Mayhem: Goddesses Of Delphi

by Gemma Brocato

  A chuckle began in her belly as she kicked the door shut. That chuckle became an outright laugh as she splashed the golden liquid into the tumbler, filling it to the top. The laugh morphed into a sob as she recognized the wine’s rich color as the exact shade of Thomas’s hair with the sun shining on it. Tears scalded behind her eyes, her throat tightened as she fought back the glob of emotion choking her.

  “For the love of the gods, you must stop thinking of him. After all, he’s never going to think of you again.” Her voice was watery as she whispered to herself, dashing the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. Maybe Mnemosyne could take away her memories as well as Thomas’s.

  Squaring her shoulders, she took her glass and wandered back to her living room.

  Wrapping a soft, woven afghan around her shoulders, she pulled it up until it covered her head but left her face exposed. The blanket draped around her knees as she plopped onto the sofa. Clutching the cream-colored folds of material around her neck, she recited the ancient Greek words that wove a charm of invincibility into the fabric. No one should be able to breach her mind as long as her head remained covered. And goddess knew they’d try.

  She reached for the glass she’d set on the table. Tart lemon, smoky oak, and ripe fruit flavors filled her mouth with a warm glow. Rich buttery intensity coated her throat as she swallowed. By the hills of Mt. Olympus, she was going to miss this wine.

  Shit, the entire world was going to miss wine.

  Quietly savoring the flavor, she slouched against the cushions, in her silent-as-a-tomb house, and awaited destiny. For several minutes she valiantly fought the temptation to watch more of Thomas’s shows. But the seduction of seeing his face won the day, and she grabbed the remote. After navigating through the watch list for Doubting Thomas—the name made her choke on his denial—she found the next episode and pressed play.

  His rugged, smiling face filled the screen. Sandy blond hair blew in a breeze. Intense green eyes, filled with intelligence, smiled at something a crew member had said. The calm patience with which he explained a myth, then proved irrevocably it was a fallacy. Tears slipped down her cheeks, one plopping in her glass. He couldn’t prove she was a fallacy, but he still resisted.

  “Water under the fucking bridge, Urania.” She dashed the tears away with her fingertips. “You have an eternity as a godforsaken bird to prepare for. Stupid Zeus. Why couldn’t he have turned Pierus’s daughters into puppies?” She could have lived with that. But a damned dirty bird?

  She was unsure of how many episodes she binged on. The incessant tapping against her consciousness, nudges from her parents and sisters, went unanswered. The more wine she consumed, the less vibrant the pokes became. Eventually, her cell phone started ringing. Each time a tone sounded, she identified which sister was calling to talk sense into her. Even the thunderous tones of the ringer she’d set for Mars sounded three times in rapid succession. The number of calls diminished as midnight faded to dawn.

  When the final episode ended, her bones creaked as she unfolded her body from the sofa. As she poured a glass of water, through the window over her sink the out-of-place moon, half-shrouded in clouds mocked her. The edges of the gleaming orb blurred, like she had double vision, or was drunk. Or the screen the gods had put into place was faltering, revealing the real position directly below the illusion they’d created.

  Spinning to put her back to the window, she gulped the water. Anger she hadn’t let climb past the dejection and misery finally surfaced. Lurching back around, she slammed the glass to the counter, shattering it into pieces. Lifting the middle fingers on both hands, she jabbed them toward the window. The first rays of sunlight peeked above the horizon, the promise of a new day coming. The first day of the rest of her life.

  Too damn bad that life was numbered in days.

  Remorse filled her as she swept up the broken pieces of the tumbler with one hand. She continued to clutch the edges of the afghan over her head, knowing the minute she lowered the fabric, some deity or another would slam their thoughts into her. With cautious steps she made her way to the bath, debating on showering with the blanket.

  Facing the mirror, she frowned at her reflection. Dark circles and bleary, reddened eyes scowled back at her. She shook her head. “You’ve never shied away from a fight before, you stupid cow. Letting Thomas’s doubt and denial hold you back from finding an answer is a roadblock you don’t need.”

  Her chest heaved as she drew a lungful of air. She expelled it forcefully. Spreading her feet wide, she braced one hand on the counter, preparing for the onslaught. She uncurled her fingers and the blanket plopped softly to the floor around her feet.

  She pressed a hand to her forehead. “Let the shouting begin in three…two…”

  Pain and a cacophony of voices blasted into her head. She picked her way through the messages. Some, like those from Thalia, Terri and Corie filled with compassion. Messages of encouragement and don’t let this set-back stop you from Polly, Mel, and Aerie. Clio’s message was a desperate plea for Nia to reach out and contact her and Jax. Callie’s words struck home though, and were the first one she gave serious attention.

  The pain from the overload of sensory input faded as she considered her eldest sister’s harsh shove. You bitch! This fight isn’t over and if you choose defeat, that’s on you. Get your sorry ass back in the game. None of us want to spend eternity as goddamned birds.

  Working up a good head of steam, Nia marched to the living room. Her phone rested on the table, right next to the remote. She snatched up the control, aimed it at the television, and ruthlessly shut off the image of Thomas filling the screen. The plastic clunked as she hurled it back to the table and grabbed up her phone.

  Her fingers were shaking as she sifted through her favorites list, finding Callie’s number at the very bottom. She connected the call before she could change her mind.

  Callie didn’t bother with a hello. “I knew you’d call me first.”

  “Gloating becomes you, you scag.”

  “That’s the best you’ve got?”

  “Gaia frowns on me calling anyone the C-word.”

  Laughter rippled into Nia’s ear as she plopped onto the floor.

  Callie drew a breath but her voice was still filled with mirth. “Honey, don’t you think you have bigger shit to worry about than whether Gaia will wash your mouth out with soap?”

  Drawing her knees up, Nia rounded her back and rocked on her tailbone. “Probably. Callie, for the life of me, I don’t know what to do.”

  “I’ve never seen you so lost and confused.”

  “Except after that incident with Stonehenge.”

  “Girl, you have to forget that. Ancient history that not one single mortal cares about.”

  “Cal, I only care about one mortal. And he doesn’t believe me.”

  Callie’s voice was gentle as she replied. “We will work this out. With all of our heads together, we can fix this. How many days do you have left?”

  She thought about the failing illusion that the moon remained exactly where it had been for millions of years. She sighed heavily. “By my calculations, about three.” The weight of her words sat like a boulder on her chest. Nia rolled to her back and lengthened her arms and legs, hoping to alleviate the suffocating sensation.

  “Miracles can be wrought in less time.” Callie paused. “Don’t you dare give up. You can’t. We can’t.”

  They’d loved and guided mortals for so long, giving up would seem criminal. The magnitude of her burden intensified the pressure building between her ribs. She forced it away. Callie was right. They couldn’t give up.

  Nia sighed. “I’m going to head to Helios, after a brief trip to Olympus to brainstorm with Atlas. Can you let the others know I’m okay? I’ll check in with Zeus and Gaia.”

  “Will do. Proud of you, sis.”

  Any type of affection was rare coming from Callie. A warm glow suffused Nia’s soul. Callie might be a troublesome bitch most days, but she had
her moments.

  “Hey, Cal? When you take the lazy way and do a broadcast announcement to the girls, please leave me off the distribution list. My head already aches as much as my heart.”

  “You got it.” Callie mumbled something, and a pleasant jab of good will from her sister winged down Nia’s spine as she disconnected the call.

  A shower first, followed by a trip to the home office, then she’d head to work. She could save the world, with or without Thomas.

  Chapter 20

  Light flickered over his eyelids as Thomas swam toward consciousness. Remnants of odd dreams of traveling through space and oversize birds wisped through his brain, elusive and misty. When he cracked one eye open, searing pain stabbed under his skull. After rumbling in his chest like a rocket ship about to blast off, a massive groan escaped his pursed lips. The hammering in his head almost made him believe he might be hung-over. But his gut didn’t churn with the upset that accompanied over-imbibing. He rubbed his fist over his abs and up to the stubble on his chin. The last time he’d gotten rip-roaring drunk was the week after he’d learned of his brother’s death.

  He didn’t remember drinking last night. To be honest, he didn’t remember much of anything from yesterday. The entire day echoed of a black hole. Had he eaten something that made him sick? And where was Hailey? He strained his ears to detect any noise through his open door, hearing nothing but eerie silence. Shit, he’d forgotten. She’d gone with the Campfire Scouts on an overnight trip.

  As he rolled to his back a puff of earthy citrus teased his nose. It reminded him of…something. Damn, why couldn’t he pin that memory down?

  Thomas slung his arm over his face and took inventory. The sledge that had been knocking inside his skull receded, leaving a vague ache, minor confusion, and looming emptiness. He breathed shallowly through his mouth and waited for the remaining twinge to vanish. Pushing himself upright on the bed, the sheet puddled around his hips. What the hell? He’d gone to bed in his jeans. Just one more thing he couldn’t recall. Bending his knees, he propped his elbows on them and scrubbed his hands over his head and down his face.

  Agonizing shards of fire bruised a path from his heel to his already reeling mind once he rose from the bed. He hesitated before taking a second step. Holding his breath, one eye scrunched tight, he moved his right foot in front of his left. Huh? He took another cautious step, then another. The pain that had wracked his body a second ago had vanished. What the fuck is going on?

  He plodded to the master bath and flipped the shower to the tortuous kneading spray he typically avoided, and then adjusted the temperature to just south of icy. He stood under the harsh torrent of cold water long enough to clear his head and clean his body. With a towel knotted low on his hips and another slung around his neck, he gathered clean clothes from his closet. He tossed the garments on the floor by the vanity and grabbed his brush.

  As he raised his hand to comb his hair, he caught sight of a longish strand of coppery red hair snagged between the teeth. He pulled it free and studied it, not comprehending for the life of him whose head it had come from. Brows drawn together in a frown, he stretched the glossy filament between his fingers.

  Too long and red to be his. Not curly or blond enough to belong to Hailey. And his housecleaners were all brunettes.

  A ghost of an image of bright red hair teased his consciousness. But he couldn’t grasp any details or identify the owner. He carefully arranged the strand on the vanity, his gaze returning to it frequently as he dressed. Something about that single thread of hair twanged around the edges of his heart.

  Two hours later, with the mystery of the hair unsolved and still niggling, he was seated at the breakfast bar. A neglected cup of coffee sat near his open laptop. A webpage on ancient Greek theories on the tides and cycles of the moon occupied the screen. Being on hiatus allowed him to plan for future episodes of Doubting Thomas. On a lark, and needing material for the last of ten episodes, he’d decided this morning to tackle a new myth.

  Was it true that individual temperaments could be affected by the phase of the moon? The material he’d reviewed thus far had been entertaining and perplexing. The notebook next to his left hand was filled with hastily scrawled notes and thoughts. He’d printed the word lunacy in large block letters at the top and underlined it three times. Beneath it, he’d scribbled Mayhem. As he’d written it, he chuckled to himself that the word could apply to his dreams from the night before.

  The alarm sensor in his pantry bleated just as the front door crashed open. From where he sat, Thomas watched his niece wave goodbye to someone just before she slammed the door closed.

  “Uncle Thomas?” Hailey sang out, looking for him.

  “In here, munchkin,” he hollered back.

  The slap of her footsteps skipped ahead of the silly tune she sang as she headed toward him. “Thomas, we learned a song about pickles. Do you want to hear it?” Not waiting for his answer, she began a catchy little ditty about pickles and motorcycles, spinning in a circle as she sang.

  It put a grin on his face. When Hailey crashed against him, he gathered her up in his arms, settled her on his lap, and hugged her tight. “Your dad and I used to sing that song when we were boys.” He joined her in the last verse.

  The little cutie dissolved into infectious giggles as he pursed his lips and blew through them to sound like a Harley revving.

  She patted his cheeks. “You’re a silly.” She squirmed on his lap until she faced his computer. She pointed wildly to the laptop. “Hey, it’s Ms. Nia!” She jabbed her finger at the screen over a picture in the sidebar. It promoted another page to click on to read more about the Muse of Astronomy.

  “Who?”

  Twisting she looked at him, a frown pinching her tiny brows together. “Ms. Nia. From Helios.”

  “Munchkin, I don’t know who you’re talking about.”

  As he studied the image an invisible string jerked his heart into his throat. The woman, dressed in a toga, her hair swept up into a sort-of crown on her head, was stunning and familiar. But it was just an artistic rendering of a model. Deep blue eyes blazed below delicately arched brows in the picture. A zing of recognition jangled his brain, but disappeared before he latched onto it.

  Hailey reached out and picked up his mug. She sniffed it suspiciously, wrinkling her nose. “What did you put in your coffee, Uncle T? Ms. Nia had breakfast with us. You made French toast.”

  Taking the cup from her hands, he set it aside. He lifted her off his lap then stood beside her. “Sorry, kid. Don’t remember making a meal for anyone named Nia.” An aggravating tap in his chest told him his words didn’t quite ring true. “We’ve talked about you making things up.”

  “But we did.” Hailey stomped her little foot, eyes squinty and lips tightly seamed in a pout. “I’m worried about you, Uncle Thomas.”

  “Knock it off, munchkin. I’m fine,” he reassured her.

  “Maybe you need more time on your filming break.”

  Thomas swept Hailey up under his arm and carried her like a giggly football to the entry hall, where she’d dropped her bag. Lowering her just enough to reach the handles, he waited until she grabbed it before hitching her higher on his side. Holding her like that, he carried his squirming, shrieking burden to her room.

  “What do you say we put away your stuff then go grab some lunch? You can tell me what else you did at camp besides riding pickles.”

  That produced a fresh gale of laughter. “No, silly. We sang songs about pickles. We rode motorsickles.”

  He mock staggered on the last step. “No! You’re not driving already. You can’t even reach the gas pedal.” He let out a groaning whine. “I thought I had at least eight more years before I had to worry about you behind the wheel.”

  When they entered her room, he reached behind her legs and flipped her arse-over-head onto her bed. The backpack flew from her grip and plopped right into a laundry basket in the corner.

  Thomas whistled. “Would you look
at that?”

  “Looks like my stuff is already put away.” Hailey bounced off the bed. “Can we go to Helios after lunch to say hi to Ms. Nia?”

  “Honey, I don’t know her. We have some other errands to run. Some other time, okay?”

  “But—”

  “Stop, munchkin.” He nearly relented at the dawning disappointment in her eyes. But he held firm. “We’ll try to find her when they have the Founder’s Day celebration on Saturday.”

  “But that’s two days away.” She stuck out her lower lip and crossed her little arms over her chest.

  Thomas held back his laughter at her pouty display. “You’ll live. It’s on the grounds at the Institute. If there is a Ms. Nia, she’s bound to be there, don’t you think?”

  “Yeah!” Hailey bounced enthusiastically around him. “The Scouts are having a place there to ’cruit new members. They’re giving away chocolate bars and popcorn.”

  “We’ll add them to our list of things to see before we check out the carnival rides.” Although, riding the kiddie coaster with Hailey after she’d eaten chocolate and popcorn might not be the optimal order.

  Hailey grabbed his hand and tugged him toward the door, interrupting his mental rearranging of their activity list. Her excited chatter lasted all the way down the stairs, and then out the door to the car.

  Chapter 21

  Two days had disappeared with no progress made toward a solution. No other man burst forward to suddenly embrace magic and defeat Pierus. Nia dug deep through all of her previous lifetimes and memories, searching for the answer. Morose best described her mood.