The Goddess Twins

by Yodassa Williams

  “You got it, Cousin? Cousin!” Liberty bumps me back to reality.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “We’ll use the birds to distract the guards and cut through them alongside the other animals we’ll bring down there. You have to focus and get your mom out, no matter what. Find her and get out. And if you see Grandfather, don’t even hesitate. Just melt his mind into mud.”

  “Here’s our stop,” Lilo says, clapping her hands like a kid who just arrived at the zoo.

  “Kiara, we gotta go,” Liberty says, ending the call.

  We exit the bus and walk on the dark sidewalk down a street lined with quiet houses, toward the art museum. My heart is beating in my throat when we stop nearly a block away in a quiet, hidden corner between streetlights. Lilo texts Kiara that we are in place. Minutes later, four Kiaras surround us. They are dressed all in black, hair slicked back in a tight, low bun. Their suits nearly blend into the darkness. I poke the one closest to me and silently gasp when I realize she’s all flesh and bones.

  “You’re amazing,” I mouth to her, and she bows at me with a sly smile.

  Lilo and Lib whip their index fingers in the air to signal that they have started summoning the animals. In seconds I hear the birds begin to gather in the street. I just barely see flaps of wings and bellies of white against the dark sky, but I feel the wind of hundreds of wings as they come to land in the grass, in the trees, and on the lampposts between us and the building.

  “This is it, “I whisper to myself and the others. After a heavy look shared between the seven of us, we move in for a group hug, wrapping our arms around each other and murmuring at our shared bravery. When the Kiaras and I step back, Lilo and Lib transform into the two familiar black birds with neon feathers. They fly around our heads then take off toward the museum, where they will slip through an open air vent on the side of the wide building, headed down the path we traced on the blueprints, to the basement level and our grandfather’s lair.

  The Kiaras and I move to a small alley near the back entrance of the museum. There we squat behind a row of dumpsters to await the signal to move in on the building: a white bird singing “God Save the Queen.” In this moment of stillness, I could drown in the waves of feelings crashing through me: panic, gratitude, power, doubt. It’s taken so much to get here: the news that Mom is missing, the secret flight to London, discovery of our cousins and our powers, meeting Gran and Kiara—I have no idea how I’m still holding it all together, physically and emotionally. I breathe in through my nose and out through my mouth, ignoring the anxiety and rising nausea. Through the rush of emotions, I try to cling to a mantra, reminding myself that now is the time to be brave.

  My ears strain to hear a bird’s cry, but instead I catch echoes of a low and evil laugh coming from down the block. The rolling baritone stirs something inside me, and I shiver like an icicle has slid down my back. Mom would say, “Someone just walked on your grave,” or in other words, someone wants you dead.

  “Did you hear that?” I whisper to the Kiaras.

  “No, nothing. Was it the signal?” one whispers back at me.

  I rise and tiptoe forward. “No, it was definitely something else. A creepy laugh. I just have this feeling I should know that laugh.” I’m now at the end of the alley looking out in the dark street. “I’ll be quick, Kiara. I have to check this out.”

  “No, Arden, wait!” the Kiaras hiss. “It’s time!”

  Sure enough, the white bird appears above us, singing, leading us to the back entrance of the art museum. When I step into the street, a few yards away I see a hunched figure climbing into the backseat of a car. I waver for just a second—should I approach the car, or continue following the bird into the building? Trust your feelings, Arden. Don’t overthink it. You’re a powerful goddess. Just be in the moment.

  “I’ll be right back!” I yell to the Kiaras as I sprint down the street towards the car, my heart racing, charged by the sensation of knowing without knowing. I’m right, I’m right, I chant in my head as I push through the night air. I’m just inches away when the car’s engine starts up, setting its lights aglow, as if it’s coming alive. I slap the darkened windshield, “Grandfather Ezekiel,” I shout. “You get out of this car right now!” The driver, a thin black man in dark glasses, ignores me, but the tinted back window opens several inches, and I hear the deep laugh emerge from inside.

  “Ah, right on time. I knew you’d be arriving about now, Granddaughter. You’ll forgive me if I don’t face you,” his voice sounds strong and amused, “but I know what you’re capable of, and I do cherish my memories.” The window slides up and car starts to pull away. I run alongside, slapping at the window.

  “Stop!” I yell. But instead the car swerves at me, and I have to lunge behind a parked car to save myself. From the pavement, I hear a voice boom, “Goodbye, quiet storm!” as Grandfather’s car drives away.

  “Shit!” I yell, slapping the ground as I rise. I was just moments away from catching him; now who knows when we’ll have such a chance again? “Shit!” I yell again, leaping up off the ground, running back towards the gallery. The Kiaras are already inside with Lilo and Liberty, and Grandfather knew we’d be coming all along.

  “Stay far away from here, they want you, want your powers,” Mom had said when I visited her. I know she wants to protect me, but as I run toward the fight, toward the danger, I finally feel free of any doubt that I am ready for whatever waits on the other side.

  6

  Aurora

  DON’T BE EVIL

  Two hours earlier

  When we were about eleven years old, while Mom featured in the Greek National Opera, we had a tutor named Doris. She was big on introducing us to fun games, including one called Oracle. Hidden within intricate folds of an origami structure were varying predictions of our future. Each turn revealed a potential storyline, and we let our imaginations run with it for days, the bright paper star thinning to pulp under our impatient hands.

  Arden, with her enduring optimism, could find happiness in nearly any prediction. “My husband and I live in a shack with eight kids, and I’m a doctor? That’s perfect, free health care!” or “I’m lost in the Bermuda Triangle with only a monkey and a Swiss army knife? Time to build a boat with Bobo!” she’d giggle.

  Her eager glee was frustrating to me. I wanted only fortunes that promised me adventure and power. I hated the imagined burden of enduring a life with any children, much less eight of them. They’d require so much energy, attention, and care—even the thought of them felt stifling. Doris once caught me calculating results to land on “no children.” She laughed while I grumbled, “If I didn’t have kids running underneath me, I could be legendary.”

  “This will change when you’re older, you’ll see. You’ll want to be a mama,” she said, pinching my cheek.

  But I knew myself then, and that truth has only heightened as I’ve grown. It’s harsh, but true: I do not want to have children. Even further, I have never understood why people would want to have them.

  Okay, of course I know biologically one thing leads to nine months and eighteen years of another, but really, why do people keep having kids? Don’t they realize that children require constant sacrifice of your wants and needs for theirs? My mother never got that memo, and apparently neither did Doris. Despite the pounding music and pulsing lights, I’m lost in these thoughts as I stare with an open jaw at a super-duper pregnant chick getting it down on the dance floor. She’s whipping her hair and shaking her hips, and I’m praying the baby won’t make a grand entrance right here and now on the glittering floor. There are already too many birthday parties in progress as it is.

  “Ugh, don’t make me chunder, am I right? Does she, like, not know that we all can see her?” Tiffany says when she spies what’s distracting me. “That’s like the worst decision ever, showing up at a club pregnant—major cock up,” she concludes, handing me another shot.

  I take the drink, musing that getting pregnant in the first p
lace was the truly bad decision, especially if you can’t be bothered to slow down on partying. I bring my gaze to more appealing parts of the room. I am living inside a scene from a rap video right now, and I am absolutely loving every minute of it. We’re at Monsoon, the club that Tiffany’s brother owns, viewing the dance floor from the elevated VIP booth, flanked by a velvet couch and an unending supply of bottles of champagne, tequila, vodka, rum, and an array of chasers. The club is thick with bodies pulsing to the beat of the music.

  “Come on, let’s go dance!” Tiffany says, tugging my arm, pulling me down the short staircase. I join the girls in dancing and take in an amazing view of the city through the floor-to-ceiling windows across the dance floor—Buckingham Palace, the River Thames, and also the London Eye, the giant egg-pod Ferris wheel flanking the river. I feel a moment of weirdness at experiencing London without Mom and Arden. Weirdness? Or shame, because you ditched them both even when they said they needed you? a voice whispers through the haze of alcohol and dancing. I shake my head, determined not to spend any more brain power on Mother or Arden.

  “Vincent!” Tiffany waves into the crowd. “He’s my brother’s friend. Hella reem, right?” she whispers directly into my ear to be heard over the music. I surmise that “reem” must means sexy, because that’s the only word I can think of to describe the ridiculously handsome man joining us. He’s GQ model material, and I’m drawn in from the moment he enters my vision. His skin is like smooth clay, his hair a buzz cut I know feels electrifying to the touch, his black button-down fitted enough to reveal an impressively built body. When I step closer, I am momentarily stunned by the subtle power of his cologne, a combination of cinnamon and overturned earth that makes my mouth water.

  He embraces Tiffany, then pulls away and asks, “And who is this delicious carmellita?” His brow is raised in interest at me.

  “Hey, I’m Aurora,” I smile back at him with game-set-matched interest.

  As I shake his hand, he holds and caresses my arm. He pulls me toward him and Tiffany melts away.

  “Aurora?” he says, rolling my name around on his tongue. “Hmm …” He pulls on a strand of my curly hair and watches as it bounces back to life. I categorically hate when people touch my hair, I am not your personal chia pet, but in this moment, I find myself minding not one bit. He smiles. I smile. And everything feels good inside.

  “You must know that the first Aurora was the goddess of the dawn?” He places his palm on my spine and suddenly we are pressed against each other and dancing intimately. “She commanded the sun to rise each morning,” he whispers in my ear, his tongue just lightly grazing the lobe.

  I shiver and try to steady my hazy brain. This dude is … so smooth, literally and figuratively. It’s mesmerizing. His silk shirt feels amazing to touch, and my hand accidently finds a home in his soft buzz cut. He laughs, and I realize we are pawing each other to the music.

  “I love the way you dance, Ma,” he says seductively.

  I feel wild, slightly out of my mind. “I’m sorry, I might have had a few drinks, and you’re so … soft!” I catch myself in a giggle and hiccup. Do I sound silly? Do I care? Should I? Where am I again? My brain feels cloudier and foggier the longer Vincent and I dance. The song is changing when I realize he is holding up my entire weight and my shoes have slipped off my feet. When did the room get so wobbly? I wonder as I start to lose consciousness in Vincent’s arms. The last thing I hear: Vincent’s voice saying, “Good work, Fanny.”

  I OPEN MY eyes to darkness. I feel the heavy presence of others around me, their hot breath in the air, the shuffling of limbs, rustling of clothing.

  “Who’s there?” I cry into the room. I hear a snicker, a “shhh,” and finally a voice whispers, “Turn on the light, Natalie, she’s scared.” A nightlight comes on, and after a moment, I can see around me. I’m in a room with a dozen rows of bunk beds, and staring at me from them are dozens of young girls.

  Or at least they were once young girls. They look like people, but not normal ones and not in any condition you’ve ever heard about. Their faces are gaunt beyond measure; only their pale eyes and teeth are clearly visible. Their entire bodies are sunken in and nearly transparent. At first I think it must be a trick of the light, but then a girl turns to the side and I realize I am literally looking through her head. I suck in a jagged breath, and a ghostly girl to my right mimics the sound with a cruel laugh.

  “Who are you?” I whisper.

  Another snicker.

  “We’re imposters, posing as human beings,” a voice from the back of the room answers me.

  “What do you mean?” I ask, still huddled in the corner, too terrified to move.

  “You’ll find out soon enough. Vincent will come for you. They never let the fresh meat sit for too long.”

  My heartbeat pulses fast in my ears as I ask, “Who are they? Why are they keeping us here? What happened to you all?”

  My voice breaks in fear, but the girls only respond with more snickering. A few shake their heads at me, sending waves of pity from their macabre forms.

  “Look at her. She’s so pretty. She won’t be for long.”

  “What do they want?” I shout, but none of the girls answer me.

  I start to get up from the floor when I hear a key unlock the door. The nightlight goes out in a breath as Vincent reaches into the room for me.

  “No! What are they going to do to me?” I scream as he pulls me to out into the bright hallway.

  A girl answers from the dark. “Take from you. And make you like us.”

  The door closes behind me. I’m shrieking and scratching at Vincent, but his iron hold is secure. “You creep, what did you do to me at the club? Let me go! I want to leave right now!” I scream at him. I channel the anger and adrenaline surging through my body and pull a florescent lamp down hard at Vincent’s head.

  He stumbles only slightly from the blow, but I pull out of his arms. I try to take off running when I feel Vincent embrace me again, his grip like a cobra, sucking the wind from my lungs. I’m struggling to move the next light with my mind when I feel a pinch in my arm; Vincent has injected me with a needle.

  “Zion said you were a fighter,” he says in my ear. “He’s been waiting for your powers to craft his better world.”

  “How do you know that name?” I mumble, the hallway fading to black around me.

  “He’s our god,” I hear just as I lose touch of everything.

  THE FIRST THING I sense is the chill in the room. I’m sitting on a chair with my hands and feet bound tightly behind me. I open my eyes, but I can’t see anything due to the darkness. I’m not with the ghost girls; I’m somewhere smaller and freezing: an ice box? I’m really over this “funhouse of horrors” crap. I try to channel my powers but feel nothing; the injection and cold are numbing my nerves. I shiver and hold back tears, sinking into a realization that I’m doomed. Whatever happened to the ghost girls is happening to me. My heart and energy level plummet. I’m going to die here. I deserve this for being a horrible shit to my own sister and mother.

  I think about the mother I assumed was self-servingly choosing her career over us, then try to consider her with Gran Gran’s insight—as a gifted goddess who loved, lost, and then rebuilt her entire life on her terms, a life filled with the determination to share the gift of her voice with as many as possible. Selene chose to be a mother again, even after losing her first child in a horribly tragic way. Maybe she did the best she could for Arden and me, I concede as scenes from the past flash through my mind. She could be distant and easily distracted by her fame, but I realize that deep down, our mother must have truly loved us fiercely to even have us after all she had already lived through.

  One of the rare times Arden and I were sick as kids, Mother demanded a bed be brought to her dressing room so she could check in on us even briefly between scenes. At the time I thought she only wanted to heighten the drama of being a mother and star, but now I understand this was how she showed her love—b
y living her own life to the fullest and bringing us along, whether it be good, bad, or ugly. I’ve never given her credit for a thing, but I realize with stunned hindsight that she always tried to, and did, give us a wonderful life. The tears come heavily as I sit regretting every selfish move that led me to this chair, rope, and freezer prison. I am a failure as a daughter and sister, I realize starkly, replaying the events of the past few days. Why do I see the worst in the people who love me the most? My teeth chatter against my lips, and I whisper, “Cold, cold, cold,” berating myself for a decade of foolish anger.

  And then, I hear Mother’s faint voice calling out, “Is that you, Rora?”

  Oh great, now I’m hallucinating! I gasp and cry harder, barely able to breathe.

  “Don’t cry, my darling. I’m sorry. I’m all tied up over here and can’t move. Is Arden here too?” Mother says.

  My heart leaps. She’s here! Not just a disembodied voice, but actually here in the freezer with me! “Mommy? Is it you? You shouldn’t be here!” I cry out, turning in the direction of her voice at the opposite end of the room.

  “No, you shouldn’t be here,” she sighs sadly. “I should have warned you. I played the fool to think I could keep you and Arden from this forever. Where is she? Is she safe? She contacted me earlier; I thought you were together somewhere safe. What are you doing here?”

  I think of my trusting, loving twin, and start crying even harder. “I … I don’t know. I left her. I’m sorry, I’m so selfish and horrid and now I’m here and I can’t help you or her and something really bad is going to happen and everything, everything is my fault.” I’m sobbing, the cold air blasting into my lungs.

  Mother shushes me from across the room, “No, shhh, baby, nothing is your fault. This tsunami of a mess started from the winds stirred centuries ago.” She sighs jaggedly. “These men are evil with dark intentions. I don’t even know where to begin to explain.”