by Risa Green
“Yes. Of course I do.”
Jessica nodded. She inhaled and loudly let out her breath. “This is going to sound crazy to you, but what you saw wasn’t kissing. What you saw was the two of us exchanging souls.”
Ariel laughed. But Jessica’s look was so sharp, she stopped herself almost immediately. “Are you serious?”
“I’m dead serious. And I’m trusting you with a huge secret here, Ariel. A secret that cuts to the core of the Oculus Society. There are only a handful of people in the world who know that this is possible …”
Ariel struggled to listen as Jessica went on. About an ancient Greek philosopher, Plotinus, and his disciple, Gemina. About how the Oculus Society guarded their secret. About how this secret was passed down from generation to generation, along with a mystical phrase that was known only by the one who had been chosen to receive it. And about how she, Jessica, had been chosen as the secret’s keeper two years ago. Ariel’s mind whirled. Of all the crazy secrets she’d imagined the Oculus Society hid—mostly white-collar crimes and money-laundering—she’d never imagined it was something so off the grid.
“The night you found us, Gretchen and I were trying it for the first time.”
Ariel was at a loss. It crossed her mind that Jessica might just be screwing with her, that this was all some sort of elaborate prank and that Gretchen would come popping out of the closet at any minute, surprise! Ha, ha, ha. But something about the look on Jessica’s face made her think that she wasn’t joking around.
“Did it work?” She felt stupid just for asking.
But Jessica was solemn in her reply. “It did.” Ariel figured that doubt must have been written all over her face, because Jessica sighed and shook her head. “Look, I know that asking you to believe this is asking a lot. But I can prove it. Here.” She took out her phone and held it out to Ariel. It was cued up to the YouTube video that Ariel had taken of her and Gretchen. Ariel felt her cheeks turn red. She hadn’t watched the video since she’d posted it; just seeing it again made her burn with shame. “Watch it,” Jessica instructed. “You can see it happen, if you know what to look for. Look at us after we pull back from each other. We’re not the same as we were before.”
Reluctantly, Ariel pushed the play button.
Before her eyes, thirteen-year-old Jessica and Gretchen came to life. Ariel watched as they sat in the teepee, cross legged with their eyes closed, as if they were meditating. She watched as Jessica told Gretchen to clear her mind, to think about amber, and then said something that, at the time, Ariel had thought was gibberish, but now realized was actually Greek. And then she watched as Jessica leaned in and put her mouth on Gretchen’s. But Jessica was right. They weren’t kissing, exactly. It was more like they were exhaling into each other’s mouths.
Jessica was leaning over her shoulder. “Now watch closely,” she said, as the two girls pulled away from each other on the screen.
Ariel put her face closer to the phone.
“Holy shit,” Gretchen said. But it was odd, the way she said it. As if her tongue wasn’t working right in her mouth. She watched as Jessica looked down over her body as if she were seeing it for the first time, and how Gretchen examined Jessica’s face as if she’d never seen it before. And then, as they noticed the light from the camera and looked directly into it, she saw something else. In their eyes, she could see that they wore expressions of shock. And something akin to fear. They weren’t faking.
Ariel’s hand shook as she handed Jessica back her phone.
“You had some sort of run-in with Gretchen the next day when she was in my body,” Jessica said softly. “It was at the Club. Do you remember that?”
Ariel felt like she’d just been dropped into a bucket of ice. Her whole body went numb as she recalled the incident for the second time in as many days. The odd one-piece bathing suit Jessica had been wearing. The surprise on her face when she saw Ariel turn around in the cabana. The crazy talk about how she killed Gretchen’s mom.
I know you were involved in Gretchen’s mom’s murder. So if you know what’s good for you, you’ll keep your mouth shut.
Oh, my God, Ariel thought. Was it really possible? Was it actually Gretchen she’d been talking to that day?
“I remember it,” Ariel said softly. Jessica studied Ariel’s face for a moment, then smiled. “You know I’m telling you the truth, don’t you?”
Reluctantly, Ariel nodded. As insane as it all sounded, she was sure that Jessica wasn’t making this up. She’d seen it with her own eyes. That hadn’t been Jessica that day at the Club. Ariel knew this in the deepest part of her core.
“Good. So then, here’s the two million dollar question: Do you want in?”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Castricius heard the news before anyone. He’d been on his way to a meeting at the Curia when one of his bankers approached him in the road. The banker seemed nervous and shuffled his feet in the dirt as he spoke.
“You should know, Senator. Your wife has been arrested.”
Castricius casually brushed off the man and his rudeness. “I think you must have mistaken another woman for my wife.”
“No, Senator,” the banker responded, shaking his head vigorously. “I am certain that it was your wife. She followed me into the bathhouse demanding that I speak to her about opening a bank account.” The banker looked at him knowingly. “For a purpose similar to that of your own account.”
The color drained from Castricius’s face. His account with this banker was a secret. How could Gemina know of it? And if she knows about the account, he thought, what else might she know about?
“Did she say anything else?” Castricius asked tersely.
“No, Senator. I’m very sorry. I hope you understand that I had no choice but to call the guards. She broke the law in plain view of a dozen men. If I hadn’t had her arrested, I would have been myself.”
“I understand,” Castricius said. “Is she at the jail now?”
“I believe she is, Senator. Again, I’m very sorry.”
The young guard at the door nodded deferentially and ushered him in right away. The jail smelled of urine and unwashed bodies, causing Castricius to place the sleeve of his tunic over his nose and mouth. As he passed through the hallway, he stared straight ahead, trying not to look at the thieves, debtors, and tax evaders, miserable in their windowless cells. He couldn’t imagine Gemina in a place like this. The thought of her lying on the floor on a lice-infested mat caused his outrage to grow with each step he took.
“Your wife, Senator, is being held in the jailer’s private office,” said the guard, as if reading Castricius’s mind. Castricius exhaled. At least that was something. They reached a door at the end of the hallway that was bolted shut from the outside. The guard slid the bolt back but hesitated before opening the door, as if he were considering something. He reached into a fold of his tunic and emerged with a piece of parchment paper in his hand. “She was holding this when she was arrested, Senator. I thought, perhaps, you might want to have it … lest it get into the hands of the wrong people.”
Castricius took the paper and skimmed it quickly.
If the perfect life is within human reach, the man attaining it attains happiness …
What is this nonsense? he thought to himself. It came from Plotinus, of that he was quite sure. But as he read the last few lines, his breath caught in his chest.
Why should a woman not own property, or take part in politics? If she has the same capabilities as man, why should a woman not become Emperor, even? Is it fear that leads men to keep the laws of women unequal? Fear that women might perhaps be better qualified to govern this Roman Empire?
This is grounds for treason, he thought with a prickle of panic. And treason was the only crime in Rome that was punishable by death. The guard was right to give this to him. With evidence this damning, even his powerful influence might not be enough to save Gemina from a public beheading. Castricius suddenly felt guilty. He wanted out of his marriage,
it was true, but not like this.
“What’s your name?” Castricius asked the guard.
“Marcus Caelius, sir.”
Castricius nodded appreciatively at him. “Your judgment does not go unnoticed, Marcus Caelius.” Castricius took the paper and placed it in a fold of his own tunic. He would rip it up once he was alone. “Now, please, may I see my wife?”
Marcus leaned into the door with his shoulder and pushed it open. A breeze was blowing through the open window. Gemina was standing with her back to the door; the sunlight ensconced her olive skin and bounced off of her shiny, dark hair. The guard retreated and closed the door behind him just as Gemina turned around.
“Gemina!” Castricius was furious with her, but at the moment his predominant emotion was relief at finding her safe and in an environment that didn’t debase her prominent status. Or his own, for that matter.
“Castricius,” she said calmly. “I didn’t expect you to be the first to arrive.” This was not the greeting that Castricius had been expecting. He’d been prepared for her to be trembling, to run to him and tearfully apologize, to beg him to remedy the situation for her. That was how she’d behaved when her father had been accused of forgery and faced a lifetime of exile. It was how she’d behaved when Plotinus had run out of money and was on the verge of leaving Rome, or when their daughter, Gaia, had developed a cough as an infant and the doctor couldn’t come as soon as she’d wanted. It was how she behaved whenever something went wrong in her life that she didn’t know how—or didn’t have the power—to fix.
In their relationship, she was the child, and he was the adult who always came to her rescue. It was why he’d gone to Lucretia Iusta’s bed to begin with. After two years of tolerating marriage to a child, Castricius longed to be with a woman, and Lucretia was certainly that. Years of being widowed and having to fend for herself had left her strong, capable, cunning even. She was everything Gemina wasn’t. But this was a Gemina he’d never seen before. Calm, self-contained, unafraid. Castricius looked into her eyes, and he knew right away that something was different about her. It took him a few moments to realize what it was: she seemed older. If the circumstances hadn’t been so dire, he might have even found it seductive.
He removed the paper from his tunic. “Gemina,” he said, sternly. “What is the meaning of this? Where did you get this?”
She sneered. “I wrote it!” she declared. “And I meant every word. Do you know why I’m being held here like a prisoner, Castricius?” She didn’t wait for him to answer. “It’s because I’m a woman. I’m a woman, and I wanted to open a bank account.”
Castricius lowered his voice to a growl. “Have you lost your mind? How could you possibly handle a bank account?”
Gemina smirked at him. “I’m quite sure it’s not so difficult, Castricius. The fact of the matter is, you’re sleeping with that traitor Lucretia Iusta, and you’re giving her money from my father that was meant for me and Gaia. I’d like it back, and I’d like to put it somewhere that you can’t access.”
Castricius went pale, and his heart quickened. So she knows. Still, there was some relief. She knows.
“And,” she continued, “in return for me not disgracing you in public, I’d like you to present to the Senate a law that women and men shall be treated equally.”
The panic Castricius had been feeling subsided. She was talking nonsense. There must be something wrong with her, he thought. She’s been poisoned, or the stress of being in jail is causing her to hallucinate. It occurred to him that having his wife in a weakened mental state could work entirely to his advantage.
“Gemina,” he said softly. He went to her and placed a hand on her arm. “My dear wife, I think you may not be well. I’ll explain it all to the authorities, and we’ll have you back at home in a few hours. Perhaps I’ll consult a priest or doctor for medicine that will help you to think more clearly.”
But Gemina shook his hand off of her arm. “I can think just fine!” she roared. “The laws of this empire are an outrage!”
“Shhh! You’re going to get yourself executed if you keep talking like that!”
“I will never stop talking like this! I cannot stand by and participate in a society that lives a lie. Rome is so civilized, so enlightened, and yet is so unjust! Why can’t women vote? Why can’t women have money of their own? Why can’t women imprison men?”
In spite of himself, Castricius was trembling with anger. He found it difficult to keep his voice steady as he answered her. “Because women do not have the sense for such things. Women are needed at home to manage affairs and to raise their children. You’re spewing nonsense, Gemina, and if you continue to do so, I can assure you that you’ll find yourself in deeper trouble, trouble from which I cannot save you. Now I’m going to leave and see if I can find out a way to get you out of here. But you must not speak of these things to anyone, do you understand? Not to anyone!”
With that, he walked out of the room and brushed past Marcus Caelius, standing guard outside the door. As he heard the bolt on the door slide back into place, he felt the strange mingled combination of nausea and satisfaction.
Amphiclea was in the garden when Plotinus came to tell her the news—or rather, when Gemina came. It was still difficult for Amphiclea to remember that it was her vibrant young friend in that frail, middle-aged man’s body.
Gemina trembled in sagging skin as she relayed the story. Plotinus obviously must have forgotten that he appeared to everyone else as a woman. She herself had almost slipped a thousand times that day; she’d caught herself just before curtsying, she’d almost neglected to kiss the hands of other women, she’d nearly declined to discuss business matters. Neither she nor Plotinus had thought enough about how difficult it would be to change them so quickly. But to follow a banker into the men’s bath and to try to discuss business right there in front of influential men who knew her and Castricius …
“Oh, Amphiclea, what have we done? How will we ever fix this?”
There were tears in Plotinus’s eyes. Amphiclea wanted to shout at Gemina for being so careless with her life, for agreeing to something as dangerous and as outrageous as trading souls—and with a man, no less! But she bit her tongue. A reprimand was not what Gemina needed right now. Instead, she reached over and hugged her, feeling the strange contours of Plotinus’s body, the thinness of his bones beneath his clothes.
“You must go talk to Castricius,” Gemina whispered. “You must tell him the truth. Bring him Plotinus’s journal, show him the anklet. Once he understands what has happened, he’ll know how to fix this. He always does.”
Amphiclea nodded. She’d known from the moment that Gemina and Plotinus had proposed their scheme that somehow it would come to this.
Amphiclea had never been alone with Castricius before. She’d spent enough time with Gemina to have spoken with him, but always in passing and always about benign subjects—like the weather or the sweetness of a particular crop of figs. He’d been pleasant enough, but Amphiclea knew from Gemina that he wasn’t always so, and she was aware of his reputation in the Senate for having a quick temper, particularly when matters were not to his liking. So as she waited for him in the courtyard of his home, Plotinus’s journal tucked under her arm, the anklet trembled against her skin.
“Amphiclea,” Castricius boomed as he entered the courtyard, his large frame draped in a white tunic with silver edging. He was older, in his early thirties, and not particularly handsome. His black hair had begun to recede away from his forehead, like so many soldiers retreating from a hard-fought battle. “Surely you’ve heard about Gemina?” he asked. He kept his eyes on the ground, never meeting her own.
“I have, Senator,” Amphiclea answered, trying to maintain some strength and resolve in her voice. “It’s why I’ve asked to see you.”
“Is it now?” he asked, thoughtfully. Suddenly, he seemed more interested in looking at her. “Let me ask you something, Amphiclea. You are her best friend, are you not? The one she
shares everything with, perhaps even more than her own husband.”
“I am.”
“And did you see her today, before all of this happened?”
“I did.”
He hesitated, as if he were searching for a diplomatic way to ask what was coming next. “And did you notice her acting … perhaps … different than usual?” But before Amphiclea had a chance to respond, he threw his hands up in the air. “Oh, I’ll just say it! Did you notice that she was acting strange and talking nonsense?”
Amphiclea squeezed the journal with both hands to try to stop them from shaking so visibly. She cleared her throat. “I did notice, Senator. And I believe I may be able to explain it to you.” She motioned toward a small garden table behind him, where she and Gemina had shared so many private whispered conversations. “May we sit, please?”
Castricius held out a chair. He waited for Amphiclea to settle in before he sat across from her. His body barely fit in the opposite seat; his large legs took up almost all of the space beneath the table, requiring Amphiclea to sit sideways so as not to rub her legs up against his. She tried not to cry as she laid the journal out on the table between them.
“Senator, what I’m about to tell you defies logic and reason. It will be hard for you to believe, as it was for me. I must tell you, if I hadn’t seen it happen with my own eyes, I still would doubt that it is even possible.” She opened the journal to a page she’d marked beforehand. “Senator, Plotinus believed—”
Castricius slammed his hand down on the table, cutting her off. “Plotinus!” he roared, his face turning red with anger. “I knew this was his influence. Filling her head with treasonous ideas about a woman becoming Emperor of Rome!”
Amphiclea steadied herself. She had planned to explain it to him from the beginning: how Plotinus had projected his soul through the Oculus and how he and Gemina had agreed to trade souls with each other. She had planned to tell him of the preparations leading up to their exchange, of the evening she met them at the Pantheon, of the anklet, of the journal … and of course, of the need for a witness in the event that something terrible—something like Gemina landing in jail—were to occur. But she realized that Castricius would not have the patience for such a long explanation. Better for them both if she got right to the point.
