I shiver, fear overtaking my nerves. Either everything the woman is saying is indeed true or I’m in some sort of sick game, or even worse, in the lair of some psychopath, though the swirling eye colors definitely are not a trick of any human. What Kaye is tossing at me is a storm of pure chaos.
Her thin lips lift at the corner. “Yes, Pandora, I am that storm. Welcome to the unstable world of Chaos.”
Oh, shit. Realization sinks in. Real realization, and why now, I don’t know, but it does. Kaye. Os. Chaos…my professor truly is a goddess in her own right. A damn right nasty goddess, but a goddess just the same. I really am fucked.
I swallow. The woman sitting before me isn’t crazy. She’s just from another plane, from Olympus. And apparently, so am I. “Okay, so let’s say what you’re telling me is true. What now? What am I supposed to do with this knowledge? It’s not like I can go out into the world and tell everyone I’m Pandora, the cause of all their ills.”
Kaye leans forward. She rests her elbows on the desk, steeples her fingers beneath her chin. Her stormy eyes now shift completely gray. Very dark gray, like clouds rolling in before one of those hugely destructive storms.
A whiff of her perfume comes my way, teases my nose with notes of cinnamon, winter rain, and roses. I try not to breathe as I have no frickin’ clue what taking in her scent will do to me. I don’t know everything about Chaos, but from what I have learned, I can only surmise she can’t be good for me. She can’t be good for anyone. But I must breathe, so I give in and allow Kay’s rose-scented perfume to seep into my lungs. I pray to the gods it doesn’t destroy my soul.
Kaye’s eye color continues to shift, a far more serious nature settling in to her dark gaze.
A cold chill runs up my spine.
“If I were you,” she says, “and thank the gods I’m not, I would be careful and not divulge anything about myself to anyone. You’re now stepping into our world, the universe of the gods. And you don’t know a darn thing about that existence. At least not the true workings of it.”
She’s right. I don’t have a frickin’ clue where to go from here. But I do know one thing, I’m not a wallflower who backs down in the face of adversity. And just because the woman whose desk I’m sitting in front of happens to be the Greek goddess Chaos, does not mean she can defeat me. In the least, I am not willing to reveal my insecurities to the witch. “Not a problem.” Take that, Chaos. “I’ll simply learn what I need to learn and go from there. I can manage this.”
A laugh, or more accurately a vile cackle, erupts from Kaye’s mouth. “I can see I’m going to have a lot of fun with you, Pandy.” She pushes the huge leather-bound book on her desk in my direction, triggering a series of sparks to bounce off its gold-gilt trimmed edges. “Consider this a little gift from me to you. What you do with it is your choice, but be forewarned…be careful with anything and everything you do and say from this moment forward. You’re on the gods’ radar now. Even the evil ones.”
Kaye isn’t doing anything to soothe my anxiety. How the hell is a book going to help? Yes, I have a degree in Greek Mythology, which should make some things a bit less difficult to figure out, but over all, that crap is not so easy to decipher. Very few things about the gods is actually written in stone. Most of the tales written about them are from scholars and storytellers who have put their own spin on the stories of Zeus and his minions. I know better than to rely on statues, temple ruins, and ancient books. Because, again, all those relics are only what people in the ancient world thought the gods were about. Not what they actually are. “I don’t see how a book is going to help.”
“Oh, it will.” Kaye insists. “It’s from Zeus himself. But that also means only the old sod knows the true meaning of any of the book’s words, images, and teachings, hence my warning of caution.”
I stretch and reach for the oversized tome. It’s leather casing is worn but smooth, like a fine aged Scotch that gets better, more tasteful and more enticing as time goes by. I skim my fingers over its cover. A tingle races up my arm, zings through my veins and lands with a jolt at my heart.
I jump. I also shiver again, one of those faint little cold chills that forces my hands off the book and onto my arms, my fingers rubbing my skin, trying to return warmth to my flesh.
Kaye sinks back into her chair. “I think it’s time our game begins, my little Pandy.”
Game? What the hell is Os talking about? “I don’t understand.”
She smirks. “You didn’t think I was handing you this information for no reason at all? Did you?”
So much for her generosity, though I have to admit the three years I’d had Kaye as an instructor were anything but easy. She has a knack for acting on whim. Every time I got cozy with the way I thought her lessons were going to pan out, boom, she’d change it up. And not just in some minor fashion. With Kaye Os it’s always been total havoc or nothing. “What’s the goal, Professor Os?”
She smirks again. “The gods of death want your box. It’s been missing for thousands of years, but the race is on now because Zeus has declared it so, and the first to find your little lost trinket, gets to control Hope. Finding your box is also your one chance at redemption. You know, for unleashing hell on earth. Personally, I think Zeus should just punish you, but he sees things differently and insists on granting you a chance to save your soul. But even if you do find your box, you’ll have to open it take back all the evil in the world, which will put Hope at risk.”
That can’t be good. Hope is all man has, even I know that. And the fact has nothing to do with my degree in Greek Mythology. It’s just common sense. I take a deep breath and force every last ounce of nerve I have in me, to put on a brave face. “Any rules to this game?” I can be a bitch right back. Again, I’m no mouse. At least not when it counts.
“Nothing specific. Just know whatever you do, you do by choice. Or in layman’s terms, if you make a mistake, be prepared to pay for it.”
In the back of my mind a distant, but booming, voice echoes. I’ve heard similar sentiments said to me in the past, but from whom or when, I don’t remember. I tug at the sleeves of my sweater, pull the white knitted cuffs until they unroll and cover half my hands. I’m freezing.
I reach once more for the tome on Kaye’s desk and slide it off the oak monstrosity. It lands in my lap where its energies seep through my jeans and sting my thighs, but I don’t leave it there, I bring it up and cradle it against my chest, my mind wondering what secrets it’s keeping inside its thick span of pages.
Again, a sense of déjà vu strikes my thoughts.
From what I remember of Pandora’s tale, the only thing that ended up left in her box—or jar as the actual type of vessel has been argued by scholars—after she had lifted its lid and unleashed a myriad of evils into man’s world, was Hope. And right now, I need a damn good dose of that left behind little gift because I have a nagging feeling my sorry ass is about to go through some serious hell. But how can I access Hope when my box has been missing for ages? I don’t even know what it accurately looks like. It might be a jar, it might be a box. It might be at the bottom of the sea, or on the top of a mountain peak, or buried gods know where.
I pray the answer is in Zeus’s book.
If it’s not, then this soon to be twenty-one-year-old is going to land herself in one huge heap of trouble. I just feel it in my gut.
Chapter 2
I arrive home and fumble with the keys to my apartment, my left arm still cradling Zeus’s book. The feel of pinpricks dance along my skin as my fingers starts to go numb.
Gods, but this thing is heavy.
I shift the book so it no longer digs into the crook of my arm. As I stand in front of the door, a warm breath fans my neck. I spin around, but find no one in the hallway, the wallpapered corridor silent and empty save for the faintest hint of cinnamon. It must be my neighbor, Mary, making those organic candles again. I’m all for home-grown businesses, but over the last few months she’s been working with cinnamon and s
picy rose scents that drive me crazy, especially since she tends to work on them when I’m in bed, though she’s a little early this evening. The fragrances wake me up even from deep sleep.
I focus back to the key, which now slips into the lock and I turn it. A click echoes. Never has that noise sounded so good to my ears. I push the door open. After today’s crazy news, all I want to do is relax, eat dinner, and read a bit of Zeus’s book.
Crossing the apartment threshold, I step inside and slam the door behind me, then flick on the small vestibule’s overhead light. It’s a quarter to four and the sun is already down, leaving my apartment blanketed in a shadowy darkness tinged only with a hint of the last remaining hues of daylight. Tomorrow I’ll be twenty-one, but I don’t know the date of my real birthday, I’ve just always gone by what the newspaper article estimated. My last set of foster parents, now dead, stuck to the same practice. They were the best out of the three family’s I’d been placed with. They were good people, happy and caring. They gave me a decent life and helped mold me into the person I am today. No gods took the time to do that. At least, not on a human level.
A deep breath escapes my lips. I lean back against the door, my spine smacking flush with the squares carved in the ornate panel. My place is small, but filled with details I love like the plaster column in the corner of my living room bearing a bust of the Greek goddess Artemis. I always felt a kinship to her, especially her love of animals and the hunt. Maybe it has something to do with having come from Olympus, but I don’t really know since I can’t remember anything from the day I was last on Mount Olympus, the day I was born. Or created as Chaos so happily divulged earlier.
The thought strikes a chord in me. I don’t know if I like the idea that I was created as opposed to having been born. This whole notion of being human but not mortal is unnerving. I’m made of flesh and bone, of that I know for sure because the mother of all books is resting in my arms and it’s killing me, its binding now biting into my skin. Yet according to Kaye I’ve been on this earth for thousands of years, recycling my soul, jumping from one body to the next and with each reincarnation—if I can call it that—I forget the person I was last residing in. Talk about crazy crap. No wonder I spend an hour each week on a therapist’s couch.
Which brings me to a second thought. One that concerns my nifty little box of evils and why I lifted its lid. If I was created as an adult rather than born as a baby, then I was never a kid. And in my mind, then maybe the Pandora who existed at the time Zeus had ordered her made, just wanted a moment to be the little girl she never was given the chance to be. I mean, kids are usually the ones who fall to curiosity, always doing what they’re told not to do, right? Maybe that’s why I opened the jar and unleashed hell on earth. It’s all that makes sense to me because I can’t see why else I’d have done such a thing.
I stare at the book in my arms. Yeah, right. Who am I kidding? Even now I’m itching to delve into the tome’s secrets, my fingers literally tingling with anticipation of what I’ll find once I start thumbing through the pages. If I had a jar or box in my hands instead of a book right now, and if I was told not to peek inside, I’d have my nose so deep in its cavity, I’d end up like those cats I see on memes who stick their heads in glass canisters or small fish bowls and can’t get out.
I am such an imp. And I bet Zeus knew I’d be this way. I was the catalyst to do his dirty work and nothing more. Bastard. Or maybe not. I really don’t have a right to judge a soul I don’t even know.
With a sigh I push off the door and shimmy out of my down coat, a spark nipping at my cheek as the fur-trimmed hood makes a mockery of my hair. I don’t need a mirror to know what I must look like—straight black hair fanned out over my shoulders making me appear as if I just stuck a finger in an electrical socket. Winter is an awesome time of year, but I can do without the little nuisances such as static electricity playing stylist to my long hair. I hang my coat on a peg on the brass stand in the corner.
I relax my shoulders, my mind wandering back to the book held against my chest. After a few good hours of reading, I should have a better grasp on my life. At least that is the plan.
Skirting the glass-topped sofa table on the opposite wall, I toss my keys into the small silver tray on top, the clank of metal against metal singing at my ears. My purse goes next, but with a much quieter fall that gives off a dull thump.
I think about my cellphone, but I’m so rattled over today’s news, I’m not in the mood to handle calls. I leave the cell in my purse and head into the living room, my body free of all added junk save for Zeus’s book. I flop on the couch.
Reaching for the lamp on the side table, I twist the small brass knob on its base and turn it on. Under the light, I notice a black smudge, like a line of ash but dusted with fine gold specks, mars the cuff of my white sweater. I guess the mark comes from the book, its coloring and gilt edges wearing off on my clothes thanks to my too tight grip on the thing. At least it didn’t muck up my jeans. A new sweater I can afford, but replacing my pair of corset ankle jeans is not in this month’s budget.
I sink into the sofa’s soft yellow cushions and splay open Zeus’s tome in my lap. A slight warmth covets my thighs.
Interesting.
I almost feel as if this book has a life of its own, maybe it even has a living soul. Being from the gods, who knows what magick is contained in its pages.
Kaye’s words of warning filter into my head.
I don’t see how now knowing I’m Pandora is going to cause such a stir in my life. Since I don’t do the friend thing much, there’s little chance of me slipping up on that front. Even my neighbor, Mary, who occupies the only other apartment on this floor, has only once had a full conversation with me. We’re strictly the ‘Hi’ and ‘How ya doing’ type of neighbors. I don’t even know her last name. I think I’ve waved to her, maybe like twice in as many years. I don’t have enough friends to worry about slipping up. No one is going to know I’m from Olympus.
I flip through the first section of the book which consists only of drawings of the gods, similar type of artwork like you see painted on Greek urns and frescoes in museums. A few pages later and still I’m not finding a table of contents. Maybe it doesn’t work that way. Maybe it’s one of those fate type of things, like when you’re told by a psychic to just pick a card from the tarot deck and not put your mind to which one you’re drawing out from the pile? Regardless, that’s the approach I’m taking.
Closing my eyes, I fan my fingers over the book’s edge and carefully slip them between the pages, forcing the spine to bend where my hand now sits. My eyelids open and I stare down at the page.
The first thing that pops out and catches my attention is a magnificent drawing of three nearly naked men. Spartans, from the look of it, each posed in a ferocious battle stance, their red capes flowing in the wind. Their muscled forms are depicted in muted colors and are faded on the page as if they’re meant to be a decorative background rather than a vibrant, in-your-face type of image.
I settle a little deeper in to the couch and kick off my boots.
Across the bodies of the Spartan warriors is a string of words arranged in five sentences, written in a legible, but perfect script. And the lines of text are in English, which is a shocker because I doubt Zeus even knew about English when he wrote this book.
I glide my fingers over the letters, each one curved and easy to read. The black ink rises slightly from the page, just enough so the pad of my right forefinger can detect its imprint.
I study the words, my tongue eager to see how they will roll from my mouth. Naughty Pandora. I am so never going to be anything but an imp. The words form on my tongue with such force I know I will not be happy until I say them all.
“Slumber unguarded and I call Doom.
Stir Doom and I wander toward Violence.
Entertain Violence and I court Death.
Instead I order my slumber to take place amid Spartans.
And amid Spartans, I c
hallenge Death, Violence, and Doom.”
Zeus’s words are odd, and I have no idea how to translate their true meaning. Even my degree can’t help me out as no college course ever stated Pandora still lived. So, helping myself out, is not going to be easy.
I yawn and shut the book. Maybe I’ll have better luck tomorrow when I can spend the whole day going through Zeus’s tome. There must be something in there that will help me navigate my way around the life I should be living. I mean, if what Chaos says is true, if this is my one chance at redemption, and that the gods of death are searching for my lost box, and if Zeus really did call this game to start, then that has to mean my box still exists, because without it, I will never be able to rein in the evil I unleashed. So, I know I have to find the box. But without its whereabouts, or even what it really looks like, I know it won’t be easy.
An odd sensation creeps into my bones.
Did I do this before? Did the goddess Chaos find me in the past? She hadn’t said for sure except that I had given her and Zeus the slip. But did she ever actually talk to me about this in the past? Find me long enough to tell me who I was? Did I learn things I didn’t like? Why did I go from body to body? I have so many questions and I never thought to ask one of them this afternoon.
And what exactly will happen to me when and if I find my box and make amends? Will Pandora’s story change? And how does that play into destiny and the belief that no one has the right to mess with destiny? Change someone’s fate and you can bring on a whole shitload of chaos. Wouldn’t Professor Os love that. It would be right up her alley. Maybe her and Zeus are in cahoots. I always did feel the gods set up Pandora, set me up.
Gods, but that sounds so strange to me.
Pandora.
Being the world’s most famous imp still isn’t fully sinking in yet.
The Revelation Page 2