by Kristie Cook
Having their fun in the Norman world and knowing the Amadis were already experiencing our own turbulence, the Daemoni did the opposite from what I expected. Their attacks on Amadis had actually dwindled. They still watched, however, prohibiting anyone from helping us. Tristan, sometimes with me and sometimes with Owen, made a few flash trips to other states in the Southeast, but no one would talk to us. Most worried about attracting attention of the Daemoni, but others said they'd been ordered by their council representative to give us no assistance. Which we knew to be lies, because Char was their council representative. Someone else threatened them, someone within the Amadis. The closer we came to October, the more we were stonewalled.
Mom and Charlotte had returned to the Amadis Island shortly after leaving us in early August, to find things worse than when they had left. If Mom didn't know Amadis daughters just didn't get ill–not physically or mentally–she said she would have thought Rina had dementia or Alzheimer's, often forgetting things, spacing out and even letting others make important decisions for her. Mom's updates became less and less detailed over time, however, and she made more and more references that things had improved, including Rina.
I knew from Blossom's sources that they had not.
The pressure sometimes became too much for us. Tristan and I fought nearly every day. He refused to tell me about the stone and I refused to drop the subject. My dreams had intensified, and I couldn't shake the feeling the stone and our daughter were somehow connected. I tried to convince him to seek out Bree, the person Lisa had spoken about, but he said we had too many other problems right now to be worrying about what a damn faerie said.
I taught myself Ancient Greek and Latin as a distraction. Tristan thought it was a waste of time, saying if I wanted to learn new languages, I should be focused on useful ones–those I would need while traveling in today's world. For me, however, these nearly obsolete languages were useful. The first and last few pages of the Book of Prophecies & Curses, the only pages I had a close enough look at, were emblazoned in my memory. From Lisa's words, it sounded as though what Tristan had been told might have been a prophecy, and if he didn't want to, or really couldn't, tell me what it was, I hoped to find out on my own.
The process of translation was painstakingly slow, however. Internet translators didn't do a good enough job for anything to make sense, which was why I had to actually learn the languages. At least, enough about them to decipher the prophecies and curses. The fact that they were written in riddles didn't help.
Nothing on the pages in my memory mentioned a stone. I did find the prophecy about Tristan and me, which was fairly simple: "29 February 1736–The one they name for the god of chaos becomes the most powerful warrior for both friend and foe. Likewise, his mate, her soul created for his, shall be the daughter of enemy and ally." I also found, on the first page, what appeared to be a curse about the Amadis sons. Not sure that I translated it correctly, I wrote out what I saw in my memory for Tristan and showed him my translation as he sat at the kitchen table, reviewing stock quotes.
"Is this right?" I asked him, shoving my papers under his nose.
He studied the Ancient Greek and Latin versions and then my translation. "It appears to be. And I have heard of there being a curse before, but–"
"Then we have hope for Dorian!" I bounced on my feet with excitement.
He frowned. "Explain your reasoning."
"If this is right, Eris put a curse on all the Amadis sons. You said it's as if they're compelled to go to the Daemoni, right? And this also says the curse can only be broken by the sacrifice of Amadis blood for the greater good of the world, and it must be done by purposefully giving themselves to the Daemoni. But so far, the boys all go for their own benefit, right? But you–"
"If it's true, which most doubt it is–"
"Would it be in the Book of Prophecies & Curses if it wasn't true?"
He lifted an eyebrow. "You read the Book of Prophecies & Curses?"
I bit my lip. Had I not told him? Was there a reason for not telling him? "Just a few pages. I couldn't actually read it at the time, but I remember what I saw, you know, like we can do."
"Well, it doesn't necessarily mean it's true. From what I've heard about the book, everything's recorded, but none of it's completely reliable. Prophecies are always ambiguous and must be interpreted–sometimes incorrectly. A curse depends on the mage who cast it and many other factors, including God's will."
"And you think it's God's will that our son goes to the Daemoni?"
"I don't know God's will, Lex, but Amadis sons converting to the Daemoni does provide a way for balance, and I do believe evil and goodness remain in general balance until God decides otherwise."
"Owen says good always wins. We always win."
"But in order to win, in order to appreciate good, there must be evil in the world."
"Are you defending the Daemoni?" I asked, my lip curling with disgust.
He leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. "I'm defending God's will and His plan."
"And maybe it's His plan that the curse finally be broken." I jabbed my finger at him. "Maybe you broke it, when you gave yourself to them to protect me and the rest of the Amadis."
He rolled his eyes. "That's absurd."
"Some people believe Dorian can still lead the Amadis. I heard it myself. Maybe this is why. They believe the curse has been broken."
He severed eye contact with me and stared at the wall in front of him. "I'm not an Amadis son, Alexis."
"You have Amadis blood, though. And you are Amadis now, and you were when you left, when you sacrificed yourself. And maybe that's why we didn't have a daughter, because we don't need one. Because Dorian can lead."
His eyes returned to me and narrowed. "Have you given up on this girl, then? You don't think she exists after all?"
I threw my arms in the air. "Of course not! I'm just considering all the angles and this seems as viable as any of the others. If we don't find the girl or we do and she's not really our daughter … if I don't get pregnant again … maybe it's all for a reason. Part of God's will."
"It's certainly a nice idea, everything wrapped up so neatly for us, but it's too easy. The world doesn't work that way."
"But God and the Angels can."
"Forget it, Alexis. If there's even a real curse, I'm not the one who's broken it. I don't exactly qualify."
"Why not?" I looked into his eyes and found the green dark and muddy and the gold sparks dim. I'd seen that look before. His thoughts came loud and clear through his expression. I didn't have to be a mind reader. "You think you're not good enough."
"I know I'm not!" he barked. "I'm not enough Amadis to break the curse. I'm not now, and I certainly wasn't then. I'm. Not. Good. Enough. Not for you and not for the Amadis."
"Now that's absurd. Get over it, Tristan. Get over your past. Get over yourself. You want to put it all behind you, but you don't actually let it go!"
In a blur of motion, he suddenly stood on his feet, pushing the table several feet across the floor with a screech.
"I'm done now," he growled, and in an instant, he was gone, leaving me standing there, wondering what was happening to us.
We argued about everything else, as well, and sometimes I wanted to give up on it all. I daydreamed about living a normal life. I fantasized about forgetting my responsibilities and letting everything fall as it may. But then I'd remember what that meant–losing Tristan … losing Dorian. Then what would be the point of life anyway?
Besides, I had a duty and a purpose. I had a responsibility to the Amadis, to mankind, to fulfill that duty and purpose. And being responsible meant carrying on even when I didn't want to. Even when I wasn't sure why I should care.
We made love every night, doing what we could to produce a daughter. At least that never got old, especially because half the time it was make-up sex.
***
By the middle of September, panic imprisoned me in its tight vice. I'd bought
every store on Captiva and Sanibel out of pregnancy tests. Since the Ang'dora, I didn't have periods. A truly awesome thing, unless your entire life–and everyone else's–depended on your getting pregnant. Because Mom had somehow been able to drop an egg, we had to hope I would, too. Hope. It wasn't exactly springing eternal within me, but I held onto as much as I could. Every morning I peed on the stick only to see a negative result, and every night I prayed this would be the time. Even in the midst of a heated argument, I knew I couldn't lose Tristan again.
Although I hated relinquishing them from my sight, afraid it might be the last time I saw either of them, I urged Tristan and Dorian out the door one morning, sending them off to the beach. Blossom had brought me an herbal mix over a week ago, a blend that primed the ovaries and hormones to facilitate fertilization. She said witches had been using it for centuries without fail, including long after menopause. We didn't know if it would work for me, though, and I'd been too scared of any side effects it might have. But like most people drowning in the waters of desperation, I was willing to grasp at any possible lifeline.
Following her directions, I boiled water and poured it over a tablespoon of the leaves in a coffee mug. I let it steep for the required ten minutes, then stirred it, lifted the cup to my lips and gagged at the smell. How can this be good for me when it smells like gasoline?
"Well, Sasha," I said to the puppy at my feet, "here goes nothing."
She cocked her head as I pinched my nose and pulled in a large gulp. And immediately sprayed it everywhere.
Not only because it tasted worse than it smelled. But also because two people had suddenly appeared in my kitchen. Sasha instantly became the size of a Saint Bernard, her stripes, wings and fangs all on display. She growled at the intruders–Mom and Charlotte.
"What the hell?" I sputtered, wiping the tea from my shirt. "You scared the crap out of me!"
"Didn't Owen tell you we were coming?" Char asked as she started purposefully walking around the house, pulling all the window blinds shut.
"No. I haven't seen Owen today."
"He met us at the airport," Mom said. "He must not be back yet."
"What are you doing here?" I demanded, still annoyed at their literally popping in with no notice.
"Where's Tristan?" Char called from the living room.
Something about her tone, about the way she asked the question struck me like a mallet, rattling my bones. Shaking my soul. I knew why they were here. My stomach rolled then fell to my knees. My chest tightened, and I gasped for air. The cup slid from my trembling hands, shattering against the tile floor. How could Owen do this to us? He knew they were coming, even retrieved their luggage because they couldn't flash with it.
"You're … here … to take … him?" I squeaked out between breaths. "Oh, my God. You're really …"
I sank to the floor, unable to finish the sentence, my hand over my gaping mouth.
"You can't have him," I whispered, shaking my head violently. "You can't do this to us. Our time isn't up."
The image of Owen coming to the safe house and announcing Tristan's disappearance nearly eight years ago wavered in my mind, and now I felt the loss, the emptiness, the half-existence all over again. My body began to quake. Mom took a step toward me. Sasha growled again, louder this time.
"It's okay, Sasha. You know my intentions," Mom said to the Lykora. Sasha snuffed and stepped out of Mom's way. Mom dropped to her knees next to me. "Alexis, honey, no. Shh. Calm down. That's not why we're here."
She wrapped her arms around me and stroked my hair as I inhaled jagged breaths.
"Then why are you? Why the big ambush?"
Char, now back in the kitchen, chuckled. "Sorry about that. We didn't mean to make it look like an ambush. Owen was supposed to warn you last night that we were on our way."
"What's going on? Are you here for another investigation? More ultimatums to give us?"
"No, honey," Mom said softly. "We're here because … well, I guess you could say I ran away."
"More like we escaped," Char said. "Escaped the crazies."
"The who?" I asked.
"The crazies. More than half the council have lost their minds. Martin and Solomon are trying to hold everything together, but even Rina's messed up. We're hoping Tristan can help us with a plan because the whole council is going down fast and ugly."
I wiped the tears that had gathered in my eyes. Sasha shrank to her normal, toy-dog size and nudged her nose against my hand. I let her on my lap and dug my fingers into her silky fur.
"I don't understand," I said.
"When we came here in July," Mom said, "I told Char about how different I felt after leaving the island, but we'd forgotten about it when we returned. We'd been back a few weeks when I started feeling … off again."
"She was saying and doing things completely unlike her," Char said. "Martin had often talked about how the Daemoni found ways to mess with people's minds, and it seems that someone on the island is doing the same. Martin hasn't left there in weeks, working with Solomon to try to figure it out. It took some doing, but I convinced Sophia to get off the island. She's finally starting to get back to herself."
I hugged Mom. "Are you okay now?"
"Yes, I think so. I'm not so sure about Rina, though …."
"You think someone's messing with everyone's minds? Is that why they're all crazy?"
Mom shrugged. Char shook her head. "There aren't any mages powerful enough to affect everyone at once. But someone does seem to be messing with a few of the key people–Sophia, Rina, Julia …."
I snorted. "Julia's in on it. If she's acting crazy, she's just acting."
Mom opened her mouth to say something, but then she stopped and sniffed the air. "What is that smell?"
My face heated. "Sorry. It smells horrible. It's an herbal tea I thought I'd–"
"No, I mean it's familiar." She sniffed again. Then she noticed the pool of greenish liquid on the floor with shards of my coffee mug in it. She swirled her fingers in the tea and lifted her fingertips to her nose. "I've had this before. A long time ago." She paused, trying to remember, but I knew she was wrong. Mistaking it for something else. If she knew what it really was … "Yes. London. I'd visited a witch … we'd had tea. This tea. It's when … when I was with Tristan and Lucas, actually."
If I'd had the tea in my mouth, I would have sprayed it out all over again. "Seriously?"
"Yes. It tasted like gasoline but the witch said it would strengthen me, which I needed, to be able to handle Lucas."
"Mom …" I hesitated, knowing she'd probably freak out that I'd even considered taking a concoction on purpose. But I didn't have to make a decision.
Char blurted it out for me. "That's a pregnancy potion, Sophia. No doubt, by the smell of it."
The realization hit Mom and me at the same time, and we both sprang to our feet.
"Mom, it worked for you. That's what did it!" My hope soared beyond the ceiling, beyond the trees, all the way to the sky. "If it worked for you … maybe …"
Mom looked at Charlotte. "Is it safe?"
"You're still alive, aren't you?"
Mom turned to me again and her face reminded me of Dorian's on Christmas morning–full of excitement and hope. "Did you drink it? All of it?"
"No, none of it. I spit out the first gulp and dropped the rest, remember?"
She grabbed the teapot, filled it with water and set it on the stove. "I can't believe I didn't remember this … that I didn't realize …"
I noticed what Char must have on the island–a difference in Mom. I'd never seen her so hesitant, almost unsure of herself, as if she doubted her own memories or thoughts.
"It doesn't sound like you knew exactly what you'd been drinking at the time," Charlotte said.
"No, but … we never even thought about it. Alexis could have tried this months ago."
"Actually, Minh and Galina had brought it up one time, but no one thought it would work on an Amadis daughter, and Rina didn't want
to take the chance," Charlotte said. "No one knew it had been done before. Makes me wonder who this witch was who gave it to you. Why she hasn't piped up about it, with everything going on."
"Actually …" Mom paused again, and her face screwed up in a way I'd never seen before, as if she had to physically concentrate on making her brain work. "I think …"
She stopped, and Char and I both waited to hear what she thought. The teapot started whistling, steam rising from its spout. Mom picked it up and began fixing my tea and seemed as though she forgot what she'd been thinking. I looked at Charlotte who gave me a see-what-I-mean look. I hated seeing Mom like this. What had they done to her? Who? Why?
"Uh … Mom? The witch?"
She looked at me as if confused.
"The witch who gave you the tea?" I prompted.
"Oh. Right." Her brows pushed together with deep concentration. "There was something about her … it bothered me at the time. I couldn't feel the full truth in her intentions. I felt she intended to do more for me … or for the Amadis … than I asked of her, which she had. Because of her, we have you. There was something else, though … I felt she wasn't really a witch." She paused for another long moment and cocked her head. "I think … I think she was really a faerie."
"Well, that explains a lot," Char muttered. "But not everything. The faeries had an interest in you and Lucas having a child. Why?"
"Maybe they thought it would be fun to see what happened with a crossbreed," I said. "It's definitely created all kinds of chaos."
"Maybe," Char said, but she didn't sound convinced.
Mom shook her head. "I don't think so. I don't think she was really part of the Otherworld anymore."