“Yeah, or too distracted in other ways. They don’t call him ‘The God with Balls’ for nothing.”
One half brother with a huge penis, another with giant testicles. No wonder I’ve never gotten along with my family.
“Then what about my twin?”
“You don’t know where he lives?”
“We haven’t been close.”
“Still? Well, then, sweetie, I don’t think I can tell you.”
“What do you mean?”
“Do you want me giving out your address to every immortal who asks?”
“Of course not.”
“Exactly. He’s a minor celebrity in the indie music scene in case you haven’t noticed, so his address isn’t exactly listed. I have to check with him first. Do you want me to do that?”
“No,” she answered quickly.
“Ah-ha! The Delian Twins are at it again!”
“Well, you’ve been a real help,” she grumbled. She was beginning to find Dash’s rules suspiciously arbitrary.
“You asked me to bring you to Cora, and I did.”
“What happened to her anyway? I thought she was supposed to hate being mistress of the Underworld! You should’ve seen them cooing over each other.”
“She didn’t change, I don’t think,” Dash replied. “Prissy and vain like always. What changed was the Receiver of Many. After centuries of living with a woman who hated him, he finally mended his ways. He repented. He tried to respect her. And she forgave him.”
Selene snorted. “I’d never forgive someone for doing what he did.”
“That’s the thing about living for millennia. A mortal couldn’t forgive—they don’t have enough time. But when you’ve been around as long as we have, sometimes there’s a way to make peace.” He looked at Selene pointedly.
“If you’re talking about me and my twin, forget it.” She picked up her pace. “Now if you could move a little faster, I’ve got things to do aboveground.”
“I’m just saying, Cora and Aiden probably have the best marriage of anyone in our family.”
“I guess we just aren’t made for commitment,” she shrugged. “We’re good at celibacy or promiscuity. Not much in between.”
“I used to think the same thing. But times are changing, Selene. We’re changing.”
“I’m not about to give up my virginity,” she seethed.
“Not even for that new bad boy associate of yours?”
Selene refused to even respond. But she couldn’t help the sudden image of Theo that sprang to mind. Sitting beside him in the movie theater, she’d wondered what it would feel like if he grabbed her hand. At the same time, she was horrified that he might try.
The subway track beneath her feet began to vibrate. She shot Dash a worried glance. “You got a plan for not getting us run over?”
“It would be awfully humiliating to escape the Underworld only to get flattened by the Number 6 train,” Dash agreed. “Thankfully, the Conductor of Souls wouldn’t let that happen.” Across the tracks, a single dim bulb illuminated a battered metal door. He grabbed the handle. Then paused, rattling the padlock. “Um.”
“What happened to all your powers, God of Thieves?”
“Fine.” He gave her a petulant frown. “The turnstile trick is an electronic transmitter I got from the Smith.”
The subway train’s headlight appeared ahead of them, a white pinprick growing steadily bigger.
“Move.” Selene retrieved her lock picks from her backpack and set to work.
“I mean, if I’d brought my picks, I could totally have done that.”
Selene snorted as she sprung the lock. Just before the light from the train could reach them, she hauled open the door and slipped through. They climbed a ladder, heaved open a manhole cover, and emerged on a quiet side street.
The Goddess of the Moon blinked in the sudden sunlight, grateful for once to emerge from the dark.
Chapter 26
MOTHER OF TWINS
A last water lily, striated pink and purple, floated in the fountain pool of the Conservatory Garden in Central Park. It lay with its petals unfurled, each a tapered ladle to scoop up the last rays of the setting sun. When darkness fell, the petals would close, only to open again with the dawn. A symbol of rebirth and renewal, of secrets concealed and revealed, of color too bright and form too beautiful for the mortal world. A lotus.
Soon after exiting the Underworld, Selene severed the flower’s stem with a single slice of her pocketknife and lifted it from the water.
At New York-Presbyterian, Selene woke the frail woman in the hospital bed with a gentle kiss.
“Mother,” whispered Leticia, staring at her daughter with cloudy eyes.
Selene could barely remember her grandmother Phoibe, Titan goddess of the moon, but she knew of her black hair and pale skin.
“No, I’m your daughter,” she said gently.
“Phoebe?”
When she’d inherited dominion over the moon from her grandmother, the Huntress had taken the name “Phoebe,” meaning “Bright One,” just as her twin was called Phoebus for his association with the sun. But she hadn’t gone by the name since a brief stint as Phoebe Hautman in New Amsterdam nearly four hundred years before.
“I’m not Phoebe or Phoibe, Mother.”
“But I thought, for a second, you brought the moonlight in with you.”
“I’m Selene now. Not Selene the Moon. Just Selene DiSilva.” She wasn’t surprised her mother could see a glimpse of her divine aura, just as the child at the movie theater had, but it saddened her. It meant Leto was approaching the border between worlds.
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Artemis?”
Selene swallowed. “Yes, it’s me.” When they approached the end, the gods relinquished the mortal monikers they’d assumed and reverted to their true selves. For Leto, Selene had ceased to exist. Only her divine daughter remained.
“See what I’ve brought you,” said Selene, pulling a length of dark purple linen from her bag. “I know it’s not perfect, but it’s the best I could do on short notice.” Carefully, she helped her mother sit up and draped the fabric around her face so it covered her short gray hair.
Leto’s eyes seemed a little less cloudy next to the jewel-toned cloth, and Selene could almost imagine that she still had long, chestnut hair underneath. “You see, Mother, it’s a veil for Leto, Goddess of Modesty. And here…” Selene drew forth a small palm frond and wrapped Leto’s hands around it. “For the Mother of Twins, who stood beneath the Sacred Palm on Delos in her travail and birthed the Bright Ones into the world.” Next she pulled a box of dates from her bag. She ate half of one, gluey and oversweet, and fed the other half to her mother. “The date sustained you then, let it sustain you now.”
Leto chewed slowly, painfully. “Why, Artemis? Why do you remind me of a past I cannot have again?” she asked.
“Because you can. I think I’ve figured it out, Mother,” Selene explained, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. “There’s a cult. A new one. It’s using my attributes in its rituals, and it’s bringing me power. I’m growing stronger, not weaker. I feel almost like myself again.”
“Like yourself?” her mother asked wearily. “You’ve had so many names over the centuries… do you even know who you are anymore?”
“I know I’m your daughter,” Selene said, her throat tight.
Leto stroked Selene’s cheek, her fingers dry and cracked. “They called you She Who Helps One Climb Out. Do you remember?”
“Of course. Not my most melodic epithet.”
“You’ve always lifted me from hardship. Just by your presence. Just by your love. You don’t have to rescue me from death.”
“But I will, Mother,” Selene insisted. “If it can be done. I swear it by Gaia below and Ouranos above and by the dropping water of the River Styx. I swear it with the strongest and most awful oath of the blessed gods.”
Leto gave a resigned sigh. “I’ve never stopped you from doi
ng what you wanted.”
“Then don’t start now. You can see my radiance; you know it’s working. Tonight, we’re going to create our own rite, using your attributes. Then maybe I can bring you back to health, as well.”
“I’m long past saving, Deer Heart.”
Selene refused to listen. She took the last sacred object from her bag. The lotus flower. She laid it carefully on her mother’s torso, where it dwarfed Leto’s narrow rib cage with its outspread petals.
Leto touched a velvet petal hesitantly. “So beautiful,” she whispered. “But not mine. Hera holds the lotus staff.”
“But there were some vase paintings that showed you with it, remember? The lotus is the royal symbol, and in my eyes, you are always a queen.” She kissed her mother on the forehead. “Now come, there’s one more step in the ritual.”
Selene lifted her mother out of the bed and set her on her feet. Leto stood on trembling legs, one clawlike hand clutching her daughter’s arm, the other holding on to her IV pole. Selene was shocked to see how short her mother had become. Her head barely reached Selene’s shoulder. Selene placed the lotus flower atop the pole, and draped the hospital blanket over Leto’s thin frame like a cloak. Together, they left the room, taking one excruciating step at a time.
It took nearly twenty minutes to walk down the hall, into the elevator, and out onto the floor above. Long before they arrived at their destination, Selene regretted what she’d done. Leto could barely stand, and each step only weakened her further. “Almost there,” she murmured encouragingly, taking more and more of her mother’s weight until she was nearly carrying her.
They came to a large window that overlooked an interior room. “Do you see?” said Selene. “I’ve brought you to your temple.”
Leto rested a hand upon the glass, staring fixedly at the infants within.
Selene looked over her mother’s shoulder at the nursery, waiting for the babies to show some recognition that the Goddess of Motherhood stood before them. Surely, they would turn toward her, or cry with joy, or at least wriggle a little more. But they merely lay there, fast asleep, their pruney faces scrunched with annoyance at being thrust into the world. Selene found them completely unappealing. Yet when she looked at Leto, a new glow illuminated her mother’s features.
“It’s working,” Selene whispered. “You look stronger already.”
Leto turned to her daughter, her eyes clear. “Not stronger, my child. But content. Thank you for bringing me here. I can go happily now, remembering that mothers still labor and children still arrive without me.”
“Happily? Knowing you’re not needed?”
“Is that not what all mothers want?” Leto asked softly. “For their children to grow up and live their own lives?”
Selene couldn’t respond to that, only clutch her mother’s arm a little tighter.
Leto gazed at her daughter, a silent entreaty in her eyes. “Your brother was here earlier,” she said finally.
“Oh?” Selene tried not to sound suspicious.
“He brought some other boys with him. They played a song for me.”
“That’s nice,” Selene said carefully. “Did he mention anything about… trying to make you stronger?”
“I think he finally understands that he can’t. But he hoped the music would bring me peace. And it did.”
That sounded innocuous. But then again, would Paul really tell his mother if he were killing innocent women? Leto would never condone such barbarity.
“He also said he missed you,” Leto went on.
“I’m sure.”
“He’s only ever tried to protect you. You know he would do anything to keep you safe.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, Selene thought with a shudder.
“When I’m gone, you’re going to have to let him back into your heart.”
Selene said nothing. She wouldn’t make promises she couldn’t keep.
“Now take me back,” Leto commanded, her voice stern even as she slumped weakly against her daughter. “I’ve heard of those two women who were killed. One a child—a sick child. The nurses talk of nothing else. I know what you carry in that pack of yours, Huntress, and I know you have work to do tonight.”
“But Mother—”
“Now, Artemis,” she whispered. “I can barely stand.”
Her eyes brimming, the Protector swept the Gentle Goddess into her arms and carried her back to the hospital bed.
Chapter 27
THE HIEROPHANT PART II
Lying beneath the writhing snakes, the hierophant had dreamed.
Twin stags stand with heads lowered and antlers crossed. One spear pierces them both, and from the wound pours the blood of four women. One stag falls and the other remains, stronger and more glorious than before.
A gift from Asclepius—a dream to heal his tortured soul.
When he’d awoken, with the snakes’ whispers still echoing in his brain, the girl still hung from the ceiling, long dead at the hands of his mystai—but he felt her life force trickling through his own veins. She’d been weak, sickly, but not without power. Sammi Mehra possessed a tenacity unmatched by the other children in her ward. She wanted desperately to live. The hierophant doubted her tests had shown it yet, but she’d finally started winning her long battle with the disease. In a few months, she would’ve been well.
Suddenly, he remembered another dream from that night—flying through the air at a gymnastics event, spinning once, twice, then landing lightly on the mat to a thunder of applause. Such a simple dream, a girl’s dream, loosened from her mind as she slipped into unconsciousness. He would not feel pity. Her life had served a far higher purpose than anything her mortal mind could imagine. What was the too-short future of a single girl compared to the eternal glory of an immortal?
Now, deep underground, he held a green glass flask to the firelight and watched Sammi’s blood swirl with Helen’s. From Sammi, he gained determination and courage. From Helen, brilliant intelligence and unquestioning faith—a rare combination. Tonight, another woman, young and pure, would add her life’s essence to his. Her blood would hold special magic: kharisma. Modern mortals defined charisma as mere personal magnetism. But the ancients derived the word from karis, “grace,” meaning a talent divinely conferred. A hint of the godly ran through the veins of those with such talents, giving their blood extraordinary power.
The thought sent a shiver of impatience down the hierophant’s spine. He could almost taste the blood of tonight’s sacrifice upon his lips. But the steps of the ritual must be obeyed in order—the Pompe must begin here, in a long-forgotten chamber where the dead lay nearby, guarding the secrets of mortality.
The first offerings waited in cages nearby. Their brains could not comprehend their place in the ancient ritual—but they could feel fear. The hierophant breathed in the odor of their anxiety, reveling in the power it gave him.
“Remove the sacrifices,” he said to his gathered mystai. While the cage doors clanged open, he turned to his most trusted acolyte and placed the glass flask in his hands. “One cannot achieve everlasting life without knowledge of death,” he explained, his voice resonating with the tone of command. “The blood we have harvested carries within it the power of the living and the dreams of the dead. Tonight we add more. Tonight we grow closer to the end. And to the beginning.”
In a few hours, he would finally show himself to the city. Fear would course down its filthy streets and through its crowded tenements. Terror would hurtle along the fetid underground tunnels and up the counterfeit majesty of skyscrapers, invading every corner of the city. One by one, the mortals would realize the extent of their vulnerability. And as they did, he would grow ever more invulnerable.
He stoked the fire before him and made a silent promise. Before rosy-fingered Dawn lightens the sky, I will turn this soulless city into a god-fearing realm.
Chapter 28
SWIFTLY BOUNDING
By the time Selene left her mother’s hospital room,
night cloaked the city. She glanced at the crescent moon where it hung between buildings, its horns yellowed by smog. Hear me, Grandmother Phoibe, Bright Goddess, she prayed. If you still exist somewhere among the heavens, then answer my plea. Tonight I go to save a mortal life, but tell me it’s not too late to save your daughter Leto as well.
The moon was still and silent. No voice bright as starlight pierced her mind. Phoibe was long gone. Only a rocky sphere remained, orbiting the earth without the aid of any goddess. If I could still guide it across the heavens, Selene thought, jogging down Fifth Avenue, I might be able to look down and see the hierophant at work. But something tells me that particular power is never coming back. From what she’d learned of astronomy, she wasn’t sure how she’d ever done it in the first place. She’d lived too long among mortals to understand the consciousness of a god anymore.
She’d have to find the killer the old-fashioned way: lots of legwork and a little bit of luck. And if she found him—when she found him—she’d force him to save her mother. She’d stop the murders, seize his power, and turn his cult of destruction into a cult of salvation.
The chatter on her police scanner indicated that, despite their skepticism, the NYPD couldn’t risk rejecting Theo’s tip out of hand: Officers watched every graveyard in Manhattan and even some in the boroughs. Still, she heard no mention of any suspicious activity. For an hour, she willed herself to stay patient, flipping between the precincts’ different frequencies as she paced a rough circuit between the old Sephardic graveyards in the West Twenties and the Marble Cemeteries on Second Street.
Selene fiddled with the scanner. Still nothing. She spotted the unmarked cop cars parked near the various graveyards and the suspiciously sedentary “homeless” people near the cemetery gates. But nothing else. Over the course of the night, her relief at not running into Theo had evolved. At first, she blamed him for suggesting she patrol the graveyards at all. Now she secretly wished he were there to keep her company. Finally, she gave up and called his cell.
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