Destined

Stark squeezed my hand, then let go. I sent a quick, silent pray up to Nyx, please help me be the High Priestess Aphrodite needs, and then I stepped into the role that still felt too big a job for me to fill. “I brought some washcloths and cool water,” I said briskly, moving to the side of the bed and dampening one of the cloths. “Keep your eyes closed. I’m gonna change this paper towel.”

“Okay,” she said.

Her eyes did stay closed. But they were still weeping blood. The scent of it came to me, and for a moment I thought I was gonna have an ohmygod-yummy-I-want-to-eat-that reaction. I didn’t.

Aphrodite didn’t smell like a human. I tried to remember how her blood had smelled last time she’d had a vision, and I drew a blank—which meant it probably hadn’t been normal then, either.

I pushed that knowledge aside and sat on the bed next to her.

“I brought a bottle of water, too. Do you want a drink yet?”

“Yes. Wine. Red. Darius has it.”

“My beauty, please drink water first.”

“Darius, the wine helps the pain. And bring me a Xanax out of my purse while you’re at it. That helps, too.”

Darius didn’t move. He just looked at me.

“Uh, Aphrodite, how about you choose between the Xanax and wine? Both together just don’t seem healthy,” I said.

“My mom does them both all the time,” she snapped. Then her lips pressed into a line. Aphrodite drew a deep breath and said. “Point made. I’ll stick with wine. I. Am. Not. My. Mother.”

“You’re definitely not your mom,” I agreed. Darius looked relieved and began to open the wine. “Okay, so, while your man is letting your wine breathe I want you to drink some of this water.”

Her lips curled up in what was almost her familiar sneer. “What do you know about letting wine breathe? You don’t even drink.”

“I watch TV. Jeesh, everyone with half a brain knows wine needs to breathe,” I said, guiding her hands to the open bottle of water and helping her drink it. “How was it this time? As bad as the last?”

When it was obvious she wasn’t going to answer, Darius did for her. “Worse,” he said. “Maybe you should come back after she’s rested.”

The Zoey who was Aphrodite’s friend totally agreed with him. But the Zoey who was High Priestess in Training, knew better. “She’ll be drunk and exhausted for the rest of tonight and probably into tomorrow. I need to hear about this vision before she’s too out of it to talk.”

“Z’s right,” Aphrodite said before Darius could protest. “And anyway, this one was short.” I was glad to see she’d drained the water bottle, but she reached out a blind hand and said, “Water’s gone. Where’s my wine?”

Darius brought her a wineglass that looked super simple, just crystal and a pretty shape, but it had a little Riedel mark written on the bottom, so I knew it was nice stemware from Williams- Sonoma. I knew that because Aphrodite had lectured me when I’d almost broken one a few days ago. (Like I care?) Anyway, Darius helped Aphrodite take a very long drink from the crystal glass. Then she exhaled slowly. “Get another bottle ready. I’ll need more.” He didn’t even glance at me for confirmation; he just looked defeated. “And tell Stark to quit lusting after your knives. He’s bowboy, not knifeboy.”

“Are they super heroes now?” I asked, trying (probably unsuccessfully) to be funny.

Her lips turned up in satisfaction, and for a second she looked way too much like her cat for comfort. “Well, mine’s a super hero in lots of ways. You’ll have to decide about yours on your own.”

“Vision,” Stark mouthed to me from across the room where he was, indeed, checking out the ornamental knives.

“Okay, so tell me what it was about this time,” I said.

“It was one of those damn death visions again. One where I was inside the guy getting killed.”

“Guy?” I felt a little bubble of panic build. Was it Stark?

“Relax, it wasn’t your guy or mine. It was Rephaim. I was inside him when he was killed. And, by the way,” she hesitated, taking another long drink of wine. “Birdboy has some weird shit in his head.”

“Give me the basics now. We’ll talk about the gossipy part later,” I said.

“Well, as per usual when I’m inside the person who’s getting slaughtered, the vision was confusing,” she said, pressing her hand over the washcloth and grimacing with pain.

“Just tell me what you remember,” I prompted. “How did he die?”

“Sword almost sliced him in two. Totally gross, although his head didn’t come off like yours did in that other vision.”

“Well, that’s nice for him,” I said, not sure if I was being serious or sarcastic. “Who did the cutting in half?”

“That’s where the confusion kicks in. I’m not sure who actually kills him. I am sure Dragon is there.”

“Dragon kills him? Ugh. That’s awful.”

“Well, like I said, I’m not sure of that. I can tell you that I remember the look on Dragon’s face just before the sword sliced me. He was totally shut down. He looked even worse than he’s been looking recently. It’s like there was no hope or light or happiness anywhere in his life, and he was crying—really bawling, like with snot and everything.”

“Then Rephaim gets killed by a sword,” I said.

“Yep,” she agreed. “I know. Should be a no-brainer. Seems like Dragon did it, but it just doesn’t feel one hundred percent to me, especially when you add in the bawling part and all the other confusion.”

“Other confusion?”

“Yeah, bizarre shit kept flashing all around. There was something white that looked dead. There was ice that was burning a circle. There were blood and boobs everywhere, and then I—meaning Rephaim—was dead. The end.”

I rubbed my temple where I felt a headache brewing.

“Boobs?” Stark perked up at that word.

“Yes, bowboy. Boobs. Like there was a naked woman hanging around. Literally. I didn’t see her face because Rephaim was predictably mesmerized by her boobs, but I do know she had something to do with the blood and the white dead thing.”

“Hey, wait,” I said. “Didn’t Kramisha’s last poem say something about fire and ice?”

“Hmm, I’d forgotten about that. Easy for me to do because, well, fuck poetry.”

“Don’t be so negative,” I said. “And it’s not just poetry. It’s prophetic poetry.”

“Which makes it worse,” she said.

“I remember. The poem also said something about Dragon’s tears,” Stark said.

“Maybe he weeps because he kills Rephaim, even after he was tasked to be his protector because he is Sword Master of our House of Night,” Darius said.

“But he’s not,” I said. “We have our own House of Night over here, so he’s not technically our Sword Master. Maybe that’s how he rationalizes being able to kill Rephaim.”

“All that sounds logical, but there’s still a piece missing. That’s what my gut says. I just can’t see that piece. Everything except Dragon kept fading in and out of my vision, mostly because Rephaim was super focused on Stevie Rae, who was super focused on the ritual she was performing.”

“Ritual? Was I there?”

“Yeah, the whole nerd herd was there. A circle was cast. You were leading things, but the ritual itself was earth centered, so Stevie Rae was playing the major part.” She sucked in a breath. “Holy shit, I just realized where we were—at your grandma’s lavender farm.”

“Ah, hell! The cleansing ritual I’m supposed to do in a couple days. Or maybe not. Thanatos was calling Grandma about us doing something early—something that might reveal what actually happened to Mom.” I paused, feeling overwhelmed by the thought of the dead white thing, the blood, and the boobs, all in the context of my mom’s murder. “Does this mean I wasn’t meant to find out and I shouldn’t do anything at all?”

Aphrodite shrugged. “Z, I know you’ll find this hard to believe because you’ve been Miss Front and Center in a bunch of my visions, but in this one you barely made an appearance. I just don’t think this is about you at all.”

“But it’s at Grandma’s farm.”