by Raye Wagner
Hope looked up from the bouquets to see the shadows at the back of the stall shift. A short man dressed in black advanced, his step both graceful and predatory.
This was not the same man she’d seen by the Fish Market earlier, and yet his movements were eerily similar, as were his pale skin and dark eyes.
Her heart rate doubled, and she instinctively stepped back. Her conversation with Priska came crashing back. Hope knew what this monster was.
“Leto! Hope!” Priska pushed through the crowd toward them. Time seemed to slow.
Leto took the change from the vendor and turned toward her best friend, expression morphing from excitement to terror. The paper-wrapped bouquet slipped to the ground.
Hope looked from her mother to her aunt, and her muscles tensed even as her vision tunneled. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the dark figure coming straight for them. She suppressed the cry bubbling up her throat.
Priska crashed into them, grabbing them with shaky limbs. She jerked her head side to side, her eyes bulging. “Holy Hades! What in the name of All. The. Gods. are you doing here?”
Hope’s gaze swung back to the stall. Unable to look away, she watched as the man melted back into the shadows. The vendors were oblivious to him, even after he overturned a bucket of lilies and one of the workers jumped to save the blossoms from being trampled. No one, not one single person, turned to look at him.
“This place is crawling with Skia!” Priska scolded them. “If I’d known you were coming here . . . I would’ve never agreed—”
Leto shook her head. “I had no idea. I figured with all the people we’d be safe. I even brought the blades. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”
Skia! Hope’s heart tripped over and over again.
The immortal knives had been passed down by her grandmother and were Leto’s, and subsequently Hope’s, only protection from immortal beings. Her mom must have them in her purse.
“Of all the places you could’ve picked.” Priska looked back and forth between the two of them. “You haven’t seen any?”
Leto shook her head.
“By the gods, you have incredible luck.” She let out an exhale that sounded like a million worries. “Let’s get out of here.”
They started to the car, walking close together. Hope watched the two vigilant women, then glanced around as if she would see something they missed.
An Asian couple hurried past, the woman speaking in her native tongue. A kid on a scooter, followed by his harried father. A jogging stroller pushed by a woman with neon-orange shoes.
They walked past a bank, and a young man stepped out from the doorway and bumped into her.
“Pardon.”
It took a moment before she realized he’d apologized. When she turned to acknowledge him, he grabbed the brim of his baseball cap and tilted his head at her, effectively blocking most of his face from her view, with the exception of his smile, and . . . a dimple? He was fair, but not in a pasty way. He wore short sleeves, and dark tattoos banded his arms. She couldn’t help but stare. He was definitely alive, and definitely not Skia.
Nevertheless, she had the distinct impression he was watching them all the same.
“Hope!” Her mom’s voice broke her focus, and Hope turned to see the two women standing at her mom’s blue sedan at least a hundred feet up the street. “For the love of Artemis, please stay with us!”
Hope hurried toward the car but glanced back. The young man was gone.
“Sorry, Mom.” She turned and offered a half smile.
Leto shook her head and pushed the button to unlock the doors.
“Did you see something?” Priska pierced Hope with her gaze.
She ducked into the car, thinking about her answer. If she told the truth, her newfound freedom would disappear. If she had to pick, death sounded better than isolation.
“She was staring at that boy.” Leto shook her head.
Afraid her voice wouldn’t convey the conviction, and embarrassed that she had been caught by her mother, Hope deflected, “How did you know there were Skia there?”
“Are you kidding me?” Priska’s brows raised. “There are always Skia, but this area is close to a conservatory for demigods. The more immortals there are around, the more Skia.” She turned back to the front, but her voice was strong, almost angry as she continued, “If they find you, they’ll kill you. In the future, probably best to stay out of downtown.”
“Does this mean we have to go home?” The expectations of a day out began crumbling around Hope.
“No.” Leto looked at Priska. “No. We’re doing something different. We can go to the mall . . . in Bellevue. And we’ll have lunch on the Eastside, too. There are lots of great restaurants there.”
“Then why didn’t you just stay in Bellevue?” Priska’s muttering carried to the back. “It’s quieter there. Safer.”
Leto pinched the bridge of her nose. “We’ll stay on the Eastside from now on. Trust me, all I want is to keep us safe.”
“If your mom marries my dad, then you guys will stop moving, right?” Sarra brushed her raven-colored hair over her shoulder. Her dark curls fell forward, a stark contrast to her pale skin, as she leaned into the aisle to talk with Hope. “Then you can stay until we go to college.”
Hope wasn’t going to correct her. There was no way her mom was going to marry Paul. There was no way they would stay in Bellevue. The fact that they’d been there almost six months puzzled Hope, but for the first time in her life she had a real friend. Or at least the closest thing to it. She wasn’t about to tell her mom that Ms. Chandler had brought up her regular absences just that morning.
Hope stared at the clock, waiting for the bell that would announce class and stop Sarra from chatting about the impossible.
Sure, it was nice to have Sarra and her father, Paul, around. It had been four months of tentative steps toward normalcy. For some reason, Leto had decided Sarra and her father, new move-ins to the apartment complex shortly after the Nicholas’s arrival, would be safe as friends. And, slowly, her mom had let her guard down.
But the curse made it very clear, every single month, that Hope and her mom were not normal. They were monsters, and if Paul and Sarra knew . . . Hope wanted to believe that their friendship would withstand that information. That the dinners, the sleepovers, and more recently the weekend trips would continue regardless. But a lifetime of reminders couldn’t be erased over a few months.
And something told her there was a ticking time bomb hiding beneath all this normalcy, something ominous just on the horizon. She hadn’t seen Skia again since the trip to Seattle, all those months ago. But if Skia found Hope and her mom . . . The creatures from the Underworld were no longer a nebulous figment of her mom’s imagination. Nor were the demigods.
Maybe Hope should say something to her mom tonight.
“Anyway, it would be awesome to be sisters. We could share a room and stay up late sharing secrets—”
Hope snorted.
“What?” Sarra asked, just as the bell rang.
Ms. Chandler called the class to order.
Hope steeled herself for another worthless mythology lesson. Her gaze flitted over the pictures of the gods and heroes hung around the room, exaggerated caricatures with something that was supposed to relate to their prominent powers. Her gaze landed on Apollo, the sun rising behind him while he cured the sick and music notes floated in the air. As if.
Ms. Chandler said something about immortal weapons, and Hope turned her attention to her instructor. Maybe she would learn something new after all.
“Hephaestus forged weapons for each of the gods, two daggers each. Most of the gods gave the daggers to their demigod children as a means of defense. The knives were eternal, could not be destroyed, and they gave the demigods power to slay other immortal beings. Like the monsters.” Ms. Chandler glanced over her class. “Yes, Teresa?”
“Why would the demigods kill all the monsters? I mean, it’s not like they were all
scary, right? I mean, nymphs?”
“The nymphs, like other monsters, were mixed breeds—part divine, part mortal—and their power certainly made them a force to reckon with,” Ms. Chandler replied. “If you had done your homework, you would know that they could cause dumbness, blindness, and even madness.”
The class fell silent with the reprimand.
“Not all monsters were what you would consider scary looking. Many looked human, or partially so,” Ms. Chandler continued. “In fact, the sirens were beautiful. Their beauty was the lure that made them so deadly. And think about the Minotaur. King Minos put him in an underground maze to try to protect his people. Even then humans had no defense over the divine. The immortal weapons gave the demigods an advantage.”
“But that was forever ago. Some say it didn’t even happen,” Teresa said. “That it’s just myth.”
Ms. Chandler inclined her head, as if in agreement. “I can understand some disbelief. How many of you have met a monster?” When no one raised their hand, she continued, “What about a demigod?”
Still no one indicated in the affirmative.
Almost as if Hope’s knowledge would jump out of her mouth, she bit her lips closed. How could people not know?
“Really? That’s interesting.” Ms. Chandler frowned. “Well, there is some suspicion about possible dwindling numbers of demigods. However, others believe their psachno group is doing a better job of getting demigods to conservatories at a younger age.”
Hope sat up.
“What’s a psachno?”
Hope was saved from asking by another student.
“Excellent question. Psachno is Greek for seeker, or one who seeks. It is believed that within their conservatory communities, each demigod has an appointed role. Psachno find other demigods and bring them to the safety of conservatories which are divinely protected from Skia and monsters,” said Ms. Chandler. “At one time, there was a group of demigods dedicated to the eradication of monsters. Fonias, I believe they were called.” Ms. Chandler thumped her desk, drawing the class’s drifting attention. “What would cause an entire race to be killed?”
“They’re a threat. To humans and demigods. Monsters have killed millions,” said a girl named Jessica.
“So, what happened?” Ms. Chandler asked the rhetorical question, effectively drawing the attention back to the subject.
“The demigods slaughtered them.” Jessica announced the annihilation of the mixed breeds in a tone that spoke volumes.
Hope wanted to hit her.
Ms. Chandler nodded. “About a hundred years ago, an enthusiastic son of Ares led the charge. And for the last century it has been believed he’s been responsible for the annihilation of almost all the monsters. Some may have escaped, like Scylla, but these exceptions are likely protected by the gods who created them.”
The door opened, and a portly woman with bleached-blond hair put her head through the opening.
“Excuse me?” She looked from the classroom of teens up to Ms. Chandler. “I need Hope Nicholas to come with me.”
Ms. Chandler looked at Hope with raised brows. “Go ahead. You can get the assignment when you come back.”
“She won’t be back this period, Ms. Chandler.” There was a tightness around the woman’s eyes.
Hope and Sarra exchanged a look, and Sarra mouthed that she would call Hope when class was over.
Ms. Chandler waved. “Then she can get it tomorrow.”
Hope put her binder and her copy of Myths and Legends away and then slung her backpack over her shoulder.
What on earth could she be needed for at the office? She and her mom had shifted three weeks ago, so it was too early to have to do with the curse. Maybe they were going away with Paul and Sarra for the weekend, but then Sarra would be coming too . . .
Hope followed the squat woman down the hall and into the office, the awkward silence ballooning into a presence between them.
Finally, Hope couldn’t take it anymore. “Um, why am I here?”
The watery-blue eyes that met Hope’s were drawn as if trying to hold back overwhelming emotion, and the woman’s bright-pink lips pulled down into a sympathetic smile.
“Oh, baby. Ms. Tessie will be with you in just a second.” The woman looked around the empty space and shuffled behind the counter, tossing over her shoulder, “I’m so sorry, sweetie.”
Sorry? What was she sorry about? An empty feeling began to crawl up from the depths of Hope’s soul.
“Hope Nicholas?” Ms. Tessie stepped out from her office and waved Hope toward her door.
Dread exploded in Hope’s chest, its flames licking at her heart.
Ms. Tessie wasn’t the principal. She was the school counselor.
“Come on into my office, please.” The counselor was still young, her dark hair cropped in a pixie cut. She had a silver stud in her nose but was dressed in a cardigan and pant set that looked like she was trying hard to be older than her actual years.
“What’s going on?”
Ms. Tessie said nothing until the door was closed.
In the seconds before she spoke, Hope noticed how Ms. Tessie’s hazel eyes had more gold flecks than Priska’s.
“I think you’d better sit down.” Ms. Tessie pointed to a plush leather chair opposite the dark mahogany desk that took up most of the room.
Hope swallowed. “No, thank you.” She swallowed again. “What happened? Where’s my mom?”
The young counselor’s lips pulled down into the same sympathetic smile. “I’m so sorry to be the one to tell you. There’s been an accident, and . . . your . . . Your mother’s passed, Hope.”
She blinked as if to clear her vision. Over and over again. Passed? Her brain stuttered over the term, rejecting it. This couldn’t be happening. It had to be a dream.
“There was a fire . . . at the apartment. Your Aunt Priska is on her way . . .”
Hope’s backpack slid to the floor. Someone was pounding on her chest, and she couldn’t catch her breath. She felt her heart beat, beat, beat, and then it ripped in two. She couldn’t feel her hands, and something wet was dripping onto her shirt.
“Oh, sweet girl.”
Foreign arms wrapped her in a smothering embrace, squeezing out the light in her eyes, in her life.
Gone. She was gone. Her mom . . .
“No! No! No!” Hope wrenched from the oppressive vise and backed away. “No. There has to be a mistake. You’re wrong.” She glared daggers at the counselor, turned, grabbed the handle of the door, and ran.
The tears streaming down Hope’s face obscured her vision, and she ran blindly until she couldn’t run anymore, and then she walked.
She could smell acrid smoke even before she arrived at the complex, and the flashing lights of police and fire trucks lit the hazy air. The school bus momentarily blocked her view, and then a crowd of kids stood gaping at the scene.
Hope pushed past them and stood at the bottom of the steps that would lead to her apartment. Yellow tape blocked the entrance. Her heart sank deep into her chest, and her legs wouldn’t hold her up any longer.
“Hope?” Sarra approached, her violet eyes puffy and rimmed in red.
Hope looked up at her best friend.
“My mom . . .” She couldn’t say it. A sob broke, and Hope put her head in her hands, trying to block out the reality swimming in front of her. This couldn’t be real.
A warm hand on her shoulder was followed by an arm, and then Sarra sat next to her, scooting close. “I’m so sorry.”
Hope couldn’t speak. She buried her head in her arms and let the tears fall.
“Do you know what happened?”
Hope waved at the evidence above. It was all she knew for sure. A fire? They couldn’t be killed by fire, could they? Skia? Demigods? A god? Something had found her mom.
The shrill blare of a horn blew, and Paul’s white car slowed in front of the two girls.
“Sarra, get in.” His voice was tinged with panic. He circled the front
of the car and opened the passenger door. “Right now.”
His eyes stayed focused on his daughter, as if the world might collapse if he let her out of his sight.
Sarra stood slowly. “In the car?” She blinked once. Twice. “Now?”
“Now.” He stepped forward, grabbing her arm, and pulled.
Sarra stumbled and looked back at Hope.
Paul pushed Sarra, forcing her through the open door and into the car, avoiding her questions and her pleas. He didn’t even look at Hope.
The door closed, and Paul leaned against it, his head in his hands.
“I’m sorry.” He mumbled the apology, just barely audible. “You’re a . . . monster. A beast. You’re not safe, and I need to keep my daughter safe.” Without looking at her, Paul got in the car and drove away.
Hope stared at her hands as if the answers might appear within her palms, but the only thing she saw were the lines and cracks, a map that went nowhere, that meant nothing.
She was a monster. Of course Sarra wasn’t safe. Of course they wouldn’t love her. Of course they left when they found out.
Hope’s vision blurred, and she bowed her head to the consuming grief.
“You shouldn’t be here.”
The broken voice was familiar, and she turned to see Priska, her face splotchy with emotion.
“Come on.” The older woman extended her hand.
“No.” Hope’s protest was a weak whisper.
Priska pulled Hope to her feet and put an arm around her waist, as if to hold her up. “It’s time to go.”
“Where?”
Tears ran down Priska’s cheeks. She cleared her throat but still choked on the words. “I’m taking . . . you home with me tonight.”
Home with her? But Hope’s mom . . . Maybe this was a mistake. Maybe her mom was just injured. Maybe she was at the store. How would Hope know? How would she know what really happened? “Can I see her? Can I see my mom?”
Priska looked horrified. “You don’t . . . You don’t want that memory.”
“Am I going to stay with you?” Hope looked down at her aunt.
