Cursed by the Gods

by Raye Wagner

  She glanced out the side mirror and saw the Skia standing over the body of the man.

  “Come on, come on . . .” she whimpered.

  The engine turned over, and she put the car into reverse.

  She was almost to the bridge when she realized she was shivering.

  She turned the heater on full blast, but her teeth continued to chatter. Too afraid to stop, she drove until she was outside her house.

  Safe, safe, safe, she chanted in her mind. But she did not, could not, get out of the car. She sat debating her fear, trying to talk herself out of her shock. She knew that’s what this was, and it was to be expected, even normal, considering. But it was all useless; she couldn’t move.

  Unconscious of time passing, she eventually became aware she wasn’t shivering or cold anymore. She glanced at the dash. It was well past two in the morning.

  She should go inside, wash up. The thought of the gore on her hands was motivation enough. She turned the car off, and as she pulled the keys from the ignition, she noticed her golden dagger in the cup holder. Right where she put it when she climbed into the car. She grabbed the blade, opened the door, and stepped out into the chilly night.

  I’m home. It’s okay. One foot in front of the other.

  In a sort of shell-shocked trance, she didn’t hear her name being called at first. When she did, she instantly recognized the voice and looked around for the source.

  Athan crossed her lawn in long strides.

  “Hope? Are you all right?” His approach slowed as he got closer.

  “Sure.” She attempted to mask her weariness. “What are you doing out so late?” She needed to distract him, to steer the conversation away from her. Her gaze darted to his truck parked on the street right next to her house. How could she have missed it?

  “I was down at the river, remember? I dropped Tristan off, and I was heading home when I saw your car running with the lights on. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  He was close enough that she could feel the heat rolling off his body. Unconsciously, she rubbed her hands over her chilled arms.

  The silence was uncomfortable. Had he asked her something? “What?”

  “I said, are you okay?”

  “Yeah, I’m fine. I dropped some boxes off at . . . at the Salvation Army.” She shuddered and forced herself to continue. “Just doing some house cleaning, trying to make the place look lived in.”

  It seemed like forever ago that he’d been in her house.

  She took a deep breath to steady herself and smelled him, the sharpness of his soap, and the campfire that clung to his skin. He was staring at her with wide eyes, his head shaking. He took another step forward and touched her lightly, his fingers brushing her forehead. He withdrew his hand and looked at it.

  “What is it?” she asked.

  “Hope.” His voice throbbed with anxiety. “Why do you have blood on your face?”

  She reflected briefly, but words failed to come, and she stood dumbly looking down. The ground started to shake, and it wasn’t until Athan put his arms around her that she understood. She was trembling.

  He pried her keys from her fingers and led her inside. Turning lights on as he went, he guided her into the study and pushed her into the overstuffed chair.

  “Shh, shh. You’re okay. You’re safe. You’re home,” he whispered, the cadence of his voice a soft lull.

  Eventually, she stopped shaking. She stuffed the dagger in between the cushions and grabbed the edge of her sleeve to wipe her eyes, but the moisture was sticky. One glance and her stomach rolled. Her sleeves were saturated with blood, and maroon splattered the front of her shirt, too.

  She pushed herself up and stumbled past Athan and into the bathroom. She dropped to the floor, and her stomach heaved. She vomited again and again as tears rolled down her cheeks. She yanked off her shirt. She had to get the blood off.

  “Hope?” Athan came through the doorway and knelt next to her.

  He handed her a wet washcloth, and when she didn’t take it, he wiped down her face and hands, rinsing the cloth after each pass.

  She lay her head down on the floor and started to cry, a soft whimper, pleading for relief from the horror of her memories as they flashed through her mind.

  “Shh.” He rubbed her back, the contact of his hand warm and comforting. “Shh.”

  When her tears stopped, he stood up. “I’ll be right back.”

  He returned shortly with a clean T-shirt and pajama bottoms.

  “I’ll wait out here while you get changed.” He closed the door behind him.

  She stood, looking down at the gore on her sweats. She peeled them off and threw them into the corner behind the door. She dressed and pulled herself out of the bathroom.

  Athan sat on the couch and patted the spot next to him. “What happened?”

  She sat close enough that she could feel his warmth, needing the reassurance that could only come from another human being. With a deep breath, she tried to explain. “When I dropped off that stuff, there were . . . two men. I hit . . . I hit him. I must have gotten some of his blood . . . on . . . me.”

  She looked up to see Athan gaping at her.

  “But you’re okay?” He crouched down, cupping her cheeks in his hands.

  She forced herself to focus on his eyes. Such a strange green. Like the moss on the trunks in Bellevue. What was he saying?

  “Are you okay?”

  She brushed her tongue over the roof of her mouth. It felt like sandpaper. “Water. Please. I’m . . . so . . .”

  Too exhausted to think anymore, she curled into a ball. When he returned, she took the cup gratefully and drank the contents.

  He sat next to her, his arm circled around her, his hand resting on her back. He brushed a tendril of hair back behind her ear. With his touch came warmth, and she involuntarily leaned toward him.

  “Just . . . sit here . . . a minute?” If he would just stay for a minute or two, she would be all right.

  “Sure.”

  He took her hand, and she felt comfort. Peace. Her lids became heavy, and she fought to stay conscious.

  “Thank you,” she mumbled. She knew she should ask him to leave, or see him out, but she couldn’t make herself move. She felt the light touch of him tracing his fingers over her hand, and as she drifted off to sleep, she was vaguely aware of him humming.

  When Hope awoke, her thoughts were already racing.

  She sat up, the memory of the previous night’s events crashing into her. She glanced down at her clothes, and while they were clean, she could see flecks of blood under her fingernails. Her attacker’s blood. Her victim’s blood.

  Her stomach lurched, and she dashed to the bathroom. Throwing up bile, Hope retched until her muscles hurt, then rested her head on the floor until the churning stopped. The sharp tang of bleach burned her nostrils.

  Willing her rubbery legs to hold, she stood at the sink and brushed her teeth. Then, she filled her hands with liquid soap. With the water running, she scrubbed her fingers with her toothbrush, and then her palms. Suds dripped into the water, disappearing down the drain. Her skin was raw, and the water stung as she rinsed the last drops of her fight down the drain.

  Her body ached, and she was overcome by the urge to clean every part of herself present at the attack. She turned on the shower and then remembered Athan. Was he still there? She turned off the water and tiptoed out into the hall.

  “Athan?” Her voice broke, and she cleared her throat. “Athan?” She looked in the study, the kitchen, the spare bedroom, and the living room. Finding herself alone in her own home and the front door locked, she went back to the bathroom.

  She bathed fiercely, scrubbing until her skin was tender. When the water ran cold, she climbed out. While she dressed, she remembered her clothes from last night, still behind the door.

  But the clothes were gone, as was the washcloth and towel she’d used last night. Sharp as the scent of bleach, understanding cut through her. She sh
ivered as icy fingers of dread crawled over her scalp and down her back. She shut the bathroom door and climbed onto her bed. The panic made her ache for the familiar. She called Priska’s number, hoping but not believing. It went to voicemail on the first ring. With a sigh, Hope disconnected. Why bother leaving another message?

  What to do? She should leave Goldendale, move to another part of the state, or maybe another part of the country. She left all those boxes at the Salvation Army, and, no doubt, the cops would link her to the crime. She thought of the Skia and then . . . The man travelling with him was definitely alive. But humans couldn’t see Skia, which meant . . . Her head swam; there was a pounding, a constant thumping, and she closed her eyes in an attempt to seek relief from the incessant noise.

  The pounding stopped, and she let out a sigh of relief. Then the floor creaked, and her heart stuttered.

  “Hope?” Athan tapped on her bedroom door.

  A sob escaped her lips.

  “Hey.” Athan sat on the bed next to her and wrapped his arms around her, pressing her into him.

  She couldn’t control it. She sobbed into the warmth of his shirt.

  Her comfort turned to embarrassment and then horror at the reality swirling around her. What did he know? What could she say?

  She ducked her head and pulled away from him, mumbling something akin to an apology, if it had been coherent.

  He scooted close to her again. “What?”

  “I’m. Sorry.” She said it slow so that she wouldn’t have to repeat it again.

  He wrapped his arms back around her, and his chuckle rumbled through his chest. “Yes. I can see that you are.”

  She felt brief pressure on the top of her head, and then he pulled away.

  “I’m staying with you today. All day.” He picked up her hand and threaded his fingers through hers. “And before you protest.” He tightened his grip. “You do need me to.”

  Hope frowned, her eyebrows pulling down in a grimace.

  “I saw the news this morning. There was an attack last night in the Dalles. Some guy named Antony Kohl who was out on parole. A real dirt bag.”

  She felt like she couldn’t breathe.

  “There’s speculation that he was a demigod, and Skia killed him. The police are looking into it.”

  Her vision spotted, and the room spun.

  “Hope! Breathe.”

  She gasped.

  “Don’t do that.” He cupped her face in his hands, forcing her to meet his eyes. “I can’t help if you pass out.”

  What was he talking about? Help her? Help her what?

  “Have you eaten today?”

  She shook her head and looked down at their hands. Hers lay in his, but even with his fingers wrapped tight, she could see the tremor.

  “Stay right here, okay? I’ll be right back.”

  “Okay.” She leaned back into the pillows, her eyelids heavy. She had been up for just over an hour. Why was she so tired?

  She could hear him pulling dishes from the cabinets, opening and closing the fridge. Lulled into a sense of security, she closed her eyes.

  “Here you go, Sleeping Beauty.” He set a plate with two slices of cinnamon toast in front of her. “I would have made you more, but I think it’s best we make sure you can keep this down.”

  She took a bite and savored the sugary spice flavor. She inhaled the rest. “Thanks.”

  He took the plate and set it on the dresser, then sat at the foot of her bed. “I burned your clothes this morning. I think the only link anyone will have to last night will be the boxes you dropped off. Do they have your name on them?”

  She thought about it. “Yes, just . . .” Just Nicholas, her last name. But that wasn’t what she was going by. “Just my last name.”

  “Okay. That’s okay. Donating stuff doesn’t tie you to the . . . incident.”

  Incident? Is that what he was calling it? “Do they have a security camera?”

  He shook his head. “Nope. It was on the news.” He sighed. “I think today will be the hardest. We need to make sure it’s like nothing happened. Just in case.”

  Just in case. The swallow was almost painful. She could do this. “I could drop off the rest of the boxes.”

  “Let’s do it.” He tilted his head toward her. “Anything else you need to get done today?”

  “Homework.”

  He smiled. “Let’s get started. Just like any other day.” He stood, collected the plate from the dresser, and stepped into the hallway.

  She snacked on dry cereal while she peeled and cut vegetables. Finished with a mound of onions, carrots, and potatoes, she dropped them into the large Crock-Pot. The mundane movements helped steady her heart rate. After filling the bottom of the pot, she seasoned the chuck roast she’d bought earlier that week and put it on top of the vegetables.

  Athan sat quietly at the table, looking between her and his math homework.

  “What happened last night?” she asked. “The last thing I remember was drifting off on the couch.”

  “You fell asleep. I moved you to your bed, then I slept out here on the couch till about seven. I checked on you before I left to shower and change clothes; you were still asleep.”

  She noticed his hair was still damp. “And the bathroom?”

  “I thought it would be better if you didn’t have to face the cleanup.”

  She blushed and nodded.

  “Oh.” He dug into his pocket and then put her keys on the table. “I’m sorry. I took these. I wasn’t sure how else to lock up when I left.”

  She shrugged. “It’s okay. Thanks for your help. I think . . . I might have gone a little crazy.” Her emotions simmered inside her, threatening to boil over, and knew she’d better change the subject.

  He stood and reached for her hand. “What do you say we take the rest of the boxes to the Goodwill in Yakima?”

  Instinctively, she stepped back. “No. Let’s drop them at the Dalles. I . . . I need to not be afraid.”

  His hand dropped to her waist. “Do you want me to load everything into my truck?”

  “No. There’s room in my car. The trunk is still full, but the last few boxes should fit in the back.”

  “All right.” He lightly pushed her aside. “Let me get a drink of water, then I’ll go load. Meet you at the car?”

  The heat from his hand was still there, and she wanted to soak in that warmth. She shook herself free from the trance. “I’ll go get my shoes.” She dropped the keys onto the table for him and went to her bedroom.

  He was loading the last box into the back seat when she came out. She got the keys and locked up the house. Athan walked over to the driver’s side.

  “Hey, I’ll drive,” she protested.

  With a shake of his head, he said, “I don’t think you should be behind the wheel today.” He slid into the car and then looked up at her and grinned. “Besides, I’m a male chauvinist. I always drive.”

  The joke made her smile. She climbed into the passenger side.

  When he started the car, the radio blared, and he quickly shut it off.

  Funny, I don’t remember hearing anything on the way home last night. She remembered the blood on her hands, and her eyes locked on the steering wheel.

  “I cleaned up in here, too,” Athan explained. “It wasn’t bad, but . . . Hope?”

  “Hmm?”

  “If anyone ever asks . . .” He fiddled with the keys for a moment before meeting her eyes. “I want you to tell them we were together last night.”

  “But you were at the river.”

  “Yes, but I was back in Goldendale before midnight.”

  Midnight? “But that would mean . . .” She couldn’t say it. He sat in his car, watching her for over two hours?

  “I promise I’m not stalking you. I drove around for a while. When I passed your place, I saw you sitting in your car. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

  A strange feeling warmed her chest. Unsure of what it was, or what it meant, she was
certain of one thing: She was glad to have him here.

  He lifted his hand from the wheel, and gently wove his fingers through hers.

  She looked down at his dark olive skin and her own, pale gold. In her chest, hundreds of butterflies emerged from cocoons. She slid her hand away.

  “I don’t . . .” She struggled not only with what to say but how to say it. “I don’t understand you.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I . . . I don’t know if I can trust you. How do you know if you can trust someone?” She wanted to, and was so, so afraid.

  “You just decide.” He grabbed her hand again. “Trust me. I promise you won’t regret it.”

  His warmth seeped from her fingers up her arm and into her heart.

  She took the leap. “Okay.”

  The click of a seatbelt awoke her, and Hope sat up rubbing her eyes. They’d arrived in the Dalles.

  Athan leaned toward her, his hand on her leg. “Why don’t you just sit tight? This will only take a second.”

  She nodded. When he left the car, she sat up and stared at the empty alleyway. Memories flashed through her mind like pictures. The Skia standing there watching her. What did he mean his master wanted to talk with her? Why would Hades want her?

  She leaned back in her seat and pulled out her phone. She wanted to send a note to Priska. Crap. Someone else had Priska’s phone. Oh, gods, Hope had called her this morning. Did she leave a message?

  “So.” Athan slid back into the driver’s seat. “What else do you have on your agenda today?”

  There was nothing she could do about it now. She sighed and concentrated on what needed to happen today. “I need to finish my algebra and Spanish. What about you?”

  The right corner of his mouth turned up in a half smile.

  “Same.” He paused briefly. “Is it going to bother you if I crash and do homework with you? Maybe stay for dinner?”

  “Um, did you just invite yourself over for dinner?” Inside, relief washed over her. The last thing she wanted was to be alone.

  He chuckled. “Yes. Yes, I did. Is that okay?”

  “Yes.” She smiled. “Actually, it’s a great idea. I owe you more than dinner for all your help.”