“And someone Mercy trusted put it in the abandoned farmhouse where we found it.”
“Rosa,” she say.
“She didn’t give a name. She did say something about it being a thief.”
“Then it is certainly Rosa. They have been lovers for a few years.”
“Oh. Shit. That’s . . . that’s going to be rough.”
“It was a casual relationship. Mercury never fully trusted her, but she delighted in Rosa’s company, and she was exceedingly fond of her. Yes, the betrayal will be difficult. Particularly as I warned Mercury that she was right not to trust the woman.”
I expect her to say this with some satisfaction, but there’s no victory in her tone, just concern. Mercy might have known better than to trust Rosa, but she still cared about her. Trusted her enough to help with this prank, which would have seemed completely innocuous.
Hey, can you hang this painting in this farmhouse for me? It’s a little test for a potential student.
“Is Rosa a curse weaver?” I ask.
“I believe she’s a dream shaper. Not one of Aphrodite’s, but another line. She used that talent in her occupation. She met Mercury through a mutual friend, and they clicked, as you might say. Or so it seemed, though I was suspicious from the start. Mercury is the patron god of thieves, after all. Just because she couldn’t share her curse weaving doesn’t mean she couldn’t be seduced into sharing some of her skills.”
“Or be forced into weaving a blood curse. Rosa wasn’t getting far enough with the carrot, so she broke out the stick.”
“I’m afraid so.”
Chapter Twenty
Twenty
We’re at the address. It’s not the poorest neighborhood Boston has to offer. Not by a long shot. Yet it might be one of the worst, in the sense that it has nothing to recommend it. It’s surrounded by light industrial, with heavy pollution and no public transit. There are clusters of residential buildings here, all built in the last fifty years, probably taking advantage of one real-estate boom or another, when an entrepreneur decided the market was hot enough that newcomers could be tricked into buying a condo in a place like this. It might have worked for a while, but those newcomers would have moved out as soon as they were able, as would every sucker who followed. There are a trio of low-rise condo buildings in this particular area. One is half-demolished and two bear the signs for future demolishment. Our address is one of the latter.
“Is there an apartment number?” Athene asks.
We both turn to look at her.
She frowns. “There are apartment buildings, are they not?”
“They’re empty,” I say. “Abandoned buildings in a neighborhood so far from the core that even squatters won’t bother. Rosa isn’t going to provide a unit number. This is a scavenger hunt.”
“I would agree,” Connolly says. “The question is: why bother?”
I frown at him and then say, “Right. The address is supposed to lead us to the Eldest Daughter painting. Rosa has supposedly unleashed the painting”—I gaze up at the dark-windowed building—“on whom?”
“I would like you two to remain outdoors,” Athene says briskly as she marches forward. “In the car, preferably, but please stay a hundred feet from the building. No, two hundred. Yes, stay two hundred feet away.”
I jog after her, Connolly beside me. “What does the Eldest Daughter painting do?”
“Two hundred feet away at all times—”
I get in her path. “What does it do?”
It’s Connolly who answers. “You said the paintings are of that woman’s children. Both sons were killed. The youngest child survived. That’s the Crying Girl, yes? Mourning her siblings. The curses are tied to the children’s fates, aren’t they?”
Athene’s shoulders slump, just a little, before she straightens and says crisply. “Yes.”
“You said the other daughter was also murdered,” I say.
“I said she perished. By her own hand. I believe her mother led her to believe she would be . . . violated, and so she ended her life. The painting compels others to consider the same. It has led to multiple suicides.”
“It only makes them consider it, right? It doesn’t actually kill them.” I glance at Connolly. “Are you okay going in there?”
“If we stay together, yes.”
“Then let’s get that painting.”
* * *
We’ve split up—Athene going one way while Connolly and I go the other. The curse won’t affect her, and if it gets to us, we can call her for help. She impresses that on us multiple times, even providing her cell phone number, in case she can’t hear our cries.
We thought the threat was that the curse would be inflicted on random people. I’d imagined the painting appearing in a stadium or some crowded place where it would wreak havoc. Now when I think of what it could have done, that is horrifying in a way I struggle to comprehend.
The Crying Girl painting could take lives, under the right circumstances. Mostly it would do psychological damage, from the long-term effects of being subjected to her hauntings, but even then, I’d expect that whoever was being haunted would realize what was happening and get painting out of their house.
The Eldest Daughter is something altogether different, and I can only breathe a huge sigh of relief at finding it in an empty building, where it can’t hurt anyone. Well, anyone except us, and that is the point. The address came to me. As Mercy’s lover, Rosa would know full well that I don’t have Mercy’s contact information.
This was never about getting me to put her in touch with Mercy—obviously she could do that herself. It was a ruse designed to convince Mercy the person contacting her was a stranger. She sent that address after she knew Mercy would be gone. Being eager to impress a god, I’ll jump at the chance to help. I’ll race to this address and unleash the curse on myself.
Mercy would have been responsible for my death. All because I tried to help her. All because Mercy didn’t give in to Rosa’s demand.
The building hasn’t been abandoned for long. There are still signs of recent habitation—people leaving garbage and furniture in the apartments. It’s less than we found at the old farmhouse—that place had the sad air of an estate issue. This is just people moving out of their condos, leaving crap behind because they know no one else is moving in.
The doors have all been left unlocked, which makes searching easy. They’d been nice apartments at one time. Really nice, with huge windows and big rooms and plenty of storage space. Of course, those windows have lovely views of industrial areas and the appliances haven’t been updated in decades and, good lord, is that shag carpet? Yes, it’s been a long time since anyone considered these “upscale” condos.
Even before the building had been abandoned, occupancy had only been running at about thirty percent judging by the number of apartments lacking appliances altogether. After a few apartments, we come up with a system. One person stays at the door while the other whips through. Then we switch at the next one.
We finish the first three floors, checking in with Athene at the end of each. I’m beginning to think we’ve been led on a wild goose chase.