Mason gaped at the guy. “Where’d you get that dumb-ass idea?” he blurted. “If you’re talking about last night in the car—”
Nik shook his head. “The restaurant. You told the demon, ‘He means nothing to me.’ Those were your words.”
Mace blinked back at him in surprise. “Because you mean so much.”
Nik smiled very slowly. “I misunderstood.”
“Damn straight, you did.”
“Then . . . you’ve changed your mind?” Nikos asked uncertainly. “Since last night? Because you did not want . . .”
“I never said I didn’t want you,” Mace corrected, and was about to blurt a whole lot more. Truly dangerous stuff, from an emotional standpoint, but Jamie came barging in. Mace snapped away from Nikos, putting plenty of physical distance between them.
“Uh, bro, what’s up?” Mace said lamely, avoiding Nikos’s presence on the other side of the cellar.
“Gonna help you work on the curse sitch,” Jamie said, then with a quick glance toward Nikos added, “Hey, man.” He gave Nik a friendly swat on the back of his head, and for some reason Mace had the idea he was . . . what? Trying to reach out a little more? Maybe Jamie had heard their conversation, he thought, barely suppressing a groan.
And then Juliana popped in the door, followed by Ari. It was a town hall meeting, the way things usually went with their group. Nobody could so much as take a crap without three or four others commenting on how the stuff smelled.
“So, it’s gonna be a group op, huh?” he joked, flopping down in the desk chair.
“I can’t simply go to sleep, Mason. I want to help in some way,” Juliana explained, looking about the room. “Although, admittedly, I don’t know how I might do that.”
Mace handed her the volume about curses. “I do,” he said. “Find the section that talks about bloodlines and curses. Then tomorrow? We get to work on breaking the curse . . . and exorcising Layla.”
“Holy-freaking-moly!” Sophie shouted, bounding up from the kitchen table. The sudden noise caused Jules to startle, especially because of how tired she was. They all were, after the hours they’d spent in the dining room, poring over the various books and Bibles and compendiums. Jamie had actually leaned back in his own chair and started snoring a few minutes earlier, until Mason gave him a light nudge.
Aristos had read quietly, but she could see circles beneath his eyes. Shay and Ajax had called it a night about an hour before, as had Nikos and River. Emma, however, had insisted on staying, along with Sophie.
“Seriously,” Sophie exclaimed. “I can’t freaking believe this!”
“Sis, not quite so loud,” Emma said gently. “It’s after three in the morning.”
Sophie pointed at the book she’d been studying. “I know, but I just figured something out. How did we all overlook it?”
“Overlook what, Sophie?” Juliana asked, trying to see what she’d discovered. But Sophie clutched the volume close against her chest.
With her eyes as wide as moons, she swept her gaze among them all. “Get this. The text here talks about curses being of ‘like kind.’ As in, if they extend across a bloodline, the curse is the same. And that got me thinking. . . . Juliana, you drowned, we know that.”
“Yes, in the Savannah River,” she said, noting how Ari’s expression grew briefly pained.
Sophie turned to Emma. “Leah. I’m thinking about Leah.”
Emma’s eyes instantly filled with tears. “Oh . . .” She covered her mouth with a pained sound. “You’re right, Sophie. You have to be.”
“I don’t understand,” Juliana said, hoping someone would explain.
Emma stood and walked to the other side of the room, discreetly wiping at tears. Sophie explained in a low voice, “Em had an identical twin. Leah. And she drowned.”
“And I almost drowned in the River Styx . . . and out on Tybee,” Emma added, turning back to them.
“Then what do we do? How do we fight it?” Juliana asked.
Mason stood, actually smiling. “You know, I just love it when the forces of evil make it easy on me,” he said, walking toward the breakfront. He opened the doors, retrieving a sealed silver container. “Holy water,” he explained, indicating the vessel. “You ladies are under a water curse? We anoint you with this, and that curse is broken. Easy as pie.” Then he frowned. “Of course, it doesn’t change things for any of our descendants or relatives, but we can work on that after we get rid of Layla.”
Mason walked to Jules. “You first. But a word of advice? Layla ain’t gonna like this. Not one little bit.”
Jules look at Ari, afraid that if she answered Mason vocally, Layla might lash out. He caught her eye, and she quickly signed, “Tell him she’s been quiet. Ever since we made love. Well, don’t say that.” She laughed, and so did Ari. “He should know I haven’t felt her in hours.”
Ari nodded, explaining the situation to Mason, who answered, “Then this is the right time to anoint you. Actually”—he waved Aristos over—“given what we know about the power inside of you, Ari, you should do this.”
Mason pressed the pitcher into Ari’s hands, and very gently her lover began to pour the holy water onto her head. She closed her eyes, recalling the sensation of drowning, the hopelessness of it. But this moment? It was the antithesis to that day; she began to feel warm inside, more alive, joyous. It was God’s love, washing over her, healing.
“I’m free,” she said as Ari finished. “God just set me free from the curse. I know it! I feel it,” she said, only then realizing she’d begun to cry. They were tears of release.
After so many years of wandering and searching, feeling separated from God’s love—from Aristos’s love, too—she’d come home.
“Thank you,” she whispered prayerfully.
“And now we’re gonna get ready for tomorrow,” Ari said.
Mason laughed. “Yep, tomorrow’s game day!” Then he pointed at Emma. “Get over here, Em. Time for a little bit of God’s water. All you ladies, line up.”
Chapter 37
Jules was restless and unsettled, desperately eager to be free of Layla—but terrified that their attempt to exorcise her would fail. It would be early evening before they began because the Oracle had advised that they spend the day in spiritual preparation. Some were praying and meditating, others training physically.
At the moment, the “girls,” as Ari kept calling them, were attempting to distract her. Anything would be better than the endless, timeless wait she was currently enduring. She walked around the upper- floor library, a truly beautiful room with high ceilings and ornate moldings. Unlike the Spartans’ compound, it possessed all the ornate beauty that she’d known in her own time.
“Juliana.” Emma beckoned her back toward the group. “Come on back. We need to stay together.”
Juliana paused, wrapping both arms about her torso as she looked out the window. The storm had mostly passed, but the sky remained a slate, dull gray that reflected all their moods.
Sophie cleared her throat loudly. “Uh, so,” she declared.
“Ah so?” Shay replied. “We’ve gone samurai now?”
Sophie’s eyes narrowed. “So,” she said, “nobody’s asked me what my big idea is.”
“Which big idea?” Emma laughed. “You’re a veritable buffet of suggestions so far—”
“I’m going to talk to Sable!” Sophie blurted, cutting her sister off.
“What?” Emma shrieked right as Shay cried, “No way!”
Juliana settled back beside Sophie, who gave her a dazzling, kind smile, then resumed crocheting. She’d been working on a scarf for the past half hour as they talked. Sophie worked the hook, in and out of the yarn, never taking a break. “Well, point is, dudes, we know one Djinn and pretty well. I just think Sable might give me the 411 on how to battle her or whatever.”
Emma gaped at her younger sister in alarm. “Soph, you need to avoid that guy. He’s a demon, don’t forget.”
Sophie finally set down the
crochet, placing it beside her. “Demon, schmemon. He’s got a total soft spot for me since I healed him. I know he’ll help me if I ask.”
Juliana found that information most curious. “You healed a demon? Of what sort of illness? A malady of the soul?” Perhaps Sophie was right, that there was valuable information to be gleaned here. “Could you heal Layla, as well, thereby driving her out of me?”
Jules felt an instant choking sensation, as if an icy, firm hand were slipping around her throat and squeezing. She coughed, rubbing it, and understood the warning.
Emma moved right to her side. “Layla?”
Juliana nodded once, touching her windpipe, coughing again.
Emma put an arm around her shoulder, cradling her close, as a sister would. “Shay, get over here. We’re gonna sing together,” Em explained to Juliana. “We’ve learned that hymns can work as a sort of weapon against demons. Because the Bible explains that praise and worship is a kind of warfare against evil—that the Lord inhabits the praises of his people.”
Shay drew Juliana against her and gently murmured a very old, sweet hymn in her ear. It was soothing, comforting, and she could feel Layla growing docile inside of her.
As soon as the piece was finished, Sophie sucked in an exaggerated breath and simply resumed her talking. “Besides, Sable’s not all bad, not by any stretch of the imagination. You know, it’s the whole Return of the Jedi thing: ‘I sense good in you, father.’ Only it really is true in this case. Did you know that sometimes his eyes are blue? Honest to Pete, they turn blue when he’s around me.” She shook her head, getting a faraway look in her eyes. “Yeah, weird, I know. But pretty. Really pretty when it happens.”
Shay tossed down the drumsticks she’d been tapping on her knee while singing. “You are talking about a very evil being, Sophie. Just don’t forget that. He’s brought Ajax a lot of pain—he caused some of the mayhem and death at Thermopylae, too.”
“For which Ajax punished him, right?” Sophie asked, her eyes growing really big. “Because I’m pretty sure someone around here”—Sophie eyeballed Emma—“told me that Jax staked him to a mountain by his wings. That Sable, in turn, had to burn those wings off just to survive, and that’s why he’s so scarred. Because he consumed himself in his own demon fire just to get free. So, yeah, cousin, I’m thinking Jax got his revenge there.”
Juliana followed the entire discourse, eyes moving back and forth as if she were watching a game of lawn tennis.
Shay’s face grew flushed. “He tried to kill me, too. Cousin.”
Sophie talked much more loudly. “But he didn’t. Because, again, I think someone told me”—she swung her head back in her big sister’s direction—“that when he realized you were a Daughter of Delphi, he didn’t want you harmed.”
“He’s dangerous, that’s all,” Emma pointed out, folding her arms across her chest and settling back into the sofa.
Sophie slapped her forehead with the heel of her hand. “Oh, wait, I’m sorry! Didn’t he jump into that fight with y’all? That little fiery hoedown with Ares in Hades? I thought, and of course, maybe I’m totally wrong here, but I seem to recall hearing that he fought with y’all. That he kicked some Olympian butt, no? And I also thought—again maybe my memory’s flawed here—that he put Emma on his back and rode her out of the River Styx and away from danger.”
Emma smiled at her. “We forget about your gift of compassion, Sophie.”
“He deserves a chance with y’all—with us. That’s what I’m saying.”
Emma pulled her little sister into an embrace. “I’m sorry, and you’re right. He could be an important ally.”
“Then you won’t mind my saying that he’s kind of a friend of mine now. And I am going to see him, because you know what else? He might be able to help.” Sophie leaned into Emma, hugging her closer. “Is your stomach poking out?” she asked suddenly, and Juliana choked back a giggle. “Or did you just eat too much barbecue at lunch?”
Sophie stared down at Em’s belly, then touched it gently. “Sissy, what’s going on down there?”
Emma stared down, too, touching her stomach. Juliana had to admit, it seemed to have gotten surprisingly bigger in the past few days.
“Oh, crap,” Emma blurted, suddenly running from the sofa and into the hall bathroom. Even though she slammed the door, they could all hear her retching.
“I didn’t realize a woman’s body could change that quickly,” Juliana observed, trying to tune out the sounds of Emma’s morning sickness.
Sophie and Shay stared at each other a long moment, eyes growing wider. Sophie picked up her crochet and began working her hook feverishly. “I can’t believe she didn’t tell me.”
“That’s one big baby,” Shay replied.
“Or maybe two smaller ones,” Sophie said, then popped a hand over her mouth as if she’d just blurted something she’d seen but knew she shouldn’t reveal just yet.
Chapter 38
Sable stared down at the woolen piece that Sophie had just handed him. “What is this?” he snarled, turning her gift in his scarred palms. She’d returned home and discovgift in his scarred palms. She’d returned home and discovered him lurking at the end of her street.
“It’s a scarf, silly.” She beamed up at him innocently.
Right then he noticed the little tag that she’d sewn on the edge: HANDMADE FOR YOU BY SOPHIE!
She rushed onward, ignoring his silence. “It’s just that this is supposed to be one of the coldest winters we’ve had in years.” She made her eyes as big as saucers. “Hello? Global warming, anyone? You go around shirtless constantly, and even here in Savannah it’s gonna be really chilly, so I thought I’d make you a scarf to keep you warm until spring.”
“I go around shirtless,” he muttered, parroting her words. “You thought you’d keep me warm until spring.”
“Well, not me, duh. The scarf. Although you should think about getting a coat or turtleneck.” She assessed him and then waved off the idea. “Maybe a leather vest, though?”
“Would you please shut up?” he roared.
She startled visibly, reminding him of one of her fostered cats that always lurked around her front steps. They way they’d arch their backs, ready to bolt if anyone became too noisy or cross with them.
“I guess I annoy centaurs and demons just like I do my own family sometimes.”
Those words, for some reason, stabbed him hard. A ringing, hollow pain filled his chest. Surely she didn’t believe her loved ones felt that way toward her? And if she did . . . he’d just reinforced the thought.
“I am not annoyed, Sophie. My question is simple.” He kept his voice even, not screaming in her face, not railing at her harshly. No, he spoke, at least for him, very gently. “I’m unclear why you crocheted this scarf for me, a creature of heat and darkness. My body burns by its very nature.” He patted his bare chest. “I am fire. I’ve no need to guard myself against the winter winds.”
“But even you must get cold sometimes?” She peered up at him, genuinely concerned. She reached a soft hand and touched his withers. “I don’t want you freezing to death this winter; honest I don’t.”
“You are . . .” He was going to say considerate, kind. Thoughtful.
But then all those words burned up on his tongue.
Wait one blasted moment, he thought. What was he doing, being so reasonable and pleasant with the obnoxiously nice girl?
As if coming back to himself, he hurled the scarf at her violently. She was caught off guard by the throw, and the scarf slapped her in the face, tumbling into a small puddle by her feet. Without a word, she squatted down and retrieved it, ringing it out.
“You know,” she said, “I picked the color black because of your coat . . . and your hair.”
“I don’t have any hair,” he growled, touching his bare scalp self-consciously.
“You used to.”
He made his face a mask, gave her no reaction at all. How could she know what he’d looked like twen
ty-five hundred years ago? She’d not even been alive when he’d still been glorious and handsome and winged, not yet cursed to this work beast’s ungainly body.
She touched the scarf, staring at it thoughtfully. “And I chose the cobalt blue edging for your eyes.” She lifted the scarf, showing him the vivid blue. “See?”
“My eyes are crimson!” he thundered, and conveniently enough, his vision suddenly washed out in that furious hue. How dare she insinuate that she knew about his other heritage?
She shook her head. “Not all the time. Every now and then they’re a very pretty blue.” She sighed, damn her, a bit dreamily. “You probably have no idea how handsome that is, that flash of lightness against your darkish skin. It always amazes me when it happens.”
He looked away, despising the way his cheeks grew warm at the compliment.
“Why don’t you grow your hair back out? Is it because of your horns or something?” She stood, clutching the scarf against her chest. “Although, come to think of it, I guess you always had those, even when your hair was so long and shiny.”
“How do you know about that?”
“I’ve seen the way you used to look . . . before.”
He dared a glance at her. “When you healed me?”
She nodded. “It was the color of rich ebony, all the way to your hips, and I so wanted to brush it.” She sighed, eyes drifting almost shut. “And maybe even run my fingers through it, too. Yeah that would’ve been amazing. . . .”
His face burned; his scalp burned; every part of him grew overheated and tense—all because of her quiet admission. She wanted to touch him. Who, in all these years, had done more than gape at his ugliness in abject horror?
He stared at his hooves, still flushing. “The scars . . . all over my scalp. I can’t . . . I don’t grow hair, not on my head, not since . . . ever since . . .” He cleared his throat and said finally, “I am hairless now.”
“They’re burns?”
Frowning, he nodded and touched the top of his bare head, feeling the nubs of his horns beneath his palm. They lengthened and retracted, depending on his frame of mind or whether or not he was in battle; right now they were almost all the way inside his skull. “My skin here is ruined,” he told her, patting his crown.
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