Making Midlife Madness: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Forty Is Fabulous Book 2)

by Heloise Hull

  “Seeing as it’s only been a few days, nothing much,” Thessaly pointed out. “The most excitement was finding you in the shower attempting to sing in tune.”

  “Thanks for that.”

  “We’ve been taking turns watching your boys,” Nonna added. “I believe Coronis is on duty, so you might want to go thank her.”

  “I will,” I said, remembering my strange encounter with The Birds on TV. I wanted to do it sooner than later. “I can’t wait to get into town and see everyone!”

  “Time enough for that. But first, your turn, Mamma. Tell us what happened. Start from the beginning.”

  So I did. I told them about Manu taking me back to my old house, sparring with Jim, and even feeling a little softer toward Marla. Nonna pinched my cheeks at that. “You’re too sweet for your own good. We’ve got to toughen you up.”

  “I felt pretty soft going to the Council,” I admitted.

  “They put her in front of the whole tribunal,” Aurick said. “When I saw Manu at the Council, he said they’d found nothing to explain the tattoo and no reason to distrust the claim of her being the She-Wolf. So she’s free.”

  “For now,” Nonna muttered, echoing Manu’s words. The very thought made my blood run cold. I never wanted to go back there—or hear that voice in the oubliette again. Nonna shook my bicep a little. “Mamma, you there?”

  “Yes, here. Sorry,” I apologized.

  “Did you see your boys?”

  “Sort of. They’re still at school, but I got a chance to finally see them on FaceTime. I swear, not having the internet is the only downside to life on Aradia.”

  “Let’s remind you of all the great things,” Nonna declared. “I’ll cook a special welcome home lunch at the villa. Why don’t you go invite Rosemary and Coronis? Marco can tend the taverna, and we’ll take apertivo hour there tonight. Suona bene?”

  “Perfetto. Sounds fabulous,” I agreed.

  Aurick took my hand and pulled me away from everyone else. We stood under the walnut tree where the sea serpents had attacked us less than a week ago. Clearly, there hadn’t been any rain, because slime still hung in thick strands across the scorched yard.

  “I better stay and take a quick power nap to recover, but I wanted to check in with you. That was some jump.”

  “Could you see…” I cleared my throat.

  “I didn’t see whatever it was that you experienced, if that’s what you’re asking.” He took my hand in his big paw and rubbed little circles with his thumb on my wrist.

  “It was a past life, but it felt so real.” I shivered, both at his touch and the fading memories. “I’ve died a lot.”

  “If you live long enough, everyone dies.”

  I barked a laugh. “Some philosopher you are.”

  With a grin, he kissed my forehead. “I’ll admit that I’ve only died once, which was quite enough for me. It just proves how much stronger you are. Compared to you, I’m practically a coward.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “I said practically.” He smiled and I leaned into him. “I’m not sure why you keep seeing these visions from your past. The trauma is somehow embedded in you, but try not to worry too much. I vow to figure you out one way or another.”

  “I’m scared, Aurick,” I whispered, feeling very small against him.

  “You’re a badass. Don’t ever doubt that. You defeated a necromancer, un-cursed a siren, and stood steady before the entire Council of Beings. That’s not to mention how you’ve entranced me, body and soul.”

  “What? Like that was hard,” I teased.

  “Yes,” he said with no trace of irony. “We’ll get to the bottom of your tattoo and your essence. Everything. I swear.”

  “I believe you,” I said. “I’ll be back later. Have a good rest.”

  I hopped on the lime green Vespa, as Nonna hobbled over. “Tiberius found some black truffles in the woods yesterday, so we’ll do a pici pasta with black truffle cream sauce. Get back soon, so you can roll the dough. My old fingers can feel a chill in the air, and they’ve all but seized up.” She held up her gnarled fingers as proof.

  I snapped the helmet in place. “You got it. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I missed cooking.”

  “See? What did I tell you! I’ll make you into a femmine di casa yet.”

  “I wouldn’t go that far.” I kicked the kickstand and revved the motor. “See you in a bit.”

  As the wooded enclave turned into black cobblestones and then tan, medieval stone houses, I soaked in the beautiful sunshine of the island. Ever since I received my powers from the basilica, Aradia had stopped messing with me. Now, it almost felt like it was welcoming me back, as if I could feel the island sighing at my presence.

  Since Nonna hadn’t mentioned anything, I assumed Thoth continued to play the part of Sleeping Beauty underneath the crypt. I’d have to get a full report the first chance I got.

  With a start, I realized Aurick didn’t even know about the dying god in residence. He’d only come to investigate the torn veil caused by Luca’s blood magic, and I never told him.

  The suspicious side of me, the kind that knew to sleep with my shoes tied and my valuables strapped inside my underwear when I lived on the street, wondered if everything I shared with Aurick would get back to the Council. Of course, that wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. No one wanted the gods to stop dying and start living again, but I had a feeling we would go about that goal in different ways.

  My jumbled thoughts followed me into town. Despite the uncertainty of Thoth, I couldn’t help but smile at the tinkling fountain of water jetting from Cupid’s mouth. It was so quaint.

  I parked in front of Marco’s taverna and clipped my helmet to the handles. With a knock on the iron nails for luck, tocca ferro, I breezed in and sang, “Buongiorno!”

  Marco looked up from drying a wine glass. He rubbed his hand over his head at the sight of me in an unconscious movement. His hair had already grown back from when we’d shaved him, although it was coming in a tad patchy in places. Best not mention that part.

  “Ava! You’re back!” he said, picking me up in a lion hug that lifted my feet off the ground. “The Council couldn’t hold you, eh?”

  “Not a chance,” I said, my face breaking out in a maniacal smile.

  He banged on the wall he shared with Rosemary’s Bakery and shouted. “Come quick, my love! It’s Ava!”

  He set me on the ground and patted my head like a little lion cub. “Everything’s been the same here. Nothing new with the god. Town’s been rather quiet. Come to think of it, I think everyone is a bit subdued about Luca turning out to be a necromancer and all.”

  “Nothing’s changed?”

  “Well, not nothing. Now that there are no MILFs on the island, supernaturals can suddenly shift however and whenever they want.”

  “Good for them.”

  “Yes, except, they don’t always remember how to stay dressed when they shift back. I’ve had to ban shifting until they regain the practice of it. For everyone’s appetites, you know.”

  I stifled a laugh. Somehow, in the sunny light of Aradia, everything seemed hilarious. I pictured an anteater turning into a butt-naked man under the tea lights and flickering candles, and I could barely contain myself.

  Rosemary burst in, flour on her apron and red splotches on her cheeks from working near the oven all day. “Ava!” She kissed me on both cheeks and I’m certain if I went for it, she would have laid one on my lips. “Darling, we were so worried. Thessaly told us yesterday you were in St. Louis. Was it horrible?”

  “They made me live with my ex and his new girlfriend.”

  “How despicable! When I think of the Council’s lack of due process, it just makes my hair curl. But let me look at you! Ah, yes,” she tutted. “The same, beautiful soul.”

  “We have lots to catch up on,” I managed to squeak out through her forceful hug. “Speaking of which, Nonna wanted me to invite you and Coronis to lunch, and then we’ll strol
l back over for apertivo here. It’s a bit of a moveable feast, if you will.”

  “Sounds like my type of day.”

  “Good. So where is Coronis? I want to thank her for watching the boys and see if she noticed anything odd the other day. They had a false fire alarm, which wouldn’t usually make me worried, but nothing is usual in my life anymore.”

  “She should be in her apartment. Let’s go knock. I’ll put a sign out and the rest of the pastries. Marco, you’re okay making espressos here if anyone asks, sì?”

  He gave her a nuzzle and replied, “Lo e te tre metri sopra il cielo. Whatever you need, pulcina.”

  As we left, I whispered to her, “What’s a pulcina? It sounds positively dirty.”

  “Ah, little chickee. That’s all. But he thinks it’s hilarious, since I’m part bird.”

  “Men.”

  “Exactly.”

  We knocked on Coronis’s door and waited. An eerie silence, full of anxiety-inducing possibilities met us from the other side. “Do you think something happened?” I asked. Discomfort skated across my skin. The scene from The Birds scene was still haunting me. It had been a bizarre moment to see in my perfectly normal suburban home.

  “I’m not sure, but I have a key.” Rosemary pulled it out of her pocket and held the large, bronze key to her face. “Coronis? Are you there? We’re coming in, darling.”

  “So make yourself decent,” I added.

  With a shrug, we unlocked the door and shuffled in. Nothing looked out of place in her living room. She had decorated in a series of black and white photographs of people and still life images. It was as elegant as Coronis herself and very modern.

  “We should go,” Rosemary said at the same time I said, “We should check the bedroom.”

  Rosemary took a deep breath. “Something does feel off, doesn’t it?”

  We went hesitantly, going quiet on instinct. Gently, I pushed open the door and saw a lump under the white sheet of her four-poster wooden bed.

  “Coronis? Darling, wake up. Ava’s back!” Rosemary said, moving closer. She leaned over the woman and shrieked.

  My heart jumped into my throat, nearly choking me. I leapt toward her only to shrink back in horror. Coronis’s eyes were closed, and by the look of it, she had fallen unconscious half-transformed into a crow, her arms spread, her feet curled like claws.

  That wasn’t the worst part. The worst part was that, no matter how much noise we made, she didn’t wake up.

  Chapter Thirteen

  We hovered over our friend in a cold sweat.

  “What’s wrong with her?” I asked, leaning closer to see downy black feathers covering her skin. Her white hair was bobbed in place, her ice-blue make-up glittered on her closed eyelids, and her skirt was perfectly pressed. If I ever wondered whether she was fabulous without effort, at least I knew my answer. Yes. Even unconscious.

  “I don’t know. She seems to be in some sort of coma,” Rosemary said. She felt Coronis’s head with the back of hand like she was taking her temperature and peeled open her eyes with her thumb and forefinger.

  “They’re milky white.”

  That was too much for Rosemary, and she promptly stood up, her arms flapping into wings and then coming back to human form. “Oh my gods, I have no idea what to do.”

  “Let’s think logically,” I said in a tone I’d use to soothe a skittish horse. “Where do you go when you need a doctor and Coronis isn’t available?”

  “That’s not very often, darling. We don’t get sick. At least, not with mortal woes.”

  “Well, this isn’t a mortal woe. This is supernatural. I can feel it. Rosemary…” I paused. “I think this has to do with the boys. She was watching them, right? I called them today, and they mentioned the fake fire alarm getting pulled in their dorm. And right before that, I think I got a message from Coronis through the television. It kept playing the Hitchcock film, the scene where all of the birds attack the school children. What if something attacked and wounded her? What if I caused this?”

  Rosemary gave a fearful glance at her friend, then met my gaze. “Best not to dwell on the blame. We can ask her what happened when we fix her.”

  “I love your optimism. So, what do we do?”

  “Let’s go see Makron.”

  “Who?”

  “Mak.”

  “That’s still not helping.” I fussed over Coronis a bit, throwing a quilt over her before following Rosemary to the door.

  “He runs the honey shop across the square from the bakery.”

  “Great.” I took a few more steps, practically running to keep up with Rosemary. “Why are we going to see him again?”

  “The honey on Aradia is powerful magic.”

  “Of course it is.”

  We sprinted across the plaza, past the statue, scaring two yowling cats, and burst through the door. A little bell over the top rung to announce our already rather loud entrance. If I wasn’t scared out of my mind for Coronis, I would have been charmed by the honey shop. I hadn’t managed to make a visit yet, although I’d always intended to. Things kept happening, ghosts disappearing, etc.

  The building itself was all stone and looked as if it had been constructed sometime in the early medieval era. A man-sized, wheat-reaping sickle hung over the Romanesque arch, and underneath sat a thick, oaken table with an old-fashioned cash register on top. A man stood abruptly from a stool behind the counter. I vaguely recalled him from previous apertivo hours, but honestly, those felt like a lifetime ago.

  He had a shock of black hair hanging over his forehead with a perfect part down the right side. His eyes were golden and his skin perfectly smooth. He wore a fitted black button-down shirt with white buttons and very fitted pants. I had to avert my eyes from the bulge as guilt trickled down my chest. It was almost annoying how well-dressed everyone was around here, although I wouldn’t let town whispers keep me from my yoga chic style. How else was I going to run like a lunatic from one crisis to the next?

  “We need your help,” I sputtered, panting a little.

  Rosemary was no better, her curly hair frizzing out even more from our mad dash. “It’s Coronis,” she added.

  Makron’s eyes knitted together. “Coronis is unwell?”

  I cut to the chase, my guilty conscience feeding my courage since this one was probably on me. “Yes, a coma. Most likely magically induced. Do you have anything for that?”

  The man put his fingers on the table as he edged around and began examining the floor-to-ceiling shelves. Row after row of various flavors, colors, and types of honey were arranged in precise alignment. On closer inspection, I saw common ones, if a little specialty-sounding to my American palate—such as blood orange honey, truffle infused honey, and honey created by bees who ate only wild carrot tops from a specific field in Sicily—but if I squinted and scooted to the right nearer the scythe, a whole new world appeared. Honey that appeared to glimmer, honey that buzzed, honey that was crystal clear with tiny stars frozen inside, and honey that induced a sense of drowsiness every time I looked at it.

  “Don’t touch that!” Rosemary suddenly hissed.

  My fingertip was inches from the scythe. I curled them back, surprised. I hadn’t even realized I was about to touch it.

  Makron glanced over from his perusal of honeys. “Oh yes, I forgot. You’re fairly new, aren’t you? But not mortal, last I’d heard. Still, best not touch that.”

  “Okay, what is it?” I whispered to Rosemary.

  “That’s the scythe that the Titans used to cut off Ouranos’s balls.”

  I blinked. “Excuse me?”

  “You know. The Greek name for Uranus,” Rosemary said.

  “Nope.” I’d dropped out of high school before we got to Greek mythology, which didn’t seem like a big deal until I became Greek mythology.

  “When Ouranos wouldn’t let Gaea give birth, she had her son Kronos cut off the whole lot of his dad’s goodies. The twig and the berries. Kronos threw the genitals in the ocean and t
he Titans were born from the blood. Then, of course, Kronos became as stupid as his father and Zeus had to kill him. Which, of course, then Zeus became as bad as his father and grandfather, and we had the Archon Wars to get rid of them, too. The gods may be immortal, but they rarely learn their lessons.”

  “Okay, so why is the scythe here?” I asked, trying not to shudder at what definitely looked like dried blood on the sharp edge—if blood was golden.

  Makron let out an “ah-ha!” and pulled down a nearly-black jar. “Because my mother lived on the island where the scythe was kept, and I, uh, liberated it during the Archon Wars.” He handed me the jar, which almost took me to the floor. Although it fit in the palm of my hand, it weighed thirty pounds, at least. “Here. Moisten her lips with the honey,” he directed. “Slather a thick layer and let it harden. Physical contact with your flesh is best.”

  “Why?”

  “The intensity of the contact varies, but it will help give insight into whatever ails her. Are you okay with that?”

  “Anything,” I said, thanking the man profusely.

  “Let me know how it goes,” he said, his golden eyes kind as he ushered us out the door. “Good luck, Ava.”

  We lugged the jar across the plaza and raced up the wooden stairs. Coronis appeared exactly the same—frozen in time and transformation.

  I knelt by her side, and Rosemary took her hand, cooing soft words to her. I scooped up the thick, dark unguent with a wooden honeycomb and let it drip onto my fingers. “Come on, you old crow. It’s time to snap out of it. See what I did there? Snap? Like a beak?” I muttered in her ear as I laid a thick layer on her lips. They looked parched, cracked, and bloodied. “I know how you hate bird puns.”

  The viscosity was thicker than molasses, thicker than tar. It clung to my fingers, but I kept layering it thicker and thicker, waiting for it to kick in. Rosemary perched over me with a wild look in her eyes. This was not the triumphant homecoming I wanted. We should be drinking wine and laughing about trivial things. Not this.