“Did I do that?” I whispered to myself. “No; no way,” I huffed. “The Star doesn't fulfill my wishes like a genie; it only helps me when what I want aligns with the greater good. Power like that has to... have... limits.”
I smiled slowly, a strange feeling coming over me. I felt exhilarated and free. No people meant no limitations. No restrictions. And it seemed as if that was applying to my star as well. Was it that seed of brackish-amethyst I'd seen? Had it somehow affected my star's sense of right and wrong? Its cosmic plan? I should be worried about that, but I wasn't. I was happy. In fact, I started to laugh.
“I can do whatever the fuck I want!” I shouted as I surged to my feet. “The star genie is out of the bottle!”
Then I flinched and gasped. This wasn't me. I didn't care about controlling my star as much as I cared about the people I loved. My husbands. My children. My boyfriend. My friends. My cat. My lions. My family. I had a family who was even now freaking out. At least, one of them was. Arach had to be going out of his mind with worry and there I was; rejoicing because I'd made a damn lawnmower stop working.
“Sons of witches!” I cursed. “I'm already acting like him. I'm behaving like that bastard Vainamoinen.” I shook my head as I started to pace. “This can't be happening. It was only a little zap; barely a few seconds. My star is far more powerful than a tiny touch of... of...” I panted as I stopped to stare at my reflection in a wall mirror. “What the fuck is inside me?” I whispered to myself.
Evil, Alaric said ominously in my head.
“Al!” I screeched in both surprise and relief. “Thank goodness. How did you know to come? Did Faerie tell you that I might go back in time?”
No. I heard you ranting, and I came to see what the fuss was about. I took a look at your star, Vervain. It's not good. As in; literally not good. Your star has been tainted by something. From what I've seen and know, I can only conclude that it was a dark soul.
“Vainamoinen,” I whispered. “It wasn't the soul he was taking that touched me, it was him.”
That sounds plausible, Al said gently. I believe that what he and those other Finnish gods were doing corrupted their souls and when you touched him during a transfer, his soul struck out at you, perhaps to prevent you from taking any of the power it was consuming. Whatever the reason, its evil has burrowed deep. It's taken root inside your heart, Vervain. We need to cleanse the Trinity Star.
“Okay,” I said eagerly. “A plan. I like that. I can work with a plan. How do we clean the Star?”
I don't know.
“Mr. Snuffleupagus!” I roared.
Vervain, take a deep breath. I just need a little time to think this through. I'm the Consciousness of the Void; I will find a way. Trust me.
“Okay,” I whispered as I crumpled onto the couch. “Okay, I trust you, Al.”
Good. Now, for the time being, try not to tempt yourself.
“What does that mean?”
Evil responds to temptation; it creates temptation and feeds on it. If you get tempted, the darkness in your star might respond.
“As it did with the lawnmower.”
Exactly. And when you allow it to respond, you give it power. It grew just now when you ordered it to destroy that machine.
“But I didn't—” I started to protest.
You envisioned it, Al cut me off. You wanted it to happen, and the evil inside you gave you what you wanted.
“I can't help wanting something,” I growled.
Which is why I suggested that you try not to be tempted. Stay in this house, Vervain. Watch television, read a book, don't talk to anyone. If someone comes to the door, don't answer. If someone calls you, don't answer. Just stay here and don't wish for anything.
“Sure. Great. Isolate myself and don't want anything,” I muttered. Then I brightened and suggested, “Maybe I could just wish the evil gone.”
Go ahead; give it a try. It might just work.
I closed my eyes and made a fervent wish to be cleansed of evil. My star had once stopped Ragnarok because I wished it. Surely, it could banish a tiny speck of evil from itself. I wished and wished and wished upon my star. And nothing happened. At least, I didn't feel any different.
“How's my star?” I asked Al. “Did it work?”
Al was silent for a few seconds before he answered in a sad, soft voice, “I'm sorry, Vervain.”
“Isolation it is,” I muttered.
Chapter Five
It was the middle of the night when I started hearing voices.
Technically, it was one voice—my voice—so I'm not sure if that counts as “hearing voices” plural. It was definitely crazy, though. I was losing my mind. Or myself. I wasn't sure which or even which would be worse. The voice was much more certain. Absolutely certain about quite a lot of subjects.
Think of what you could do with unlimited power, she whispered in my mind. You could stop the God War.
“Who was that?” I sat up in my Chinese wedding bed, flicked on the lamp perched on a corner shelf, and peered through the carved walls. “Who's there? Show yourself right now or I'll wish you dead! And I can do it; trust me. I'm a dangerous wishing woman.”
Dragons and phoenixes stared back at me, seeming to come alive in the low light. But nothing stirred beyond the confines of my bed. The little room was quiet except for the whir of the air conditioner. The closet doors were shut, nothing crouched on the dresser demonically, and the only faces I could see within the dim glow of bathroom's nightlight were those of long-dead movie stars, staring out of
