Second String Savior

by Rick Gualtieri

  “He said this was something he wasn’t supposed to see.”

  She nodded but left unsaid that Gary had clearly seen my face, where this woman’s was obscured. It began to paint an unpleasant picture, although of what, I still wasn’t sure. Because at the end of the day, my hair still glowed, and I was still able to burn the undead.

  “Gary said that people who seemed to fit in one prophecy might actually fit in another, something like that. Do you think that’s true?”

  Phil stared up at the sky. The northern lights blazed a trail across the horizon, but they didn’t compare to sights I’d seen over the last few days. She leafed through a few more pages and let out a deep sigh. “I think that destiny isn’t set in stone. I think it’s more like there are opportunities that present themselves for greatness.”

  “You can just be in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

  “Or the right place at the right time.” She choked up a little. “Look, I’m sorry I haven’t been there for either of you. I thought I was gathering information to help us, but all I’ve done is be gone when you needed me most. That’s going to change, I promise.” She finished her cigarette, then disintegrated the butt. “Come on. You look exhausted, and I need to keep watch on the Gare-bear. Yush has been more than generous with her time, but she has her own work to do.”

  “I’m so sorry for what happened to Bush.”

  “So am I.” Phil wrapped an arm around me and gave me a little squeeze. “But there’s bigger things at play here. It wasn’t your fault.”

  Once she left my side, I lay down and stared at the ceiling for a long time. “But . . . what if it was?”

  Chapter Forty-One: It was all Going so Well

  I was on the third shift of watching Gary. Phil had finally run out of coffee, and Yush excused herself to view the day’s proceedings. A terrible numbness had soaked into my soul, and even my hair had followed suit, lying flat and dim. I gave the hot tub a longing bit of side eye. Why did everything around here have to be magical?

  Once I was alone, I took a crack at looking through the old phone Mr. Keyne had given me. It was all still ancient Greek to me, but flipping through the pictures helped pass the time at least until Gary finally started to stir.

  “Hey, Jess,” he said, his voice hoarse. “I feel terrible.”

  “You look even worse.” I gave him a light punch to the arm. “Welcome back to the land of the living.” It was a poor joke, all things considered, one which I tried to cover up by handing him a bottle of water.

  “I’m sorry for kissing you,” he choked out after taking a sip. “I swear, I was only trying to pull your attention away from whatever was going on.”

  “Well, it definitely worked.”

  “Dio. . .” He hacked a few times. “Dionaea must be upset. I can’t feel her anymore.”

  “I don’t think that’s you. I had a bit of a falling out with Sayuri, and I’m pretty sure we’re uninvited to the grove. I’m sorry. I know you liked her, and I messed it up.”

  “Doing magic with her . . . didn’t hurt. Now . . . I just feel alone again.”

  “Well, you’re not.” I squeezed his hand. We sat in awkward silence until he drifted off again.

  I spent my evening doing katas, crunches, anything to fill the time. The freakish amount of night this far north gave the vampires and Sasquatch plenty of time to hash things out or make them worse, but for the rest of us, it was just a lot of darkness punctuated by a bunch of nothing, at least until Yush showed up again.

  “Yush come with good tidings this night.” She seemed remarkably cheerful for a woman who had lost her sister only a day before. She hurried to Gary’s side and offered him something that looked like oatmeal. A moment later I got a bowl as well. “Eat and gather strength because today was day of peace. The T’lunta spoke with reason, had good sense to leave Freewill T’lunta out. Turd was able to make progress for new accord. For first time, I have hope for sister’s legacy.”

  “The Freewill didn’t talk?” I asked, confused.

  “He not even show up. No matter. Fight seems to make Turd listen to his advisors. It was good talk.”

  “Bush would be happy,” I said softly, taking a bite. Hmm, definitely not oatmeal.

  The Sasquatch smiled sadly and nodded. “She one with ancestors now. Watch over us all. Yush have good feeling that soon ancestors will sing praises of new accord. Now, eat and drink. Yush bring tea. Hard to be sad with good food, warm tea, and hope.”

  She handed me a crude cup of steaming red liquid. I stared at it for a moment, remembering the stuff I’d had at the grove but then took a sniff, followed by a tentative taste. It was the same tea that Phil had served me back at the Worcester loft. I guess this was where she got the recipe.

  I took a sip and immediately felt better. Dang if Yush wasn’t right. It was hard to be upset at this particular moment. If the accord was signed, Bush could finally be at peace and Gary and I could return home to figure out . . . well, whatever happened next. The rest, including the Freewill, could wait. Amazing the change one day could bring.

  Fluff returned, looking far happier than when last I’d seen her, and when we finally all fell asleep, it was with a little more lightness in our hearts and hope for a brand new day.

  ♦ ♦ ♦

  I opened my eyes, untangled myself from Fluff, and smelled coffee. Oh my God, it smelled so good. I made my way out of the cave and immediately regretted not fixing my hair or checking for deodorant. Mr. Keyne and Dionaea stood outside our little homestead, both of them bearing gifts.

  Dionaea had come to see Gary, which brightened his face up considerably, although he still looked like hell. She offered him a homemade biscuit. Who knew plants could bake?

  But it was Mr. Keyne who had my attention. He stood front and center with a steaming thermos and a basket of pastries. Hopefully they weren’t magical, because my stomach was already growling. He placed them down on an outcropping then turned to face me. “I brought you some snacks.”

  I could sense the big but in his voice. I held my breath, hoping he wasn’t about to tell me about cursed muffins.

  “I was wondering if you would make the rounds with me, Mistress Flores. We should talk.”

  “Sure, I’d like that.” I grabbed myself some coffee and followed him, as I was sure Gary was in good hands with Dionaea.

  Hopefully just hands.

  I followed Mr. Keyne into the woods, noting the smile he’d worn back at the cave seemed to quickly melt off his face. “What’s wrong?” I finally asked.

  “Jessie, I don’t know quite how to tell you this, but you’re doomed.”

  Chapter Forty-Two: Until it Wasn’t

  How do you respond to someone telling you you’re doomed? Do you laugh, or ask for clarification maybe? Considering all that I’d been through this week, I opted for door number one. I figured destiny at least owed me that much. My ribs ached as I finally caught my breath. Mr. Keyne, however, wasn’t laughing.

  “Mistress Flores . . . Jessie, are you all right?” I stared at him, unblinking. He pulled a scroll out of his bag. “I know, ridiculous question, but I need to show you this.”

  “I just want some answers,” I replied, getting myself under control. “No more tricks, no more confusion, and please don’t lie. I don’t think I can take anymore.”

  “We never know what we can take until we have to.” He looked away for a moment. “I thought long and hard on your question and can think of only one flower that our mutual friends would tell you to ask me about. I had hoped my suspicions were unfounded, but I was owed some favors by the other servants and, after some prodding, discovered it was true. You were served the actual Heroes Cocktail at the party.”

  “You mean the red booze that flattened Hercules?”

  “Heracles,” he corrected. “But yes, same guy.”

  “I knew that already.”

  “No. You really don’t. There are multiple recipes for this drink, all of them knock-offs of
the original brew and far more benign. Same cool name, but these imitations are all little more than fermented berry juice with some harmless enchantments added. The real drink, the original, contains this.” He held up the scroll, showing me a drawing of weeping red flowers. “It’s known by many names but the only mortal Magi to ever see it called it flos fatorum, the flower of fate. It has the ability to grant power to the powerless.”

  I traced the drawing with my fingertip. “Funny, I always thought if I saw a magic flower, it would be heart-shaped and from Wakanda.”

  “Pardon?”

  “Never mind. So, it gives you powers, but I think I cut you off before you offered up the ‘but’ in your explanation.”

  Mr. Keyne sighed deeply, and not the kind of sigh I was used to getting from adults.

  “Just spit it out already.”

  “The flower’s other name is Ananke’s Tears. It is rarely used and only in times of great necessity. The essence of the flower . . . draws the attention of fate to the imbiber. In a way, it amplifies their destiny. It acts as a lure to the cosmic forces which maintain balance, opening up opportunities of greatness or wells of misfortune.”

  “You mean it could make an ordinary girl . . . not so ordinary?”

  He nodded. “It’s also quite toxic. It reacts with other magicks in unpredictable ways.”

  “Like vomiting a rainbow?” The look on his face said it all. “As for the first part, could it maybe—I dunno—turn your hair bright red and make it deadly to vampires? Well, could it?”

  “I . . . honestly don’t know. It hasn’t been used on a mortal in centuries. It’s forbidden. The only remaining plant is heavily guarded by the Meliae. All I know are myths and legends.”

  “Like?”

  “They say a single petal was stolen during the Dark Ages by a wizard named Merlin. The story has been heavily romanticized throughout history, but the bad ending for nearly everyone involved was quite real.”

  “And I drank this Kool-Aid,” I whispered, my knees going all wobbly. “A lot of it.”

  He shook his head. “No. Most of what you had was the fake stuff. It was only near the end where someone slipped you the real thing. And the fact that you vomited it out quickly means that—”

  “You don’t understand. I had this hair long before I got here, Sky.”

  “I. . .” He didn’t seem to have an immediate answer to that one.

  “What would it mean if I had more than just a couple of sips?”

  He averted his eyes. “Theoretically? The more you drink, the greater tribute fate demands. You either rise to the occasion and fulfil the destiny thrust upon you . . . or fate will lash back and, believe me, fate’s lash hits harder than anyone’s.”

  I turned away from him, considering the implications. “I didn’t rise up to attack the ubervamp back at the conference. I didn’t do anything I was supposed to do—”

  “Calm down. I don’t think it’s as bad as that. As I said, you vomited out—”

  “But you just said I was doomed.”

  “I . . . may have been trying to make sure you were taking this seriously.” As I glared at him, he quickly continued. “What I’m trying to say is yes, in theory, if you’d been fed multiple doses then it would be that bad . . . but that’s also impossible. I’m the only person in the dryad’s service who deals with the outside world. No humans have been given this flower, that much I can tell you.”

  “So, what about the weirdness my life has been for the last couple of weeks?”

  “I can’t answer that. All I can do is warn you about the here and now. Many of the dryads, Sayuri in particular, want you to fulfil their prophecy no matter the cost. Whatever you do, don’t drink anything they give you.”

  I nodded, then remembered Dionaea had shown up with biscuits. “What about food?”

  “Ananke’s Tears will stain anything it touches a bright red. It’s . . . hard to miss.”

  “I’ll keep my eyes open.”

  “Make sure you do because I have a feeling the more you imbibe, the greater fate will conspire to have you accept the blessing of Uranus, which is something you do not want.”

  I smirked. “You don’t have to tell me twice.”

  “I’m not joking,” he said. “You asked me to read up about this prophecy, and I can tell you there’s a good reason why none have accepted this gift from the Meliae.”

  The trees rustled but there wasn’t a breeze. I had a feeling that whatever Mr. Keyne had to say, he’d better spit it out quick. “The father of the Meliae is known as a temperamental and capricious tyrant, and his wife holds grudges that would put Hera to shame. Whomever accepts this blessing will be cursed as well as blessed.”

  “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “Most curses aren’t.”

  “So, what would happen if I drank it, his blood. I mean, is it really blood?”

  “The dryads certainly believe it is. Unfortunately, I’m not sure I have an answer for the rest. However, I think it’s safe to say that if you imbibed the blood while under the influence of Ananke’s tears that the great sky father would notice. The question is . . . what then? If you accepted it willingly that would be one thing, but would a god really want a champion who’d been tricked into serving him?”

  I knew it was a rhetorical question, but I answered anyway. “I always hoped that I would be the kind of hero that chose to do what’s right rather than have it chosen for her.”

  Mr. Keyne smiled broadly at me. “Never change that about yourself, Jessie. Come, we should head back. I can feel the eyes and ears of this place turning our way. It would be best if we spoke no further on this matter.”

  We started back. I had about a zillion more questions and concerns adding up in my mind, but Mr. Keyne was right. This was neither the time nor place.

  “Oh, one more thing,” he said as we neared the cave again. I perked up, wondering if he had one last bit of advice to give me. But instead he slung his backpack off and pulled out a foiled wrapped object, which he held out to me. “Sorry to say I couldn’t find any actual Pop-Tarts out here, but I did manage to get my hands on this, and, hey, they’re not even expired.”

  It was a package of generic toaster pastries called Toastee Deelightz. “Strawberry . . . maple?” I read.

  “Welcome to Canada. Everything here is maple flavored. Sorry if it’s not—”

  I turned and gave him a hug, wishing to convey my thanks for far more than a simple package of Pop-Tart knock-offs. “It’s perfect . . . just what I wanted. My dad always buys the generics anyway.”

  “Then accept them with my blessings,” he said, returning the hug. “It’s the least I can do after everything that you’ve done for me.”

  I pocketed them and we walked the rest of the way back, keeping the conversation as innocuous as possible. However, right before we stepped into the cave entrance I dared to ask, “You’re sure that stuff never got out?”

  “I’ve never given so much as a petal to any human, or Magi for that matter, I promise.” He put a hand on my shoulder. “Take care of yourself, Jessie Flores. My gut tells me that this will all be over soon.”

  “They can’t argue forever,” I said, more to myself than him. He turned away, but I decided to press my luck one last time. “Do you know which of them killed Bush?”

  Mr. Keyne nodded but his eyes were sad. “The magics that bind me to my service keep you from saying certain things, no matter how much I might want to. All I can say is keep your eyes and ears open. Sometimes the truth makes itself known no matter how badly others wish it to stay a secret.”

  Chapter Forty-Three: Peace Finds a Way

  “Have you ever heard of anything called Ananke’s Tears?” Okay, maybe not the subtlest breakfast conversation, but there was no way I was sitting on this information. “Or flos fatorum?”

  “Oh, I’ve heard of it,” Phil said between sips of coffee. “But wouldn’t you rather ask me about something more plausible, like the Loch Ness Monste
r?”

  “Is Nessie. . .?”

  Phil rolled her eyes. “Nothing more than a good marketing campaign by the Scottish Bureau of Tourism. As for your mythical plant, where’d you hear about it? At the dryad jamboree?”

  “Something like that.”

  We sat in silence for a little while longer. “It’s all myths and legends about dangerous and forbidden magic,” Phil said, staring off into space. “Think of it as an allegory against tempting fate. Supposedly back in the day Merlin—yes, that Merlin—received the gift of the flos fatorum from a trio of mysterious sisters from the Isle of Avalon. Misery and woe followed.”

  I nodded. Mr. Keyne’s story was checking out.

  “Did they say where they kept it?” she asked.

  I raised an eyebrow. “I thought you said it was mythical . . . and forbidden.”

  “Doesn’t mean I’m not curious. No sorceress worth her spell book would turn down a chance to get her hands on one of the most powerful enchantment reagents known, mythical or not.”

  I debated whether to say more but decided against it. All it would take was one slip of the tongue. I didn’t think Phil would actually try to finagle some out of Mr. Keyne, but that wasn’t to say word wouldn’t spread, so I quickly changed the subject instead. “Gary should be back soon.” He’d gone for a walk with Dionaea, claiming to be feeling up for it . . . his wording, not mine. I, on the other hand, was trying desperately not to read more into it than—

  Phil raised an eyebrow and grinned. “Jealous?”

  “Not at all. Just concerned that he doesn’t overexert himself.” Yeah, I was not helping matters with regards to my subconscious. Thankfully, I was spared further questioning or horrific thoughts as he and Dionaea picked that moment to return.

  “Oh hey, sugah!” Dionaea waved to me as Gary took a seat to catch his breath . . . hopefully just from walking. “I didn’t want to say anything while Mr. Keyne was around, but my sisters haven’t been botherin’ you, have they?”