I automatically started to refuse, but then I saw Dike’s scowl, and the look of deadly warning on her face was pretty easy to interpret. Refuse...and die.
“Don’t be shy, child,” Hera said soothingly.
“I...well...” Gaea help me, but what could I ask that would make me appear neither greedy nor sycophantic?
“Speak your desire,” Zeus urged, “and it will be granted.”
Unable to bear everyone’s scrutiny, I blurted out the first thing that came to my mind. “I would like...a photo with Apollo.”
Zeus and Hera stared at me in surprise.
This time, Dike looked like she wanted to kill herself.
I guess...that made me sound more like a teenage fangirl than a respectable agent of CSI?
“You are certain of this?” Zeus inquired finally.
“Yes, theo. Apollo is my favorite Olympian.” This, at least, was true.
Zeus’ dark brows shot up. “You favor him over me?”
Brooms and sticks!
“I...I...I...”
Hera threw her husband an exasperated glance. “Stop teasing the child. Do you not see she’s scared enough?”
Zeus grinned. “I was merely having fun.”
I wondered if he truly meant that. Five seconds ago, and I could’ve sworn he had considered having me beheaded.
Hera motioned for the Muse’s apprentice. “Look for Apollo and tell him I request his presence.”
“Immediately,” Zeus added.
“Yes, theo, thea.” The young girl curtsied before hurrying away.
While waiting for the God of Truth to make his appearance, Zeus and Hera spoke to Dike in hushed tones, and in a language far too ancient for me to even guess its origin. A moment later, I saw Zeus’ dark head lift, and a grin slashed over his lips.
“The heroine of Mt. Olympus is here, Apollo, and all she asks as a reward is a photo with you. Charming, is she not?”
“Very much so.” The voice from behind was deep, quiet, and strangely familiar, and I jerked in surprise. Surely...it couldn’t be who I thought it was?
“As you requested, my dear,” Hera said. “Apollo has come.”
A shadow fell over me.
I slowly lifted my gaze, and a pair of hazel eyes met mine.
Paul.
“Hello, Blair.”
Part Two
Chapter One
A thick fog swallowed me up as soon as I stepped out of my front door, with its eerie density making it seem like a cross between the June gloom of So Cal and the usual demonic weather found in any Stephen King novel. It used to scare me back when I first moved to Silver Mist, but not anymore.
The fog had thinned out by the time I made it to the end of the block, where a couple of familiar-looking housewives were walking ahead of me. I followed several steps behind them and pretended not to notice their curious looks when I bypassed the chance to make a turn for Green Street.
Green Street was where Panda’s Diner was located. It was my favorite place to have breakfast, but because it had one loyal customer I was keen to avoid, I’d decided to join the housewives in their daily morning pilgrimage to Demi’s Eternal Sweets. It was the town’s only bakery and, unlike Panda’s, was quite tourist-friendly.
A divine smell teased my nostrils as I climbed the steps leading up to the bakery’s wraparound front porch – divine being the operative word since “Demi” was simply short for Demeter, and yes, I do mean that Demeter.
“Good morning, Blair,” the Olympian deity greeted from behind the counter. She was the kind of goddess who enjoyed changing her appearances every century or so, and at present, the hearth goddess had taken on the form of a pretty mid-forties brunette with a love for floral aprons.
“Morning, Demi. I heard you finally found your missing cauldron?”
“Oh, yes.” She shook her head with a sigh, saying, “Amy says it’s been there all along, hidden behind old kitchenware. I’m so sorry I troubled your department for nothing.”
“Better safe than sorry,” I reminded her cheerfully. “I’m just happy you’ve got your cauldron back.”
Bending down, I made a serious perusal of the trays of baked delights on display, which was a lot fancier and expansive than what you’d expect from a local bakeshop. Think hand-rolled bagels with truffle cheese, artisan wine bread, and donuts filled with dark Belgian chocolate. And you know what’s the best thing about it?
“I think I’ll have your autumn set,” I told Demi finally.
The autumn set consisted of pumpkin scones with berry butter, a slice of cinnamon apple raisin bread, and pear and almond cream tart, and the whole thing only cost me $6.5. In case you needed things spelled out, ancient deities typically ran their businesses on a whim and rarely with an eye for profit.
“Want some coffee to go with this?” Demi asked.
“Absolutely,” I answered with a smile.
“On the go, right?”
“Umm, actually, no.”
“I see.”
The speculation in her tone was audible, making me chicken out from meeting her gaze as I mumbled my thanks. You know how it’s often said that everyone knew everyone’s business in small towns? Well, that was so much truer where “small towns” like Mt. Olympus was concerned.
Aside from having an extremely limited population, the famed residence also had Iris to rely on for the latest gossip. And believe me, no one broke the news like the messenger goddess did. She made CNN and Fox News look snail-mail-slow in news delivery, and she was always accurate, too, which was why I was pretty sure the hearth goddess really did see why I was having her autumn set instead of my favorite Panda’s special at the diner.
Thoughts of Paul hovered on the edge of my mind as I took one of the few vacant tables left, but I valiantly resisted going down that rabbit hole by quickly popping a scone into my mouth. Its scrumptious, cheese-oozing goodness did its job, and I closed my eyes to savor its tasty distraction. No one – and I so meant no one – could bake like the hearth goddess did.
The housewives I saw earlier were chatting at a nearby table, and I found myself vaguely listening to their somewhat heated discussion over this month’s edition of Maine Boats, Homes, and Harbor.
“Have you seen it?” one of the housewives asked. “It has Pomona and Vertumnus on the cover, and it comes with a special feature of Helios’ new vacation digs in Hawaii.”
The housewives began dissecting this season’s fall colors as I worked on my slice of raisin bread, and by the time I emptied my tray, their talk had moved on to Aoide’s dropping her new single on iTunes out of the blue.
Aoide was one of the Muses, and she and two of her sisters used to make up a popular girl group. The trio, however, had broken up just a few months ago, and Aoide had gotten a lot of flak from her non-human fans when she announced her intention to pursue a different direction with her music.
As I took a sip of my coffee, another conversation reached my ear, coming from a pair of tourists occupying the table in front of me.
“I have that same issue of Maine Boats, Homes, and Harbor,” the woman in a gray sweater said under her breath, “and I have no idea what she’s talking about. There was no Po-who or Vertigo-whatever on the cover, and certainly nothing about some guy’s vacation place in Hawaii.”
I practically scalded my tongue as I choked on my coffee and struggled not to laugh. I totally understood why they were so confused, but I also knew the housewives hadn’t been lying. Simply put, the two groups had been speaking of two different editions of the same magazines: one for humans (like the tourists) and another for non-humans (like the married witches at the other table).
In the latter edition, there was indeed a special feature of the sun god going away to have fun in Honolulu, and it was why this year’s autumn was much cooler than usual.
The tourists stood up to leave about the same time I did, and I listened to them continue talking about the magazine as I rewound my scarf around my neck. I follo
wed them out of the bakery after saying goodbye to Demi, and I mentally shook my head when I realized they still hadn’t given up on the issue.
“I’m going to re-download the issue,” the woman in the gray sweater declared.
Good luck with that, I thought when I saw the fog thickening at the end of the steps.
I watched the women walk into it and wasn’t surprised to see their bodies momentarily freeze while their words came into an abrupt halt. It was Silver Mist working its magic, making humans forget what they weren’t ever meant to know.
Good old fog, I thought. Now, if only you could make me forget about last weekend, then life would be so much better.
IT WAS A FIFTEEN-MINUTE walk from Demi’s to the bus stop, but the town’s picturesque scenery made the walk feel like a tour of paradise. Then again, there was also the fact that Silver Mist served as a magical portal to Mt. Olympus. Knowing that the most powerful of her kind lived just around the corner, Pomona always exerted more effort than usual to bring out a breathtaking palette of colors for the trees that lined our streets: the bright golden foliage of our sugar maples and birches, the crisp, coffee brown leaves that fell from our oaks, and the brilliant scarlet ones that our hornbeams and sumacs shed.
And then of course you had Old Hazel, I thought fondly. Rooted right next to the stone arch that welcomed tourists and newcomers to our town, the hundred-year-old witch hazel had leaves that turned to the most amazing shade of purple come fall. It was considered one of the most iconic sights in the entire state, and come autumn tourists always came in droves to have their selfies with Old Hazel in the background.
Today wasn’t any different, and I smiled at the sight of tourists crowding the century-old charmer from across the street. Mm. Maybe I should take a selfie, too –
The sudden vibration of my phone inside my pocket interrupted my thoughts, and I quickly answered it when I saw the name of CSI’s division director flash on the screen.
“Are you at the office yet?” Dike asked without preamble.
“Uh, not yet, but I can be there in—-”
“Don’t bother.”
I blinked in surprise. Was I...being fired?
“Do you know SMH?”
My confusion deepened. “Err...” Didn’t that stand for ‘shaking my head’?
“Well?” Dike’s voice was tinged with impatience. “Do you know where Silver Mist Hospital is or not?”
Oh, so that was what she meant.
Relieved to know I wasn’t being unceremoniously terminated, I said quickly, “Yes, I do.”
“Great. Look for Dr. Ace. I’ve already informed him about you, and he’ll be sharing with you the results of his autopsy.”
“Autopsy?” I echoed blankly. Back when I first started working for the CSI, Dike had asked me what type of case I wanted to handle, and I had opted for Local Misdemeanors. It mostly dealt with missing magical apparatus and representing the bureau when a local school wanted an agent to come to their show-and-tells. They were all minor or petty crimes in other words, and as both a self-made and neophyte witch, it was the only kind of case I thought I was fairly capable of handling.
So how in the world could my case end up requiring an autopsy?
“I guess I’ve forgotten to tell you.”
She probably did, but I wasn’t stupid enough to say this out loud. Dike was a Horae, and the fiercest and strongest of them all, too. Only an idiot would confront someone like Dike over some minimal error on her part –
“I’ve decided to promote you to Homicide, with specialization in Toxicology.”
What?
“Any violent reactions?” she asked coolly.
“Nope.” I mean, sure, I’d have loved to be consulted about it at first, but it was a promotion and at the end of the day, it was something I should be happy about. Right?
Chapter Two
Silver Mist Hospital, like most sprawling establishments in town, was housed in a historic building. In this case, it was an old four-story textile factory, and although major renovations had been made on the inside, its delightful colonial exterior had been wonderfully preserved, and this included the beautiful pair of mahogany doors with its intricately carved scrollwork.
As soon as I flashed my badge, one of the nurses at the station took me down to the basement and led me straight to a well-lit lab with stainless steel walls and gleaming marble floor tiles. A silver nameplate was mounted right above the digitally secured glass doors, and my eyes widened when I realized where I was – and who exactly “Dr. Ace” was.
AESCULAPIUS, M.D.
CHIEF CORONER
NOSTRADAMUS’ SANATARIUM OF ALCHEMISTS (NSA)
It was just so like Dike to spring surprises like this and not realize how big a deal meeting someone like Aesculapius for a neophyte witch like me –
The glass doors suddenly swooshed open, and I heard a gruff voice call out, “This way, Agent Vavrin.”
Oops!
Realizing I had inadvertently made the god of medicine wait, I hurried past shelves stocked with test tubes storing both human medicine and magical potions and came to a stop when I found a white-haired man in a lab coat bent over the dissection table.
There was a dead body on it: Venus Stratton, sixteen, with long, blonde hair and blue eyes, and declared dead last night by the paramedic who had gone to the victim’s home in response to a 911 call.
“Took you long enough,” the god of medicine said with a grunt as he straightened to his full height. “You’re the one Justice’s gal sent?”
“Uh...” Horae was also the generic-slash-collective term used to refer to the ferocious daughters of Justice, which was what my boss Dike was, but this was the first time I had heard anyone refer to CSI’s division director so literally.
“Well?”
The note of impatience in the god’s tone helped me recover from my shock, and I said quickly, “Yes, umm—-” Oh, cast it. Here we go again. How did one properly refer to the god of medicine, anyway?
Aesculapius let out a harrumph. “Mother of Cronos! Dr. Ace will do, if that’s what’s giving you the heebie-jeebies.” Shaking his head, he then asked, “And you, girl? What’s your name?”
“Blair—-”
“Too short,” he dismissed. “We’ll stick to Vavrin.”
I knew I should feel insulted, but right now I was more amazed by the fact that he knew I was a witch named Blair and he wasn’t laughing his head off.
“How old are you, Vavrin?” His gaze narrowed. “You seem too young.” Before I could tell him I was twenty-six, Dr. Ace then added, “Either that or you’re too short.”
Okaaaaaay. I wished I could feel insulted now, but it wasn’t like he wasn’t speaking the truth. Natural born witches were generally tall and blessed with good genes while self-made witches like me were, well, all over the place. In my case, I was a tiny brunette that stood out in all the wrong places (skin that didn’t tan, curves that didn’t go away) while the rest of me was the definition of mediocrity.
As soon as I was properly suited up, Dr. Ace led me back to the dissection table, asking, “Do you know how to detect carbon dioxide poisoning in a corpse?”
Glancing down at Venus’ corpse, I said slowly, “When a person dies, blood would eventually settle at a certain portion of the body.” I pointed to the victim’s arm. “This part, for instance, should be bluish-purple.” But instead it was a dark shade of red, which was indicative of carbon monoxide poisoning.
Dr. Ace gazed at me with interest. “You’ve done your homework.”
I quickly shook my head, feeling slightly embarrassed at the god’s words of praise. “I just got lucky you asked me one of the few things I know about poisons,” I admitted. “The case I worked on last week involved poisoning, so I had to do a bit of reading on toxicology. I’ve only gotten as far as the letter C so...” I gave him a sheepish smile. “If you want to ask me anything beyond the third letter of the alphabet, could we maybe do it next week?”
> “I’ll think about it.” Dr. Ace’s tone was so devoid of emotion that by the time I realized he was joking, he had already moved on to his next question, asking me about the circumstances of the victim’s death.
Scrolling up on my smartphone screen, I started reading from the case report Dike emailed. “The emergency responder found the victim in the living room, no longer breathing, and without any pulse. Both her mother and younger brother were also present, in the exact same room.”
I looked back at Dr. Ace with a frown. “It doesn’t make sense, does it? If she had died of carbon monoxide poisoning, the others should have died of the same thing.”
“Exactly.” The doctor’s grim tone confirmed what I already suspected.
Cause of death: poisoning.
Manner of death: assisted by magic.
Hence my involvement, I thought.
I took another look at the victim’s body, this time trying my best to spot any visual evidence left by magic.
“Anything else that stands out to you?” Dr. Ace asked.
“Nothing I can see, but...” I sniffed, bent down, and took a closer sniff to confirm that the scent was indeed coming from Venus Stratton’s body. “There’s this flowery scent...”
“Do you recognize it?” the corner asked as I straightened, and when I shook my head, he said, “It’s asphodel.”
My brows furrowed. Asphodel? The Underworld, which was Hades’ domain, had a whole field of those grayish, ghostly flowers – and that was just about the extent of what I knew of them. “I didn’t even know they could be brought outside the Underworld,” I confessed.
“That was the general belief,” Dr. Ace agreed, “until a couple of enterprising witches learned to harvest it above ground. Asphodel has many deadly qualities, one of which is the toxin its petals secrete on a full moon. Mixed with other lethal ingredients, it can be used to brew a target-locked, time-specific concoction.”
I didn’t answer right away, needing time to mull over the doctor’s last words.
A Season of Gods and Witches Page 10
