A Season of Gods and Witches

by Bloome, Alice

  A scream coming from Amy had me instantly hurrying towards the boxes lined up on the sides, and I started throwing them at her as she came charging. The corner of one box hit Amy square in the eye, blinding and making her bleed, but it didn't even slow her down.

  Oh, come on!

  I ran towards the altar as Amy started slashing the air with a knife, blue eyes mad with rage. “This is what you get for not minding your own business, bitch!”

  Déjà vu struck as time once again seemed to simultaneously race and slow down while I fought for my life, jumping and twisting to avoid the thrusts of Amy’s knife.

  Mother.

  It took a while for the soft voice to get past the thudding beat of my heart.

  Mother.

  I was torn between laughing and crying. This is so not the right time to go crazy, Blair –

  MOTHER!

  I jumped at the jarring sound, and Amy’s knife cut through my side.

  Mother!

  Triumph glittered in Amy’s eyes as I stumbled back.

  Take the candle.

  The girl began to advance towards me.

  Mother, PLEASE!

  Amy raised her knife. “Goodbye, Agent Vavrin.”

  Her arm swung down, but I was much faster, thrusting the candle towards her just as the voice in my head had commanded.

  I had no idea of what to expect after it, but what happened next was something I knew I would never have imagined.

  It was Amy’s turn to stumble back, screaming and writhing as a roaring fire consumed her body –

  This doesn’t make sense, I thought dazedly.

  A mere candle shouldn’t have been able to set Amy ablaze like this.

  There was just too much fire.

  Too, too much –

  And with flames that were so brilliantly blue it was like seeing stars become one with the sky.

  Chapter Thirteen

  “You know you don’t actually have to come here to have your oracle read, right? I am its god, after all.”

  I tried to keep a straight face at Paul’s quip, but the smile tugging at my lips was too insistent. “Stop trying to ruin my surprise,” I told him, “and just keep walking.”

  “If I promise to do that, will you promise to stop trying to kill yourself every other week?”

  “No comment.”

  Paul grimaced. “I knew you’d say that.”

  The disgruntled expression on his handsome face was amusing, but it also made my heart squeeze, and I found myself unthinkingly seeking his hand to twine my fingers with his.

  I had never been the one to initiate contact, and the way his brow lifted told me that he was thinking the same thing. A moment later, Paul pulled me against his side, his arm curving around my waist as we walked into the secret tunnel that led to Delphi’s hidden world.

  I would normally resist this, too, I reflected somberly, but after my latest brush with death, it seemed too silly to deny something I truly wanted.

  One week had passed since Amy had burned to her death and Mrs. Stratton had been rescued from the Wilsons’ basement. With her gone, and with Empusa certainly not the type of goddess to condescend to an interrogation, it had been up to us to piece together the puzzle on our own.

  Evidence, both old and new, had been gathered, but it was really Mrs. Wilson’s decision to talk about the past that had helped shed light on everything.

  Sixteen years ago, a pregnant young woman named Dana had decided to leave her abusive husband when his drunken rage had him almost beating her to death. To escape his clutches, Dana had reported him to the CIA for using magic for criminal activities, and in exchange for her testimony, the court had granted Dana’s sole request: inclusion in the Witness Protection Program, which would keep her safe from her soon-to-be ex-husband. Centaurs, after all, were a very vengeful bunch.

  Since then, Dana had lived a simple but peaceful life as Annabelle Wilson. Money was hard to come by as a single mother, but she drew comfort from the knowledge that she was able to put her troubled past firmly behind her. Or at least she had thought that would always be the case – until Amy confronted Dana about her biological father.

  The younger girl had found a photo tucked between the pages of an old diary. It was a photo Dana herself had forgotten, and when pressed to explain, the older woman could only speak the truth: Amy’s biological father was an evil man – and Amy was half-centaur because of him.

  She became obsessed with magic after that, Annabelle had confided wearily. She would ask me questions endlessly, and when she realized how little I knew, she begged me to let her see her dad. She told me she just wanted to know more about herself, and I...I thought...I thought I was doing the right thing.

  Surveillance footage from the maximum-security prison Lowry Rogers was incarcerated in showed Amy visiting her father multiple times, and it was during one of these visits that Lowry, after learning of Amy’s lack of popularity in school, had referred his daughter to Helen’s company. The man probably thought he was securing her loyalty with the favor, but instead he had ended up signing his death warrant with it.

  After receiving Mrs. Wilson’s permission to search her daughter’s room, it became immediately obvious to us that Amy was still an amateur when it came to handling (and hiding evidence of) magic.

  Just like her mother, Amy loved to keep a detailed accounting of her day, and a quick deconstruction spell enabled us to get past the low-grade camouflage web she used to conceal her diary. Reading it had been a ghastly, heartbreaking experience: it was like witnessing firsthand the gradual decay of a young girl’s soul – and not being able to do a single thing to stop her from eventually transforming into a cold-blooded killer.

  At the start, most of Amy’s diary entries were typical teenager angst: she wished she could be prettier, wished she could be more popular, wished she could find Mr. Right to take her to the prom.

  But then Amy learned about her centaur blood, and the tone of her writing abruptly changed. She fantasized about using magic to change her looks, to force people to worship her, and when her name came out in the preliminary voting for Mr. and Ms. Silver Mist High, the young girl had used the incident to justify her need to seek out Empusa’s help.

  Amy’s first spell had been to make her win Ms. Silver Mist High, and for this, Empusa had asked for the lives of two innocents. In her diary, the girl had expressed her happiness about the spell’s success but also her indecision over the offerings she was required to make.

  In her next prison visit, Amy sought her father’s help to renege on her end of the deal, but what Lowry provided his daughter instead was a name. A woman in his past owed him, so why not kill her instead?

  I asked him for the person’s name, and he said it was Veronica Stratton.

  I was shocked, of course. I told him I knew that woman. She was the mother of one of my classmates in school. And he smirked – that’s your half-sister.

  Reading this entry in Amy’s diary had instantly reminded me of how I had once unconsciously taken note of the girl’s eyes, and now I realized why. It was the same shade of blue as Venus’ eyes, the one physical trait both daughters had inherited from Lowry.

  Lowry’s revelations destroyed my world. He thinks that I can tell Venus the truth, and the other girl would help me be like her.

  Was he serious?

  Why would I want to be like Venus when I could BE her?

  If Lowry wasn’t such an a**hole, I could’ve, would’ve been her.

  If I knew about magic from the start, I might have been able to practice more, know more, and then I wouldn’t have needed to ask for Empusa’s help in the first place. This is all his fault. He dug his own grave.

  And that had turned out to be Lowry’s greatest miscalculation – an apple never fell far from the tree, and despite being raised away from his influence, Amy turned out to be just like him.

  In her next entry, Amy had written about requesting another spell, and for it she had promised – and
delivered – an offering in the next 24 hours.

  The second spell’s objective: Venus’ death, and non-fatal poisoning on Amy’s part to effectively deflect suspicion.

  The offering: Lowry Rogers.

  And as for Amy’s last entry –

  I received a final warning from Empusa. If I haven’t made two offerings by tomorrow, she will take my life instead and I’ll be spending an eternity in Tartarus.

  I did a lot of thinking on this, and I think it will have to be Veronica Stratton and her kid Vincent. She always says she feels lost since Venus died, anyway. I’m just helping them become a family again.

  Chills had run down my spine on the girl’s last words, and it made me realize that I actually felt relieved I had ended up meddling so much Amy decided it was better to kill me in lieu of Venus’ seven-year-old brother.

  It was a sad, convoluted mess all in all, and I couldn’t help thinking of how all of this would never have come to light if Venus hadn’t agreed to babysit her brother.

  As the poison released by the lemonade was carbon monoxide, it was possible that Amy had hoped to make Venus’ death appear accidental, with the latter dying while driving to Portland. She could’ve gotten away with Venus and her own father’s murders if it had been so, and Cronos knew how many other people would have died along the way as Amy continued on with her hopeless pursuit for beauty and fame.

  “Blair?”

  Paul’s soft voice made me realize we had already reached our destination, and I glanced up just as the enormous rock blocking our way disintegrated.

  Delphi’s vast underground chamber was as magical and beautiful as I remembered, and for several long moments I simply stood there and let myself soak it in.

  Turning to Paul, I asked curiously, “What did the priestesses say when you told them you wanted the place empty?”

  The truth god shot me an odd look. “Nothing.”

  I couldn’t help rolling my eyes at the answer. Riiiiight. I really needed to remember that Paul, for all his seemingly modern sensibilities, still thought and acted like a god in most ways. And gods, I reminded myself wryly, obviously did not see a need to explain themselves.

  I started walking towards the oracle, and the truth god fell in step beside me. “Will you finally tell me what this is all about?”

  “In time.” Unlike before, fear no longer troubled me as I faced the ancient pyre. I watched the giant flames sway as I moved forward, closer and closer until fire was able to lend its heat to our bodies.

  A moment later, I felt Paul’s hand slipped in mine, and I knew it was time to speak the truth.

  “I lied about how Amy died.”

  “I know.” Paul’s tone was calm.

  And of course he did, I thought. Truth god, Blair! Remember?

  Turning to him, I revealed haltingly, “I didn’t actually do everything on my own. Someone...helped me.”

  Paul’s hazel eyes narrowed. “Is it Jason?”

  “I – wait, what?” I shot him an exasperated glance. “Why would you even think Jason would have something to do with this?”

  “It was a simple guess.” The truth god’s tone was slightly defensive. “But – I know I’m also acting out of line.” The discomfited expression on his gorgeous face explained things so much better than any words could.

  Paul really was the possessive and jealous type – but in a really cute kind of way that I couldn’t even stir up a single ounce of anger over it.

  “The point is, I’m glad someone helped you in your time of need and whoever it is—-”

  Fires shot up from the pyre with a loud hissing sound, and Paul broke off.

  “Something wrong?” My voice came out in a squeak, but Paul thankfully misinterpreted my guilt as unease and his grip on my hand tightened.

  “I don’t think it should be any cause for concern, but it’s rare for the oracle to be this unstable.” Paul’s tone, however, was pensive, and a frown of puzzlement still marred his forehead as we watched the flames swirl up with increasing volatility.

  “Any guesses why it’s, umm, acting this way?”

  “No.” A crooked grin briefly passed over his lips. “Do you?”

  He was obviously teasing me, but since that was probably the best opening I’d get at this point – I smiled weakly and said, “I think so?”

  Paul looked at a loss now. “You do?”

  “I, umm, think the unborn goddess is doing it.”

  And if Paul had looked bemused before, he appeared downright stunned now. “The unborn goddess?”

  “And you should know you’re not the only one who gets stupid jealous between us,” I muttered. “When I first heard about her, I thought she was your unborn soulmate—-”

  Paul choked.

  “But then the accident here happened,” I told him in a rush, eager to get past my moment of idiocy. “I never told anyone about this because I thought I was just imagining things, but someone saved me that time – and it was the same person who saved me from Amy.”

  Almost on cue, the oracle’s fire crackled as soon as I finished speaking, and as its flames turned from orange to blue, I took a deep breath and finally spoke of the one thing that had kept me tossing and turning almost every night.

  “It was the unborn goddess who saved me in both instances, Paul – and I think she’s our future daughter.”

  Part Three

  Prologue

  “So, umm, cheers?”

  Hazel eyes gleamed back in amusement, but being the immortal gentleman (literally) that he was, Paul obediently returned the greeting, saying simply, “Cheers.”

  The two of us lifted the mugs to our lips, and our gazes met over its rims as the potion slowly burned its way down our throats.

  It was an incredibly potent brew, with its horrid, slimy taste making me think I was chugging down a mix of Cerberus’ drool and bile taken fresh from the bowels of Scylla’s insides. My eyes squeezed involuntarily closed as I fought against the urge to throw up.

  Every drop counts, I reminded myself forcefully as a shudder of revulsion wracked my body. The more I drank, the longer I would be able to stay in the other realm, and more importantly, it wasn’t exactly the kind of brew you could buy from the local grocery store.

  Paul had to travel all the way to Lemnos, the mythical island of dreams, which was where the Oneroi, Hypnos’ sons, dwelled in peaceful isolation. In the human’s version of Greek mythology, the Oneroi were described as black-winged demons, and so they were, in their disguised forms. In reality, however, they were dream gods, a band of immortal brothers whose combined powers could have easily challenged Zeus’ rein if they were so inclined.

  Fortunately for the thunder god, the Oneroi took after their father, the God of Sleep. All four of them – Morpheus, Phobetor, Ikelos, and Phantasos – cared little about the lives of either men or their fellow gods, which was also why the truth god himself had to pay them a visit rather than have one of his soldiers or priestesses deliver his request.

  In the world of pantheon politics, for a god to directly ask another god for a favor would be seen as an unforgivable weakness. Have your people call my people was the normal way of doing things, but since the dream gods had never acted like chips off the old Olympian block, Paul could not risk unintentionally offending the Oneroi.

  I was not immortal, after all, and without the special potion that the dream gods alone had the ability to brew, I stood to lose my soul upon willfully entering the dream realm.

  And yes, before you ask, I hated the fact that I was the reason Paul, who was none other than the Greek god Apollo himself, had to lower his head to another, but both of us also knew there was no other way.

  No sacrifice was too great for our precious daughter.

  THE LAST TIME I WAS in the dream realm, it had been bright, almost painfully so, and the air made fragrant by the dewy scent of grass. This time, it was different. It was night, but northern lights like I had never seen before lit up the entire skies, its colo
rs more dazzling and vivid than any Photoshopped image. Emerald, turquoise, amethyst, and sapphire – it was like all these gemstones had been melted to paint the world above me.

  It was ethereal, magical, and beautiful.

  But it was nothing compared to the sight of my little goddess, in the flesh, after all this time.

  Paul’s fingers twined with mine, and tears stung my eyes when I felt the tremor of emotion that rocked his strong, large frame.

  Unable to speak, I could only squeeze his hand, wanting him to know that I completely understood what he was going through. The first time I told him about her, Paul had been stunned into silence, and for several full minutes he had only been capable of blindly staring into the fires of his own oracle.

  I had thought he was in shock, but just when panic had overwhelmed me and I started to make a call to Aesculapius, the god of medicine, Paul had suddenly turned towards me, a stricken look on his beautiful face.

  ‘Are you okay?’ I had asked him fearfully.

  And that was when a glassy sheen had veiled his hazel eyes. “She spoke to me, Blair. Our daughter spoke to me.”

  And now, here we finally were, together with our unborn goddess, and she was a miracle.

  For a long time, we could only watch her, both of us silently choked up with pleasure and the knowledge she was indeed real. She had a crimson hooded cape that matched the color of her buckled shoes and once in a while, the silk of her dress would peek out of the heavy wool of her cape. She was making her way through a field of poppies, picking flowers to fill her basket, and I wondered what it was for, wondered if she was ever lonely or—-

  Her head suddenly lifted, and her dark gaze unerringly found us across the field. A moment later, a smile broke over her rosebud lips, and it turned her cherubic face into a picture of delight.

  Cronos save me, but I don’t think my heart could survive this much cuteness!