by S. L. Stacy
“I don’t even like blondes!” she yells as she pushes down to restrain my flapping arms and legs.
“Let me go!” I grunt, freeing one of my wrists from her grasp. I reach up and pull her hair as hard as I can. She screams and tries to tear her head away, but it only makes me yank harder. While the pain distracts her, I roll out from underneath her. I rebound and am about to lunge at her again when Tanya and Carly tumble inside the bathroom.
“Carly’s sick,” Tanya says as Carly disappears inside the first stall, retching into the toilet. Tanya hurries after her to keep Carly’s unruly curls out of her face while she pukes.
“Someone should have told the bartender to cut her off,” I admonish. Victoria and I both have our arms crossed. We exchange furious glances, our breaths coming out in short, angry gasps.
“She hasn’t had anything to drink!” Carly’s body heaves again, and Tanya turns back to her. “It’s okay, Carly. It’s…what in the world?” Suddenly she pulls back. Underneath her pink dress, Carly’s back ripples like the surface of a rushing creek. It only takes me seconds to realize what’s happening.
“Tanya, get—” I try to warn her as two white feathered wings split through Carly’s dress, slapping against the sides of the stall and forcing Tanya out. Tanya gapes at them in horror. Carly shudders and lifts her head up from the commode, her stomach seemingly settled now that her wings have emerged.
“What happened?” she croaks. Feathers rustle as she struggles to turn around in the stall. There’s a clap of thunder outside, followed by a buzzing sound—a sizzle of electricity that draws my eyes to the ceiling just in time to see the fluorescent lights blink off, throwing us into darkness.
“Crap,” Victoria says. She fumbles around for something on the sink. A moment later, the screen of her cell phone sheds pale light in the darkened bathroom. “Stay here with Carly,” she instructs Tanya and pushes open the door with her hip, motioning for me to follow her.
“I—I’m sorry,” Victoria stammers as we step out into the hall. The entire restaurant is bathed in blackness. Where dance music once thumped from the dining room, an eerie silence now coils around us. “I don’t know what came over me. This isn’t like me.”
“But it’s like me?” I reply in exasperation.
“Of course not. There’s something else at work here,” she says almost to herself. I’m about to ask her what the heck she’s talking about, but Farrah walks briskly out of the dining room, a glimmer of blonde and gold in the dark.
“Do you feel them?”
“Feel what?” I start to ask, but Victoria talks over me.
“A little.” She tilts her head as though she’s listening for something. “I catch snatches of their thoughts. They’re mostly jumbled, but they keep returning to ‘water.’”
“The storm?” As if on cue, lightning blazes outside, briefly illuminating the hardwood floor, eggshell wallpaper and potted ferns.
“No.” The whispered word is packed with dawning realization and fear. “The river.”
“You’re coming with me,” she tells Victoria. “Siobhan, round everybody up and bring them out front.” She turns on her heel and takes off for the front door, Victoria running after her. I turn and race in the opposite direction, back into the dining room.
Although the music has died and the strobe lights have blinked off, the power outage hasn’t dampened the spirit of the civil war raging inside. Farrah just might be the worst chaperone, ever. As I race further into the room, dodging bodies locked in combat, my ankle almost gets caught in a tangle of fallen streamers. Upended foil centerpieces and withered balloons litter the floor. Using a chair as a stepping stone, I climb onto a table and cup my hands around my mouth.
“Hey guys! Guys! We have to—” Something drops from the ceiling, and a hard thump in my chest cuts off the rest of my words. I do a backwards somersault over the edge of the table, my tailbone landing hard on the floor. Swallowing the pain, I scramble to get up, but someone wrestles me back down. I hear the flap of wings and see the whites of dark brown eyes.
“Seriously, Liz!” I roll out from underneath her and instinctively kick out with my leg. The heel of my shoe collides with something soft, and Liz shrieks in pain. “Get out of here! Now!” I shout to the others before Liz rebounds, pouncing on me from behind and locking my arms behind my back.
“You are not going to ruin this for Master!” Liz drags me across the floor, but when we reach the double doors they suddenly bang shut in her face. They’re locked from the outside with a small but horrible click. Dropping me, Liz leans into them with all her strength, her shoes squeaking against the floor, but they won’t budge. “Hey!” she calls out, banging on one of them with her fists. “I’m still in here! Let me out! Let me—”
“Do you hear that?” a voice exclaims from somewhere in the room. Sometime during my fight with Liz, the room lapsed into an anxious silence. “It sounds like the ocean.”
Now I hear it: a hollow roar, like the sound you hear when you hold a conch shell to your ear. The building groans just before a wall of water crashes through the glass wall, sweeping us into wet oblivion.
Chapter 26
Before this school year, I had never been knocked unconscious, but for the second time in a span of only a few weeks I emerge from black forgetfulness, this time with water dribbling out of my mouth onto my chin. Breathing quickly, I sit up on my elbows, my skin chafing against the cool, rough granite of the sidewalk underneath me. A white full moon has broken through the dissipating cloud cover and glints off the now tranquil dark silver river. All around me my sorority sisters and their dates, along with the Riverfront Bar and Grill’s cooks, servers and other patrons are at different stages of awareness: Some are just coming to, gasping and coughing up water like me, while others are already sitting up, dazed eyes looking from the saturated lawn to the wood and plaster guts of the restaurant.
There’s a glimmer of blue in the skeletal doorframe. Her posture tall and regal, Victoria walks through it cradling something in her arms, the pale moonlight creating a halo around her auburn hair. The feathers of her snowy white wings flutter in the chilled breeze. Realization surges forward in my mind, but seeing the body she carries in her arms quickly extinguishes it. Victoria’s swift stride jostles Max’s otherwise unresponsive body. One of her arms supports his neck and head; his legs dangle over the other. I get to my feet and stagger over the muddy lawn to them.
“He’s okay,” she assures me once I’m within earshot, laying him carefully on the ground. “He’s unconscious right now, but he’ll be fine.” Dried blood cakes the gash above his eyebrow, and more red cuts crisscross his arms and legs. “Stay with him,” she says before turning and walking back into the rubble. Except for a few glistening droplets of water, Victoria’s skin is clear and unscathed. I glance down at the smooth, peach skin of my own hands, arms and legs.
A few feet away from Max, a girl is sprawled face-down on the grass. Hair clings like black seaweed to her head and neck, and silver-blue fish scales cover every inch of her slender back and arms. I bend down and place a gentle hand on Max’s cheek, feeling his warm breath on my fingers. “You’re safe now. I’ll be right over here,” I tell him before going over to inspect Genie’s body.
I gently flip Genie over. Her eyes are closed, the expanse of sleek scales covering her face, chest and stomach as well. Instead of legs, her torso transitions into a long, thick, slippery tail more like an eel’s than a fish’s except for the forked fins at its end. Crouching next to her, I feel around her wrist for a pulse, not sure exactly where it’s supposed to be—but even if I did, I know I wouldn’t find one.
“She’s gone.” Farrah’s voice behind me confirms my suspicion. When she kneels down, her dress pools like liquid gold around her knees. “Did you know her?”
“Not really,” I admit, an unexpected sadness for the girl whose name I couldn’t remember at The End seizing me. I’d seen her several times with Jasper and his gang, but I n
ever even tried to warn her about him or snap her out of Jasper’s spell. Now she’s dead. This could have been any of them. It could have been Liz. “What is she? I mean—who is her ancestor?”
“She was a Nereid. A water nymph, descended from Nereus and Doris. They’re supposed to be protectors of the water, but here her powers have been used to destroy.”
“I don’t understand…I thought ambrosia was supposed to make us stronger. Bring us as close as possible to immortality.” Tears sting my eyes. “But she’s dead.”
“So you know about ambrosia.”
“You told me about the ‘compound’ from Olympus, Jasper has a bottle of it in his medicine cabinet—I connected the dots. Jasper’s been slipping it into my drinks without telling me,” I reluctantly confess. “Exactly like what you did.”
Farrah smiles wickedly. “I guess the moral is to be wary of any drink an Olympian offers you.” I stand up, the damp earth sucking at the bottom of my shoes as I walk back over to Max. Farrah’s high heels make squelching noises alongside me.
“I’ve been treating the executive board with ambrosia to prepare them for the ceremony. With their consent, of course,” Farrah adds in response to my look of dismay. “In answer to your question: The demigods will never be quite as resilient or live quite as long as a full Olympian, but the girl would have survived if she had been given enough ambrosia.”
“So they used her before she was ready,” I conclude quietly.
Suddenly Farrah steps in front of me, towering over me like a gold statue and blocking my view of Max. “I hope you can see now how imperative it is we send my son and his accomplices home. Eros isn’t the man he once was. He, Apate and Dolos are going to get these demigods killed, and they don’t care.”
“Maybe they do,” I object, saying “they do” even though what I really mean is “he does.” “Maybe they didn’t realize they hadn’t given her enough.”
“Don’t be stupid, Siobhan—”
“You said it yourself,” I interrupt her. “‘Eros isn’t the man he once was’—meaning he didn’t use to be like this. He can become that person again. I can help him.”
Farrah looks at me like she thinks I’m the most pathetic person in the world. “What, you think love can save him? As much as you might like to think you are, you’re not a Disney princess, and this isn’t a movie. You’re dealing with a being that gets off on interfering in the affairs of Olympians and humans. This,” she says, gesturing to the dreary scene around us, “is just another extension of his mischievous nature. Once you peel through all the layers of guilt and anguish over your death, you’re still not going to find the man you hope to.”
“You’re wrong.” Although all of the evidence up to this point supports her conjecture, I don’t want Farrah to think I’m on her side, either. This isn’t a case of siding with the good guys or the bad guys—they’re all bad guys, as far as I’m concerned. This is a case of saving my friends—and possibly humanity—while still being me. Eros isn’t the person he once was, but neither am I—I’m not Psyche, and I’m not mischievous, or two-faced, or manipulative. I’m not like them. “You don’t understand: I am going to help you. But I’m doing this my way. I’m not tricking him into doing anything. I’m going to make him see that what they’re doing is wrong.”
Farrah is silent for a moment, then shrugs. “Fine. Have it your way. As far as I’m concerned, this will be no help to us at all—and with or without your help, we’re sending him back to Olympus.” With this promise hanging in the air, Farrah leaves me to go talk to the two police officers striding across the lawn. Their car is parked at the curb, lights flashing blue and red, and more are pulling up behind it. The whirr of ambulance sirens approaches, slicing through the eerie calm. What the hell are we going to tell the first responders? How are we going to explain Genie, who hasn’t morphed back into her human form yet? Watching Farrah’s jade eyes ensnare those of the two male officers, their expressions glazing over, reassures me—they’ll believe anything Farrah tells them.
I shiver as a breeze passes over me, one I would normally find cool and rejuvenating if my clothes weren’t heavy with water. A solid, comforting arm encircles my shaking shoulders.
“How’re you doing?” Jimmy wonders, kissing my wet, stringy hair.
“As good as can be, I guess.” I lay my head on his shoulder. “You?”
“I’m okay.”
“How’s Peter?”
“He’s fine.”
“Really?” I exclaim doubtfully. “Because the last time I saw him, Tanya’s date had knocked him out.”
“Peter gets back on his feet pretty quickly,” Jimmy assures me. “What do you think that was, anyway? A freak flash flood?”
Lifting my head, I chuckle softly. “That’s an understatement.” Even though it’s an extremely inappropriate time, I find once I start laughing, I suddenly can’t stop, my laughs growing hysterical and breathless.
Jimmy pulls away from me slightly but keeps a firm hand on my back. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
I clutch my ribs and try to catch my breath, giving a strangled sob. “No. No, I’m not.” Then, it all spills out of me—everything I’ve found out since he, Anna and I talked at the party: about Jasper and Farrah’s true identities, about Olympus and our ancestry. About the rebellion, Jasper’s army and the real cause of tonight’s destruction. I go back even further and tell him about my dreams—and finally, about me.
“He was my husband on Olympus. I think I’m the only one who can bring him out of this.”
After a pause, Jimmy says, “So you’re still in love with him.”
“I—I don’t know.” Jimmy looks understanding, but I know this isn’t what he wants to hear. “I love you, too. I’m just really confused,” I try to explain it away. “Anyway, I’m not doing this because I love him now. I’m doing it because, if we loved each other once, maybe I’m the only one who can reach him.”
“I hate to say this, but Farrah might be right. He might not be worth saving. I admire you for trying to take the high road, but you should stick to Farrah’s plan this time around.”
“I can’t believe you would say that.” I feel like my world is slipping away from me—everything I love, everyone I care about isn’t really what it seems. “Tell me I should do something I’m not comfortable with. I thought I’d at least be able to count on you.”
“This isn’t just about you. Or me. This is bigger than us, and lives are at stake. Genie died today because of him. You still want to give him a chance to leave on his own terms?”
“Yes. Oh, what?” I shout, throwing my arms in the air in frustration at the expression he’s giving me. It’s the same look Farrah had on her face minutes ago: disbelief mixed with pity. “You think this is stupid. You think I’m being stupid.”
“I do.” He shrugs. “I think you’re being stupid and self—” A groan of pain from the ground cuts him off and makes us both jump. Max has a hand to his forehead and struggles to sit up.
“Here, let me help you. Take it slow,” I advise him, using the weight of my arms to guide him into a seated posture. Max’s blue eyes balk at me.
“I didn’t know you cared so much,” he mumbles, rubbing his forehead.
“Of course I care!” I snap, my leftover anger at Jimmy boiling over. “Just because I wanted to break up doesn’t mean I want you to die!”
Max winces and hides his face in his arms. “Stop yelling.”
“I’m sorry,” I sigh, standing back up.
Max looks at me through his fingers. “So we are broken up,” he realizes. “You’re really choosing him.”
“This isn’t the time, Max.” The tenderness I’ve been feeling toward him ever since Victoria came out holding his limp body in her arms is evaporating along with the water in my hair and on my skin. “You probably have a concussion.”
“When is it ever going to be the time?” he wonders, lowering his hands. He shakes his head ruefully. “You have to choose one o
f us.”
I glance at Jimmy for help, but his arms are crossed, his eyebrows raised as he waits for my response. “Fine. I don’t want either one of you.” Grief spasms my face as I stalk away from them in the direction of the restaurant’s remains. Victoria has reemerged, wings retracted, this time helping along a limping, defeated-looking Liz.
“But you’ll choose him!” Jimmy yells after me. He means Jasper. I grind my lips together to keep from screaming back at him, not even acknowledging him with a backward glance.
“The shuttle’s here,” Victoria says when we meet up halfway. She passes Liz off to me, and I let Liz lean on my shoulder. “I’m staying here to help Farrah.
“I’ll help you down to the bus,” I tell Liz, “but I’m not going home with you guys. I’m going to Jasper’s.” Wariness flashes in Victoria’s round eyes, glowing more orange than brown in the dark. “Nothing anybody says is going to change my mind,” I say before Victoria can start trying to convince me not to go.
Acceptance settles in to replace the look of warning in her eyes. “Do what you need to do,” Victoria says. While she joins Farrah and her gaggle of smitten cops, Liz and I make our way slowly to the idling shuttle.
“I’m sorry,” Liz says without looking me in the eye, her voice a hoarse whisper.
“I know.”
“I understand it if you guys hate me.”
“We don’t,” I assure her. “Not that you don’t have some apologizing to do. But I know—and I think the others do, too—that you haven’t exactly been yourself lately. You got caught up in a new world, and a tantalizing one, at that. It could happen to anyone. Who could blame you for that?”
Liz nods, but a bleak frown still turns down the corners of her mouth. “I thought they were my friends, but they’re not. You guys are. You’re my sisters.” As she says it, Carly reaches out to her from the shuttle. Liz accepts her hand and takes the steps one at a time.