eye, she saw herself doing it. She saw the scythe rising, the point taking Hades in the back.
“You are so beautiful, my sweet,” she heard Hades say.
Demeter rolled her eyes. Her granddaughter was not going to follow in the footsteps of the goddess for whom she was named. Hades had tricked her, too.
Demeter murmured, “No way in Hell. Or any underworld,” raised the scythe, and started forward.
• • •
As Lydia fell, Johnny grabbed her arms. Wax splattered across the linoleum as her candle wobbled this way and that. He never stopped chanting as he adjusted his stance so she could lean against him. She managed to lock her knees and maintain her hold on the candle and the lighted orb, but without his strength she wouldn’t be holding either aloft. “Not much longer,” she whispered.
Suddenly a blinding light emitted from the center of the circle. In its midst, engulfed in brilliance, were two figures. Were they Demeter and Persephone? Johnny had to shut his eyes against its radiance and for a moment he thought Lydia’s weakness had broken the circle. Still, the other witches chanted on, so he did, too. The sensation of power and energy did not change. Surely, he hoped, that meant the circle remained strong and intact.
Blinking repeatedly, he willed his eyes to recover but he continued to be blinded by the glare. He heard the rush of wind from within the circle and he discerned Demeter’s silhouette, hunched over but slowly standing straight. He squinted to see her better and realized that within the shaft of illumination Demeter was to his right, and Persephone—seated—was to his left.
There was a third figure, Pershephone was with someone. A man. Now Demeter was holding something aloft. Something large, raising it high.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
Goliath was racing toward Ailo when he saw Liyliy, in her owlish form, turn in the sky. She tucked her wings and rocketed toward them like a missile.
Ailo was backpedaling swiftly, holding Beverley up as if she were an offering to a sky god—but Liyliy’s monstrous nature was far more demonic than godly. He could see the strip of cloth tightening around the girl’s throat.
There were only seconds to save Beverley . . . save her from death or a fate worse than death with the shabbubitum.
With a few more steps and a leap he could place himself between the owl and the girl, and hope Menessos could use his ancient connection and mastery over her to compel Ailo not to strangle her.
As Goliath planted his foot, ready to propel himself up and into the huge owl’s path, he saw Menessos with his shoulders hunched inward, arms down. His face was contorted with concentration, but his fingers were arched, and sparks danced from his palms. His lips were moving in a chant Goliath could not hear until Menessos shouted, “Ailo, fly!”
Goliath had a millisecond to react, to decide if he would change his own plan. Or if Menessos, seeing him in action, would change his.
Before this night, Menessos had always been the master. He had always expected Goliath to defer to his will and his choices.
But even though so much had changed, Goliath could not cast away his faith in Menessos now.
The Haven Master slowed his momentum just as Ailo spun around. Her knees bent awkwardly. Her elbows straightened. . . .
Beverley fell from Ailo’s arms, landing directly on top of Goliath as Ailo launched herself into the air, soaring over them as she hurled herself up and into Liyliy’s path.
Liyliy, in her unnaturally large feathered form, was unable, or unwilling, to alter her trajectory as quickly. Her extended talons slammed into Ailo’s body.
The shrill owl voice filled the night. She beat her wings so hard the branches of nearby trees shuttered in the turbulence. Either the unbalanced, unexpected weight of her sister was too much to carry or she was trying unsuccessfully to hover and not land. She forced her legs back and forth, first pushing then pulling, trying to extricate Ailo from her talons—but her long, hooked claws had plunged all the way through her sister’s body.
Goliath tore his eyes from the horrific scene to examine Beverley. The silky gray fabric that still swaddled her was surely Ailo’s, but it no longer seemed enchanted. The strip that had wrapped the girl’s throat had slipped off and now lay dormant and unthreatening on the ground.
Liyliy continued bouncing along the ground, trying to resolve her predicament. More than once, her frantic and deadly movements came too close for comfort. Goliath rolled, placing Beverley behind him, shielding her with his body. He came to his knees and pulled her to him like an infant, then rose to his feet and fled.
Crouched behind the relative safety of a tree trunk, he watched the owl’s desperate efforts end as Ailo was torn in half.
The giant owl, screaming miserably, flew into the night sky.
CHAPTER FIFTY-SIX
I pulled away from Aidon’s kiss, breathless and content. Well, mostly content. I wanted him to touch me more. I wanted him to take my clothes off and make love to me while this magic fire burned around us. Yet even though my body was all need and desire, my mind . . . or perhaps my heart . . . was clouded with confusion. Being with Aidon felt so good, but, at the same time, there was something not “right” about it.
Out of nowhere, an old woman burst through the flames. She sliced the flaming curtain with a single stroke of a huge sickle and let the momentum of the blade draw her toward us, swinging the blade up for another strike.
Instinctively, I dived off the dais, sliding across the floor and rolling, coming up on my knees. The long, gauzy dress impeded my ability to stand and I stumbled, stepping on the skirt and hearing the fabric rip.
Beside me, Aidon rose to meet the threat. He twisted to the side, and the blade missed his chest by a hairbreadth even as his hands rose to snatch hold of the weapon’s long handle.
He laughed at the old woman. “Hecate’s scythe in the hands of a mortal?”
The old woman’s face was set in determination. “Persephone, come with me now!”
She was looking at
Her focus shot back to Aidon. “You cannot have my granddaughter.”
He jerked the handle, pulling her forward and off balance. She cried out in pain. Aidon leaned down until his nose was practically pressed against hers.
As he spoke, I saw a man with dark wavy hair and thick markings around his eyes appear behind the old woman. Aidon couldn’t have seen him or have known that the man gripped the end of the handle. But the old woman knew.
Aidon growled, “I don’t need your blessing, you old hag, and I don’t want your consent.”
“Or, apparently, Persephone’s, you immortal ass.”
• • •
Squinting into the intense light, Johnny could barely see the action unfolding within it, but was determined to watch every moment, even if it blinded him.
He saw Persephone retreat as Demeter wielded the scythe. He saw the man rise and foil her effort. He saw the older woman, despite her resolve, about to fail. Knowing damn well he was shattering the circle, Johnny maneuvered Lydia away from his body and onto the floor, breaking the conduit of ley energy running through him. He knew this was a bad thing to do, and he hoped the remaining witches could reforge the circle around him—they were a High Priestess and an Elder, after all—but he simply could not risk doing
