Supernatural episode? Ten minutes? Fifteen?

  I… I don’t get it.

  That’s when I remember the half-assed way Hephaestus and Hunter tried to explain how time worked. The correct answer should've been it doesn't.

  I blink.

  Okay then.

  Another indicator that I’ve barely been gone? My laptop isn’t dead, either.

  It boots up immediately. Considering, if I don’t use my laptop for days, the old piece of crap takes close to twenty minutes to turn on, I’m more convinced that time stopped while I was gone.

  That’s another positive. Because now? I don’t have the time to waste.

  Minutes are ticking by. Normally, I would’ve climbed into my bed and passed out until morning. I can’t now. This whole time thing has messed me up real good. What if it’s going like turbo speed back there since I’ve left?

  I don’t want to keep Hunter waiting too long, but this is my chance. Cassandra spelled it out for me before I left: taking this trip home didn’t stop the story. If—When I return to the Other, it’s gonna keep on playing out. Now that I’m here with the internet at my fingertips, I’m going to bulk up on my mythology.

  Hunter’s not alone. Not anymore. It’s my story, too, right? Maybe I can change it.

  I grab a can of soda from my fridge—I friggin’ missed soda—and plug my laptop in at my desk. Something tells me that I’m going to be here a while. Opening up my browser, I start googling like a mad woman.

  My first mistake? Searching for myths that are only about Orion. Even though the rational part of my brain tells me that this Orion isn’t my Hunter, the irrational jealous part of my heart hates every mention of another woman paired with him. Merope. The Seven Sisters. Nymphs. Ugh. Pass.

  Second mistake? Stumbling on a page that detailed a rendezvous between Apollo and Orion. My mind is filled with pictures of Alex and Hunter embracing. I close the window on that site super fast and vow never to tell either men about that version of the story.

  Finally, I settle on reading up on Artemis, her close relationship to her twin, and the love and respect she had for her fellow hunter and companion. This is the way the story seems to be going so far, right? This is what I need to learn about.

  Dudley slinks back in a couple of hours later. Enough time must have gone by for him to r
egain his dignity from my onslaught of kisses, though it’s more likely that he’s just hungry. When I realize that my eyes are burning from staring at the computer screen for so long, I take a break and let him lead me into the kitchen.

  A quick snack for both of us—tuna for Dudley, two protein bars for me—and I’m back at my desk. I plugged Dudley’s heated blanket in the same outlet and he’s curled up at my feet, purring away.

  I continue to research.

  From what I can tell, there’s one defining characteristic regarding Artemis that I just can’t shake. Her virginity is a biggie. So far I haven’t found a single myth online that ends with Artemis and Orion doing the deed.

  Oops. Guess we kind of went a little off script there.

  If it’s not Artemis guarding her virginity fanatically, then it’s her twin brother making sure she stays pure and chaste. Too many of these legends have Apollo tricking Artemis into killing Orion because he either wants her to stay a “maiden” or he’s jealous that she shows affection for a mere mortal hunter.

  And then there are the ones where Apollo sends a giant scorpion to battle Orion.

  I actually snort out loud when I read that one. Hunter’s comment about him owing the scorpion right after he killed the second one makes total sense now. At least we dodged that bullet.

  Still, it’s no wonder Alex and Hunter don’t get along. When they fought in the past, Orion died.

  He, um, kind of dies a lot.

  In the realm of Greek mythology, I guess he has to. How else can they explain the rise of the constellation Orion? Logically, I get it. Logically. I keep searching and clicking and reading because Noelle is not thinking logically. She’s flipping the fuck out.

  I can’t let Hunter die.

  One bright spot. After hours of searching every website that mentions the two of them, I finally find one—one—where Artemis gets to sleep with Orion. Of course, he’s killed almost immediately after so at least I know I’m not living in that story, either.

  Though, I have to admit, I’ve had worse morning-afters than my lover getting transformed into a constellation in the sky.

  Good Lord, these myths are friggin’ weird.

  The Other’s a weird place, though. And too many things I’ve read about have come to pass. The battle with the scorpions. Foot races. Turning Acteon into a stag. Hunting the Calydonian boar, even if Hunter was right and I—I mean, Artemis is the one who sent it out in the first place. Apollo. Hephaestus. Cassandra.

  All of happened like it’s written on my screen. I’ve always been a big believer of fate, letting the chips fall where they may. If it’s supposed to happen, it’ll happen.

  Screw that.

  Shoving my chair away from the desk, I refuse to let any of what I’ve just read influence me. I might have the spirit of Artemis inside me somehow. I’ve given up on trying to figure out how that works.

  I’m still Noelle St. James. And I’m gonna write my own damn story.

  I stagger to my bed, pausing only to hang the blanket up over my mirror. It won’t stop anyone who might try to follow me through—if it even works that way—but I feel better knowing that I can keep them from peeking at me. I have this strange idea in my head that Alex has charmed Cassandra into whipping up another one so he can spy on me. You know, I totally wouldn’t put it past the dickhead.

  I’m friggin’ exhausted. I spent too many hours on the computer, my head stuffed with so much mythology that I feel like it’s beginning to eke out my ears. I’m better prepared, at least. After tomorrow, I’ll be ready to go back.

  Just like I promised.

  Before I do, there are a million things I’ll have to take care of. I don’t want to take too much time since it’s obviously passing again. That’s one thing I still don’t get. With my luck, if I take too long, I’ll go back to the Other and discover years have passed for Hunter.

  I can’t let that happen. He’s waited long enough and, based on my research, has been through so much. How many memories of his countless deaths does he have in his head? It’s about damn time he got his happily ever after.

  It’s a small bonus that I’ll get one, too.

  Right now, it’s already closing on four o’clock in the morning. I might be a night person—moon goddess for the win, I guess—but I’ll be useless tomorrow if I don’t get a couple of hours down at least. And considering everything I have to accomplish, I can’t be useless.

  I don’t bother to change out of Alex’s tunic or Hunter’s sandals. I flop on my bed, smiling when the mattress shifts an instant later and the weight of Dudley’s comforting bulk settles on my calves. I fall asleep to his rumbling purr.

  Even if he doesn’t know how long I’ve been gone, it’s nice to see he’s missed me.

  38

  “Sorry, guys,” I murmur softly. With a snip and a flinch, I cut the strap off my sandal.

  I didn’t want to do it. I finally took the time to see if it was possible to get the tight knots out. Nope. I broke three nails and cursed a blue streak before I realized it just wasn’t going to happen. Between wading in hot springs and through goopy mud, plus the hour long shower I took this morning, the silver straps were shot. In the end, I knew the sandals had to go because I had no intention of wearing them ever again.

  My good leather boots are already pulled out of my closet, waiting on my bed next to my comfiest pair of jeans and my favorite hoodie. Once I cut these sandals off and wash my feet again, I get dressed. It might not be Other fashion. I don’t care.

  Hunter wants Noelle? He can have her in all her glory.

  After I’m ready, I grab my biggest duffel bag and start to stuff it full of everything I think I’ll need immediately. My blanket lines the bottom because, if I don’t have to, I don’t want to use Hunter’s pelts. They’re not as soft and so what if I take up a ton of space with it? I friggin’ earned this blanket.

  I add two more pairs of jeans, a week’s worth of t-shirts and as many clean pairs of socks and underwear as I can fit. Then I add like five bars of soap. After the grime that sloughed off of me in my shower, I swear never to be that far from my Dove again.

  The night we bonded in the cave, Hunter finally explained the magic of his Mary Poppins tent. Just because he couldn’t cross through the mirror, it didn’t mean that no one else could. Plenty of people could cross back and forth. If they were lucky enough to pluck one of the hundreds and thousands of threads that crisscrossed throughout the Other in order to tell their story—and survive, I add, remembering my research—the portals really do allow them to cross easily between worlds.

  That’s how modern day first aid kids found their way into his tent. It’s a system of barter in the Other, with real world goods worth more in the right hands. If there’s something I forget, I might be able to swap something of mine for something I need.

  Not everything can be carried through the mirror, though. Modern technology won’t work because the magic in the Other is too strong to ever allow electricity. Phones are out. So are televisions. As much as I want to bring my laptop, it’s pointless.

  I compromise by printing out as many internet articles on Artemis and Orion as I can. When I run out of ink, I drive to the Barnes & Noble at the mall and buy five different books on Greek mythology, including Mythology for Dummies.

  I stop at the 7-11 down the street from me and buy more soap, shoving them into the side pockets of my duffel bag. If some of the others who live mirrorside are anything like me, the Irish Spring I picked up could be worth their weight in gold.

  Or bacon. Because after our run-in with the Calydonian boar, I’m not planning on hunting for my own meat again. I’ll think of it like one of my precious flea markets. It’s all about the art of the deal, baby.

  I pack my books and print-outs in a shoulder tote, plopping it in front of the mirror when I’m done. My overstuffed duffel bag is dragged right next to it. It weighs a friggin’ ton and I’m already wondering how I’m going to carry it with me. I will, though.
I’m determined not to leave anything behind, just in case.

  That leaves Dudley.

  To my surprise, he goes into his carrier with a whole lot less trouble than I thought he would. Since I’m not sure what I’m going to feed Dud in the Other, I pack a 32-count pack of Friskies, his favorite. I make sure they’re the ones with the pull-tab tops because of the whole no electricity thing.

  That should hold him over for the next couple of weeks. By then, I bet my ex-stray cat will be hooked on Hunter’s cooking. And if not? I can always take a portal back. That’ll eventually be an option, once my story is over and I can hop through portals whenever I want.

  My stomach clenches at the thought, and it’s not because of how dizzy I get when I cross over. I’m not so sure I want it to end. Not after I read about all the ways it could.

  As busy as I am with packing and getting ready to leave, I still spend way too much time obsessing over everything I read about Artemis and Orion. They say ignorance is bliss and, hell yeah, they’re right. Because after all the times I badgered Hunter to tell me what was going to happen, I finally get why he didn’t. How do you tell someone that the only way for the story to end is for you to die?

  No. No. I won’t accept that. Knowing how all the other stories ended is actually a good thing. I’m prepared. I know what to look for and what to avoid if I don’t want history to repeat itself again.

  Hunter’s made it clear that he was doing his best to change his fate. Well, now that makes two of us.

  Okay.

  We already fought the scorpions and kicked their asses, so hopefully that one’s a bust. He’s never bragged that he’s a better hunter than me and, even if he did, I totally agree. There’s still enough Noelle in charge that I recognize his skill and am in awe of it.

  What else?

  Most of the other myths have me—I mean, Artemis—shooting an arrow at Hunter—Orion—because of Alex—Apollo. Ugh. My head is killing me with all of this mythology stuff.

  Turns out that Alex was right when he said that Apollo and Artemis are twins. He’s got a crapload of his own stories, just like Artemis, but from what I discovered, he plays a big role in what happens with Orion most of the times when it’s me who kills him. The craziest reason is the one that I can’t shake because it hits a little too close to home.