Sweet Legacy
Page 57
It’s time I learned how to use my power without losing myself in my visions. I don’t have control over them, and when I’ve tried to control them, there have been painful consequences. Maybe that was just because of the connection to Apollo, but what if it wasn’t? What if it’s just part of the bargain, a pesky side effect of second sight?
The truth is, I’m scared.
I push up from the table and start walking. I don’t want to look like I’m pacing, so I walk to the window and look out through the curtain. When I turn back to face the table, four sets of eager eyes are watching me, expectant. I’m afraid I can’t do it.
But I have to try.
Cassandra gets up from the table and crosses to me.
“I can tell you are frightened,” she says quietly. She stands before me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “I cannot imagine what the process is like. But I admire your willingness to embrace the gift. The world has been waiting countless generations for you to be born.” Her hands cup my jaw. “And you, my darling daughter, bear the greatest responsibility of all.”
“I—”
“You have the honor of carrying forward Medusa’s legacy,” she continues. “You alone hold her power of second sight, and you alone can seek the answers that will return the world to what it should be.”
I can do it. I have to. This is my chance to prove myself worthy of Medusa’s gift.
My mother’s eyes hold my gaze, strong and certain. Her confidence feeds mine, soothes over my fears and the bad memories of the recent past. She calls on my sense of duty, and that is something I can’t ignore. Duty is what convinced me to join this fight in the first place. Duty will get me through my fears.
I straighten my spine, lift my chin, and say, “Thank you.”
Cassandra looks just like Grace when she grins. “This time,” she says, “we shall do it right.”
“What does that mean?” Grace asks.
“Fetch me a bowl of water,” Cassandra instructs, “and a length of cloth or a scarf.”
“There’s a bowl under the bathroom sink,” Gretchen says, “and Ursula has a ton of scarves in the dresser.”
“I’ll get the bowl.” Grace hurries out of the room.
Gretchen heads to the bedroom to find a scarf. Sillus follows her.
Cassandra pushes to her feet. “Hopefully there is some chilled Delphic oil in the refrigerator.”
“What is that?” I ask as she crosses to the kitchen.
Cassandra smiles. “It is a prophetic aid,” she says, pulling open the door and searching the shelves, “from the waters around the famous Oracle of Delphi.”
Glass vials clink against each other as she lifts each for inspection. “Ah, here it is,” she says, holding up a small purple vial with an eye painted on the side.
Gretchen returns with the scarf, a long, narrow, navy blue number with flecks of silver thread sparkling like stars in the silk. Sillus has another scarf—with bright red and orange stripes—wrapped around his neck. Grace sets a bowl full of water on the table.
Cassandra asks Gretchen to turn out all the lights but the one above the kitchen sink.
“Please,” Cassandra says to me once the lights are off, “take a seat at the table.”
I sit in one of the chairs at the dirty dining table, and Cassandra takes the one next to me. My sisters stand a few feet away, as if they’re afraid to be in the way. Sillus hops up onto the counter for a better view.
“This ritual has been passed forward through the generations,” Cassandra says as she twists the cap off the purple vial. She shakes several drops of clear liquid into the bowl of water. “It is said that the immortal gorgons used to help Medusa achieve her visions in this way.”
Medusa—my ancient ancestor, the origin of my powers. To think she once sought visions in the same way I’m doing now. What kinds of things did she see? Was it easy for her, or did she have to practice?
Thinking about her naturally makes me wonder about her death. She was the only mortal gorgon, but also the one with the gift of second sight. Did she see it? Did she have a vision of her own demise?
It was awful enough seeing Grace’s death in my vision. How could I live with the knowledge of my own death? Seeing it happen without necessarily knowing when it would happen, not being able to prevent it—that would be torture.
I would rather be immortal.
“According to tradition, the key to a successful summoning,” Cassandra says, staring into the water as she swirls her fingers through the surface, “is controlling the atmosphere, controlling the five physical senses, so the sixth sense can rise to the forefront.”
She dips the scarf in the water and then wrings it out over the bowl.
“Close your eyes,” she instructs, and I do.
I feel a cool sensation on my face as she presses the scarf over my eyes, tying it loosely behind my head. When I inhale, I smell something rich and earthy.
“Juniper berry,” she says. “It is an excellent cleansing scent.”
I smile and inhale again.
“Now,” Cassandra says, her voice dropping to a near whisper, “I want you to clear your mind of all concerns, and focus only on the sound of my voice.”
Cassandra’s soothing words guide me out of the safe house, out of my body, and into another place. Honestly, it reminds me of Hades—dark and misty, like the fogged-in shore at night.
This isn’t like my previous visions. I have no dizziness, and I’m not immediately in the middle of the event. This feels more like a waiting room.
The truth is, I’m scared.
I push up from the table and start walking. I don’t want to look like I’m pacing, so I walk to the window and look out through the curtain. When I turn back to face the table, four sets of eager eyes are watching me, expectant. I’m afraid I can’t do it.
But I have to try.
Cassandra gets up from the table and crosses to me.
“I can tell you are frightened,” she says quietly. She stands before me, placing her hands on my shoulders. “I cannot imagine what the process is like. But I admire your willingness to embrace the gift. The world has been waiting countless generations for you to be born.” Her hands cup my jaw. “And you, my darling daughter, bear the greatest responsibility of all.”
“I—”
“You have the honor of carrying forward Medusa’s legacy,” she continues. “You alone hold her power of second sight, and you alone can seek the answers that will return the world to what it should be.”
I can do it. I have to. This is my chance to prove myself worthy of Medusa’s gift.
My mother’s eyes hold my gaze, strong and certain. Her confidence feeds mine, soothes over my fears and the bad memories of the recent past. She calls on my sense of duty, and that is something I can’t ignore. Duty is what convinced me to join this fight in the first place. Duty will get me through my fears.
I straighten my spine, lift my chin, and say, “Thank you.”
Cassandra looks just like Grace when she grins. “This time,” she says, “we shall do it right.”
“What does that mean?” Grace asks.
“Fetch me a bowl of water,” Cassandra instructs, “and a length of cloth or a scarf.”
“There’s a bowl under the bathroom sink,” Gretchen says, “and Ursula has a ton of scarves in the dresser.”
“I’ll get the bowl.” Grace hurries out of the room.
Gretchen heads to the bedroom to find a scarf. Sillus follows her.
Cassandra pushes to her feet. “Hopefully there is some chilled Delphic oil in the refrigerator.”
“What is that?” I ask as she crosses to the kitchen.
Cassandra smiles. “It is a prophetic aid,” she says, pulling open the door and searching the shelves, “from the waters around the famous Oracle of Delphi.”
Glass vials clink against each other as she lifts each for inspection. “Ah, here it is,” she says, holding up a small purple vial with an eye painted on the side.
Gretchen returns with the scarf, a long, narrow, navy blue number with flecks of silver thread sparkling like stars in the silk. Sillus has another scarf—with bright red and orange stripes—wrapped around his neck. Grace sets a bowl full of water on the table.
Cassandra asks Gretchen to turn out all the lights but the one above the kitchen sink.
“Please,” Cassandra says to me once the lights are off, “take a seat at the table.”
I sit in one of the chairs at the dirty dining table, and Cassandra takes the one next to me. My sisters stand a few feet away, as if they’re afraid to be in the way. Sillus hops up onto the counter for a better view.
“This ritual has been passed forward through the generations,” Cassandra says as she twists the cap off the purple vial. She shakes several drops of clear liquid into the bowl of water. “It is said that the immortal gorgons used to help Medusa achieve her visions in this way.”
Medusa—my ancient ancestor, the origin of my powers. To think she once sought visions in the same way I’m doing now. What kinds of things did she see? Was it easy for her, or did she have to practice?
Thinking about her naturally makes me wonder about her death. She was the only mortal gorgon, but also the one with the gift of second sight. Did she see it? Did she have a vision of her own demise?
It was awful enough seeing Grace’s death in my vision. How could I live with the knowledge of my own death? Seeing it happen without necessarily knowing when it would happen, not being able to prevent it—that would be torture.
I would rather be immortal.
“According to tradition, the key to a successful summoning,” Cassandra says, staring into the water as she swirls her fingers through the surface, “is controlling the atmosphere, controlling the five physical senses, so the sixth sense can rise to the forefront.”
She dips the scarf in the water and then wrings it out over the bowl.
“Close your eyes,” she instructs, and I do.
I feel a cool sensation on my face as she presses the scarf over my eyes, tying it loosely behind my head. When I inhale, I smell something rich and earthy.
“Juniper berry,” she says. “It is an excellent cleansing scent.”
I smile and inhale again.
“Now,” Cassandra says, her voice dropping to a near whisper, “I want you to clear your mind of all concerns, and focus only on the sound of my voice.”
Cassandra’s soothing words guide me out of the safe house, out of my body, and into another place. Honestly, it reminds me of Hades—dark and misty, like the fogged-in shore at night.
This isn’t like my previous visions. I have no dizziness, and I’m not immediately in the middle of the event. This feels more like a waiting room.
