I nodded.
“Paul will never let anything happen to you, and let us not forget that Zeus and Hera are on your side as well.”
“I just don’t want to accidentally embarrass him or anything.”
Jason frowned. “Do you truly think Apollo is the kind of man to be so easily embarrassed?”
“Honestly?” My lips curved in a rueful smile. “Ever since I found out who Paul really was, I’ve never even let myself presume I could understand what’s going on in his mind.”
Jason shook his head. “Then that’s where you’re wrong. You know him far better than you think, Blair,” he murmured cryptically, “and probably far better than he wished you did.”
Chapter Six
To my sweet daughter,
Your father and I miss you so much.
We stayed up late last night just talking about what we would name you.
I hope, whatever we choose, you will love it.
- Letters for the Unborn Goddess: A Compilation
It was a few minutes past six when I stepped out of my house on a Saturday morning, and it was just my luck to chance upon my neighbor tending to her roses. The woman straightened, saying with a rather nosy smile, “Morning, Blair.”
“Morning, Mrs. Murray.” I was hoping that would be the end of that, but I had just managed to unlock my door by the time she crossed the street and was standing right in front of me, watering can in hand.
“Those gentlemen who came over last night,” she hinted.
“Ah, yes.”
“They’re friends of yours at work?”
“They’re my friends, but they work at the same place Paul does.”
Mrs. Murray sniffed. “Is that so?”
“Paul’s the old-fashioned sort,” I felt obliged to explain. “I had to visit a sick friend in Portland, but because he was tied up with work, he, um, got his friends to accompany me instead.”
“Hmph.”
I blinked in confusion when my neighbor turned away with a huff and walked back to her side of the street with a cranky expression on her face.
“Umm, have a nice weekend, Mrs. Murray.”
The older woman didn’t even look up as she resumed watering her roses. It was confusing to say the least, but when Paul called and I told him all about it, the incident immediately had him laughing.
“She was hoping to make you squirm, sweetheart.”
“She w-was?” It was extremely stupid, but his endearments still had the ability to make me stammer.
“More specifically, your Mrs. Murray thought you were cheating on me—-”
“With Troy and Philip?” I gasped.
“I know you had such high hopes of rural bliss when moving to Silver Mist,” Paul murmured, “but small town life isn’t all sunshine and roses.”
“It’s still much better than my former life,” I insisted stubbornly.
“What I’m saying,” Paul countered gently, “is that it’s the people, not the place, that ultimately make life both better and worse.”
Mm. That made sense, but I wondered what – or who – could have happened to a Greek god to make him realize that.
An email arrived at my inbox just as I made it to the lighthouse, and I paused in my stride to read Lana’s update.
Found one-month-old police report on theft, supplies gone missing at a local vet clinic, including ketamine. Case file attached.
PDFs on everything I could find about your vics, also attached.
Let me know if you need anything else.
I quickly emailed Lana a reply.
I’ll give this a look soon as I get to the library. Thanks, Lan!
Much like our headquarters, Clio’s library was housed in another historic site, this time an eerie-looking lighthouse whose driveway was deliberately swallowed by the same magical fog that went around town, preventing humans from seeing anything they weren’t supposed to see.
Unlike our headquarters, however, the lighthouse was just one of the countless portals magically linked to Clio’s library, with its location only known to the muse of history herself.
It was dark, damp, and gloomy inside the lighthouse, a contrived effect to further discourage the few stray humans that might have found their way out of the fog. And yes, I knew this, but even so, I still couldn’t help but shiver as I made my way down to the basement.
Which of course was even darker and scarier, I thought with a grimace. Flashlights, glow sticks, or even good, old-fashioned fire wouldn’t work in this place. This blackout was 100% magical, the product of the god of darkness Erebus himself. Only magic could work against this, but if I waved my wand just once, everyone at Clio’s security room would know, and I’d be a laughingstock.
A CSI agent afraid of the dark?
Err, thanks but no thanks, I’d rather die of terror than be known as the only scaredy-cat law enforcer in town.
At the end of the basement was a brick wall, and after finger-tapping my citizen password in Morse code on its surface, the wall split into halves to reveal a majestic lobby.
Finally!
“Hello again, Agent Vavrin.” Glenn was a college-age satyr who worked weekends at the library, and just like in the previous visits, I had to consciously fight back a smile at his love for preppy clothes. Wool vest over collared shirt, slacks, Oxfords, and even a stylish pair of eyeglasses worn purely for effect (one didn’t have to major in Greek Mythology to know that it was impossible for immortals to have bad eyesight).
He could have passed as a Burberry model, really – just as long as one neglected to notice the pair of sharp horns that poked out of his head.
“Hi, Glenn. I believe I have a reservation today?”
“Lemme see.” The satyr flipped the appointment book open and ran well-manicured fingers over the page. “Yep, saw it.” Moving to the side of the counter, he typed a bit on the computer, and a moment later a plain brown laminated card popped out of the printer. “Use the card key on the elevator, and it should take you all the way down to 1002.”
My jaw dropped open. “Down?”
“Yes, down.” Glenn peered at me through his glasses when I remained glued to my spot. “Do you need anything else?”
“And it’s really 1002, like over a thousand floors below?” I just had to ask. Wouldn’t that put us past the earth’s core or did this mean we were no longer on Earth?
“Ah.” The satyr’s gaze took on a knowing look. “It’s best not to dwell too much on these things.” Glenn’s tone was pragmatic.
“Good advice,” I muttered, “so I’m taking it.”
Just as Glenn disclosed, the elevator took me all the way down to 1002, and just as the satyr advised, I refused to overtax my brain on the logistics of this. A month ago, I had found out that Mt. Olympus was located only a few blocks away from my home. I just needed a bit of time, and this, too, would be ordinary.
A smiling, robed priestess in holographic form was there to welcome me by name as soon as I stepped out of the elevator, and her tone was so strangely familiar I couldn’t help but consider the impossible. “She-Ra?”
“You’re correct, Blair.”
Gaea bewitched, I was right!
“How is this even possible?” I blurted out.
“The automated research system used here is part of the same AI network that crime agencies utilize. Clio thought visitors would have an easier time working if their research assistant was someone familiar.”
“Why didn’t you tell me this when I told you to book my reservation?”
“My real-world variation isn’t authorized to access any knowledge related to this part of the library. As such, I will still not be able to answer any questions you may have related to your time here.”
“But I will be able to keep any data I do get to research, right?”
“Any acquired data from the restricted vaults may be stored here—-” The holographic priestess tapped her temple. “And nowhere else.”
“Are you serious?�
� My memory had a tendency to buckle under pressure, and if I had a hard time enough winning a game of guess-which-cup-has-a-coin-in-it, what chances did I have at memorizing whatever data I obtained from Clio’s restricted vaults?
“Fear not, Blair.” The holographic priestess gestured to the corridor behind her. “If I may?”
A row of metal doors lined each side of the hallway She-Ra led me down to, and I couldn’t help feeling just a bit disappointed at how ordinary the restricted area looked. It looked no different from the usual school corridor, and when I commented as much to She-Ra, she only gave me a Mona Lisa smile in response without saying anything.
That was promising, I thought hopefully.
And I was right.
A door started glowing on our left just as She-Ra paused in her stride. “In the instances that I may not be around to guide you, this is how you will be able to find your room. All other doors will remain locked.”
“Thanks, but – is it possible that you might not be around when I come visit?”
“It has been known to happen.”
Way to go at making me claustrophobic, Holographic She-Ra.
Before entering the room, She-Ra asked that I place my palm on a glass panel next to the door. Its screen lit up, with a neon-green line outlining my palm, and I heard a clicking sound before the plate flipped open to reveal an empty compartment.
“Please deposit all your communication devices here. You are prohibited from using them while inside the room.”
“But what if I have an emergency at work?”
“Then I hope they have the foresight to contact our customer support.”
Left with no choice, I deposited both my mobile phone and wand in the compartment and mentally flinched at hearing the glass panel snap shut. Afterwards, I reluctantly followed She-Ra inside, the words ‘leave the door open’ hovering over my lips.
The room turned out to be a cozy writing nook, and my tension eased as I took in its welcoming ambience. Plush burgundy carpet that covered all the walls and flooring, a leather daybed that seemed to invite the most intimate of confidences, and a gorgeous white Queen Anne writing desk equipped with a row of cubbyholes filled with all kinds of ink bottles.
“Do you have any favorite scent, Blair?”
“Umm...” I had to forcibly drag my gaze from the tiny gold-labeled bottles, which had the most interesting names (dragon’s ink, anyone?). “Lavender, I guess?” No sooner had I finished speaking than tea candles started floating to the air, and I let out a gasp of appreciation as a familiar floral scent added fragrance to the air.
“That’s amazing.”
“And that’s just the start of it,” my holographic companion commented with a pleased smile.
At She-Ra’s request, I pushed a black button found at the side of the writing desk, and the drapes slowly drew open to reveal the most magnificent sight.
Now, this is more like it.
It was like having a peek of Ali Baba’s cave, only this one was gigantic shelf of sparkling crystal vaults. My gaze flew up and down as I tried to speed-count just how many levels of vaults there were. Fifty? One hundred? One thousand? Who knew, and who cared?
All I knew was that it was the most gloriously bookish sight ever, as every time a glowing winged sprite spun a wheel to open a vault, gold-leafed books would fly out and into the hands of another sprite. They made a breathtaking show of grace and speed as they carried tomes to and fro, and I couldn’t help but stick my nose to the window when I saw one sprite slowing down and feeding the tome into a slot.
The sprite suddenly looked up, and I stumbled back at the unexpected flash of fire in her eyes. Turning to She-Ra, I said awkwardly, “I think I just made one of them mad.”
“They probably sensed you’re not a natural-born witch.”
“They don’t like humans?”
“In the medieval age, human alchemists had been known to capture sprites in an effort to unlock the secrets of immortality.”
“Right. And sorry.” It was the only word I seemed fated to utter every time my former race played a role in the history of non-humans.
“It is not your fault,” She-Ra said kindly. “And now, if you would please take your seat?” She waited patiently while I gingerly lowered myself to the high-backed chair, which then automatically swung towards the desk, and I let out a startled yelp as I found its velvet back forcing me out of my slouch.
“Clio believes excellent posture is one of the essential keys to efficient posture,” She-Ra murmured.
So that’s why we only had stools and benches in the main library.
“Now, if you could please open the center drawer...”
I did as asked and found a blank roll of gilt-edged papyrus paper.
“This will serve as your only means of communication to the outside world, and you may only send a message to any non-human who has a verified citizen password. All messages are screened by library security before they’re transformed into emails.”
“And if they answer my message?”
“Those, too, will have to be screened.” She-Ra pointed to the uppermost drawer on my left. “If you could please open that?”
This time, the drawer revealed an impressive assortment of quills, and I picked one that supposedly used the feather of a griffin. “What does this one do?”
“A vastly powerful tool that must only be used in emergencies,” She-Ra answered. “Any individual found guilty of invalid use will be sentenced to two years of community service under Erysichthon’s management.”
“Umm...wasn’t Erysichthon the guy cursed with eternal starvation?”
“That is him, yes, and he eventually ate himself in his hunger.”
I quickly but very carefully returned the griffin-feathered quill to its rightful place. Who needed quills, anyway? Ballpoint pens were so much better, and – more importantly – they’d never get you accidentally killed by self-cannibalism.
“Now, if you could please touch your desk...”
A holographic keyboard appeared as soon as my fingers grazed the surface of the desk.
“Use this as you would a search engine, and the sprites will feed the necessary text into the system. Once you’re done, simply close your browser, and if you could please open the drawer to your right—-”
I was more reluctant to do so this time, and my dread increased when I saw the bubbling, gurgling liquid inside a pair of flasks.
“The blue one is brewed by Mnemosyne—-”
“The goddess of memories?”
“Yes. The potion will allow you to retain all the information you’ve obtained here with perfect clarity for forty-eight hours. You will not, however, be able to share the information to any living thing.”
“And when the 48-hour period lapses, what then?”
“You will remember as much as your mortal brain allows.”
“What about the second potion?”
“It contains a drop of water from the River Styx, thus effectively preventing you from sharing information you’ve obtained from our vaults with any living thing.”
“But if I were forced...”
She-Ra simply smiled. “It is best not to dwell on such things.”
Now where had I heard of that before?
Chapter Seven
I was driven thence by foul winds for a space of 9 days upon the sea, but on the tenth day we reached the land of the Lotus-eaters, who live on a food that comes from a kind of flower.
Here we landed to take in fresh water, and our crews got their mid-day meal on the shore near the ships.
When they had eaten and drunk I sent two of my company to see what manner of men the people of the place might be, and they had a third man under them.
They started at once, and went about among the Lotus-eaters, who did them no hurt, but gave them to eat of the lotus, which was so delicious that those who ate of it left off caring about home, and did not even want to go back and say what had happened to them, but were for
staying and munching lotus with the Lotus-eaters without thinking further of their return; nevertheless, though they wept bitterly I forced them back to the ships and made them fast under the benches.
Then I told the rest to go on board at once, lest any of them should taste of the lotus and leave off wanting to get home, so they took their places and smote the grey sea with their oars.
~ The Iliad ~
Asking the sprites about anything they had related to ketamine produced only one result: a scanned image of a torn-out recipe page from a cookbook personally penned by the Graeae. Described as winged, gray-haired hags in Greek mythology books, these sisters more famously served as inspiration for the witches Shakespeare had written about in Macbeth. But unlike how they were personified by the Bard of Avon, the Graeae was rather amoral in nature and had no interest in meddling with worldly affairs. All that concerned the undying cronies were exploring the dark arts, and the consequences brought about by their forbidden teachings were of no import to them.
2 tbsp. lotus, crushed
1 tbsp. ketamine
1 tsp. salt
According to the instructions, the ingredients had to be mixed together in a cauldron blessed by Hecate, boiled under a full moon, and made potent by an incantation that was also included in the recipe.
When all conditions were met, any harpy who was to consume the brew would be enslaved, “her mind blind to the dastardly acts performed by her hands.”
My mind moved back in time, recalling the pertinent details about my cases.
No signs of break-in...
An unbroken warding spell that prevented anyone except another harpy to enter...
And in both cases, the victims were harpies...
Only they weren’t just that.
Her mind blind to the dastardly acts performed by her hands
I pulled the drawer of quills open and scanned the set. Aha! I grabbed the one labeled Standard Mail, dipped it into a similarly labeled ink bottle, and tore a sheet from the roll of papyrus paper.
Me: Do you think you can get me blood samples from Marlee and Graham?
After a few moments, a message icon popped up on the surface of my writing desk.
A Season of Gods and Witches Page 22
