A Season of Gods and Witches

by Bloome, Alice

  “Mother! Father! You’re here!”

  She ran to us without hesitation, and I had to hastily blink back tears when Paul swung her up to his arms for a tight, hard hug. I watched his eyes close as he kissed the top of her head, watched him inhale the scent of our little goddess, and cast it, but the scene was so exquisitely poignant they could have been posing for the poster of the next Lifetime family special.

  Don’t you dare cry, Blair Vavrin!

  While I had yet to organize my thoughts about motherhood, one thing I was sure of was that I didn’t want my daughter’s first impression of me to be one of weakness. The last time we met, I had been knocked out cold by the fires of Delphi’s oracle. If I started bawling like a baby now, that would be the end of it, and my little girl might never trust me to be strong enough to protect her.

  When Paul finally loosened his deathlike hold on our unborn daughter, he had a faintly wry expression on his handsome face, like it had only just occurred to him how devastatingly emotional the past few minutes had been.

  “Sorry for hogging her,” he apologized with a crooked smile.

  “It was your first meeting, so I totally understand.” Turning my gaze to our little girl, I smiled teasingly and asked, “Any hugs left for me?”

  Paul transferred her to my arms, and I gave her a fierce, tight hug. She was like a Precious Moments girl come to life, and she was real, and she was ours.

  “Mother, I can’t breathe!” But she was gasping and laughing when I only tightened my arms in response.

  The rest of the day was, ironically as it may sound, like a dream, with Paul and I holding her hand, our little girl walking between us as she gave us a tour of her tiny corner of the realm. After a bit of prompting, she also explained how the world around her tended to change according to her mood.

  This last piece of revelation had my heart clenching in anxiety, and my unborn goddess let out a squeal when I involuntarily tightened my grip on her hand.

  “Mother?”

  I forced myself to smile. “Sorry, sweetheart. Just overjoyed to be with you.”

  And so I was, but more importantly, I wanted to do everything possible to ensure this joy would last once we had her out in the real world.

  When Paul had asked the Oneroi for their special brew, it was Ikelos who had granted his request. Ikelos held dominion over people with prophesied roles in life, and recipients of his dreams had ranged from Anne Frank to Hector of Troy to Mao Zedong. In light of his recipients’ alarming mortality rate (and the manner of their demise), surely I couldn’t be blamed if I didn’t find his involvement particularly reassuring?

  My glance slid to Paul, and the rigid set of his jaw told me he, too, shared my worries. So what now? I gazed at him in mute appeal, knowing he would have no trouble hearing my unspoken questions. I knew it was forbidden to intervene with the work of the Moirai, aka The Fates, but were we truly going to do nothing about our little girl?

  Paul’s nod to me was barely perceptible, but it was enough, and relief rushed inside of me as his stride slowed down. He glanced down at our unborn daughter, murmuring, “Hang on a sec, sweetheart.”

  Our little girl readily came to a stop, her gaze questioning as she watched Paul bend down on one knee.

  “Blair told me that you know about your future life as our daughter.”

  “Not all things,” she answered. “Just some.”

  “Then your ability to influence—-” When our little girl’s brows started to furrow, Paul swiftly corrected himself, saying, “You said the world changes because of how you feel, right?”

  “Uh huh.”

  “Do you happen to know if you could also do that in your future life?”

  Our unborn goddess blinked at Paul. “Of course.”

  I could feel my smile freezing over my lips at her easy admission. Cronos save me, but this was not good. A goddess who could influence the world around her? Not good at all, I thought again. A daughter with such powers might make other parents proud, but I just wanted my little girl to be safe.

  “Does anyone else beside us have knowledge of this?”

  “Grandpa Ikelos knows.”

  I almost choked. Grandpa? Really?

  “Just the four of us then?”

  Her tiny forehead creased in a frown. “There’s this other woman, too.”

  Paul and I stiffened.

  “She comes here sometimes, but I hide from her. I don’t think she’s a good person.”

  “Can you describe her to us?” Paul asked in a controlled voice.

  “I never see her face. I always run away when I feel her coming here.”

  My little girl’s words left me in a state of indecision. On one hand, avoiding direct contact with the unknown woman was the safest thing to do, but on the other, we also needed to know more about her to ascertain if she was a threat.

  Rising to his feet, the god of truth stroked her hair and placed a kiss on the top of her head. “That was smart of you, sweetheart. I think it’s also best you keep hiding from her until Blair and I know who she is.”

  “Alright, Father.”

  “But if anything happens that makes you feel scared or sad or troubled, you must make sure to tell us.” I would’ve sold everything I owned if it could’ve been the other way around and I could regularly reach out to her. Unfortunately, that was not how the dream realm worked, and until she was born, only our daughter had the ability to communicate with our subconscious.

  Kneeling down, I gazed into her eyes, asking softly, “Promise me, sweetheart?”

  She nodded dutifully, her dark eyes shining with love and trust. “I promise, Mother.”

  Wanting to make the most of our fast dwindling time with our little girl, I worked hard to push all thoughts of the future aside and concentrated on what mattered most, and that was the three of us, together.

  We played games until we were exhausted, and we feasted on fruits and fish that Paul himself had speared from a nearby brook. It was perfection, but like all the best things in life, it couldn’t last forever, and my heart broke at the way our unborn goddess tried her best not to cry as we said our goodbyes.

  “We’ll come back for you as soon as we can, okay? I promise,” I said fiercely.

  “I love you, Mother.”

  “I love you too, baby.” I kissed her forehead one last time before forcing myself to let her go, and as I swung away to hide my tears, I saw her running to Paul and whispering something in his ear that made the truth god whiten.

  What could our little girl have said to make him look like that?

  I wanted to ask him, but my vision had started to blur, and I could feel myself falling as the colors around me faded. Next time then, I thought groggily as my consciousness slipped further and further away and my soul was slowly drawn back to my body.

  Next time I’ll ask him what’s wrong.

  Chapter One

  #5 White Street was the town’s former post office and my current workplace. It was a lovely all-white historic building, and on paper it was the headquarters of the Silver Mist Heritage Society, a.k.a. the company I’m working for – also on paper.

  In reality however, the building housed the New England divisions of all supernatural crime agencies, and my actual position was that of a Level 1 agent of the CSI. It did not stand for Crime Scene Investigation, but that was pretty much what we did, as operatives of the Circe Security Initiative.

  “Good morning, Agent Vavrin,” Martina greeted timidly from behind the reception counter when I arrived.

  “Morning, Martina.” I tried to give her my most reassuring smile, understanding how nervous and out of place she might still be feeling, being one of the few humans relievers called in to beef up the agencies’ staff.

  Mary Lou, the tree nymph whose job Martina had temporarily taken over, had been down with the flu for the past few days, and such was the case for most other nymphs and natural-born witches in town. Apparently, the virus going on was neither organic nor m
an-made, but rather one that was specially formulated by Nosos.

  She, along with her other sisters, were minor death goddesses and were collectively known as the Keres. In the range of petty criminal to heartless terrorist, they figured in the lower rungs of criminal threat – the Keres might be a major nuisance, but they were unlikely to cause the kind of trouble that would require INTERPOL’s involvement.

  Thoughts of INTERPOL reminded me of Paul, and as I headed up the stairs, I found myself pondering once more about the curious scene between her and our unborn goddess. He had refused to tell me what she had whispered to him, only saying that it was not the right time.

  And since Paul also happened to be Apollo, the god of truth, I couldn’t very well doubt him about that.

  Or could I?

  “Good, you’re here.”

  I almost jumped up in surprise at the sound of my supervisor’s brisk voice. “Good morning, Dike.” Even though I had been working for Dike for several months now, I still couldn’t help feeling nervous in her presence. She was, after all, one of the Horae, the collective term used to describe the Daughters of Justice. In ancient times, they had been some of the greatest defenders mankind had ever known, and Dike was said to be the fiercest and most fearless of her sisters.

  A legendary warrior on all counts, and now she was my boss.

  “Do you need me for anything?” I couldn’t help stealing a look at my watch as I spoke. I was sure I was early for work, but maybe I had lost track of time –

  “Relax, you’re not late.” Dike’s tone was brief, as it always was. “But we are still understaffed, which is why I’ve been waiting for you to come in. I need to ask you for a favor.”

  “Of course.” Only an idiot would say no to Dike, no matter what she asked for.

  “This was supposed to be for Agent Freeman...”

  I automatically accepted the thick case folder Dike handed over while I tried to recall what the Level 3 agent specialized in. Burglary and larceny, I think?

  “He’s been down because of that stupid flu, like all others,” Dike muttered in disgust. “I swear, if I just had the time to hunt down those Keres...” The Daughter of Justice inhaled sharply in an effort to control her temper. “Anyway, do what you can with this case, okay?”

  Dike marched off before I could answer, but that, too, was typical. My boss viewed perfunctory responses as a massive waste of time. Actions always spoke louder than words, and speaking of which...

  I flipped my case folder open to the first page and skimmed to get to the pertinent details: a ransacked guestroom at a small hotel, missing jewelry, and a harpy tourist as the victim.

  A harpy!

  Greek mythology had been my greatest obsession, and having Circe magically pop up in my living room to recruit me had been one of the happiest days of my life. I got to have magic in my life and meet and even work with the kind of people I had only once dreamt of. Witches, nymphs, sirens – and now harpies!

  It was just too bad that most of the time, these magical individuals were someone I could only meet in the most inauspicious circumstances.

  Like now.

  “HEY, SHE-RA.”

  “Good morning, Blair. What can I do for you?”

  “Can you give me the basics about harpies?”

  She-Ra was the name I chose for the agency-issued app-based assistant I installed on my phone, and in moments, She-Ra started to fill me in about the mythical race as I stepped on the gas and made my way to Hotel Nyssa.

  The race of harpies originated from the four children of the sea god Thaumas, the result of a curse laid by his betrayed wife, Electra, an Oceanid. Although immortal like their sire, they were like no other of their kin, with their featherless wings, claws, and androgynous bodies. Their names were Aello, Calaeno, Ocypete, and Podagre, and being the only full-blooded harpies in the entire history of gods and man, they alone possess a natural ability to fly. Similar to the striped skunk (mephitis mephitis), full-blooded harpies are able to release a foul scent that, upon inhalation, can cause nausea and loss of consciousness. In cases of lethal exposure, sprayed individuals may suffer fatal convulsions that may directly result into loss of life.

  The last bit almost had me slamming my foot on the brake in shock. Did I hear that correctly? Can something smell so ridiculously bad it could actually kill you?

  “You’re kidding, right?”

  “I am not programmed to do so, Agent Vavrin. Shall I put in a new function request for this?”

  I couldn’t help but smile at the AI’s too-literal reply. “Err, no thanks.”

  “As you wish, Agent Vavrin.”

  “What about harpy descendants? Can you tell me more about them?”

  Harpy descendants take on the form of human females for the most part of the year and undergo involuntary transformation during the full moon.

  Just like werewolves, I couldn’t help thinking.

  They are, however, able to transform at will in the Season of Leaf Shedding, which is from the first of October until the last leaf of autumn withers. This season is marked by the height of their power, and it is only during this time they are able to make full use of their wings. It is for this reason harpy descendants are known to organize and attend a series of flight parties. As stipulated in the Mt. Olympus Accords of 1694, flight parties require proper registration and may only take place in listed safe zones.

  And of course, is there any other place safer than Silver Mist, whose population is known to have the highest concentration of non-humans in the entire country?

  Although the word ‘harpy’ translates to ‘snatcher’ in Greek, its contextual use in verified historical accounts reveals proof that, contrary to popular myth, this race actually possesses an intrinsic abhorrence to all forms of evil and wrongdoing. In the case of Phineus, harpies “snatched” the food from his mouth as punishment for his abusive treatment of his sons. In the case of Pandareus, harpies had “snatched” his daughters from his possession as the mortal, motivated by greed, had forced his own blood to steal from the gods.

  If anything, harpies are creatures of integrity and honor. They have been known to go on a violent rampage in their selfless quest to right wrongs. They have been known to be ruthless and without mercy when exacting punishment. It is for this reason, in fact, that Triptolemos, one of the immortal judges, has decreed the race barred from acquiring any position in law enforcement, may it be in the domain of humans or supernaturals.

  Mm. Since I knew She-Ra wouldn’t have supplied such information for no reason, I wondered if that was the agencies’ politically correct way of warning agents about the harpies’ natural tendency to turn vigilante?

  Chapter Two

  In books of Greek mythology, Nysa was a picturesque valley that served as a dwelling place for all nymph races, and this fact was certainly reflected on the interior of Hotel Nyssa, with its lush green carpet and potted plants hanging from the ceiling.

  Also, it smelled amazing here, like a mix of fresh water and evergreen mountains – would it be rude if I asked what air freshener they used?

  “Agent Vavrin?”

  I nearly jumped a foot at the interruption. Oh boy, here we go again. “Good day, umm, Your Nymph-ness?”

  The other woman’s lips twitched, and I knew right away I had said the wrong thing. Oh, great. Why did I always end up having a hard time addressing immortals the proper way?

  “Please just call me Caren,” the tall brunette said with a brief smile.

  “Of course.” I mentally crossed my fingers as I spoke. Caren, the hotel owner, might not be the first nymph I met, but she was far from ordinary. According to my agency-issued scanner, Caren was once the queen of the Napaeae, and no way in this world could I ever fathom being on first-name basis with royalty.

  “I must say, it’s been decades since I last came across someone who knows of my past.”

  Noticing how her inquisitive gaze had focused on my scanner, which had since returned to its disguise
d form as a painfully expensive but physically harmless Conway Stewart Westminster teal pen, I nodded in answer, saying somewhat self-consciously, “I’m a self-made neophyte witch.” Among other things, this meant that unlike natural-born witches, I grew up reading the humans’ version of Greek mythology. In most cases, these stories were but twisted versions of the truth, which was why I often had to rely on magical tools for my work.

  “You shouldn’t feel bad about that,” Caren told me as she led the way to the guestrooms upstairs. “It means you worked hard to get where you are, so if anything, you should take pride of being a self-made witch.”

  Spoken just like a queen, I thought, and the words had me incredibly tempted to go down on one knee and swear fealty.

  Thankfully, we made it to the common area on the third floor before I could do anything to embarrass myself. There were several women on the couch, and they all stood as soon as they saw us approaching.

  “Ladies, this is Agent Vavrin of CSI.”

  My mouth opened and closed. It was SOP that I did a quick scan before anyone made any introductions, but I supposed Caren was used to taking charge, being a former queen. All the same, I clicked on my pen, wanting to make sure they were all “safe” to speak to.

  KRIS of NAPAEAE, 24

  TYPE: NYMPH

  ASSOCIATION: N/A

  STATUS: SAFE

  Kris had on the same company uniform Caren wore and bore a striking resemblance to her boss. Understandably, too, since later on Caren introduced the younger woman as a permanent member of her staff and her daughter.

  NOMI SMITH, 66

  TYPE: HARPY

  ASSOCIATION: N/A

  STATUS: SAFE

  Nomi was the president of the Portland Harpy Association. Her hair was cut in a stylish bob, but the streaks of gray softened her look and made Nomi seem like a terribly cool grandmother to have. Certainly, she didn’t look anything like my preconceived ideas of how harpies looked.

  MARLEE KEEGAN, 43