by Raye Wagner
“Xan! Where have you been?” The attractive girl’s voice held the smallest amount of irritation, as if speaking to a beloved but naughty child. She glanced down at his hands. “Shopping? Now? We don’t have time. We need to . . .” She glanced at Hope, and it was as if her eyes and brain had caught up with her mouth. “Well, well, well.” She leaned forward and studied Hope’s face. “Look what the cat dragged in.”
Hope narrowed her gaze. How dare she?
Xan smirked. “Dahlia, this is Hope.” He addressed Hope. “This is my . . . cousin, Dahlia.”
His cousin? They were nothing alike. No, that wasn’t entirely true. They were both incredibly attractive and apparently rude. But they didn’t resemble each other. At all.
Something akin to insecurity snaked through Hope. Not like it should matter. Swallowing her pride, she extended her hand.
“It’s nice to meet you, Dahlia.” The words were almost painful to choke out. No one should be that beautiful.
“Um-hmm.” The flawless beauty’s eyebrows were still raised as she took Hope’s outstretched hand in a firm grip.
Curious. Dahlia’s hands were calloused similar to Xan’s, like too much time spent shoveling or wielding a sword. Maybe she did a lot of manual labor.
There was another awkward pause.
“Did you guys just move in?” Hope tried to fill the uncomfortable void.
“Uh”—Dahlia peeked at Xan before answering—“yes. And you? Have you lived here long?” Her voice had the clip of British English to it, each word distinct and clear.
“Not very long.” Hope shifted on her feet and glanced at the elevator. There was no way to leave until she got her stuff back from Xan.
“Where did you move from?” Xan asked.
Hearing him right after his cousin made their accents distinct. His speech had a lilt to it that almost slurred the syllables. They definitely hadn’t grown up together.
“Hello?” Xan waved his hand in front of her face. He was laughing at her. Crap! He’d asked her a question.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“I asked where you moved from.” The corner of his mouth pulled up.
“Oh, uh, eastern Washington. A little town south of Yakima called Goldendale.”
“Are you a small town lass?” Xan drew closer, and his gaze danced over her eyes, her nose, and stopped on her lips before sliding back up.
She couldn’t help the blush that spread over her skin. “No. I mean, not that there’s anything wrong with that, but I . . .”
Why did she need to defend herself to him? And why was he in her face? She stepped back.
There was another awkward pause.
“Xan?” Dahlia broke the tension. “Are we going to that, uh, thing tonight?”
Embarrassment stained Hope’s cheeks. “I’m sorry to delay you.” She reached out and grabbed the bags from Xan. “Thanks for your help.”
Xan’s gaze stayed fixed on Hope, and he pursed his lips. He paused only a moment before relinquishing the bags.
“Right. It was my pleasure. Really. And sorry again, ’bout yesterday. Be careful, okay?” He shifted toward Dahlia. “All right, Dahl, let’s go.”
The two left, taking the warmth of human interaction away with them.
With a forced exhale, Hope glanced back to the elevator only to see the numbers lighting up as it climbed. Ten . . . eleven . . . twelve . . . Irritated, she set the bags down to wait.
“Where were you?” Priska stopped mid-pace in the living room, cell phone in hand, as Hope stepped through the door. She held up the small black object. “I’ve called you three times and sent you four texts.”
Hope set the bags in the kitchen and held out the flowers. “I went to the market to get stuff for dinner.” She offered the bouquet. “I didn’t hear my phone.”
“No? Well, you scared me nigh to death.” Priska accepted the bouquet. “These are lovely.” She sniffed at the blossoms. “And the lilies remind me of your mother.”
At the mention of her mother, Hope’s chest tightened. “She said daisies were your favorite.”
“They are.”
The two went into the kitchen. Priska filled a vase with water, and Hope started putting away the groceries.
“Holy Demeter, you got a lot of stuff. How did you carry all of that home?” Priska asked as she clipped the stems and arranged the flowers.
“I met one of our neighbors, and he helped.”
“One of our neighbors?”
Hope nodded. “That guy I told you about, Xan. We keep bumping into each other. He has a cousin named Dahlia.”
Priska’s eyes widened a fraction of an inch. “Xan?”
“The one I said might be a demigod.”
Priska focused on the flowers for several minutes, and small pieces of stems fell into the sink.
“Because he’s handsome?” Priska finally asked, but it was more of a sneer as she shoved the last stem into the vase.
Hope pulled on her sleeves, the tension between her and her aunt a ballooning discomfort. Why was her aunt so weird about this? “It’s like they seem almost too perfect. Beautiful, like you. But they don’t look like you. Almost otherworldly.” She sucked at this. “Not like aliens or anything, but . . . not quite mortal.”
“Like Athan?” Priska’s stare pierced Hope.
She bit the inside of her lip as she thought. “Yes, but Athan seemed more human than these two. Or maybe I was too ignorant before.”
Priska said nothing while she put the produce in the fridge.
“Do you think they could be demigods?” If this was the case, Hope could finally start making some progress.
Her aunt kept her back to her. “I wouldn’t get your hopes up.”
The excitement that had been building in her chest deflated like a balloon. “Why not? You haven’t even seen them.”
Priska shrugged. “Call it intuition. I don’t think they’re who you’re expecting.”
“Well, I hope you’re wrong.” Because she was tired. Tired of nothing happening. Tired of being cursed. Tired of being alone. Tired of all of it.
Priska held out the package wrapped in white butcher paper. “Should we grill the chicken or would you rather roast it?”
Hope didn’t want to fight again tonight, so she let Priska change the subject. “Let’s grill it with the summer squash.”
Hope thought she might see Xan or Dahlia in school. At the very least, she’d run into them again in the lobby. But as the days passed, it was as if they’d just disappeared.
And she hated that Priska was right.
“I’M GOING INTO THE OFFICE,” Priska said as she stirred cream into her tea. “Charlie’s behind on transcription, and he can’t afford to have Melinda mess it up again.”
“What’s with all the M names?” The last three temps that had filled in for Priska were Melanie, Melody, and now Melinda?
Priska grimaced. “The temp agency must be fixated on them.” She sipped her tea while Hope poured syrup over her toasted waffles. “I’ll be gone most of the day. Lay low, please, and maybe catch up on your homework.”
“Sure. I’ll get right on it.” Her previous straight-A record had taken a nosedive into barely passing. It wasn’t that she couldn’t do the work, but Priska’s “gentle reminders” rubbed Hope the wrong way. It was like her aunt was always telling Hope what to do. And since Priska had started school, it seemed she was always hovering.
The previous warmth of their relationship had almost disappeared. It was now spiked with discomfort, a sense of vigilance that made Hope want to run and hide.
The only time Priska sounded like her old self was when she talked about Charlie.
Priska rinsed out her mug. “I’ll be on my way then.” She stood watching Hope until Hope met her aunt’s gaze. “Be safe.”
There it was again. Safe.
Hope curled her hands into fists, her nails digging into her palms. “You, too.” She swallowed the rest of the words that
wanted to spill out and instead tore at her waffle with her fork.
Seconds later, she heard Priska’s key in the lock.
Hope contemplated her options as she regarded the sparsely furnished apartment. There was no way she was staying holed up in the cramped space. She needed to get out. She shot off a quick text to Haley and went to change. Twenty minutes later, Hope was on her way to Goldendale.
The sun burned through the clouds as Hope drove over Snoqualmie pass to eastern Washington. The evergreens stood stalwart against a backdrop of blue sky. The signs said it was forty-two degrees outside. Hope slipped on her sunglasses, easing the bright rays. Her thoughts drifted from her mom to Priska to Haley. It would be great to see her best friend. Hope had missed having someone to confide in.
Music pulsated in the air, and Hope’s anticipation continued to rise. She exited the freeway onto the arterial that would take her to Goldendale. She hit the town of Toppennish, bright murals painted on the sides of buildings welcoming her. Then the sight of a run-down motel slapped her, and guilt wiggled into her chest. Memories of Athan pulled and tugged at her heart. Their fight and then their agreement to trust each other. She’d broken it. Or he had. But then she had run. What a mess. And she couldn’t let it go. Was it wrong that she missed him? That she wished it were different?
She was going to drive right by Myrine’s house. It wasn’t even out of the way. Maybe Myrine knew where he was, or at least how to get ahold of him. Then Hope would at least have the option to call him, if she decided that was really what she wanted.
Hope’s hands were sweating, and her heart stuttered. With a deep breath, she knocked.
Myrine cracked the door; her blue eyes widened when they met Hope’s. The older woman appeared every bit a paradox. Her soft, white hair fell from the loose bun at the crown of her head and was a stark contrast to her unlined face. Her green T-shirt was singed at the hem, and she was barefoot despite the coolness of the year. Before Hope could say anything, Myrine spoke.
“Kitty cat, kitty cat.” She tsked. “He’s not here, not here. Gone. Gone. Gone.” She shifted to close the door, still mumbling to herself. “Flew away, far away. Gone for months, you will not stay.”
“What?” Hope slipped her foot in the doorway. “When did he leave? Where did he go?”
Myrine drew back, and the door opened wider. “Not safe for you.” She shook her head. “Not safe for him. Riddles and death . . .” Myrine tilted her head. “What month are we in?”
Hope hated the nonsense rhyming. It made her want to shake the poor lady. But she wanted answers, and Myrine was her only chance of getting them. “September.”
Myrine closed her eyes and pursed her lips. The silence was as uncomfortable as it was odd.
“It was last month. He continued to check in until last month.” Myrine took a deep breath and opened her eyes. She gritted her teeth and swallowed. “Why don’t you come in? We’ll both be more comfortable inside, and despite what either of us wants, this conversation isn’t going to be short.”
Whoa! Myrine wasn’t rhyming. Or chanting. She sounded lucid. Hope stepped into the house, her skin crawling with anxiety. Her heart stuttered as she glanced at the surroundings. The last time she’d been in the blue house it was so cluttered she could barely get down the hall. Now, it was immaculate, well decorated, and inviting, giving every impression of a quaint bed-and-breakfast. Hope’s jaw dropped.
“Amazing, isn’t it? I’ve decided to sell, and I’d like to get back what I put in. I used a little elbow grease”—she lowered her voice—“and a bit of magic. You know, spruce up the place.”
Myrine led Hope into a small sitting room off the entryway. Two overstuffed chairs faced a fireplace, and a floor lamp of stained glass softened the light. Embers of an earlier fire left lingering warmth. Over the fireplace hung a watercolor landscape, and several pillows were arranged on a window seat. It was probably the most perfectly comfortable room Hope had ever seen.
“Isn’t it relaxing?”
Myrine’s voice seemed softer, soothing. The room called to Hope, drew her in, and she nodded at Myrine as her tension melted away.
“I cheated in here,” Myrine whispered as she pointed at herself. “Oracle.” She broke into a bright smile. “Not only can I see across time, I can manipulate what you’re seeing now.” She sat in one of the chairs and indicated for Hope to sit in the other.
Something about Myrine’s words gave Hope the distinct impression that she should run away, but a lassitude washed away the impression before it could become action. Hope sank into the chair, and the cushions molded to her, making her feel like she was sitting on a cloud. She could live in this chair for the rest of her life. And, oh, if she could read a book or two, right here . . .
“You know they’re not real.” Myrine’s voice buzzed at the edge of Hope’s awareness.
Grudgingly, Hope pulled her focus and zeroed it in on Myrine. She was saying something. Was it important?
“The chairs.” Myrine tapped the arm of the one she sat in. “I mean, they are real chairs, but your perception is different than the next person’s. Yours are quite nice, actually. But it gets confusing when there are two or three other people in the room.” She mumbled something to herself. “Somehow, I’ve got to get that figured out.” She looked at Hope again. “But that’s my problem. What’s yours?”
Listlessness soaked into Hope, and she frowned. What was her problem? She’d come to Goldendale. She wanted to see Haley and talk to Myrine.
“Athan?” Myrine prompted.
“Yes. I mean, that’s my question. Where’s Athan?” Hope pushed herself to the edge of the chair, but it was as if she were pushing through quicksand.
“He’s searching for you.” Myrine leaned forward and studied Hope. “You should stop running away from people who are trying to help you. If you had a little trust, you’d probably be a lot safer.”
Safe. There was something familiar about that word. Her brain was fluff, her eyelids heavy, and she leaned back into the chair.
“What should I do?” Her words fell to the floor in a heap, barely decipherable. Hope felt almost as if she were having an out of body experience.
“Do? Well, you can’t stay here. You’re having some kind of reaction.” Myrine yanked Hope up, then jerked away from her touch. Myrine’s eyes rolled back, then glazed over when she focused back on Hope. “Cats and bats and lots of boys.”
What the Kracken? Really? Hope took three steps then slouched against the wall in the entryway. Her head felt funny, like she’d had too much cold medicine. The seconds ticked, and it slowly cleared out of her system.
Myrine followed her, peering at Hope as if she was under a microscope. “Kitty cat, kitty cat . . .”
Hope was tired of playing games. She only wanted one answer. “Do you know where Athan is?”
Myrine’s eyes narrowed, and she clucked her tongue. “Pretty, pretty monster, why so blue?” Cluck, cluck. “You’re here for an answer, to find a clue. Riddle, riddle, riddles, puzzles, and words. The answers you seek aren’t in this world.”
Nope. She was back to rhyming gibberish. Hope concentrated, trying to make sense of the words. Not in this world? Like not the human world?
Myrine closed her eyes. “Careful, careful, careful. You must beware. Lies and trickery where lies the helm. The dead have no secrets in that far realm.”
Was she talking about the Underworld? Artemis had told her to go to the conservatory.
“Listen here.” Myrine put her finger on Hope’s temple. “And here.” Myrine touched her chest. “Look with your heart and your eyes, and you will find with your soul.”
What a waste of time. “Thanks, Myrine.”
Hope walked to the door. Coming here had been ridiculous. Besides the headache, she’d only learned that Myrine could use magic to make you fall asleep.
“You don’t know. You can’t see. Your journey’s just beginning. Don’t thank me.” Myrine held Hope’s shoulders until
their eyes met. “You really need to stop running away.”
Hope caught herself mid eye roll.
“Okay, I won’t run away.” She extended her hand.
Myrine glanced down at it and then leaned forward, wrapped her arms around Hope, and whispered in her ear, “I know you won’t listen.” She pulled away and stepped back into the house. “Be careful.”
Five minutes later, Hope was standing outside her best friend’s house. Haley Stanley lived with her parents in a small two-story cottage. It was painted a soft latte color with vibrant teal trim. Haley’s father, Peter Stanley, worked at the Red Apple as a butcher. Hope had met him right after moving to Goldendale, when she’d first gone grocery shopping.
It had taken weeks of friendship with both of them before Hope connected the two. Haley had the same almond eyes as her mother, as well as her light brown skin. But personality-wise Haley was more friendly and gregarious like her father, which was why Hope loved them both.
She knocked once, and the door swung open. A thick arm shot from the doorway, and meaty fingers grabbed her shirt. Instinct took over. Hope grabbed the hand with both of hers and pushed it flat against her chest. She twisted the arm and ducked underneath while applying pressure on the nerve that ran along the triceps.
“Hope?”
“Mr. Stanley?” Hope dropped her arms to her side, and she stared up in confusion. “Wha—”
“Hurry. Come inside.” He pulled her in and peered up and down the street before he closed the door.
His hands were clammy, his hair stuck up in the back, and he smelled as if he hadn’t bathed.
Hope scooted back a step.
“What are you doing here?” His normally cheerful features were morphed into a grimace.
It was like a slap to the face. He’d always been nice to her in the store. She’d thought they were friends. “I . . . I came to see Haley. She said it would be okay if . . .”
His tight shoulders relaxed a fraction. “Of course, of course.” He licked his lips. “I’m just surprised to see you.” He yelled over his shoulder, “Haley, come say goodbye to Hope!”