Brandywine Investigations

by Angel Martinez

  The pines thinned out until she reached a broad clearing, where figures moved so gracefully over the snow that she stopped inside the tree line, unwilling to disturb what looked to her like a fairy gathering. It wasn't a flute or a guitar she'd heard but panpipes and one of those curved Greek stringed things… a lyre, both played by drop-dead-gorgeous women. There was another on a hand drum keeping time softly, and six more going through the motions of a complicated dance. The nine women all had a family look to them, same beautiful noses, same thick black hair. Even though it was freezing, none of them wore coats. Some of them didn't even have shoes. If that wasn't enough to intimidate Ing—nine gorgeous sisters having an impromptu dance party—the figure standing outside their dance space sure as hell was.

  Even though she scowled, mouth drawn down, dark eyebrows scrunched together, she was amazing. Tall and broad shouldered but not a bruiser like Ing, more lean and athletic, she had her black hair pulled back in a single long braid, her gray eyes following the dancers' movements with intense concentration. A quiver of arrows and a longbow were slung across her back, and Ing swallowed hard, trying not to be all creepy as she checked out the tight jeans hugging those long legs. The woman at the clearing's edge looked like she might be related to the dancers too, but she obviously didn't feel comfy with the others in their floating, gossamer gowns.

  The music stopped, and the dancers all turned toward the archer at the edge of the clearing.

  "You need to try it, Artie," the shortest gossamer chick, who seemed to be leading the dance said.

  "I don't have it yet." The archer shook her head in a frustrated way. "Once more."

  Little gossamer put her hands on her hips and stamped her foot. "You need to do this with us. Your own feet have to try it or you'll never get it."

  "Once more, Terpie. Please."

  The archer resumed her scowling while the music started up again, the dancers stepping and weaving. Made Ing feel bad for the archer. She couldn't pick up the pattern either.

  "Stop." The archer's whisper somehow cut across the clearing.

  "Do you have it? Are you ready to try?" another one of the dancers asked.

  The archer held up a hand. "Someone's here."

  All of the sisters stopped what they were doing and turned in the direction of the archer's gaze, which pointed directly at Ing.

  Oh, crap. Awkward. Her first instinct was to turn and flee. Running away from a potentially embarrassing situation was in her usual repertoire. But the thought of lumbering away like some spooked bear wasn't really appealing, and it felt rude besides. I mean, I was lurking in the woods, watching them, not the other way around. But Ing wanted them to know she wasn't some creeper or axe murderer, so she stepped out of the trees and did an awkward wave thing.

  "Hey, um, hi. I was out getting wood. Heard your music. Stopped to watch you dancing."

  Great, Ing. Yeah. Totally not creepy.

  The archer took her bow down off her shoulder, which didn't make Ing any more comfortable. The damn thing was almost as tall as she was and gleamed silver in the moonlight, not to mention it was all strung and ready to go. Archer could probably nock and aim faster than Ing could blink twice. "Who are you?"

  "Me?" Ing's voice never cracked and squeaked, except in that moment. "I'm, um, Ingeborg Lind. My grandma lives over there." She waved vaguely back toward the cabin, her lungs constricting more with each breath. "Visiting for the holidays."

  "Ingeborg." The archer relaxed her grip on her bow just enough so Ing didn't think she'd be shot right away. "Are you a Valkyrie?"

  The sisters had gathered in the middle of the clearing, and Ing could've sworn some of them were giggling, though she couldn't imagine having the courage.

  "Am I… what?"

  "Valkyrie. Your name. You have the build for it."

  Woman of few words, apparently. "Yeah, um, there's some Viking in there, but no. No battlefields and big white horses for me."

  The archer stared at Ing, one black eyebrow raised. "They're not all white."

  "What?"

  "The horses."

  Yeah, this is going well.

  "Is it all right, Artie?" one of the more serious sisters asked. "Shall we tell her?"

  Artie? That couldn't have been the archer's name, but she nodded. The serious sister moved away from the flock of nine toward Ing.

  "This is Artemis, goddess of the hunt." She waved a hand to indicate the archer. "And we are the muses. I am Urania, the muse of astronomy."

  "Really? Astronomy has a muse? I thought that was just for artsy, writerly stuff." Damn it. Why do I say stuff like that? People tell me they're mythological characters, and that's what comes out? "Though, you know, sciencey things are cool too."

  Some of the sisters laughed, beautiful, bell-like sounds, but Urania just sighed. "Yes. Astronomy has a muse." She seemed to take Ing's ignorance in stride and started pointing to the others. "That's Calliope, the muse of epic poetry, Euterpe, music, Melpomene, tragedy, Thalia, comedy, Erato, lyric poetry, Polyhymnia, sacred music, Clio, history, and Terpsichore, dance."

  Terpsichore, the little one Artemis had called Terpie, was the one who had been leading the dance. Go figure. Euterpe had the panpipe thing, Erato, the lyre thing and Thalia, the drum. Ing got it—the nine muses, their half-sister, Artemis. Not like she hadn't heard of them before, but this was all too weird. She would've said maybe cosplayers or a pagan gathering, but the cold didn't touch them, and they hardly left prints in the snow.

  The gods are real. They live here with us. Gran had always said it, but Ing hadn't taken her literally before.

  "So, um, have any of you met my Gran?"

  Terpsichore smiled at Ing, and not with the mean-girl smile she had expected. "I don't think s—"

  "Wait. Lind," Artemis interrupted from where she leaned on her monstrous bow. "Elke Lind? She still lives here?"

  Ing nodded, too dumbstruck—or maybe moonstruck—to get the faulty wiring from her brain to her mouth working. Artemis was looking at her. Straight at her, and she thought she might never breathe again. So perfect. Sure, goddess. But the muses were kind of goddesses too, and they didn't do it for Ing. No, this stern, laconic huntress did like no one ever had. Hit Ing hard in every place that mattered and left her shaking.

  "Huh," Artemis said, and her discomfort around words and social situations just made her more endearing.

  "So, uh, what are you all… doing out here?" Ing managed without squeaking.

  "Trying to teach me this damn dance," Artemis muttered.

  Terpsichore took her hand and dragged her into the center of the clearing. "We are. It's the Haloa, you see. The harvest festival honoring Demeter and Dionysus. The women's festival. Artie promised she would come this year, but if she does, she has to dance with us."

  "Why?" Ing blurted out.

  "She doesn't have to," Thalia said as she rolled her eyes. "But it's the offering dance. Kinda rude not to."

  "Dio's expecting you," Calliope addressed Artemis, her mouth set in a prim little bow that would've made an old-fashioned school marm proud. "He will be heartbroken if you don't keep your promise."

  "Come on." Terpsichore clapped her hands, back in bossy mode. "Everyone back to your places. Ingeborg, you will dance with us too."

  "Me… what?"

  "You're tall enough to partner our Artie. And you must have been watching long enough to learn the steps."

  "I'm… uh… ." Ing was sure the heat from her face was going to melt all the snow around them, leaving them standing in a foot of muck. Would probably get her out of dancing with a goddess. "I don't… ."

  "Of course you do. Everyone dances."

  Ing whited out for a minute in panic, since the next thing she knew she was stumbling through the offering dance, her right hand in Artemis' left. It was an amazing hand, calloused and strong. Neither of them managed a great job with the dancing though, so they just let the muses prod and prompt them through it.

  "So…" Ing started,
scintillating conversationalist that she was.

  "So?" Up close, Artemis' gray eyes were still guarded, but Ing thought she caught a spark of amusement.

  "If this is for a women's festival, why does Dionysus get to come?"

  Artemis shrugged, missed a step, and scowled at her feet. "Dio's different. He's a harvest god, so it's his festival too. Besides, he comes in drag."

  "He does? And everyone's okay with that? He's okay with that?"

  "Dio loves going in drag. Wears dresses better than I do. And heels." She glanced up again. "He's just different, and he's my favorite little brother."

  Ing nodded. "I get that. The different part."

  Neither of them were any good, but at least they could be terrible dancers together. Ing even got a couple of chuckles out of her chilly moon goddessness before the dance lesson was over. When Terpsichore called a halt, saying that was probably as good as it was going to get, the disappointment surprised Ing. She hated dancing and hated to admit she'd been having fun.

  Artemis retrieved her silver bow from where she'd propped it against a nearby pine while the muses gathered into a gaggle again. This time it wasn't to snicker at Ing though. The tallest one, Clio, faced away from them and raised her hands, palms together. When she slowly pulled her hands apart, a glowing rectangle formed between them, widening as she spread her arms until a door-sized hole in the air hovered in front of her.

  Ing must've been gaping, since Artemis nudged her with an elbow. The whole finding-goddesses-in-the-woods thing hadn't really registered until they started messing with the laws of physics. The muses gave Ing little waves or pats on the shoulder before they passed through the rectangle one by one, disappearing into what looked like a nightscape in Greece, complete with poplar trees and a shadowy temple on a hill.

  "Teleporting?" Ing whispered.

  Artemis shrugged. "Dimensional door."

  The last through, Clio turned and pointed at Artemis. "Don't even think about hiding. If you don't show up, we'll hunt you down."

  "Ha." Artemis gave her a halfhearted wave and sighed when the magic doorway snapped shut. Ing must've been showing her thoughts on her face again, since Artemis poked her with the end of her bow. "I don't like parties. And those biddies couldn't hunt me down if I wanted to hide. Er, not be found."

  "I bet." Ing eyed her weapons as an uncomfortable thought crept into her brain. "Are you gonna set the dogs on me now? Do I get a head start?"

  Artemis's forehead crinkled. "I don't have the dogs with me."

  "So you're just going to shoot me?"

  "What in Tartarus are you babbling about?"

  Ing waved an arm at the clearing, more of a flail than a wave. "You don't like humans finding you in the woods, right? I remember enough about Greek gods for that. When people spy on you, you turn them into deer and have your dogs tear them apart and stuff like that."

  "Huh." Artemis slipped the bow over her head, settling it on her back. "You weren't spying."

  "Actaeon and those other guys you killed?"

  "I protect my own." She stared out into the woods, arms crossed, finger tapping on her arm. "Big difference between stumbling across women swimming and stalking them with rape in mind so you can brag to your buddies. I was young. Times were different."

  A little extreme maybe, but Ing got that too. All those centuries ago, no one would've cared. Hell, Artemis's own father was a rapist without peer, and no one ever cut his divine dick off. Strong, self-sufficient, she'd just taken matters into her own hands. But the way she stared out into the snow, her eyes hollow and tired, it occurred to Ing that she might have wished she'd not been so bloody-minded. She just looked so weary and haunted.

  Lonely.

  "Hey, um, you want to come to Gran's for dinner?" Crap. I can't believe I just said that. "I mean, Gran's always on us about the sacred host obligation, especially on Midwinter's Night. You find someone at your door, you invite them in. Not that you're at the door. Or that you'd need somewhere to go. I mean, you're a goddess and all. You must be busy." Shut up. Babbling. Just shut up.

  "Not busy." She cocked her head to look at Ing, her gaze searching. "And Elke's family. I'm curious."

  "Oh. Cool. Great. I was getting wood. For the fire. But, um…"

  "I can help."

  The weird ratcheted up a dozen notches as Ing went back to breaking up deadfall with a goddess. Ing quickly decided if a person had a choice of goddess to help out in the woods, to pick Artemis. Hands down. She knew right where the driest wood was, her every movement economical confidence, supremely comfortable in her element.

  "What do you do?" Artemis asked as she broke apart a branch thicker than Ing’s thigh.

  "Do?" There went the mouth-brain connection again. Need to do something about the faulty wiring.

  "Yes. Humans usually have jobs."

  "Oh, right. That." Ing shrugged, embarrassed that she couldn't tell a goddess she had some badass job like forest ranger or fighter pilot or something. "I help Mom and Dad with their alpaca farm."

  Artemis frowned at Ing while she finished breaking up the next log she pulled from the snow, then she cleared her throat and asked, "You don't eat them, do you?"

  "What? No!" Too late to hide her shocked expression, Ing closed her mouth and went back to loading wood in the sling. "We raise suris. For fiber. Makes softer yarn. Sometimes we'll sell a cria to a horse farm or a family for a companion animal. But most of our business is fiber."

  "You weave, then?"

  "I take care of the critters. None of that crafty stuff for me, and people mostly knit with the yarn. Not so much weaving. Don't get out much, do you?" Ing wanted to slap herself as soon as she said it. Goddess, you're talking to a goddess, you tactless moron.

  Instead of taking offense, Artemis gave her one of those tight-lipped smiles. "I don't get in much. Don't spend much time with humans anymore."

  "Got it." Ing tied up the sling and took it on her back. "Sure you want to go to Gran's? There'll be a whole horde of humans there."

  Artemis just shrugged, which could've meant anything, but she followed Ing when she started to trudge back to the cabin. They walked shoulder to shoulder, mostly quiet, and it was comfortable. Most people would've been searching awkwardly for something to say, something they might actually respond to. With Artemis? She didn't feel like she needed to spout stupid shit to keep her attention. Artemis was self-contained, alert, and present, not needing to be entertained. Probably helped that she didn't pull out a phone to start texting, like Ing's old girlfriends had done when she got boring.

  After the soft moonlit woods, the cabin seemed to blaze with light as they approached, the hum of conversation drifting out into the muffled quiet of the snowscape.

  "Ready to meet the horde?" Ing asked as she took the steps up to the front porch.

  Artemis's expression was grim as she straightened her bow and lifted her chin, steeling herself for battle. "Ready."

  Ing crossed the threshold first, feeling like a social bodyguard, a bulwark against the onslaught. No one paid much attention to her coming back in, but all the chatter died when she stepped aside to let Artemis in.

  The multitude of family stared. Artemis glared back. Ing shut the door quietly behind her in case she was thinking of a quick escape.

  "Gran!" Ing called toward the kitchen. "I brought a guest home for dinner."

  "Who in all hells did you find out in the woods in this weather?" Gran called back. A second later, her iron clogs stomped down the hall to the main room. "If it's that—"

  She froze when she caught sight of our guest. "Artemis?"

  Artemis' lips quirked up in one of those tight, fleeting smiles. "Hello, Elke. Good to see you."

  Next thing Ing knew, Gran was hugging Artemis and yelling at the family, "Get up, you miscreants! Have some respect when a goddess comes into the room!"

  Through the pandemonium of questions and exclamations, Marissa, bless her, someday she'd learn, shrieked, "Mom! That's enough! You ha
ve to stop lying to the kids like this!"

  One hand still on Gran's shoulder, Artemis turned to pin Marissa with her coldest glare. The room's temperature plummeted, the fire died to a blue glow, and frost crackled on the insides of the windowpanes. "Elke? Do you need me to take care of this one for you?"

  Gran snorted. "That's just my daughter-in-law. Don't pay her any mind. Insists everyone has to believe exactly as she does. Calls magic from her god good and any other magic evil."

  "Ah. One of those." Artemis turned her back on Marissa, who was gaping like a landed catfish, and the frost vanished, the fire resuming its happy crackle on the hearth. "Am I welcome?"

  "Of course you're welcome. What kind of question is that? I should yell at you for taking so long to visit. Sixty years it's been." Gran gave a general flap of her hands at everyone. "Go on. Everyone to the table. We're bringing out the roast."

  Everyone settled, and though it was quiet and weird at first, Ing's family had never been able to shut up for long. The chatter and snark were back, zipping around the table almost before everyone finished passing plates. Ing thought that maybe Artemis was a vegetarian when she'd asked about eating alpacas, but she attacked the roast with as much zeal as the rest of the omnivores. Made sense. Huntress and all. Marissa was quiet, shooting confused and anxious looks around the table, and Ing was pretty sure Uncle Jimmy would be single again soon.

  And Artemis? She held her own. No, she didn't become suddenly chatty, but she answered the kids' questions about her bow and about how far away she could be and still hit a target. She patiently explained to little Nicole that, no, her moon chariot didn't pull the moon—that would be silly—but the chariot and the moon horses drew power from the moon like her brother Apollo's chariot did from the sun.