A brick fireplace burned and crackled in the center of the wall. A three-cushioned sofa and two love seats surrounded it. A door leading to a hallway stood near the fireplace, and another on the other side of the room moved into the kitchen. I heard glass clink against the countertop, and I figured Lizzie was concocting a powerful cocktail for us—maybe one that would shut me up indefinitely. In anticipation of the drink, I sat on the loveseat, avoiding the sofa so she wouldn’t be able to sit beside me. I glanced over my shoulder and through the glass of three massive windows that overlooked the front yard, but I couldn’t see into the blackness. A golden frame that took up most of the sidewall held a portrait of a woman with dark hair held in a bun. I stood from my seat and approached the painting. The woman had a sad look to her eyes. They were dark on her pale face, drawn downward. Her lips formed a frown. She resembled… Lizzie, even though she wore a dress from the medieval times.
“What do you think?” Lizzie asked.
I nearly screamed at her voice. I turned to find her standing behind me. I hadn’t even heard her approach. She held a tumbler in each hand, both filled halfway with an amber liquid—scotch, I assumed. She didn’t strike me as a bourbon girl.
“It’s about time you did a woman’s God-given task,” I said, grinning. I couldn’t help myself, not after our previous kerfuffles. “Serve a man.”
Lizzie frowned. “You know it’s not working, right?” she asked. “Your game? Your ignorance?”
“It’s a tic, like someone who picks their nails when nervous. But instead of dropping disgusting bone fragments all over the place, I just leave verbal detritus everywhere.”
Lizzie’s frown lifted into a smirk. “There is something quite charming about a person not afraid to speak their mind. Which,” she said, handing me the tumbler, “I think is an entirely different thing than speaking an opinion. Most opinions are shared with at least one other person. But thoughts, those are individualized and fleeting. It’s refreshing to hear an original thought.”
I glanced at the contents inside the tumbler. Hephaestus was a real asshole for stripping me of my magic. I could have used it to identify anything strange about the cocktail. Instead, I had my gut and blind trust in a woman at least partly responsible for murdering my wife and kidnapping my daughter. Also, what the heck did she do with Xander? I hadn’t seen any trace of him since entering her house.
Notice, for his sake, that I avoided foul language. Call me a man of God… and I will strangle you.
“Cheers,” she said, lifting her glass. “To new friends.”
“Cheers,” I said, clinking my glass to hers. “To old enemies.”
Then, we both drank.
I didn’t immediately foam at the mouth after that first drink and lose my ability to breathe, and nor did I wake up handcuffed to her bed. With my time window to find Mel and to figure out a way to disappear forever from the Nephil quickly closing, I didn’t have the patience for this foreplay much longer. I needed to accelerate the process.
I changed my tactic to fluster her. “Where’s Xander?”
“Who?”
“Don’t act stupid.” I sipped from the tumbler again. The scotch was quite tasty. “You didn’t even ask how I found your house, which means you expected me. So, did Xander tell you I was coming? Or did you figure it out on your own?”
She lifted her glass to her lips and drank. She stood in profile to the medieval painting, and the two women were nearly identical. “I recognized you at the bar the moment you sat down. If that dumb bitch hadn’t interfered—well, we wouldn’t be going through all this now. Then your friend and that cop had to disrupt our secondary plan.”
“It’s just Plan B. And what?” I asked. “Teletubby and his minions belonged to you?”
Lizzie shrugged. “To Mason, the bouncer.” She sipped her bourbon. “He paid them to make a scene with you. With you distracted, he would have taken you out when you least expected it. But Xander was there, as he has been all night. So, when he followed me home after your arrest, I made sure to have a surprise gift waiting for him. Don’t worry. He’s safe for now. How you decide to move forward from here will determine his fate, though.”
“I swear to every god in this universe, I’ll eat your heart and make you watch me do it if anything happens to him. With or without my powers.” I bit my lip, realizing my mistake too late.
Medea frowned. “You’re right. I don’t feel it anymore,” she said after a second. “That’s… interesting. So, Hephaestus finally found you and took your magic?” She turned her back to me and sauntered away. “Why didn’t he just kill you?”
Shit. If she knew I didn’t have my magic, I posed no threat to her. I had nothing except my impressive wit and undeniable charm now.
Lizzie pivoted to face me. “Did he feel sorry for you? That man,” she said, “has always had the softest heart for a damsel in distress.”
I frowned. “Am I the damsel in this scenario?”
“Have you pieced the puzzle together?” she asked, ignoring my banter. “Who I am?”
“You’re the Priestess,” I said, hoping that might throw her off a little.
“Such an old name,” she said. “Did you hear that from another Empousa?”
“I did, actually,” I said. “Great guy. We played torture for a minute, and then I blew his brains out.”
She snickered. “I am the Priestess. But you may recognize my more infamous name… Elizabeth. Bathory.”
I sipped my scotch, swished it around my mouth, and sprayed it in feigned shock. “The Elizabeth Bathory?” I asked. “Holy macaroni. Can you sign my tits?”
Lizzie frowned, obviously not entertained by my flippant disregard for her name. “Maybe my real name will impress you more.”
“You have a fourth name? How pretentious are you?”
“Medea.”
I
