Shadows Before the Sun

in a very pissed off voice before throwing me down and retreating into a swirl of vanishing gray.

I braced for impact, for my body to break against stone.

But I slapped against water instead, hitting one of the pools, and drawing in a shocked gasp that filled my lungs with seawater. I sank to the glittering bottom as everything went black.

* * *

Emma.

Her face appeared so clearly in the blackness. But it was different, she was different. Older. Gorgeous. The sun was like a halo behind her, making the red in her brown hair turn to fire and gold. It was down, long, like mine used to be, and it moved in the breeze, and she laughed, dimples slicing into smooth cheeks, eyes brimming with happiness and serenity, a confidence that wasn’t there now. Wasn’t there yet.

Love. Profound love. So perfect and pure, it made my soul hurt. It pierced my heart and demanded I acknowledge its significance.

The golden light behind Emma’s form shimmered, growing until it blinded everything and in this light another form took shape. Female shape, hair moving as though underwater and glinting like sunlight on the sea. I felt a smile, more than I saw one. Felt kindness and acceptance.

I saw myself reaching out, but didn’t feel the movement, only knowing that I was supposed to open my hand. It was enveloped in golden warmth. Two pearls were pressed into my palm. They were the size of marbles, and heavy. The inscription on the jewels glowed.

I gazed in dreamlike wonder at what rested in my hand. I remembered the dancers at the banquet, the story . . . I knew what I held.

Yes, a voice entered my mind, a beautiful voice filled with kindness and love and power. And I knew this could only be Panopé, the Witch of the Sea, the mother to the siren race. But how? Laughter filled my head, sweet and ethereal, and I wondered if I was gone.

No, you’re not dead, human. The only way I could reach you was here, in the sea. The Circe have imprisoned me.

Imprisoned?

They have kept my power locked in their sanctum. They had so much promise. They took the gift of my vision and twisted it, became too powerful, too unworthy . . .

I glanced down at the Source Words in my hand. The Adonai never stole them. It was my voice. You took them back.

It was long before the Circe were born, but yes. My children were not ready for them.

And now they are? And why was she giving them to me? I wasn’t a siren. I wasn’t preprogrammed to read or wield the words inscribed on the pearls. And why two of them?

They are but two of the three words I took back. And there is one who is ready to wield them. Hank? But . . . To wield words of Creation and Destruction one must understand the weight of that power, the sacrifice, and the responsibility. The corruption power can bring. Only now is he ready for such gifts.

But how? I found myself asking. He could only wield one of them . . . right?

When the families of Elekti and Kairos combined through marriage, the children inherited the innate power to wield not one but two Source Words. Destruction, originally intended for the Elekti, and Creation, intended for Kairos. Niérian was one of only a few children born to this marriage before the Circe struck and destroyed the house forever. Give him the jewels. With them, the Circe’s power will end as it should have ended long ago and I will be free. We all will be free.

I hesitated. Unsure of why, but knowing that no one gave something for nothing. It just didn’t work that way. And if it did . . .

There is always a cost. I give Niérian a curse as much as a gift, but it is his choice, if he chooses to bear it or not. Now, you must leave the water. Leave now.

15

I came awake, hacking and heaving salt water. My upper half was splayed on the stone floor of the cave, my lower half still in the pool. I was freezing, shaking, and for a while too weak to pull myself the rest of the way out. When I finally did manage it, I collapsed.

Once my breathing returned to normal and some of the shaking stopped, I pushed up to a sitting position.

Oh.

Ten feet in front of me lay Calliadne’s head. The physical response to that sight was instant, and my stomach scrunched up tightly. I winced, turning away only to see a thin red line going down the cracks and dips in the floor. I followed it back to the source where her body lay next to the altar. It was a gruesome sight, but even so I felt an enormous amount of satisfaction for Sandra. Next to the body was a pile of ash that had once been Arethusa.

Hank was gone. Ephyra was gone. The siren with the whip was gone. And so was the tablet.

The chamber was quiet except for the ever constant sound of the waves flowing into and out of the cave. And then it hit me. The sea. Panopé. Holy shit. Holding my breath, I opened my palm. They were there. They were real. The Source Words of Creation and Destruction lay nestled in the palm of my hand.

Heart pounding, I picked one up to examine the softly glowing inscription wrapped around in a spiral. God, it was beautiful and mesmerizing, and I felt a little like Frodo Baggins looking at the Ring of Power.

You’re losing it, Charlie.

Sandra would’ve had a good laugh at me for that random thought. But Sandra would never laugh again. A hardness settled over me then, a tight, steely resolve. I pushed to my feet, wringing out as much of the gown as I could with one hand, and then headed for the passageway.

With every step I took, I grew weaker. Once I made it to the room with the three doors, I had to sit on the same bench that Sandra had pointed out before she died.

Blood was splattered on the wall across from me. One of the guards lay in a heap on the floor. Sirens could live for hundreds of years, as long as they didn’t face a trauma too intense to heal from. Decapitation, fire, the heart being ripped from their body, or—like the siren on the ground—the skull being bashed into a stone wall until the brain was damaged and exposed.

If I thought Hank had sounded insane before, I knew now he was consumed. Some might take the opportunity to run away and escape. But others like Hank didn’t think about their own lives—only about defeating the evil or die trying.

I turned away from the scene, knowing I should feel something, have some reaction to the blood and small clumps of brain matter stuck to the wall, but the sight barely even turned my stomach. The physical drain had crept into my mind and dulled everything, even my reaction to Hank’s bloody rampage. But I had the Source Words. With them we had a fighting chance. I had to keep going.

That last surge of strength that always got me through, that always enabled me to shove everything else aside, felt so out of reach. Two of the Circe were dead. One by me, one by Hank. He was clearly on the warpath, but was his rage enough? Not if Ephyra made it back to the grid. If she drew upon the power of the Malakim, we were toast.

“I’m not done yet.” I kept one hand on the wall to support myself as I stood. There was no fight left in me, but if I was going to crap out, then I’d do it after giving Hank the Source Words at least.

The hallway that led to the Circe’s inner chamber was empty and quiet save for my movement and breathing. The Circe had been so sure of their power, so set in their ways and secrets that now their lack of protection worked against them.

The sanctum door was wide open. Two bodies lay over the threshold. I stepped over them, sliding in their