Soul Selecta

by Gill McKnight

  Table of Contents

  Synopsis

  What Reviewers Say About Gill McKnight’s Work

  By the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Dedication

  Prologue

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Chapter Thirty

  Chapter Thirty-one

  Chapter Thirty-two

  Chapter Thirty-three

  Chapter Thirty-four

  Chapter Thirty-five

  Chapter Thirty-six

  Chapter Thirty-seven

  Chapter Thirty-eight

  Chapter Thirty-nine

  Chapter Forty

  Chapter Forty-one

  Epilogue

  About the Author

  Books Available from Bold Strokes Books

  Synopsis

  Fated love? A destiny in the stars? Together for all eternity? It doesn’t work like that. At least not without a lot of blood, sweat, and tears behind the scenes where the Soul Selector spins her magical trickery. It is her job is to identify soul mates as they enter this world and somehow get them to fall in love. Aphrodite and all the other gods need this purest love of all. They feed on it. But soul mates are notoriously difficult to work with, and the Soul Selector has just found a particularly stupid pair.

  What Reviewers Say About Gill McKnight’s Work

  “A departure from the run-of-the-mill lesbian romance, Goldenseal is enjoyable for its uniqueness as well as for its plot. This is a story that will engage and characters you will find yourself growing fond of.”—Lambda Literary

  “Gill McKnight has given her readers a delightful romp in Green Eyed Monster. The twists and turns of the plot leave the reader turning the pages to see who is the real victim and who is the villain. Along with the roller coaster ride, comes plenty of hot sex to add to the tension. Spending an afternoon with Green-eyed Monster is great fun—Just About Write

  “Angst, conflict, sex and humor. [Falling Star] has all of this and more packed into a tightly written and believable romance. McKnight has penned a sweet and tender romance, balancing the intimacy and sexual tension just right. The conflict is well drawn, and she adds a great dose of humor to make this novel a light and easy read.”—Curve

  In Green Eyed Monster…“McKnight succeeds in tantalizing with explosive sex and a bit of bondage; tormenting with sexual frustration and intense longing; tickling your fancy and funny bone; and touching a place where good and evil battle it out. …The plot twists, winning dialogue laced with sarcasm, wit, and charm certainly add to the fun. I recommend this satisfying read for entertainment, fantasy, and sex that stimulate the brain like caffeine.”—Lambda Literary

  Soul Selecta

  Brought to you by

  eBooks from Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  http://www.boldstrokesbooks.com

  eBooks are not transferable. They cannot be sold, shared or given away as it is an infringement on the copyright of this work.

  Please respect the rights of the author and do not file share.

  Soul Selecta

  © 2015 By Gill McKnight. All Rights Reserved.

  ISBN 13: 978-1-62639-382-0

  This Electronic Book is published by

  Bold Strokes Books, Inc.

  P.O. Box 249

  Valley Falls, New York 12185

  First Edition: April 2015

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  This book, or parts thereof, may not be reproduced in any form without permission.

  Credits

  Editor: Cindy Cresap

  Production Design: Susan Ramundo

  Cover Design By Sheri (graphicartist2020@hotmail.com)

  Cover Art by Louis McKnight

  By the Author

  Falling Star

  Green-eyed Monster

  Erosistible

  Cool Side of the Pillow

  Soul Selecta

  The Garoul series:

  Goldenseal

  Ambereye

  Indigo Moon

  Silver Collar

  Acknowledgments

  Much thanks to Jove Bell, Cate Culpepper, and Cindy King for their feedback and critique. I should have listened.

  And, as always, to my editor, Cindy Cresap, who makes me listen.

  Dedication

  For Cate Culpepper.

  Prologue

  Sappho’s Seminary for Artistic Young Ladies, Mitylene 654 BC

  “No. She’s mine. She was made for me. Can’t you see that? Can’t you feel it?” Much to her own annoyance, Kleio actually stamped her foot before she could stop herself. Pettiness would undermine rather than reinforce her argument. Her fears were justified by Hathor’s disinterested response.

  “Calm down, child. Be sensible,” the matron said. “It is not up to you or me to decide these things. The Goddess guides our hearts and the Fates move our steps. Now, come sit in the shade and be still.”

  Hathor made a grab for Kleio’s wrist and pulled her onto the stone bench under the lemon tree. Being pressed tight against Hathor’s bony hip only made Kleio claustrophobic and overheated. On the crone’s other side Eris sat wide-eyed, watching Kleio’s tantrum with frightened fascination.

  “Stop being so silly,” Hathor continued to scold. “You’re making a spectacle of yourself before the younger girls.” She was referring to Eris who would have been at choral practice but for her septic throat. A quiet and dutiful girl, she had clung to the school matron all day, swallowing her bitter medicines, and now she had an eye-popping front row seat to one of Kleio’s patented tragedies. Kleio shot her a spiteful look, and the girl cowed back in her seat.

  Kleio lunged to her feet and let her tears flow as violently as she could. “You don’t understand,” she wailed and moved center stage.

  “I understand well enough,” Hathor snapped. “Agnethas is going to be married, and there is nothing you, Mistress Sappho, or any of us can do about it.”

  “I can request an audience with Mistress Sappho,” Kleio spoke rapidly, wringing her hands, “and beg her to—”

  “Kleio! Stop it now.” Hathor’s thin, sinewy body thrummed with anger. Even Eris shrank back from her. “This wedding is a political alliance forged years ago by their parents. Do you see Agnethas weeping and wailing like a termagant? No.” Hathor did not curb her words. Her anger made the sultry afternoon curdle. “No, you don’t. Agnethas has accepted her father’s will, as any good daughter should.”

  “Agnethas is heartbroken,” Kleio cried. “She says she will jump into the harbor and drown herself rather than leave the seminary!”

  “Nonsense.” Hathor was brusque. “The marriage is no more than a treaty. After she has produced an heir, he
r obligations will be over and she can take you up as her friend again. For goodness sake, be patient. Act like an adult for once.” Hathor’s patience was stretched to its nonelastic limit. “You youngsters come here from under your nursemaids’ skirts petted and spoiled to the point of uselessness. You have no idea of the wider world and what it expects from you. The hormones and hysterics hurtling around this school would dement a harpy.” As usual, Hathor began bemoaning her own lot in life until Kleio lost patience. This was her tragedy and her time to tell it.

  She stamped her foot again, uncaring that it was silly. Her sandal slapped hard against the stone of the courtyard. “No. I want—”

  “Go to your room now!” Hathor roared, pointing to the shady doorway. Eris’s mouth rounded into a silent “oh.”

  Kleio couldn’t believe her ears. Sent to her room? The gnarled finger pointed unwaveringly at the door. How could she, Kleio, the most heartbroken in all of Mitylene, be treated so cruelly? No one understood or cared how she felt. Did no one see that her heart had been torn from her and lay bleeding on the floor? Hathor was a dried-up old Spartan cow.

  With a wail worthy of a rich man’s funeral, she gathered up her skirts and ran into the darkened vestibule where she froze mid flight, her cries dying in her throat. Kleio dropped her toga skirts back to her ankles. Two house slaves were dragging a large wooden box to the main entrance. Agnethas’s belongings were being readied for collection. She must be leaving today. Surely it was too soon? They were meant to have several more days together.

  Kleio raced to Agnethas’s room. She burst into the chamber and ran straight into her arms.

  “No. No. No. You said we had more time,” she wailed into Agnethas’s neck, clinging to her shoulders.

  Agnethas pulled back and smiled at her tearstained face. “I was just coming to find you. My father’s ship is waiting in the harbor. We sail for Apollonia tonight.”

  “Apollonia? But that’s half a world away.”

  “No, it isn’t, goose. It’s right in the middle. And it’s where I’m to be married. Pathedros is to be based there for a year, then we move to Alexandria.” Her eyes sparkled at this news. “Imagine, me in Alexandria.”

  Pathedros! Kleio sulked at how easily her rival’s name fell from Agnethas’s lips. “I’ll never see you again,” she protested.

  “Yes, you will, silly. You know I’ll have to come back and visit mother, and of course I’ll come see you, too. Now let me kiss your pretty cheeks dry, my sweetest child.” Though instead of kissing she brushed Kleio’s tears away with her thumb.

  Kleio scowled. Child? Already Agnethas spoke like an old matron.

  “Please be happy for me, Kleio. You know how much I’ve longed to get off this island and see the world. And I shall miss you, truly I shall.” Agnethas pulled out of their embrace and held Kleio at arm’s length, bathing her in a look of compassion.

  “You will always be precious to me, my dear little Kleio. Think of me when you sing the songs of love, and remember me when you dance, for I shall be forever in your shadow dancing with you.” Her words sounded rehearsed, and Kleio’s mood darkened, especially when, with a gentle smile, Agnethas turned away and glided out the door with all the delicacy of movement and dramatic intent three years at the seminary had perfected.

  Kleio hid in her room for the rest of the day. Curled up on her bed, she picked her emotions raw, unwilling to let go of her despair though her tears had long since dried and her throat hurt from sobbing. She missed her afternoon classes and deliberately ignored the call for evening meal, determined everyone should notice her misery.

  Eventually, the huge villa hushed as twilight gave way to a soft, velvet night. Still, no one approached to see if she needed anything. She knew Hathor was behind it. The old witch was trying to starve her out, trying to make her look foolish in front of the whole school. Well, they could go jump in the Styx for all Kleio cared. The harsh treatment suited her perfectly. The only one she had ever loved, ever needed, was gone. Even now, Agnethas was sailing away from her across the black waters of the Aegean, and no one cared!

  A shy tap on the door interrupted her maudlin thoughts. She opened the door a tiny crack to see Eris standing in the hallway with a water pitcher and a plate of flat bread with olives. The child tried to smile, but her intense awkwardness only served to make her lips twitch into a tighter grimace. She opened her mouth to speak, and a dry little squeak rasped from her infected throat. Eris’s face scorched with embarrassment. Kleio shook her head sadly and closed the door on her. It was a kind gesture, but Eris had only a walk-on part in this theater. Hathor, or perhaps Mistress Sappho herself, should have been the one to offer comfort, not some stripling girl. Kleio returned to her cot to indulge in more sorrowful reverie.

  In the still of night, she finally rose and padded barefoot along the villa’s darkened corridors. She was agitated and resentful and uncertain how to proceed in the face of everyone’s indifference. How could she face her classmates tomorrow without feeling like a fool? Hathor was to blame for this. Hathor was cruel. Everyone was hateful to her.

  Her wandering eventually brought her to the seminary temple. It was an echoing, empty place at night, but by dawn the marble walls would ring with songs of praise for Aphrodite, the school’s guardian Goddess. The temple was never left in total darkness. Torches flickered either side of the high stone altar and threw its oblong shadow over Aphrodite’s sacred pool. The pool was a natural spring where black volcanic rock formed a cradle for the mystical waters. The hot black stones gave way to the smooth cool marble of the temple floor. Sappho’s priestesses scried the thermal waters for portents and gave up prayers to the Goddess of Love.

  Kleio gazed into the pewter waters. The pool had not answered her prayers. Why had Agnethas been taken from her leaving her heart in a thousand pieces? How could the Goddess have forsaken such a true and faithful follower? She plucked the fibula from the shoulder of her toga and opened the clasp.

  “Oh, Aphrodite, why have you spurned me so? You have allowed my heart to be beaten down until it is no more than dust on a journeyman’s road.” Her voice echoed high and thin in the dark vaulted ceiling. Its ghostly resonance thrilled her. “I have no joyful voice to sing your praises. My heart takes no pleasure in your dance. I have no hope of seeing again the face of my beloved. My eyes are dimmed, and love is veiled in mourning.”

  She tore the sharp bronze pin vertically along the vein of her inner forearm and defiantly held her bleeding wrist out over the pool.

  “I can no longer suffer the cruelty of love,” she cried. “I choose oblivion! Let me be forever remembered as she who gave her soul and love combined, and lost both.”

  She tore at the vein on her other arm and went deeper than intended. The water rippled as it swallowed her blood. Slightly shocked by her audacity and the sting of her wounds, she sat down clumsily at the edge of the pool. Her wrists throbbed. She was surprised at the heat that came with the pain. She slid down further and lay along the black rock to cool her wrists in the water that was quickly stained coral. Her breathing came hard and fast, peaked by a mild panic. Kleio was stunned at her own brazen actions and watched in awe as the pool drank from her body. The feathery kisses lapping playfully at her wounds mesmerized her. In a short while, she felt tired and hungry, and for the first time that day, cold.

  “Drink it all.” She watched, fascinated. Would Aphrodite come to her now? “I have no need of this life. Take it and do as you will. For I refuse to exist without love. I refuse to be alone…”

  It took five hours for her life to ebb out into the sacred waters.

  Eris was the first to find her. The pain in her throat woke her before dawn, and she slipped out to the kitchens for a drink of honey and crushed cloves. She returned with her cup through the temple and saw the pale figure slumped by the pool. Eris immediately understood what she was witnessing. She placed her cup on the edge of the pool and slowly approached the body.

  Kleio’s face was
partially hidden in the crook of her elbow as if she were sleeping. Both her arms trailed out into the wine red water. Eris gently touched a tendril of the dark hair. It ran through her fingers like silk, and she remembered her first day at the seminary, how she had arrived, an overawed and frightened child from the provinces. The inner courtyard had been full of girls of all ages enjoying a break from lessons. And there, in the center of the largest group, stood Kleio, the most popular, talented, and beautiful creature Eris had ever seen. The blue-black flame of her hair danced in the sunlight and her eyes flashed as she spoke. She was vibrant, full of poetry and passion, and when she smiled, she split Eris’s heart like a ripened pomegranate.

  Eris let her fingertip trace along the chalk white cheek that once was so sun-kissed and achingly out of reach. She pursed her lips and blew the softest of kisses across that coveted cheek. The breath of her kiss moved across to a delicate earlobe and then along a dark eyebrow, as curved as Eros’s bow arched over thick, and forever still, eyelashes. Hesitantly, she leaned forward and placed a real kiss on the corner of Kleio’s lips. She had always imagined they would be as sweet as honeyed figs. They tasted of tears.

  Sorrow crawled through Eris like a nest of newborn spiders. Every crevice, every niche within her where hope or happiness cowered was caught up in webs. She sat beside the body for several heartbeats whispering a prayer and savoring these last precious moments. And as she sat, a great pain grew in her chest. She imagined a space formed in the shape of Kleio laid open like a wound, as if a living part of her had been torn away.

  Clatter came from the kitchens. The slaves were beginning their morning chores. Only then did Eris raise the alarm and allow the quiet intimacy of the dawn to burn away. Hurried footsteps echoed down the halls. A hard hand fell on her shoulder and pulled her roughly away. Hathor had been summoned.