I would have to reevaluate everything I knew about Xander. A Jesus junky who claimed his body was the temple of God, a clean freak, a germophobe, someone more inclined to bathe in bleach than jump into a public pool—but he was willing to drink coffee made from this woman, in this house? I didn’t know if I should be ashamed, amazed, or dumbfounded. Keeping my lips sealed, though, I just stared at him with narrowed eyes.
“Of course,” Sandy said, turning her back to us and shuffling through her cabinets for who knew what. “But, back to your question. I’m ashamed to say… no. I didn’t believe her story.” The hefty woman paused on her tiptoes and shuddered at the memory, one hand reaching into an upper cabinet. “I thought her and Andrew—my son—had been up to no good that day, and she had lied to protect herself.”
“Why make up such an incredible story, then?” Xander asked. “Why not make something more believable?”
“Annie always lived in her own little world.”
I glanced around the house and thought about a black pot or something like that.
Sandy continued, “She always claimed that magic existed, and so did vampires and all that. She would argue with me about it. ‘Where do you think the ideas came from for movies?’ she would ask when I said they’re just make-believe.” Sandy chuckled, though without any humor. “Sometimes, I lay awake, and I wonder if Annie killed Andy just to prove a point to me. Those are the worst thoughts a mother could have.”
Xander didn’t respond right away. He fingered through the pictures on the table, actually touching something in that house. Pausing on one, he pried it from the surface and studied it. “Is this them? Your children?” He turned it around, showing an image of three towheaded children—a boy and a girl in their early teens, and another child about three.
Sandy looked back from whatever she was doing—I’d never seen anyone go about making coffee like her. After squinting at the photograph, she nodded. “That’s Andrew and Angela,” she said. “The two oldest. They’re twins. Annabel was a miracle. My husband became sick, and the doctor said having children would be impossible. Well, God had other plans and exchanged Robert’s life for Annie’s. He passed just before she was born.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Xander said, setting the picture back on the table. “Did your daughter always stick to her story about the monster?”
Sandy shut the cabinet she’d been rummaging through and grabbed two coffee mugs from the kitchen counter. She dumped the contents into the sink. “She never changed it once.”
“And it was just her and Andrew hiking that day?”
“I don’t know,” Sandy said, opening a drawer and retrieving two packs of instant coffee. She shook them. “One of Andrew’s friends—he had a weird name, like a girl’s—had fallen in love with Annie. She was very attractive, but still young. Eleven years younger than her brother and his friend.”
“Was his name Gladas?” Xander asked.
The woman’s saggy face tightened with excitement. “Yes! Gladas… Gladas Irving, I believe. A very sweet man, just so much older than my Annie. You know him?”
As Xander responded, I recalled what Dakota had said about the letter. Gladas refused my love after I made him a Demi. What else had Dakota mentioned? Out of anger, I issued the Scylla curse upon the woman, or something along those lines. Was Circe mad because Gladas loved Annie and not her, so she cursed Annie? Could a Nephil demoted to a Demi even curse someone, or was that a Nephil-exclusive power? Either way, was Annie the victim of a Scylla curse?
“Where’s Annie now?” I blurted out, interrupting their conversation. The room fell silent for a second, and I stepped toward the woman. “Where’s your daughter now?”
The woman stammered, “I… I don’t—she went away. She’s been gone. I don’t know.”
“Who would know?”
“Joey,” Xander said, but didn’t go any further as I raised a hand to silence him.
“Would anyone know where Annie is?”
“Yes,” Sandy said. “Her sister, Angela. She speaks with her on occasion and will give me updates.” A tear streaked down the woman’s rounded cheeks.
“Where’s Angela?” I asked.
“New York, for work.”
“Fuck,” I said.
“Joey.” Xander stood from his chair and grabbed my left arm. “Calm down.”
Pulling away from Xander and moving closer to Sandy, I said, “Call her, then. Get on the phone and call your daughter.” Sandy stared at me with wide eyes, coffee packets torn open but still full. She didn’t move a muscle. I may have raised my voice a little. “Now!”
Sandy startled at my command and skittered out of the kitchen.
Joey grabbed my arm again and asked in a low, urgent voice, “What was that?”
“Do you remember Circe’s note to Medea? What it said?”
Xander pined for a second. “‘Gladas still refused my love after I made him a Demi and issued the Scylla curse upon the woman.’ Exactly that, if I’m not mistaken.”
What a tool, right? Bragging about his awesome memory. Still, I had the gist of it, which goes to show you I’m more than a bruised and battered face.
“Okay,” I said, “you’re not going to make me spell it out, are you? Gladas loved Annie. Circe loved Gladas. Gladas becomes a Demi. Someone becomes a Scylla. God, I feel like a freaking genius when I’m with you.”
Sandy returned with a phone to her ear. “No, Angela… Angela,” she said, “everything is okay. There are two people here who want to help. Yes. I told you that. They want to help Annie. Yes… no. Here, you talk to them. I’ll put you on speaker, okay?” She pulled the phone from her head and tapped the screen.
“Mom, don’t—”
“You’re on speaker now.”
“Angela,” Xander said in his the most calming voice ever. I almost fell asleep right there. “My name is Alexander Shells, and I’m with a colleague, Joseph Hunter. I’m employed by an investigative agency that specializes in supernatural cases. I know that sounds out there, but sometimes there are things
