Sweet Legacy
Page 52
“Looks like her,” another says. This one sounds as old as great-grandmother Morgenthal. Something slimy pokes at my foot. “She has the mark.”
“And the fangs.”
I trace my tongue over my teeth and discover that, yes, my fangs are showing. Maybe they’re reacting to the stench.
“Sorry,” I say, my voice a harsh whisper.
Shrieks pierce my eardrums and I force my eyes open to see what terror is approaching. At the rate my week is going, it’s probably a giant flesh-eating tadpole or something.
No, just a trio of human-looking women, ranging in age from a teenager to an octogenarian. Their eyes are shut, but I get the distinct impression that they are shrieking at me. Like I’m the scary thing here.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to quell the nausea and pain that keep washing over me. When I open my eyes, the old woman has moved closer and is shoving her hand toward my face. Cupped in the palm of her hand is an eyeball.
I can’t stop the scream.
Three women and one eyeball. Oh my heavens, I know who they are. The Fates.
This can’t be good.
“What’s going on?” I demand, trying to control my panic. Looking around, I add, “Where am I?”
“She doesn’t know,” the young one on the left says to the other two.
“You tell her,” the middle one says.
The old one on the right says, “Yes, you.”
“I’m not telling her,” the first one argues.
“Tell me what?” I ask.
“That you’re in Hades,” the middle one admits. Then she slaps a hand over her mouth when she realizes she just told me the thing they didn’t want to tell me.
“Hades?” I frown. “That’s not possible.”
All three of them glance down at my chest. I’m about to feel insulted—there’s a sharp barb on the tip of my tongue about it being rude to stare—when I look down. They’re not looking at my breasts. They’re looking at the ragged gash in my chest, right next to my sternum.
“Oh,” I say.
It comes back to me in a flash. The vision. The alley. The knife.
“No. This can’t be happening.”
But it is. I’m dead because I dived in front of a blade heading for Grace. And it’s not like if I could go back in time I would do anything differently. If I hadn’t stepped between her and the dagger, she would be the one waking up in Hades. That is not a trade I’m willing to make. If I have to die, doing so in the process of saving Grace’s life is a pretty honorable way to go. I have to say I’m quite proud of myself.
I am not, however, thrilled to find out this is where I’m ending up. I would prefer somewhere warmer, with more sun and maybe a beach.
I sit up and look around, relieved that the white hot ache in my chest is fading. I would hate to think I’m spending the rest of eternity living with the stinging pain—well, not living with it, precisely.
“So this is Hades?” I ask, recalling my mythology lessons on the ancient Greek afterlife. “Where is the ferryman? Cerberus? The lord of the underworld himself?”
The trio shrugs nervously.
“What?” I ask.
“You aren’t going to meet them,” the middle one says.
“Not yet, anyway,” the young one adds.
“We were sent to give you a message,” the old one explains, “to take back.”
“To take back?” I repeat. “I thought there was no going back from Hades.”
The first woman shrugs. “There are always exceptions.”
“What’s the message?” I ask.
The old one steps closer, holding the eyeball close to my face. I try not to shudder in disgust. “Fight not alone.”
“Fight not a—what?” That makes no sense. “What does that mean?”
They shrug again and shake their heads.
“We weren’t told.”
“We’re just the messengers.”
“We give the message.”
“Well, who sent you?” I ask, hoping maybe that will be a clue.
“That is not part of her message.”
As if that’s an answer. “Her?”
“Hush, youngling,” the old one snaps at the first one. “You share more than we are meant to. We cannot interfere in these matters.”
The middle one explains, “We are only supposed to deliver the message.”
“Before,” the first one adds, nodding.
“Before what?” I ask.
The light around me suddenly brightens.
“Before this.”
“Befo—?”
As one, the three women snap their fingers. The air around me crackles with energy.
I glance down and see my skin glowing, brighter and brighter. My entire body has turned into a fluorescent bulb. I look radioactive.
“Wha—?”
Suddenly I feel like I’m being pulled in every direction at once. My body struggles to stay together in one piece. My legs go in one direction, my arms another. Everything starts swirling, like a funhouse mirror in the middle of a tornado.
Then the smelly world around me fades away and I’m hurtling through space.
When I wake for real, I’m relieved to inhale a breath of air that only smells like dust and greasy Chinese food. I never thought I’d appreciate the disgusting smells of the city, but in comparison they’re like designer perfume.
“And the fangs.”
I trace my tongue over my teeth and discover that, yes, my fangs are showing. Maybe they’re reacting to the stench.
“Sorry,” I say, my voice a harsh whisper.
Shrieks pierce my eardrums and I force my eyes open to see what terror is approaching. At the rate my week is going, it’s probably a giant flesh-eating tadpole or something.
No, just a trio of human-looking women, ranging in age from a teenager to an octogenarian. Their eyes are shut, but I get the distinct impression that they are shrieking at me. Like I’m the scary thing here.
I close my eyes and take a deep breath, trying to quell the nausea and pain that keep washing over me. When I open my eyes, the old woman has moved closer and is shoving her hand toward my face. Cupped in the palm of her hand is an eyeball.
I can’t stop the scream.
Three women and one eyeball. Oh my heavens, I know who they are. The Fates.
This can’t be good.
“What’s going on?” I demand, trying to control my panic. Looking around, I add, “Where am I?”
“She doesn’t know,” the young one on the left says to the other two.
“You tell her,” the middle one says.
The old one on the right says, “Yes, you.”
“I’m not telling her,” the first one argues.
“Tell me what?” I ask.
“That you’re in Hades,” the middle one admits. Then she slaps a hand over her mouth when she realizes she just told me the thing they didn’t want to tell me.
“Hades?” I frown. “That’s not possible.”
All three of them glance down at my chest. I’m about to feel insulted—there’s a sharp barb on the tip of my tongue about it being rude to stare—when I look down. They’re not looking at my breasts. They’re looking at the ragged gash in my chest, right next to my sternum.
“Oh,” I say.
It comes back to me in a flash. The vision. The alley. The knife.
“No. This can’t be happening.”
But it is. I’m dead because I dived in front of a blade heading for Grace. And it’s not like if I could go back in time I would do anything differently. If I hadn’t stepped between her and the dagger, she would be the one waking up in Hades. That is not a trade I’m willing to make. If I have to die, doing so in the process of saving Grace’s life is a pretty honorable way to go. I have to say I’m quite proud of myself.
I am not, however, thrilled to find out this is where I’m ending up. I would prefer somewhere warmer, with more sun and maybe a beach.
I sit up and look around, relieved that the white hot ache in my chest is fading. I would hate to think I’m spending the rest of eternity living with the stinging pain—well, not living with it, precisely.
“So this is Hades?” I ask, recalling my mythology lessons on the ancient Greek afterlife. “Where is the ferryman? Cerberus? The lord of the underworld himself?”
The trio shrugs nervously.
“What?” I ask.
“You aren’t going to meet them,” the middle one says.
“Not yet, anyway,” the young one adds.
“We were sent to give you a message,” the old one explains, “to take back.”
“To take back?” I repeat. “I thought there was no going back from Hades.”
The first woman shrugs. “There are always exceptions.”
“What’s the message?” I ask.
The old one steps closer, holding the eyeball close to my face. I try not to shudder in disgust. “Fight not alone.”
“Fight not a—what?” That makes no sense. “What does that mean?”
They shrug again and shake their heads.
“We weren’t told.”
“We’re just the messengers.”
“We give the message.”
“Well, who sent you?” I ask, hoping maybe that will be a clue.
“That is not part of her message.”
As if that’s an answer. “Her?”
“Hush, youngling,” the old one snaps at the first one. “You share more than we are meant to. We cannot interfere in these matters.”
The middle one explains, “We are only supposed to deliver the message.”
“Before,” the first one adds, nodding.
“Before what?” I ask.
The light around me suddenly brightens.
“Before this.”
“Befo—?”
As one, the three women snap their fingers. The air around me crackles with energy.
I glance down and see my skin glowing, brighter and brighter. My entire body has turned into a fluorescent bulb. I look radioactive.
“Wha—?”
Suddenly I feel like I’m being pulled in every direction at once. My body struggles to stay together in one piece. My legs go in one direction, my arms another. Everything starts swirling, like a funhouse mirror in the middle of a tornado.
Then the smelly world around me fades away and I’m hurtling through space.
When I wake for real, I’m relieved to inhale a breath of air that only smells like dust and greasy Chinese food. I never thought I’d appreciate the disgusting smells of the city, but in comparison they’re like designer perfume.
