by Raye Wagner
She flew north, toward Wenatchee and then Leavenworth. It was too early in the spring for tourists, and the locals were still warm in bed, but she flew high, just in case. Despite the covering of fur that kept her warm, the temperature at this height was biting.
Scanning the ground, she looked for a suitable landing place. There were plenty of wooded areas, and she finally saw one with a small clearing. She circled in closer. No roads, no hiking trails—Hope went through her mental checklist. She landed on her feline feet and padded through the clearing. Satisfied with the isolation it provided, she curled up in the sunlight and slept.
She awoke in the early afternoon. After stretching up toward the sun, she contemplated the rest of the day. Homework first, she decided, and grabbed the bag she’d used as a pillow. Without distractions, she hammered through the work, finishing just before sundown.
With the sun setting, and nothing else to occupy her, her thoughts turned to Athan. In the past, he’d made it sound like he enjoyed spending time with his dad, but yesterday it was all he could do to get out of it. She wondered about their relationship, but when her thoughts went to whether or not Athan’s dad would approve of her, she shifted her focus back to Athan. With the cover of dark, she’d be almost invisible. She could fly by his home.
The air was crisp, and she circled high over the sleepy town. Then she wound her way in and out of the windmills dotting the hills on both sides of the Columbia River, making a game of speed and maneuverability. When she got to the river, she dropped lower and ran her hand through the water. Her mood lightened with the thrill of flying.
She dove down, pulling up just so her haunches dragged through the cold water. Laughing, she dove again and again. She flew west to Portland, following the river out to the ocean. As she got closer to the city, she increased her elevation, and after briefly admiring the city lights, she turned around.
On the return trip, she pushed her speed. It was only a few hours before the sun would come up, and she took her cues from the landmarks to cut the travel time. As she came over Goldendale, her heart beat rapidly in anticipation. From up above, she saw Athan’s truck in his driveway, and her heart expanded. A light flicked on in the kitchen, and she pulled higher into the darkness. Laughter bubbled from her lips, both nervous and relieved. He was safe at home.
The night was drawing to a close, and she flew north to the mountains where she’d be safe from human eyes.
She spent much of the next day sleeping. She reviewed her homework, finishing the outline for a paper. She’d decided to write about the curse placed on King Minos’s wife, which led to the birth of the monstrous Minotaur. Unsurprisingly, another depressing tale of the gods taking revenge on a human.
As the sun fell, the trees cast long shadows across the wild grasses. Hope shoved her books into her backpack and glanced over the small area. Clinging to the straps of her bag, she beat her wings and lifted into the cool air.
Icy-cold needles encircled her ankle, and she was yanked from the sky. With a cry of pain, she crashed to the ground. She pulled her wing away from her face, and time slowed.
Skia. The one from the Dalles.
“It will be your fear that destroys you,” he rasped, stalking toward her. “And you should be afraid.”
“What do you want?” she asked, even as she pushed her wings out and curled her fists, the best she could do for a defensive stance.
He laughed, a sound akin to nails on a chalkboard. “You will come with me.”
She fixed him with a glare. “No, I won’t. I told your buddy I’m not going to the Underworld. You need to leave me alone.”
He pulled out blades dark as night. “I will take you myself if I need to.”
Hope had never fought in this form. Not as the Sphinx. She shifted on her haunches, testing reflexes and maneuverability.
Crack.
Her chest lit with pain, and she doubled over with a gasp.
“You are too slow, beast. This will be easy.”
She glared at the Skia, even as fear licked at her heart. He’d gotten in and out fast. Really fast. And the sun was setting. She needed to get off the mountain before she changed.
There was no time for fear. No time to think. Only time to act.
She took a deep breath and stared at the torso of her attacker. He feigned left. But she saw his weight shift right. He was coming in. This was it.
His fist extended as he closed the gap between them.
Hope rotated her hand as she blocked with her forearm. With a fluid movement her opposite elbow followed through, connecting with his leg, just below the hip. A crunch of bone, and he collapsed with a scream.
Hope backed away and pumped her wings.
The Skia lay on the ground in a sliver of sun. She could hear him gasping.
She circled once, but he didn’t move.
She dove in for her backpack, and the shadow monster rolled. As she clasped the strap of her bag, he grabbed her wing and yanked.
A searing pain tore through her back. Panic and self-preservation drove her to kick out with her haunches, again and again. He released her, and gritting her teeth, she flew off the mountain.
The last rays of sun were slipping over the horizon as she tumbled from the sky.
She fell to the ground naked, just outside the abandoned barn, and crawled through the doors.
Mercer Island sat in the middle of Lake Washington, just east of Seattle. The island allegedly boasted beautiful views and prime real estate. Not that Hope cared about that.
Hope’s attorney, Charlie Davenport, had an office in one of the yellow buildings in the hub of the financial district. Her grandfather, Jamie Treadwell, had the attorney draw up trust paperwork to make sure Hope’s mom would always have sufficient money. Priska had worked for Mr. Davenport ever since he’d agreed to do the trust. He was almost like family. Almost.
Hope parked her conspicuous Civic among the more luxurious BMWs, Porsches, and Mercedes in the parking lot.
She’d barely slept at the small hotel outside of Cle Elum, but the bright rays of sun made the darkness of the Skia seem distant.
Hope walked into the office at eight forty-five.
The faintest hint of lavender reminded Hope of Priska, and she felt a pang of loneliness. Shrugging it off, she glanced around the waiting room. The empty leather chairs looked more comfortable than they were, and the thick area rug would be a better place to sit. The design of everything was subdued, as was the abstract art on the walls. It was very much a Priska way to decorate. And Hope felt some satisfaction that nothing had changed since Priska left.
However, the brunette woman arranging the refreshment area was not Priska. Judging from the number of baked goods she was heaping onto a tray, Hope was one of many clients this morning.
The woman turned as the door clicked shut, and with a look of polite deference she asked, “May I help you?”
“I’m Hope Treadwell. I have an appointment with Mr. Davenport.”
The woman’s smile was one of relief. “You’re early.”
Hope’s mom ran early, too. “Is that okay? Is he running late?’
“No. He should be with you shortly. Can I get you anything?” She pointed at the tray of pastries and muffins.
“Just a water, please.” Hope accepted the bottle gratefully and drank deeply. “Thank you.”
“I’ll let him know you’re here.” The woman finished stacking the tray, then walked down the hall. She returned a couple of minutes later. “He’ll be with you momentarily.”
Seconds later, Mr. Davenport appeared in the waiting room.
Charles Davenport was in his early fifties. Tall and fit, he kept his head shaved, but the outline of a receding hairline was faintly visible. He wore a dark, tailored suit, and the smell of expensive cologne wafted in with him. But something in the way he moved made it look like he carried a weight of worry squarely on his shoulders.
“Hope Nicholas, so nice to see you.” His deep bass communic
ated the words with feeling, and he extended his hand. She took it, and he covered hers with both of his. His gaze held hers while he spoke, “I’m glad you’re running early.”
They walked back into his office, and he closed the door.
“Without Priska, I seem to make more of a mess of my schedule, and Melanie can’t seem to work the same magic.” He sighed.
“I thought her name was Melody?”
He frowned and looked off into space for a moment.
“No, I think that was the last one.” He shook his head. “Honestly, I can’t keep them straight. Gods, I wish she’d come back.”
Hope’s heart fell. She’d been hoping he’d have some news. “I’m sorry.”
He met her gaze with a sad smile. “There is nothing for you to be sorry about. I know you miss her, too.”
All she could do was nod. If she opened her mouth she’d start bawling. And she didn’t know Mr. Davenport that well.
He exhaled a big breath and extended his arm. “Let’s sign you into your inheritance.”
Mr. Davenport grabbed a folder from his desk and pulled a chair up next to her. He shuffled quickly through the paperwork, and she signed where he indicated as he explained the purpose of each document. When they finished, Hope stood to leave.
But, after he put the paperwork away, Mr. Davenport remained seated.
He glanced up at her, his lips pursed. “There is something else we need to talk about. I think it might be better if you sit.”
He pointed at a chair then clasped his hands together and paced the room.
With a growing sense of dread, she sat and waited.
After several uncomfortable seconds, he stopped in front of her and cleared his throat. “I hope you understand that I always try to act in your best interest.” He paused, as if calculating what to say next. “Yesterday afternoon, Mr. Jeffers called. He was trying to confirm the date and time of our appointment.”
Her heart stopped, and anxiety danced through her body.
“Melanie took the call, and of course refused to confirm that you were even a client here, but passed the message to me. I called the school back and spoke with him.”
She nodded.
“Normally, I would have stayed on the side of the law and refused all information, but since we’d discussed this, I explained the law to Mr. Jeffers, and confirmed that you are a client. I did not confirm or deny any appointments, and reminded him that I work for you, and if frivolous action were taken, I would represent you and ensure he became unemployed.”
Hope’s mouth dropped open, but the words were slow in coming. “Um, I . . . I can’t believe you did that.”
He waved away her words. “I’m not sure I did you any favors. The man was livid. Perhaps my threat was a bit much. Are you struggling in school? He called you . . . an ‘at risk’ student.”
She shook her head. “No, I’m getting straight As.”
“Then this is ridiculous. Would you like me to call him back?”
It would be nice to let Mr. Davenport handle it, but the battle wasn’t his. “Let me see what happens when I get back. There are only a couple more weeks of school, so it shouldn’t even matter. Maybe . . .” She shrugged. “I could try and smooth things over.”
“Of course, my dear. And if I might make a suggestion, since your absences seem to be an issue in Goldendale, you might consider moving before the next school year. Something to think about.”
It was a reasonable suggestion. But she didn’t want to move.
Mr. Davenport stood. “Your aunt loved you very much. And I want you to know, if you ever need anything, you can call me.”
Hope stood, but words eluded her. Emotion she’d held in check threatened to burst. She closed her eyes, willing herself to hold it together.
Warm hands cupped her shoulders.
“I miss her, too,” he said.
Hope looked up and saw in Mr. Davenport’s face pain that mirrored her own.
She swallowed and nodded. “Thank you.”
He walked her to the office door, and she went down the hall toward the waiting room by herself.
She drove past the diner, past the motel, arriving in windy Goldendale with an hour of school remaining.
Plenty of time to turn in her completed assignments. It might help. It certainly couldn’t hurt.
One by one, she stopped into each class. Each of her teachers thanked her for the work and wished her a good weekend. The last bell rang as she walked down the hall. Students poured out, and Hope swam upstream through the crowd.
Students’ voices filled the halls, and the smell of the numberless bodies tickled her nose. With a sigh, she looked for Athan but couldn’t see his tall figure anywhere. Tristan stood by his locker with Lee, and she walked over to them.
“Hey, you’re back!” Tristan greeted her. His smile was a direct contrast to the cold one from Krista standing just behind him.
If she were more vindictive, Hope might’ve felt some satisfaction that the nasty girl was sporting matching black eyes. Instead, guilt tugged at Hope’s heart, and she avoided making eye contact with Krista, instead zeroing in on Tristan.
“Yeah, I just got back,” Hope responded. “Is Athan here today?” She glanced around as if he might materialize.
“No,” he said, his shoulders sagging. “He’s been gone since Tuesday. With his dad, I think.”
“I thought his dad was dead,” said Lee.
“Nah,” Tristan responded. “He travels a lot, so Athan couldn’t stay with him.”
Obviously she wasn’t the only one he’d shared with.
He turned back to Hope. “They were going hunting, maybe?” His face scrunched.
“Really?”
“Yeah. He’s been gone, same as you.” He tilted his head. “Someone said you two were skipping together, but obviously not.”
That again? She drew back. “No.”
Lee raised his eyebrows. “Yeah. Obviously.”
“Huh.” Tristan frowned. “Maybe he really went hunting.”
“I didn’t know he hunted.”
“He’s never talked about it before.” He shrugged. “Maybe I misunderstood.”
“Okay. Well, have a good weekend.” She turned to leave, and Tristan called her back.
“Hey, Hope! We’re going to go down to Maryhill Park tomorrow for the day. BBQ and all that. You’re welcome to come if you’d like. I know Haley would love to have you there.”
“Thanks. I’ll try.” She forced a smile and waved goodbye.
Between the Skia, the hours in the car, the stress of school, and Athan being unavailable, Hope felt like she would explode. All she wanted was to go for a run. The late afternoon sun lolled on the horizon, keeping the night chill at bay. The smell of summer played on the wind. Hope decided she would not let fear rule her actions. With resolve, she strapped her golden dagger at her hip and left the house.
Hope took a deep breath and started at a jog.
She would not worry about Mr. Jeffers.
She would not worry about Skia.
She would not worry about Athan.
She would not worry about Priska.
She would not worry . . .
The tension in her shoulders and back drained as she pounded the pavement. Sweat dripped from her hairline, leaving tracks down her face and neck. Her tank top was saturated.
It was good to be home. Everything was going to be okay.
She’d looped through the town twice and was halfway through a third loop when she saw Athan’s truck at the school, in the back lot. Had it been there this afternoon?
Hope walked to it and put her hand on the hood. Wasn’t that supposed to tell you if it had been driven recently? Gods, she’d make a terrible spy. She looked around but didn’t see him. She went to the school, on the pretense of getting a drink, but the doors were locked.
She crossed the empty bus lot as the sun continued its descent. Cerulean blended into lavender, and orange tinged the horizon.
Athan’s truck still sat unoccupied.
She turned to go home and crossed the street, passing by the abandoned factory.
This time, she felt his presence even before she saw him.
Nausea roiled through her, and the smell of decay travelled on the breeze.
The Skia stepped out from the shadows; the tall figure’s sallow appearance bordered on emaciated. He walked with a limp, as if the bone had not been set right after their fight last night.
Her fear turned to anger. How dare he come back?
Her training dictated her actions unconsciously. She stepped back, coiled to run.
“It won’t do any good,” he rasped. “I can follow you, monster. Through the shadows, I can see you.”
Her muscles tensed.
“What do you want?” She gritted her teeth. He was well out of striking distance, and despite her anger, she’d rather not fight him. “Why did you attack me?”
“You are wanted by my master.”
“Hades?” She clasped her clammy hands to her hips. She could throw the immortal dagger, but she wasn’t trained to work with blades. Her fingers itched to reach for the weapon, or to close the gap and beat him. But . . . She reined her emotions in. Fight smart, not angry.
He stepped toward her. “You are very ignorant.”
Even if it was true, she didn’t want to hear it. She stepped away. “Did you kill that man? In the Dalles?”
He chuckled. “You mean the spawn of Dionysus? Why would you care? If he had found you alone, he would have killed you . . . or worse.”
With his eyes just all-black orbs, it was impossible to see exactly what he was looking at.
“I would have been fine,” Hope spit out.
“Perhaps.” He pulled out a black blade. “But you are not invincible.”
“Neither are you.” Her anger pulsed in waves, and all her training flashed through her mind. The first lesson in self-defense is to use your voice as a weapon.
“Stop!” Hope issued the command as loud as she could yell. She gripped the gold dagger with the blade pointing down and held it close to her chest. She took another step back. “Go back to your master and tell him there is nothing here for him. I am not dead. I will not come with you. Leave. Me. Alone. Or I will kill you.”