Gemini

Chapter 32* Light and Fire

Chapter 32* Light and Fire

I suppose I should have told you how the story ends. You must be wondering if we- Sam and I- are both rotted skeletons by now. Well, no. Not yet, at any rate.

There was just a sound in the dark, like wings rushing towards us, then blackness.

We woke up here. In this golden room, with gilded mirrors and women in flowing golden dresses. Everything is some shade of gold or bronze or copper. Their skin is fair with a golden undertone, and their eyes are all a similar rustic color. They do not speak, only serve us and pamper us. One comes along with a plate of dates and looks expectantly at Sam and me. Another sweeps by in a rush of subtle perfume, aims a glittering smile at us, and holds out a platter of gleaming oysters on a bed of ice. There is a door they go on and out of, and each time one leaves, I count the seconds they take to return. Two minutes.

There is a raised platform at the end of the room. A golden throne, intricately carved, adorned with little cows. They seem to be leaping off the chair or grazing. At any rate, the throne is empty, the cushions flat and undisturbed by any royal butt.

I glance at Sam, like I have been for the past twenty minutes we’ve been here. “What do we do now?”

“I don’t know.” Neither of us have eaten anything or used anything the women served us. Suspicion crawls over my flesh at the thought of whoever owns this golden room. Suspicion and fear.

“How’s your head?”

“Fine.” He rubs a spot on it, wincing ever so slightly. “I’ve just got a splitting headache.”

“Fine,” I repeat dryly, although the attempt at humor falls short. Sighing, I rearrange the cushions and contemplate flinging one at the servers. Would they react? It was worth a shot. Just as my hand twitches towards the cushions, there is a disturbance outside the door. A clatter sounds like a metal tray dropping, and there is a voice. It sounds as lovely and musical as this place, but the tone is laced with harshness. I can’t tell if it is a man or a woman speaking. I don’t need to. Someone enters the room in a flurry of more golden skirts.

Hera, with her crown of olive leaves.

My friends are dead.

That is the first thought that comes to my head. Every muscle in my body tenses up. Every alert in my brain starts to scream. I leap to my feet, grabbing for a dagger that isn’t there. A bow that isn’t there. My lips curl into a snarl with bared teeth. I read somewhere that was a sign of fear. I am scared, but my friends are dead. Dead.

“Kayla.” Sam’s voice is a low warning. “Don’t.”

She has something to say. If she wanted to kill us, she would have. If she wanted to kill us, she would have. I repeat these words in my head, chant them until they mean nothing to me. I clench my fists and forcefully push the faces of my human counterparts out of my head. I cannot think of them now. Now I have to ensure my own survival, and Sam’s. I raise my chin at the smirking goddess.

“Why hello, Kayla Richards. And Samuel Jackson. It’s… been a while.”

I want to rip every single pearly white from that mouth. But I force a smile. There is a savage animal in me, shouting that I can take her with my bare hands. I can rip her apart, weapons or no. All gods have to die. A red haze clouds my mind, and it is only Sam’s hand tugging on my back that stops me from lunging.

“Tsk tsk,” Hera says, clucking like a mother hen. “This will not do. Look at you, all soiled and dirty! Really.” She aims a glare at her servants. “Didn’t I tell you better?”