“Huh? I’m not staying there. I’m going with you to the Philtower.”
“No, you’re not. And Shaunee is going with you.”
“Double huh?” Shaunee said.
“Look, Darius described to me what those creatures did at the depot. They ripped people apart. They ate hunks of flesh from their bodies. I won’t take any chance that you’re going to get hurt. So, Fire can wait with the Leader of the North American High Council, my Queen and my Consort, in the adjoining building where it’s safer.”
“No,” I said firmly. “Fire and the Leader of the North American High Council, your Queen and Consort, are going to wait in the gorgeous lobby of the Philtower. I get that you don’t want me in that cramped basement with you—I’d just be in your way when you start to fight, but I won’t be banished to across the street.”
“Fine,” Stark said. “But I’m going to station a flamethrower and a cop there with you.”
“That and my fire will be plenty to keep our Zoey safe,” Shaunee said. “Wait, isn’t there a tunnel that connects the Philtower to the Philcade Building? Doesn’t it run almost directly under Boston Street?”
“Yeah. There’s also a metal door to that tunnel that’s locked with a crazy old-time weight-and-pulley system that can only be opened from the Philcade side of the tunnel,” Stark said.
“So, they’re really trapped.”
“Yep, really.”
“Hey, you did tell everyone that the fledglings are harmless when the sun’s out, right?” I reminded Stark. “Other Jack said they’ll all be unconscious.”
“Yep, everyone knows not to burn up anyone who is sleeping. We’ll just tie them up and bring them back to the House of Night. When you cure Jack, you can cure them, too.”
“If I cure Jack,” I muttered.
“I heard that,” Stark said.
“Well, I have no clue how to help him.”
“You will,” Stark said.
“Yep, Z. You always figure it out,” Shaunee said.
I sighed and kept my mouth shut, but I had a bad feeling about this—about all of this. Something was going to go wrong. I just knew it.
21
Aphrodite
Aphrodite was pissed. Really, really pissed.
What fucking right did Zoey Redbird have to speak to her like that? Especially after all Aphrodite had done for her and for the entire damn Nerd Herd. It was bullshit. Not bullpoopie. BULLSHIT.
“This fucking snow. I’m so done with this snow. With this city. With this everything,” she mumbled to herself as she trudged to the front door of the school. “Goddess, I need a hot spiced wine and another Xanax.” She pulled on the door. It didn’t budge. She tried it again. Nothing. “Fucking locked? You have got to be shitting me. We never lock anything.” Just my damn luck. This is ridiculous. Aphrodite banged her fists against the door, but with the wind and the muffling effect of the falling snow, the sound didn’t travel at all. She peered in through the side window. “Hello! Anybody in there?”
Not a single person stirred.
“This sucks. This sucks so damn bad.” Aphrodite plowed her way around the side of the building through the calf-deep drifting snow to the little courtyard that held the fountain and outdoor seating for the fledgling dining hall. There she paused, weaving only a little, and stared in through the semi-frosted-over window. “Not one damn person in there, either. Shit. Alright. To the back entrance I go.”
She got to the entrance to the turret-like tower that housed the Council Chamber and the media center, and was also an entrance to the professors’ quarters.
“Whew. Finally. Home. Or, temp home until Darius and I get the hell out of this backwards, bumpkin city.” She put her hand on the doorknob, turned and pushed. It opened right away. Then it hit her. “Oh, for shit’s sake—the front door wasn’t locked. I was pulling instead of pushing.” She started to laugh and laugh. And laugh some more, until she was leaning against the arched wooden door frame, barely able to remain upright.
There was a flash of light from behind her as the wind stilled and the snow paused at the moment the sun lifted over the horizon. Its reflection caught in the long, rectangular windows that framed the hallway beside the door. Aphrodite blinked, wiped at her eyes, and stared.
Caged in the beveled glass, the rising sun created an aura of silver and gold around Nyx’s Temple, with the goddess, arms raised and cupping the crescent moon, seeming to glisten in the strange, changing light of a snowy dawn. Aphrodite stood still, superimposed on the reflection. As her eyes focused on her own face, the odd light lent a sepia affect to her image as if she were looking through a time camera.
And Aphrodite truly saw herself—saw what she was becoming.
Her thick blond hair was a mess, trailing dank strands across her face and over her shoulders. She was thin, yet she looked puffy—bloated. Her eyes were shadowed, their expression flat—almost dead. She looked hard and mean and much older than her twenty-one years yet so, so familiar.
With a trembling hand, Aphrodite touched her face and the familiar stranger in the reflection did so too.
“Mother?” she whispered. “I am my mother.”
The reflection began to sob brokenly. Aphrodite turned away from it, unable to look any longer—and found she was staring directly at Nyx’s Temple, alight with dawn and snow and the love of a benevolent goddess.
Still sobbing, Aphrodite stumbled across the courtyard to the door of the temple. She pushed it open and staggered inside. Instantly she was surrounded by silence and the peaceful scents of vanilla and lavender. Aphrodite didn’t pause. She made her way to the main altar of the temple where a gorgeous statue of Nyx stood as the focus of the room. All around it were tokens of love: brightly colored beads, crystal gemstones, handmade jewelry, candles, chalices filled with wine, bowls of honey, and fresh fruit.
Aphrodite crumpled at the feet of the goddess. She covered her face and wept inconsolably—wept for her dead father; wept for her hateful, absentee mother who would soon be dead; wept for her lost childhood; and finally, wept for herself. Scenes she hadn’t thought about for years flooded her memory.
She remembered when she was six and so glad to see her father come home from work that she’d climbed up on his lap, wrapped her arms around his neck, and kissed him sweetly on the mouth. Her mother had grabbed her by the arm and yanked her painfully from him, tossing her to the floor, saying she was too old to kiss men on the mouth—that only certain kinds of girls did that to certain kinds of men—said it like she thought her daughter was dirty and disgusting. After that day Aphrodite didn’t remember her father ever kissing her hello or goodbye again.