The Secret of the Emerald Sea

The Secret of the Emerald Sea Heather Matthews Copyright © August 2010, Heather Matthews Cover art by Anastasia Rabiyah ...

Author: Matthews Heather

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The Secret of the Emerald Sea Heather Matthews Copyright © August 2010, Heather Matthews Cover art by Anastasia Rabiyah © August 2010 ISBN 978-1-936110-87-2 This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this novel are fictitious or used fictitiously. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book, or portions thereof, in any form. Sugar and Spice Press North Carolina, USA www.sugarnspicepress.com

The Secret of the Emerald Sea

Heather Matthews For Jeremy

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Chapter One It was late, but Jane could not sleep. She was weary, but she could not rest. In her upstairs bedroom, decorated in the peaceful, aquatic tones that she preferred, she stared out of her oval window into the darkness, watching the leaves of tall trees dance in the wind. Rain drummed its relentless tattoo upon the roof and rolled in rivulets down the small window, distorting the view. At times such as these, when it was dark and lonely and raining, the young girl, who was just fourteen, missed her mother terribly. As well, she felt some hollowness inside because she had never known her own father. He had died before she was born, and soon—too soon!—her mother had passed away. Jane had been only seven years old when she‘d died. Now, she lived with her grandmother in Royalton, a village by the Emerald Sea, and she had so little of her mother to remember her by. There was only a tiny toy crown of hammered gold that had been given to her when she was three years old, and a book. Of her father, she had nothing at all. When she turned ten, her grandmother took the crown away. Jane cried and cried, begging for the toy that meant so much to her, but her pleas were ignored. Usually, her grandmother was kind, but this one time, she had been quite cruel. Her grandmother did not take away her book, and so she treasured it even more, and read from it every day of her life. It was a slim volume of poetry, bound in crimson leather, and it was filled with all of the sonnets of Shakespeare. The book was her solace on nights like this one, when she began to feel the curious feeling she experienced whenever it rained. Since she could remember, the rain had made her feel some strange longing—one 3


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that was acute and uncomfortable. She told no one about her feelings because they were so odd. Already, she felt somehow distanced from the people around her, although she loved her grandmother and had some friends at school. In her heart, she had always felt different, and she was sure this had something to do with the curious feeling she did not understand. Jane held her book of sonnets in her hands, but she did not light a candle so she could read the verses. Instead, she clutched it for comfort alone, as another girl might hold a well-loved teddy bear. She knew that the strange feeling was stronger tonight, and she was not sure she could resist the desires it released. As the rain struck the roof, she felt compelled, as she always had, to go to the sea and to disappear below its still surface, but only in the dead of night, when everyone was asleep. Why she should need to do this was always a mystery to her, and it was dangerous, too. Jane had never learned to swim. Her grandmother had refused to teach her how, and she was not allowed to go to the shore and learn with her friends. The Emerald Sea was forbidden, and it became all the more alluring because it was always just out of her reach. On this night, when her sadness and restlessness were profound, and her urges so strong as to be overpowering, she was too weak to resist any longer. All she could hear was the gentle tap of rainfall as she got up out of her bed and put on her slippers. Tonight, she would give in, and she would do what she wanted to…at long last. ―I‘m old enough now, aren‘t I?‖ she asked herself doubtfully. And so she crept out, clad only in a white nightgown, on this night when the moon was dark and the sky was midnight blue. She moved stealthily down the stairway, taking care to avoid the places where the wooden boards squeaked—these she knew from memory—and she quietly tiptoed past the room where her grandmother slept. Opening the front door as silently as she could, she slipped outside into the rain. She smiled as the cold droplets landed upon her ivory face, her long, flaxen hair, and her bare shoulders. The cold did not bother her.

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The seaside village was deserted. It was almost three o‘clock in the morning. She ran down a pathway that led to the rocky beach and began to trudge through the damp, uneven sands. The shore was always so close to her home, tempting her. Now she could smell the briny scent of the saltwater, and make out the dark, ruffled shapes of seaweed that had washed ashore. She kicked her slippers off, feeling the cold, gritty sand against her skin, and then she ran to the water. At first, she merely dipped in the toes of one foot. Suddenly, the sea changed color, turning amethyst and pearl-white, and it became warmer against her skin. And so she went deeper, wading out until the water was chest high, and then she slid under the surface until her golden hair trailed below the water like floating reeds. Jane closed her eyes and let her body sink down into the warmth. She could not swim, and yet she was not afraid. In fact, she felt a peculiar sense of peace. There was a glow behind her eyes, a light so pure and clear it seemed to illuminate her thoughts and emotions. It seemed at this moment that she had found the thing that was missing…it was here…under the dark sky and below the quiet sea. As she luxuriated in this unfamiliar sense of serenity, she felt something ripple under her, some difference in her body…her legs were no longer legs! Opening her eyes, she was startled to find that she had a beautiful tail, a mermaid’s tail, and yet she was not really frightened. She wondered idly if she were dreaming—for it must be so!—and then she flicked her tail about and began to move through the water as naturally as a fish might. Her tail was beautiful, blue-green and glistening, with scales that shimmered jade and aquamarine against the tides. The water changed again now, back to its own natural green shade, which matched her own eyes, and Jane shook her head slightly. Elation and wonder bubbled inside of her, and she began to move faster. There was no fear now, for at long last, she was who she really was, and who she was meant to be…and so she swam further and further from shore, down toward the center of the sea. She could breathe under the water as easily as she had on the land. The sensation of speed was thrilling 5


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to her, and she seemed to know her destination, although she could not have named it. After a long while, she went down deeper and deeper, and all of a sudden, the creatures of the sea were everywhere, murmuring to her as she passed, and speaking in the secret language of their own kind. She stared at them in wonder and returned their greetings. The words she uttered were in their own tongue, and they seemed to gaze in awe at her through glittering eyes as she moved through the sea. In time, she swam to an old ship that was set into the bed of the ocean. It was gilded and shining with sails of purest white. On its prow was the figurehead of a young woman with Jane‘s own golden hair and green eyes. The statue‘s mermaid tail was also blue-green and encrusted with gemstones, and on its head was a tiny crown that seemed exactly the same as the one her grandmother had put up on a high shelf just out of Jane‘s reach. As she stared at the figurehead, she felt a presence all around her, and she began to hear beautiful, choral music swell and build in her ears. She turned from the figurehead to behold a dazzling sight. A circle of mermaids had appeared, seemingly out of nowhere, and they were singing to her, so softly and sweetly, in their own language. They sang a song of welcome and friendship. Are they just like me? Jane wondered, puzzled. Mermaids in the sea, and girls upon the land? A large man descended from the water above in a robe of white that swirled endlessly around him. He was bearded and white-haired, a muscular, strong man with a fearsome expression on his face. She was frightened by the look in his eyes as she stared at his weathered face. Something about him seemed so unkind, and the gentle chanting song of the mermaids ceased as he made his way toward her. ―I am Neptune,‖ he announced haughtily. ―I am King Neptune of the Emerald Sea!‖ He waited and stared, and she bobbed a curtsy—no easy feat with a tail so large. She shivered, for the water now seemed darker and colder. ―Tell me who you are!‖ he ordered in a booming voice.

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―I am a girl from the village,‖ she answered in a small voice. ―I came to the water and dipped in my toe, and then the water changed color and became so lovely and warm, and so I went under the water, and then I became a mermaid.‖ ―You were always a mermaid!‖ he told Jane angrily. ―For I know now who you are and why you have come to us this night. And what have those fools on land named you, and what have they taught you of life?‖ ―I am called Jane,‖ she answered, ―and I have been taught to be good, and to say my prayers, and to do my lessons and be obedient.‖ ―You are not of their kind!‖ he bellowed. Jane watched as the mermaids around him shook and hung their heads. ―You are my own daughter, you are my princess, and I have waited for you for many years…‖ ―Your…daughter? I am a princess?‖ she sputtered, dazed and shocked by his words. But some truth dawned on her in this instant, and she suddenly knew it was so. This was why she had longed for the seawater against her skin for as long as she could remember. This was why the Emerald Sea had been forbidden. ―If you are my father, then who is my mother? Is she here? I thought my mother died in Royalton when I was but a young girl?‖ Jane asked. ―She looked much as I do… She was my mother, wasn‘t she? Please tell me she was.‖ Neptune nodded at her, and he lost his fearsome look as he hung his head. ―She was your mother, indeed!‖ he cried. ―But she is gone now, passed away, and I loved her well. Look at the figurehead that I commissioned in her honor!‖ Silvery tears began to run down his face and float away in swirling little trails, into the deep-green waters of the Emerald Sea, and Jane was touched. She was no longer so fearful of Neptune. ―She was human,‖ he wept. ―Human, but I loved her, and I tried to bring her here, to make her one of us, but she regretted her choice, and she tried to return to the land. When she got there, nothing was as she remembered and she could not become the woman she once was. But she 7


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stayed on the land nonetheless, a human with a god‘s child growing in her belly.‖ ―Your mother died when you were so small,‖ he went on. ―I visited her the night you were born. I wanted to bring you back here, where you belong, and to bring her back as well, as my own queen…but she would not go, and she swore you were human, and she would not relent or listen to reason. I left you both there, although I knew you could not be human only. Your mother did not want to live under the water, you see, and she was so angry with me for the changes I brought forth in her. She could not be simply human anymore, but was always part mermaid, and longing for the sea she also dreaded. She vowed to never be mermaid again, and she swore that you would not live as she did. She took you away, but you are my daughter, and you belong to me.‖ Jane felt coldness creep into her aching heart. If my mother hated being a mermaid, will I also hate it? The thrill of swimming free and feeling at one with the creatures of the sea was suddenly eclipsed by memories of sweets baking in the oven, of ripe fields that smelled of sunshine, and big, scrubbed wooden tables where she sat and read her sonnets and drew pictures. ―I…don‘t know what I am,‖ she responded meekly. ―And I am afraid.‖ She looked at the worried circle of mermaids bobbing gently in the water. They seemed to stare at her with too much intensity. She glanced at the figurehead, and indeed, its features and its proportions could have been her late mother‘s. She looked down at her tail, and then felt a crown on her own head that could not have been placed there without some frightening magic. ―I want to go home,‖ she cried. ―Please let me go and be as I was before!‖ Then, Jane turned and began to swim away as fast as she could. Her heart was pounding like a frightened bird‘s. Jane heard a cry of rage that seemed to reverberate through the sea, echoing over and over again. She turned and looked back, just for a second, and she saw Neptune wring his trident staff through the water until the sea turned rough and choppy and tidal waves began to form. She 8


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could still hear him yelling in his strange language, and she saw all the creatures of the sea cower and begin to slither into secret hiding places.

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Chapter Two Jane knew from the ancient myths that the rage of Neptune was the stuff of legend. It had sent sailors to early death, washed whales ashore, and flooded the land. The water was always dangerous, for its tides and currents were always at the mercy of the king‘s many moods. Never had she witnessed such ferocity and violence as she did when Neptune churned the water into frenzy and willed it into a deadly froth. The creatures of the sea that hurried away at the first signs of his rage were spared. They managed to stay safe inside of caves and under stones. They wedged themselves tight behind branches of coral, and they waited. Jane saw their eyes, lit up with terror, as they lurked in the hollows. The rest were not so lucky. They were torn away from the ship and thrown above the surface. She watched the mermaids cry in fear as giant waves loomed overhead and cast grave shadows above them. Soon, Jane swam far away from the others, and was rendered unconscious when she hit her head on the side of a cave. She floated oblivious as calm descended upon the sea again. **** Neptune stood rooted to the bed of the ocean and gazed at the aftermath of his destructive rage. His ship, once so beautifully clean and shining, was now broken in two. The figurehead he so loved was now detached from the ship and rested facedown in the sand. Worst of all, his daughter, so long yearned for, was nowhere to be found. The princess he had created with his earthly bride might well be hurt. He wished again that he had never mixed with humanity. The women of the land were not to be borne; they were never satisfied no matter what 10


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one did to please them. He remembered the fear on his daughter‘s face as she begged to return to her old life, and for a moment, he sat down on the bed of the ocean and placed his staff beside him. His heart hurt, and as strong and proud a god as he was, he felt, for a moment at the least, ashamed. **** Jane awoke to sunlight, bright and cold air, and solitude. She floated dreamily through the water and she began to think about the events of the day before. Her head did not really hurt, and yet she was sure there must be a bruise where it had struck the stone surface of the cave. She touched her scalp gingerly, looking for the source of the tingling and tenderness. As she did so, she noticed the crown was gone, and then she remembered Neptune‘s rage and the fear in the faces of her sister mermaids. Jane felt responsible for all that had occurred. It seemed impossible that she should have caused such havoc and suffering, but it had all happened so fast and she could never have predicted the outcome of her remarks to the king—her father. ―Some father!‖ she muttered to herself as tears came to her eyes. ―It would have been better if I had never known him and never come here. Why did I do it?‖ She looked around her, and there was nothingness. Water surrounded her on all sides. She could hear no creatures to comfort her in the absolute stillness of the early morning. She still had her mermaid‘s tail, which she now despised. ―No wonder my mother hated this life!‖ she sobbed. ―It‘s so horrible here in the Emerald Sea! I hate my father,‖ she whispered suddenly. ―I hate him.‖ Jane began to feel anger rise within her that she had never before experienced. It filled every corner of her being and overwhelmed her with its force. She felt weak with its power and evil, and she realized there was Neptune‘s darkness in her now, as well as the loving spirit of her mother. She realized she had changed already from what she had been, and that it was more than the simple matter of a tail. She had become something other than human on the inside, as well. 11


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There was a period of time when Jane simply drifted, so consumed with her emotions that she took little notice of her situation, which was dire. She eventually realized she would have to make for the land, but as water surrounded her, she did not know which direction to set out in. She wondered what had happened to the mermaids, and to the king, as loathe as she was to think of him at all. She wondered where all the sea creatures were, and why she could not hear them. She supposed she would have to go down under the surface to find them, but she didn‘t want to do that. She was terrified of the underwater now. Jane longed for her village as she swam endlessly, feeling as though she was going in circles and getting no place at all. She scanned the lonely horizon for any signs of life, any landmarks or assistance that might be provided by the placement of the clouds above her, or the moon and constellations at night. But her experience in such matters was minimal. She had no instinct about how to proceed. For days, she drifted, so alone… She was desolate. Her grandmother would worry, and she was old and frail. She had let her down by creeping to the edge of the sea and changing things forever. She had broken the one rule that really mattered. Jane never knew exactly how long she wandered the Emerald Sea. Time seemed to lose all meaning, and she could not count the number of days and nights, although she tried to keep track of them. Eventually, it did not matter, as she saw some speck in the distance and swam frantically toward it.

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Chapter Three The island was like nothing she‘d ever dreamed. Resting in the middle of the Emerald Sea, it loomed above her like a Gothic castle made of stone and wrapped in ivy. Set on craggy rocks, with a beach more stones than sand, its foliage was so dark green and thick, one tree or bush could hardly be distinguished from the next. Jane‘s heart beat like a drum as she touched the shore and felt the rough sand against her palm. As she pulled herself onto the beach, her tail disappeared. She stood up and shakily tried to walk. She could hardly manage to stumble down the stretch of sand before she fell. Jane sat down for a moment to rest and gather strength. She became conscious of hunger, thirst, and weariness. Although she had no appetite or thirst when drifting through the sea, she had now become thirsty and ravenously hungry, as well. Also, her body felt extremely tired, as tired as it ever had. She felt she could sleep forever. Her bones felt sore and somehow fragile, as though they were made of glass. ―This is what it feels to be human!‖ she whispered, marveling at the change. ―It‘s pain and hunger and thirst and…love.‖ And she knew that she was not human when she swam the seas. She lay down on the sand in a state of sheer exhaustion, closing her eyes against the past, the present and the future. When she awoke, the sky was dark and diamond-studded. The moon was one-quarter full. She sat for a moment and listened to the sounds of the island. They were subtle, but unmistakably familiar. She felt joy as she identified the cries of birds, the rustle of leaves, and the sound of water lapping against the shore. It’s all real again, she exulted. All of it. No more strangeness and magic. But even as she thought these comforting thoughts, she began to 13


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hear a queer noise that punctured her happiness, and she felt uneasy again. Opening her eyes and sitting up, she began to wonder if this place was only one of King Neptune‘s tricks, or perhaps someone else‘s. For if the king existed underwater, who were his earthly counterparts? The noise would not cease. It was a piercing, keening cry that hurt the ears. It sounded like a bird, or perhaps an animal that was wounded or caught in a trap. Her heart raced as she wondered what to do about the situation. Going toward the sound seemed foolhardy, yet to sit here and try to pretend it was not happening seemed even more dangerous. After a moment, the cry stopped as suddenly as it had begun, and the peaceful sounds of the island returned. Jane didn‘t feel any better when the sound stopped. She sighed almost inaudibly. She knew she would hear that terrible sound again, and that this island would be no paradise for her. But for now, she chose not to look for the source of it. Instead, she would try to put it out of her mind. She needed to eat and to drink and to get warm, and in her loneliness, she felt overwhelmed by the state of absolute independence that had been forced upon her. It might have been easy to go back under the water, to allow magic to take over and direct her unthinkingly toward her father. It would have been her decision, simply out of terror and loneliness, but she could not help but think of her mother and everything she had sacrificed so that Jane could be raised on the land. ―She tried so hard to spare me,‖ Jane whispered. ―Everything she worked for and struggled to keep me free of will be for nothing if I go back there.‖ She no longer wanted to be a mermaid, and yet she would sell her soul to be delivered safely from this desolate island to the village of her childhood. But for now, she had to find a way to survive here while she figured out how to get back to her village. She had no interest in wandering the seas in sadness and confusion as she had before. Those days and nights had blended together in a seamless pattern of terrifying loneliness.

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Her decision was to stay on the island, to explore it at will, and with courage, even as she feared what she would find.

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Chapter Four Food and shelter were easy to obtain on a lush and good-sized island. One could simply fish for protein and forage for berries that seemed safe. The diet was dull, but enough to sustain a growing girl, and shelter was obtained in the little caves she found, although they became cool and lonely in the dead of night. She thought of building something larger out of branches, but to do so seemed a defeat, as though she would never leave this place. During the day, the weather was hot, and she would play in the water without going underneath the surface. The only time she dove was when she looked for fish, and she felt odd eating them as she could hear—or perhaps she was only imagining this?—their tortured cries as they entered their final death throes. She felt guilty and miserable when they died at her hands, but she had to eat. There were small animals on the island, she knew. She saw their tracks and droppings, but it was eerie in that she had not seen one of them yet. The birds she heard every day as clear as a bell were likewise invisible to the naked eye. Where were all these creatures that rustled and woke her in the night? Where were the birds that cried so passionately in the day, and yet the skies remained blue and empty except of clouds? And where was the strange creature who sometimes cried and wailed, as though in desperation? This last question haunted her the most, as the cries, which sometimes sounded animal, other times human or perhaps even otherworldly, frightened her and also made her homesick for words, for conversation. Sometimes she felt in her heart that some creature was calling to her, to come and find it, to rescue it, and not to hurt her at all. She burned with 16


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the curiosity to know who, or what, it was. It was impossible to deny that she needed to find out—regardless of the consequences. So, one day when the skies were a faded blue and the heat was bearable, she packed up as much food as she could in a large leaf. Unaware of her nakedness, which she had tried in vain to cover with all manner of leaves and draping, then ceased to care about, she forgot about her own safety. She was determined to find the owner of the haunting, keening cry. She wandered the island, listening as hard as she could for the sound. There was no way to pinpoint where it would come from. It seemed to be a different direction each time. It sounded like a child crying one moment, a bird squalling the next. Her mind played tricks on her, and she wandered, frustrated, thinking all the while about what made the sound and if it would harm her? She had almost made it to the other side of the island, having walked for a good hour, but still she had found nothing. The sun was dropping into the sea and her legs were sore. Her heart burned with rage as she considered her solitude, a terrible prison she loathed. So lonely was she, she would risk everything to find something or someone. Yet, she would not go back to Neptune again, never, never. The sky started to pelt her with tiny raindrops and she fought off the irritating desire that had always haunted her at such times. To go to the sea and sink into its depths, perhaps forever…to leave behind her mortal body once and for all. She put one foot ahead of the other, and as she felt the rain run in tiny rivulets down her cold flesh, which would be so warm and comfortable under the sea, she started to cry. She wailed, she keened, and she sobbed as loudly as she wished, for it was apparent there was no one to hear her, and no one at all to care about her desolation. And then, as she settled down, her eyes red and swollen and unseeing, a tiny child stepped out of the shadows, barely two from the looks of him, and almost as naked as she.

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―Are you quite all right?‖ the little tot asked her. His voice had the refined tone of the ladies and lords of her village. The child enunciated each word so clearly, in a cut-glass accent that sent chills up and down her spine. She could only stare at him in disbelief. ―Are you real?‖ she asked without thinking, feeling her cheeks flush with pleasure. He was perfect, tiny and pink and white with a mop of cherubic curls, and dimples when he smiled. He had lips as red as cherries, and eyes the cool blue-gray of wood smoke at night. Although he wore no clothing except a swath of white cloth draped loosely about him, Jane noticed a quiver of arrows upon his back in a sort of cylinder made of battered bronze. There were only two arrows in the quiver, and she wondered that such a young boy would have weapons like these. They did not look like toy arrows, for they were sophisticated in design, with etchings along the metal tips, and gold plating. They looked sharp, as though they would break the skin with the barest pressure. She longed to ask him so many questions, and yet, she feared frightening him or scaring him away back into the hiding places of the island. Then again, he was only a tiny child. She knew he would have parents, and they could help her get away from this place! ―I am Jane,‖ she said, smiling, and wishing she had a white draping to cover her nude body. Her long hair did a good job, hanging almost down to her waist now, but still she would have preferred not to be in this state. ―I was lost at sea, and I came here, and I thought I was all alone,‖ she continued, gazing at the beautiful boy in wonder. ―My name is Cupid,‖ he said in his small, clear voice. ―As far as I know, I have always been here, and I have always been alone.‖ Jane marveled again at his cool tone—she noted the absence of a childish lisp or cadence, or any trace of self-pity, and disconcertingly, she felt the intelligence of an adult come through in the child‘s logical, unemotional tone. ―Cupid!‖ Jane exclaimed, trying not to laugh. ―Your name is…Cupid?‖ She glanced once more at the quiver of arrows strapped across his tiny, fleshy torso. ―You are meant to unite lovers?‖ she asked 18


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the boy quizzically. She gazed around her without really looking. ―In this lonely and deserted place?‖ She sat down so as to be at his level and looked across at him. ―You aren‘t a real Cupid, are you? I mean, you aren‘t magical. You‘re just a little boy, aren‘t you?‖ Jane kept her eyes on him; so adorable was he that she found it difficult to glance away for even a second. ―I am Cupid, and there is only one of me,‖ he answered. ―I have many duties…‖ he continued, looking into her eyes with a gaze that beguiled her—his blue-gray eyes were fringed in thick and sooty lashes as long as a girl‘s. He toyed with a lock of his silky, glossy hair with pink-and-white fingers. ―At present,‖ he said with real seriousness, ―my destiny is unfulfilled.‖ ―Who brought you here?‖ Jane asked. She longed to take the small boy in her arms and hold him close to her. She wished so much for the comfort of his body next to hers, and the scent of his hair. She would take pleasure in the smell of sunshine and childhood that always soothed her. ―I am not sure,‖ he answered, and she watched his beautiful eyes cloud over. ―I can‘t remember anything but waking here one morning, these arrows strapped against me, and wondering where I was,‖ he continued. Jane watched as he played with a lock of his hair again, curling it and releasing it, curling it and releasing it again. It was somehow hypnotic. It was impossible to think of anything else but his charm and his grace. He was strangely coy and smiling now, and he seemed as mysterious as anyone she had ever met. The fact that he talked like an adult was confusing and disturbing to Jane. But at least he spoke. And he seemed safe, as though he could harm no one. ―Who are you?‖ the boy asked her suddenly, and she didn‘t even know how to answer. She had already explained her situation, and given her name. ―I‘m lost!‖ she exclaimed. ―I am a girl who is lost, and I need to go home.‖

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―Where is your home?‖ he asked her gently, smiling in encouragement. Jane felt she might cry as she looked into the depths of his eyes, which seemed to display all manner of compassion and warmth now. ―I lived in the village by the Emerald Sea,‖ she answered, ―where the church bells are always ringing, and the people fear God and the water, both in equal measure. The village is called Royalton, but it is a simple place, and all my friends and the people I love are all there, waiting for me to come back.‖ She wiped tears from her eyes as the Cupid listened to her tale. ―You are so beautiful, Jane, like a princess,‖ he told her, a little smile brightening his face. ―Why do you not seek out your home? What keeps you here on this island?‖ ―Oh, thank you,‖ she stammered, blushing at his compliment despite herself. ―I am afraid of the sea,‖ she said, looking out at the shoreline.‖ I don‘t know how to find my way home, and I have had…frightening experiences under the water.‖ **** The Cupid ducked his head for a moment; he was afraid that a look of cunning was crossing his features and distorting their studied innocence. He knew to bow his head and conceal what lurked beneath his beauty. ―Tell me about what happened underwater,‖ he ordered her, his voice dangerously quiet. ―Tell me everything, Jane.‖ He folded his hands before him as though in prayer, and set his features so that they appeared serene and angelic again. He knew Jane was upset and profoundly lonely. He knew she was so grateful for a friend that she would begin her story and leave nothing untold. As Jane began to speak, the Cupid‘s heart lightened. He was elated to hear of the girl‘s travails because he believed they signaled the beginning of his destiny. He stared at the young girl and he knew without a doubt that his future was unfolding before his eyes. How long he had waited

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here, touching his arrow tips with plump and tiny fingers, wishing and wishing…for the Cupid was older than he appeared…much older. Most people were unaware that the Cupid must always carry two arrows—one for love and one for hate. His fingers moved between each arrow as the girl told her story, as though to decide which one was needed... **** After their first meeting, Jane lived with the Cupid on the island, and she was happy in his company. Together, they played on the shoreline and collected beautiful shells, which they made into garlands and necklaces for her to wear. They sat and talked at night and, although the Cupid was not forthcoming about his own situation, he seemed unable to exhaust his flattering interest in her life. It felt so good to have a friend again. It seemed less important to leave the island now, but still she must. Having a companion—and such a charming one!—had made her complacent. They cooked the fish that Jane caught—for the Cupid was able to draw fire from two sticks, as Jane could never seem to do—and they picked berries, and then they turned a large cave into a sort of makeshift home. This place was carefully decorated with driftwood and other things they would find around the island. At night, the Cupid slept in the crook of Jane‘s arm, and she was ecstatic. His charm and beauty never seemed to wane. She would almost feel he was her own child, if only he was not so composed—and always a little cool—with her, so that she never quite knew where she stood, or if he loved her as she loved him.

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Chapter Five Months passed in this peaceful state, which, when she looked back, seemed almost spell-like, as though she were bewitched by the boy. Time seemed to stop, and she could not understand her own reluctance to leave him and find her home, which had once been the only thing she thought of. They had stayed on the island for weeks. Jane‘s body, already in the bloom of womanhood, was changing more each day. She was turning into a woman in this desolate place, her hips and bosom rounder now, her cheekbones stronger in a less childish face. **** The Cupid was acutely aware that Jane was becoming a woman. How he should come by such knowledge, when he had always been alone here, he did not know. He watched the young woman emerge and he smiled quietly to himself. Waiting was hard, but who had waited longer? He would wait as long as necessary, and his heart was light, for he knew it wouldn‘t be that much longer now. One day, the Cupid sat on the beach and stared out to sea. Jane was fishing in the shallow water close to shore, and he noticed again how much older she seemed. He sensed in an instant that enough time had finally passed. He felt a sort of sly happiness. He called down to Jane, who raised her head and smiled. When she emerged from the surf and came to his side, he decided it was time to plan their exit from the island. They must go forth and seek his destiny, although he would rather give the impression that they were looking for Jane‘s village. Who knew what, or who, might be encountered along the way?

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―Jane, we must leave,‖ he said without preamble. ―We have stayed here too long, and the world is waiting for us beyond this place.‖ ―But…are you not happy here…with me?‖ Jane asked, casting down her eyes. He knew the girl loved him dearly now, for he was her only friend, and he had devoted himself to her with every fiber of his being. ―Will you leave me if I find my village?‖ she asked him, her eyes filled with sadness. ―I am not sure that I would be welcome there,‖ he told her in a somber voice. ―I am different, as you know, and those who are different are so often shunned.‖ ―But…you would be loved as my little brother!‖ Jane told him, her voice filled with anxiety. ―No,‖ he whispered. ―That is not the way it would go. You know the village folk will whisper about me, and the way I never, ever grow, and the way I speak like one fully grown. They would suspect witchcraft. That is what they always do, isn‘t it, when faced with anything that cannot be easily explained by the priests or the village elders? You‘ve told me that is what they are like, Jane. I could not go there with you,‖ he continued quietly. ―Although I would like to be by your side always, I could not live in such a place where I would always be judged and never free.‖ He watched the girl‘s face. She was crying now at the thought of being away from him. This was good. ―Jane,‖ he asked, ―must you return to your village straightaway?‖ She looked startled at the idea. Her green eyes were filled with confusion. ―Well,‖ she stammered. ―Do you know of a better place than my village? Someplace where we can live together forever and no one will bother us?‖ Cupid smiled his most heartfelt smile. He came to Jane and put his arms about her neck, burying his tiny head next to her ear. Then, he kissed her gently on her suntanned cheek. ―I think we must fashion a raft,‖ he said. ―Since I am not big enough to swim properly, we must find another way out of here.‖ ―But then what?‖ the girl asked. Her voice was tense now.

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―We don‘t have a direction, and we‘ll drift and drift,‖ she said. ―And we will never find anything! I did that before I came here. I don‘t want to drift at sea again. I‘d rather stay here forever. I think I‘d rather die.‖ Jane started to cry and the Cupid stroked her hair and collected his thoughts. He remembered the nightmares she had, on so many nights, and the way she would wake up and tell him of the awful loneliness she felt on the water. In her bad dream, she drifted again, and she didn‘t know how many days and nights passed, and she floated listlessly, whispering only one word—home. She told him she had repeated the word to herself like a benediction, but that nothing has helped her find her village. ―I want to go home!‖ she said loudly, piercing his reverie. ―There is no other place for me and I know nothing else.‖ The Cupid was startled by this unusual show of resistance, for the girl was generally quite peaceful and even passive, but he had imagined his response to it a million times. He was unfazed as he stroked her golden hair again, and continued to cuddle next to her as he knew she loved him to do. ―Then we‘ll go to your home,‖ he whispered. ―Don‘t worry, we‘ll find it on our way.‖ Jane nodded happily as the Cupid swore he would never leave her, no matter what.

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Chapter Six Jane started to build a raft the morning after their discussion. The Cupid supervised the construction of it, although Jane did most of the labor since the little child‘s body was clumsy. The Cupid had deft hands, but he was not strong, and he was not much help with heavy tasks. He told her which woods to gather and which fibers would be best to hold things together. The Cupid seemed to know exactly how to create what was needed. It took a long time to build the raft, but it did float, though it looked crude and even dangerous, and it was large enough for both of them. Jane knew there was enough room to put on all the supplies they would need, for who knew how long they would be at sea? The Cupid had few needs beyond warmth and a little food, which he seemed to eat as much for show as out of any appetite. But Jane was growing, and she hungered quickly. She needed a good store of food and clean water, and they both needed tarps to shield them from the rain. However, these proved impossible to construct out of the materials of the island. Jane knew from painful experience that the rain would come down hard, and that the water would be rough when they were clinging to their raft in a storm. The Cupid suggested that she should fashion handles that they could hang onto so that they could at least stay close to the raft when the bad weather came. Then, they would not lose each other. She loved this idea. After all, even if she had to go under the water in a storm, she could not take the Cupid with her, and she would never leave him, even if it meant dying. The day they left was bright and clear and auspicious for travel. They walked slowly around the island that had become a home for both of them. 25


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To Jane, the Cupid looked pensive and a little sad—after all, he had never known anything else but this place. **** The Cupid stared at the Island once more from a vantage point at the shore. His heart was both heavy and light as he contemplated the sky, the leaves, and the sand. Someday, he hoped to return, with all of his great deeds done, and then he would sit on the beach and stare out at the sea until the sun fell into the sky and the gods were at rest. **** Jane hated pushing the raft out to sea—she hated being on the raft. One night, a storm came on at dusk and the wood she had bound together began to disintegrate under the strain of the high winds, the rain and the flotsam that would strike it from all sides. Jane quickly obeyed when the Cupid ordered her to hold onto to the handles she had made, and she stared into his eyes in terror. Soon, the weather became even worse. Their flesh was almost frozen now, and their supplies had gone into the frigid water. Suddenly, the Cupid began to wail as he sat and clutched the crude handles, and Jane recognized the sound of the creature on the island. She had suspected him, of course, but never in his presence had she heard the wailing cry that had once haunted her. Sometimes, she felt she heard it in her dreams late at night when both of them slept, but when she awoke, the Cupid was nestled very still beside her, and it seemed impossible that it could be him. ―Don‘t, Cupid,‖ she hollered into the storm. ―Just hold on tight and wait for it to pass!‖ But he screamed and screamed, his childlike features suddenly ugly and distorted. Her terror was absolute, and he appeared suddenly monstrous, his eyes glowing with unnatural light, and his skin taking on a deathly green-white pallor so different from his normal rosy coloring. ―Jane!‖ he screamed at her, and his voice seemed to be the voice of someone else, someone much older—his voice was the voice of a man. 26


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―Hold on to me, Jane, and no matter what happens, don‘t let go!‖ Despite her fear, she clutched him in her arms like a child while trying to stay balanced on the center of the raft. He shook in her arms and screamed, and she watched in transfixed horror as buds emerged from his tiny back, pushing through his skin. She pulled his quiver of arrows to the front, and then she began to cry and touch at these strange growths to try and remove them. ―Leave them be,‖ he roared in his deep voice. ―They are all that can save us now!‖ Jane stared in horror as the buds became wings…wings that were spotted with his blood. His body grew at the same time, until he towered over her, floating above the raft like an avenging angel. His face was stern and square now…it was a man’s face. His chest broadened, and his arms and legs were soon roped with powerful, lean muscles. His hair blew off his face as Jane stared at him in disbelief. He was beautiful, and terrifying in his beauty, his lips as finely wrought as a god‘s, his nose aquiline. The Cupid‘s wings were huge and snow white and folded around him as he set himself down on the raft once more. ―This is me, Jane,‖ he announced in a deep voice. She watched him smile and reach down for his arrows. They were still there. Some magic had protected them from harm. His eyes glowed as he picked her up against him and they began to rise over the churning sea. ―It‘s the first moment that hurts me, Jane,‖ he whispered to her as the storm surged around them. Jane‘s heart throbbed as she felt his strong arms hold her close. Then, the Cupid kissed her lips, so gently, with tenderness and also passion. My first kiss, she thought wildly, feeling butterflies in her stomach. They flew over the storm until dawn was about to break. ―When the sun comes up,‖ he murmured in her ear, ―I will be as you knew me before, and it is always to be this way. For no human can see me as I really am.‖ ―But I can see you!‖ Jane said, bewildered.

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―You are not human, Jane, and that is why you see, and why I am with you.‖ ―Why did you not tell me sooner…what you are?‖ Jane asked angrily. ―Did you not trust me?‖ ―I didn‘t really know,‖ the Cupid answered. ―I would awaken at night and know what I was, but it seemed like a dream, or perhaps a nightmare. Until I found you,‖ he went on, ―I doubted the reality of my transformations.‖ He shook his curls in disbelief. ―It took the storm to show me that I am real.‖ He kissed her cheek. ―All will be well now, Jane,‖ he murmured as they rose ever higher. ―I will take us where we need to be.‖ She smiled at him, feeling some strange excitement unlike anything she had ever felt before. I must not look down, she thought. We are flying so high now. But she smiled. Jane was as enamored as ever with the Cupid, adoring the young man just as she did the little child. She relaxed into his arms, and felt again the strange tingling in her heart, for he was impossibly handsome, and she had become a woman. ―I will go with you wherever you desire,‖ she whispered.

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Chapter Seven Under the sea, Neptune‘s rage churned just like the waters that swirled around him. His absolute power over the creatures of the sea did not extend to the land, and he knew that would be the first place Jane would go. However, all the gods were friendly after a fashion with one another— although they could be quite nasty behind one another‘s backs—and so the King of the Emerald Sea made some inquiries. Spies and emissaries were sent out to look for the young girl. Her home village was scoured by disguised half-deities and various small amphibious creatures, and deemed to be uninhabited by her. Councils were held with the mermaids, who had all found their way back after Neptune‘s outburst, and endless discussions about Jane‘s whereabouts always brought them back to the same central point. No one knew where the girl was. Neptune was at a loss. The world was a big place, even for him, to search thoroughly. Under the sea, the search would be vast, but magic could assist his efforts. On land, he was painfully hobbled by the loss of his considerable powers. He only went on dry earth when he couldn‘t help himself. In fact, Jane and her mother had been the only reasons yet to explore a world that he essentially loathed—the human world. But love was strange, and sent its chosen ones down odd pathways. So Neptune had seen Jane‘s mother on the shore one day as she hunted for shells, and he was smitten. Lost in admiration, he put his feet on terra firma for the first time, and he brought back a willing bride, at least at the outset. His power was diminished on the land, but he still had the power of conviction, and he had drawn this golden beauty toward him. Never before had he felt anything like this, and he knew he was blessed. 29


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She willingly gave up everything to be his love, but then it turned sour. It didn‘t take long for her surroundings to chafe at her, and all the godly power in the world could not cease her—slow–at-first—turning away from their love. Never had Neptune felt such pain as when she rose to the surface, her belly swollen with child, and walked away from him, not even pausing to look back. The heartache had been terrible, but time had healed the wound to an extent, and he had his godly duties, his mermaids—who were some his children and some his companions—and other distractions. However, his missing daughter, who was lost to him, made it so hard to forget everything that had gone before. ―Shall I go onto the land?‖ he wondered moodily. ―Shall I send more emissaries?‖ He stuck his trident into the seabed, pulled it out, and stuck it in again. This was his form of pacing. ―I am not sure what course to take,‖ he muttered to himself. Generally, decisiveness was not a problem for any god. They were all subject to acting out and rash actions that often hurt humans, but never to dillying and dallying over courses of action. Perhaps I should seek wise council, he thought, wondering which of his godly equals could provide him with the most assistance. Certain of his godly friends could be counted on to say, ―I told you so‖ because he had been foolhardy and chosen to secretly love a human woman and dilute the royal bloodline with a half-bred daughter. But many other gods were in the same boat, always having to cope with their human families—and sometimes they had more than one. Jupiter, he knew, had dabbled with human women, but he was superior to Neptune, and that was always irritating. Like chatting to one‘s boss, one had to be careful about what slipped out in the conversation. He crossed Jupiter off his list, even though he really did have the most experience in this area. Who else? Neptune wondered. He ran through a mental checklist of the other gods he sat with at council, and then he had a brainwave. A woman might have more insight into the workings of his daughter‘s mind than the gods he had considered! 30


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―A goddess—of course!‖ he whispered. ―A woman likes…Venus, perhaps…or Diana.‖ He danced around the seabed until the sands swirled about his feet. ―It‘s perfect!‖ he murmured gleefully, feeling, once more, the familiar power and control that had always been his birthright, at least until he dabbled with the human species. I will talk to the mermaids about it and see what they think, but it’s a perfect idea, he thought happily. He sat down on his throne and smiled regally, reveling in his own brilliance. He enjoyed the once-familiar feeling of self-adoration, a sensation he had experienced precious little of lately. Twirling his staff jauntily, he tried to decide which goddess should become his special confidante. Venus had her…attributes. That could not be argued, but Neptune was generally so dazed by her omnipresent charm and beauty that he found it difficult to focus on anything she said. She smelled good, she sounded good, she looked good. These were the only impressions he ever had about the Goddess of Love, and he was startled to realize he had no memory of any prior conversations they had shared. It seemed impossible, since they had met so many times, but alas, it was true. Venus was simply too devastatingly beautiful to consult regarding this matter. Neptune sighed. She would have been his first choice, without a doubt, if he thought he could keep his wits about him. In fact, the idea of going up to the council—held within the Sunlit Cloud—to see her was tremendously appealing. Perhaps if he concentrated as hard as he could, or even took notes, instead of gazing in wonder at the graceful folds of her toga and the soft tendrils of her hair, and the lips that curved so…sensually. Neptune grunted in frustration. Clearly he should cross Venus off his list if he wished to make any progress whatsoever. I must decide now, he thought worriedly. There would be less chance of any real assistance the longer he waited. The girl could move further and further away. 31


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―Diana,‖ he muttered. ―I don‘t know about her.‖ He had to confess, the Huntress made him uneasy. She was so comfortable with her bow and arrow, and always ready for battles. It was a bit unsettling. But perhaps her warrior spirit was something his wayward daughter shared. ―What other goddesses?‖ he mused aloud. ―Perhaps…Minerva?‖ Minerva was worth a thought or two. The Goddess of Wisdom sounded about right. Her grave and solemn expression was somewhat intimidating, but her serious manner echoed the gravity of his situation. Her beauty was pristine, somehow mature…the polar opposite of Venus‘ flirtatious lightheartedness. Minerva commanded respect and her bearing was regal. She had never had much use for Neptune, he knew, as she preferred the company of gods who were more intellectual. He was certain she felt his constant storms and shipwrecks were mere displays of ego, and as such, below her. But he felt she would at least give him a fair hearing if he implored upon her to give him her advice. Everyone knew she had the finest mind of all the goddesses. He searched his stone tablets, which were buried in a treasure chest near the ruins of his fine ship. The next council was scheduled for four days hence. If he was to seek an audience with Minerva, there would be no better time to do it, and he‘d save himself two trips up there at the same time.

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Chapter Eight The council was held inside of a cloud. It was the softest, whitest and fluffiest of clouds, dusted at the edges with coral pink and orange light. Comfortable stone benches with soft cushions of silver were lined up in a perfect circle and suspended by magic within the cloud. Blue skies surrounded the sacred round just beyond the fine cumulous mists. Neptune watched the ordered procession of gods and goddesses, enjoying the spectacle, despite his anxiety. Various gods and goddesses posed and paraded into the council area. Venus preened elegantly as the gods smiled and touched their hair in nervousness. Her curls were arranged in a low chignon at the base of her swanlike throat. She moved like a prima ballerina in front of a royal audience. Neptune fought the urge to throw roses at her feet. Next, Diana the Huntress stalked through the crowd, her face displaying her usual defiant expression. He watched as Diana observed Venus‘ theatrics—with slight disdain, he thought—but she greeted the Goddess Of Love politely, no doubt because she was so secure in her own beauty, which was more earthy and unadorned, but nonetheless quite remarkable. Neptune admired Diana‘s tanned limbs. They seemed to glow in a short, white toga, which, she had once told him, allowed her to move quickly as she hunted. Her blonde hair was sleek and pulled back into a no-nonsense braid. A gold coronet circled her brow, further enhancing the bronzed skin. He smiled as she sat down with a thud and put her bow aside. He knew she hated sitting still for these infernal meetings that seemed to go on

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forever. The Huntress would rather be running free through an earthly forest, every muscle and fiber burning as she increased her speed. Minerva arrived last, and Neptune straightened his posture instinctively as a gesture of respect. Her eyes glowed amber as she surveyed the scene. Her russet hair was loose and hung in waves, as it always did. As was typical, the Goddess of Wisdom wore no jewelry—no sandals even on her bare feet. Her straight nose was elevated as she stepped into the area where she would sit. She turned her intense gaze upon the gods and goddesses who were quietly mingling and waiting for the meeting to be called to order. Her eyes swept over Neptune and she let a ghost of a smile steal across her face. He followed her glance, which was directed at his jewel-encrusted trident, which she probably found vulgar and showy, and he flushed crimson. ―This council of the gods is now called to order,‖ Jupiter bellowed as he strode into the center of the circle, radiating power and authority. All the gods and goddesses quieted down, and Neptune steeled himself for what was to come. ―Minerva, do you have the agenda?‖ Jupiter asked in a softer tone. Neptune knew he adored the goddess, as he often said she was an excellent sounding board during tricky moments at council. ―Here, Your Grace,‖ she murmured, handing him a parchment scroll figured in beautiful calligraphy. ―I think you will find it to your liking.‖ ―First order of business is…‖ He glanced down and scanned the agenda. ―Deeds, both good and bad, performed by the gods and goddesses during the last month.‖ Neptune watched as the others ducked their heads, and then he did the same. This was always the worst part, when Jupiter took them to task for any improper use of their powers. Occasionally, there would be praise, but generally, comments were negative. The King Of The Emerald Sea sometimes resented Jupiter‘s obvious enjoyment as he corrected their

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behavior. After all, Jupiter was his own brother, and shouldn‘t be able to lord it over him like this. Jupiter clearly enjoyed this task immensely, as he was above reproach, carrying a sort of diplomatic immunity due to his status as leader of the group. Once this part of the council was over with, everyone tended to relax. Neptune cringed on the bench, knowing he would be hearing about the massive and violent storm he had triggered at sea. He looked forward unseeingly, like a child in class who wished to make himself invisible so that he wouldn‘t be called upon. Jupiter swept his ice-blue gaze around the circle of deities. No one met his eyes, for all of them were undoubtedly guilty of something. Neptune knew from painful experience that the power to intervene and change events to one‘s liking was a difficult one to resist— willpower and patience were not the godliest of character traits. ―Venus!‖ Jupiter thundered, and Neptune shuddered—his turn was coming. ―I have heard about your latest transgressions.‖ The Sky God glowered at the Goddess of Love in a way that no one else ever did. ―Would you care to tell us why you did what you did, in…?‖ He looked down at the scroll while Diana smirked in her seat. ―Florence, Italy.‖ Venus stood up, as they were made to do when defending their actions. ―I‘m not sure what I could have done to displease His Majesty,‖ Venus murmured soothingly. ―I‘m sure I‘ve done nothing wrong…this time.‖ The Sea God held his breath as Venus stood majestically before them. She smiled and surveyed the group, her teeth glowing white in the most dazzling of smiles. Her lips were so full and red they seemed to have been painted, although they were not. Her cheeks flushed pink as she let her large and beautiful eyes well up with crocodile tears. Neptune felt awful— how could Jupiter abuse the poor girl? He fantasized about rescuing her in many heroic ways, but as he did so, he made no move to help her out. When Jupiter became truly angry, thunderbolts and black skies and vicious cold rains disturbed the Sunlit Cloud, and they were all made to stand and suffer until he settled down 35


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and restored the lovely weather again. Intervening on another god or goddesses‘ behalf was just the sort of thing that would set him off. ―Venus, you must tell what happened,‖ Minerva said without any rancor. ―This is a council of truth.‖ Venus sighed audibly. It was obvious to Neptune that she knew exactly why she had been called upon, despite her coyness. ―Well,‖ she began, haltingly. ―There is a museum in Florence, the Uffizi, full of art and sculpture.‖ She looked down at her feet. ―They have many depictions of the gods and goddesses, and so often they get it terribly wrong. They draw us with messy hair or unflatteringly large hips!‖ she sputtered. ―I remember when I saw this offensive painting for the first time. The Birth Of Venus, they call it. I saw it in the museum during the night. I went in and gazed at the depiction of me, and I was horrified. ―In the painting, I was standing on a half-shell, like an appetizer,‖ she said, her tone outraged. ―And truthfully, I am much slimmer than she is, and it was just all wrong, really.‖ Neptune smiled as she ran her hands down her curves to reassure herself that they were still perfect. Really, the lady was most charming. ―Especially my thighs,‖ she muttered angrily. ―What did you do with the painting, Venus?‖ Jupiter thundered. ―It is a priceless piece of art.‖ The skies around the cloud darkened slightly. Neptune shivered. Jupiter was getting really angry now. ―I…took the painting away because it was wrong,‖ Venus whispered. ―I hid it where no one could ever see it again.‖ She looked down at her sandals and shook. Her guilt and fear showed plainly on her face. ―Did you destroy Botticelli‘s The Birth Of Venus?‖ Jupiter thundered. ―This is an outrage!‖ Neptune stared at Venus, and then at the other gods and goddesses, who raised eyebrows. Clearly, they were as shocked by her audacity as he was. This is beyond a simple interference in human affairs, he thought. It is a bold and amoral strike at humankind, who, we all know, aren’t the brightest tropical fish in the ocean.

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―No…the painting‖—Venus spat out the word—―is intact, Your Grace.‖ She gazed petulantly into space. ―Just very well hidden.‖ ―Well, get it back to the bloody museum right away, or you will be sorry.‖ Neptune knew the matter was now closed and final. No one could deny the wishes of Jupiter, not even a goddess, herself. Jupiter breathed deeply, and as he relaxed, Neptune watched the sky turn blue again, and he felt the air became warmer. ―All right,‖ Jupiter spoke more gently. ―Who is next on the agenda?‖ He looked down and his brow furrowed. ―Not Neptune again, surely?‖ he muttered in disbelief. Neptune winced as the Sky God‘s eyes pierced his own. ―You have been quite unruly as of late! King Neptune, please rise!‖ he bellowed, and Neptune struggled to his feet. ―The agenda says you caused a massive storm at sea, which resulted in the deaths of many forms of marine life, both great and small, and gravely damaged two fishing boats that were capsized and washed ashore.‖ Neptune watched sheepishly as Jupiter read more from his infernal list. Jupiter‘s pale blue eyes were starting to burn angrily. ―Although no one was killed, the fishermen who ran these boats were injured, and their boats are ruined, making it quite impossible for them to earn a living. Also, an anonymous complaint from one of your subjects underwater says that you were so angry over a personal matter that you endangered the lives of all the mermaids who are your courtiers. From all reports, they were lucky to survive.‖ Jupiter sighed in exasperation, and The Sea God bowed his head in shame. ―Neptune, I‘ve told you time and time again that storms must follow the order of things…a natural pattern that is not dictated by your emotions. Storms may damage sea life and people, but they should be dictated by the weather, not your bad moods. I realize that when you are angry, tidal waves tend to form. I have the same problems with anger and lightning bolts. They descend so suddenly, sometimes on the innocent. We all need

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to work together in order to control our basest impulses. We must maintain public safety of the human and animal worlds as best we can.‖ He moved closer to Neptune, who was turning bright red and fidgeting. ―What say you, Neptune? Did you maliciously cause this terrible storm at sea, as reported?‖ Neptune‘s eyes filled with tears. ―I did, my brother,‖ he answered quietly. The memories of that awful day when he‘d lost his daughter were so fresh in his mind. He couldn‘t even think of a way to pretend it was not his doing. ―I caused the storm because I was angry.‖ He hung his head. ―I know I cause trouble when I lose my temper, and I‘d like to seek help.‖ He smiled a little as he continued. He had decided how to cope with this distressing situation. ―I would like to request a meeting with Minerva after council. Perhaps she could grant me some advice about my problems. I respect your daughter‘s brilliance and I cannot think of anyone who could help me more than her.‖ Neptune glowed again as he contemplated his own brilliance. In one fell swoop, he had flattered Jupiter by praising Minerva, whom he knew Jupiter indeed considered his child, particularly since she had sprung from his brow—instead of being born in the normal manner. He had also found a way to speak with her privately about his daughter. And, at the same time, he had taken the blame and distracted Jupiter from the matter of shipwrecks and unemployed fishermen. Or so he thought. ―Well.‖ Jupiter smiled. ―That is a fine idea. For your punishment, you must have your mermaids repair the fishing boats by magic, in the night when all the humans are sleeping. No matter how long it takes, I want those boats as good as new, even if you have to do it yourself.‖ Neptune fought the urge to roll his eyes. He always makes me repair the ships, he thought, sighing to himself. With all the power I possess, he still puts me on an assembly line with my mermaids! Neptune hated directing the mermaids, who fluttered around with tiny, white hands. Usually, he would squander all his magic on the problem, and then be left drained.

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I don’t want to repair their boats, he thought angrily. Let them stay out of my seas instead. Humans were always the source of his worst problems. But he agreed to fix the boats, knowing all the while that the humans would see this as a miracle of the Christian God, and not even give him kudos for doing it. **** Minerva rose regally and stood before Neptune, who seemed lost in thought—although she doubted the thoughts themselves were deep. ―Neptune,‖ she began gently, in a low voice that was always carefully modulated, and never angry or heated. ―I am honored that you would seek my advice.‖ She wondered idly how long he would prattle on about his problems, as she had a special game of chess set up in the Sunlit Cloud after the meeting. She would play against her own father, who tended to lose, but who was also a good opponent, or at least, the best she could find. Jupiter smiled benevolently at her as she chatted with Neptune, and she smiled at the Sky God, rare warmth flooding her heart. I love my father, she thought happily, whether he loses at chess or not…I will do this favor for him, and any other favor he asks of me. **** ―Thank you, Minerva!‖ Jupiter boomed proudly. And, silently, he thanked the heavens that he would most likely be spared another punishing defeat at chess against his daughter. It was something he always failed to enjoy, but he knew it pleased Minerva no end to play with him. Perhaps today, now that he had a little free time, he could arrange another meeting with the charming milkmaid he had been observing through his omniscience. She was Irish, and blushed the color of a wild rose. What form shall I take this time? he wondered lazily, forgetting about the business at hand. The other misdeeds were minor, and summarily, the

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gods and goddesses were dismissed for strong Roman coffee and sweet Maritozzi buns, which Venus would never touch. ―After the break,‖ Jupiter said, ―Minerva can speak with Neptune for as long as he likes.‖ He bestowed a small smile on Neptune. In truth, he liked the sometimes-bumbling Sea God, who was his brother, after all, and he understood the anger that sometimes led to poor judgment. Jupiter knew Minerva did not share his affection for Neptune, but she was a good girl. It was her nature to be just and fair, and she would help the King Of The Emerald Sea—whom she had once referred to, quite cuttingly, as ―The Buffoon Of The Deep‖—if she possibly could, no matter how she felt about him privately.

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Chapter Nine Minerva sighed and moved closer to Neptune. The other deities chatted while she led him off to a secluded corner of the cloud to talk. As Neptune began his story, confiding in her so completely and with such emotional honesty, he seemed so sad and despondent that the Goddess of Wisdom was thrown off balance. As he spoke of his doomed love for a human woman, she was somehow touched by his words. She had not known the Sea God was capable of such feeling for another being. Minerva, herself, had never been in love. It seemed like folly, for she could see the end so clearly in most situations, right from the beginning. It seemed like something best left to the human race, and yet…many goddesses had known love, but she had not yet had her turn. Despite her better judgment, she soon found herself in the thrall of Neptune as he told his tragic tale of love and sadness. His secret daughter was clearly a source of great worry for him. A private corner of Minerva‘s heart yearned for the passion Neptune displayed for this girl‘s mother, who was now dead. But logic always cooled the Goddess of Wisdom‘s head and cleared her mind. How can he love one still, one that left him, took his child, and then died without saying so much as a good-bye to him? Minerva wondered, bewildered. Logic told her it was simply his memories he cherished, but to look into his eyes was to see real pain, and real love. And now the daughter. Minerva, who had a marked talent for seeing the big picture, knew how dangerous it would be for the girl out there, unfamiliar with her own magic and power, lost among those who might find out what she was, and use her for it. 41


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How terrified she must have been, Minerva thought, to find out she was not truly human at all, and then to deal with the rage of a god. She was angry with Neptune for treating the girl so cruelly, but she could also understand his frustration. Human beings and half-deities never seemed to follow predictable patterns like animals did. They tended to veer off course and make decisions that seemed…ludicrous. She had studied the human race relentlessly, and her main observation was that they all had a sort of recklessness, something some of the gods shared, although she wasn‘t one of those types. Perhaps this wildness was the link that bred love between god and human being. And now this young girl has disappeared, traumatized and distraught, she thought sadly. And yet she hasn’t returned to her village. She mulled this over for a moment. A girl of fourteen would doubtless be heartsick for her family and friends. If she hasn’t made it back to the village, perhaps she is lost.. She wondered for a moment if the girl was dead, but dismissed the thought. Jane‘s power, although untapped, would afford her more protection than she realized, and there were many creatures out there that might sense what and who she was and try to assist her. It was probable that there were good and bad forces, all amassing around this young, frightened girl. ―Neptune,‖ she spoke softly. ―We must be careful.‖ She stared at the King of the Sea. ―This girl barely knows what she is, and she is still so young.‖ ―I know,‖ sighed the king. ―She seemed like little more than a child when I saw her, so tiny and innocent.‖ He put his head in his hands, ―This girl may not be alone any longer,‖ Minerva said. ―In my experience, children of gods tend to attract a certain element, and they give off a distinct aura to those who are sensitive enough to notice.‖ ―Whatever shall I do?‖ Neptune pleaded. ―I don‘t know how to find her.‖ He wrung his hands in frustration. ―Please help me, Minerva.‖ Minerva took his hands and unclasped them. She held them until they ceased to tremble. She felt terrible, as she had somehow misjudged 42


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Neptune who was not really so silly as she had thought, and she was bothered by her mistake—for she did not make many. Her curiosity was piqued. She was terribly curious about this girl, halfmermaid-goddess, half-human, wandering the Earth, and possibly other more ethereal places, looking for her home. It was spellbinding to think of it and to imagine the young girl‘s thoughts as she learned to accept who she was and what had happened to her. Also, Minerva was quite wary, for if the girl stumbled upon the wrong sort of character, she could be formed into something different, something darker, than a mere mermaid and princess of Neptune. She could be quite dangerous…at least in theory. ―I have a plan,‖ she told Neptune. ―Don‘t worry about a thing. I will find a way to locate your daughter, and I will bring her to her senses.‖ Minerva‘s mind burned with the challenge, and she smiled to herself. Today has been an interesting day, she thought as she rose with Neptune and walked by his side back to the main council area. One can’t ask for more than that, really.

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Chapter Ten Cupid held Jane tight now, up in the sky. She felt as tiny wrapped in his muscular arms as he had been in her own embrace before the fateful storm. The first light of day would soon streak the clouds with a pale, rosy glow and the sky would turn a bright, clear blue. They had flown over the bad weather, through the long, cold night, and so terribly high that Jane was afraid, but the Cupid held her close, so close, and she drew comfort from the sight of his ecstatic face as his huge wings moved up and down, carrying them forward at an amazing speed. He loves to fly, Jane thought in wonder. He looks as I did, no doubt, when the first feeling of being a mermaid came upon me and I moved through the water so joyfully and easily. She smiled at the memory, for it was a beautiful one, and one she would always treasure, although what had come afterward was harsh and unpleasant. She remembered the fish whose eyes had glowed like jewels in the dark water, and the way their lips had moved as they murmured to her in greeting. It had been incredible, and she would never forget it. ―We are almost there!‖ the Cupid shouted in her ear. ―Not much longer now!‖ Slowly and carefully, he banked his great wings like a giant bird of prey. They swooped gently downward, and Jane felt like a leaf that floated in quiet circles to the ground, carried upon the cool autumn air. Looking down, she saw a little town, and grass, and trees! It was a village, although not her own, she knew. The many church spires of Royalton were missing. Still, it was civilization, and the vast seas were behind them at last. In the distance, she saw farms and the twinkling lights of houses and shops where a few candles burned in the cool pre-dawn, glowing faint 44


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yellow-white in the windows of buildings. The town seemed deserted, but she knew dawn would soon bring a flurry of activity, and she could not believe her own excitement as she imagined markets and horses and food and drink after all her months of deprivation. ―Hold tight!‖ the Cupid exclaimed, grinning into the wind as he flew. Jane was terrified as the ground rushed up to meet them. Seconds later, the sky—just at the precise moment they landed!— seemed to turn to its daytime color. The sun began to beam down on their bodies, and when she had managed to stand up, the man who had carried her was gone. The tiny Cupid stood in his place now. She could not help but smile at the little boy, who was really a magical being—a shape-shifter straight out of a fairy tale. Now that she knew his other self, it was difficult not to giggle at the little boy‘s appearance. ―Don‘t laugh at me, Jane,‖ the child told her, and her giggles ceased as quickly as they had begun. ―It‘s bad enough being a toddler without your mockery!‖ And so she apologized, took his little hand in hers, and they walked toward the village, stopping only to steal some nondescript garments from a farm‘s clothesline—what choice had they?—and to garb themselves as poor peasant villagers. ―How do you know this place?‖ Jane asked the Cupid as they neared the town. ―I saw it in a dream, Jane,‖ he answered. ―I believe there is a reason why we are here, although I am not yet sure what that reason is.‖ ―What shall we do for money, and food and shelter?‖ she asked worriedly. She could already smell roasting meat, and bread. She was starving. ―I thought we could tell fortunes. I could whisper in your ear, and you could tell the villagers the sorts of things they want to hear,‖ the Cupid answered. She could hear the sly smile in his voice. ―Everyone wants to believe they will find love, and be loved with all of someone‘s heart.‖ He squeezed her hand tightly.

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She closed her eyes for a moment, remembering his kiss, his man’s kiss, and then she shook her head slowly. ―It‘s all so confusing,‖ she whispered to herself. ―But we would be lying to them, would we not?‖ Jane asked a moment later after a few deep, calming breaths. ―Is that not wrong?‖ ―They only want hope, Jane. Just to hope for something.‖ He stroked the inside of her wrist with his tiny fingers. ―It‘s not a sin to foster hope in another person.‖ He bent his head a little then, as he spoke, and Jane watched his clever little face, which always seemed to hide a multitude of thoughts and opinions, and she wondered, as she had many times before, if his views of sin and humanity might not differ greatly from her own. But she did not really wish to delve further into such issues. It was easier to believe they were alike. ―But what if we are shown to be frauds since nothing comes true?‖ she asked. ―Perhaps enough of it will come true to enhance our reputation,‖ the Cupid answered, laughing. ―Perhaps we will be better at reading the villager‘s minds than you think, Jane.‖ Jane laughed. She knew she had changed since she, too, had been a simple villager. Perhaps it was because she had grown older, but when she was with the Cupid, some mischievous element in her own character seemed to emerge, and she suddenly found herself looking forward to telling the fortunes, to making the money, and to getting along on her own—with the Cupid, of course, always with him—without anyone to say what she should do or whom she should be. Of course, she would find her way back to her grandmother. She must remember that this was the most important thing in the end. ―We will try to pass ourselves off as gypsies, then!‖ Jane laughed. ―Me, the blonde gypsy, and my gypsy baby brother who does not speak, but only clings to my neck.‖ She shook her head at the ludicrous ruse the Cupid had dreamed up for them. It was so silly and far-fetched. She

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giggled and trudged forward, slowing her steps to match his. Whenever he wished, she would carry him upon her hip. ―They‘ll have to be fools to believe a single word of it!‖ she muttered. ―Indeed, they will!‖ the boy remarked quietly, and she could hear the slyness in his voice. Perhaps that is what he is counting on, she thought quizzically.

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Chapter Eleven As Jane and he Cupid made their way toward the town along an old dirt road, they encountered a trickle of townspeople who were quite bold in their curiosity about the young girl and the tiny boy. The women along the roadway asked more questions than the men did, and Jane told them a tale of woe that was so sad and tragic—and previously concocted by the Cupid—that the women of the town were determined to help the young girl and her brother right away. The Cupid had told her that her youth and beauty, not to mention his little dimples, would surely cancel out the usual mistrust of strangers. She watched him as he smiled at the villagers they met with practiced skill. His large, jewel-like eyes seemed to beseech the local townspeople to please, please help them in any way that they could. Jane was more reserved, but once she‘d told her rehearsed story a few times, she began to feel more comfortable with the people they met on the road. One of these villagers led them to a public house located directly in the center of the little town. It was known as The Crown Of Thorns. Despite its somber name, the Crown of Thorns was a merry place. All the villagers met there at the end of their long workdays in order to commiserate about the day‘s events. The crude, thatched little building attracted everyone and everything. News traveled fast through the local pub as the cheap liquor loosened everyone‘s tongues. Children were not permitted in the Crown of Thorns, but somehow, youngsters ended up there every day, hugging their mothers and singing along with boisterous drinking songs and mournful dirges. This made it easy for Jane and her little companion to blend in. In fact, sometimes, the older children would sneakily drink the dregs outs of wineglasses and ale 48


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mugs, then crawl into their mother‘s laps and fall asleep. They would be carried home to bed when the pub finally, finally closed. But the Cupid never took a single sip. The pub was their first introduction to the village, and it was also Jane‘s first try at fortune telling. From the Cupid, she had learned about the various clever ways she could answer questions to deflect any difficult lines of inquiry, and so successful was this teaching that they were soon made welcome by the locals who gave them a place to stay—for free— that evening in exchange for their fortunes. Jane saw the fortunes as a silly trick, but the Cupid‘s uncanny grasp of human nature allowed their reputation to build quickly, and this created increased demand for their services. The Cupid would stare into the eyes of the person who sat across from them, seeming to read their mind. He would then whisper things to Jane that allowed her to make generalizations and give advice that could be interpreted any number of ways. He would feed Jane murmured sentences and show her how to use astrology and palm reading as tools to further bilk the townspeople out of their money. As always, he told her wisely, magic had a hold on the common folk, who really didn‘t know any better. Though they were all religious, they could not resist the easy lure of those who promised to reveal the future, and though there were other clairvoyants, or those who claimed to be clairvoyant, Jane and the Cupid were a mystery and an unknown quantity, and their value shot higher as the advice they gave seemed accurate more often than not. Once they‘d made a little name for themselves, Jane was given a pack of Tarot cards in the pub, the first pack she had ever seen. It was kept behind the bar, wrapped in cheap velvet, and its cards were filled with all manner of grinning Devils and spinning Wheels of Fortune and icy Empresses. She learned to spread the cards out as a tool to extract information, and sometimes, when her mind was quiet and focused, the readings seemed eerily accurate.

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Jane knew some other forces were at play, giving her readings more truth and gravity, but she was frightened by this magic. She resisted the urge to tell her own fortune and that of the Cupid‘s. Sometimes her fingers burned or tingled fiercely as she touched the deck, as though the cards themselves held some sort of dark power. She knew that, eventually, she would give in and tell her own fortune, and she feared for what she might find. Her own cynicism withered and died as she saw the faces of those whose futures she foretold and whose pasts she touched upon. Their eyes showed the truth. After all that had happened, it was not difficult to believe that such magic might exist. She did not know that this magic lived within her own body and soul, and that her abilities were the result of her strange parentage.

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Chapter Twelve Jane and her little companion settled into life in the village, and soon it was full winter. Two days after their arrival, they had been offered the rental of a tiny, shabby farmhouse, and they had accepted gratefully. It was private and secluded, which was important to them. Though rough and a little chilly, the farmhouse felt like a palace to them. They had shelter, food, and some income from fortune telling. Jane was comfortable, and mostly warm. A great festival to celebrate Christmas was being planned in the village, and this was exciting for her, although it also made her quite homesick. Sometimes, she would wake in the night and wonder why she did not simply put on her shoes, walk out the door, and find her village. She did not understand why she stayed. By day, the pair told their fortunes either out on the cobblestones of the main square, or else inside the Crown of Thorns. By night, they retired to the quiet farmhouse and lit a cozy fire that fought the drafts coming through the aged, wooden walls. They talked of the festival to come, where they planned to extract as much money from the villagers as they could, and then perhaps move on to find Jane‘s home. Jane felt the Cupid was reluctant to leave, but he told her he would, although not just yet. She was certain he was waiting for something to happen to them, and this made her uneasy. Jane often watched him gaze out into the snowy night, his blue-gray eyes penetrating the darkness. What did he hope to see? Jane always waited for the Cupid to transform again, but he never did. Sometimes, she stared into the eyes of the little boy, looking for the man she knew that night on the raft. The Cupid seemed to understand, but he 51


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would not relate to her as a man. He only spoke to her as he always had, and often, she burned with frustration and even anger. She longed to ask him why he did not change, but it seemed pointless. He was a secretive being, and there was no point in trying to change that. He would do what he would do. One day they sat in the town square, wrapped in donated sweaters and scarves to stay warm. The villagers told them of a play that would be performed in a theatre on Twelfth Night, and they were invited to go along. It had been so long since Jane had experienced any sort of culture, and the Cupid had never had that opportunity at all. Jane could hardly sleep with excitement. She had always loved the dramatic arts and wished she could be on the stage herself. When she had been a small girl, she‘d been much too shy. Now, she had changed, and felt she could bring something of herself to a play or a song, but she did not know how to begin, and yet she longed to try. The night of the play came quickly, and it was clear and bright. The gentle snowfall whitened the sky, which was filled with glistening stars. The Cupid and Jane held hands as they walked along to the theatre. Jane had been encouraged by her little friend to buy a special dress. He explained that the fortunes they told did not make a lot of money for them, but that their income was sure and steady. Always, someone would pay, even a poor villager, for a glimpse of the future…and so she dipped into their purse filled with coins and bought a pretty frock to wear. Jane adored her dress. It was icy lavender with a full skirt that moved as she did. Its bodice was pure white lace with violet trim. Purple was her favorite color, and the Cupid threaded silken ribbons the color of fresh violets through her flaxen hair with his tiny fingers. ―You must look beautiful tonight, Jane,‖ he whispered, smiling mysteriously. Jane was beautiful that night. Her green eyes glowed emerald, her lips were rosy, and her cheeks were bright with youth and excitement. Her slim body, with its barely developed curves, was shown off to perfection in the dress she wore. She felt some magic in the air, some sense of something in the future she must move toward. Her thoughts were 52


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scattered but pleasant as they traipsed along into town, her toes growing numb through thin leather shoes—for there was never enough money for everything they needed. The theatre was lit up with lanterns and the large windows glowed with light. The murmur of voices raised in happy chatter greeted them as they moved toward the front door. The merriment of Christmas was in everyone‘s faces, and the atmosphere was dazzling. Jane opened the theatre door and smiled, her heart pounding strangely. Tonight would be a special night, she was sure of it. How she knew, she did not care to examine, but know, she did.

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Chapter Thirteen The Cupid held Jane‘s hand and moved forward in the village concert hall, nodding politely to the townspeople. Rich, red velvet drapes shrouded the stage area in delicious mystery. He wedged himself into the crowd, pulling Jane along impatiently. He wanted a clear view of this strange event. They found a place to stand—there were no more empty seats, though they had left so early—exchanged greetings with the people closest to them and talked about the things that they would see. ―Can you not see into the future, Jane?‖ one local farmer mocked gently, as she questioned him about the plays and performances. ―Should you not be telling us what it is we are about to see?‖ Cupid tensed and prepared to whisper some clever retort in her ear. But Jane only laughed, for there was no malice in his words. The Cupid relaxed. The farmer‘s eyes were bright and clear and full of good cheer on this pleasant evening. ―I only see into emotions,‖ Jane said quietly. ―Into the human heart.‖ She smiled into the villager‘s eyes, and the Cupid thought that she looked beautiful tonight, and much more comfortable in her role. By now, he knew, it was her livelihood to play this part, which had become quite honest and natural over time. She gazed forward at the stage, and continued to speak. ―Many things are still a mystery to me,‖ she told the farmer pleasantly, if a little dreamily, ―as they are to you, and thank goodness for that.‖ She squeezed the Cupid close to her, picking him up and holding him like the child he appeared to be so that he could see the stage properly. She smiled over at the villager again and laughed. ―What a sadness it would be to know absolutely everything!‖ she quipped. ―Don‘t you agree?‖ 54


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The farmer nodded sagely at her words as the theatre grew darker, and the voices began to grow quiet. The show was about to begin. He answered her in the near darkness, leaning toward her and whispering in her ear. The Cupid had to strain to hear the words. ―Aye, imagine sorrows that lie in wait that we are blissfully unaware of.‖ ―And the joys, too, don‘t forget them,‖ Jane whispered. The Cupid‘s heart was light and fluttering like a butterfly that moved from blossom to blossom. He knew not why, but this night was important to Jane, and to him…so important: He felt it in his bones. **** Jane watched as the village schoolchildren came out and sang carols to warm up the crowd. Their sweet and untrained voices were reminiscent of the mermaid‘s chorus, but Jane paid no mind. They lacked the ethereal quality and perfect intonation of Neptune‘s courtiers, but still they made one feel the spirit, the soul, the other self, beyond simple appetites and the everyday. They sang for a long time, these children of all shapes and sizes, garbed in red and green. They seemed happy and proud to be performing in front of their parents and the people of the town. Luckily, her little Cupid was too young for such a performance. How he would have loathed participating! Eventually, the angelic and imperfect voices ceased. The stage was, once again, dark after thunderous applause. The children filed out one by one, and the audience was, once again, full of anticipation. Next, a young man walked out onto the stage and stood silently. Lanterns were arranged around him in a half-circle so that his whole being seemed to glow. Jane could not seem to catch her breath as she stared at the person on the stage. His tall body was clad simply in breeches and a white cotton shirt. His boots were polished so that they shone chestnut brown. The simple clothes he wore seemed to underscore a beauty that was so pure and so refined as 55


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to be breathtaking. There was natural elegance in his body with his wide shoulders tapering to a narrow waist and his long, muscular legs. His hair was dark golden-brown, his skin a lovely light gold. He seemed surrounded by an aura of pure golden light, sunshine, and beauty. Jane was sure his eyes would be the gentlest amber brown under his dark, straight brows. His nose, so finely sculpted, was almost as pretty as his lips, with their Cupid‘s bow and fresh, pink color. His face was long, his head rectangular; his chin was square and chiseled, and his cheekbones were high. Suddenly, he smiled, and Jane was utterly lost. It was such a smile that even fair Venus might envy it. It was white and straight and so very genuine. It made his eyes glow and brought out tiny and charming lines at each side of his mouth. He is exquisite, Jane thought, like living sculpture. In the lamplit twilight glow of the darkened theatre, he spoke quietly in a hushed voice: “Since brass, nor stone, nor earth, nor boundless sea, But sad mortality overstays their power, How with this rage shall beauty hold a plea? Whose action is no stronger than a flower? Oh how shall summer’s honey breath hold out Against the wrackful siege of battering days, When rocks impregnable are not so stout Nor gates of steel so strong but time decays? Oh fearful meditation! Where, alack, Shall Time’s best jewel from Time’s chest lie hid back? Or who his spoil of beauty can forbid? Or none, unless this miracle have might – That in black ink my love may still shine bright.” Jane was in ecstasy. He was reciting Shakespeare. The same beloved sonnets of her childhood that she had almost forgotten, or tried to forget!

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Chapter Fourteen This beautiful young man was saying the same words her mother had said, as she‘d read to her tiny daughter so long ago. Jane had not understood so many things about the sonnets when she was a little child, but her mother had patiently explained some of the simpler meanings to her. She had dwelled most on the fear of the passage of time, and the desire to love forever, when they, themselves, were only mortal. As the young man finished reciting, his words rang in Jane‘s ears even as applause rained down on them all. Now, she saw the sonnets in another light. They were codes, perhaps, or a link between the other world her mother had known and the world they lived in together in their small village. The sonnets had been meant to reinforce Jane‘s humanity, she was sure. This sonnet was particularly special to her, for she had always loved nature imagery in poetry, and the idea of summer‘s honey breath fighting the cold and miserable times to come was unbearably romantic to her. She squeezed the Cupid, her eyes glittering in the darkness. She waited for the boy to continue his recitations, and she prayed there would be more, for this night was flooding her with memories both exquisite and painful beyond bearing. ―He‘s wonderful at reciting!‖ she gushed in the Cupid‘s ear. **** The Cupid smiled back at her. He had never heard poetry before. He felt more like a true child in this moment. Perhaps the young man who spoke so truthfully and poignantly had disarmed him with beauty. He held

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tight to Jane, who should have been weary of carrying him by now, but she did not utter a single word of complaint. The Cupid much preferred this part of the recital to the children‘s infernal singing. In truth, he loathed the children of the village. Often, he was forced to play with them or else people would find it odd, and yet he had no desire to make cakes out of mud and fight with wooden soldiers and pull toy wagons! That was wonderful, he thought, his heart stirring. He felt truly touched after the sonnet ended, and a tear came to his eye, for he had never heard such beautiful sentiments. They were bittersweet, yet joyous. He could not remember crying before. He had not thought he could. ―My name is Blake Stirling,‖ said the handsome young man who stood alone on the stage. The applause had died down now. ―Some of you may remember me as the babe born to Lord and Lady Stirling sixteen years ago. I left the village when I was five because I was quite seriously ill and needed special doctors, and so we moved to the great City. I‘ve come back from boarding school and I plan to stay in the village again, for my lingering illness has been cured. I wish you all a Merry Christmas!‖ The crowd cheered and chattered among themselves. ―So handsome, and a Lord,‖ the girls twittered as their male companions looked crestfallen. The Cupid listened to the whispers all around them as people gossiped about the young man. Apparently, the elders in the crowd remembered Lord Stirling as a forbidding and cold, almost cruel, man who had lived in an imposing estate on a hill above the town overlooking the river. Lady Stirling had been a quiet sort of woman, and often ill, just like her sickly son. The Stirlings were rich, and therefore somewhat of a mystery to the townspeople, for they did not need to involve themselves much in everyday village business, nor did they ever frequent the Crown of Thorns for a friendly pint. The buzzing swelled and died down as the boy gently cleared his throat.

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―I am fond of Shakespeare, and I have acted in several of his works at school.‖ He smiled shyly. ―Not too well-acted, I am sure, but I tried, and I do love his words. The sonnet you just heard was one of his, and now I wish to recite another for you, if you will have me.‖ The women erupted in cheers and encouraging claps. The older men clapped too. ―Thank you,‖ he said, again smiling the sweetest smile. ―This sonnet is infamous, for some scholars do not believe it was actually written by William Shakespeare. I myself am unsure, but have always been intrigued by it nonetheless. It is a sonnet surrounded by controversy.‖ He laughed softly. ―Perhaps the magic of Twelfth Night will somehow unravel the mystery of sonnet 153… “Cupid laid by his brand, and fell asleep: A maid of Dian's this advantage found, And his love-kindling fire did quickly steep In a cold valley-fountain of that ground; Which borrow'd from this holy fire of Love A dateless lively heat, still to endure, And grew a seething bath, which yet men prove Against strange maladies a sovereign cure. But at my mistress' eye Love's brand new-fired, The boy for trial needs would touch my breast; I, sick withal, the help of bath desired, And thither hied, a sad distemper'd guest, But found no cure: the bath for my help lies Where Cupid got new fire--my mistress' eyes.” In the darkness, Cupid sucked in his breath and reached back for his arrow, feeling for it in the darkness. He could not see which arrow it was he chose, but it did not matter, for he was in a trance, as though his whole life and purpose had suddenly been revealed.

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He strung his bow in the dark hall as the people cheered and clapped, and he hit young Lord Stirling with his arrow. He could not help himself, and he wondered why he was not scolded or taken out and beaten. The arrows were so sharp. Jane still held him in her arms, as though everything was normal. The Cupid hit his target. Lord Stirling plucked the arrow from his side and gaze at it in wonder. He dropped it on the ground and stumbled, as though in great pain. He rubbed his side where it had hit and slowly shook his head. Stirling‘s eyes were slightly glazed. Then, as Blake looked around him at the crowd, the Cupid realized that no one had seemed to notice. They were cheering and smiling just as before. **** Blake felt confused and his feelings were terribly hurt. The pain in his side had changed to just a slight tingling. As he bid the crowd goodnight, feeling puzzled and crestfallen, he bent down to find the arrow and examine it. But it was gone. He walked off the stage and wondered if he had been dreaming. When he pulled up his shirt to look for a wound, there was nothing, not even a reddened area. He sat down and he tried to forget that someone had shot him with an arrow at the village Christmas Pageant. He felt like crying. Things had been going so well, and then this! He stood in the wings as the other performers took their places for a nativity scene. Blake watched the crowd to try and figure out who had done this to him, and he wondered why. **** Cupid sat in Jane‘s arms, waiting for her to mention the obvious. But nothing came. Had no one truly noticed what had happened? Was he invisible, or his arrows invisible? Jane had a quiet smile on her face, as though she was asleep and dreaming, but with open eyes. It was obvious she was thinking about the young man who had just exited the stage, not the current proceedings. 60


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She kissed the Cupid on his cheek distractedly. He noticed her cheeks were even more flushed, and how alive she seemed tonight. He felt back for his arrows. Was there only one left? The other arrow must be gone forever, and the Cupid felt strange, as though some weight had been lifted. Everything had been invisible to the others! But Jane should have noticed, and she did not. The daughter of Neptune was as blind as the rest to the pathway of Cupid‘s arrow.

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Chapter Fifteen Jane could not sleep well that night. Her mind raced with images of the beautiful young man, and she kept waking up to see the little Cupid sleeping peacefully beside her, curled up in a ball like a newborn kitten. She got up and paced about the room, her heart beating fast. Her memories of her childhood with her mother were few because she had been so young, but the poetry had released them in a torrent, and she felt both despondent for what she had lost and grateful that she could now remember more, and so clearly. She walked back to the soft bed and watched the Cupid in slumber. It was when he slept that she always thought of the night on the raft. She felt her whole life was embroidered with magic now, and that nothing was real. Like a tapestry in rich colors, she saw the scenes of her life depicted in her mind‘s eye: scenes of sea creatures and razor sharp arrows, flight through autumn skies in the arms of a winged creature, the village covered in light snowfall, her grandmother, the tiny crown that once sat high on a shelf, and next was found upon the figurehead of her mother, far under the sea. It was all quite miraculous, but too much for such a young girl. Her head ached with the desire to go home and live a simple life, but would that really satisfy her now? She knew it could not the way it once had, and she mourned for the girl who was now someone else. On this long and sleepless night, she even missed the island, where she did not need to play any part, but could simply be the strange girl that she really was, alone with the Cupid and the sand and the rocky cliffs.

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She tried to go back to sleep, but she tossed fitfully like a ship caught in the wrath of King Neptune‘s darkest moods. She wondered, How will it all end? And who will I be? And she dreamed of the honey breath of soft summer while the skies outside were icy and unforgiving, painting the windows with ghostly frost.

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Chapter Sixteen Meanwhile, the Goddess Minerva was hard at work to discover the whereabouts of Neptune‘s princess. She cloaked herself in rags and went to see the oracles that lurked in their dark caves and stirred great cauldrons that steamed with ill-smelling broths. She found these crones little help, for they told her strange tales and bid her beware of the Little One, which made no sense, as they assured her it was not a little girl, but a boy she should fear. ―The boy is not what he seems,‖ one ancient old woman whispered as she cackled harshly to herself. ―He will bring the girl to ruin.‖ ―But where is the girl?‖ Minerva would plead. ―Where is the girl, and who is this Little One?‖ She had stared into the rheumy eyes of the old witches who had long been consulted by the gods when their lauded powers failed them. She had never thought she would press gold coins into the gnarled hands of those she had always so distrusted, but pay them, she did, all the while trying to extract a name or a detail that might lead her to the girl. For the sake of discretion, she veiled her amber eyes as best she could under a heavy hood of coarse fabric, and hid her smooth hands under her gloves. She had no wish for them to know that the Goddess of Wisdom was at their mercy. She wasn‘t sure she believed in witches, for wouldn‘t they know she was Minerva as soon as they saw her? But none of the crones called her so, or seemed to pay her much mind at all. She was simply another woman who could pay for their services. She liked it not when they peered under her hood, and tried to look deep into her eyes, for what did they see?

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The last oracle seemed even older and more disheveled than the rest. Her face was a hatching of wrinkles and sagging skin. Indeed, she was haggard, and quite fearsome to behold. She bent forward to stare at the pure beauty of Minerva, barely concealed beneath her hood, and her eyes lit with envy. The crone backed away a little then, and reached for a crystal ball hidden in the folds of a dirty brown cloak. The witch held it cupped in her hands so that it was almost hidden from Minerva‘s view. The Goddess of Wisdom watched silently as the crone shook the ball, waited a moment, and moved closer. The sphere was small, like a large apple, but it gave off a translucent glow in the dank and ill lit cave. The crone beckoned Minerva closer, and bid in her stare into the ball. ―This will lead you to your pretty princess,‖ she murmured. ―Look into the ball and see the golden-haired child you seek.‖ The ball clouded and cleared, and Minerva drew in her breath as the image of a young girl appeared, as clear and bright as though she were standing there with them. All the while the old witch had started whispering incantations that Minerva, who had thought she knew every language, could not comprehend. A dark energy filled the cave, and Minerva felt cold and soiled as she stared at the young girl who paced in a small bedroom, fretfully pulling at her hair. There were tears in her green eyes. Her whole body shook with sobs, and Minerva watched her stare out a window. It was snowing there, just as it did, lightly, outside of the cave. Suddenly, the incantations ceased, and the ball clouded up again. ―Wait!‖ Minerva cried. ―Wait, I still do not know where she is!‖ Angrily, she turned to the crone, whose eyes were closed, a smile stretched upon her skeletal features. ―I will pay!‖ Minerva told her loudly, for she was angry that the images were cut off so suddenly. Minerva rummaged in her purse for more gold. ―I will pay richly for more information,‖ she told her, watching the old witch open her eyes. ―It‘s not money I desire,‖ the old crone said. ―But youth and beauty, if only for a time.‖ The witch stared coldly at the goddess. ―I know who you 65


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are,‖ she taunted. ―But still you have need of me.‖ She laughed a harsh and mocking laugh that made Minerva feel a cold sort of rage. ―Give me my youth and some beauty, and I will take you to the girl. I will show you the Little One who will threaten everything you seek to protect. I would do it for myself, and make myself a vision of loveliness,‖ she witch said angrily, ―but I cannot seem to make it work, and I have tried and tried.‖ She looked hateful as she stared back at her cauldron. ―My spells have failed, but you…you could achieve this for me, if you tried.‖ She smiled slightly. ―Think of the girl, so innocent and sad.‖ Minerva was appalled at the very idea. ―I cannot grant you beauty, for you are terribly old, and I am not that powerful.‖ Minerva knew that such magic was wrong, that it could be done, but should not be done. To grant such power to an evil woman was clearly sinful and dangerous. Who knew what the end result would be? She had been told the oracles were safe, but this crone was not like the others who only thought of gold coins and what they could buy. ―You can give me what I seek,‖ the crone whispered, pointing a finger at Minerva. ―Go find a way, or begone from here and let the pretty princess fend for herself.‖ Minerva stood up to leave. She had injured her dignity by coming here, and there were some things she would not do for anyone since they were wrong. She thought of Neptune‘s desolation, but she still felt she could find a better way. ―I will not give you youth and beauty, for you will abuse them heartily and cause terrible damage to the human race.‖ ―Then you shall not find your girl, for you have not the spells for that, or you would not be here!‖ the old witch hissed. She shoved Minerva roughly toward the edge of the cave. ―Go forth, and think on what I can give you, and what you have denied me! And beware, for now I know who you seek, and perhaps I shall find her before you do!‖ She laughed softly, and shivers went down Minerva‘s spine. The goddess gathered her robes around her and turned to leave, unwilling to engage in more spiteful dialogue with the witch. 66


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As Minerva left, she applied her considerable logic to this latest problem, and she knew she must hurry away from this place and summon the gods for advice and protection. ―Surely one witch could not foil all my plans?‖ Minerva murmured. But she was wary. She had felt the evil gathering in the room as the ball revealed the daughter of Neptune. So beautiful she was, too, and so sad. The witch screamed out at her as she stole away into the night. ―You think the Little One is a problem, you‘ve no idea what I can do!‖ the crone yelled from the edge of the cave. ―Bring me beauty, or the girl will surely die!‖ Minerva knew she must tell Neptune of the oracle. If this old woman truly knew who Minerva was and still threatened her, she must be powerful indeed, for those who trifled with the gods and made such wild threats were either brave or crazy. ―Perhaps I must bring Jupiter into this after all,‖ she sighed. She had wished to protect Neptune‘s privacy, but things were now out of hand. Confident that she could control the situation, but mindful of the witch‘s dark magic, she rushed to find Neptune and let him know that, for the moment, at least, his daughter was alive, if not necessarily well. She wondered why she was so invested in helping the King of The Emerald Sea that she would risk the wrath of her father. It was foolhardy, the opposite of wisdom. She could not understand why it suddenly meant so much to her, and yet, it did.

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Chapter Seventeen In the end, the crone had found another way, a spell so dark and evil that she had not the courage to try it before. She decided to make a deal that no one should ever make, but rather than spend her life in a cave, ugly and alone, casting spells that only benefited others, she had chosen to gamble everything she had left. Pushing her onward was the thought of Minerva‘s retribution. Truly, she had gone too far and threatened the goddess, and she had to find a way to avoid the punishment that would surely come. The crone, whose name was Liesel, knew of the dark gods and the place where the boundary between the Earth and the Underworld was found. She cast a spell that led her to the River, and there she met with Hecate, the Goddess of the Crossroads, who told her she could have what she sought if only she would give herself over to the Underworld when the spell faded. The dark River circled the netherworld of Pluto‘s domain, and it was deepest crimson, as though it was filled with blood. If she made this deal with Hecate, she would be doomed to wander the dismal shores of the River forever, never crossing over to the other side. Hecate would have her guard the River for all of eternity, and make her watch as those who were buried—with coins under their tongues— would float across the waters. She would watch them fade into the mists…but she, herself, would never know salvation. This terrified Liesel, but what choice did she have? Liesel stood in the mists, staring deep into Hecate‘s eyes, which were like dark pools…so like the River itself. She felt her heart pound wildly against her skin. She must decide, and yet, she longed to run screaming from this place. The hot 68


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steam that rose up from the red water made her clammy under her threadbare cloak. Hecate said nothing, merely taking her measure of the crone, watching quietly as the she wrestled with her choice. ―I…will make this pact with you…‖ Liesel said, her voice soft and timid against the goddess‘ grave stare. ―Are you certain, Liesel?‖ Hecate asked, her lips forming into a smile that never quite reached her eyes. ―You will give me youth and beauty?‖ Liesel begged. ―For how long?‖ She tried not to look out at the River. She tried not to hear the moans of Sisyphus, who pushed a huge boulder up a hill just off the shoreline, his face streaked in dirt and sweat. He has been here forever. Liesel shuddered. He will be here forever, for he angered the gods, and I, too, will rot here forevermore if I choose this way. Liesel watched as Hecate glanced back at the man who pushed the impossibly heavy stone up the hill, inch by inch, clad only in a loincloth. Hecate smiled at him as he worked. Liesel felt the Goddess of the Crossroads could read her mind, but even if she couldn‘t, it would not be hard to figure out just what fears raced through her and terrified her. ―I will give you what you ask and cloak you in the guise of a young woman so that you may carry out your ambitions,‖ Hecate answered. ―I cannot say that you will succeed or fail.‖ ―For how long?‖ Liesel asked again. ―For how long shall I have this gift?‖ She thought of her ragged face as it appeared to her in her looking glass of her cave. Her hair was thin and scraggly, iron gray, and her face was brown and lined from exposure to the elements. I am ugly, she thought angrily. I have always been, but now, I am old and ugly, and I shall only get more so until I die. ―That will be for me to decide, and I will not say right now how long my spell will last,‖ Hecate answered. ―There will come a time when you are called to me, and before you come, you will find yourself as you were before, in face and form, and you will know it is time.‖ ―But…‖ She was stammering now, not knowing if the spell should last a day, a month, or a year. How could she be expected to decide? 69


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―Make your choice, Liesel,‖ Hecate said, her features pale and regal against her raven black robes. Not a drop of sweat marred her ivory brow. ―These are my terms, and you know that magic is never perfect. You must choose.‖ She stared at her feet, thinking of the beautiful young man she had also seen in the crystal ball before she had shaken it to clear the vision so that Minerva should not see. She smiled a little, her eyes growing soft, and it was as though she was no longer on these terrible shores. Instead, she was warm and safe in the arms of someone who loved her. However, she could not restrain a shudder as Hecate grinned, showing small, sharp, white teeth.

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Chapter Eighteen Liesel came out of her reverie as she pictured Minerva‘s face, so perfect, so wise, judging her, denying her. Minerva could have saved her from this, but she would not. If it lay in her power, she would revenge herself upon the goddess, even if it meant an eternity pushing a heavy boulder up a blood-soaked slope. She would find the girl Minerva wanted so much, and she would kill her with an iron dagger she has fashioned for just that purpose. Hate was surging through her now, running along her nerves and giving her courage, which was more like foolishness. ―I shall do it!‖ she whispered, looking up at Hecate. ―Then you shall serve me for all eternity. As the River circles the Underworld and always will…you shall be mine, always guarding the River, always watching others pass, but never moving on yourself. You shall be like me, caught between the Earth and the Underworld forever.‖ ―I will,‖ Liesel answered, her words barely audible. In her heart she was doomed, doomed. Hecate‘s words were a spell, a binding spell, and she was lost. The mists shrouded them and the River seemed to churn with spilled blood…with sin and vengeance and desperation. ―Say after me,‖ Hecate whispered, ―I shall wait on the banks of the River…‖ ―I shall wait on the banks of the River…‖ Liesel repeated, her blood rushing in terror. ―I shall live on the boundary of now and then, past and present, Earth and Underworld,‖ Hecate continued.

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―I shall live on the boundary of now and then, past…and present, Earth…and Underworld…‖ Liesel stammered. The spell was working now. She could feel it take hold. There was no way to stop it, no way to stem the tide of what had been released. ―I shall serve the Goddess Hecate forevermore,‖ Hecate finished, and her cheeks glowed as the magic began to swell and build. Liesel could sense her elation as she gained another servant, another prisoner. ―I…shall serve the Goddess Hecate forevermore!‖ Liesel cried, and she squeezed her eyes tight against the pain in her skull and the fear that sent chills up her spine even as the sweat trickled down her ribcage under her cloak. ―It is done,‖ Hecate said simply, and then she turned and walked away. Liesel could hear a quiet laugh from the goddess as she began the circle the shoreline, never looking back. She’s laughing, Liesel thought angrily. She’s laughing at me… She turned away, her cheeks wet with tears, anxiety gripping her soul. Pain ripped through her body as she started to run, as best an old woman could run, away from this awful place. Sisyphus groaned as he pushed the stone ever higher, his muscles burning. ―Fool,‖ he gasped, glancing back at her, but Liesel did not stop moving as she heard his insult. She was still running away from the Underworld, frantically repeating the incantation that would bring her back to her cold, ill-lit cave, which now seemed like paradise. And so the dark spell was cast, and her soul was in the hands of another. For this, she had the physical changes she wanted, although they did not work as they might. Instead of the beauty she craved, there was youth, although she was not so young as she might have been. Instead of the perfect beauty of Minerva or the princess of Neptune, they were adequate, if average, looks. Her face and body were a crushing disappointment, but perhaps combined with her charms and spells, it would be enough. She knew not how long the spell would last, so she needed to act right away. Her eyes in the looking glass were pale blue, a little narrow; her hair 72


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was dark brown, almost black, with a heavy fringe of bangs above her eyebrows—she had so wanted golden hair, or russet! Her skin was milky pale, lovely and clear and lineless, but somehow, without real life or luminosity. Her teeth were straight and white, but her smile was cunning and a little gummy, and her chin was a little weak. Somehow, the arrangement of features did not add up to beauty. She was plain and her body was a little heavy. It was the body of a peasant who worked hard and ate a lot. She despaired at her chunky thighs and hips and her broad bottom, but she supposed a good gown would work wonders, if only she had one. She was average height, average looks, nothing to turn any young man‘s head. It was devastating that she had gambled so much and had not gotten the radiance she required for her task. But try, she would, and if she could, she would avenge herself upon Minerva at the same time. ―Minerva could have given me true beauty,‖ she raged silently, ―and saved me from the deal I have made, which cannot be undone.‖ She let hatred flow through her like liquor, intoxicating her with wrath and vengeance. ―I am Liesel,‖ she whispered into the cave‘s only mirror. ―I am new to the village, and I bid you all hello.‖ She smiled into the mirror, trying to erase the predatory look from her face, trying to clear her features into goodness, and to erase any traces of the crone that lay beneath the white skin. ―It will be hard to win him looking like this,‖ she mused. ―But perhaps there will be a way, and the pretty princess may rue the day she meets me, for I suspect we hunt for the same prey.‖

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Chapter Nineteen Jane found the village of Lynnshire calm and serene as the holidays ended and the townspeople settled back into their daily routines. The tinsel and glitter were gone, but the good feeling of Christmas remained like a sweet aftertaste in one‘s mouth. Jane walked about one day, as she often tended to do when she had the time. Exercise cleared her head and made her feel free. She walked the perimeter of the town, smiling and nodding to those she came across, but, in an introspective mood as she was, she said nothing to them and simply carried on, trudging through new snow and feeling the satisfying crunch under her new, comfortable boots. The Cupid had gotten them for her as a present. ―So you will be warm and dry on your walks about town, Jane.‖ He had smiled at her. She had kissed him warmly and with gratitude. The boots were black leather and shone like glass. She walked for ages. She left the town, where the Cupid was currently play-acting with the local children, saying she would see him in an hour and a half. She headed out onto the dirt road with its mixture of hard stones, dirt and flattened snow. She was drawn to a house on a hill, which she had often noticed, and which she now knew—for the gossip on this topic was never-ending—was the estate of Lord and Lady Stirling where young Blake lived. She headed up the hill in determination. She had to be back in town in just a little while. Her cheeks burned with the exertion of climbing, and her legs were sore from struggling against the snow that was thick upon the hill. She saw some footprints, but not enough to form a path and make

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her journey easier. Still, she had no thought of turning away and going back. She was desperate to see the house where he lived. The house was lit up in many places. Its vast acreage surrounded it in smooth white snow so that it seemed like a fairy castle. Its small turrets were built of rough gray stone, and its backdrop was gentle and rolling hills. So different from our ramshackle farmhouse, or my old cottage in Royalton, she thought in wonder. It looks like a frosted wedding cake! Carriages with horses waited along the drive, which was lined in trees. There was a doorman! A real servant who stood in the cold! There were footmen who tended the horses and drove the carriage! They, too, waited outside, rubbing their gloved hands in the dusk. Jane was glad it was growing dark, for she had no real wish to be noticed. Not by these people, in any case. She examined the windows of the house, looking for any sign of him. She saw no people moving around inside, but she knew he must be there. She felt helpless in her longing for him, for there was no way to be with him, and no ruse or excuse to knock on the imposing front door and say hello. At that moment, just when her despair grew overwhelming—for she could not forget his sonnets and his beautiful face as he smiled, and she felt she never would—the front door opened and he emerged dressed in the same simple garb as on Twelfth Night, but with a coat and hat. She smiled as butterflies danced inside her stomach. He headed toward the carriage, turning back to say goodnight to the doorman. Jane scurried backward into the darkness, afraid of being seen. For a moment, he seemed to glance in her direction. Perhaps he had heard the crunching of snow, or caught a glimpse of the golden hair that escaped from her hat. But he soon looked away and got into the carriage. The carriage doors closed gently as Jane moved quickly down the slope toward the main road, pausing to look back several times. Her heart was light again. At least she had seen him! She made her way back to the main road, her thoughts a jumble. She must collect the Cupid, who would be weary of pretending to be a normal child. She would 75


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tell no one of her trip to the estate, although the Cupid always seemed to read her mind. She hoped no one would find out where she had been, for she was embarrassed at her own forwardness, which was not ladylike. To put herself so blatantly in his path, hoping for something, seemed somehow dishonorable, and she was ashamed. At the same time, she was elated to even have a glimpse of this special person who owned her heart. With a confusion of guilty pleasure and love spinning her head, she walked toward town, and tried to ignore the loneliness that soon enveloped her on the dark and deserted path she traveled.

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Chapter Twenty Inside the carriage, Blake Stirling rubbed his hands to warm them, though he already wore the softest leather gloves lined in rabbit fur. It was getting cold this night. He stared out into the blackness, marveling at the utter silence of the country. So different than the City! Tonight, he had decided, quite on a whim, to the visit the Crown of Thorns and to try to make some friends there. He was lonely in the big estate where he lived, having no brothers or sisters to help pass the time. Blake felt nervous, for he knew someone had shot him with an arrow, resenting his wealth or title perhaps, and he had no idea how he would be received in the village. His parents were adamant that he should not go to such a common place, although his mother seemed less negative than his father. The sun was still dropping in the sky, and the forests along either side of the main road seemed so magical and unspoiled. He hoped it would be a good night, and as he wished, he felt a familiar tingle along his side where the arrow had struck him. It was not unpleasant, but it worried him, and he supposed he should see a doctor, but he had seen his share of doctors, and he was weary of them all. The carriage sped down the road toward town, which he could already see in the distance, and he closed his eyes for a moment, gathering his thoughts, for he was a little nervous of the townspeople, and sometimes quite unsure of himself. Wanting only to be liked, he had no guile. His mother had told him this quality was the sweetest thing about him, as it indicated a truly gentle heart, but he knew it made him vulnerable as well. **** 77


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Jane was worried. She had dallied too long at the estate, and it was growing dark. Though she no longer fretted about the Cupid‘s transformations at night, she always felt apprehensive that something bad could happen. She needed to get to him right away, and felt guilty for leaving him unattended, though he truly had no need of supervision. She told herself, a little angrily, that he never transformed anymore anyway. There was nothing to be afraid of. He could wait a little while longer, though he might be irritated. She would make it up to him when she saw him. As she cast around for some white lie to explain her tardiness, she heard the clatter of wheels and the whinnying of horses. She moved to the side of the road so that she was safe, and she began to walk even faster. She spotted the driver in the darkness. He slowed the carriage until he was alongside her. ―Do you need a ride into town?‖ he asked gruffly. Jane smiled at him. She had seen him at the Crown of Thorns, although she had never told his fortune. ―Yes, I do,‖ Jane replied instantly without the faintest thought of refusing. She knew well who was inside the wooden carriage. ―Let me ask young Lord Stirling if it is all right with him.‖ He stepped off his perch and knocked on the carriage door. Jane moved back a little, staring into the carriage window, and her heart pounded when their eyes met. The driver got his permission, and hastily, Lord Stirling stepped out of the carriage, smoothing his clothes down and preparing to help her up into the brougham. He seemed uncomfortable, and Jane watched as he winced and touched his side. Perhaps he was ill again? Jane settled into the carriage, which was quite warm, and they stared for a moment at each other. Jane smiled into his light brown eyes. She smiled the truest smile of her life. ****

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Blake gasped in the half-light of the carriage, for she seemed to be made of gold and emeralds and mother-of-pearl, and the poetry he had read had little prepared him for this moment. He was looking at a young woman and feeling his heart pound in joy and realization. At fifteen, he was not blind to the charms of girls, but none had made him feel this way before. He felt that he was in the presence of something magical. It was like sharing a carriage with a unicorn or a minotaur. She was not like any girl he had ever seen, and her smile made him warm, so warm, on this frigid night. At the same time, he cursed the pain in his side, which seemed more intense than it had ever been. ―I am Blake,‖ he said simply, gazing on and on in wonder, staring into her cool green eyes, which glittered against her pale skin. He had no wish to be a lord at this moment, for too many girls were dazzled by a title, he was sure. He wished to be only a normal boy, and to be liked as himself. ―And I am Jane.‖ She smiled back at him, locked in his gaze. His shyness melted a little now. He sensed his looks pleased her, and he was suddenly grateful for any handsomeness he might possess, that it might bind her to him. ―I heard you recite, at the Pageant on Twelfth Night,‖ Jane told him, her voice tentative. He was grateful for her friendliness. ―I, too, love Shakespeare, and I have loved him since I was a little girl.‖ She smiled again. He could not seem to stop smiling either. He remembered that a gentleman must be a little cool and aloof, as his father was, and he tried not to appear too overwhelmed by her presence. ―You do?‖ Blake said with enthusiasm. ―Most girls are not familiar with his work. They know only the most famous speeches, or perhaps Romeo and Juliet.‖ He laughed a rueful laugh. ―What‘s wrong with Romeo and Juliet? But the sonnets are my favorite,‖ Jane said simply. ―They were read to me by my mother when I was a young girl. I didn‘t understand the meanings at that age, though my mother would try to explain. I remember being soothed by the words themselves and the cadence of her speech. There is something musical

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about the sonnets, a rhythm…‖ she trailed off, seeming a little embarrassed. Perhaps she thinks this will make no sense to me? Blake thought. ―I know,‖ he agreed, nodding happily. ―They feel so good to the ears and on the tongue, the words themselves…‖ He shook his head and some sadness passed over his features. ―Not everyone understands. Even my father can‘t really understand poetry.‖ He smiled wryly in the dark, forgetting his desire to appear aloof, or to mimic his father‘s cold demeanor. ―He wishes me to be a magistrate, a politician, or perhaps a land squire. But I have no interest in any of that. I only want to act on stage, or write poetry or stories…‖ ―Don‘t worry,‖ Jane told him in reassurance. ―I feel certain you will find a way to do the things you want to do.‖ ―Do you think so?‖ he answered, brightening. ―Maybe you are right.‖ And together, they rode on in silence that was somehow comfortable, amiable. In time, and all too quickly, Jane must be dropped off, outside the house where her little brother played. Blake preferred to stay silent and let the moments with her pass so pleasantly, though they only looked at each other. The footman held Jane‘s arm for her as she stepped out of the carriage. Blake hastily rose and exited the carriage so that he could say a proper goodbye to her. He shyly mentioned that he would be at the Crown of Thorns later that evening. ―Do you know it?‖ he asked her, a bit of worry creeping into his voice. ―Is it a good place?‖ ―It‘s lovely,‖ Jane answered. ―You will have a wonderful time getting to know everyone.‖ ―Do you go there?‖ he asked her…before she could disappear into the night. She still reminded him of a unicorn, so white and unusual and so…elusive...rare. His side burned suddenly. It hurt so much. It made tears spring up in his eyes, which he hoped she could not see for he was truly happy. Except for this cursed pain. ―I do,‖ she said, smiling. She looked so happy, too. ―But not tonight.‖ 80


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―Then perhaps I shall see you there…some night,‖ he said, looking into the greenest eyes he had ever seen. How they would glow in the sunlight! ―Yes, perhaps,‖ Jane whispered. She thanked the footman kindly and turned away. His night had been like a dream, and he felt weak all of a sudden from all of the pain in his side, and all of his yearning for her. She was even sweeter than he might have imagined. **** As he toddled toward the front door, the Cupid greeted Jane with a smile, noting at once the otherworldly glow that suffused her features. She bundled him up in her arms and kissed him. ―I am so sorry I am late!‖ she whispered into his ear. At once she began apologizing to the lady who ―cared‖ for him as well. ―I‘m not upset,‖ the Cupid murmured into her hair, which was cold on his face, but fragrant as always. ―Tell me about your night!‖ he ordered, as soon as they were out of earshot, and walking toward the farmhouse. ―Tell me everything, Jane.‖

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Chapter Twenty-One Minerva met to talk with Neptune in a secluded glade near the shore. This was their pre-arranged rendezvous location. The weather was fine, and Minerva had brushed her hair carefully before the meeting until she was sure it would shine copper-gold in the hazy sunlight. She told Neptune about her experiences with the oracles, and explained the whole situation with the cunning, evil witch. The Sea God was concerned and frightened to learn of the dark forces that seemed to be gathering around his wayward daughter. Minerva broached the subject of meeting with Jupiter to tell him of the whole situation. ―If we wait too long,‖ she said, as gently as possible, ―Jupiter will find out on his own, I think.‖ She stared into Neptune‘s blue eyes, touched by his obvious concern for the girl. ―Jupiter won‘t be happy to find out we‘ve kept this from him, you and I,‖ she continued. ―We could suffer for this.‖ She was sure her face showed uncharacteristic strain. Never before had she concealed anything from her father. ―You‘re right, I know, Minerva,‖ he answered in his gruff voice. ―But I fear Jupiter, and I would rather continue as we are for a little while longer.‖ Minerva knew that Neptune was not in Jupiter‘s good graces after the last council meeting, and that he had no wish to expose himself to more anger and punishment. Neptune argued with her; he still felt it would be safer to tell her father after they found the girl. At that point, if the old crone needed taking care of—with one of Jupiter‘s legendary lightning bolts—they could beseech him to do the deed.

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―I need you to keep helping me, but in total secrecy,‖ Neptune told her, his face grave. ―Please, Minerva, I know it is a risk, but I‘m sure we can find her and find her soon. We don‘t need your father‘s omniscience just yet.‖ She stayed silent and stared down at her folded hands, thinking and deciding. ―Will you continue to help me?‖ he pleaded. Minerva looked up at him and made her decision. ―I will help you, Neptune,‖ she answered, her face growing hot. These conversations with him were always strangely intense and thrilling. They seemed to replay themselves in her mind for hours and days afterward. Perhaps I need a challenge, she thought. My life is richer now with all these efforts to help the girl, and… She blushed suddenly—she was sure her face was red now. And Neptune, as well. ―I will try to find this village and your daughter without the help of…my father,‖ she told him finally. ―Perhaps I may yet find an oracle to assist me, and if I am lucky, I can find Jane before the witch does. When the winter is done,‖ she promised, ―you shall have your daughter safe and sound under the sea where she belongs.‖ **** Neptune glowed. He trusted Minerva with his very soul. He imagined a great celebration under the deep, of all his mermaids in their best ceremonial headdresses, and he, himself, in his special robe of silver-blue and his finest trident. Jane would wear the tiny crown that had been her mother‘s once and smile up at him so lovingly. His heart felt close to bursting with joy and happiness as he envisioned his life with his daughter close by his side. All the loneliness he sometimes felt would instantly be erased and soothed into nothingness by his beautiful princess who was so like her mother. And, perhaps Minerva could come under the water, to bless their family.

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Would she go? he wondered. I would like to show her my kingdom during one of our wonderful celebrations, when it is all so beautiful. So different from this dry and arid world where the cursed oxygen rasps in one’s lungs. The underwater is warm, languid, beautiful…full of wondrous colors and strange lights twinkling…the caves, the sea creatures, the hypnotic waves and rhythms of the sea, the softness of the sea bed against one’s skin. Could I even begin to make her understand the magic of this transcendent world? ―I would like to try,‖ he murmured, smiling as he embraced the goddess and said goodbye. He proceeded to the shore where the waves would swallow him in their frothy, warm embrace and take him back to his home. **** Minerva also retreated to her own domain. It was a home in the sky, just northwest of the Sunlit Cloud, and conveniently close to the dwelling places of Jupiter and Venus. Some gods and goddesses preferred to go and live on Earth, but most of them were more comfortable in the celestial realm. On this day, Minerva surveyed her perfect home with a cool gaze. The columns, a perfect bone white, surrounded her in perfect symmetry. Pale marble floors, as shining as ice, seemed suddenly too clean, too cold. ―It looks like a fortress of solitude,‖ she muttered. ―No pictures, no flowers, no laughter.‖ She thought she might pick up some colorful things to decorate her space. ―Perhaps a painting,‖ she murmured, ―or a vase.‖ She would place Calla lilies and wildflowers from earthly meadows in bunches and breathe in their scent while she worked. It surprised her now that she had lived this way, alone in this barren, monochrome palace, for so long. She would consult Venus about livening up the place. Who better to help her decorate than the most decorative of all of the goddesses?

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Perhaps, she thought, a smile breaking across her features, Venus had stolen another masterpiece that I can borrow.

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Chapter Twenty-Two After her carriage ride with the young Stirling, the Cupid watched Jane carefully. She had told him of their ride and of their shy conversations, her skin flushing with pleasure and embarrassment under the Cupid‘s avid gaze. He gloried in the changes love brought to the girl‘s eyes. He saw the way her face softened into dreamy wonder and anticipation when she daydreamed. He knew who she thought of at these times. On the island, he‘d waited in vain for the hands of destiny to grasp him and push him forward. When the young girl had come, with her strange tales of supernatural worlds and sea creatures, it had all become clear. He had known from the start that Jane would be the first to feel his power, and he had kept much from her as he set their course toward the fulfillment of his desires. He still remembered that pivotal moment on the island when she‘d told him a Cupid should ―unite lovers.‖ To unite the lovers with his arrow was the most satisfying thing that had ever happened to him. It had sent shocks through his tiny body…ripples of pleasure that were felt over and over again as he thought back to that fateful night. He knew not how the whole romance would play out, but there was little doubt in his mind that, since the arrow hit Blake Stirling, the young lord would think of little else but the charming blond girl who was likewise bewitched. It was a certainty that Jane would be linked to both of them with the arrow. ―I must see Stirling,‖ he whispered as Jane slept close beside him one wintry night. ―I must see the two of them together, see my work.‖ He felt a strange unease, though, as he stared down at the girl‘s sleeping body. Her pale face and body were like a marble statue, a statue of a goddess, and her mouth was so soft and rosy pink. He remembered the night they‘d 86


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flown over the storm as high as they could. He remembered how he had kissed her, fully a man at last, but not the same inside as he was during the day —not at all! He had been freed…freed of his terrible curse and the tiny body that shamed him so much. He had loved her that night, and he still longed to protect her, even as he continued his schemes to push her toward a relationship with another. The Cupid felt strange inside, and soon, he also felt the old familiar pain that had not returned since the night they had been close to death on the raft. Then there were the terrible stabbing pains in his back, and he knew it was coming…the transformation that hurt him so much. It had not come for so long, he had almost told himself it was all over. For in truth, he could not control it, and it had been so long now. He felt sad to lose his wings, his power, but grateful to be free of the wracking pain that seized him and made him scream as though he was dying. He groaned and sweat broke out on his forehead, and his skin started to glow green-white. He grabbed a pillow and smothered his moans as the pain grew worse. Jane stirred in her sleep, but did not waken. Cupid ran toward the door as the pain accelerated. All the while, he fought the urge to cry out the haunting cry that had sent Jane searching the island that day they met. He closed the door that led to the snowy acres beyond their farmhouse and he ran out into the night wearing only his small boots and covered in a heavy cloak he had grabbed from a wooden peg near the door. He shivered against the cold as he ran for the dark, wooded forest. Would he have enough time? Their home was in a secluded place. He had been pleased to note this when they arrived there for the first time. He knew the thick forest would be the perfect place to hide when the change came. He headed for a spot he had found near a small cave, moaning in pain. Although it was winter and the trees branches were heavy with snow and the ground was pure white, the night was still dark without a full moon. He finally allowed

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himself to cry out more loudly, and he felt the fear that always overcame him when the buds began to push through his tiny back. He felt the blood pound in his temples. It was really happening! He screamed out into the night air like a wounded bird, and his cries turned to desperate growls as he began to float over the forest floor, growing larger, his new, heavy limbs those of a man. The pain receded as he stared down at the snowy forest with his star sapphire eyes. Quietly, so quietly, euphoria took the place of agony. I mustn’t go too high, he reminded himself, his huge wings flapping gently against the sky. He could not control himself, though, because it had been so long since the last time. Soon, he was rising so high, over the roadways and fields surrounding the village. So high, that he felt butterflies in his stomach. He cared not that Jane was alone. He cared not that some creature might see. He was free. He thought for a moment of flying onward, flying anywhere, anywhere he could be free. Back to the island where there was no one to see or care, or to a new place, a place where he did not need to hide his true nature. At last, I’m free again, he thought, staring out at the blue-black sky that surrounded him. He felt all the power in his muscled legs and his powerful chest. He felt all the vigor and passions of a man. ―Jane…‖ he whispered into the cold air as he gently banked and turned back toward the forest once more. ―I must protect you.‖ The girl was all alone and his head cleared, the ecstasy receding as he realized the chance he was taking right now, flying where anyone on the ground could see. He had always believed his powers were only visible to those who were not human. Why he felt this, he was not certain, but he had no proof that others could not witness the change. Of course, they would not know he was the little boy in the village, but it would cause such talk, and trigger some sort of witch hunt. As he flew over the village road, back over the thick forest that would hide him once more, he saw a figure in the distance, so far away he could hardly make it out. Man or woman, girl or boy, he didn‘t know. He 88


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quickly banked in the air, turning away from the silhouette that had suddenly stopped moving. He knew the figure was watching him. He cursed under his breath and prepared to land some minutes later in order to wait out the night. He could go into the farmhouse, of course, where it was warm, but he felt no discomfort and had no earthly needs in this current state. ―Who was it?‖ he asked aloud as he ran his hands through his hair, hovering just above the ground. He prolonged his landing and stared down in joy at his man‘s body. His folded wings felt as light as gossamer despite their amazing strength. There was no pain now, only a dark, sensual feeling of pleasure that warred with his worried thoughts of the person on the road who had watched him so quietly. In this state, it was difficult to be unselfish and hard to be rational. He wanted to fly. He wanted to show the whole world what he really was, and to flaunt his power. He must think of Jane, always, but tonight it was so hard. So long he had waited and paced the secluded patch of forest he had selected, wondering when the change would come once more. He always dreaded it and desired it at once. He looked like a man, a tall, handsome man, and yet he knew, since Jane had told him, that there was an unnatural glow to his skin, and glimmering jewel brightness to his eyes when he was in this state so that he seemed to glow in the darkness. He might seem human to someone at a distance, when he was not in flight, and his wings were folded behind his body, but he would never pass as a man in company. ―Always, I must pretend,‖ he whispered, frustrated. Anyway, as soon as my feet touch the ground, at first light, I am doomed to change back, and so no one will be able to say who it was. And he set himself fully upon the ground just as dawn broke, and then he was a boy once more, though his mind was caught between the two states of being. He thought of Jane as he hid in the forest, still unwilling to go back into the farmhouse to gaze upon her beauty and her innocence. He knew he loved her when he was in the air and a man, though she was now only fifteen and he would have to wait so long to really know her as a young 89


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woman and not a girl. The mere thought of Lord Stirling still filled him with a blue-burning anger. She should be mine, and yet, it is my doing that her heart burns for another…I cannot understand, he thought sadly. By day, I destroy what I long for by night. And he walked about for a while, a strange, small figure in an ill-fitting cloak that was much too large for him. There were tears in his eyes as he sat down in the snow, imagining the night he‘d plucked his first arrow and killed his own love. He did not know why he was so different when he was this creature, but he was, and he could not reconcile the differences in his heart. He knew his wings, his power, were a gift, but they were a dark gift, they were dangerous…to his heart and soul, and to his Jane. She must never know what it costs me…to be this way. She must never know all the things I have done to guide her and…manipulate her. The sky lightened into true morning. His heart sank as he felt the heat of the sun grow stronger, and he knew he would always remember this dark night. He would never be the same. Each time he transformed, he also evolved. He carried the memories of his flights and his passion within his heart. He would go inside now and feign sleep for a while, pleading a stomachache to Jane, who would fuss over him as she always did when he was ill. He already felt different inside. The little boy he was trapped inside of was not really a child, but still, his cool, calculating mind was different from the winged creature who seemed made up of only intense love and spontaneous desire. His dark night of the soul ended as the Cupid fully took over, plodding back through the thick snow to the farmhouse where Jane still slept, and he curled up in a ball near her body. It was warm and cozy, and he appeared angelic as always.

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**** When Jane finally awoke, she turned to the Cupid, as she always did, and stroked his hair gently. He seemed so pure and tiny and guileless that she could not help but smile when she looked down upon him. She moved quietly to boil water for tea, so as not to disturb him, for he slept deeply and she wished for him to rest. It was a Saturday, after all, and there was nothing pressing that they must do. She sipped her tea and gazed out at the shimmer of ice melting on the ground, and the dark undersides of the snow-capped branches. ―What a beautiful day,‖ she whispered, thinking of Blake as she always did at this hour. She smiled to herself, a sweet, quiet smile, wondering if he was thinking of her as well. Somehow, she knew he was, and the certainty of it filled her with joy and even pride. She threw on her cloak to go for a walk, as the Cupid was clearly exhausted. As the front door closed, she turned her head to glance back, and his blue eyes opened slowly, met her own for just an instant, and then closed again.

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Chapter Twenty-Three On the dark, deserted pathway that led to the main road to town, Liesel had watched it all. She had felt the hairs stand up on the back of her neck as the creature moved through the sky above her. My God, what is it? she had thought, frantic, for she had seen all manner of creatures, human and god and otherwise, but never had she seen such a thing, a man who had the wings of a falcon or an eagle. He is so beautiful, she had found herself thinking, and then she had wondered why he would be there, hovering silently over the tiny, nondescript village. She thought for a moment that he might be an angel, one who had come to reproach her for the deal she had made on the banks of the River. On that desperate night when nothing had mattered any longer except getting the one thing she must have. She felt a shiver of fear travel through her heart as she imagined the vast, white wings, the glowing eyes, and the strong, chiseled features of the creature. ―Could he be an emissary of the gods?‖ she whispered, gathering her cloak tighter around her body. Suddenly, she felt frozen right to the bones. ―But of which god?‖ she muttered, confused and worried. She didn‘t want to believe in any of them, these ancient Roman gods who controlled one in this life and the next. Magic had taught her the tricks the powerful could use to make one think they were invincible. Sometimes she wondered if the gods were merely witches and warlocks who had learned these tricks to the highest level of mastery. Is there really a Jupiter? A Minerva? Are there other worlds and the River and all manner of punishment, forever and ever? Or is it only the highest of spells…the trick of all tricks? But she knew, deep down, that it 92


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was true because she had felt Minerva‘s power throughout the cave on the night when they‘d first met, and it had flowed through her, and it had awed her, though she would never admit to it. And then there was Hecate, whose evil was like poison that chilled the heart. Minerva could have given her everything. She had the power to save her from whatever lay beyond, and from that terrifying, guttural voice that came from her own throat as she whispered the last few words of the dark and secret incantation. Tears welled up in the crone‘s now youthful eyes as she walked. I am afraid, she thought angrily. I am afraid of what’s to come. Liesel had her own power now. It had been given to her that night. She was, as yet, unsure of exactly what she could do, but she looked forward to finding out. She was certain the girl was close, for she knew that the children of gods attracted other such beings, and perhaps the flying creature was sent by Minerva to watch over the princess and protect her. I’m not afraid! the witch told herself. She walked on in the growing light with just a little bag of goods over her shoulder, and an old cloak that could have belonged to a beggar. Her young face was unremarkable, plain, against the drab clothes. As she trudged on, she wondered how she would deal with this new problem. This creature might be another one of her enemies, and she was almost sure he was. But she was not totally convinced that he was good. Although he had been far away, she had seen his face, illuminated and glowing greenwhite, against the ebony sky. His features had been lit up by his amazing eyes. She sensed a sort of kindred spirit in the creature. His passions seemed to roil through his body, as though he was also tortured or fueled by his own desires. She wondered if perhaps there might not be a way to use him, to make things easier…to exact her revenge. The sun was rising higher now, and the village looked picturesque and quaint in the growing light with snow topping every thatched roof. She wondered which little house contained the girl she now hated so intensely. She still hated Minerva the most, though, and she would punish her though 93


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the girl, and punish her severely. And when she did, she would have Blake for her own with his soft, chestnut hair and his pure heart. She knew such kind eyes betrayed a loving soul. Liesel had her plan. The angel, or whatever the creature was, added another dangerous element to the mix. She knew she must be wary, for others were against her and she hadn‘t much time left to be…young. She remembered her craven face in the looking glass in the cold, gray cave where she had lived for so long, and she shuddered. I don’t have much time, she repeated to herself. I must find out just what powers I do have, and use them. I must get what I want…before it all disappears. She quickened her step, turning suddenly away from the town, for another idea had occurred to her, and her new plan was undoubtedly clever and sound. She walked with new purpose toward her destination, a smile pasted onto her features. In her heart, though, light still battled with darkness and despair.

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Chapter Twenty-Four Blake sat at breakfast with his father, Lord Stirling. They always ate in a formal dining room, at opposite sides of a long, wooden table covered in pristine, starched linens. His father was immaculately dressed in a tailored suit and waistcoat, and servants fluttered around them, filling teacups and then silently retreating back to the huge kitchen. His father had always made him feel nervous and ill at ease. This morning was no exception. Lord Stirling had not witnessed his performance at the pageant, but he had heard of his son‘s performance and his words…and he was deeply unimpressed. Blake remembered their heated exchange as he spread marmalade onto warm toast. ―A proper young Lord should be concerned with matters of business alone, my son…with the running of an estate!‖ he had told him afterwards. ―How could you expose yourself like that, like some young thespian? It simply is not done, Blake!‖ ―I want to be an actor or a poet,‖ Blake had protested, his face growing hot in his father‘s study where a peat fire had burned aromatically in the corner. ―No, you will not be either of those things,‖ his father retorted brusquely. ―You must face reality, and conduct yourself accordingly.‖ His mother had simply stayed silent while her husband and son had this argument; she retreated into meek silence. ―Why can‘t Blake accept his place?‖ Lord Stirling asked her as she bowed her head. His father was exasperated by his rebellion. ―He should be riding, learning how to manage the staff, learning how to take my place when I am gone!‖

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His mother rarely tried to sway his father from any point of view. He had such a strong will, and was accustomed to getting his way. ―He‘s different from you, my lord.‖ She had finally gathered up the courage to speak in his defense, and Blake had cringed as she had been rewarded with sharp words and anger. ―He must be brought to heel,‖ his father had hissed at his mother, and Blake‘s heart ached because he could not be everything his father wanted. . ―He‘ll change in time,‖ was all she said, and Lord Stirling stared at her with an accusing glare that froze Blake‘s heart. ―You‘ve spoiled him with all your books and plays and your talk of mythology and art,‖ he spat. ―Now he is weak and he cannot see past all this false glamour to what really matters, which is our place in society and the future of our estate.‖ After this, Blake noted the distance that grew between Lord and Lady Stirling. It made him feel guilty. His parents moved like ghosts, always loving their son, but for vastly different reasons. They had no common ground any longer. For Blake, it was as though the sun had disappeared behind a great, dark cloud, and he accepted responsibility for the rift between his father and mother, both of whom he loved so much. And so this morning‘s breakfast was much like every other morning lately, quiet and filled with uncomfortable silence. Occasionally, Blake would attempt to ask his father about their farm and their accounts, and all of the other things he knew he should care so much about. But it was all an act, and not the sort of performance he preferred. Later, in his room, he would lie on his soft bed and think of the lovely blonde girl with the emerald eyes who seemed to understand everything. She was his only comfort, his only protection against the chilly atmosphere of his stately home. He would recite poetry to her in the darkness. He must see her again, but he was certain that his parents would disapprove of her, as they disapproved of everything else that truly mattered to him. He sighed and tried to read and study, but he only felt weary, and the words soon swam on the vellum page. 96


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Chapter Twenty-Five Liesel knew that she needed money and she needed it quickly. She had to present herself to society, and she could not be seen as lower class or as anything less than a lady. In order to make the beautiful boy in the crystal ball love her, she must be everything he wanted. She stayed on the road near the town, thinking hard about the best way to get the resources she would need to buy proper gowns and all the other accoutrements of the higher classes. She was still a witch, after all, and much was possible. She stepped off the roadway, working her way through the dense trees that flanked it. It was too soon to be near the villagers, and she mustn‘t be seen looking like this, in an old crone‘s cloak, with dirty boots and a face streaked with the dust and grime of traveling. She thought of the other quiet travelers she had seen on the roadways who passed her without so much as a nod or a smile. They looked down upon her, for she was only a poor girl traveling without money, horses and a carriage, or a proper chaperone. How she hated them as they sat so stiff and upright in their fancy broughams! They had not even glanced at her face, but now she knew that it was better that they hadn‘t. She smiled evilly into the night, walking faster, though she was weary and cold. She whispered old spells she hadn‘t used in years. She silently practiced incantations that would help her get the money she needed so badly. Liesel would walk along until she saw a likely victim, and she would rob him or her of everything; money-purses filled with coins, and anything else she could use, anything that could not be easily linked with its owner. She would be careful. Careful and quick. If she needed to, she would leave 97


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her victim stranded on the roadway, or dead. She did not care if she killed. Dead men tell no tales… Then, she could go to the larger town of Allanshire and get everything she needed to act out her part. ―It will be easy, as long as I use the proper spells and I leave no witnesses,‖ she said aloud, fighting the fatigue that made her mind scream out for food, for a roaring fire, for sleep. ―Just a little longer, not too long, and I will be ready.‖ She walked along the roadway, just waiting for night, and waiting for her first victim, all the while chanting the spells that would bring these things to her. It would have to be full dark before she took action. She grabbed for a hunk of stale bread within her cloak and chewed it listlessly. Life could be hard, it was true, but she was ready to do what had to be done. There was nothing worse than living all alone in her cave, waiting for villagers to come and beg her for glimpses of the future. Futures that were filled with love, with children, with happiness. When they left her cave, excited about their lives and what was to come, she would take their money and curse them as they turned their backs! She‘d become a witch because, at bottom, she knew she was filled with hate, and hate was the most powerful force in the universe. She truly believed that. Dark magic relied on hatred, which she carried in abundance. Pluto smiled at hatred and rewarded it tenfold. When she had given herself over to the darkness she found at the River, she had done it with a completeness that made her willing to kill. She knew her time was short, and she would do murder to live out her dream. Perhaps you needn’t kill anyone, a little voice in her head intoned as she schemed and trampled her way through the forest. She pushed the thought aside instantly, clearing it from her mind.

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Chapter Twenty-Six Blake‘s father sat up in the carriage as evening came on, his back ramrod-straight, as always, as his wife and son waved goodbye to him from the door of their manor. The carriage was cold, but his overcoat was soft and warm. Tonight was the night he would leave for his twice-a-year journey to Allanshire, where he would meet with his bankers and lawyers. Two times each year, he planned to venture into the city and deal with his many accounts, and bring back supplies that were hard to come by in the little village where they now lived. Lord Stirling always looked forward to going to the city, where he would sip sherry or brandy in wood-paneled offices and chat with men of his own class. He was always treated with deference in Allanshire, and he tended to enjoy the city where he could put aside the tensions of his home for a week or two. It was winter, and it would be beautiful there. The city seemed to belong to the wealthy, and it offered up all manner of luxurious meals, private clubs, and other entertainments. Lord Stirling smiled at his family as the driver touched his whip to the two horses and the carriage lurched forward. His son looked so tall and handsome, and his wife was beautiful. In the exhilaration of travel, he forgot his grudges and saw them for what they really were. A lovely, kind family without which his life would be comfortable, yet empty. His driver turned toward the roadway out of town. Stirling was certain he was also in a happy mood as he imagined all the sights and sounds of the city, which would include merry shoppers and pretty ladies and crowded pubs and restaurants.

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**** It was full dark when Liesel heard the crunch of carriage wheels. She walked up to the main road, and then she doubled back and crouched behind a nearby tree. ―Hecate…Goddess of the Underworld, Goddess of the Crossroads…‖ Liesel whispered, gathering courage that was as cold as the steel blade of a sword. Never before had she killed and never before had her hands drawn human blood. Animals, yes, she had used them for her spells and potions, but never had she crossed this line, this important line, that separated evil thoughts from terrible deeds that could never be undone. She chanted her witch‘s spells, ancient and devastating, all the while picturing the flawless face of Minerva in her mind‘s eye. The carriage soon appeared in the distance, barely visible in the dark night. She heard the whinny of horses and the clattering sound of the carriage‘s wheels. Already, the dark forces were gathering, hearing her call, assisting her in her time of need. It had not taken them long to come to her assistance. It’s time, she thought, feeling the adrenaline rush all through her body. She raised one hand to stroke her smooth, now-youthful face. She raised her weak chin, squared her broad shoulders and drew herself up, staring down the road with the cold detachment of an executioner. In her cloak was a vial of powder that she had consecrated in her cave before she began her journey. The powder was a mixture of many things, many bad things, and it was powerful, so powerful. The night was so dark. The moon was only a crescent in the black sky as Liesel hid, waiting for the carriage to come closer. She spoke the words of her spell, her voice growing rougher and more guttural as the carriage wheels grew louder in her ears. ―Blind the eyes of he that drives the horses, and his animals, too,‖ she hissed into the winter air. ―Let their eyes see the truth, and then see nothing.‖ A flare of light rose up as she stepped up onto the road. Her whole body seemed to glow as white and gossamer as a ghost‘s. She lit up the dark earth all around her as the driver screamed and pulled his reins. The 100


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horses, spooked and terrified by the apparition, tried to rear up and run away, but they could not. They quieted as she went and touched their quivering flesh, rendering them silent. They were frozen instantly from the mere touch of Liesel‘s hand. Their eyes were blind now, and their bodies were utterly still. The driver screamed no more, but threw down his reins and ran away. He stumbled through the night, his vision growing worse and worse until he was totally blind. She did not need to touch him, for her binding spell has already taken its effect, but she had not wagered that he would try to escape, even as his vision left him forever. She turned to go after him, and then turned back suddenly, knowing her real prey lay inside the fancy brougham where some fancy person cowered. There was no time to waste. **** Lord Stirling shook in the darkness. He had just been awakened from a nap by the terrible cries of the horses. Bandits, he thought, there must be bandits on the road, waiting to rob me, perhaps to kill me. The lord watched his driver stagger off into the forest, his arms outstretched against any obstacles. Lord Stirling stared in stark terror from the small carriage window as his chauffeur abandoned him. His servant disappeared from view as the young woman made her way to the carriage door and pulled it open. Lord Stirling stared at her in amazement, in horror. She was young, but her skin was glowing pale greenish-white, like a witch from a fairy tale, and her eyes were so hard. They were utterly devoid of compassion. She shook out some powder and blew it toward him as Lord Stirling drew his small folding knife, which he always kept hidden in his waistcoat. The powder sparkled and danced in the air, then settled on its target. Lord Stirling‘s mouth contorted and then froze, and his eyes were wide with fear. **** 101


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Liesel waited, muttering the spell under her breath over and over again, closing her eyes for a second to summon all the power inside of her, and all of the magic. Then, the binding took hold, and Lord Stirling turned to stone, his whole body stiff and hard and smooth as gray marble. Even his dagger turned to stone, clenched between his fingers. Liesel ran her hand over its blade and smiled. She closed the carriage door and sat across from him, touching his stone face, running her fingers over his eyes. There was no noise from the horses and no other travelers on the road. The night was completely silent. Liesel was now free to do her work. She knew the rich always traveled with money, and now his wealth would become her own. She felt under the seats for a case or trunk, and pulled out a silver box that was fastened with a padlock. Whispering a spell, she grabbed the lock and watched it closely. After a moment, her incantation took hold, and she pried the padlock loose, feeling hope mingle with the excitement that surged through her body. The silver box was filled with banknotes and coins. There was more money than she could hold in her two hands. She dug out the money and hid it within her cloak, euphoria rising in her breast. The stone lord stared in horror as she tossed the box aside and searched the brougham anew. She found nothing else that could not be traced back to the rich man. She closed the carriage door, staring once more at the person she had destroyed. Who are you? Liesel asked herself as she gazed at him.

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Chapter Twenty-Seven She found his name upon his pocket watch. Lord Stirling was etched into its fine gold surface. She tossed the watch aside carelessly. His face seemed macabre now, and she felt nothing for him at all. He was but a statue, cold and lifeless, and yet, he was a work of art she had wrought with the help of the Underworld. Never before had her spells been so strong and so effective. Her magic was more powerful than even she had hoped it would be. Her trip to the shores of the River seemed to enrich her, and she no longer had the tired, wasted feeling she used to experience after doing spells. Instead, she felt energized. She was full of vitality and good spirits. It was so easy, she thought as she exited the carriage and headed into the forest, hoping to find the blind driver cowering, or injured, or dead in the dark woods. She searched for him for hours, her vial of powder now almost empty, but she thought there might be enough to finish him and silence him…forever. If there wasn‘t, she would stab him to death with her own iron dagger. She did not worry about Lord Stirling at all. Her spell was a permanent one, and no man she turned to stone would ever change back to warm flesh. She spent the night in the forest, slowly searching everywhere she could, but the driver had disappeared. And her magic wouldn‘t bring him to her or reveal his location. She hoped that his blindness would prove permanent as well, for he had seen her face, but she knew, if ever he saw her again, he would not live long enough to expose her. Besides, she would be so different if ever they met again. He might not know her at all. Liesel walked out of the forest as the first dawn light made the snow sparkle like diamond dust and turned the branches a truer emerald green. 103


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Her heart was light. In her cloak was a fortune, more than enough to seek out everything she needed in the city. Soon, the coach would be discovered, and she frankly relished the distress that would erupt in the village when the townspeople found their own high-and-mighty lord turned to stone. ―I‘ll soon return,‖ she whispered as she walked through the fields to stay off the main road. She headed toward City of Allanshire some ten miles south where fine gowns and fine spirits would rouse her and cloak her in respectability. She reached up to touch her face, as she so often did, testing the flesh to see that it was still smooth and still young. I’m still young, she thought, smiling. So young, and in a day or two, I will make my debut.‖ She could envision the face of the young man she had seen in her crystal ball, and she imagined the way it would feel to talk with him and to hold his hand. He needn‘t know anything but what she wished him to know. He mustn’t know, she amended, hugging herself against the cold winds. He cannot know.

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Chapter Twenty-Eight Blake knew he could find Jane again, now that his father was away. There were no more obstacles to keep them apart. He had held back from finding her until this day, when he knew he would have more freedom. It had been hard to wait, so hard…and he had constantly wondered where Jane was and how she was doing. The next morning, he put on his best clothes and walked into the village, determined to find the girl and talk with her. He told his mother he was going to visit with a friend in town, but she did not ask for more details and he did not choose to elaborate. She commented on the happy glow in his face and he said nothing. He supposed she assumed he looked so relaxed and joyful because Lord Stirling was away, and he felt ashamed for a moment. He waved to his mother while she watched from a window as Blake walked through the smooth snow that blanketed their hill and then disappeared from view. Blake walked into the Crown of Thorns, shaking the dusting of cold, powdery snow off of his overcoat. The pub was warm and inviting, and the lilting strains of Gaelic music were pleasing to his ears. He soon found a small table and sat down. He ordered ale and looked around, hoping against hope that he would find Jane in the room. It was early in the day, but the pub was already quite full. However, there was no sign of the girl anywhere. He sighed and sipped at his drink, feeling some emptiness. The waitress, an aging barmaid with painted lips and a powdered, kindly face, told him she remembered him from the Christmas pageant on Twelfth Night. She asked him if everything was fine with his drink, and he smiled and nodded. 105


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―Everything is fine,‖ he answered politely, then gathered his courage and brought her closer to her so that no one could hear. ―Do you know of a girl…named Jane?‖ he asked quietly. ―I met her recently, and I wanted to see her again…but I don‘t know where she lives, or who she is.‖ ―Aye, Jane,‖ the barmaid answered, smiling. ―Our beautiful Jane.‖ Blake smiled up at her. ―She is beautiful, isn‘t she?‖ he said, feeling more hopeful. This woman would tell him what he needed to know. ―Jane lives in the old Britten farmhouse with her little brother,‖ the barmaid said. ―It‘s just past the river, near to your estate, or so I believe…‖ ―Yes, the farmhouse. I have seen it on my walks,‖ he said excitedly. ―I did not know she lived there.‖ ―She comes in often and tells our fortunes. In fact, she told me I would be married this year, and she was right,‖ the woman continued, raising her hand to show him a ring on her fourth finger. It was a small garnet circled with a ring of blue topazes. ―Always right, she is, or so they say.‖ ―She tells fortunes here?‖ Blake muttered, his heart dropping. His parents would never approve of such a girl, and she had seemed so elegant and ladylike to him. ―Yes, she is poor, and all alone with her small brother, and she tells the fortunes to make money.‖ Blake had never known what it was like to want for anything. He had never worked a day in his life. He wondered what he would do if he had to earn his keep, and how difficult it would be to survive. He felt a new respect for the girl, who cared for her brother as best she could, and lived in that ramshackle farmhouse with its crumbling roof, without even a mother or father to care for her. How hard her life must be. He remembered her fine gown, though, in violet and white, and her shiny boots. Perhaps business was good. ―How much is it to have your fortune told…by Jane?‖ he asked, looking down at the table. He had some money, after all, and he could help her.

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―Whatever you can pay, Milord,‖ the woman said, smiling. ―Jane is not greedy. She is a right little girl, so polite and sweet, and she never turns anyone down, no matter how little they have.‖ ―When will she be here?‖ he asked. ―When does she come here?‖ ―She‘ll come in an hour or two. She always does,‖ the barmaid answered. ―Just have another cup of ale and enjoy the music, and Jane will come, along with her little brother, and you‘ll be able to speak with her then.‖ ―Thank you,‖ Blake said, putting a gold coin in the woman‘s hand. ―You‘ve been a great help to me, and I appreciate it.‖ **** The barmaid smiled and tucked the coin in her apron. The young lord was generous, and so handsome. Jane was a lucky girl, although she doubted that his parents would see a fortune-teller as a proper bride for their boy. She’s the equal of any lady I’ve seen, the woman thought defiantly. But the upper classes rarely mixed with the lower, and that was the way life was in their little town…and all over the world. Jane would discover this in her own good time, for the barmaid had seen much in her years at the tavern, and she knew the ways of the world. Let her have a little love. She’s a teenage girl, what is the harm? She stared down at her own ring. Nonetheless, as she walked back to take care of her other customers, she worried for both of the young people. She wondered what would happen if the couple truly fell in love? **** Blake waited, his palms moist. Waiting for Jane was pleasure and pain. It was pure anticipation, and he found the minutes moved as slowly as molasses as he drank his ale and tried not to stare down at his gold pocket watch. Women tried to speak to him and he was polite, but distant, with them all. He did not want anyone else, even for light conversation.

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He was sixteen now, and would soon be seventeen, and he was in love for the first time. He wanted only to be with the fair-haired girl who seemed like a princess to him with her alabaster skin and her green eyes. These other girls were nothing to him. The girls retreated, disappointment and some bitterness clear on their features. He heard them whisper among themselves. They wondered what he was doing there, if not to talk with them and dance with them? He flushed slightly as they watched him sullenly, but the mere thought of Jane seemed to give him to courage he had never had. The courage to face disapproval without crumbling.

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Chapter Twenty-Nine Jane drew on her crimson cloak, which brought color to her fair cheeks, and she walked beside her little Cupid as they made their way from the farmhouse to the pub. The Cupid was uncharacteristically quiet on this late afternoon, and so they walked in companionable silence for most of the way. Jane did not feel like telling fortunes, but tell them, she must. She had not seen Blake since they shared their carriage ride, and she felt sad and she longed for him. She was feeling deprived of the joy and excitement he brought to her life. She leaned down and picked up the Cupid, so that he would not have to struggle against the thick snow with his little legs. He nestled in, burying his face against her fragrant throat, and telling her that she smelled like lavender. She enjoyed holding him, though he was quite heavy…heavier than he looked. She thanked the gods that she had him, at least, when she had lost everything else. Her grandmother, her friends in Royalton, her father, her mother…all were gone, and only the Cupid remained. As mysterious and difficult to understand as he could be, she continued to love him with all of her heart. They reached the entrance to the pub and Jane pasted on a smile so that the villagers would not see her in a downcast mood. She put down the boy and felt for the deck of cards in her pocket. They were cold and solid in her hand. ―How long shall we stay here in Lynnshire?‖ she asked the Cupid suddenly. She felt weary to the bones of this place, and she was tired of waiting for whatever was supposed to occur. Blake had not contacted her. He was one more facet of her loneliness now.

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―Not much longer, Jane,‖ the Cupid whispered soothingly. ―I know it is hard sometimes for you, and I‘m sorry.‖ ―It‘s all right,‖ Jane answered, reaching up to dab at tears that welled in her eyes. ―I am homesick, that is all.‖ She pulled the heavy wooden door and the warmth and color of the pub cheered her a little. She smiled her brightest smile at everyone. She took her place alongside the musicians who always announced her to the pub patrons. She was known as the little girl ―who will tell you your future.‖ She smiled, somewhat wryly, and looked around her. Often, there were new faces from other towns, and interesting people. She felt her face grow hot as she spied Blake at a table near a window. He was smiling and quietly watching her. Why must he see me like this, like an old gypsy woman? she thought, mortified. But his expression was friendly. She could see that there was no judgment at all in his clear brown eyes. She smiled back at him, her heart melting once more just at the sight of him. The first villagers came close to ask their questions, and their inquiries always seemed to be they same. They wanted to know about their farms and their animals and their romances, and so she spread out her deck of Tarot cards on the wooden table, doing her readings and listening to the words the Cupid whispered in her ear. She felt elated when Blake made his way toward her, lining up with the others who always drank and made merry while they waited. Jane tried to concentrate on her work, but she was always conscious of the boy‘s eyes, and it made it difficult to focus on her tasks. Only two more fortunes and it will be his turn, she thought anxiously. But what will the Cupid tell me to say? I will not tell Blake anything bad. I will not lie, though, either… I cannot say for sure just what I will do.

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Chapter Thirty Neptune waited for news of his daughter, and he spent his days organizing his mermaids as they repaired the damaged ships and fixed the things that had been destroyed during the storm he caused. He also made plans to assemble an army of mermen who would show the creatures of the sea his strength and power as they marched on the seabed with their ceremonial tridents raised high in the air. Neptune needed his army and all the pomp and circumstance he could muster. He felt despondent as he thought of his princess, who certainly hated her father, and it weakened him from within. Minerva had suggested he find some new interests to keep him occupied while she searched for the girl. The witch who threatened his daughter was much on his mind as he put his mermen though their paces. They might yet be needed to battle this ugly crone whose cruel spirit could hurt his Jane. He tried to forget all the things he had done and all the mistakes he had made, but it was hard to forget. He knew his daughter was terrified of him, and that he had placed her in great danger by losing his temper and driving her away to that strange island, and then back to the mainland, which was so confusing and dangerous. The mermen were strong, rough and ready lads with muscular tails and strong arms and chests not unlike his own…but they were young. They lived separate from his mermaids, in an encampment near a coral reef. They were always a part of the festivals and celebration under the sea, and they consorted with his mermaid courtiers when he gave them permission to do so. Neptune was changing, and he, himself, knew this, too. Gods did not age and they lived forever, but their experiences and emotions affected 111


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their development, and he was no exception to this rule. Neptune knew he was not the same god he had once been. He needed these youthful soldiers to help him if and when the time came. He concentrated on outfitting his new army as best he could, and he armed them with strong shields and magical spells that would allow them to walk on land if they must—at least for short periods of time. He used the piles of treasure he found in shipwrecks, melting the precious metals down through his magic, and turning the gold and silver and bronze into weapons and chain mail for his brave soldiers. The armor Neptune created was wonderful. It resembled the scales of fish and it glinted silver and gold in the murky tides. The metallic scales covered the torsos and upper arms of the mermen, and the armor was so flexible that it seemed to shift and move as the men did. Neptune felt fierce pride as the mermen marched and chanted, and the mermaids seemed quite transfixed by the whole unique display. They told their king they loved to see their consorts decked out in such resplendence, and so they cheered and sang as the army marched along the seabed. But some of the wiser mermaids spoke their minds, telling Neptune they felt unease in their hearts as they thought of their men and what would happen to them if they were forced to fight on the land. The mermen, like the mermaids, were not full-blooded gods. They could be injured—though they were much stronger and more resilient than human beings—and they could die. Why should Neptune need an army, they inquired gingerly, when he already ruled the seas with absolute dominance? What was he planning? He told them it was all for his Jane, who had disappeared only a short while ago. They told him ruefully that they wished she would simply return and claim her rightful place—which any of them would have given anything to occupy—on the small throne that rested alongside Neptune‘s larger, more ornate seat. Did she not know that she could never be happy away from the sea and away from all of them? They said they longed to serve her, to comb her long, rippling hair with brushes made of the finest

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corals, and they wished to drape her in the necklaces they made especially for her from rare pearls and seashells. Would she never return? They were not really complaining, Neptune knew. He was not angry with them. In their hearts, they longed for her as he did, but it made them frightened to think that the men could fight on the land and lose their lives. So they enjoyed the whole display of this new sea army, but they were also wary. Neptune knew he could be rash. They had experienced his rage so many times. He explained that his temper had obviously made his daughter too afraid to come back. Things were changing. Neptune was changing. And with this new army beside him, anything could happen, anything at all… Neptune barked at the mermen when they missed a single step, or failed to raise their tridents in perfect synchronization.

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Chapter Thirty-One Minerva had been a rare but occasional visitor to the watery depths as of late, and sometimes, she would bring along Venus in order to show her the army as they trained and marched in careful formations. Minerva smiled as Neptune glowed while the goddesses floated around his domain, and he wasted a lot of his magic and power ensuring they were comfortable in the deep. For them, he created the most stunning mermaid tails in a rainbow riot of colors. He made the tails with his best magic, and this ensured that they would be as comfortable as his true mermaids were while they were on the premises. For Minerva‘s tail, he chose vivid purple and blue…to honor her, he had said. These royal colors were meant to symbolize his reverence for her as the very highest of goddesses. For her friend Venus, he chose a tail of ruby red and rich gold, and he also fashioned for her a necklace of freshwater pearls so thick and lustrous that the Goddess of Love gasped as he placed it around her slender neck. Minerva wore no baubles, ever, and so Neptune did not make her a pretty necklace of her own. He murmured to her, so that Venus should not hear, that it seemed an insult to even consider festooning her in baubles. But Venus, being Venus, loved beautiful things, and so he had made the necklace for her. Minerva laughed with Neptune as Venus complained over and over again that she could not take it up into the sky with her, or wear it on the land. Venus and Minerva had become closer lately, and she always enjoyed seeing the world of Neptune with her friend at her side. Venus mentioned to her that Neptune did not seem as affected by her Venusian charms as he had been previously. She teased that he only had eyes for the Goddess of Wisdom! 114


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Neptune would sit with her and talk with her for hours when she did visit, and he would sometimes go to her home near the Sunlit Cloud, which Venus had recently decorated with pretty wildflowers and art. For Minerva, Neptune told her, he would train his army well, as he suspected the old crone wished her ill, and all because of him. Witches were dangerous and he had always mistrusted the oracles and their motives. The army would protect the women he cared for when the time was right. He must continue putting them through their paces every day in order to be sure they were ready for battle. ―How are you, Neptune?‖ Minerva asked the next time she appeared under the waves. She had come to talk about Jane. She sat down on the throne intended for his lost daughter. Venus had not come this time. Minerva was not ready to confide in her about the princess, and so she had not invited her along. Today, Minerva needed time alone with the Sea God. ―I am doing well. My army is impressive, is it not?‖ He beamed, gesturing with his best trident at the mermen who tried to stay still, rigid, and at attention in the moving waters in order to show respect for the Sky Goddess. ― Impressive. You‘ve done well,‖ Minerva replied, brushing aside a tendril of hair, her russet locks floating free about her face. Neptune had told her adored the ribbons of dark auburn that seemed to dance, and the way they suited her amber eyes so well. The goddess blushed at the memory, then nodded pleasantly at the mermen, acknowledging their excellence. ―At ease,‖ the king barked at his mermen, and then they quickly scattered, glad to escape from their unceasing labors. They swam off to visit with the mermaids and enjoy themselves until Neptune churned the waters gently with his trident staff—this was their cue to meet once more near his throne for maneuvers. ―What of the witch, Minerva?‖ Neptune asked quietly, for they were alone now. ―Have you consulted other oracles about her? If you have, then what do they say?‖ 115


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Minerva shook her head sadly. ―None of them will talk much about the crone, though they told me her name is Liesel, and that, of all of their ilk, she has wrought the most havoc and done the darkest spells for the townspeople.‖ She felt angry as she spoke of the witch. Her mean spirit had kept her from rescuing Neptune‘s daughter, who could have been with them now, safe and sound, if only the crone had told what she‘d known. Minerva was used to getting her way, like most goddesses were. Also, she was unused to resistance because the paths she chose in her own life were usually the wisest pathways to travel. She was relatively unschooled in obstacles and hindrances. However, Neptune was more familiar with battles and woes, and he seemed more stoic as they talked. Minerva thought for a moment that his army was good for him. It somehow calmed him. She began to tell Neptune her story, gazing gently him. ―They are afraid of the crone, and they won‘t use their crystal balls, or any other magic, to figure out where she has gone, though I am sure Liesel is trying to find the girl. I visited her cave and it is all but gutted. All her potions and powders are gone, her crystal ball has disappeared, and the place is darker and colder than you could ever imagine.‖ She shook her head at the mere memory of that terrible place. ―How…unwise of me to go there at all. I am sorry, Neptune.‖ Minerva was angry with herself, for she had made a serious error. Perhaps she should have given this…Liesel…what she wanted. ―No matter,‖ Neptune said heartily, patting her arm. ―I am training my army well, and they will help us once we have some idea of the girl‘s location.‖ ―Well,‖ Minerva said, ―there is one thing I did manage to get out of the oracles, and that is the direction Liesel was traveling in when she left the area. They did not need to use magic to know this as they saw her walking with her bundle, all wrapped up and hidden in her special brown robes they know so well. They said she was headed east, possibly toward Lynnshire.‖ Minerva smiled. She could see the hope on Neptune‘s face as he heard the name of the town.

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―Why, I have been there!‖ he exclaimed. ―Long, long ago…I remember the town! Jane‘s mother took me there, and dressed me in common clothes and placed a workman‘s cap upon my head to disguise me! For the festivals…‖ He trailed off, obviously lost in memories. Minerva took his hand and smiled. Neptune‘s voice was choked with sadness as he continued. ―The thoughts and memories are like pictures in an old storybook now…a storybook with faded, yellowed pages…I have to work to make them bright in my own mind.‖ ―I understand,‖ she said gently. ―I, too, have visited the town. It is a lovely village indeed, and it seems like a safe place, but we don‘t know that the witch will go there. There are many towns and a larger city, Allanshire, also close to that area. It is simply a guess, but one of the oracles feels quite strongly that she may be headed there.‖ ―Then I must go!‖ Neptune said. ―I will find my daughter myself and bring her back before the crone can harm her.‖ She looked at Neptune, who was truly godlike with his huge, bulky body and long, white hair. His eyes were as aquamarine as the seas of the Caribbean, and he seemed all too conspicuous. ―I will go,‖ she said gently. However, she was careful in choosing her next words because she did not want to offend his pride. ―You should stay here and continue training the men in case I need them. I can pass for human quite well. I have done it so many times, and the Sky is not so different from the Earth in many ways…not as different as the Sea, in any case. It is wiser if I go, and I will report back to you every few days along my journey. I will find a messenger or someone I can trust to bring you news.‖ Neptune nodded his agreement. ―Yes, I have often had trouble on the land,‖ he said wearily. ―I always feel so strange, like a fish out of water. It‘s true, you would do better than I. But you needn‘t find a messenger for I have a better solution for you.‖ Then, he reached into his robes, opened Minerva‘s hand so the palm was flat, and placed upon it a ring adorned with the biggest, creamiest pearl imaginable. It was dark gray and shining, 117


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surrounded by a setting of pure gold! Minerva thought that it was the most glorious pearl she had ever seen! ―Take this ring, Minerva, and always wear it. No human can see it, but while you wear it, I will know you are safe. If you blow on it gently, I will know that you need me, for I have bestowed the pearl with my own magic. If you do need my help, I will come for you immediately, along with my army. I will be there to help you. Go to the nearest shore, and I will appear.‖ No god, or man, had ever given Minerva such a thing. Most men, including some of the gods, seemed intimidated by her. Although the ring was intended to act as a signal between them, the pearl itself was lustrous and magnificent, and it shone upon her pale hand as she slid it on to her fourth finger, where it fit perfectly. She said nothing at all, but she leaned toward the Sea God and gently kissed his cheek. They smiled at one another, and Minerva rose gracefully from her seat, her posture as straight and as proud as always. ―I will go to the village this evening. I shall travel by foot to blend in with the townspeople,‖ she said. ―The journey will not take long, but I may not be successful. Nonetheless, I will try, and I will blow upon the pearl at the first sign of trouble.‖ ―Thank you, Minerva,‖ Neptune said, and his cheeks were still rosy pink after the kiss she had given him. Then, Neptune told her that the ring was one of his greatest treasures, and that the pearl had been guarded carefully for centuries. It was the biggest and most splendid gray pearl he had ever seen, and he had found it himself when he was but a young god. It had been nestled inside of a huge oyster that yelled at him in protest when he pried it apart and claimed its contents. Since then, the pearl had represented to him his lost youth…a time when he had been full of adventure and hope. He had blessed it with his trident and with magical words that made it a living thing for always. Minerva had known instinctively that the pearl was of special significance to him. She blushed as she learned of its provenance. She 118


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tried not to look down at it as she swam away and headed back to the surface of the water, near the shore. Once she was on land, she rested for a moment on the sand and watched the dolphins Neptune had sent as her escort jump and frolic in farewell to her. She touched the ring, exploring its smooth surface with her fingertips. Her skin seemed to tingle where the pearl had touched it, and it was a pleasant tingle that made her smile. She stood up and straightened her robes, which were bone dry even though she had just come out of the water. Her hair was dry and every strand was in place. She waved to the dolphins, and then they disappeared under the Emerald Sea, swimming back to their master. It is a glorious world below the Emerald Sea, she mused, her eyes scanning the smooth, dark green water. Then, she turned away, for there was work to be done and there were preparations to be made. This time, Minerva vowed, I will not fail.

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Chapter Thirty-Two Hecate sat with the other gods of the Underworld, in a dark corridor where they discussed Liesel‘s pact. Hecate hated the Sky Gods, and she welcomed the chance to prove them weak and foolish through the old witch. She knew that Minerva had angered Liesel and pushed her toward the deal she had chosen to make. She would assist the witch any way she could by giving her magic extra power and by sharing her thoughts and influencing her actions—with or without her knowledge. When she had laughed at the crone as she left the river‘s shores, she had also been laughing at Minerva, who had always looked down on all of her own kind, seeing the denizens of the Underworld as nothing but mere vultures who waited on the dead. The Goddess of Wisdom was powerful, but Hecate, too, was strong. The Goddess of the Crossroads welcomed the chance to test her power against the Sky Goddess. The Gods of the Sky were spoiled from living in such beautiful surroundings and from all their feasting and dallying with humans. They did not understand death, and they had little knowledge of the shadow world that Hecate inhabited every day of her existence. Hecate felt elation as she imagined the daughter of Neptune—for she had foreseen it all, and so gleefully—brought to ruin by a mere servant of her own Lord Pluto, the God of The Dead. Hecate was never invited to the councils in the Sunlit Cloud. She and all of her ilk were always excluded, as they were thought to bring darkness and ill fortune wherever they walked. Hecate did fear Jupiter, whose power was supreme, but still, she had longed to be accepted, and she had grown bitter at the constant rejection. After all, what could be more 120


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important that guiding humans on their final journey…their final step toward destiny? The worthy would pass, and she must decide on Pluto‘s behalf. What greater purpose could there possibly be? The sun was strange to Hecate, and the green grass…all of it was a mystery to her, as she had spent her life here, close by the shores of the River. Her power was her only solace, and so she gloried in the new alliance with Liesel. She would take pains to explore the old woman‘s mind and all of her thoughts. Now, the crone belonged only to her and to Pluto. This access to the outside world was a rare opportunity, and Hecate planned to use it well. She would manipulate the old witch in order to gain on her enemies and in order to demonstrate the force of the all of the gods of the Underworld. And so her companions sat around her, listening to the groans of Sisyphus, who could never cease his labors, and they were rapt with attention as she told them of this new development. They agreed instantly to help her any way they could. They, too, had felt the derision of the Sky Gods and the Sea Gods, and they did not wish them well. Pluto ruled the Underworld with an iron fist, presiding over the entire realm. He was Hecate‘s true god, the one she feared the most and revered the most. She decided to tell him about Liesel and her association with Minerva and the other Gods of the Sky. She rarely visited with him, but this was an important chance to drive a wedge between all of the gods and goddesses who spurned their kind and to lessen their power. She went to Pluto later that night, traveling deep into the dark heart of his domain with only a single torch held aloft to light her path through the unending blackness. Pluto was Jupiter‘s brother, but they were estranged. They had become separated by their vastly different fates. Their father had made them choose shares in the world and Pluto had lost, and he been given the Underworld while Jupiter reigned in the skies. Neptune was also their brother, and he had been given the beautiful sea. Pluto grew fierce and vengeful in his new role, and he demanded that Hecate bring him new subjects as often as she could. He wanted to increase his power in all 121


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ways, and she knew he would be pleased that she had enticed the old crone and brought her to his realm. Pluto was a god of greed and a god of cunning. He was never satisfied with his fate or his level of power, and so Hecate devoted all of her time to pleasing the dark lord. He would often appear by the shores of the River to watch her work, but sometimes she did not know he was there. He had a special helmet, which rendered him invisible to everyone. She could feel his presence at times like a cold shiver that tore through her body, and she used this sensing of him to protect herself. She only wanted to please him, of course, but he was fierce and unrelenting and though she adored him, she also knew he was ultimately dangerous.

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Chapter Thirty-Three Pluto loved death. Anyone who brought about death and ruin increased his number of subjects, and thus, amplified his power. Pluto lived with his beautiful wife, Proserpina, in a house high upon a slope in the heart of his domain, just off the River‘s edge, directly opposite the shore where Hecate always stood watch. His dark temple was filled to the brim with all the symbols of his power. Skulls from humans and all manner of animals decorated the place where he lived, and everything was in his preferred colors—dead black, deepest midnight blue, and blood red. Even Proserpina was forbidden to wear any other colors, so her gowns were rich and draped, but in funereal tones. Their furniture was also luxurious, but macabre. The chairs had bones for armrests and their deep cushions only made the overall effect more unsettling. The art on the walls of their riverside aerie was likewise disturbing as it depicted scenes of death and torture through the centuries. They were painted by the masters who had bribed Pluto with their art, as well as the coins that were placed under their tongues, to pay their passage to the other side. In the center of Pluto‘s home there was an altar where curse tablets made of lead were displayed reverently along with black candles that flickered but never burned out. Tiny lead coffins with tiny lead figures lying inside were arranged in careful, ordered rows. These lead tablets and coffins were the spoils of witchcraft, and they demonstrated the hatred that lurked in the heart of humankind. The dark god enjoyed reading the curses that the crones of the villages made for the common people. The villagers hated their neighbors and they hated their relatives, and they were flooded with the emotions that made 123


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death so close and so tempting—jealousy, betrayal, lust and envy…all were under his own domain. All forms of curses were represented on the altar, and he would run his hands over the rough stone tablets almost lovingly, and could always find room for just one more. He sent his emissaries to unearth these tablets, which were often buried under the ground in all the towns, and had them bring them to his home. Collecting them was his passion. His bride, Proserpina, loved flowers, but here in this place, nothing would grow. Instead, she made fabric blooms out of the garments of the dead; satin petals in dark hues with jeweled centers…these were displayed in vases of thick, black crystal. She always wore a necklace of sparrow skulls. Pluto, himself, had created this piece, and each eye socket was filled with a fat, cabochon ruby that looked like a shining drop of blood. The palace of death where they lived together was many stories high and pointed like a steeple. Proserpina would climb the marble stairs and sit on a perch near the lookout at the top where she would gaze down on the River below. She had lived in the Sky, once, but now, she was his Queen of the Underworld, and he had trained her to love her kingdom and her power. She was a daughter of Jupiter, it was true, but Pluto was sure she felt no great loyalty to him now. Since he had taken her away to the Underworld by force and made her his wife, she had learned to accept her destiny. No one had come to her rescue, and she was to remain here for all of eternity, close by Pluto‘s side. Pluto knew that Proserpina was as different from Minerva as anyone could be, though they shared the same father. Now, she was an agent of death and madness, however unwillingly, and in time, she‘d learned to embrace her world completely. What choice did she have, for it was clear she could never escape this place? ****

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Proserpina saw Hecate cross the River on her black barge. The Goddess of the Crossroads was just barely visible through the heavy mists. No other woman could cross safely, none but Proserpina, because she was not human. Proserpina stood and smoothed down her gown, and then she descended the narrow steps to greet this visitor.

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Chapter Thirty-Four The Queen of the Underworld knew Pluto rested in his inner sanctum, surrounded by the ghosts who were his closest companions. Proserpina grabbed the heavy brass knocker and banged it against the door of his room. ―Enter!‖ Pluto barked. His voice was deep and it reverberated as he spoke, even through the thick wooden door. Proserpina smoothed her dress once more and arranged her hair, and then she pinched her lips to bring more redness to them. Her smile was tense as she entered the room, and the ghosts who always attended the dark god floated back to the far corners of the room, all the while respectfully bowing to her. ―Good day, my husband,‖ she said, staring intently into his face in order to gauge his mood. Pluto had terrible mood swings that were feared by all who knew him. Today, though, none of his anger was in evidence. Pluto smiled at her. He was garbed in a black toga that revealed his huge, muscular arms and matched his ebony hair. His eyes were as dark blue as the gown Proserpina wore, and his skin was bronzed and handsome, though he never saw the sun. ―My wife,‖ he said, rising to kiss her cheek. She knew he loved her in his own way, which was not the same as other men might. He had taken her from the Sky and brought her here through his trickery. That had been the last time that he and Jupiter had ever spoken to one another. She also knew that Pluto had taken great pleasure in molding her to his liking. He chose the colors she should wear, and made her jewels himself, and generally reveled in her beauty, which he had stolen.

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She was Pluto‘s possession and, as such, he admired her grace frequently, and complimented her on her desire to help him in all things. It had taken her a long time to accept that she must stay here forever, but in time, she had. Sometimes, she feared that the love he felt for her did not run deep, nor would it ever. She wondered if she was only a spoil of war to him. If ever Pluto had been able to love more deeply, he no longer could, she was sure of that. He was simply too consumed with the lust for power and with the desire to collect souls. Power was Pluto‘s only master, and so Proserpina existed as merely another pawn in his game. ―Hecate comes,‖ Proserpina said softly, her smile wavering a little. Hecate was close, too close, to her husband, and she did not wish for any other goddess to be so bound to him. Proserpina knew that Hecate‘s heart was like ice, if she had a heart at all. She did not like the way the Goddess of The Crossroads gloried in her duties. ―Ah, good, good,‖ Pluto answered, rising to walk to the front door. ―Perhaps she has some news for me, then. It has been some time since I have seen her here.‖ As he rose, all his ghosts genuflected to him, and he crossed the room quickly, gliding across the marble floors that were shining and black and streaked with crimson and grey. She knew that this room was his favorite place and the center of his empire. He had decorated it with care. He grabbed a carafe of red wine from a table near the entrance and asked Proserpina to bring him some silver goblets. ―Three?‖ she asked, hoping to be included in the conference. ―Two,‖ he said brusquely, and shooed her out of the room. Then, he told his ghosts to leave as well. They floated out with doleful expressions, following Proserpina to the kitchen. With anger and jealousy in her heart, she grabbed the goblets and marched back to the sanctum where Pluto took them from her and then closed the door in her face. Just then, there was a knock at the massive front doors of their palace. Hecate had arrived. The ghosts bobbed excitedly and, once again, trailed in Proserpina‘s wake as she went to answer the knock. 127


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―Hecate,‖ Proserpina purred in greeting. ―Welcome.‖ Hecate curtsied to the Queen of the Dead, as was customary. Proserpina nodded regally and admitted her, guiding her toward the sanctum. The ghosts followed in an orderly procession. **** Pluto usually enjoyed speaking with Hecate, who pleased him well. No goddess could be more loyal to his cause, or more devoted to his ideals. Hecate was not beautiful, but she was a faithful servant who shared his lust for collecting souls. He knew she feared him, and he enjoyed keeping her off balance and a little afraid of him, though he was so rarely displeased with anything that she did. ―Pluto,‖ she murmured, bowing to him, ―Good day, my lord.‖ ―Welcome, Hecate,‖ he answered, smiling his cold smile. He tried to bring some warmth into his eyes and his smile. He had been told that his features were godly and handsome and his hair was dark and luxuriant, but that his eyes were as cold as a serpent‘s. He knew it was all true. ―I have come with news you may enjoy hearing,‖ she said as Pluto gestured to her to sit down. He filled her goblet with the finest red wine— more plunder from the dead—and he drank deeply from his own glass. She sipped her wine as Pluto watched her face. She was moistening her throat. Then, she began to tell her story ―I have had a visitor, a visitor from the land…a living one,‖ she said, smiling a little. ―She is now one of ours. She has repeated the words, and taken the Vows of the Underworld.‖ ―From whence does she come, goddess?‖ Pluto asked. His curiosity was piqued. ―From near the Emerald Sea, lord,‖ she replied. ―She needed help with a spell. She is an oracle, a witch, and terribly old…and her magic was weak. She wished for youth and beauty for a while. In return, she is ours.‖ Pluto felt congenial as he stared across at her from behind his desk of darkest mahogany. ―Did you grant her wish?‖ Pluto asked, smiling. He knew the Goddess of the Crossroads had great power, more than even she 128


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knew. She was capable of almost anything, and she was a useful piece on his chessboard. ―Oh, yes,‖ Hecate giggled. ―Indeed—of course I did, though it may not come out as she‘d like. You know how magic is.‖ The pair laughed. Hecate had granted many such requests, and always made sure there was a little glitch, some tiny flaw in the outcome, which would infuriate the lost soul, and make it even easier to bring them back to the River… ―Good. So why would you come here to tell me of this? You take in many souls, but this is special to you, is it not?‖ He set down his goblet and folded his hands, which were adorned with several rings. Large onyx stones decorated three fingers on each hand. ―She hates Minerva,‖ Hecate said, grinning. ―She loathes her and wants her destroyed and cut down to size. She knows something about Minerva, about something Minerva wants…‖ She took a breath then, probably to slow down her train of thought. She knew he had no patience with babbling. Hecate sat up straighter, and then she continued. ―Minerva is looking for a young girl of about fifteen, I believe, who is a princess of Neptune. She wishes to bring the girl back to the Gods of the Sea. Minerva went to an old crone, who is, of course, an oracle, looking for her for assistance, but the old witch would not tell her where the girl was. The witch wanted her spell, her wish to be young, to be granted by Minerva, and then she would help her get the girl back. But the goddess refused, and so she hates her bitterly. She did the magic that brought her to the River, and so I granted her what Minerva had denied, and she gave her soul to us.‖ ―Hmmm,‖ Pluto murmured, thinking hard. ―And she wishes to harm the goddess?‖ He hated Minerva, just as he knew Hecate did. The Goddess of Wisdom looked down on them, and she had no idea of their real power. Pluto was sure of this. ―Yes, she wishes to harm Minerva by killing the girl she is trying to find. She wishes to drive a wedge between the Gods of Sea and Sky by

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making Minerva fail at her mission to help King Neptune.‖ Hecate looked down and waited. ―Excellent, Hecate,‖ he said, staring at her. ―Minerva is no friend of mine. How long is the crone‘s spell to last?‖ ―As long as is required, and not a second more,‖ Hecate answered slyly. ―The crone moves toward a small village near the Emerald Sea in the guise of a young woman. Her plans include much death and destruction, or so I foresee it.‖ Pluto smiled. ―She will kill the girl, the daughter of Neptune. The girl must be a half-deity, then. Has this crone the courage to murder? To end the life of a young girl? She will be hard to kill.‖ ―She does. She has killed already. I have seen it in my visions.‖ Pluto stood up and gently wrested Hecate‘s goblet from her hand. He set it down on his desk, and then he helped her up from her seat, signaling an end to their meeting. He needed time alone to think on all of this, and how it could best be exploited and used. ―Thank you, Hecate,‖ he said, kissing her cheek tenderly with lips like ice, which made her parchment skin flush crimson. ―I will ask you to assist the witch any way you can. Later, I may ask for more than that.‖ ―Yes, Sire,‖ she said. **** Proserpina glared down at Hecate from the rooftop lookout as the Goddess of the Crossroads practically danced out of the front door and stepped lightly and happily onto the barge that would take her to the other side. She was quite upset, for these two had a secret, and she would not be told unless Pluto thought she must know. She hated any secrets that were not hers and Pluto‘s alone. She cursed Hecate under her breath and then she sat still for quite for a long time. She would not go back downstairs until she was calm again.

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Chapter Thirty-Five Liesel finally reached the city after a hard day‘s walk. No strangers could offer her a ride, even if they would, because she avoided the busy roadways. Allanshire was not a large one as cities went, but it had everything she needed, and she could replenish her supplies of powders and other ingredients while she also took on the image of a lady in fine gowns and polished boots. Her money was safe on her person at all times. She would spend dearly to stay at a fine lodging house where she would feel more secure. And, as always, there was her magic as a strong shield against trouble of any kind. First of all, she needed to find a beautiful gown. She could not even stay at a better boarding house in the ragged cloak she now wore. She headed to the market, where anything could be bought for a price, and as the sun shone in the late afternoon sky, she haggled over a dark blue gown with creamy lace cuffs. It looked as though it would fit her without alterations, and it would do to wear to the shops in the city once she had brushed it clean. The gown was expensive even though it was secondhand. Obviously, it had belonged to a fine lady, who perhaps had died or fallen on hard times. It occurred her that it might, in fact, be stolen. Liesel liked the feel of the rich blue satin against her fingertips. Never had she owned something so fine. The market sellers cared not that she was grimy with travel as long as she paid. She kept her black hood low over her face, but she was not worried about her crime on the road near Lynnshire, or about being recognized. Hers was a face that had never existed until recently, and 131


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soon—but when?—it would cease to exist again. Time was short, and so she found a place in a nearby wood where she could change into her new dress. Then she threw all of her old garments away except for her shoes, which she must still wear. At this point, she walked to a shop where village ladies went and she ordered them to wash her hair and dress it fine, perhaps in braids. They looked askance at her lank hair, which was admittedly filthy after all of her exertions, and still smelled of the poison powder she‘d tossed in Lord Stirling‘s face, but they deemed it free of lice, and so they washed it and dried with a piece of silky fabric dipped in fragrant oil. Then, they dressed it high upon her head, as she had seen other ladies wear their hair. She could wear a hat or bonnet or not now, as she chose. Her hair shone dark and clean, and her new fringe was silky against her smooth forehead. Young, I’m so young, she thought happily, catching her reflection in the looking glass. Once she was clean, she tripped down the dirty streets, holding the hem of her gown high above the cobbled roadway. Her boots were a mess, but she would take care of all that. In her bodice she stored her money, but there was so much of it still, and she must find a better way to carry it about. With her magic, she could find a bag and lock it with spells. At the apothecary, she asked for creams and potions for her skin. Even a pot of rouge that would take away her paleness. She also bought soap, which she desperately needed. No true lady painted her face, but Liesel did not care. She was not pretty enough, and men on the street still did not turn their heads as she passed as they would have for Minerva or the daughter of Neptune. She bought cream that was bright pink and smelled delightfully of roses, and things for her teeth, and other things that women liked and needed, but old crones in caves never seemed to have. It was a pleasure to see the pretty jars and boxes, and she felt a proper lady indeed now with a bosom made fuller by stuffed banknotes and coins wrapped tight in a handkerchief so that they would make no noise that alerted thieves.

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Liesel found a good boarding house as night fell. She bathed with a cloth and a basin of boiling hot water brought to her by a houseboy. The next morning, she shopped all day long. For hours Liesel continued her transformation by choosing gowns that were ready made and having them altered to her size on the spot. There was no time to wait for seamstresses to sew gowns from patterns and no time to wait for anything at all. She spent a large sum of money, over half of what she had, but there was still a lot left. The gold coins were like magic. No matter what she bought, she would always get change because they were so valuable. Or perhaps some other magic was at play, stretching her funds out? By the time Liesel left the boarding house on her second night in Allanshire, she had everything she could think of. The problem was, she really did not know how a lady acted, or what a lady did. It would be difficult to learn such things quickly, and she was unsure of what course to take. In her cave, the villagers who came to her were a coarse lot more often than not. Never had she been exposed to the upper classes and their special ways. She decided to go to restaurants and places where ladies gathered. She would spend her last hours in this city observing them, listening to them, and watching them drink their tea and have their chats with one another. She would mimic them as only a practiced witch could do, and then she would be able to pass as a lady in the village, if only she kept mostly to herself. How they simper and how falsely they smile, she noted in wonder, watching the ladies with one another, or with their gentlemen. They act as though they haven’t a thought in their heads at all. The women simply flatter the men, and then they flatter the other women, too. This could be easier than I expected. She spoke to herself as she walked through town toward the carriage she had rented to take her to the village. She used their voices as best she could—they were higher than hers, and sweeter, and also more affected. In her hand was a mid-sized carpetbag full of everything she would need including a new procurement of powders and strange ingredients that had 133


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cost her dearly and been quite hard to find. Already delivered directly to the carriage was a trunk of clothes, which the man at the boarding house had taken to the carriage house in exchange for a handsome tip. It was now too heavy for Liesel to carry except with the help of magic, which was best practiced in private. Liesel thought she had never been so happy. She glowed with the pleasure of it all, and she knew her cheeks were a radiant, deep rose under their layer of rouge. Her lips, too, were rubbed with a dab from the pot, and certainly much prettier to behold. Men smiled at her as she passed. She smelled like a rich woman, too, emanating the scent of roses, lavender, and rich Neroli oil from the East. Today will be the day he sees me, she thought dreamily. I will never look better than this, and today it must be…or perhaps tonight, by moonlight…

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Chapter Thirty-Six Blake watched the young girl tell fortunes. He could not take his eyes off of her. All the days of dreaming and wishing were over, and here she was. Her eyes were as dark green and shining as he remembered, and her hair was so pale and golden. She seemed as fragile as a doll, but when she smiled, her face radiated strength and vitality. He felt his side tingle more today than it had ever done before. It felt much the same as it had when the arrow first struck him on Twelfth Night. In fact, his side burned, but the ale in his belly made it easier to bear the strange sensation. He wished it would stop, but it only got stronger. **** The Cupid whispered in the ears of the villagers, but his eyes traveled often to the young boy who waited, fidgeting and fussing with his waistcoat, and shyly smiling at Jane. Cupid was bound to him, he knew this was true, and he wondered what destiny would bring now that he had used his arrow and was left with only one more in his quiver. Why is it Blake Stirling? he wondered. Is he good enough for Jane? In his mind, he tried to forget the memories of his last change, of his flight over the village, and the thoughts he had about Jane. They still lingered somehow, but when he was this way, everything felt different. It was easy to push such thoughts aside. He admired the handsomeness of the young lord as he watched his face, lit with flattering gentleness by the small glass lanterns on the tables. The Cupid, no stranger to beauty or charm, wondered for a moment what it would be like to be fully a man, in the day…or to be fully a man, a human man, at any time. 135


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It’s not to be, he told himself. It’s not your destiny. You found your target, and now you must see what the gods have planned for Jane, and this boy. Humans are inferior, in any case, the Cupid thought. They think of nothing but filling their bellies and fighting with their neighbors, and money. They are like animals. He remembered the island, where he had often been lonely until Jane came, but quite happy not to have to pose as a child and concern himself with villagers and their petty desires. He remembered in dreams another place that was neither the village nor the island. Another place he had been that was like a dream, but it was hazy…just a vague image he clung to. Some day, he wished to find that place, but perhaps it wasn‘t real at all. It was Blake‘s turn now. The Cupid smiled in his special way, all dimples and charm, and Blake‘s face split into a broad grin at the sight of him as he reached over to ruffle the little boy‘s hair. ―Hello there, what‘s your name?‖ he said, smiling over at Jane, who simply glowed as she watched the two meet. ―He is called Arthur,‖ Jane said, telling him the name the boy was known by in the village. ―He‘s my little brother, but he‘s not much of a talker. He usually just whispers to me.‖ ―That‘s all right,‖ Blake said warmly. ―Would you like me to carry him while you tell my fortune?‖ he asked. ―He looks a little heavy for you.‖ Jane blushed. ―I carry him everywhere. Don‘t worry about that.‖ She had glanced over as Blake asked to carry him, and the Cupid shot her a warning gaze, the subtlest shake of the head. ―I will hold him. He helps me concentrate,‖ she replied quickly. The Cupid smiled. ―Do sit down,‖ she said, and Blake settled across from her. Jane settled herself in an armchair, and the Cupid remained curled around her neck. Jane seemed dumbstruck. It was obvious that she was nervous and that she could not think of much to say at all. She appeared flustered as she shuffled the cards slowly. The Cupid supposed she only wanted to speak to the young man alone, as she had that night in the carriage. 136


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It was custom to give the person whose fortune was being told some measure of privacy, but there were many people there, and they all watched avidly from a distance as the young lord had his turn. All eyes were on them, and the Cupid could feel Jane tremble a little under her ivy green dress as her gaze rested on Blake‘s amber eyes. For a moment, the two young lovers just looked at each other. They seemed to be in a world of their own. The Cupid pressed against her side to spur her on. He noticed that Blake‘s eyes were golden, a lovely, warm brown like dark, wild honey. ―Jane,‖ Blake whispered as the Cupid listened. ―Jane, I have missed you…‖ The Cupid stared icily at the young man. Indeed, this was a love match, but he had not expected this, this desperate ardor and chemistry between the two of them, which was so moving and quite genuine. He grabbed Jane‘s arm and pinched it gently to rouse her from her reverie. ―I am happy to see you again,‖ she said sweetly. ―I must tell your fortune now, for others wait after you, but later, perhaps, we could talk of other things.‖ Cupid watched her eyes glow, and then scanned the room. He knew how the two of them must look, locked in each other‘s gaze. Jane followed his eyes and flushed. Every eye was upon them, and the other girls looked unfriendly to the Cupid. Young Lord Stirling was terribly handsome, after all, and rich to boot. There had been much talk of him among the girls of the village since the pageant. In fact, they all seemed to speak of nothing else… ―Lay out the cards,‖ the Cupid whispered to her. ―Do it now, Jane.‖ **** ―Do you have a question, or a concern, or something you‘d like to know? Or would you prefer a general reading?‖ Jane asked Blake, her voice shy and quiet. ―I would like to know what lies ahead, I suppose,‖ he said, laughing a little. ―But not if it‘s terrible, please.‖

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―I will keep that in mind,‖ she said. I will never tell you anything terrible, she vowed. I will never do anything to hurt you because I love you. Jane had made a promise that even the gods could hear, and she wondered if they were listening. From that instant, she felt an eerie sense of being watched and observed…of some clairvoyant force, not so different from her own, there in the noisy tavern. She looked around, but saw nothing out of order. It’s invisible, this spirit, or god, but something is here, looking inside of me. Jane laid out the cards in a standard Celtic Cross formation, feeling a strange helplessness. The cards seemed to move of their own volition, and she could not control the awful feeling of…sadness…that overtook her as she laid them face down on the wooden table. Blake‘s trusting face, so beautiful, so pure and clear, made her feel confused and forlorn. Bad news, she thought irrationally. Death…gray, like a tombstone…all is blackness. Oh, no, she thought, as she reached to turn the face card, the card that would represent the boy she loved so dearly. She sighed in relief as she saw that it was the Page of Cups, and that card was golden and bright and just right for him. That is fine, she thought, fighting hysteria. That is as it should be. ―This is you, my lord,‖ she said. ―This card is the Significator. It is meant to represent you in the reading.‖ ―Ok,‖ he answered. She suspected he knew nothing about the cards, or about fortunes. She doubted tarot cards were permitted in his home, or that he would he have had much interest in them if they were. He seemed too educated to be superstitious. Jane tried to look at the next card before she turned it over, tilting it toward her and turning the corner a little. The bad feeling was taking over again, and she wished she was far from this place. She wished she was back home safe in Royalton, away from this village, away even from Blake. Her promise, her vow not to hurt him, was like a thorn in her side now. ―The next card is the past…‖ she whispered, and she felt a cold chill fall over the room. She felt sickness, loneliness, and despair. ―You were 138


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ill,‖ she murmured, ―desperately ill, and you felt alone.‖ She turned over the card and lay it face up on the wood. ―You were sad.‖ ―Yes,‖ he said, looking down. ―I was sick enough to die, but somehow, I did not. My whole childhood, I was ill, always ill, with doctors going to and fro, frowning, worrying. My mother would cry. It was terrible, but now I am well, Jane,‖ He flushed crimson and looked at the card. ―Am I to be ill again?‖ he asked. To Jane, his voice seemed full of dread. ―I…do not think so, not you…‖ she said, without thinking. Hastily, she went on, trying to rephrase her strange remark. ―I do not feel…illness in you,‖ she said simply. The Cupid whispered in her ear. ―You are not ill,‖ she said finally, smiling a little. ―Definitely not. You are well and strong.‖ ―Good,‖ he said, but he seemed uneasy. Jane felt so serious, so grave, All this was not what she expected, and she wished they could be as they were in the carriage, merry and light and romantic without all this talk of illness and things that he probably tried to forget. ―The next card is the present,‖ she said, turning up the edge to glance at it before she turned it over. Some part of her already knew what she would find. She sighed as she saw the dark horsemen, Death… In an instant, the Cupid, who she knew missed nothing, flailed in her arms and started to kick, knocking all of the cards off the table. He began crying as the cards fell to the ground, and he kicked his little legs as hard as he could upon the table. ―Shhhh,‖ Jane said. ―Arthur, hush. What is it?‖ she said, embarrassed and dumbfounded by the little boy. She caught his glance as he cried and kicked, and she saw his blue-gray eyes, as cool and intelligent as ever. He had seen the card, too, and he was faking, faking, this tantrum, or whatever it was, to stop the reading. ―Sick,‖ he whispered. ―Must go home, Jane,‖ the Cupid cried, loud enough that everyone should hear him. ―He‘s sick, I‘m afraid,‖ she told Blake. ―I‘m so sorry, but we must finish another time. He wishes to go home. There is a pain in his stomach, he says…‖ 139


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The Cupid cried his tears and continued to fuss as she stood up and wrapped her red cloak around his tiny body. Blake bent down, and looked strangely relieved somehow at this interruption, and he began to pick the cards for her. He handed them to her once they were in a neat pile. The Death card sat on top, the Reaper in black on his horse, and she glanced at it nervously as he gave her the deck. ―Thank you,‖ she said quietly, putting the cards in her pocket. ―I will walk you both home,‖ Blake said. ―Please, I would like to carry the boy.‖ The Cupid stretched his arms out to him, then nestled into the young man‘s arms while she waited. Blake was so gentle with the Cupid, whose cheeks were streaked now with tears, and then they left the pub as those disappointed patrons who had waited for their fortunes headed back to their friends, grumbling all the while. ―The little one is ill,‖ she heard them chatter. But Jane did not care much about them. Glasses would still be filled and brought to tables, music would play on, and the scene would be forgotten as soon as the trio left the pub and headed out into the snowy night.

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Chapter Thirty-Seven The Cupid breathed in the scent of youth and health and innocence that the young man emanated, but as he did so, he continued to cry and squirm, and then pretended to fall asleep. He watched through slitted eyes—for he was wide awake—as Jane smiled up at the sight of Blake with the charming toddler in his arms. If you only knew, he thought wryly, just who, or what, you are holding… Now Cupid was quiet, the pair had a chance to talk freely, away from the eyes and ears of the village, and the Cupid could listen to everything they said. Cupid felt the bond between the two. It seemed to bring heat and light to the dark and frigid night. He relaxed into the warmth, as though it were a hot bath, letting the love the two shared bathe him in peace. He thought no more of his night flight or of his misgivings. He was serene and content as he listened to the couple talk and chatter. They were stumbling over their words, each of them desperate to share their thoughts, each of them desperate to be with the other. ―I…think of you often,‖ Blake said, staring into her eyes as they walked through the town square. ―I think of nothing else, in truth.‖ They stopped walking for a moment. Jane wore Blake‘s heavy coat over her gown, and the Cupid was wrapped snug in her crimson cloak. ―Are you not cold?‖ Jane asked worriedly. ―No,‖ he said. ―I should be, but I am not.‖ He leaned forward then, suddenly, and stroked her cheek. It was cool and ivory pale in the darkness. The Cupid was so close to her, too. She stared at him, her emerald eyes blazing. ―I am so happy to talk with you,‖ she said, and there was true passion in her voice. She was full

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fifteen now, and she loved this boy with all of her heart—the Cupid was certain of it. Blake leaned forward and kissed her lips so gently. ―My love,‖ he whispered to Jane. The Cupid could almost feel her lips on his own, as they had been that night in the sky, as the couple‘s kiss went on and on. He watched as she held Blake‘s kiss, and then returned it, gently and tentatively. Her eyes were closed now. After a moment, they separated and continued walking, and Blake carried the Cupid over the uneven, snowy slopes that led to the farmhouse. ―May I see you, Jane, tomorrow?‖ Blake asked as they went up to the front door. The farmhouse was shabby, and for a moment, the Cupid wondered if Jane was ashamed. It was clean, of course, but everything was old and in disrepair. For a moment, the Cupid felt a sort of wrenching despair. Jane…I am sorry, he thought sadly. ―Yes,‖ she said. ―Oh, yes, of course.‖ ―I fear I have been too forward,‖ Blake said, and his tone was worried. ―I only want to honor you, and love you…‖ he stammered. Yes, I am sure you do, the Cupid thought darkly. For who would not honor my Jane? **** After Jane unlocked the heavy padlock on the front door, she stared up at him and smiled. There were stars behind Blake like a theatre backdrop—they twinkled…and there was a crescent moon, and the sky was like black velvet against the warm topaz of his hair, his skin and his eyes. I will remember this moment forever, she thought. I will carry it in my heart like a poem until I die. ―You have honored me,‖ she said. ―You have made me so happy.‖ He grinned. ―I shall pick you up tomorrow, then, and we could walk through the forest, perhaps, with the boy, and play in the snow.‖ ―I will wait for you here whenever you would like to come, but I must go to the Crown of Thorns each night around seven o‘clock.‖ She sighed. 142


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Every night I must go. Every day I am tired afterwards...but it has brought me to this, and so I must be grateful for it. ―No matter,‖ Blake answered soothingly. ―I will come early, around noon. We will have plenty of time. Put your brother to bed, and tomorrow we will visit, and if he is still unwell, we will play outside another time instead.‖ ―I think he will be better,‖ Jane said, trying not to laugh. She knew the Cupid was listening to every word they said. ―These things pass so quickly with him. I should not be surprised if he is better already.‖ Blake laughed and turned to go. ―Parting is such sweet sorrow,‖ he whispered, turning back to kiss her again. She wished to stay there with him forever, but she broke their kiss and helped him as he took his coat off her shoulder and put it back on. Moments later, Blake was gone. I kissed him, she thought wildly. I kissed him. My first kiss, and it was…everything one could ask for…‖ For a moment, she remembered the Cupid‘s kiss, but quickly put it out of her mind. Jane closed the door behind her, and plunked the Cupid, who was wide awake, onto the floor with a thump. She hugged herself and closed her eyes. He kissed me, she said to herself. I kissed him. **** The Cupid watched her reverie, remembering the Death card that had shown itself during the young lord‘s reading. He did not tell Jane that he had removed that particular card from the pack before they set out that night because he was not sure why he had been compelled to do so. After all, the Death card was unsettling, but it generally indicated transformation, not physical demise. He had kept many secrets from her, and this was simply another detail he chose not to share. But in their room, the Death card lay under his things, face down. The Death card should not have been in that deck at all, he thought, alarmed. Who put another there, and why? While the couple had walked

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home, he had been too enthralled by their romance to ponder this disturbing turn of events. Now, when Jane was so distracted, he felt it was safe to go and see if he had chosen another card by mistake, but the original Death card was still there, bundled under his neatly folded clothes. He hid it in another place while Jane sat at the kitchen table, starry-eyed and clearly reluctant to break the spell of her moonlit walk by talking with him. The Cupid remembered the dark figure on the road and he wondered at the cold, bleak feeling that had overtaken him at the tavern just as Jane was about to turn the card over… Someone is here, he thought. Someone is interfering with the lovers, and with my own destiny. Soon after these troubling thoughts surfaced, he lay in his bed, beside Jane as always, and pretended to sleep so that he didn‘t have to discuss the events of the night with her. It was too soon. He thought hard about the bad feelings that had come over him at the pub. Unlike Jane, the Cupid was unable to take solace in kisses and sweet words. There was magic present, some kind of black magic, and they must leave the town, but it was too soon. The lovers were only just meeting their fate. I will find out what is going on, he thought. I cannot leave here yet. It is too soon, and there is some reason we are here, something yet to be revealed to me. He knew he was placing Jane in danger, but he could not leave here, not yet. He must fulfill his destiny. It was his reason for being. But he cursed the gods who filled him with dark ambitions he did not fully understand, and he prayed the girl would not be made to pay the price for his actions. And he wondered as he had so many times before, why this village? Something was drawing closer, moving silent in the cold winter air, and he knew suddenly that is was all part of what was yet to come, and part of the greater purpose he could not see. The purpose that made him reach for his other arrow and worry its sharp tip against his tiny fingers all through the sleepless night.

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Chapter Thirty-Eight The next morning it rained, and some of the January snows melted away. Rain pelted the windows like falling tears as Jane sadly stared outside. It hasn’t rained for weeks, she thought, irritated, and now, on this day, it pours down… He’ll come anyway. He has to come… **** Blake woke and sent a message with a servant to his tutor. He would not have his classes today. He feigned illness, knowing full well he would be caught when his father returned. He found himself feeling low as he looked outside at the dismal weather. If it had been sunny and bright, he could have taken Jane and her brother around the outskirts of his estate, showing them where the stables were, and all the other things he longed to show them. He knew he would go anyway. He‘d barely slept, not more than an hour or two, so intense was his euphoria over the previous night. Her lips had tasted sweet, like honey, and they had been so soft. He had wanted to hold her close for hours, smelling her hair, and the faint scent of lavender that he would now always associate with her. What can I do, he wondered, to make the day special? Something she’ll like…. He rose up out of bed, and hastily washed and dressed. He must leave the house to avoid any questions from his mother. He had come home later than usual last night, and she had been waiting for him. He told her about the pub, but not about the girl. He could not bring himself to expose her to his parents, not yet. Not ever, he thought worriedly, hating himself. She is but a fortune-teller, and I am a Lord. 145


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He ran his hands through his newly rinsed, damp hair in consternation. He was a coward, he knew; he should be shouting his love from the hilltops, but he had not the courage to do it. Instead, he kept secrets and told lies. Jane would be disappointed in him, in time, just as his parents always were. He went to the kitchen and drank some tea. The servants made a pot for themselves while they got the house ready for breakfast. They welcomed him warmly, wondering what on earth would bring the master down at this hour. It was only six-thirty. He drank it quickly, and around seven, he went outside just to be gone before his mother could find him. I cannot go there this early, he thought, smiling. Not without looking foolish. I’ll ride out on my horse, down the main road, and give it some exercise while I wait. He woke the stable lad who lived in rooms above the stables, and told him he was taking out Baroness, his favorite horse. ―Get her saddled quickly, please,‖ he ordered the sleepy boy, who scurried to do his bidding. Blake got an apple out of his pocket and ate it while he waited. The boy was back with the horse in fifteen minutes. The day was brightening, although it still rained a little. Blake put on his hat to shield him from the rain, and he mounted the horse and rode off, telling the stable boy he would return the horse later, but he was not sure just when. Since the pouring rain had gentled to a light, soft sprinkle, he thought perhaps he could take Jane out on his horse for a ride, or give the boy a little ride in his lap. Arthur would like that. He headed out, avoiding the main drive where his mother might be watching, and he crossed a soaked field that only last night had been covered in snow. Only then did he head to the main road. He would work the horse until they were both tired. It would drain the tension from his body so that he would feel calm when he arrived at Jane‘s little house…around ten, perhaps. The main road was deserted. Usually, when he was out this early, there would be the odd worker walking to a farm or foundry nearby, but this morning the road was empty. The morning was still…eerily still. He rode onward, talking gently to his horse all the while, and feeling guilty for 146


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taking him out through the wet, muddy field. He felt guilty, too, for waking the stable lad and ordering him about. His father did these things naturally, without any guilt, but Blake had yet to learn that the servants were not to be worried about. This was yet another thing upon which he and his father disagreed. He told Blake not to chat with the cooks and the stable boys; his son should keep a distance and avoid such familiarity. ―The friendlier you are,‖ he would tell him, ―the harder it will be to control them. You must remain remote at all times with them.‖ This lesson was another he had failed to learn. He rode for an hour before the muscles in his strong, young legs started to ache, and then he saw his father‘s carriage in the middle of the road. He put the whip to his horse and galloped dangerously fast to get to it. His pulse was racing, and a vein throbbed in his temple. It was their carriage…he knew it was! Why was it parked here, in the middle of the road? Father should be getting ready for his first meeting in the city by now, he thought, frightened. Why is it here? The horses that were tied to the brougham appeared to be dead! What happened to the animals? He got off of Baroness and tied her fast to a tree by the side of the road, and then he ran to the carriage. Its black, polished exterior was wet with rain. He pulled at the door and tried to open it, but it was jammed. He yanked at it with all his strength until it gave way, and then he looked inside… He could not believe what he was seeing. He thought at first that it must be some sort of cruel joke. Inside the carriage was a statue of his father, but a terrible statue. His father seemed to be screaming, and his stone hands were gnarled and ugly, and his eyes were wide with horror. Blake went and touched the statue in wonder. It was such a perfect likeness. There was a knife in his father‘s hands that pointed upward. Blake sat across from the statue, drawing his own knife from his cloak. He felt sick to his stomach, as though he might throw up. The carriage smelled strange. It carried a musty smell that was dark and fetid and awful. Blake leaned out of the carriage door and was sick, his knife still clutched in his hand. Then, he wiped his mouth with his handkerchief, and 147


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he got out and walked around the carriage to try to find some reason for this evil prank. He knew something horrible had happened, a kidnapping perhaps, and thought that perhaps the thieves had left this…thing in his father‘s place. He could not bear to think of any other explanation. Yet he knew that the statue was too perfect a likeness…too real…. Around the carriage the two horses stood and gazed into space with their large, unseeing eyes. He touched their flesh, and it was cold and stiff. They stared through him, as though he wasn‘t there, and yet they had not fallen down in a heap. They were dead, but standing up, still yoked to the carriage. I do not understand! he thought desperately, tears filling his eyes. The sight of the animals made his skin crawl. It was as though the two animals were bewitched. He had never believed in magic, but he knew now that he was in the presence of something otherworldly and something profoundly evil. He walked around the carriage, his knife still at the ready, and stared into the forest, then walked a ways down the road. His own horse seemed spooked now. It was straining against its bonds and trying to get free. He walked over to Baroness and tried to soothe her, speaking in a low voice that was choked with tears. The horse continued to pull at its tether, and Blake checked it to see if the knot would hold against the large animal‘s efforts. It was secure, and so he went back into the carriage and sat for a long time, breathing in the bittersweet stench that seemed to taint the morning air with its scent. He looked into his father‘s stone eyes and he felt as though his heart was breaking. It is him, he thought, desolate. I know it is, and yet, it cannot be…. His mind turned to the Death card he had seen last night, the Reaper on horseback, and he started to sob. For a long while he sat, staring and even yelling at the gray statue of his father. He felt he had gone mad now. If it was a spell that turned his father to stone, then perhaps it could be removed as well? He‘d heard of such things; of curses and counter curses, and black and white magic. He felt about the carriage floor, but it was still quite dark on the early,

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overcast winter morning, and he could find no clues at all. No evidence, no papers, and no luggage. It had all been taken, but by whom? He knew his father traveled with a lot of money. Most rich men did when they went to the city. His father planned to put it in the bank there for safekeeping. He had his driver—who Blake assumed was involved in this, or else dead himself, but where was his body?—who was armed and should have been able protect him from thieves. What has happened here? he wondered. My God, who would do such a thing? He untied his horse and rode back to the village at a breakneck pace. All the while, he tried to tell himself that it was only a statue and a likeness of Lord Stirling. But the terrible smell in the carriage and the look of horror on the stone…thing’s face was impossible to explain. He rode to the police, sick at heart, and angrier than he had ever been before. They had not been on good terms, it was true, but he loved his father. I was so disobedient, so insolent sometimes, he thought as he rode, tears streaming down his cheeks. The villagers shuffling about in the street looked up and stared. ―My Lord, are you all right?‖ they called up to him, but he rode on in silence to where the petty constable lived. He got off of his horse and he did not even bother to tie him. He banged on the door like a lunatic, yelling for the man to open up. The petty constable, with a napkin tucked into his collar, rushed to the door and stared at him and asked, ―My God, boy, what‘s happened? Come in‖ Then, he took Blake into his warm drawing room and let him cry for several minutes. Blake, shocked insensible by trauma, cried rasping sobs as he began to tell his tale. It was so fantastical and so horrible that the petty constable could only shake his head in disbelief. ―Go there, now!‖ Blake pleaded. ―Please, go and help my father. It‘s about forty minutes on horseback. Please take a fast carriage, and weapons, and extra men, and go as fast as you can.‖ As he tried to answer all the petty constable‘s many questions, and also explain just where the carriage was, he became consumed with grief. He sat on a hard wooden chair and sobbed as though his soul had been wrenched from him. 149


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**** The petty constable called for his wife to get Blake a blanket and a glass of spirits. He was young, too young, he supposed, but nothing would calm the boy as well as some strong liquor. And then he drew on his hat and his heavy cloak, and he rode on his fastest horse out of the town. There was no time to borrow a carriage. He left the boy with his wife, and told her to call a messenger to get his mother to him as soon as possible.

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Chapter Thirty-Nine The petty constable rode out hell for leather, cracking his whip all the while. The villagers stared and whispered to each other as he passed. When he arrived at the scene, he peered into the carriage window and saw the cold likeness of Lord Stirling, and he crossed himself. **** The constable was upset. By that afternoon, the whole village was thrown into turmoil. The entire town knew that Lord Stirling had been turned to stone, right in his own carriage, right outside their safe little village. Unfortunately, villagers had wandered out after him, as he rode away on his horse, and they had seen the same frightful sight he had. Some thought it was a prank, and that bandits had kidnapped the lord himself, but most felt that black magic was at play, and that the lord was turned to stone forever. The constable had, by this time, heard every possible opinion. ―Turned him to stone and robbed him,‖ the villagers told each other as he rode back, past the crowd that amassed outside the Crown of Thorns. He had advised them to stay together there, so they would be safer. ―A sight he was, too, or so I‘m told…his mouth hangin‘ open, his hands clutchin‘ a knife…looked as though he was screamin‘ when the spell hit ‗im,‖ the barmaid bellowed, her face white as parchment. All of them, including himself, wondered who could have done such a thing, and why. This was no ordinary magic, to freeze a lord into a statue. This was the blackest possible magic, and they had never seen the like. And he must find the answers.

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**** Jane waited for Blake, but he did not come, and so she made some nice soup for the Cupid for his lunch, and then she sat and watched the light rainfall. It was no longer pouring, but perhaps he felt the weather was too poor to venture out in. It was three in the afternoon now, and in a few hours, she‘d have to go back to the pub, despondent, and deal with a thousand questions and sly comments about the young man she loved so well. She bent her head and wished she did not have to go. Just this once, they could stay here, where it was warm and safe, and she could avoid the drunken pawings of the older men and the silly, petty requests of the young girls who must know if they would have new gowns for spring, or have to make do with their old dresses. Jane wished for a moment she had her crown with her or her book of sonnets. She had nothing of the past, and the present was a muddle, and the future seemed to turn bright, then bleak, by turns. ―We should go soon, Jane,‖ the Cupid told her quietly. ―We should go to the pub…‖ ―It‘s much too early!‖ she protested. ―I don‘t see why we have to go at all. Why can‘t you get us some money with all of your magic, anyway?‖ she snapped, her voice petulant. In all the time she‘d known the Cupid, she knew she‘d never mentioned his powers so openly or talked back in this way, but she wasn‘t sorry. Blake is changing me, she thought. I’m tiring of the Cupid, though I love him well. I’m tiring of his tricks and of all his mysterious plans. ―Why don‘t you try your own magic?‖ he had answered lightly, teasing her. ―I have none...only under the water…and I do not go below the Emerald Sea anymore!‖ she cried. She ran out of the kitchen, into their bedroom, and slammed the door. **** The Cupid knew she had other power, but that she was too strange to herself to find it. Sometimes it appeared suddenly when she was telling 152


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fortunes. He could almost see the change in her when her hands started to shuffle the cards. It looked as though she was in a trance. Then, he would not need to whisper to her. She would speak on her own and tell people what was to happen, and it always did seem to happen. This was rare, this trancelike state of Jane‘s, but it had happened more lately. Afterward, she never remembered that he had not fed her the words, and he did not venture to share that information. In time, she would adjust to what she was, much as he had to, cursed being that he was. Jane, he mused darkly, we are not human, you know. We only playact at it. You must come to understand this before you can accept the truth and control your power. To placate the girl, he toddled to the bedroom and told her to rest. They would go in to the Crown of Thorns at the usual time. He did not continue to banter with her, for she was close to rage, and she was clearly not herself. He never answered her questions about making money. There was nothing to say. He couldn‘t make money, and that was that. If he could have, he would have done it long ago, but they made more than enough to live on from their work. Although, he was sure it did get tiring for a girl so young to have no pleasure or schooling. Only nights spent with drunken folk and barmaids. The girl moped all afternoon, occasionally wandering about the farmhouse, then glaring at the Cupid, as though it was his fault that the boy did not come. But she still pulled on her best dress, just in case, and braided her hair as well as possible, too proud to ask for help from him, whose fingers were surprisingly adept at such things sometimes. He let her be, knowing she was volatile. He ached to get to the pub, for he felt something had happened, and there was no way of knowing what unless they were in town. He sat and thought, meditating on the visions he had seen, and he tried to make a plan, but that was difficult as the enemy was as yet invisible, and might be only a figment of his imagination.

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Chapter Forty The constable called a meeting in the square that night to discuss the death—or bewitching—of Lord Stirling. The townsfolk were in a panic and the petty constable, who was responsible for the safety and well being of the people, needed to quell the many wild rumors that were growing more fantastical over the course of the day. He would tell the people the facts and see if anyone might know anything. He would also keep his eyes and ears open for anything unusual, any suspicious behaviour that might indicate some knowledge of the crime. He knew the people in the Crown of Thorns would all be there, but there were other villagers who seldom visited the pub, so he posted notices near all the main shops on the square, and he made sure that the teetotalers of the village—few though they were—would also be aware of the meeting. He told his wife, who had spent the morning and early afternoon at the Stirling estate helping the bereaved mother and son, to spread the word to the servants there, and anyone else she might come across. He hoped for a solid turnout so that he could examine and question the people. Already, word had spread to other villages, and the roads were deserted as people grew afraid to ride in carriages or travel the main road. Soon, it would be difficult to get supplies, and trade would suffer. Witchcraft was real to the people, although the petty constable usually set no store in it. He wracked his brain to find some other explanation of the strange events, but he had to admit, if only to himself, that this was difficult to explain away without resorting to thoughts of hexes and spells. The petty constable crossed himself as he went about the business of the day. He also made sure the statue of Lord Stirling was locked away 154


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where no one would find it. Another, more experienced constable from Allanshire was scheduled to come and help him investigate the case, and the petty constable did not welcome this sort of interference, but the Lord was so highly placed in the community that he had no choice but to listen to his superiors and accept the help that was offered to him. Blake had written a letter to his father‘s friend in the city and he‘d sent this hastily scrawled missive off with a horseman that morning. In the afternoon, they received word that help from the city would be arriving the next day. The constable supposed that Blake only wanted to let his father‘s friend know that his father would not be coming and that something dreadful had happened. The young man had no guile, it seemed. But still, the petty constable must look at him with a jaundiced eye, for who had more to gain from the death of his father? The whole town was aware that the boy went his own way and did not wish to follow in his father‘s footsteps. They all knew he wished to act on the stage and write poetry and all of that silliness. Chances were, the father had been terribly disapproving of it all. Lord Stirling was, in the petty constable‘s estimation, a solid, respectable man. Not well liked, perhaps, but neither was he hated. He could not think who would do this unless they had some quarrel with him. The crime was so bizarre and so vicious that it seemed more than a simple robbery. It was an act of vengeance brought down from the Devil himself. And yet, the money was gone, all of it…and so it was a robbery. Lady Stirling had told the petty constable that this morning when he had dropped off his wife to look after them. ―How much was there?‖ he had asked, watching the woman struggle to control her tears and her grief. She was a beautiful woman, Lady Stirling. A little careworn, perhaps, but still slim and lovely in a creamcolored dress that set off her caramel hair, which was piled up becomingly. Her brown eyes were red from crying, and her face had some of the inevitable tracings that a woman of fifty always bore, but she was

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still soft and feminine, and it he found it heartbreaking that she should suffer this way. She carried herself with as much dignity as she could, answering his questions in a small voice that shook only a little. She closed her eyes now and then, as though her shock and pain were felt sharply, again and again, and sometimes she looked as though she might faint, but she did not. ―There was a lot—all the taking of the farms for three months, and the rents on the tenancies around the estate. I don‘t know the amount, but it was a lot of money to take to the city. He planned to take it to a bank he trusted, and he thought his horseman was faithful and strong and well able to take on any bandits.‖ She shook her head. ―Deerfield, where is he?‖ she muttered, referring to their loyal driver, and then she looked into the petty constable‘s eyes with worry. ―We don‘t know,‖ he said, unwilling to share with her the painful fact that all the tracks in the snow had been lost to the rain of the early morning. Some indents remained in the melting snow and ice, but it was not enough to say what had happened or where Deerfield might be. ―Oh,‖ Lady Stirling sighed. ―I do hope you know he was a good man, loyal for years and years. I don‘t think he could do this…it is too vile, like black magic. It is the work of the Devil, I‘m sure…‖ ―It remains to be seen who has done what. At this stage we cannot rule out anything, or anyone, as a suspect.‖ He thought he sounded harsh, so he lowered and gentled his voice as he went on. ―There are many who believe this is witchcraft. I must admit, I have never, in all my years, where most anything happened…I have never seen the like of this, and it does turn one‘s mind to black magic…‖ He looked down at his polished black boots and tried not to think about the terrible, terrible sight…that poor man, screaming silently inside a prison of stone. ―No…it is the dark arts, I know it is.‖ She started to cry, and he patted her arm ineffectually. He had little idea how to comfort a woman like this, dressed in stiff satins… a woman of such high birth. ―Does your husband have any enemies that might conspire against him? Anyone with a questionable background or some connection to 156


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witches and their ilk?‖ he asked, wishing he could simply leave the poor woman alone. Her grief seemed as real and deep as her son‘s, and though he would never rule out their complicity in the crime, in his heart he was certain both of them were innocent. ―No…no…he knows so many people, and they all think well of him. He was harsh at times, but he was a good man, and he looked after his staff. He was not generous or warm with them, but he was fair, and he rewarded their loyalty. Like with Deerfield, helping him find a cottage on the estate when he married…and throwing a fine banquet for his wedding right here in the dining room.‖ She was whispering now, her voice growing softer with despair the longer she talked. ―Deerfield‘s wife is huge with child, she is supposed to deliver this month,‖ she said sadly. The petty constable felt he had prolonged the interview as long as he could. No doubt, the city police would be visiting her, as well. He had already questioned the boy, so he took his leave of the family, offering condolences that were sincere and heartfelt. He left his wife there to care for the distraught woman, for the son was prostrate with grief, and the servants were terrified. Tonight, he would tell the villagers the truth, and then he would watch and wait. For who, or what, he did not know. He would call back his wife beforehand so that she could help him do what he must do. He had a sudden longing to run back in the house and hug her, as shrill and pious as she was. For no one could say for sure what would happen in life, or when it could end, and he was lucky to have her, and to be alive.

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Chapter Forty-One Liesel had started the journey to Lynnshire, and she was comfortable in the rented carriage, which was not as fancy as the Lord‘s, but still suited her well. She knew the ride would be quick, and she wondered if she was moving too fast by heading into town so soon after her crime. That fool of a driver at loose somewhere, but hopefully dead at this point, for who could find there way home, blind, on such a freezing night? There were risks to be taken, that was certain, and she was taking them…one at a time. She was meeting all challenges and putting her faith in the Goddess Hecate. The one who had laughed so cruelly at her. Even though she had been mocked, she knew the Goddess of the Underworld was on her side. She had felt her assistance as she cast her spells and watched her poison powder dance and sparkle in the night. Never before had it been thus with her magic. Never had it taken on this intensity. She felt the presence of Hecate all around her, supporting her, and it gave her courage that was steadfast and strong. Until that fateful day that Liesel dreaded, the day she must go to the Crossroads, and never go anywhere else ever again, Hecate would be her friend of a sort. She would help her to rob, to kill, and to deceive. But would she help her with the finer things, the sweeter things, that she longed for? Inside of her heart, she wanted the young man, so golden and pure and sweet…as much as she wanted to punish the girl in order to hurt Minerva. Hecate will not help me with him, she thought sadly. That lies not in her domain. That is the province of Venus alone. But Liesel would try with all her love potions that she had used to bewitch indifferent villagers, and with all of her rouges and creams and 158


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her rich velvets. She would try. She remembered the men in the city who had smiled so wide at her, when she was painted. Perhaps she was really pretty, then. She could make the boy smile at her, too, if she was lucky enough. A boy like that would have his pick of girls, and she would need to offer something extra, something the others would not give. She would find a way to do it, with or without Hecate. And, if he did refuse, or paid her no mind, she couldn‘t say for sure just what she would do. Just the thought of his rejection made her feel almost mad with rage and frustration. She sat still as the carriage moved toward town. It was a couple of hours ride, but she, on second thought earlier in the day, had the driver stop at an alehouse along the route, and spend a few hours with her, lunching well and sampling the wine and ales. She let him feast and drink, and then she had him wait until he was well sobered up again and full of tea and cakes before he was permitted to take the reins again. She must time her entrance, she knew. It was late afternoon before the long lunch ended and they moved toward the village once more. The driver, who now thought she was a right bonny lassie, and a generous one, too, smiled as he drove the horses. He was no longer drunk, but he had eaten and drank so well that it was only the cold air and the light rainfall that kept him awake at all. She watched him carefully though the paneled window in case he did nod off while he drove. So the carriage went forward, and the village drew closer. They arrived just at nightfall, and avidly, Liesel looked at everything, and stared boldly into every face as she searched for the one she wanted to see. The town was surprisingly active for a rainy, busy night. Strange, suspicious looks were directed at them as people passed by their carriage. They looked unfriendly, and she felt unwelcome, but that was how small towns were. They were always the same! She would use her charm—and buy their friendship if necessary—in order to fit in for the short time that she would be there. She smiled warmly at the people who stared into her carriage, but they only stared at 159


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her, loudly talking amongst themselves, asking each other if she had come because of what happened to Lord Stirling. Was she a relative of his come to mourn him? She looked rich, that was sure. They babbled as she listened. Liesel had the driver stop near the Crown of Thorns. She walked in, her fancy gown trailing in the sawdust upon the floorboards. She held head held high. Now the play will begin, she thought, and she smoothed her hair gracefully with a gloved hand as she smiled a regal smile at the people who sat and stared at her with naked curiosity. She hoped her rouge was still intact, for it had been a long drive. The pub was crowded, and she walked through the room as proudly as she could, resplendent in all of her finery. All the ladies in the city had carried themselves in this manner. Their heads were always tilted back, and their spines were ramrod straight. The room grew quiet was she walked to the barmaid. People watched her warily, noticing her fine gown of velvet with lace and her shining, dark brown hair. She mimicked the high, silly voices of the ladies in the city, and asked if there were a couple of rooms she could take for the night. She was immediately shown to the best room upstairs, and then she booked another, smaller room for her driver, who was settling in for a few drinks with the townspeople. She went back down to the pub and ordered him to bring her all her things at once. She must rest for a few minutes, and then she would hide her things. All of a sudden, she felt tired and worn. She ordered the driver to hurry and pull her heavy trunk up the stairs, step by step. ―Put it by the foot of the bed,‖ she snapped, and she did not smile at him anymore. He should not have had to be asked to get her things, and she was tired. ―Yes, m‘lady,‖ he said, a bit mockingly, she thought, for he was partway drunk now. She sneered at his tone. ―Will that be all?‖ he asked, a bit more respectfully. ―No, there is one more thing. I noticed the signs on the stores in town…about a meeting…about the death of a lord. Do you know what the 160


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people are saying about this?‖ She stared at him intensely, as though to read his mind. He sounded uneasy as he answered her. ―I have heard that a lord here, Stirling I believe, was found in his carriage…turned to stone. The people here are certain it is black magic, and so the petty constable has called a meeting in the town‘s center in an hour to talk of the situation. This was all people were talking about downstairs, my lady, and I‘m a bit worried, you see, because I have to ride alone tomorrow through the town, and all along the dark winter roads.‖ ―Don‘t worry, you‘ll be safe,‖ she said hastily to reassure him. He appeared unconvinced. She dug in her pockets and then placed a coin in his palm. ―You must go back tomorrow at first light, for I have many things to do here, and I need to do them alone.‖ She gestured at the door, and he walked out, looking angry at her curt dismissal. He closed the door hard and she heard his trudging footsteps as he walked back downstairs. It will do me no harm, Liesel mused as he left, if the villagers hear I am haughty and cold. I am a lady, and that is how ladies are with their inferiors. It will keep them at a distance, perhaps, all those gossiping folk downstairs, and give me space to plan and time to think. She would not go to the meeting, though she longed to. It was too dangerous. She unpacked her things, and though she longed for a glass of ale and a hot dinner, she stayed in her room, counting her money and placing her secret things in hiding places and binding them with spells. She was especially careful to hide her potions and powders with black magic. This was no time to be suspected of witchcraft. Though the villagers used oracles and crones to see into the future, they would quickly turn on them at the first sign of trouble. She knew that from her own experience. She‘d seen that the lord‘s carriage was gone when she and her driver had passed that point on the road. She had memorized the tree she had hidden behind, and marked its surface with a scratch of her dagger. She knew all was out in the open. She wondered again about the blind driver 161


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and whether or not he was still alive. She tried not to worry too much about it, but fatigue unnerved her a little. She lay down on her bed in a fresh new nightgown of crisp white cotton, and she tried to wash off her rouge with the jug of water by the bed and a wet piece of flannel. Feeling exhausted, she thought tomorrow she would rest for a while, and then find lodging that better reflected her position and status. She must be certain to find a quiet place where she could work her spells and make her things away from all of the prying eyes of the town. She had hoped to see Blake tonight, but she was not sure the time was right. Liesel was not used to being with others so much. She had lived a solitary life, and she found it wearing having all of these new people to worry about. But she had often been lonely in her cave, and she had spent much of her time thinking back to her youth when she had loved a boy and he had loved her. He had died of pneumonia before they could marry, and after that time she started to learn about magic so that she could heal others, but her bitterness and her greed had turned her from a healing woman to a witch. The years had been lonely, and she had isolated herself more and more, but she never forgot her happiness with her fiancé. As she went deeper into the black arts, she grew shriveled and old, old before her time, and when she glanced in the looking glass, she knew there would be no more love for her…not ever…for men only loved the women who resembled pretty little dolls. Her crystal ball was her most important possession. She had stolen it from the cave of another oracle—one of great power and vision—when she had died. It was not hers to take, but she had stuffed it in her cloak, and ran to her own home. She had not even called for someone to take the old woman away for burial. She had visited the cave to ask for advice, and instead, she had found the old crone dead and alone by the small fire, which had also been dying.

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―That‘s what will happen to me,‖ she had whispered, seeing the old woman‘s frail body curled up near the embers like a beggar. ―I am all alone, as she was. All that awaits me is a lonely death in a cold cave with only the flickering flames to look into as I pass.‖ No one will care, she had thought angrily, and then she had grabbed the ball from its pedestal in the center of the room, staring back at the entrance as she did so, to see that no one else had come. She‘d felt her palm grow burning hot as she held the ball, but she had not let go. She knew it was bewitched so that no one could take it. It must grow used to its new mistress, she had thought, her hand throbbing, and in time, it had grown used to her. It began to show her things that increased her power and made her more money. She stroked the ball now, in her bed at the Crown of Thorns, waiting for something, anything…but the ball only grew cloudy inside, as though it was filled with curling smoke from a chimney, and then its center went dead black. She was too tired to try again, and so she hid the ball and curled up under sheets that were only rough cotton—but clean—and her pillow felt cool and soft against her cheek. She fell asleep instantly, and when she did, the ball lit up for a few moments in the darkness, and the face of Hecate seemed to stare out into the room and glance around curiously. Then it disappeared as quickly as it had come...

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Chapter Forty-Two The Cupid and Jane walked into the Crown of Thorns at the usual time. The pub was noisier than usual, and there was a strange tension in the air, which the Cupid said he could feel as soon as he entered. Jane also felt the strangeness of the night, but she was so preoccupied with her own problems, and with Blake, that she paid little attention. The barmaid drew the two into a corner. She looked half mad with fear. She told them everything that had happened. Jane‘s eyes filled with tears as she heard the story. She remembered the terrible moment when the Death card had rested on the top of the deck, where she and Blake looked at it together, and then looked away. It’s come true, Jane thought in horror. All of it has, and now Lord Stirling is turned to stone in his own fine carriage, and Blake…my poor, dear Blake…how he must mourn his father… The Cupid cuddled against Jane, who stroked his hair out of habit. The barmaid went away to tend to her customers and Jane sat with her tiny companion in shocked silence. Jane was unable to stop her tears from flowing, and the little boy could not comfort her…not here… The Cupid whispered to her that he felt a sense of menace in the room, some doom brewing all around him. He said he sensed some darkness that seemed to float through the air and poison it, changing everyone it touched. The villagers looked frightened, wary, and angry. He told her that he thought it was a bad idea to stay here for a moment longer, or to attend the town meeting. Jane knew there would be no fortune telling tonight. A couple of the girls who had been there last night as she chatted with Blake now looked askance at her. They were still jealous of her and the way the young man had looked at her. 164


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―Some fortune teller…‖one of them hissed, loudly enough for many to hear. There was a ripple of cynical laughter at their table as the girls stared at Jane. Their eyes were sly and cold. Jane felt pain in her heart because she knew she had failed Blake. She could have seen, but she chose not to. The girls did not really bother her. She had seen them treat others in this way before, and now it was her turn. She smiled at them, as warmly as she could, refusing to engage with them. They just looked away and whispered among themselves. The Cupid grabbed her hand and pulled on it. ―We must go. It‘s dangerous here,‖ he whispered feverishly. ―I want to go to the meeting. I want to see him,‖ Jane pleaded, trying to keep her voice low so that no one should hear. ―He won‘t want to see you, not tonight,‖ the Cupid declared. ―Best to wait a while.‖ ―Please…please, I don‘t want to go!‖ she begged, but he was insistent. He looked into her eyes, and his own were more serious than she had ever seen them. ―Get up and walk toward the door, Jane,‖ he whispered. ―Pick me up and carry me out of here. Do it right now!‖ She stood up, unable, as always, to resist him when he was adamant. But she was upset and didn‘t want to go. She waved goodbye to the barmaid and scurried away. Jane and the Cupid walked home, talking to one another as soon as it was safe to do so. ―We may have to leave here soon,‖ the Cupid said suddenly as they discussed the Lord‘s death. Both were certain he was dead and gone, and not merely kidnapped. ―Yes,‖ Jane said, dying inside. ―I know, I…felt it, too. Those girls in there, they thought I should have known. They will all be against us soon, I think.‖ I did know, she said to herself. Not every detail, but something…and I shut it out of my mind, and I dismissed it.

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―There is something else, too, Jane…something I kept from you.‖ He looked down at the dirt path they walked, unwilling to meet her eyes. ―Yes?‖ she said, waiting. ―The Death card, in your deck last night…was not supposed to be there at all. I…had a bad feeling about the night, and so I took the card out and I hid it in our room under my clothes,‖ he said in a hushed voice. ―There was no Death card in the pack you used that night. Someone put it there, I think by magic…‖ She believed him. Something was here, something dark and terrible, and it had started last night. It had been the loveliest night of her life, but it had all been a dream, it seemed now. A mere vision, unable to sustain itself under the glare of sunlight. All my love and my kisses are filthy now, she thought, forlorn. They are stained with Death and black magic. She had rarely felt sadder in her life. It reminded her of drifting on the Emerald Sea with no hope and no destination. She only wished to lie in bed, and sleep and sleep and never wake up again. ―Cupid?‖ she asked as they drew near the farmhouse. ―Yes, Jane?‖ he said vaguely, lost in his own thoughts. ―Have you…changed…since that night on the raft?‖ She watched his eyes. He had kept the Death card from her and he had kept secrets. She felt she no longer knew him as she once had, and this plunged her deeper into misery for he was her only, only friend. ―Yes,‖ he said flatly. ―Yes, I did, and someone saw me, too. Someone saw me flying through the village, much too low, in the dead of night.‖ ―Dear God,‖ Jane said. ―Who do you think it was? They must be magical, too, then?‖ She didn‘t scold him, for she remembered the euphoria on his face when he was aloft, and it reminded her of her first journey into the center of the sea. Sometimes, when faced with such joy, it was impossible to remember the other world, the real world, or even to care about it. ―A woman, maybe,‖ he said. ―But it was pitch dark, and I am guessing. It‘s just a feeling, I suppose, but I think this person was female.‖ 166


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―Hmmm…‖ Jane said. ―Yes, I think we must go now, but not right away. It would be too suspicious. In a couple of days, we shall go in the night, and hopefully, by then the petty constable will have found the person who killed or hexed Lord Stirling.‖ Although, she was doubtful. And I need to say goodbye, she thought in despair. I need to assure him that I love him. I want to see his face once more, or I will die of heartache. **** The Cupid made sure Jane locked the farmhouse tight, and he had her pull his bed over near the door. He hugged his arrow close as she slept fitfully. He was wrong to keep her here so long, and now…someone was playing with them. someone was using black magic, and he was certain that it had something to do with Jane, who slept on the other side of the room, her pillow soaked with tears. Perhaps I was wrong, he thought, bewildered. Perhaps I am here to protect her. Maybe that is my destiny. Everything was becoming clearer. She‘d appeared in desperate need on the island, and he had been there. He had been able to take her to safety. She was not there for me. As he had so arrogantly believed. I was there for her. Even the night he‘d hit Blake with the arrow took on a different character in his mind now. Perhaps he is meant to protect her, too. Maybe everything I do, all I have done, is for her protection. But why?

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Chapter Forty-Three The two changed their mind the next morning and decided to leave right away. Both of them felt the strange fear again, even stronger than it had been the day before. They packed what Jane could carry and, with great sadness, they left behind all the special little things they had managed to collect over time. They headed through the wet fields away from Lynnshire, until their boots were soaked and freezing, and the Cupid wished he could control his power and his changing so that they could fly away. Though the Cupid never felt the cold like Jane did, his heart ached at her misery. They didn‘t know where they should go, and it was raining again, making Jane long for the warmth and comfort she had once found below the Emerald Sea. Whenever it rained, he could see her desire burn under her skin, irritating her. There was no point in crying. They had to leave. Both of them felt it, and both of them agreed. Jane had woken up in terror, sweating and screaming, and the Cupid had come to her and held onto her until she calmed down again To Jane, the Cupid seemed different now. The coldness in his eyes seemed to have disappeared. In his honesty the night before, he seemed to lose some of his aloofness. She looked into his eyes now and saw someone real, not only a creature, though she supposed they both were strange beings indeed. But she had never seen his blue-gray eyes so warm. We are in this together, she thought as they walked and walked. Jane could not shake the sense of terror and darkness that hung in the air. She felt as though the Devil was crawling on her…as though she was 168


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being watched and examined as she moved through the woods with her companion. The Cupid had the same feeling, and so they often glanced around nervously as they trudged onward, going faster all the time. ―We must get away from here,‖ Cupid said. And so they did, scurrying further from harm, and hurrying away from this place that had been a sort of makeshift home for them. Where they would end up, neither knew.

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Chapter Forty-Four Liesel sat up in her bed. Suddenly, she was wide awake. She thought she had heard a door slam. She listened intently, but no other noises came. Still, she could not get the sound out of her head. It was the sound of a great door slamming with all of its force. She reached up and touched her face, as she did every morning upon awakening. Another day, she sighed, relieved, feeling the supple skin of youth against her fingertips…and she lay back in her warm bed, luxuriating in her young body as she also did each and every morning. Today she would find the boy. All the rest could wait. She rose and spread out all her fine silks and lace, wondering what colors to wear and rubbing rouge into her pale cheeks in front of the small looking glass she had bought for just such a purpose. She dabbed her lips with the deep, rosy stain and smiled at her own reflection. She pulled her chin out to make it look more defined, but she could not keep it like that. She scowled into the mirror for just a moment. This wasn‘t the sort of face she had asked for! She still felt enraged because she was not beautiful, and her old rage at Minerva burned through her body again. She felt the urge to throw the mirror against the wall and listen to the satisfying crashing sound it would make as it was destroyed. She threw herself on the bed, face down, and sobbed for a moment. How could she win him like this? Then, she picked herself up and dressed quietly in the half-light, chanting powerful love spells into the silence. She would use magic on the boy. There was no other way. She‘d seen the pretty girls in the pub last night, and she knew she did not look as good as they did.

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It will be magic, she thought. Now, as always…magic, my only companion, and my only friend. **** Minerva had postponed her journey to Lynnshire for a day or two. First, she wished to go to the ancient Temple at Delphi and to consult with the greatest oracle in all the worlds…the Pythia. The Pythia was a priestess of Apollo, and her advice was often cryptic and cloaked in riddles that would leave visitors frustrated and confused. Minerva was sure she could make sense of whatever she was told. She felt that she was more than a match for the Pythia, and she knew at least that this oracle was trustworthy and fair. She had never been to Delphi for this purpose, but she had gone there before in pilgrimage and she loved the place for it was steeped in magic and history. Though many believed the Roman gods and goddesses were but a creation of mankind, of course, she knew differently, and so the Delphi was sacred to her. When the Church had come, and decreed the sacred truth of Delphi, the gods had been angry. They had left the humans to their new beliefs, operating behind the scenes to ensure that the world was not dragged into chaos. But bitterness remained, for how could humankind fail to recognize the assistance and love that the gods and goddesses had contributed to men, women and children during their journeys through life and into the Afterworld? Gods like Neptune had descended into disdain for human beings, but Minerva was not so angry. She understood that most humans had no direct contact with their deities, and that they tended to believe what seemed most logical to them. If they didn‘t meet the gods, or feel their spirits, then how could they believe? She always tried to assist the worthy in their pursuit of wisdom, rewarding the most truth-seeking writers and poets with flashes of truth and brilliance that were transcendent. If one was human and tried to look 171


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beyond the veil of the two worlds to see the truth, Minerva would be likely to find that person and give them their reward. She would also make sure that Jupiter and other gods became aware of the truth-seeker and revered him or her. In this way, she attempted to restore balance and mend the troubled relations between god and human being. In a sense, Minerva saw this as her true purpose and, if she was honest, she had to admit that humankind fascinated her. She studied them scientifically, recording her findings and reporting them at council. She was a friend to the people, though only a handful had ever had a direct encounter with her, and none at all, except the old witch, ever knew who she really was. She realized the witch must have had some ability to see through the veils, and this worried her. She must get a straight answer from the Pythia so that she could deal with this old woman before it was too late. She postponed her arrival in the village for this reason, and now, she was at Delphi, waiting…waiting for the Pythia.

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Chapter Forty-Five The afternoon was bathed in golden sunlight. Minerva‘s skin warmed and her spirits rose in expectation as she took in the splendor of Delphi. It is the most beautiful place I have ever seen on this earth, Minerva thought in wonder. I had almost forgotten the majesty of this place, as though the different worlds blend together here like paints on a canvas, bleeding one into another and creating different colors that could not otherwise exist. Delphi was so close to the Sky Gods. The magic and truth of the universe was so strong in this place. She felt she could reach up and touch the Sunlit Cloud if she wanted to. She stood at the heart of the sacred realm, looking up at the mountains that flanked the ancient temple, admiring the endless stone steps that were pink and gray in the noonday sun. The sky was such a deep blue that it reminded her of Neptune‘s azure eyes. Minerva felt dizzy for a moment, as though the universe was upsidedown, and so she sat down on one of the steps to steady herself. She closed her eyes for a moment, shutting out the sweeping beauty of Delphi. So many have come here and left disappointed, she thought as she took a drink from the small silver jug that she wore on a long leather cord about her waist. In worse confusion than before they set out. I am the Goddess of Wisdom, but perhaps I too shall be denied understanding… Determined once more, she opened her eyes wide, and looked around. The temple was deserted. No Oracle waited avidly to hear her case. She sat and prayed, meditating on Mount Parnassus and upon the clouds above. She began to count the steps of the temple, one by one, until she entered a sort of trance where she was halfway between one world and the 173


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other. Night was beginning to descend on the Delphi now, but she was unseeing, neither asleep nor awake. Her mind was turning in the air like a falcon, like a messenger bird desperate to fly home, to deliver its vital message. **** The Pythia had been there all along. But, until now, the Goddess of Wisdom had been unprepared for their meeting. The great oracle waited for Minerva. She needed the brilliant goddess to release her ties to Earth and even to the gods. She waited until Minerva went deep inside her own spirit where the Pythia traveled. For the Pythia could not be touched, and she could not be seen…and yet she was there, always, waiting to be found, but only by some… To those courageous souls who would risk madness to see the truth they sought, she would appear. **** Minerva saw the woman and cried out to her. Then, the Goddess of Wisdom walked across the temple floor to where the Pythia sat, and she bowed before her. Never before had the goddess bowed to anyone…but here, inside her spirit, she was but a disciple of the Oracle Pythia. Minerva made out the shape of the mouth of the cave. This was where the Pythia sat so serenely, her eyes gazing into the distant twilight. She moved toward the sienna stones, turned almost black by the darkness of sundown. She heard the murmuring of the Oracle, and something else too…a hissing…that frightened her even as she continued to move forward into the blackness. ―Are you there?‖ Minerva whispered, but she knew not if she spoke aloud, or simply thought the words. It did not matter much which it really was. ―Oh, yes,‖ the Pythia answered. Minerva thought she could hear a smile in her voice. ―I am always here, and I have always been here.‖ The 174


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hissing grew louder and Minerva looked down at the cold ground and spied a long, sleek serpent twisting about the oracle‘s bare feet. ―Do not be afraid,‖ the Pythia said, ―for the serpent senses fear, and he will not speak to me if you are afraid.‖ Minerva caught her breath and stared down at the snake, and she attempted to do as she was told, meditating to calm her own spirit. ―Good, good,‖ the oracle murmured. ―You are brave and wise. I think he shall talk to us now.‖ The snake grew agitated, coiling itself around the feet of both the women, who stood close together. Minerva felt the icy flesh of the snake, like cold leather, against her sandals. She steeled herself, for how could a serpent harm a daughter of Jupiter? ―Don‘t think like that!‖ the Pythia snapped. ―He can harm you if he wishes. You are nothing to him, and his power transcends your position and status. He is not what he seems, goddess!‖ The oracle reached down and stroked the snake lovingly, caressing its contours, chanting in a language Minerva could not understand. ―Yes, I am sorry,‖ Minerva said, chastened. ―I am but another seeker, and I mean no harm or disrespect.‖ ―That is good,‖ the snake answered in the same language, but now Minerva could understand the words. ―We shall begin, then…be silent and wait, for time is short, and I see much danger… and I see war, a grand war with many victims and many heroes.‖ The serpent twisted into a circle and went around and around, faster and faster, on the cold stone. ―The time is nigh,‖ the serpent continued. ―The battle between the sky and the sea and the underworld is growing close. The girl and the boy are the keys, and they are in grave peril.‖ Minerva held herself silent, following the snake‘s instructions…waiting and listening. The Great War was something all of the gods had discussed. It seemed inevitable that such a day should come. There was great hatred and competition between Jupiter and his brother, 175


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Pluto, and great dissent over the power that each world held, and which was greater. ―The girl has power, great power. She is the link between human and god…the purest link, and this gives her great power. She is the keystone, and she waits…with the son of another goddess, and she does not know what part she will play. Pluto knows of her, through Hecate, who saw the old witch you visited and claimed her soul.‖ Pythia moaned. The snake was wrapped tightly around her legs now, and she seemed to be in pain. Soon, though, she fell silent again and began to speak, taking up where the serpent had left off. ―Hecate…is evil,‖ she said. ―Hecate has set the Great War in motion, quite intentionally, and she will pay for this, perhaps. I cannot see the outcome.‖ The snake squeezed the oracle until she gasped with pain. ―It is cloudy. It is not decided. Look to the forest by Lynnshire. Look to the skies at night.‖ The Pythia‘s voice grew rough and choked, as though she could barely breathe. ―Go not into the village, for there the witch waits, but you shall not know her until she comes for you. ―I see Death, end upon end, first the father, and then the son…if she succeeds…it is in her to succeed. Pluto pushes her forward, and he is so strong. Look to the skies, the skies at night, and you will have your answer. Do not take on the witch until you look into the night sky and see what you must see…it is too dangerous.‖ The cave was suddenly flooded with a bright light, and Minerva lost consciousness. When she opened her eyes, the sun was rising over the Delphi, igniting the dawn sky. Minerva looked to the mouth of the cave where the clouds were streaked with pastel light, and then she glanced around her. Once again, she was completely alone. She looked down at her forearm where two puncture marks marred her smooth flesh. The serpent had tasted her blood; she did not know when. She saw something else on her skin, a faint, almost invisible pattern in the shape of an ornate L. She stared at it, unable to make any sense of it as a symbol. Lynnshire? She wondered idly. Her head ached.

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Minerva felt tired and unwell, and she fell into a deep sleep as the sun rose. Its heat warmed her frozen limbs. She slept until high noon, dreamless and at peace, and then she woke and made for the forest. No marks remained on her skin as she harnessed her power and prepared to travel through the worlds and across the skies. The bite marks were healed, if ever they were truly there at all. The L remained only as an image in her mind, something to think upon as she did her work. Its puzzle will all come clear in time, she knew. If only I am wise enough to make it so.

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Chapter Forty-Six Blake sat on a bench in the town square, talking to no one. The night was dark and rainy and cold. His eyes were almost swollen shut from crying, and his mother would not attend this meeting and hold his hand and soothe him. She was too consumed with grief to face the ordeal. He avoided the eyes of the townspeople for he wondered in his heart if the same person who had shot him with an arrow on the night of the pageant had also destroyed his father. He remembered the way no one had seemed to notice the arrow strike his side and how there had been no wound, although he felt the tingling sensations still, sometimes intensely. He knew now that it was magic, black magic, and he trusted no one. The formerly sweet and gentle boy narrowed his eyes as he listened to the petty constable explain the events of the day, and Blake felt disdain for the villagers who listened with wide eyes, greedy for all the details of his father‘s demise. They seemed to revel in his family‘s terrible misfortune. He could not see Jane or the little tot anywhere, and he wondered where they were. Surely they had heard of the situation? He wished to see Jane‘s face and to take comfort in her closeness. He had thought of going to her today, at the farmhouse, but he was too despondent to do it, and besides this, he found the little boy somewhat strange now. The way he would look into Blake‘s eyes so probingly like a person much older. He seemed to stare into his soul. The young man wondered why he had not noticed this until now. In his suspicion, he felt that no one was safe, perhaps not even the girl he loved. She, too, was involved in Tarot readings and all the rest of those dark arts, and he remembered the Death card and the way it had made him

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feel to look at it, the sense of doom that he had struggled to cast aside was simply a part of him now. The meeting didn‘t last long. The petty constable listened to the ravings of drunken servants and farmers, and to the worries of the decent, God-fearing folk who populated the town. There was little that could be done to persuade them that magic was not at play. The petty constable himself had no real explanation for what had occurred. As he himself did not… The villagers tried to console Blake, walking over to where he stood, and murmuring the expected words. But they knew his wary eyes seemed to seek out suspects, and so they did not tarry with him. They left him be, knowing his merry, outgoing nature might be gone forever. Some of those who gave their condolences worked on the estate, and they fretted within his hearing that the young lord and his mother would leave Lynnshire forever. They would lose their jobs, which were so new, and their ability to feed their families. The crevasse between Blake and the villagers was growing with every passing second, and he had no wish to mend fences or to reassure. He, himself, had thought about going back to the city, perhaps to study. Anything to be rid of this wretched place. Father, he thought sadly, I am sorry I failed you. The meeting was done now, and nothing much had been achieved. The crowd dispersed, but Blake stayed where he was. He was deep in thought, and also dreaded returning to his mother‘s tears and misery. Across the emptying square, a young lady with dark hair walked quickly toward him. He had never seen her before. She was dressed fine, as fine as he. Her navy blue cape was made of the finest serge wool, and as she came closer, he noticed her little ruby earrings that glittered in the dark. She stared into his face, and her pale blue eyes were sympathetic and kind. She asked if she might sit with him for a moment, and her voice reminded him of the city and the ladies he had met there. She is like me, he thought, cheered to speak with someone who might understand him and 179


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where he came from. Jane had let him down by failing to stand by his side when he needed her the most. She had said that she loved him, but where was she in his hour of need? ―I am Lady Brandon,‖ she said, extending a gloved hand for him to shake. ―You may call me Liesel, if you wish,‖ she added, smiling. ―Lord Stirling,‖ he answered gravely, not inclined to give his first name. They sat in silence for a moment, each seemingly lost in their own thoughts. She is not as beautiful as my Jane, he thought, then chided himself, for what should looks matter? And besides, no one in the town was as beautiful as Jane. ―I am new to the village,‖ she said quietly after a few moments has passed. **** Liesel glanced over at the boy, so handsome and so desolate. He did indeed remind her of her own lost love. The other boy had not been so perfect to look at, but he had shared the same sensitive eyes and he had the same height and build. Her heart seemed to swell with love for him as she gazed at him, quite demurely, from under her smooth, dark bangs. ―Why have you come here?‖ he replied, only out of politeness, she thought. His voice was gruff from crying. ―I have never seen you before.‖ ―I had some business here, an inheritance, and I thought I would come and make sure that everything was as it should be,‖ she said. ―I have heard what happened to you, and I am terribly sorry.‖ She watched his face as he glanced over at her. Her cheeks were rosy and full, her lips deep rose. She looked rich indeed, she was sure, and the rouge made her glow with vibrant health. Her weak chin was buried in a warm scarf, and she thought that her skin, at least, was clear and fine, although it lacked the pearly sheen of the girl she had seen in the crystal ball. Even in tears, the daughter of Neptune had seemed lit from within.

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She sensed he wanted nothing but to be alone, but this was her chance, and she must take it! ―I know how you must feel,‖ she said. ―For I lost my father, too. That is why I am here. I, too, am in grieving, though it has been some time, and I no longer wear mourning.‖ Blake also wore inky black…the color of death and black magic. She almost felt she could hear his heart break. He began to cry, as lonely and forlorn as a lost little child. Liesel grabbed his gloved hand and held it gently in her own. He let her hold his hand and comfort him, and they sat like that for a long time until it grew too cold to sit there any longer. ―I am sorry you lost your father. It is unbearable,‖ he muttered to her. He seemed embarrassed now by the way he had cried in front of her. ―Time will heal me, and you.‖ She smiled a little. ―We must have faith in God‘s plan for us.‖ ―Yes,‖ he muttered, his voice embroidered with bitterness. ―God‘s plan. I must confess, I have little faith in God any longer, for where was he when my father needed him?‖ ―I can understand you feelings,‖ she said, her voice soothing. ―I am staying at the pub there. The Crown of Thorns…and I would like to see you again, and we can comfort each other… For we are of the same sort of people, I think, and perhaps we can be friends.‖ Blake smiled weakly. ―Thank you for offering, Lady Brandon,‖ he said, ―but I‘ve not much mind for company at the moment.‖ ―That may change,‖ she said, and she reached into her pocket and handed him a little package wrapped in a handkerchief. ―This is a special loose tea,‖ she said, ―from India. It will help you sleep, for it is filled with special herbs and good things to help you heal and rest. I always keep a little in my cloak, in case I need it.‖ He took the handkerchief from her. He smelled the tea and some happiness lit up his face, just for a fleeting second. The leaves had a lavender scent. ―This smells…familiar!‖ he whispered, and Liesel smiled. My magic does not fail as of late, she thought slyly. The scent must remind him of the girl. That will make things easier.

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He put the pouch in his pocket, muttered some thanks, and set off into the night without looking back.

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Chapter Forty-Seven The house was dark when Blake‘s mother heard his key turn in the heavy lock upon the front door. She had been waiting for him, and crying, and thinking of the man she loved. The man she‘d grown apart from over time. She had loved him well, though they never really knew one another the way a married couple should. The years ahead of her seemed like a test now, a test of her strength and her ability to survive. She wanted for nothing, but she would always remember the stone face of her husband who seemed to cry out desperately for her help, and she had not been there. He had been so alone. She cried hot tears into her pillow. I have Blake, at least, she thought wearily. Thank God for that. **** Blake went into the kitchen, suddenly eager to brew a cup of Liesel‘s tea. It smelled heavenly. He wondered if it really would help him sleep. He‘d heard of such herbal potions, but he‘d never tried them. The girl had been so quiet and kind. He did not think there was any risk here. Herbs such as these were used by so many people…they weren‘t magical. He needed to forget tonight. As he poured the contents of the kettle over the leaves, the scent of lavender that was Jane’s own scent rose in the aromatic steam and soothed his soul. The kitchen was filled with its sweet perfume. Why he trusted this new girl, he did not really know. It was odd, as he trusted no one but his mother—and Jane?— but he felt he was safe drinking the brew she gave to him. He could not really say why.

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Since his mother had always been so gentle and sweet, he trusted women most of all. He supposed this was part of the reason. Men were harder for him to understand. Fathers with their judgments, doctors with their metal instruments…women had always seemed clearer and simpler and gentler, and men had never brought him much comfort or joy. Sadly, his father had always made him unhappy, but his death did not seem to hurt any less for all of that. Indeed, it seemed to make it hurt more. He walked to his room with his tea. The house was silent and dark…all the servants were asleep, or pretending to be so. Everyone was frightened, and it would be his role now to oversee them and to soothe their fears. No more would he have time to lie on his bed and recite sonnets or read plays. He was a man now, and he hated that, too. The tea was delicious. He wondered at the blending of flavors. Aside from the hint of lavender, he could not figure out what they were. As soon as he finished his mug, he lay down, still in his clothes from the day, and he fell asleep. His dreams were strange and vivid. He thought he saw the girl, Liesel, from the square, but she was like a goddess, wrapped in fine white robes, angelic and smiling. She seemed to be an angel beckoning to him, promising love and comfort. He smiled in his sleep, his cheeks flushed, and his body relaxed into a deep slumber that lasted until sunrise. The next morning he woke, feeling surprisingly rested and calm. The empty teacup had been removed. Blake scrambled up and rummaged in his coat, which a servant had hung up in his closet, to be sure the rest of the tea was still there—it was—and then he washed in the basin of hot water that the maid had left, along with his regular cup of India tea. He dressed in fresh clothes and went down to his mother and the servants, feeling stiff and formal in a tailored suit and waistcoat. He was truly a lord now, and he must act the part. In order to run the estate and the farms, which now were his, since women could not own property, he must step up to the challenges that lay ahead. He shuddered to think of his father in heaven, and the way he would disdain him if he were to lose what had been so carefully earned and built. 184


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He would make him proud, and then, when the lunch hour drew close, he would go to the farmhouse and see about Jane.

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Chapter Forty-Eight The Cupid was in the forest now with his Jane and they walked across the cold January ground, their legs aching as they trudged through uneven snow and slush. Jane had tried to carry him as much as she could, but she seemed tired, and she was also obviously caught in the blackest despair. Every few minutes, he would glance nervously behind them to be certain they were not followed. The Cupid tried to change, but it would not come. To fly them both away, perhaps back to the island, or even to the sea, where Jane could find her father again, was the simplest solution to their problems. They would do anything to escape the evil, which still seemed to hang in the very air! However, he could not change on this day. He was a little boy still. He could not change simply by wanting to, and so they walked on, and Jane would pick him up when she had the strength, and put him back down when her body cried out in protest. The worst of it was, they did not know where they were any longer, or where they were going. The forest was vast, and dense with trees. “What if we went back?” Jane asked him, desperately. ―We could go to Blake‘s house, and perhaps, in that fortress or sorts, we could be safe.‖ The Cupid told her there was no going back, and deep down, he was sure she knew this too. They could both feel the dangers of Lynnshire, and some menace that seemed to follow them like a bloodhound on the scent. Wishful thinking, he thought. That’s all it is, and she knows it. When he finally found a cave, they stopped. Perhaps they could use what they had to make a shelter for the night? Would it be safe? He poked his head inside the cave, which was freezing cold and full of sticks and rocks and snow. 186


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**** ―More caves,‖ Jane muttered angrily as she contemplated the new shelter. It reminded her of their cave on the island, truth be told, where they could wake in the morning and run to the shores of the Emerald Sea, basking in the sun and finding pretty shells in the rocky sands. Their old cave had been decorated with driftwood and flowers. This one was like a stony grave. I miss the island now, she thought as she picked up debris from the bottom of the shallow cave and thought about how she might make a barrier to the outside so that they could build a fire and warm themselves without the wind putting it out. The night was coming. They had only thin blankets and the heavy cloaks they wore. Neither would keep out the cold. It was vital that they stay here now. There was no time to hope for an abandoned cottage—that would not be safe, anyway—or a better shelter. She watched as the Cupid toddled out and bundled up some of the sticks Jane had thrown out of the mouth of the cave. He told her a few were dry and would do for a fire. He said the branches outside were all wet from the rains, and they would never dry in the icy cave. Then, he grabbed a rock and sat down on the cave floor. The cold from the stone floor rose up through his body and made him shiver. Cupid grabbed the flint he had brought and struck it with a stone over and over, his blue-gray eyes starting to glow. Jane wondered if he might change. What a help it would be to them if he did. He had told her that any repetitive movement would always trigger some small changes in him? The first branch seemed to burst into flames all at once, and all along its length. Jane watched in disbelief as the whole pile of wood sparked into flames that seemed to burn too high and too bright. ―Get back,‖ the Cupid barked at her as she came over to pull him away from the leaping flames. ―All is well.‖ He was right. The flames never smoked or grew too strong, and they never seemed to go out, though the barricade she had made at the mouth

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of the cave, out of wet branches and leaves, still let in some of the harsh winds. She huddled close to him, grateful for the warmth that seeped into their numb and frozen bodies. They ate some stale bread and dried meat, and Jane drank from a bottle of wine, though she rarely drank liquor. The wine made her warmer still, but so tired, and so she gathered the Cupid close to her, and they lay on the cold stone cave, and they wrapped themselves in their scant coverings. The fire stayed lit through that long night. Without it, they would likely have frozen to death. The fire was a gift, she thought, and a sign. The Cupid agreed with her. Jane wondered listlessly whose divine protection allowed it to burn all through the long, miserable night.

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Chapter Forty-Nine Neptune waited impatiently for news of Minerva and Jane. He knew the Goddess of Wisdom had traveled to see the oracle at Delphi, and he wondered if her power would allow her to make use of the Pythia. ―If anyone can understand those riddles, it‘s Minerva,‖ he boasted proudly to anyone who would listen. His mermaids smiled becomingly at him as he regaled them with tales of the goddess‘ intellect, beauty, and sympathetic nature. ―Neptune adores her,‖ the mermaids would whispered to one another, giggling, as they combed each other‘s hair with brushes made of coral branches, and made necklaces for the errant princess. He could only nod benevolently as he heard them gossip. After all, he was not ashamed to love someone like Minerva. He knew his mermaids longed for a queen who would bring a feminine touch to the kingdom once more. It had been so long since they had someone to serve besides Neptune himself. ―I am due at council with the other gods this week,‖ he told his brightest mermaid, who soon shared the news with the others. ―Perhaps I will see Minerva there, although something tells me she may be on a …special mission…for us.‖ He had saved this tidbit, unsure if he should share his knowledge. All the mermaids were a merry bunch, and not in the least competitive with one another, but they did gossip so much amongst themselves. ―Ooh,‖ the mermaids sighed in unison, and he smiled. ―A mission for Neptune…lucky Minerva. I wonder if she has gone to find our princess and bring her home?‖

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―I am sure she is,‖ he answered, smiling. ―Imagine how lovely it would be to have her safe with us and prepare for her wedding someday. I have dreamed of it for such a long time.‖ ―But the army…our men…it‘s all dangerous, is it not?‖ another mermaid asked. Her large, pale green eyes seemed worried. ―Minerva is the wisest of all the gods, although she lacks Jupiter‘s power,‖ he reassured her. ―I am sure she would never call out our new army unless it was necessary.‖ ―Hail to the Princess Jane,‖ Neptune cried suddenly, and the mermaids brought up her chant. ―Hail Minerva!‖ The sea creatures came and joined in the chanting, each in their own special language, and Neptune smiled at his group. In two days, he must go to the Sunlit Cloud and sit at council once more. He fervently hoped that Minerva would have succeeded in her task by then so that he would not have to explain just why she was absent from council. In all his centuries of attendance, she had never missed a council meeting, and he knew Jupiter would be furious. ―At least I‘ve repaired all the damage to those infernal fishing boats, although the mermaids are a handful.‖ But he felt guilty. He had started some trouble, indeed, and he knew it, and he had no wish for the great Sky God to find out how he had placed his beloved daughter, his favorite child, in such peril. ―Please, please, be safe,‖ he muttered as the chanting ceased and the mermaids and sea creatures returned to their normal activities. The fish blinked in greeting at they swam past, slowing down to show their respect, for how could a fish curtsy or bow to the king? The mermen continued to train according to his orders, lifting heavy stones to become stronger, and practicing their walking and running on land late at night, when most humans were sleeping. As yet, they were still awkward on land, but they were improving, and the king had to admit that this was an exciting time indeed. Though he feared the battle to come, he was also invigorated by the sense of purpose it gave him. He now had

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something to do that wasn‘t merely pleasure, which was always enjoyable, but tended to sameness after a while. His mermaids seemed to notice the new swagger of their men as they swam around them, and they smiled proudly as his army told them all stories of secret exercises on the shores. The new and vibrant spirit of the men inspired much romance and flirting among his courtiers, and this reminded him of Minerva. Neptune encouraged all the batting of eyelashes and jolly conversations, as it meant that, some months from now, there were bound to be more tiny girl and boy creatures born…and ready to serve him. Neptune had not heard from Minerva by council day, and he dressed with care in his most subdued robes and took his most utilitarian trident as well. The crown he chose was his second-string crown, and it was devoid of engravings and gemstones. He wanted to avoid attention, whereas he normally courted it any way he could. He must protect Minerva, but what could he say? He thought of telling the whole truth, but he was not sure he had the courage. Then again, Jupiter may have already used his omniscience to see where his daughter was: they were so close, after all. But Jupiter had many cares, and he had to decide on which areas to focus his gifts. Noone, not even a God such as Jupiter, could see everything at once. Neptune decided he would wait and see how the meeting went, and try to keep his head down as best he could. He floated up to the surface with a heavy heart, and raised his trident high above the water so that it pointed toward the Sunlit Cloud. In an instant, a ray of light caught the diamond set into the tip of the simple, iron scepter, and Neptune floated upward through the prism of light it created. He felt butterflies in his godly stomach as he floated up over the Emerald Sea, and he arrived at the Sunlit Cloud just in time to walk quickly into council and take his appointed seat.

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Chapter Fifty Jupiter was magnanimous on this day. He was now quite, quite in love with the Irish milkmaid he‘d begun to visit. Her influence was a softening one upon his usually fierce disposition. Her gentle voice and feminine, practical ways were fully enchanting. He spent many hours with her each week, neglecting some of his duties, but that was what happened when one fell in love with a human being. The milkmaid waited in her modest cottage for Jupiter, who came in the form of a bird, or at times, a small animal of the forest. Once it was certain they were alone, he changed into his own self, and presented the girl with stunning gifts he had selected himself. She was given jewels from India, spices from the West Indies, and the softest cottons and silks to make her dresses from. Her cheeks glowed fair pink as she hugged his godly bulk and chided him, ever so gently, in her sweet Irish brogue, for his indulgence of her. Jupiter was distracted during council. Minerva was absent, and no one could hope to emulate her effortless ability to run the meetings and set the agenda. He did the best he could with the half-finished agenda she had left for him. He was too happy to be truly angry about much of anything. ―I‘ll keep it short today,‖ he decided, thinking of the girl who milked her cows and swept her wooden floors and waited in Kerry for him to come. Everyone seemed to sparkle as they noticed the twinkle in his eye and the way he seemed in such a hurry to get the meeting started and finished. They think they are in for an easy ride this time, and perhaps they are right at that, he mused. Although, it was best to not get too overconfident when it came to the great God of The Sky. 192


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Jupiter smiled indulgently as Venus swanned in, a little late, but with her usual grace. She had not done anything that would anger Jupiter this time. At least, as far as he knew. The Birth of Venus was safe and sound in the Uffizi, and Venus had told him she simply covered it in a dark scarf when she wandered the museum late at night to drink in the beauty that was her reason for being. Neptune smiled shyly at him, and he returned the smile. He was no longer angry with his brother. Jupiter was worried about Minerva, but he could take care of that with his omniscience after council. ―Council is called to order,‖ Jupiter announced. ―Please tell me your good and bad deeds for the month, and for goodness‘ sake, be quick about it.‖ ―I have done nothing to interfere with the humans this month,‖ Venus announced proudly. ―In fact, I‘ve helped one mortal woman, who was in love with a priest and pining away, to find another, more practical, object of her affections. I gave her a little extra spark of grace and beauty this month, so that all men who met her would be enchanted, and then I let her choose the best.‖ Venus wore silver today, and her hair was braided with rose tourmaline. Jupiter had to admit that she was the epitome of desirability. ―That‘s nice, Venus,‖ Jupiter answered distractedly. How inconvenient it would be if Venus worked such spells on his little milkmaid so that all the farmers and workmen could not stay away from her. Hastily, he moved to the next order of business, not bothering to hear anyone else‘s deeds or misdeeds. ―Moving on…‖ he said, and there was, suddenly, a great feeling of…coldness…in the Sunlit Cloud. Something seemed to darken the sky, and it was not Jupiter, for he was looking around, as puzzled as everyone else. ―What the devil?‖ he muttered as Pluto walked into the Council, his ghosts trailing behind him. ―Indeed,‖ Pluto said. ―What the devil indeed?‖ He stood and faced the gods, who looked down at their folded hands. Jupiter watched as Venus closed her eyes tight and looked as though she might faint away. Pluto 193


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always brought bad luck and a sense of doom wherever he went. His gods and goddesses hated the sight of him, and it had been a long time since he had come to this place. Jupiter eyed his brother with distaste. They were alike on the surface, the same strong, bronzed features, the same natural arrogance…but there the similarities ended. His brother had been banned from council for years because he was a bully—not unlike Jupiter himself, but still—and a troublemaker, and a killer. He was always quick to scheme, and to lie, and to deny his own deeds, and even quicker to reveal the sinful deeds of the Gods of Sea and Sky that led to the deaths of citizens—often accidentally. He crowed over the gods‘ weaknesses, which only led to an increase in the number of his subjects, and a strengthening of his powers. ―What on Earth are you doing here?‖ Jupiter thundered, and the cloud grew even darker. The ghosts sneered at Jupiter, and he wished he could destroy them. However, they were already the undead, and he could not harm them. They cursed him as they floated, telling him he had wounded their master‘s pride, and banished him. ―What on Earth indeed?‖ Pluto smirked. ―How perceptive you are, my dear brother, to choose those words…‖ ―Tell your ghosts to wait outside, or you can all go!‖ Jupiter barked. He hated the sight of the transparent beings who seemed to shimmer and fade, then come back into sharp focus just as they disappeared again. ―Go,‖ Pluto told them, and the sulking ghosts trailed out of the room with doleful expressions, moving their lips in silent protest. ―Jupiter,‖ Pluto said forcefully, ―you have maligned my name, and taken what was rightfully mine, by birth, driving me down to the Underworld.‖ ―That was not my doing. It was our Father, and you know this!‖ Jupiter barked. ―I have embraced my kingdom nonetheless, along with the good Queen Proserpina,‖ Pluto added. ―I have avoided councils as you dictated, but I have had enough, and so have my good subjects.‖

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―You know why you were banished, my brother,‖ Jupiter hissed. ―Though you will never admit to the truth of it.‖ He wished he could strike Pluto down right where he stood so that his reign of evil would cease forever. For Pluto had done far more than steal his beautiful daughter. He had done something terrible…so terrible…to the Goddess of Love, no one ever spoke of it now. ―What is it you want, Pluto?‖ Jupiter spat as the gods and goddesses stared down, listening. ―I want equality with the Gods of Sea and Sky. We are all part of the Trinity, and we must all be honored at council in equal measure.‖ ―There is no way!‖ Jupiter yelled, thinking of Venus, who looked pale and forlorn. Lightning bolts began to descend from the clouds around them, interspersed with loud cracks of thunder. The sky was charcoal gray now and it began to rain the sharpest rain, as though they were all being stabbed with knives made of ice. ―You are death!‖ Jupiter screamed. ―You are murder, suicide, illness, abduction, violence, and death! No one wants you here, and you belong down there, a mere parasite, feeding on the dead.‖ ―You shall never be my equal!‖ Pluto answered, his voice cutting through the roars of thunder. Jupiter thought it was a voice from hell. Guttural, full of rage and danger. ―You have no idea of my power, of how strong I have grown, fed on the souls of all the worlds.‖ ―Get out!‖ Jupiter yelled, striking his brother with lightning, a small bolt that knocked him off the cloud and sent him reeling toward the Underworld once more. As he fell, his sycophant ghosts flew under him, gently supporting his bulk with their gossamer bodies. They tended him and his wound as they floated downward. The bolt had left a nasty hole in his brother‘s shoulder. It had gone clean through. ―He‘ll pay for this. I‘ll kill him!‖ Pluto hissed in his hearing as he slipped under the Earth back to his home. ―I‘ll destroy all of you,‖ he screamed as he fell. Jupiter flinched at the raw hatred of his words. ―There

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must be a way! And, if I can‘t, I‘ll destroy everyone else that matters to all of you, one by one. I have done it before, and I‘ll do it again.‖ Jupiter sent the gods and goddesses away and set about restoring the weather. ―Prepare for war!‖ he told them as they filed out of the room. ―This is only the beginning.‖ ***** Neptune asked to speak to Jupiter. He knew he had no choice but to confess his problems, for they all needed Minerva‘s wisdom now. He would also offer Jupiter his army of mermen to fight Pluto. But Jupiter was not in the mood to listen. He told Neptune to come back another time, and he turned away from him without another glance. Jupiter was clearly possessed with rage, and he snapped that he had no time for his prattle. Neptune returned to the Sea, thinking of Minerva‘s ring, and wondering what Pluto would do for revenge. He also loathed the thought of his daughter, out in the world, as yet unprotected. The Gods of the Underworld would stop at nothing now.

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Chapter Fifty-One Pluto had tried to gain equality for the last time. He had gone to the Sunlit Cloud to make his case, one final time. If he failed, he would destroy Jupiter‘s world. He knew that. If Jupiter had permitted him to rule equally, as befitted his power, he would perhaps have veered away from his plan to destroy Minerva by letting the witch kill the girl. He had taken some time to think over the matter, and decided to postpone the Great War if some resolution was attained. Pluto knew his power had increased tenfold, and that the other gods and goddesses were aware of his strength. Why did they deny him his birthright? Now, he would go forward, training an army of River-dwellers to fight and kill, and worse, to doom their enemies to life in the mists of the Underworld where they would suffer and pine for all eternity under his cruel dominion. He would instruct Hecate to cease merely watching the witch through the crystal ball and playing mild tricks. She might go further, much further, than that. He longed to sit on Jupiter‘s throne. He longed to roam the Sunlit Cloud and feel the warm, golden sunlight on his skin. He longed to see tears of fear in the beautiful, liquid eyes of Venus. He would rule with an iron hand, but first he would start the Great War, and he would win it. He already had Proserpina. She had been unwilling, at first, but she had given in to him in the end, and now he must also have Minerva. These daughters of Jupiter would be his captives, and Jupiter would be weaker for the battle to come. It was time to prepare his magic, to make his curses, and time to kill the daughter of Neptune, but not before she lead them to the Goddess of Wisdom, who would, along with the fair Venus, make a pretty ornament for his court. 197


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Jupiter would unravel at the thought of his pristine daughter, whom he loved above all else—or so Proserpina had sadly admitted—haunting the shores of the River, serving Pluto as once she served Jupiter. Blake used the tea until there was none left. It seemed to make him terribly passive, and he did not go to the farmhouse to see Jane. He did not do much of anything. For three blissful days and nights, he slept and dreamed, rising only to order the servants around, as his father might have done. When he drank, he felt as carefree as a little babe, safe in its cradle. Then, on the fourth night, there was no tea left, and he tossed and turned, falling into nightmares that left him crying and miserable. He had gone to the farmhouse in his nightmare, and she was gone. His love was gone, and now he dreamed of her, turned to stone just as his father had been. His nightmares made him tired and cross during the day, and he found himself torn between rage at Jane and tender love. That morning, when he arose, out of sorts and sad, his servants had told him that the girl and her little companion had left the town. They had stolen off without as much as a goodbye to anyone. Blake knew his bad dream was real, and he felt misery creep into his heart. There were some in the village who blamed the strange, beautiful girl for his father‘s death, mentioning to him that she was the only one they knew who practiced magic, but he could not accept that she would do such a thing, and he scolded them roundly for even speaking that was about Jane. To think of her in such a light was painful beyond words. He tried to put it out of his mind, but the thoughts always crept back. ―Is she a witch?‖ he would ask himself when he was alone and sleepless, tortured by doubts. ―Did she leave because she was afraid, or for some other reason?‖ He needed more tea to soothe the doubts and fears, and so he garbed himself and went to The Crown of Thorns where Lady Brandon waited for him. She gave him more tea and listened to him so attentively, so much like the sweet, angelic creature she appeared as in his dreams. Her plain features grew bright and animated when she was happy, and she always seemed happy when they were together. 198


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He saw under the glare of lanterns that she painted her cheeks and lips, and he was surprised. He could see where the colors were not blended well enough, and he wondered that such a fine lady should paint her face like a harlot, but he said nothing. He had few friends, and he needed her now…to listen to him when he spoke of Jane. No one else seemed kind enough to understand what losing her, so close after his father‘s death, had done to his wretched heart. Liesel was always there, in his dreams and in his waking hours. She began to drop by his home with gifts for him and his mother. She treated the servants so kindly, but with the distance and elegance required of a true lady. **** Lady Stirling had her doubts about this new girl. She was a few years older than her son, and the strange herbal drinks she gave him made him dreamy and different, as though he were hypnotized. She was polite to the girl because she made her son smile again, but she did not like the way Blake slept in so late, like one drugged, and the way the girl seemed to be everywhere Lady Stirling looked.

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Chapter Fifty-Two Minerva fell down hard into the forest, the earth rising up fast, much too fast, to meet her. Yet her landing was gentle. The goddess could not be harmed; her body was but a shell, masking her power. She straightened her robes and smoothed her auburn hair as her eyes took in everything around her. Looking to the sky, she noticed nothing but the overcast grayness of another bleak day. Stolidly, she trudged through the solemn January landscape, looking up and thinking of the oracle at Delphi. Most of the words she had spoken were clear, surprisingly free of riddles and hidden meanings, or so it had seemed at the time. But was she missing something, some crucial clue that she had not grasped. She thought of the L that had appeared on her wrist next to the snakebite, and she shivered in the cold late morning. She must find the girl, and she knew she was here. She needed no compass, for her spirit would lead her where she needed to go. She looked down at the shining pearl on her finger, and she was grateful for it for the forest was vast and dense with trees, and she was all alone with only her wisdom and intuition as companions. She knew the basic direction of Lynnshire, but she would avoid the town at all costs. There was danger there until the girl was safe and sound with her. She walked through rough pathways into the labyrinth of foliage, listening, watching, and waiting. She heard nothing but the swooshing sound of leaves and branches as they moved with the wind. She tried not to think of her home, so warm and serene, and with the help of Venus, now so bright and cheery. She had chosen this path, and she had no time to look back. She wandered the forest until nightfall, her 200


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soft boots making a gentle footfall on the forest floor. Though she was not human, she felt tired and weary, and more than a little frustrated. She sat down on a cold, wet log to collect herself and rest for a while. That was when she heard the cry of something in the distance, an animal, or perhaps a bird of prey…some piercing wail that seemed like nothing she had ever heard before. She stood up quickly and moved toward the sound, which echoed in the air. She looked to the sky as she watched. The moon was waxing, not yet full, but it provided much light as she ran toward the wailing cry, which grew louder and louder against the eerie silence of the winter night. She saw the creature. It was beautiful. She smiled in wonder as it stretched in front of a little cave and spread its wings. It was rising, rising up into the night sky, a beautiful man, as handsome as Venus was beautiful, but with the vast, snow white wings of a great falcon. Its wailing ceased as it rose ever higher, and a smile of absolute pleasure and peace spread across its features as its wings gently started moving against the January winds. She was spellbound, too mesmerized to even cry out. She wished she could fly alongside the creature and share his primitive joy. She watched the creature bank in the air like a graceful bird. He started to turn in wide circles. He was rippled with muscles, and his skin glowed with a deathly pallor, and yet, he was beautiful, more beautiful than any man, or any god, that she had ever seen. He shared the best elements of man and beast, and his eyes glowed deepest sapphire blue as he stared down and saw her. She smiled into his face, totally unafraid. She was certain he would recognize her for what she was, and he smiled back, and then he gracefully flew toward her and landed softly, folding his snowy wings around his naked body, clad only in a sort of loincloth. ―Hello,‖ he said, staring into her eyes. She felt some mystical understanding pass between them. ―Are you the one who saw me fly over the village?‖ he asked her, and his voice was a god‘s voice, resonant and deep, proud and fierce with intelligence.

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―No,‖ Minerva answered. ―This is the first time I have ever seen you, and I shall never, ever forget it.‖ She stared into his face, feeling some recognition, but she could not say why, at first. Then it dawned on her who he looked like. Why, he was the spitting image of Venus; all his features were hers…the Cupid‘s bow mouth, so finely carved, and the sculpted nose, and the eyes, like jewels…he had to be the son of Venus…the Cupid himself who had been stolen away as a child by Pluto and hidden somewhere. They‘d never known what place…to punish Venus for choosing another. ―Cupid?‖ she asked gently. ―My darling, is it you?‖ The Cupid‘s eyes filled with tears, as a young girl who had watched from the cave, frozen with terror, came closer to the mouth of the cave so that she would hear every word that passed between them. It is her…the princess! Minerva thought, her heart elated. She is beautiful! ―Yes,‖ the Cupid replied, shaken. ―I know my name is Cupid, but I know not how I know, for until recently, I spent my whole life alone on an island, and I had no one to tell me my name.‖ ―Your mother loved you, my dear. We searched the worlds for you for so long. I fear you were under the spell of the Evil One, Pluto, who made it impossible for you to be found. Your mother named you Cupid and she loved you well from the first moment you were placed in her arms. You were the most beautiful baby I have ever seen, and I think you were placed under an enchantment so that you could not come home to us.‖ She went forward and embraced him, kissing his cheek. ―You are the son of Venus, the Goddess of Love herself, and now that I have found you, I can help you go to her. I am Minerva, and the oracle at Delphi, the Pythia, told me where to find you, my child. Otherwise, I could never have seen through the enchantments placed upon you.‖ ―My mother will be disappointed,‖ the Cupid said ruefully, pulling Minerva toward the cave where a merry fire burned hot and bright. ―For there is something wrong with me that I am half-child and half-man and I only look this way sometimes. I change into a creatures who flies and feels 202


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power and strength, but then, come morning, I am like a little child again, a little child of twenty-four months.‖ ―That is Pluto‘s doing,‖ she said, her eyes filling with tears. ―We will work to undo his magic and allow you to be free all of the time, not just when you change. Jupiter will help us. He has missed you too, my darling. I am your godmother, Cupid, and I love you well, so well. There will be a great celebration when you come to us in the Sunlit Cloud and take your rightful place. Have you still your arrows?‖ For he had been born with them, with golden arrows that were rich with magic and purpose. ―I have one of them,‖ he said, as they entered the cave where Jane watched them, her eyes huge with wonder. ―It is a long story, Minerva, but I will tell you soon. Not now, though, for I must get you warm by our fire, and introduce you to Jane, the daughter of King Neptune.‖ Jane smiled shyly and inclined her head in greeting. Minerva admired her fragile beauty and her sensitive eyes. Minerva ran to the girl and held her close. ―At last, Jane, at last. I have looked for you for some time, and Neptune pines for you. He begged me to find you.‖ Jane's face tightened at the sound of her father‘s name, and so Minerva murmured comforting words to the girl who shortly thereafter burst into tears. ―No, my dear, Neptune has made mistakes, but he is sorry, so sorry. He is not what you think. He is a gentle god, only he wanted you so much, and he lost control.‖ She sat down next to the girl, who was thin, and pale, and looked heartbroken, but seemed generally healthy and strong. ―You will forgive him, I know, for I, too, once had the wrong impression of him, and I am Goddess of Wisdom.‖ Minerva chuckled a little. ―I too thought him rash, foolhardy, and vain…but that is just the surface of him, my girl. There is a great heart in him that loves you dearly, and longs for your forgiveness.‖ **** Jane curled up in the woman‘s arms. It had been so long since she had felt the mothering touch of another woman. She cried in great, rasping 203


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sobs, for she had been through much, and she felt sure this woman could help them. Through all of Jane‘s heartbreak with Blake, and her loss of her grandmother and her village, she had never dreamed that someone would save her from this life of wandering and fear. It was like a dream, and her heart softened even toward Neptune who had sent this goddess into the dark winter forest to guard them and take them to a better place. **** Minerva marveled at the pair, the beautiful pair, at their closeness, as though they were a part of one another. They finished each other‘s sentences as they began to tell their story, and they stared at each other as though each was a miracle to the other. Jane noticed the way Minerva looked at them, and she tried to explain. ―We do not see each other this way very often. This is only the second time Cupid has shown himself to me…as a man,‖ she said, smiling. ―Usually, he is a little boy who looks like a perfect doll, and I carry him on my hip like any mother or big sister would.‖ She made the pair tell her the full story of their journey together, and she was hungry to see all the pieces of the puzzle put together in their proper order. They had suffered, and they had struggled to survive. Jane spoke haltingly of a boy in the village named Blake. She clearly adored him. Minerva saw the Cupid‘s eyes cast down as Jane told her about the boy and how she feared for him, but the danger was so great. Something was there in the village, and she felt that is would kill her…and the Cupid. She had to leave, but the boy was there, all alone, with whoever it was. The Cupid had assured her that Blake was safe for the moment, she said, but she was distraught with worry, and she felt terrible guilt for running away like a coward and leaving him there unwarned. ―Shhhh,‖ she said, leaning over to stroke the girl‘s cheek. ―You were both right. Someone waits in the village, intent to destroy you and whoever works with you. You had no choice but to leave. I will get you safe, and then I will check on the boy and take care of the witch who is 204


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swollen with Hecate‘s power. Hecate is an agent of Pluto, and they curse me and wish me destroyed, and you too.‖ ―What witch?‖ the Cupid asked. ―Who is she?‖ ―She hides in the village…and she waits. For what I know not. I have seen her soul, and she is all death and blackness. I fear she had killed already, and she will start the Great War between all of the gods, the terrible battle that has long been prophesied, if she has her way. She must be stopped, but first, we must return Jane to her father, and that is not as easy as it sounds.‖ ―I won‘t live apart from him,‖ Jane said, looking at the Cupid. ―We will work something out, my dear,‖ Minerva answered. ―All the gods are friendly, and we all see one another. All except the Gods of the Underworld, who only bring with them grim reapers and death and sins beyond all measuring. Why, I have been to your father‘s kingdom many times, and even have a special tail of my own, which is quite pretty.‖ Jane held the Cupid‘s hands and the trio talked long into the night. Cupid confessed to Minerva that he now felt a hatred for Pluto that bordered on madness. He said he dreaded the dawn when the spell would start anew and he would be reduced to a child who had to be carried about. Minerva stayed in the cave with them that night. The next day, there was work to be done, and she stared at her ring in the darkness. She felt a feeling of immense pride that she should succeed at bringing the Sea God‘s daughter back to him. She felt great peace and joy to see the son of Venus, and she blessed the Pythia, saying prayers to her and her serpent before she went to sleep. She had her people around her. They were all a part of each other, and she could finish what she had to do and arrive home triumphant. Venus would be in ecstasy, for she was haunted by the loss of the boy, and she loathed and feared Pluto more than any other being. No one had ever been able to prove that he‘d stole the little cherub, but no one ever doubted it had been him.

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No one spoke of the Cupid, not for decades now, for it hurt the Goddess of Love too much. But all wished they had the strength, or perhaps the courage, to avenge her loss. I will avenge her, Minerva vowed as she curled up near the pair, watching their breath rise and fall in the firelit cave. I will not fail.

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Chapter Fifty-Three The next morning, Blake woke up from his dreams and realized it was close to ten o‘clock. Every day he‘d slept later and later, unwilling to leave to peace and joy of his dreams for his waking world of grief and heartaches. He thought of Jane, who was out there somewhere, and who might be in trouble, all alone with a small child and little money. How could I have failed her so? he would ask himself, sinking back into the cushions of his comfortable bed. Later in the day, when his head had cleared and he was involved with the new and unfamiliar tasks of running the estate, he would imagine himself walking out of the village with only a pack on his back to find the girl and her brother, but he never took the first courageous step and moved out of dreams into reality. Something would also make him doubt himself. Liesel, in particular, had drawn him out about Jane and the Cupid, and she was certain they were responsible for the death of his father. He knew now that his father was not coming back, and that he was indeed inside the cold stone forever. No kidnappers came forward with any ransom demands. All was nothingness. Liesel made him feel at least a glimmer of doubt in Jane, and she even told Lady Stirling what she thought. The elder woman had not realized his son had been seeing this little blond fortune teller who had disappeared at such a suspicious time. She did not know what to believe for the word in the village was that the girl was sweet and kind, and only hated for her beauty, if she was hated at all. No one at the Crown of Thorns put much stock in Jane as being the culprit. That was just the jealous meanness of the local girls. The good hearted of the villagers all thought that Jane had heard about what 207


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happened that night and fled in terror. They, themselves, had thought about leaving, but the roads out of town seemed more dangerous than anything else, and so they had stayed. As yet, no other bad things had occurred, and while the village remained on edge, they felt safer with every day that passed. Life went on, as is did no matter what happened. The lord had not been a friend of theirs, and he passed unmourned by all but a few who really knew him. Once the initial shock wore off, people returned to their lives, wary but determined to live as they always did. Only Blake and his mother were haunted by the terrible event. They had loved the brusque man who had loved them back, in his own way. No suspects were found, and no closure could be hoped for. The petty constable was sorry, but there was little evidence to work with, and even the detective from the city had agreed, the presence of black magic could not be ruled out. The investigation went on, but both men knew the trail was cold and would likely remain that way. They felt terrible about this when the family questioned them in tears, asking about the case. Blake spent his free time with Liesel after the first tea-addled days since his father had died. She would come by in the morning for a cup of India tea and some sweets that the kitchen would make for her. She would listen to him read poetry, but there was little passion now, only words spoken aloud. She would sit close to him,and he would imagine her as the angel he saw in his dreams, and he would let her take his hand and hold it. He knew his mother was still burdened with grief, and did not care much about the two being together as long as servants were around to serve as chaperones. **** That day, Liesel felt, as she always did, the ticking of the clock, the passing of time. At any moment, she could lose her youth and terrify the boy by changing into her true self. Waiting the three days that were needed to bind the spell with her witch‘s brew, the special tea, had been 208


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torture for her. She grew bolder as her heart ached for the touch of the young boy, who was, she was sure, quite innocent. That morning, she asked him to come visit her in the evening once the sun was down. Would he come to her room? ―I…don‘t think…that would be proper…‖ Blake stammered, flushing red. Liesel laughed. ―Oh now, don‘t be silly. There will be people about, maids and all the rest. It is not incorrect. I want to show you something, something special, that I have for you…and you can get more tea. I have a new package for you.‖ She watched Blake as he wavered. He wanted the tea as much as anything, she knew this, and part of him was drawn to Liesel anyway. She was his only friend now. If he had some questions about her provenance— she was maddeningly hazy with regard to her family, schools, and all the rest of his questions about her past, and she was sure this bothered him— he kept them to himself. Liesel was certain she had some power over him, but was it love? Tonight, he would come to her, and she would try as hard as she could to put the past behind him, but she was not sure she could. The beauty of Jane was burned into his heart, and this made her hate. He had told her Jane‘s soft kiss had been like a poem he could not forget, repeated endlessly in his soul. Once I have Blake where I want him, I’ll take care of you, my princess, she vowed. Wherever you are.

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Chapter Fifty-Four Blake made his way to the Crown of Thorns that evening, carrying with him some books of poetry and plays to read to Liesel. He did not feel the same excitement that made his belly churn and his cheeks flush when he thought of seeing Jane, but he put it out of his mind. Liesel was always there for him, and if she was not as bright or beautiful as the fair Jane who had abandoned him, so be it. At least she was a friend. Blake had trouble making connections in the village, especially now since his father had died under such mysterious circumstances. He felt that the villagers were somehow leery of him, as though he brought bad luck. They were friendly and sympathetic, but he was of another class, and they did not try to get close to him as they used to. He was lonely and sad. Only at night, when the tea Liesel gave him soothed his weary nerves and his emotions, could he rest and feel at peace. He knew his mother was wary of Liesel, and felt that the tea was unhealthy for him. She had spoken to him about it, asking him to stop drinking it, but he could not. He remembered the sleepless nights when there had been no tea for him, when he would cry in his bed and toss and turn, haunted by memories. Only the hot tea would make these feelings disappear, but the peace never lasted. **** Liesel prepared for him in her room, rouging her still smooth cheeks. How much longer will I look this way? she wondered, blending the rosy stain into her skin. The fear was always with her, pushing her forward. Blake was so handsome, so sweet. She had her love potion, which would

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always lead him back to her, despite his misgivings and worries, but she must not…change. The sky outside her window was dark gray and dreary. Night was coming on, and she wore her warmest gown, in royal blue, against the late winter chill. Her hair was polished smooth with repeated brushing and fragrant pomade. Her ears displayed small rubies—or perhaps they were garnets; the seller could have lied—that dangled and danced in the dim light. Today, I will kiss him, she thought dreamily, staring at her reflection. Today I will touch his soft hair, so soft, and hold his hand. She knew she must act quickly, for she had been here for days upon days, and the magic could not last. Hecate would wait perhaps for a little while longer, but the time would come when the price would need to be paid. There must be some way out of this, she thought feverishly. Some way to escape. She remembered the sounds of Sisyphus, his terrible groans, as he pushed the huge boulder upward. Her magic was so strong now. She knew that Hecate had interfered and given her more power. She would use it tonight to seduce the young man, and then she would try to find a way, any way, to avoid her fate. In her heart, she felt terror for she knew that Hecate and her dark lord, Pluto, were stronger than she could ever hope to be. I could go to the gods, and ask them to spare me this, she thought, her eyes filling with tears. But Minerva, that wretched Minerva, would never let me be free. And I have killed, now. Blake knocked on the plain wooden door that led to her simple room, and she wiped her eyes on her sleeve and pinched her cheeks. She smiled at her reflection, almost certain she could see the crone that hid behind the bright eyes and pink cheeks. She shuddered, then walked slowly toward the door. It must be tonight, she thought wildly. It has to be this night, for who knows if I will ever have this chance again? ****

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The villagers had smiled knowingly as young Lord Stirling climbed the stairs to the rooms above the pub. They whispered among themselves, and Blake‘s cheeks burned scarlet as he imagined what they must have been saying about him, and about Liesel. It was wrong of me to come here, he thought in despair. It is shameful and wrong to visit a girl in this manner. ―I need the tea,‖ he whispered, calming his mind. He stood for a moment in front of her door, hidden at last from the jeers of the people downstairs, and collected himself, letting his heartbeat slow and his high color retreat. The urge to flee was strong, so strong. It was like his father‘s voice…loud and commanding. He would be ashamed of me, coming here, Blake thought, and so would my mother. He knew he was only visiting, but no one would believe it. It was improper to see Liesel without a chaperone, and before this, there had always been others present when they were together. Nonetheless, he banged on the door and, in seconds, was ushered into the room, which had the same lovely smell as the tea he drank at night. Only stronger, almost cloying in its floral sweetness. He felt his head cloud with the heavy scent, and he saw Liesel smile at him in welcome. She offered him a cup of tea and he sat on the edge of her bed—for there was no other place to sit—watching her fuss with her gown, a bit nervously, or so it seemed to him. They talked for a while, of Jane, of his father, and of all the things that had come to pass since Blake returned to the village. The only thing he did not tell her was that an arrow had pierced his side at the Christmas pageant. He would never tell anyone else about this. Only sometimes he longed to speak of it with Jane, who was only a memory now.. As he drank his tea, he started to relax, his eyes growing languid. He felt the delicious peace creep over him like a shadow, blanketing him in comfort, albeit a dark comfort, like oblivion. ****

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―Relax,‖ Liesel whispered comfortingly, moving toward him and sitting beside him. I mustn’t give him too much, or he’ll sleep, she thought, and so she took his mug from him and set it aside. It was empty, but the tea was weak enough that everything should be all right. She had scented the room with oil made from the same flower; its properties were legendary. She felt peaceful in herself, if a little weaker, as the tea she had also drunk acted upon her own body. They sat in companionable silence, and she took Blake‘s hand as the sky grew black outside the window. She had pulled the shade, but still, it was full night now, she knew, and the perfect time for spells and magic. She took the boy‘s hand and held it gently, smiling at him. He looked back at her with warm, brown eyes that seemed hazy and unfocused. He did not squeeze her hand, or reach for her to kiss her. He only sat with her passively, neither returning more rejecting her overtures. She felt her heart pound hard as she stared at his handsome face, so close to her own. He was beautiful, like her own true love, which had lived on in her memories all of this time. She closed her eyes for a moment—for the tea made one dream, and that was why she had indulged in it—and she felt she could almost see his face in the features of the young man. She moved closer, running her lips along his jaw line, barely touching his skin, which smelled so pure and clean, as though he were a child indeed. He did not resist, only stirred slightly beside her as if wakened from his own dream, of someone else. He thinks of her, Liesel thought, amused. And I think of my own true love, but we shall find comfort in one another instead. And she moved her lips toward the boy‘s, and leaned in to kiss him deeply. A loud knock on the door, harsh and unrelenting, woke them both from their respective dreams. Liesel pulled away from the boy, misery filling her body. Who is it? she thought angrily, for the moment was ruined now, and it had been much effort to prepare things, to make the room perfect, the tea the proper strength, and all the rest of it. Blake shook his head and stood up slowly, as though he were sleepwalking, and he let her

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go to the door as he moved toward the window, staring out from the shade he raised up. Liesel opened the door and saw that no one was outside. But the knock had happened only seconds ago. She headed down the hall, walking fast, feeling her face go hot with rage. She looked all about the back stairs, but no one seemed to be there. She stared down into the pub from the upper level from an alcove, looking for the person who had disturbed her plans, but everyone there seemed to be content and comfortable in their chairs, as though they had been there for hours. Liesel walked downstairs and out the back door and she ran down the road, remembering the creature in the sky and thinking about all the things that could still go wrong for her—the way things had gone wrong tonight. I’ll look for five minutes only, she thought, and then go back to him. The urge for revenge, and also a strange sort of fear, was pushing her out into the night. She saw the boy watching her from the window, and she held up her hand to indicate five minutes. He nodded passively, for he was under the spell of the tea, and the room‘s scent, which was everywhere, and she knew he would sleep while she searched, at least for a while. I heard that knock, she thought. I know I did, and he heard it, too…but who was it? She felt cold as she walked away, staring toward the edges of the town and the dark forest, which was almost invisible in the darkness. She glanced up at the sky, but there was nothing, or no one, there. She felt the rage build in her body like a disease, spreading and multiplying, and she could almost taste it like poison trickling down her throat. Even the tea could not make her feel better, though it would be in her system for about an hour. She turned toward the old farmhouse where Jane had lived, and she reached into her pocket where her iron dagger was always ready, tucked in a leather pouch to protect the honed blade. If the knock had been an enchantment, she knew that someone else was about, toying with her, and she must find out whom. I will search the farmhouse while he sleeps, she thought, and, if anyone is there, I will kill them. 214


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**** Blake lay down on the bed, falling into sleep almost immediately, a small smile on his face. He did not care that Liesel was gone. In fact, he was glad, for he only wanted to sleep, and to dream. But the tea did not work as it might, for he was soon beset with nightmares so different from the peaceful dreams he usually had. He woke moments later, drenched in sweat and fearful, for he had dreamed there was a demon under his bed, dark red and glistening, and that it would kill him and drag him to the gates of Hell. He stood up, feeling alert again, and wondered how long he had been asleep. The room felt cold now, for the fire had died, but the embers were still glowing. Blake looked under the bed, feeling foolish…but the dream had been so real. He crouched down and poked his head under the bed frame, seeing nothing but some glimmering sphere, like a large pearl, near the other side. There was something there, but it wasn‘t a demon or a monster. Blake stood up, walked around the large bed, reached down and grabbed the thing, which was only a glass ball. It seemed to be full of curling smoke, white and gray. It glowed opalescent against the darkness. The ball felt so hot to his touch he thought he might drop it and shatter it. Quickly, he laid it gently on the mattress, watching the cloudy glass carefully. He turned to glance outside of the window. He knew what these balls were, and this was Liesel‘s. Only crones have these things. They are of the dark arts, he thought, feeling chilled and afraid. I must get out of here. His head was clear now. His hands were shaking. Grabbing the ball with his thick linen handkerchief, he put it in the biggest pocket of his cloak and, forgetting even the books he treasured and had brought along, he walked downstairs and calmly left the pub, not even glancing back to see the expressions of the villagers. He watched the streets carefully for any sign of Liesel, and he headed toward his home to be sure his mother was safe. The ball felt warm through its covering, even

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through his heavy cloak, but it did not burn anymore. Instead, his side stung, badly now, and he tried not to cry out for he was terribly frightened. She only came to town just after Father was…hurt, he thought with dawning horror. And she gives me this tea, which must be some potion, after all, and she sees me alone in her room. He wondered who had knocked on the door, that heavy, almost crashing knock that had roused them out of… He dared not think about it. He almost ran toward the big house. He had never been so glad to see his home. He would have run as fast as he could, but he needed the ball, for he had read that you could look into it and see the future, or secrets. He must not break it! He wondered what the ball would tell him, although he knew it was an evil thing. He would throw it into the fire…but not before he discovered all of its secrets. He snuck into the house through a side door and quietly let his own butler know he was home. ―How is my mother?‖ he asked, his eyes boring into the older man‘s. ―Why, my lord, she is fine. She is ready to go to her bed, I think.‖ ―I need you to stand watch over her tonight instead of guarding my own chambers. She has her maid, but I need you to stay close to her room, watching for…anything unusual.‖ The butler blanched as he heard the boy‘s words. All the servants feared that the black magic would be visited upon the house, and that they would be turned to stone just like Lord Stirling. ―Yes, milord,‖ he muttered, hastily turning to go to Lady Stirling‘s rooms. ―And don‘t let Liesel in this house, under pain of death,‖ Blake added in a fierce whisper. Blake went to his father‘s gun cabinet and got out his rifle, wondering what good it would do against spells and the blackest witchcraft, but he loaded it and put it on a chair, then closed his bedroom door and sat upon his bed. He pulled the ball out of his cloak and watched the ribbons of smoke inside twist and writhe like serpents.

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He held the ball, which was cool now, in his two hands and willed it reveal everything. The ball only flared a couple of times with flashes of brilliance, like lightning in a cloudy sky. Then it went all smoky and pearly again. Blake supposed you had to be a witch to make the thing work, and he thought of all the books in his father‘s library. There must be some sort of spell, somewhere, or some evil text in all that huge hall of books, he thought wildly, packing the ball up once more and picking up his rifle. He headed down the hall, glancing at a clock. It was two minutes to midnight, and he walked as gently as he could for only his own butler was awake now, standing watch. ―Or, at least, he‘d better be,‖ Blake muttered, letting himself into the wood-paneled library. He searched the volumes, which had been passed down through generations, hoping for some dusty tome that would give him the spell he needed. ―My father would burn any such book if he knew it existed, and besides, I would have found it long ago,‖ he whispered, irritated. Still, he began to look through the ledger that kept a record of every book and where they were placed in the room. Blake could find nothing. It was past midnight now, and he sat in a chair, feeling anger build in him. Anger at the witch, anger at his father, who had been so hard, anger even at Jane, who had said she loved him and then disappeared. He picked up the crystal ball and raised it up, ready to toss it into the fireplace as hard as he could just to hear the satisfying crash as it hit the bricks and shattered. His face was contorted with anger. It was night, and the effects of the weak tea were long gone. For the first night in many nights, he could feel all of his feelings, and they were impossible to bear. He had never felt angrier in his life. As he prepared to hurl the ball into the fireplace, sleeping servants be damned, it lit up and warmed slightly in his hand. He lowered it and stared at it in wonder. The smoke inside was gone, replaced by a crimson glow that reminded of him of the demon in his dream. He sat down and watched the flames swirl inside the ball, although it did not grow any hotter to the touch. 217


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Blake saw an old woman in the flames. She was screaming, her papery white skin growing black and charred before his eyes. She was ugly and old, and he knew…somehow, that it was Liesel, but he did not know how he knew. He watched the ball relentlessly, feeling the hatred churn in his belly and flood his senses. The ball cleared and then revealed a new vision. He saw a forest with melting snow on the dark branches and a little cave. Inside, there were three figures huddled close to a fire. He saw the pale golden hair of Jane, turned almost red by the light of the flames. Beside her was the most handsome young man he had ever seen with a face like an angel. Jealousy burned in his heart as he watched the two talk quietly. He could not make out the face of the third figure, hooded as it was, but he thought it might be a woman. Suddenly, the ball turned dark, and Blake sat and stared at it, willing it to show him more, but there was nothing. He hid the ball where no one else would find it and went to see that his mother was well and safe. His rage had burned down to ashes, and all that was left was the desire to destroy the old crone, wherever she was, and send her to Hell forevermore.

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Chapter Fifty-Five In the Underworld, Hecate laughed and put her own crystal ball aside. Tonight, she would take her due, and nothing could stop the events that were unfolding. The boy was angry and confused, and he felt betrayed by the princess and also by the young woman named Liesel, who would be young no more after this night. She had shown the boy the witch‘s true face so that he would know, deep in his heart, just who and what she was. She had given him that dark knowledge, which like so many truths, was painful…so that he could play his part. Hecate went out to the River, pleased with herself. The boy would find them all, she was sure, for she could see into his heart, but only when it was filled with hate, and his heart was like stone. Since Liesel had failed in her task to find the girl and Minerva, Hecate must try something else. Inside every human being, there was some grain of hatred, which could grow malignant, giving rise to all manner of violence and evil. The boy‘s eyes had been dark with rage when he‘d seen the girl and her companion in the crystal ball. She was sure he would seek them out in the forest and that the old witch would follow. Liesel would never again see youth in a looking glass, for Hecate wished her to be intensely angry when she found the girl and Minerva. She wished her to know there was no longer any chance with Blake. Then, Liesel would turn on the boy, too. The witch would have nothing left to win or lose…only vengeance. In the forest, all would continue as she wished, and Minerva would suffer at the old woman‘s hands as Hecate‘s magic flooded her body and granted her power. Hecate gazed out into the deep scarlet pool of the River, deaf to the groans of Sisyphus, and looked across to the palace of Pluto and 219


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Proserpina. I am the only one who can grant him this, she thought, smiling, I am not as beautiful as his queen, but I can give him something even more important. I can give him power, power over all of them, in the Sky. In her heart, she wished to rule as Queen of the Underworld, but she could not. She could not usurp the beautiful daughter of Jupiter. Proserpina was her rival, though she showed her every respect, but deep down, she wished Proserpina would go back to the Sky where she belonged so that she, herself, could walk the palace floors, trailed by ghosts, and be the devoted queen of her beloved king. Perhaps this coup would help to make her wishes come true.

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Chapter Fifty-Six The next morning, Minerva and her two young companions awoke in the cave and packed up their things. They would set out for safety, away from the village. Minerva planned to take Jane to the sea and have Neptune‘s men meet her there. The boy, she would take with her to the Sky where he would be reunited with Venus. The pair did not wish to be separated, but Minerva explained, in her calm and logical way, that is was only temporary until the Cupid‘s spell could be removed, and that Jane would be safer under the water. Jane had asked her how she could ever go back below the surface of the Emerald Sea. Her eyes had filled with tears as she remembered the storm Neptune had caused and the way she had floated for such a long time, lost and alone. Minerva frowned at the girl‘s anxious face and took her in her arms, hugging her close. ―I swear to you, he is sorry, Jane,‖ she said softly. ―He loves you dearly, and wishes only to be with you. He has changed…‖ Minerva felt a little ripple of love as she spoke of Neptune, and she smiled, thinking of seeing him again. **** The Cupid felt sad about leaving Jane. All his coolness with her has disappeared, and he loved her well. He wanted to see his mother, and he wished above all things to have the terrible curse he lived with removed from him, but he was not sure what it would be like in the Sky. Minerva told him his mother was the most beautiful and charming of women, and that she would cry tears of joy when they met. ―My mother,‖ he whispered trudging forward over hard, icy pathways. He thought of the evil spell that had left him alone on the island, unable to 221


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remember anything about Venus or who he really was. It made him angry, and he thought of the other arrow in a quiver on his back. He longed to use it on the person who had ruined his life and interfered with his destiny. **** Minerva glanced over at him, noticing the set jaw and angry blue eyes of the tiny boy, who insisted on walking on his own, though Minerva would have carried him. She saw some darkness in the boy that Jane did not possess. She supposed his childhood, if you could call it that, had been lonely and strange. She hoped that the damage done to him could be undone beyond the spells of Pluto, but she felt some unease for he had long been alone, and he was not so simple a creature as the young girl. For now, though, she must put such doubts out of her mind. Venus, too, could be unpredictable. That she knew well, and she bore that in mind as they all moved forward through secret paths that Minerva had devised. They moved through the endless forest toward the shores of the sparkling Emerald Sea. **** Jane thought of Blake as she walked through the forest. The Cupid was just a little boy now, and she could not see him the same way when he was…little. She missed the young Lord Blake like she had never missed anyone except her own grandmother, but she knew there was death and black magic in the village, and she felt she might be killed if she went back there. The feeling of doom that filled her heart when she thought of the village was like a cold hand clutching her arm and squeezing it too tight. Never before, even in the sea when she had been lost and alone, had she felt such dread. It hurt her to think of Blake surrounded by evil magic, and still so wounded by the strange demise of his own father. I’ve failed him like Neptune failed me, she thought in despair. She might go back to Neptune, for now, but she would never forget his anger and cruelty, and how those things had set all of these events in 222


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motion. And yet…had she not gone to the island, she would never have met Blake, or found the Cupid, her dearest friend. She thought of her mother and her hatred of the Sea, and she felt a storm of conflicting emotions. Would her mother want her safe with her father, or should she continue trying to live her life on the land? With the grandmother she loved? The sea was so warm and comforting, so right…and yet it could change in an instant into a place of terror or violence Just like the village, she thought, sad and depressed. It had been so sweet, and then, bad things had come and it had, so suddenly, no longer been safe or happy. Nothing lasts, Jane lamented, her eyes focused on the distance. She walked and walked, feeling her body longing for the sea as a cold winter rain fell on her frail shoulders. She pulled her cloak tighter around her and tried not to think, or feel, anything else at all.

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Chapter Fifty-Seven Up in the Sky, Jupiter listened as the gods and goddesses sat and argued and debated the best way to handle the serious problems they were facing. Jupiter was still enraged at his brother, still filled with the desire for revenge. He also knew, in the more logical part of his mind, that Pluto presented a threat to humanity as well. He was a dangerous god, and the keeper of souls should not be so devoid of compassion or respect for the souls he held in his hands. By placing the souls of humanity in the care of Pluto, the gods were doing the human world a real disservice. Jupiter had no doubt that he, himself, was the most powerful of all of the gods, but he knew that Pluto had the same parentage, and that he was strong…terribly strong. Feeding off of the souls of the dead had indeed increased his own power. It was a difficult problem to solve for the gods could not be killed in the standard manner. They were immortal. And Proserpina should never have been married to Pluto at all. It was an abomination. **** Neptune has waited a few days for Jupiter to cool off, and then he had taken his best trident and gone up for a private meeting with him, a meeting Neptune dreaded. He had sat and told Jupiter everything so that he could protect Minerva. Lately, Neptune had realized something odd. He seemed to care more about the Goddess of Wisdom than he did about anything else except his daughter. Indeed, he seemed to care more about the goddess than he did about his own self. His eyes had filled with tears down in the Sea as he thought of all the sacrifices the goddess had made for the sake of him and his Jane. Minerva 224


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had done everything in her power to help him, and now, she was in the human world, surrounded by dangers. Pluto was an enemy of all of those up in the Sky and beneath the Sea. He would harm Minerva if he could, and so Neptune decided he would tell Jupiter everything. They all loved Minerva, none more than Jupiter, and they must all work together to ensure that everyone was safe. The Sunlit Cloud turned charcoal gray and icy cold as Neptune told his story. Jupiter glared at the Sea God with piercing blue eyes as Neptune shivered against the cold. The sky started roiling with storm clouds and strong winds, and Neptune had to hold tight onto his trident else it blow away from him. Jupiter closed his eyes for a moment, perhaps imagining the terrible danger his daughter was in. ―What have you done?‖ he yelled in Neptune‘s face. ―Don‘t you know Pluto has many emissaries on the Earth?‖ ―Before Pluto threatened you, all was peaceful, and this had already begun,‖ Neptune said quietly. Tiny sparks were coming out of the end of Jupiter‘ fingertips, a harbinger of bad things. ―You should have gotten your girl back yourself!‖ Jupiter barked. ―And left Minerva out of it!‖ Neptune hung his head. He knew this was true, but the goddess had been so helpful and so persuasive. ―She said it would be easier for her to…pass…as a human…‖ he told Jupiter, who only stared coldly at him. Jupiter sighed, some of his anger receding. Minerva was a good, helpful goddess, and he knew she would not be pushed into anything that did not seem right and just to her. He pushed away his rage and shook his head. ―It‘s not a good time for her to be away from us down in the world,‖ he said wearily. Neptune was startled at the sudden change in the god, for he had never before seen him display any weakness or any emotion beyond basic good humor or anger. ―I love Minerva,‖ Neptune said shyly. ―I love her well, and would have her for a wife if she‘d take me, Jupiter.‖ Neptune waited nervously for Jupiter‘s response, his eyes downcast. 225


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―Perhaps she loves you, too, if she would do this for you. I have never known her to be in love…but there is always a first time, I suppose.‖ He told Neptune he had noticed that Minerva no longer mocked Neptune and his showy trident, and his large entourage of mermaids. Before she disappeared, he said, he had wondered at the change, but had not commented on it. In fact, he had also noticed the way Minerva‘s eyes grew soft and caring when she spoke of the Sea God, and found it puzzling indeed. Now the pieces were falling into place, and he did not know what to think, or how to feel. ―If she will have you, I give it my blessing, Neptune, for she is a good girl, and I think, despite your many weaknesses, that you would care for her. It matters not that she is my daughter and you are my brother. None of that matters here. She was not born conventionally, after all, and we are the gods.‖ **** Neptune relaxed as the cloud grew brighter, and warmer. These changes were easier to understand and measure than the mercurial nature of Jupiter himself. He felt blessed by his brother, who had just assuaged his deepest fears and worries. ―She is bringing my daughter to me, and we will perhaps be a family, of sorts. But there are many dangers now that Pluto is bent on our destruction. It worries me that she walks the earth alone, and I have made a fine army and trained them to come to her aid when she needs them.‖ He explained to Jupiter about the pearl ring, and how Minerva was meant to use it. ―I shall be there for you, as well, at the first sign of trouble, and I will go to her by myself, if necessary. For now, I must stay here and plan my own magic, my own defense against my…brother. He caused me to neglect my own daughter in her time of need—and he has stolen my other girl, too.‖ Jupiter stood up quickly, signaling an end to the meeting.

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Neptune rose as well. ―I am sorry for involving your daughter in this, but I know there is no one in all the worlds who could be wiser or better for this task.‖ ―Yes, you are right. Minerva has never given in to temper or flightiness like most of us have. She is balanced and fair in all things.‖ Jupiter‘s eyes grew cloudy as he imagined the pleasure Pluto would take in harming his daughter or stealing her, just as he had stolen Proserpina. While Proserpina learned to adapt to her circumstances by turning to darkness and power like her cruel husband, Minerva would never resign herself to the Underworld. Never. She would die inside. ―When your armies are called, I will know,‖ Jupiter told him quietly. ―I will be watching everything and I will be guarding Minerva from the Sky. You should have told me of this before, Neptune. That was poor judgment from you, and from Minerva. Did you think I would be angry?‖ Neptune picked up his trident and faced Jupiter. They were both giants of men, both rulers. ―Yes,‖ Neptune answered quietly, staring at Minerva‘s father. ―And so did she.‖ He turned and walked away, leaving Jupiter to his own thoughts. It’s done, Neptune thought. He knows now, and there are no more secrets. He hoped Minerva would not feel betrayed, but her safety, and the safety of his child, took priority. Anything that could be done to help them make their way back to him must be done. No longer would he protect himself at the expense of another. He would try to be a better god from hereon in, and his only regret was that he had waited so long to see the truth in himself, and to change from what he was.

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Chapter Fifty-Eight Blake woke up, clear headed for once, and began putting some of his things in a little case. He no longer felt the need to dull his senses. He knew who had harmed his father. He knew it as he had never known anything else. It was the not knowing that had driven him to seek out oblivion in sleep…in dreams. He loved his father well, though they had never been on the same page at all, and now, he channeled all his anger toward the witch who was destroyed his father. Blake would go to the forest and he would find the witch. He knew she was not in the village any more, and he could not think where else to search. The ball had shown him where Jane was, his Jane, but he felt cold toward her now. Somehow, she was a part of all that had happened, just as the villagers had thought. Why else should he see her, and that other young man, inside of the glass? He felt that all the images he had seen in the ball were connected, and the forest was the clue he needed. He would take no horse, for the forest was dense with trees. He would go on foot, and he would not return until he had killed the witch who was so merciless and deceitful. Now, when he thought of her skin touching his, he felt ill. She was not what she had pretended to be, and he chided himself for being so naïve, and so trusting. He was a fool for taking her potions. I was foolish, it’s true, he thought, but no more. I will kill her, and I will kill Jane if she played a role in all of this. If she is innocent, though, I will bring her home and marry her, as soon as I am old enough to do it. Blake had mixed emotions. He was jealous of the beautiful young man who‘d sat so close to his Jane near that roaring fire. He wavered between

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rage at the young girl he had loved, and hope that she was merely an innocent, as he was. The two figures huddled by the fire had seemed so close, as though they finished one another‘s thoughts. He felt some bond between them…it was like steel. And where was the little boy? His head ached with the strain and anger that tore at his nerves. But he packed, as calmly and quickly as he could, and he left a letter for his mother and for his chief servant letting them know that Lady Stirling should leave this place at once. Blake would come to her when he could. He told his servant to avoid the forests and the main roads at all costs, and to travel in a group with the other workers of the estate. He wanted his mother in a large city where she could not be found. He prayed the Liesel was far away from the village now, but not too far…not so far that she couldn‘t be caught. How does one kill a witch? Blake wondered as he slung his pack over his heavy coat. He pulled on his gloves and tucked a compass into his pocket. He picked up his rifle and headed out into the morning, feeling the sun on his face. It was chilly, but the sun was bright, and the day would be just right for traveling. He would make good time. He tried not to see the handsome face of Jane‘s companion in his mind, but the image kept returning and jealousy burned in his body. Jane, who are you? he asked himself, torn between rage and despair. Is no one who they say they are? How could the girl who kissed him so tenderly already have found another, and where had this young man come from? For certain, he would have noticed him in the village for he wasn‘t the sort that one forgot. He was angry with Jane, and he couldn‘t say for sure just what he would do when he saw her again. He was stiff from tension, but tried to relax for he had a long day ahead. The forest was almost free of snow now, but some still clung to the heavy branches just as it had in the crystal ball. He walked away from his old life without looking back. The servants watched him go, and they hurried into the house to chatter amongst themselves about where he might be going. 229


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**** Lady Stirling woke up around eight and read the letter her son had left for her. She was not sure how much more she could face. She got up quickly, ignoring the tea the servants had brought for her, and she hastily threw some of her plainest gowns in a trunk. Calling to her maid, she asked that one of the servant‘s dresses, simple shifts of black muslin, be brought up to her. She felt faint for a moment, just a quick moment, as she sat on her bed and waited for the dress. Blake was all alone in that great forest, and the girl, Liesel, was not what she seemed to be. Liesel was a witch, Blake had said, and he had proof that she had turned his father to stone. He suspected that the girl had needed his father‘s money, he wrote in the letter, for it had been taken, and Liesel seemed wealthy indeed for a girl staying over a simple pub in a simple room. She had poisoned him with her potions, night after night, but he‘d found out the truth, and he would make sure she got what she deserved. He had not said what the proof was, but it all seemed to make sense, and she couldn‘t imagine that Blake had gone mad overnight. The girl brought the dress, and Lady Stirling sat, sick with misery, and decided that she would not leave. She would stay close to the forest, and perhaps send her servants to find her son and help him. No good can come of his desire for vengeance, she thought worriedly, and why would a young woman, or even a witch, do such a thing to my husband? Just for money? It made little sense to her, and she sat and thought about going to the petty constable, but he‘d made no progress in his other investigation, even with the help of the city‘s detectives, so what good could it possibly do? She wondered if there was some way she could find some magic of her own to use against Liesel, but where would she go? She sat and thought of her beautiful son, and she was sadder than she had ever been in her life before, sadder even than when she found out her husband had died. I love him the most of anything, and more than anyone, 230


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she thought, frantic with worry. And she beckoned her servants, the strongest of the men she employed, to come to her chambers for a meeting.

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Chapter Fifty-Nine Blake walked through the forest, scanning the many pathways that wove through the trees. He headed out toward the water, away from the city and from Lynnshire. He did not know why he chose this direction, but he walked on regardless, knowing somehow that it was right. He felt lonely and forgotten against the tall trees. Here, he was as inconsequential as the pebbles on the ground. His pack wasn‘t heavy, and he was quite warm and comfortable, but his head ached, for he had not had the tea for a long time, and his body did not like being without it. He looked for a cave, or some other opening that might match the visions in the ball, but he could find nothing. The sun was high and he felt it beat down on his head as he walked. He thought of his mother, knowing she would be frantic, but he must do what he must do. Blake found a little cave about an hour‘s walk later, and cleared some ice and twigs away from its shallow mouth. He looked inside and gasped at the sight of a body, frozen and blue-white, lying near one wall. He crouched down and saw the face in the dim light, and his heart sank, for it was Deerfield, his father‘s servant, and he was long dead. He searched the pockets of the servant, wondering how he had come to be here, and how he had died. There were no obvious signs of struggle, and the body looked peaceful. He remembered the kindness of the man, who had always treated him with warmth and was always in good humor, and he cried, for he was sure now that this man was also a victim of Liesel. He felt around the body and found a little pouch of velvet with notepaper and a little pencil inside. The pouch also held a little silver horse, which he knew Deerfield‘s lady had given to him as a keepsake 232


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long ago. It was finely wrought of gleaming silver, and although it was small, it had cost her dearly to buy it. Deerfield had shown the little horse to everyone, as proud as could be. Blake put the tiny figure in his pocket, and he hoped to give it back to Deerfield‘s lady one day. He could not turn back now, and so he rooted among the notepapers, looking for something, anything, that might help him on his quest. The first sheet of paper was covered in a few words, but they were hard to read. They looked as though an uneducated child had written them. He knew Deerfield could read and write, for he had seen him do both, and he wondered at the primitive letters, which fell into one another without proper spaces. He took the notepaper out of the cave and into the light. Young witch, the note said. May have killed Lord S. Blinded me. I cannot get home. Love to Bessie. If Blake had had any doubts about his course of action, they were now erased. The poor man who lay dead in the cave had wandered the forest, for days probably, getting more and more lost and frozen, until he‘d felt for the mouth of the cave and crawled in it to die. ―How he must have suffered!‖ Blake whispered, appalled. He could not bear to look at the body again, and so he moved on through the forest, trying to write down information about where he was that would help him bring the body home to Bessie, Deerfield‘s girl, when he was done with his quest. The forest was vast, though, and it all looked the same to Blake. It would take a miracle indeed to find this spot on another day. Blake knew he would need to make camp soon, as the evening came quickly in winter, and the sun fell so fast, leaving the air dark and freezing cold. He looked about for shelter of his own. He would rather freeze to death than share a cave with Deerfield‘s lifeless body and its stench of decay that even the cold temperatures could not prevent. Blake sat for a moment on a stone and put his rifle down. He put his head in his hands and cried. He was afraid he would die, too, here in this forest. Where was Liesel now? He sat despondent for a few moments, still

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mourning the terrible loss of his friend, and then he rose again. If ever he was to be a man, and not a boy any longer, he must learn to be stronger.

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Chapter Sixty In the Sky, Jupiter scanned the forest with his omniscience, closing his eyes tightly. His mind roved over the trees and the ground, searching… He sat for a long time with his eyes shut. In time, he saw a boy, a young man really, sitting on a rock and looking forlorn. He did not know who he was, but he felt sure that the boy was connected to everything that was happening. He swept the area for landmarks and clues, holding his body completely still, and then he opened his eyes. Shaking his head to clear it from his meditations, he then sent a message to someone he knew could help the most and waited for her to answer his summons. Diana the Huntress appeared in the Sunlit Cloud moments later, her cheeks flushed under her deeply tanned skin. She carried her bow and arrow, as always, and looked healthy and glowing in the light. ―You summoned me,‖ she said matter-of-factly, without much curiosity. Of all the goddesses, she was least likely to kowtow to Jupiter, for she was her own person, and more comfortable with animals and trees than with her godly counterparts. ―I need a favor,‖ Jupiter said, gesturing to her to sit down. She remained standing, though, and she listened carefully to his instructions. She nodded once when he was done speaking, and then she turned to leave, her long legs supple and muscled as she moved. **** Diana smiled at the challenge, for she was to hunt in the forests near Lynnshire, and her prey was a young man who would help them win the Great War. 235


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There is no one I cannot hunt, and nothing I cannot find in an earthly forest, she thought, her heart swelling with confidence. She was proud to do her part, and so she emerged from the cloud, floating downward toward the forest floor. Within minutes, she was scouring the forest, running until her muscles screamed in protest, her bow and arrow in a pack upon her strong shoulders. The boy was a clue, Jupiter has said. An important clue, and she must find him and take him to the shore where Neptune‘s army lay in wait. She found the cave where a dead man, much older than her target, lay and she knew the boy could not be far. Stalking the forest, as silent as graceful as an animal, she listened and looked, alert to anything that would help her in her hunt. She heard the rustling of leaves and the crunching of snow. She moved quietly toward the sound, her suede boots soft and silent upon the ground. She reached for her bow and arrow, for she could see the boy in the distance, and though she needed him alive, she would injure him if he ran from her. Slowly moving toward him, she came up behind him where he stood examining his compass and looking lost. She walked up within a few feet of him, pulled her arrow back in the bow until it was perfectly positioned, and then she spoke, quietly, so as not to frighten him. He turned around, grabbing clumsily for his rifle and, for a moment, the two stared at each other, neither saying a word. ―Hello,‖ Diana said quietly, breaking the silence. Each stared at the weapon the other held, but neither attacked. **** ―Who are you?‖ Blake asked, suspicious. Was this Liesel in yet another form? He stared at the beautiful women, clad in a short toga that made no sense in the current season. She was deeply bronzed, as though it was high summer, and her features had a glacial perfection. Every line of her nose and her lips was carved and distinct. She was beautiful with golden hair and a headband of shining gold that went across her smooth brow. 236


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Her teeth were white and strong as she smiled at him, putting him at ease, but still he wondered about her and thought she must be a magical creature, an evil witch turned beautiful and strong through black magic. ―I am not the witch you seek,‖ she said reassuringly. ―I am Diana, the Huntress, and I was sent here to keep you safe and help you on your quest.‖ ―Diana…the Huntress?‖ he repeated, incredulous. ―One of the Roman goddesses?‖ He scoffed and shook his head, still pointing his rifle at her. ―The Roman gods are just a fairy story. You aren‘t real. Tell me who you really are this minute, or I‘ll kill you.‖ ―No need to attack,‖ she said, grinning. ―Let me prove to you who I am, and that I am real.‖ She made a sound, an animal cry, and suddenly, he heard the sounds of footfall on the forest floor, and the scratching sounds of animals. Soon, all manner of woodland creatures were gathering about her, peacefully circling the goddess as though waiting for a command. Gentle deer stood transfixed, staring at her, and they folded their fragile bodies before her as though genuflecting to her. Little animals came and curled up at her feet, as though they were her pets. She lowered her bow and arrow and petted the three deer that gathered at her feet, stroking their heads. ―I hunt them,‖ she said, a little sadly, ―but I love them well, and they are a part of me, as I am of them. I am Diana, the Huntress, as I told you, and the animals know me. They feel my spirit, which is as animal as their own. I can live in the forest as though I am an animal myself, and I can help you find the girl and the witch.‖ She watched Blake lower his gun and stare at the spectacle she had created. The animals were silent, waiting. He trusted her, but he had trusted others. He had always been too trusting, too quick to believe in words that might not be true. He walked over to her and the animals clustered around her warily, ready to protect the goddess.

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She made another sound and the animals scattered, running quickly back from whence they had come. Blake handed his rifle to the goddess, noticing the unearthly glow in her eyes, which somehow reminded him of Jane with her eyes like emeralds touched by sunlight. He stared into her eyes for a moment, feeling that he was in the presence of something greater than he had ever before known, and he bowed his head to her in respect. She reached for him then, and held him close to her own strong body, calming him with her embrace. ―You are tired, I know, for hunting is hard work to the unskilled,‖ she said. He nodded sadly, and she smiled a little smile, a comforting stillness in her face. ―You are lost, but I will help you. Come with me, for I know the way, and I will help you for a while until you have your bearings again.‖ He followed her to a little clearing where she reached into her pack and offered him a flask wrapped in deerskin. ―Drink this,‖ she ordered, and he was wary again, for he had been poisoned before. ―It is only wine, but the best wine you have ever tasted, although you look like a boy who has tasted the fine things in life,‖ she said, noting his expensive clothes, however disheveled they were. Blake was thirsty indeed, so he drank deeply, and handed the container back. The wine was deep and earthy, flavored with spices he could not place. He could barely control the urge to drain the flask, but politeness restrained him. ―No, no, finish it,‖ she said. ―Do what you will. You seem to me a boy who has not done what he will, so you find yourself thus.‖ Blake drained the flask and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. It was easy for him to believe that this woman had always done what she would. ―You must give reign to the part of you that is animal, like I do,‖ she said seriously. ―When humans forget that they are also animals, the universe will find a way to make them remember, and that can be a bad thing.‖

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He thought of the poets who worshipped nature and found peace there. Diana was one of those. She nodded, as though she had read his mind, and he smiled shyly. ―We are here, in this beautiful place, and we are healthy and strong. We will go on our hunt, out of the forest to the water, and we shall then see what we are fighting against.‖ ―I am not brave,‖ he said, ashamed. ―Nor have I ever been athletic, or quick. I am not like you.‖ He watched her slide the flask back in her pack. He hoped the wine would soothe him so that they could talk more freely. They must travel far by nightfall, he was sure, and darkness would come all too soon. ―You are strong enough to try, and that means much,‖ she told him. ―The rest, I can provide for I am quick enough for two, and strong as an ox.‖ She led Blake through the forest, and he told her the story of the witch, of his father, and of the girl, Jane, who had abandoned him. Diana smiled. ―Perhaps it is not as you think and the witch was a danger to Jane as well. Perhaps her instinct made her fear something, just as animals here startle at sounds that are not typical because they know they mean danger.‖ ―Yes…I guess that could be true… Only…she travels with another boy, older than me. A man, I suppose, and she is with him now for I have seen them together.‖ He reached into his pack and brought out the ball, which was icy cold. Diana grabbed the ball and stared into it. Instantly, its cloudy interior cleared, and she saw an image of a man with the wings of a great bird of prey, circling the sky. ―He is real!‖ she gasped, her eyes shining. ―The animals have told me stories, but I was not sure…‖ She smiled, watching the graceful beauty of the man-beast as he turned sweeping circles in the air, his features lit up and unearthly. ―What…who is it?‖ he asked, for the face was one he had seen before. ―The Cupid, or so I believe,‖ Diana said, elated. ―Is this the one you saw with your true love?‖ 239


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―Yes, though he did not seem to be a winged creature when I saw him. I thought he was a normal boy, like me.‖ He watched the creature move through the sky in wonder, for he was beautiful, but not at all what Blake had thought he was. He was not human, like Jane. He was more like the goddess who stood before him. His hatred of Jane, which had been fueled by terrible jealousy, receded and he felt ashamed for clearly the girl was at the mercy of magic and fate, just as he was. ―You were wrong, I think,‖ she said, smiling. ―For he is the long-lost son of Venus, and I have hunted for him for many years. He was my only failure. I searched the earth, everywhere there was to look, but he was never there.‖ ―Why is this…Cupid…with my Jane?‖ he asked suspiciously. ―He is helping her to survive, for your witch has another agenda, and she is in great danger. The witch has great powers, the Gods of the Underworld push her forward, and she is dangerous. She wishes to kill your love, and she will do it if she can. She is looking for Jane right now, and we must find the girl before she does. The Cupid is there to protect her, but he is weak, perhaps, having been cursed by Pluto.‖ ―Cursed?‖ Blake asked, for it was all impossible to believe, and yet Diana told the story as though it was not of much consequence. ―Yes,‖ she said. ―Pluto rules the Underworld, and Venus spurned him, and he loved her well, or at least he loved her beauty well.‖ She smiled, as though she had a secret she kept inside. ―Pluto cursed the poor boy, who was just a tiny cherub, and the most beautiful baby I have ever seen.‖ Blake‘s faced tightened. He was used to being the handsome one, and this winged creature was close to the girl he loved, and more handsome than he. ―We could not find him, not for ages,‖ Diana said, her face angry. ―He was hidden too well, and cursed too well. We had thought he was in the Underworld, and none of us go there for it is a wretched place, and our powers are not strong there.

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―So, Minerva, our Goddess of Wisdom, was sent to find the girl, and found the Cupid as well,‖ Diana continued. ―And now we shall go find all of them, and we will all be safe and happy once more.‖ She started to walk forward, nodding at him to follow. ―But what should Minerva want with a village girl?‖ he asked, exasperated. ―She is a village girl. She lived with her little brother in a shabby farmhouse. She is not one of you, but just a simple girl.‖ Diana looked at him. She seemed a little sorry for him, probably because there was so much he did not understand. ―She is not only a girl. She is a half deity. I am sorry, Blake, but she did not know this until recently, and she is running from that same knowledge. She does not want to be anything but a little girl, or so Neptune has told us.‖ ―Neptune,‖ he said. ―King Neptune, from mythology?‖ He ran his hands through his hair in consternation. He felt he had been dropped headfirst into a world that was like a dream, a wild dream. The type you got when you ate far too much and then went right to sleep, or when you drank a witch‘s poison tea… ―Not mythology,‖ she said abruptly. ―Never mythology.‖ She wriggled her fingers in front of his face. ―Touch them, they are real,‖ she ordered. He held her strong, rough fingers with their short nails, and he felt her skin, and then he let go. ―Real,‖ she went on. ―We are real, but not everyone can see, and so few believe.‖ ―There are three worlds…the Trinity,‖ Diana said reverently. The Sky, The Sea, and The Underworld. I am of the Sky, but I prefer the earth, for I am the Huntress. But most of the others all reside near the Sunlit Cloud, where Jupiter rules. I must go there sometimes, but I spend most of my time hunting.‖ ―So…Jane is of the Sea?‖ he asked. ―She is the daughter of Neptune?‖ He remembered the shining, rippling fair hair, the jewel bright eyes, the translucent skin. Indeed, her beauty was not of this earth. He could see her under the water, a vision, like the sirens who lured men to their ruin. Had she not done that to him? 241


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―Yes, but of a human mother. She is of mixed blood, and she has power, but does not yet understand who she is for she was raised on the land. She found out who she was almost by accident, by going to the sea when the moon was full and everything was exactly right. She went below the sea, and she found out who she was.‖ She stepped up her pace, dragging him along by the hand in an effort to speed him up. ―Walk faster now,‖ she said. ―And no more talking, for good hunters do not alert their prey in advance.‖ Blake swallowed the many questions that he had unwillingly. Jane not being human was the worst of it, but he must see her, speak to her, anyway. She had not harmed his father. She had done no harm, and she was as innocent as he. She had tried to be simply a girl, but it was not meant to be. He hated Liesel, for if she had not come, all would be well. He would never have known this, and would have been blissful in his ignorance. He thought Jane might have told him someday, when they were closer, but what would he have done? He did not know… ―Do you still want to find the girl?‖ she whispered. ―Or only the witch?‖ ―Both,‖ he said firmly, and he quickened his pace, his muscles burning, for he was only human, and they were moving so fast. I still love her, he thought. I cannot help it. He was ashamed that he had failed her when she needed him, and that he had doubted her and let her go so easily. It was the grief, he thought, that made me turn from her. And the witch… He felt again the terrible desire to do harm to Liesel, accompanied as it was by gruesome images of a carriage stuck on the roadside, filled with the stench of poison, and with other terrible things that no one should ever have to see. They walked until nightfall…

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Chapter Sixty-One Liesel had searched for her enemy, but failed to find whoever it was who knocked on the door and foiled her careful plans. Blake was gone, and her crystal ball had also disappeared. She had fretted as she crouched under the bed and found it missing. Panicked, grabbing for her weapons and whatever potions remained, she headed for the forest where she was sure the boy had gone. Something in her, some voice inside her head, was screaming for her to go to the forest. She could feel Hecate‘s evil moving through her like a serpent, twisting and twisting. She felt cold under her layers of cloaks as she covered her face with a deep hood that concealed her features and stole away into the night once more. She ran for the woods, leaving the pub behind, she hoped, forever. She never wished to see that wretched place again. She felt stabbing pains in her back as she ran, and her breathing came hard. Running became impossible, and so she walked, wrenched with pain. She reached up to tuck an errant lock of hair into her hood. The wind was blowing it in her face. She felt bald spots upon her scalp and screamed. Clumps of silky, glossy, dark hair were falling out as she touched them. She reached inside the hood, and brought forth handfuls of hair, shining and perfumed. Liesel screamed again into the night, touching her face, feeling the smooth, plump skin sink and go dry. It was turning to old parchment. She needed no looking glass to know what was happening. The Queen of The Crossroads was ending her youth, and with it, all of her chances for peace and happiness. She was turning old again, unable to run…unable to charm or to kiss. She rushed into the forest; she knew her haggard face 243


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was terrible to behold. She felt hatred and all of a sudden, she wished to kill. At least the boy had run away. At least he had not witnessed this devastation. She knew now that Hecate had knocked on the door, just to play with her. Liesel had been so close, but Hecate would not let her have her heart‘s desire. She should have tried harder to find the girl, but she had disappeared, and she had found she wanted Blake‘s love more than anything else. Now, she would pay for that. She would pay for all of eternity. She walked slowly and miserably through the forest, tears of frustration running down her lined, colorless cheeks. I am so old, she thought, so old. Her breath was labored from her exertions. It hurt to breathe the cold winter air. She stopped suddenly, took the iron dagger out of her cloak, and held it to her wrist. What does it matter anymore? she thought, and she started to cut the skin on her wrist. She wanted to die now, and she longed to escape her fate. Perhaps she could if she took her own life. She was too weak to hunt through a forest, she knew. Too cold to pursue the ones she had to find. And I cannot face Blake again, she thought desperately. I will kill him rather than have him know that this is me…his Liesel. She pulled the dagger hard across her wrist. But I would rather die myself. The knife drew no blood. No matter how hard she pulled at her skin with the razor-sharp blade, her flesh remained unmarked and did not bleed. ―Put the knife away,‖ she heard a voice say deep within her mind. It was a man‘s voice, and it was as cold as the steel she wielded. ―Who‘s there?‖ she yelled into the forest. ―Who goes there?‖ Her voice sounded awful, the old croak she had forgotten was her true voice. Some more of her dark hair lay in bunches upon the ground, falling out of her hood as she moved. She touched her face, putting the knife back in her cloak.

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―It will not work. You must finish your task, and come to the River,‖ Pluto said, a smile in his voice. Liesel heard the harsh laughter of Hecate in the background, and closed her eyes. She thought she might faint. The voices were so loud, and yet they came from inside of her. ―I am not strong enough,‖ she croaked. ―I would like to revenge myself upon Minerva, but I am weak, and old. I cannot make my way through all this forest, and I do not know where to go.‖ Her voice was choked with tears. She did not want to listen to Pluto and Hecate. Their voices were like acid in a wound, and she must listen to them, forever and ever. ―I will make you strong,‖ Pluto answered. ―Go and break a branch, the longest and strongest you can find, off of a tree. Then wait.‖

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Chapter Sixty-Two Liesel looked about her, but she could not find anything. She heard a crunching sound not far from where she searched, and then she saw a huge evergreen tree begin to fall. She ran out of the way, watching the tree crash to the ground. She glanced back at the village, for it was close, and the noise had been loud. ―They won‘t hear,‖ Pluto said soothingly. ―Get the branch now.‖ She reached for a long branch that had snapped off at its base, and held it in her hand. She held the branch, waiting for something… The branch sparked and caught fire and she dropped it on the ground. She heard the sound of ancient languages in her ears, the ones she had used in spells and incantations. The flames grew, even on the wet ground, and they rose higher and higher until they were over her head. She tried to move away, but was bewitched by the licking flames. They seemed to dance only for her. Inside of the flames, a figure was emerging, glistening and red, as though soaked in fresh blood. Out of the flames, Pluto walked, his burning limbs turning to healthy bronze skin, his demon‘s face growing handsome and smooth. Pluto smiled at Liesel and extended his hand. The flames died on the ground in that same instant, leaving only a blanket of ash behind. She could not move, for never had she seen such magic, and she was awed by his power. Liesel could feel his strength, and she fell to her knees in front of him. ―Pluto,‖ she intoned, bowing her head. ―My great lord.‖

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―Get up,‖ he said, not unkindly, and he looked into her face. ―My, my aren‘t we a sight?‖ He smiled, his cold, blue eyes relishing the look of desolation in the old woman‘s eyes as he spoke the mocking words. ―Give me back what Hecate took, and I will do anything…‖ she begged, still at his feet. ―Nothing lasts forever, you know…beauty, wealth, life itself…all ends, all dies, all is subject to my domain. I claim beauty in decay, wealth that can no longer be dispensed, bodies that can no longer move or breathe…or love. Nothing lasts, and when it is gone, I am all that remains.‖ ―Don‘t,‖ Liesel said. ―You can reverse this. You are strong.‖ ―I could, but I won‘t because I enjoy it so much,‖ he said, smiling. She grabbed for her dagger then, and tried to stab him with it, for it was all she had, and she was enraged. He laughed at she plunged the dagger into his skin. It did not penetrate, and it never would. ―You know better than that,‖ he said, grinning, prying the knife out of her gnarled hands. She stared at him in naked hatred. ―I killed for you,‖ she rasped. ―I killed, and I would kill more if you‘d but give me the strength to do it.‖ ―That‘s better,‖ he said. ―Firstly, you did not kill for me, but for yourself. You gloried in it, and Hecate told me so.‖ He laughed. ―Don‘t be ashamed, for many have gone before you, feeling godly power for just a moment as they claim the blood of another. It is natural, but it was not for me, or for Hecate. ―The way you felt when you killed,‖ he continued, ―is how I feel as I send you to the River. That is your punishment for I am here to finish what you started, and you are no longer useful here.‖ He reached over, took her hand and tucked her iron dagger into his robes. ―I will keep this for my collection, if you don‘t mind,‖ he said. ―I can‘t go down there,‖ Liesel rasped. ―Please let me die here, then let me cross to the other side.‖ ―I‘ve tried to explain, Liesel,‖ he sighed. ―Your suffering brings me pleasure, and therefore, I won‘t stop it. Don‘t you understand?‖ 247


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Liesel stared at him. There was nothing to say now. She understood everything. ―I will enjoy sending the daughter of Neptune to Hecate, as well,‖ he said, smiling. ―I‘m afraid you are not strong enough for this task we set out for you since she has royal blood.‖ ―Minerva will stop you,‖ Liesel snapped, nasty and mean now as ever she was. She hated Minerva, it was true, but now she hated Pluto even more. ―She cannot,‖ Pluto said. ―She is just a goddess. They are never as powerful as gods.‖ He laughed. ―They may think they are strong, but they aren‘t, all those women. Only Jupiter is my rival.‖ ―Minerva is strong,‖ Liesel said. ―She filled my cave with her aura. I could feel her strength. It would have been impossible to harm her, so I chose the girl.‖ ―But you fell in love,‖ Pluto said crushingly, ―and you failed to kill the girl. You forgot your pledge to destroy her, and now it is time for you to go.‖ ―I am afraid,‖ Liesel whispered, closing her eyes tight. ―They always are,‖ Pluto said with a half smile, and then he brought out her dagger and examined it under the moonlight. ―It is time to go to Hecate. She is waiting.‖ Liesel closed her eyes, imagining the boy‘s scent, and his soft golden hair. She had been so close, so close, to peace. When she opened her eyes, she saw the Underworld laid out before her like a scene from a nightmare. Hecate stood by the shore and nodded in welcome. Sisyphus turned from his labors and shook his head sadly. ―Fool. Murderer,‖ he muttered, groaning again as he pushed the great boulder. ―Fool and murderer, indeed,‖ Hecate said as Liesel, hideous now and bedraggled, walked slowly toward her. Liesel looked at her with hatred. ―You robbed me!‖ she said spitefully. ―It was you who knocked on that door with your magic.‖

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―It was a warning. The timing could not be helped,‖ Hecate said soothingly. ―It was only a warning. That was all.‖ She led Liesel to the riverbanks. ―But the boy heard it, too!‖ Liesel spat. ―Yes, well, magic is rarely perfect, as we both know,‖ Hecate said, her eyes gleaming with good humor. ―I thought you would want to know, so that he would not have to see you…like this. Your time was running out.‖ And she laughed and laughed, walking away from Liesel, who must guard the riverbank now and forever. Liesel smelled the metallic stench of the crimson waters and she wished herself dead. She watched the souls cross—there were so many— and she felt the pure spirits rise and the mean spirits fall, each to their own place. She was on the border, and she would never know true pleasure, or true pain, again. Only numbness, which was worse than pain. **** Pluto walked through the forest, looking in wonder around him. He rarely left his palace, and the earth was unfamiliar to him. But he knew the first battle of the Great War should be fought on neutral ground. He must make the first move and place the pieces where they should lie. These humans were bait, and they would bring the war into motion. His armies were ready. A quick summons would call them up out of the River where they dwelled. He would wait until the moment was right, and he would try to kill the girl and steal Minerva away to his home. Once she was down in his palace, he would have a bargaining chip if the war went wrong. I also have Proserpina, he thought cruelly. She cannot die, but she can languish, and Jupiter will not want Minerva, his beloved child, to suffer such a fate. He walked through the forest, waiting to feel the aura of other, similar beings. It would not be long before he did. He smiled as he walked, his godly bulk casting strange shadows. He needed to make it to the other side of the forest, but there was no great hurry. With his magic, such things were easily achieved. He gloried in the still, silent beauty of the night for 249


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just a moment or two, glancing back at the spot where he and Liesel had stood. Her begging had made him feel happy and strong. The only thing he worried about was whether or not Jupiter was watching him. He glanced up at the sky and his features darkened. He scowled as he remembered his journey to the Sunlit Cloud. ―This is war,‖ he muttered, and he closed his eyes, chanting spells he had known since the beginning of time.

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Chapter Sixty-Three ―Did you feel that?‖ Jane asked Minerva as they walked through the darkness. ―Yes,‖ Minerva said, looking over at the Cupid, who stopped walking and turned back to the women. ―He is here,‖ the Cupid said simply. ―Pluto. We are running out of time.‖ Jane shivered in the darkness, the coldness seeping into her bones. The forest was perfectly still, but there was a feeling of menace in the air, a cold fear that all of them could sense. It was the feeling that had driven them from the village. Only, this time, it was so much stronger than that. Minerva held their hands and they stood all in a row. She closed her eyes and chanted some words in her own true language, and then Jane watched as the Cupid felt the pain, the familiar pain that wracked his body, as the change came over him more quickly than it ever had before. ―We need you,‖ Minerva told him as he cried out in pain and doubled over. His skin glowed as his body grew longer and larger and the buds pushed through his skin. He moaned, feeling the power, his power, surge through his tortured body. Soon, he let go of their hands and floated over them, staring down at the women. He rose in the air, twisting and turning, gently moving his wings to stay aloft. ―It was easier…this time,‖ he called out. ―The pain passed so quickly!‖ ―Yes,‖ Minerva answered. ―One day you will not need to suffer this way to be who you are.‖ Jane smiled at this.

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―Come,‖ he said, reaching his strong arms down to grasp Jane under one arm and the goddess under the other. ―You two are heavy, but I think I can do it if I try.‖ His face was dark with strain as he tried to work his wings under their heavy load. Jane watched the earthen floor recede as he carried them upward, moaning with their weight. They could not fly high, but soon they were high enough that they could see the shining Emerald Sea in the distance. He fluttered his huge, snow white wings, and moved over the landscape as Jane felt the familiar sensation of euphoria and fear. The Cupid headed toward the shoreline where she would finally be safe. He would not go to the Sky, he murmured in her ear, but would stay to fight the Great War, for he was strong, and he said he could feel power flowing through his being. His eyes glowed deep blue now. Jane stared down in wonder as they flew faster and faster toward the sea, and soon they passed the edge of the forest, the village of Lynnshire far, far away now. He set them down on the dark sand and stood before them. ―You must go,‖ he told her, pulling her close to him. ―Your eyes are ivy green in the moonlight, Jane,‖ he whispered. ―I think I have never seen anyone so beautiful!‖ ―No, I cannot leave you. Please, don‘t make me go!‖ she begged as she stared into his face. ―You must go,‖ Minerva told her, and then they all looked at one another. As they did, Jane heard a rustle behind them. Cupid pulled out his arrow and turned toward the noise. Jane watched nervously as Minerva began to blow upon the ring she wore. Soon, Jane felt terrified as two figures emerged from the dark forest. They appeared as black silhouettes, both of about the same height. One of the shapes called out in the darkness for Minerva, and the goddess‘ face seemed to light up. She must recognize the voice! The dark figures ran down to the sand, and Jane‘s heart was in her throat as she saw Blake, gazing at her as he ran. She felt tears spring up

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into her eyes, and she ran toward him, fearing nothing. They embraced, and Blake kissed her endlessly as the group came together. Blake and Jane broke their kiss and stared at one another. The young man smiled, and Jane felt her heart break, for she must leave him. It was the only way to protect him. ―I am sorry,‖ she said softly. ―I am sorry I could not tell you who I am. Do you know now, who I really am?‖ ―Yes,‖ he whispered. ―I know you must go, but can you not take me with you, Jane? I love you…‖ Jane looked down, for there was little time now. ―You would not be happy,‖ she said in despair. ―You would not be happy there. It is no place for humans, and you would become angry with me for what I‘d done to you.‖ Blake‘s eyes filled with tears, and he turned away from her, staring at Minerva and Diana. ―Where is the boy…her brother?‖ he asked, bewildered, as Jane stared into his face. Her heart was breaking. It always seemed to ache when she was with him. ―Shall I take him with me, away from this place?‖ ―I am here,‖ the Cupid said, moving closer. ―I am here.‖ ―You are a man, not a little boy,‖ the young lord answered accusingly, and Jane winced. There had been so many lies. Jane watched as the Cupid moved close to the young man and stared into his face. Blake was so handsome, and so innocent. ―I was the one who pierced you with my arrow that night at the Christmas Pageant when no one could see except the two of us.‖ ―I don‘t understand,‖ Blake said in anger, glaring at the winged man. He turned to Jane, his voice accusing. ―Where is the child? This cannot be him!‖ ―He‘s not truly a child,‖ Minerva said, answering for Jane. ―He is the Cupid who stands before you now, the daughter of Venus herself…the Goddess of Love.‖ Jane looked over at the Cupid, who seemed desperately sad. ―He is cursed, and appears as a human child by day, but this is his true self, and only some of us can see him until the curse is broken and he can 253


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be free. You are under enchantment by the gods, and by black magic, and so you can see him thus. I have weakened the curse, but I cannot break it yet.‖ ―I was pierced by Cupid‘s arrow, and bound to Jane?‖ he said, bewildered. ―I had no need of that for I would have given her my heart anyway.‖ ―I did not bewitch you,‖ Jane said heatedly, glaring at the Cupid. ―I swear to you, I knew nothing of this.‖ ―She did not know…‖ the Cupid said, retreating into the darkness. ―It was my doing alone, and I am sorry.‖ His voice was cold now, disembodied. Jane looked on as he went and sat by the shore, his wings folded around him. She turned away from him; she could not face him. He had deceived her and led her to ruin. ―You must take Blake away, Diana,‖ Minerva said heatedly. ―Somewhere where he cannot be found, and hide him well.‖ Diana nodded. ―But you will need my help, will you not?‖ she asked. ―For I can feel the evil closing in on us, and I know what that means, and so do you…‖ ―Yes, I can feel it, too. There isn‘t much time.‖ Minerva rubbed on the ring on her finger, blew on it again. The pearl‘s colors were changing and shifting. ―I have help, don‘t worry,‖ Jane said, and Diana took the boy‘s hand and led him away. ―I will hide him well, with the animals, and stay with him until this is over.‖ ―It will be over soon,‖ the Cupid said, his back turned. The sea in front of him was turning wild and rough. ―Tomorrow, take him to his mother.‖ ―She is gone…I sent her away,‖ Blake said, crying a little. He gazed at Jane, and her heart filled with longing. ―She waits for you,‖ the Cupid barked. ―I feel more powerful now. I can always feel love, but all is stronger now, and I know she waits. She is there, in your house, and she will not leave until you come. Her love is so

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strong. She sent others to look for you instead, but they will not find you here. You must go back.‖ Jane took Blake‘s hand, and she shook as she raised it to her lips and kissed it gently. ―Parting is such sweet sorrow,‖ she said, tears streaming down her face. He let her go, watching her walk down to the shore. I will do anything to keep him safe, she thought as she nodded at Diana who swept the boy away again into the darkness. ―Diana will take care of him. She is powerful, and she can hide him well. He will be safe,‖ Minerva said, walking with her. ―I believe you,‖ Jane said, and she held the goddess close, burying her face in her shoulder. ―It‘s time to go now,‖ Minerva said simply. Jane took off her boots and she sat at the edge of the shore, touching the water with one hand. The full moon lit up the night sky. She looked back at the Cupid, still angry with him, but her anger melted as she saw his face. He stared at her with sorrow and with longing, and with true love. She felt the mixture of confusion and attraction that always overtook her when he was a man. He came over to her then, and held her gently in his arms, his white wings enfolding her. ―I will see you again, I swear it. I would die for you, Jane. I took you to the village because…something made me take you there. We were all meant to be in this place, together, on this night. I was meant to bind you to Blake so that you would stay. The Great War is coming, and we were meant to be part of it. That is all.‖ He let her go, and stepped back, watching the waves froth behind her. ―Why us?‖ she asked, dreading the sea, and unwilling to leave him ―Pluto destroyed me. Perhaps I am meant to destroy him in kind,‖ The Cupid said. ―I have one arrow left, Jane, and I will use it well…‖ ―Come with me,‖ she said, suddenly. ―I want to be with you.‖ ―One day, perhaps, but not this day.‖ He smiled. He held her gaze, his eyes intense. As Jane turned to the water, she saw a legion of creatures rising out of the surf with great, thick manes of hair like Neptune‘s, and strong chests 255


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covered in golden scales. She smiled, for she knew her father had sent them to help her, to help all of them. The soldiers waited in the water, scanning the edge of the forest. Cupid nodded at them, and one of their kind came forward. ―I am here to take you home, my princess,‖ he said, reaching out for her hand. ―Goodbye,‖ Jane said, looking at Minerva. ―Thank you, goddess.‖ Then, Jane went deeper into the water, which seemed to glow turquoise and green and gold, and then opal white. The full moon glittered against the sea as the soldier led her under the waves, and Jane sank down with him, into the depths. She knew they all watched in wonder from the shore as her bright tail flicked up to the surface and then disappeared. At once, stillness of the Emerald Sea would return, but she would be gone from all of them… **** Minerva stood with the Cupid, and they turned and faced the woodlands, the mermen behind them all in a long row. Everyone was watchful and silent. The Cupid reached for his quiver and held the gold-tipped arrow in his hand. Its symbols glowed now, and its tip was razor sharp. He hid it in his cloak, but held onto it all the same. His hand grasped in under his rough cape so that it was invisible. The sky lit up in a flash of scarlet and gray smoke as Pluto floated over the tall trees and came toward the sand. He landed about fifty feet from them, and the merman fell into position, marching in formation. They had lay on the beach, just for a moment, as their new legs grew strong, then quickly stood up as they had been trained to do with barely any awkwardness. As they saw Pluto, they formed a barrier around Minerva, and tried to usher the Cupid in, too, but he shook his head. He walked toward Pluto, feeling the terrible fear that assaulted his senses and left him overpowered.

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He tried to clear his head, for the man was huge, and menacing, and seemed somehow familiar. ―Cupid,‖ Pluto said, ―it has been a long time. My, how you‘ve grown.‖ ―It was you,‖ the Cupid said. ―All this pain, and this curse, and for what?‖ ―For revenge,‖ Pluto said, and he raised his hand, gently blowing on a ring on his third finger. It was a flat onyx stone, and when Pluto blew onto it, it seemed to come to life, becoming a crimson river, flowing with dark blood. Shadowy figures emerged from the river, moaning, and began a solemn march as the Cupid held tight to his arrow, watching the river dwellers grow and change. ―He‘s sending his creatures,‖ the Cupid yelled, floating up into the air. ―Take Minerva and go!‖ ―I will not go!‖ she yelled. ―We will stay and fight. Pluto cannot hurt me now,‖ she said. ―So the girl is under the water now,‖ Pluto said, ―but she will come back for the boy, and I will be waiting.‖ ―She will never come back,‖ Minerva said. ―I will see that she does not, and you will leave the boy alone. He‘s of no matter to you.‖ ―If she comes, I will know,‖ he said. He grinned as he watched his men transform. Cupid drew in his breath as they made a great legion of warriors. All of them were decomposed to some degree. They were terrible to behold. Their broken bodies were obviously held together only through Pluto‘s black magic, conjured forth from the jaws of death and damnation. They moved toward the mermen on the shores, and they fought one another. The mermen swung great, iron tridents to fend them off. Cupid ducked in and grabbed Minerva, and they rose in the air over the soldiers as Pluto stared up at them, his face a mask of calm. In truth, he was angry, for the girl had gone back under the water now, and he was not powerful there. He grimaced at the Cupid, who heard him yell out that he should have destroyed him long ago. Cupid watched the mermen fall to their deaths as 257


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his creatures smothered them. Their tridents were useless against the magical beings who spewed hate and bloodlust. Pluto‘s warriors were stronger—just as he knew they would be. Would hate always win out over love? Cupid flew over the sea, as high as he could, with the goddess in his arms. He had never before climbed this high, and the ascent was dizzying. He ignored Minerva‘s protests as he carried her up into the night sky, far away from danger. He could no longer see the battle that raged below him, but he would soon go back and fight. This woman had rescued them. She had saved his dear Jane‘s life, and he would ensure her safety above all things. ―Where do I go?‖ he yelled to her as they flew. She knew what he meant, and he told him to close his eyes and repeat the secret words she said. He did as she asked, and when he opened his eyes, he saw a cloud shining with golden light as though it were high noon. He was startled by the brightness, and almost dropped the goddess, but she clung to him. ―Take me there,‖ she told him, pointing to the center of the cloud. ―Fly above it and just drop me. And go and use your arrow on Pluto, for it may be all that will work.‖ He let her fall into the cloud, knowing she would be safe there. ―Remember the words. Use them when you are done down there! They will bring you back to us!‖ she called out to him, and he nodded to her and began his descent. He closed his eyes, and soon found himself back in the dark night, nearing the shores where the mermen lay dying. The battle still raged. The mermen were partly human, and they were vulnerable for that reason. The Cupid hid in a high tree, hoping Pluto had been too distracted with the battle to notice his return. He strung his bow and waited, and as he did so, Jupiter plummeted out of the night and landed softly on the sand. Minerva must have warned him, or perhaps he had been watching and waiting for the perfect moment to do battle against his brother. Jupiter faced his sibling, and they were so alike in the Cupid‘s eyes. One brother

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fair, and one dark. They stared at each other, ignoring the cries of the mermen as they succumbed to the undead. ―So it is you and I,‖ Pluto said, and the Cupid felt a chill in his heart. ―Where is your army, my brother?‖ ―I have no need of assistance,‖ Jupiter answered. ―Do your best, Pluto, and you will find that it is not nearly enough.‖ ―Nonsense,‖ Pluto snapped. Jupiter turned to the shoreline, and stretched out his hand. The skies lit up as flashes of lightning shot from his fingertips, immobilizing the creatures of death. They stumbled wildly as Jupiter‘s magic overpowered their own spells. They spun, confused, and fell into the surf where they seemed to melt into the water. Pluto looked enraged. He muttered spells and called them back, but they did not come. The Cupid realized that Jupiter and Pluto did not fight because they knew they could not kill one another. Each could only damage the other by lessening their power. They stared at each other, hate plain on their faces, and Jupiter began to reprimand Pluto. ―Look at those bodies,‖ he said, pointing to the mermen who lay dead on the shore. ―All good men, all of godly, royal blood. You kill your own people, Pluto, and that is why you are despised.‖ ―They are not my people. My people are in the Underworld.‖ ―You tried to take the daughter of Neptune himself, and you failed. You were too slow, and you were too sure of yourself.‖ Jupiter was angry, and the air seemed to crackle with electricity as he spoke. Rain was coming down now, and the Cupid knew that Jupiter was unable to control his rage. Soon it thundered, and lightning criss-crossed the sky. Cupid held on to his perch upon a nearby tree, and wondered if the lightning would kill him. He did not know his father, and he could be just like Jane, a half-creature of mixed blood. Or he could be a full god, and invulnerable. He found it odd that Minerva had never mentioned his father, but he could do nothing about that now. He must risk death. It was his destiny.

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He stretched back his bow, for it was time. As Pluto and Jupiter raged and screamed at one another, he swept down out of the sky, an avenging angel once again, and shot his arrow straight into Pluto‘s black heart. The god stared down at the arrow and laughed. No weapon could wound him. But then, he looked up at the sky, and he saw the Cupid hovering in the distance, watching him. He crumpled onto the sand. ―Jupiter,‖ Pluto said weakly. ―He is but a half-deity, is he not? He cannot hurt me.‖ Cupid waited for his answer, but Jupiter did not answer at all. Instead, he turned and walked to the shore, leaving his brother writhing on the ground. He stopped for a moment, then turned around and walked back to the spot where Pluto lay with his face streaked in sweat. He wrested the flat, smooth onyx ring from his brother‘s hand, and crushed it in his powerful fist. The hard onyx shattered like glass. Pluto groaned, unable to move. The arrow had rendered him helpless. ―Who is his father?‖ Pluto demanded, his voice weak and thready. ―Another god. Not me. No half-deity is Cupid. You best remember that!‖ Jupiter answered, and he walked away from his brother, who might live or die, without a backward glance. The Cupid sat down on the beach and waited for the Great God of the Sky. He stared out to sea, away from the broken bodies of the dead, and he felt peace in his heart. Tomorrow, he would go to Jane, if his curse was broken, and meet her above the water. He would go to her, again and again, and he would find a way to show her that his love was true. If she chose to love the boy, and go to him, then so be it, but he must try. ―Hello, my boy,‖ Jupiter said, striding over to him. ―It seems the Great War has not yet occurred, for we are the only ones left and the poor mermen and those wretched river dwellers are the only casualties. You have done well.‖ ―I don‘t think it‘s over yet,‖ the Cupid said. ―I am not strong enough to destroy someone like Pluto.‖ He glanced back at the strong body, which lay crumpled further up the beach.

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―You are fully a god, young man, and rather a powerful one, at that,‖ Jupiter told him watched the smile spread across Cupid‘s face. ―Who is my father?‖ he asked, his curiosity powerful. ―I will show you tomorrow. There will be a great celebration in the Sunlit Cloud, and you shall take your place whether Pluto lives or dies, for you have been brave this night.‖ ―I am immortal!‖ the Cupid marveled. ―Truly?‖ ―Oh, yes, indeed,‖ Jupiter said. ―But since you came back, even when you were unsure, you have proven yourself the best and bravest of deities. Your mother will be proud.‖ Just then, the sun began to rise, and the Cupid sighed, waiting to change back into his cursed form. Jupiter seemed to read his mind. In an instant, he put his huge hand on the Cupid‘s forehead, and the Cupid felt the elder god‘s power flood through him, filling him with the strength to resist the curse, or even to break it. He saw the sun rise, and yet was still a man as Jupiter continued to press his palm tight against his forehead. Cupid felt pleasure run through his body as the sun warmed his skin. This was the best sunrise of his entire life. He stood and looked down at his manly body. Gone were the death-white pallor and the glowing eyes that made him monstrous. Now, he had only the beauty of the gods and goddesses… Cupid smiled and Jupiter nodded his head, as though acknowledging his silent gratitude. Then, Jupiter took his hand and stared down the beach where Pluto lay. ―Hecate will be devastated,‖ the elder god whispered with a smile. ―All her scheming has come to nothing. And what of my lost Proserpina? Will she grieve, or exult? ―I‘m taking you home,‖ Jupiter said, and then he said the three words, the magical words, that only the full-blooded gods could say.

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Chapter Sixty-Four Jane followed the merman deep into the sea. They held hands as the sea creatures cried out their welcome. Jane felt the joy rise up in her breast as she went faster and faster toward the bottom of the sea. She was not afraid any longer. She was who she was, and she would be happy to see her father again. It was time. Jane watched as the mermaids waited, their eyes filled with tears. She knew they cried for their men who had not returned. But they welcomed Jane all the same, covering her in necklaces like pretty garlands. They were made of pearls and tiny seashells. They bobbed gently in the water and sang for her as she greeted them. Neptune came down onto the seabed, his robes swirling around his body. His eyes were soft as she stared into his face. He embraced Jane and held her close, and then stood back from her. He reached into his robes for a little golden crown, blew gently upon it, and watched it float through the waters until it landed upon her head. She nodded her thanks, and he led her to her throne where he said she would rule alongside him in whatever fashion she wished. ―Minerva,‖ Jane said haltingly, for her voice was choked with tears. ―She saved me, Father.‖ ―I know she did,‖ he said, and he took her hand as the cheers of the mermaids rose and fell. They chanted her name. She smiled in gratitude. ―Is she hurt?‖ Neptune asked, and his voice was full of pain. ―I am certain that she is well,‖ said Jane, ―for she is wiser and stronger than all of us, and we will all be together soon.‖

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―But you do not know for certain?‖ he asked her, and his voice was filled with anxiety and pain. ―I must go to the Sunlit Cloud and look for her…‖ ―No, I am not sure,‖ she said softly. ―May I come with you?‖ ―You cannot,‖ he said sadly. ―It is for full-blood gods and goddesses only, and you would not survive the journey.‖ ―I will wait,‖ she said. ―I will rule in your place until you return. Neptune nodded, and then placed his trident in her hands. He called out to his courtiers—or such that remained. ―All hail the princess…Princess Jane, of the Emerald Sea.‖ ―All Hail,‖ they chanted, over and over and over again, and Jane sat and watched them. She felt their love wash over her and cleanse her soul. ―Thank you,‖ she whispered to her father, kissing his cheek. ―It will be different now, my daughter,‖ he said. ―You need not fear me anymore, for I will never harm you, and you may come and go as you please.‖ ―I think I will stay here now,‖ she said, and her mind turned to Blake, who must be safe with his mother, if all was well. Her heart still ached for him. ―Then fare thee well, and I shall see you as soon as I can. Is there any message you would like me to take to my dearest Minerva?‖ he asked. ―If she is there…and safe…‖ he added, his eyes filling with tears. ―Yes,‖ she said, smiling. ―I think she will be there, and I would like to you tell her that…she is like my mother now, and I would be honored if she became your wife because I love her so well.‖ Neptune smiled shyly. ―I will give her your message, if I can find the courage.‖ ―Find it,‖ Jane said. ―For I know she cares for you, and you should be as one.‖ ―We must find you a proper groom, but our men…are lost,‖ he said. The mermaids hung their pretty heads and cried as he said the words, for these men were their lovers. ―They are heroes,‖ he told the mermaids, who nodded in agreement. 263


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Neptune cleared his throat and began to speak to the group amassed before him. ―The little children of the sea will be heartbroken when they learn that the mermen are gone. As you know, they have been sequestered in a cave for some time, to protect them from all the dangers around them, and they are guarded closely by three of my mermaids and the reef sharks who do my bidding. Never forget that this new generation will still rise… Our men died to spare us from the rule of Pluto and the Underworld,‖ Neptune continued, ―and not for the Princess Jane alone. Remember that. You would all be dead if Pluto had his way…and your children, too.‖ Jane cried as the mermaids nodded and bobbed in the water, smiling at her through their own tears. They said that they could not be angry with her, though their tears poured down for their lost men…for Jane was one of them, and she would lead them and care for them as a daughter of Neptune should. Neptune floated toward the surface as Jane sat quietly on her throne, taking in the murky beauty that was everywhere around her. She would not live on the land again, she knew. She was certain she belonged in this place. She would let Blake go, to find happiness elsewhere, for she loved him and wanted him to be happy. She would not take his humanity from him for her own selfish reasons. And, of course, there was something else, too. Something that held her back… She knew it was the Cupid, her mysterious friend, with whom she could be fully herself. It was always the Cupid who seemed to understand her in a way that others could not. She would go to him, if he lived—and she felt sure that he did—and find out if he used his other arrow at last. He had not always been straight with her, but he was the one who fascinated and intrigued her above all others, even above the beautiful human boy whom she still adored. I cannot love both, she thought, confused. It must be one or the other, or none at all. She told the mermaids to be at ease, and they scattered into smaller groups, talking sadly about their men. And she drifted up the surface

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where the skies were clear blue, and the air felt heavy and thick to breathe. She floated on the Emerald Sea, staring up at the sky and dreaming. I cannot love two, she thought again. There can only be one, and I will wait here for him. If he comes, I will know that it is real… **** The Cupid was up in the Sunlit Cloud when he heard her silent call. He had been thinking of her anyway. He was surrounded by love, and his mother was more perfect than he could ever have dreamed. He was the son of Mercury and Venus, a full-blooded god, and he was at peace in the sunshine and the warmth of his family. All his dreams had come true, and yet…he had heard her call, and he knew he could not stay away. He went to Venus and his strong, charismatic father, who wore wings upon his ankles, and he explained that he must go, but that he would soon return. They listened to him, and then they nodded their assent and kissed him fondly. ―You are my son. You are born to love,‖ his mother said, smiling. ―Go and be in love, but come back to us as soon as you can for I cannot bear to lose my son twice.‖ Mercury smiled proudly as Cupid unfolded his huge, white wings. ―I will,‖ the Cupid said, and he smiled like a boy. There was no more cunning and no more curses or spells to spin his head. He stretched his wings, luxuriating in the heat of daylight, and he looked down from the Sunlit Cloud, down to the Emerald Sea, which glittered like a jewel in the distance. He jumped from the cloud as Jupiter waved goodbye, and smiled at Mercury and Venus. All would be well, for now. Pluto might survive, but he would need time to regain his strength. For now, he could celebrate the victory that had been won. The sea was smooth and still as the Cupid approached it. His broad wings stirred the surface ever so gently, causing pretty ripples upon its surface. Then, he saw her. He did not need to look for her, for she was just where he knew that she would be. Jane was a part of him, and without her, he was incomplete. Jane was a half-blood goddess, it was true, but her 265


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humanity seemed to fulfill him and stimulate him, always leaving him wanting more. He floated over her and she smiled up at him. He noticed the little crown of hammered gold that rested upon her beautiful pale hair even as she floated. Her tail was blue and green and glistened in the sun. She looked relaxed and happy now. Her eyes were warm and bright as she stared up at him. The joy in her face was all the reassurance he needed. He told her that the battle had been won, and that Minerva was safe. She just smiled. He floated down to her, moving his wings gently so that he hovered just above her body, and then he reached down to touch her face. She pulled him closer still, both arms around his neck, and she kissed him, closing her eyes. He felt his heart swell with love as he returned her kiss. **** Oh, how I love him! Jane thought as they kissed. In the days that followed, they would meet there, every day, always, and later, when they were nostalgic, they would also go to the island and play in the sand. The curse was removed now, and the island was safe. In time, it became their refuge. It was the perfect meeting point between the sea and sky. Jane could not be with the Cupid every moment, but she longed for him every day of her life, and their love grew deeper and stronger over time. He had told her that they would each be as themselves and live out their lives, and then they would meet and share their lives with one another. Jane knew there was no need to change and no need to explain. In perfect understanding, they grew with one another, always bewitched, and always in love. Jane returned to Royalton only once, for her grandmother was gone now: It was too late. Minerva traveled with her, and took her to the grave. Together, they placed lilies upon the grass, and Jane cried. For hours, they rested there, and Jane told Minerva all about her young life and what her grandmother had meant to her. She had never had the chance to say 266


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goodbye, and for years afterward, she would sometimes cry and long for the woman that she had left behind. But Jane knew now that she had truly been bewitched, and so she learned to forgive herself. Still, she would never forget the way her grandmother had cared for her and loved her. Nor would she forget Blake, the boy she had thought she loved. But she knew he was safe, and she also knew he would be happier with his own kind. Just as she needed the understanding of Cupid, who knew her mind, Blake would need someone who could truly understand him. She knew she was not that person because only the Cupid could fill the empty spaces in her heart. THE END

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About the Author Heather Matthews is an author and full-time freelance writer based in Vancouver, B.C., Canada. She has written for Canadian Living Magazine and West Coast Families Magazine, and popular websites such as Toptenz.net. Her first novel (romance, Carolina) is now available at www.Amazon.com.

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Sugar and Spice Press Where romance is everything nice. www.SugarNSpicePress.com

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