Immortal's Spring (The Chrysomelia Stories)

by Molly Ringle

  Now even that timeless love was all out of whack.

  “I think this realm needs you and your gardens,” Terry said. “And so does the living world. That’s what I think.”

  The orchard needs you, Persephone. Adrian’s soul had said it to hers, last time they were dead, down here between lives.

  “Both realms?” she said. “That’s a lot to balance. I’m sucking at balance lately.”

  “You’ll find it again. You’ll stop wobbling one of these days. Believe me, honey.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Detective Kinnaman was at least as old as Liam’s dad, and pudgy with gray thinning hair. Liam hadn’t known him before all this. They’d brought in cops from other parts of the state for this case, because apparently no one could solve it. They never would, of course, unless they figured out about immortals and the spirit realm, and Liam got how that would be too much of a mind-blower to share with them. Still, he felt kind of sorry for the cops. They didn’t have the important clues and they were trying really hard to help.

  Detective Kinnaman frowned at his computer screen, clicked a bunch of times, then looked over the top of his glasses with sympathy at Sophie and Liam. They sat in front of his desk in the police station in Carnation. The office door was closed to help make Liam and Sophie feel safe, though what made Liam feel a lot safer was knowing their immortal buds Tab and Zoe were waiting for them in the lobby like a couple of expert bodyguards.

  “I don’t know what to make of it,” Kinnaman confessed. He turned to Sophie. “We have all these pre-existing tips about Betty Quentin being involved in the attacks on you before the house explosion, and you say you suspect she was in on this too. That makes sense to me.”

  Sophie nodded. They weren’t telling the cops about how Quentin, Krystal, and Landon had abducted Sophie briefly while the house burned down. They also couldn’t tell the cops that Quentin was dead, killed in the other realm, so they might as well not bother looking for her. There was no way to explain all that without talking about immortality and gods, which would get them locked up in some kind of psychiatric hospital. So Liam kept his mouth shut, though luckily he was only twelve and the cop barely ever asked him anything except whether he was doing okay.

  “The only trace we can find of who fired the rocket,” Kinnaman went on, “is footprints in the field. But our team swears they belong to a young woman, not an elderly woman like Quentin. And they’re not yours, Sophie; we already confirmed that.”

  Sophie nodded again. They also weren’t telling about Krystal and Landon, even though they knew their names, because Team Immortal wanted to keep tracking Thanatos themselves and watching what they were up to. It was seriously frustrating. Liam wanted to get the fuckers caught and put on Death Row. But Adrian and the others, even though they felt the same way, also said they would alert the police to stop Thanatos if they were about to hurt anyone. Just not yet.

  Liam had strong suspicions none of them knew what the hell they were doing. Lately he wondered if anyone on Earth knew what they were doing. After all, if the police didn’t know and the immortals from the Underworld didn’t know, then who did?

  “Nothing useful’s been found in the remains of the house,” Kinnaman continued. “No one among your family’s friends or neighbors has thought of any leads. We’ve looked and looked, but we can’t find anyone in your past, or your parents’ past, who’d be this much of an enemy, who’d go this far to hurt you guys.” He lifted the cover of a file folder with the tips of his fingers, then let it fall and dropped his hand on top of it. “Look, I’m begging you: have you thought of anything? Any leads? I mean, these people can’t just be allowed to walk free. I’m sure you agree.”

  “Oh, I’m with you.” Sophie spoke with quiet decisiveness. “All these attacks were insane. And random—out of nowhere. I still hardly believe it’s happened. But I’m searching too, trying to get help from everyone I know.”

  “You’re staying safe?” Kinnaman’s forehead crinkled up. “I really wish you’d let us put more security on you.”

  “We’re safe for now. I think we’re safest this way, by not telling many people where we are.”

  “As long as we can easily reach you. You’re keeping your cell on, right?”

  “Right,” she said.

  “And doing your check-ins with your doctors?”

  She nodded.

  Kinnaman heaved a sigh. “Jeez, kids, I’m sorry. I wish I had more to tell you. This case is incredibly frustrating.”

  Sophie drew her bag up onto her lap. “Is that all for today? We were going to visit the house again. It might help us remember something. Or at least…” Her words trailed off.

  Kinnaman nodded, rising as she stood. “Of course. We’ve got a couple guys over there right now. I’ll give them a call, let them know you’re coming.”

  Kinnaman shook hands with her, then with Liam. Then he tousled Liam’s hair, like Liam was six or something.

  “Thanks,” Liam mumbled to him on their way out.

  “You take care, guys,” Kinnaman said.

  Liam and Sophie didn’t speak or make eye contact as they walked down the corridor, rejoined Tab and Zoe, and left the Carnation police station. His sister finally glanced at him as they crossed the street.

  “They’re going to catch us,” Liam accused. “They’ll figure out we’re hiding something.”

  “They probably already have.” Sophie sounded like she didn’t really care. “They’ll never guess what.”

  “That’s the trouble, really.” Zoe sounded bummed. “It might be nice to tell more people about immortals and have them believe us. We could use the bloody help.”

  “For reals,” Tab said.

  They walked out of the town’s small business center and along the path beside the highway. Zoe and Tab stayed on the outer sides of Sophie and Liam, as if ready to jump any attackers.

  “Why are we walking?” Liam complained. He liked riding those spirit horses, and in any case, it took fifteen whole minutes to walk from town to their house. Or rather, to where their house used to be.

  “It’s a nice day and we can use the exercise,” Sophie told him, in a firm voice that sounded a lot like their mom’s.

  Liam scowled at the highway. “It’s cold. And windy.”

  Which it was, but they ignored him, and honestly it wasn’t too bad for January. The sky was clear blue, and the sun felt almost warm in those seconds when the cold wind calmed down and stopped slicing through your clothes.

  As they drew nearer to the remains of their house, the wind carried whiffs of burned wood to his nose. Even after almost a month, with daily rain washing over it, you could still smell it. Liam wondered how long the stench would last. Till they cleared away all the burned timbers and plowed up all the scorched grass?

  Like Kinnaman had said, there were uniformed people with latex gloves standing around. One picked around in the debris, and two others stood aside and talked. As Liam and Sophie and their friends approached, the police moved aside the crime scene tape and waved them in.

  “Just stay in this area here.” The middle-aged woman gestured to the garden and shed area. “There’s spots in the house where you could fall through to the basement.”

  Sophie was gazing silently at the pile of ruins.

  “That’s fine,” Tab answered for her. “We just wanted to visit a little.”

  Sophie glanced at the woman and murmured, “Thanks,” then walked off alone toward the trampled, dormant herb garden. Zoe trailed her.

  Liam approached the house’s borders and pushed his foot against the concrete steps that used to go up to the kitchen. Now they went nowhere. But they still sat here like they might be useful to someone someday. Poor steps, he thought. You’re only going to get busted up and thrown out like all this other shit.

  He turned to check on Sophie. She was crouching near the fence, and for a moment he worried she was sick or weak. But Zoe leaned on the fence near her, and seemed relaxed, so Liam
relaxed too. He wandered over.

  “It seems early,” Sophie was saying, “but I guess January is actually when they start to come up.”

  “When what comes up?” Liam asked.

  Sophie pointed to the green tips poking up among the dead leaves. “Flowers. These are crocuses, these are snowdrops, and these are bluebells. Remember? They always came up on this side of the garden.”

  “Tough little flowers,” Zoe said. “They’re good at coming back.”

  “Yeah.” Sophie cleared the leaf litter around them. She looked up at Liam. The sun hit her hazel eyes, lighting up a purpose and clarity in them that he hadn’t seen in a long time. “Can you check the shed and see if there’s a trowel? I want to take some of these with us.”

  “What for?” he asked.

  “To grow in the Underworld.”

  Chapter Eighteen

  The low setting sun streamed from behind Hekate. Her shadow and Dionysos’, joined at the hands, stretched long in front of them. It was still early spring, and the evening wind blew cold.

  Dionysos stopped and smiled at her. He wore his purple robes for the opening of the festival, decorated with fur, flowers, and vines. He held his cloth mask in his other hand. “Ready?”

  She nodded, though she shivered with nerves.

  They slipped on their masks. She had redecorated her old cloth one so that now in addition to the flakes of colored stone, it bore small gems from the Underworld. Hephaestus had cut them for her, and had also designed her a new necklace that she wore tonight, strung with gemstones in all hues, like a rainbow.

  Her mother and father used to wear the Underworld’s jewels as a sign of pride in their domain. She would do the same. Not just tonight but every day.

  When Persephone and Hades had seen her off for the festival today, they had admired Hephaestus’ new work and complimented her appearance in it. And of course they had urged her to be careful. But they hadn’t seemed particularly concerned. No need to be: this Dionysia was hosted by the city of Athens, where Athena and her legendary wisdom were held in high regard. Crime and Thanatos did crop up here too, of course, but there was almost no place where the immortals were more respected. Besides, Dionysos had a strict rule now of keeping armed guards at every festival—some at the outskirts, watching for intruders, and some patrolling within the grounds. In addition, he no longer slept in the living realm. Very few immortals did anymore.

  Thus they were not about to fall into the same trap that had snapped shut around Hekate before, the one that had led to the self-sacrifice of her mother, father, and grandmother. Nevertheless, with the memory of her last Dionysia shadowing her, Hekate trembled as they switched realms. Drums played nearby, musicians entertaining the crowd before the festival.

  Dionysos slipped his arm around her. They walked toward the crowd. “This is an especially friendly city. We’ll be fine.”

  “I know.” Her voice felt tight.

  They reached the crowd’s edge. Everyone wore robes and masks, purple being the predominant color. No one gave Hekate and Dionysos a second glance—except Athena, whose tall, masked figure strolled toward them from the midst of the revelers.

  “You made it!” Athena drew Hekate in for a hug, and beamed at Dionysos. Olive leaves twined around Athena’s gold crown; only small gleams of metal showed through. “I’ll take good care of her tonight,” Athena said. “Until you’re free to fetch her.”

  Dionysos bowed. “Thank you, my lady.” He turned to face Hekate. “I need to get set up. You’ll be all right?”

  “Yes.” With Athena beside her, and the armed guards about, Hekate did feel safe, or at least just safe enough.

  “See you soon.” He darted into the crowd to join the priests and priestesses.

  The procession began. Athena kept Hekate at ease by chatting with her while they walked. Hekate took the opportunity to bring up the idea of spreading the truth about the Underworld.

  “I like it,” Athena said after pondering it, “but it’s going to be hard to keep the story from getting bent into inaccuracy every time we turn our backs.” She shook her head. “Goddess above, how Greeks love to make up stories. Nonetheless, I’ll think about how we could handle such a thing. Special training for priestesses and priests who already run the festivals or shrines—yes, something like that could work.”

  “And mortals do understand magic, more than I usually give them credit for,” Hekate said. “I did myself when I was mortal, and I don’t think it was just because I grew up in the Underworld.”

  Athena smiled at her. “Though surely that helped.”

  They reached the site of the festivities, partway up a hill that overlooked the city, and the crowd hushed as the orator began his narration. With his speech about death reaching its fingers into every life, fear swept over Hekate. The memory of her last Dionysia and its aftermath reared up in lurid color, and she began shaking and sweating. Only Athena, beside her, seemed to guess she wasn’t merely acting the part like most of the crowd. Athena took her hand firmly, and didn’t let go for the remainder of the speech.

  But then, Hekate thought, as she forced in one breath after another, was anyone here truly pretending? Everyone knew grief. Everyone knew fear. That was why these festivals worked so well.

  Her breath came easier. She did belong. She wasn’t so different from the light-born mortals after all, Underworld’s daughter though she was.

  “Summon him, my friends!” the orator was saying. “Summon back our lord of the spring!”

  The chant of “Dionysos!” began and rose in volume until the shouts and drums echoed off the rock walls and across the valley.

  Flames burst into sight: the unmasked Dionysos made his appearance beside the orator, illuminating the dusk with torches in both hands.

  Cheers swept through the crowd, as if winter had indeed this moment turned to spring. People lit torches from the ones Dionysos held, spreading the flame about. The light brightened. The music flipped to a gleeful frolic, and people began dancing.

  Hekate squeezed Athena’s hand gratefully, and let go.

  She ended up dancing too, and accepted wine, and laughed at the theatrics. Athena, along with Pan and three of the Muses who were in attendance, came to talk to her from time to time, as if checking on her, but she was contented and saw them relax in satisfaction as they realized it.

  Soon Dionysos swooped in upon her in his latest costume, all goatskin and flaxen tassels. “Hello,” he said. “You look happier than expected.”

  “I feel happier than expected.” She pulled him down by the ears of his mask and kissed him.

  “Then I’m so glad I share your bed tonight,” he purred.

  Their night was indeed sweet, and full of heated urgency. And afterward she easily relaxed and slept, since they were staying in a room in the spirit world, in the palace Athena had lately built there.

  Hekate continued enjoying the next evening’s portion of the festival, and even had to suppress laughter during the sacred marriage. The noblewoman was about forty years old and took lewd delight in her role. She grabbed at Dionysos’ chest, crotch, and rear over and over through the ceremony, and he kept deftly and comically dodging her hands, or catching them and moving them aside, then wagging his finger at her as if telling his “bride” she must wait till they were married.

  When the time came for him to sweep her up and carry her off into the darkness, he did so with the skill of a practiced actor. But Hekate suspected he would escape any sexual intimacy with her, and would soon bring her back to rejoin the crowd.

  Meanwhile the dancing commenced. Hekate remained at the edge of the throng, swaying in time to the drums, her back against a clump of trees.

  Hermes’ presence stole up beside her. She smiled without turning, and didn’t even look when he slid his arm around her waist and said in her ear, “What a fetching young woman. I must fondle her.”

  “Hello, Hermes.”

  “Hush, my darling. We are all masked tonight. N
o names.” He drew her forward and began dancing with her.

  “You’re not even trying to disguise your voice. And I can sense who you are, stupid.”

  “Oh, come now. I’m many terrible things, but never stupid.”

  She conceded with a shrug, and spun in the dance in harmony with him.

  His mask covered the top half of his face, a fitted piece of leather that sparkled with scattered gold leaf. Mistletoe wreathed his head. “It makes me happy to see you at another of these,” he said.

  “I thought it time to come back.”

  “I agree. Hey, Aphrodite gave me a new perfume. I tried putting it on my mask. Smell it and tell me what you think.”

  Hekate leaned her face close and inhaled. She was about to tell him she could hardly smell anything when he took advantage of her proximity and kissed her on the mouth.

  She planted her hand on his face and shoved him, though her annoyance was mixed with laughter, and she didn’t bother trying to escape from his arms.

  He was grinning. “Such a simple trick, and you fell for it. Now who’s stupid?”

  “Goddess. I knew you liked to steal, but I didn’t know it included kisses.”

  “Well…” He stroked her back, as if soothing an irritated cat. “I hated to think that the last time we kissed was that terrible night. Now it isn’t. One less dreadful thing to associate with that event.”

  She resettled her arms around his neck. “I suppose kissing you isn’t so dreadful. And I might as well hang onto you as a partner. Otherwise someone even more repulsive might try to dance with me.”

  “You and your honeyed words.” He bent her back over his arm in the dance, then let her straighten up again. “How about this. If the stolen kiss bothers you, do anything you like to me in return.” His eyes gleamed with mischief from behind the golden mask. “Anything.”

  She smirked, and was about to remark that if she had her old powers back, he would regret that suggestion. But her gaze fell upon Dionysos then, who had returned, and was several paces away in the midst of the dancers. The sacred bride—the local noblewoman—was wrapped around him like a climbing vine. She twisted her way downward, kissing his bare chest and navel, and he had his arms spread and was grinning down at her, acting his part as the god of debauchery receiving his worship.