Hubris (Book One of the Siren Tragedies)

More than Anything in the World

"I doubt that," she scoffed, now crossing her arms. "You can't seem to figure out that I hate being called 'Tilly,' that I hate your Minions, or that I especially hate you. I doubt you know my innermost desires. Why do you even insist on talking to me?" she asked, looking toward the Capitol again, watching a particularly hideous, walrus-shaped Minion sharpening its tusks on the marble. "We both know all I'm going to do is insult you. Is this some fetish of yours?"

Mortimer turned to her. "Tell me, you've been alive since before the dawn of humanity. Your knowledge of the foul creatures knows no limits, as you like to point out. Have you seen anything like this before? Has there been any other time that they have so willingly submitted en masse to the Dark Powers?"

Telese didn't respond. In fact, there had been many times, each event bringing about the end of civilization in that particular time and place—but each occasion had been isolated. This, as other Diplomats were reporting, was happening on a global scale and was the cause of her anxiety. Silently, she bit her lip and took a few breaths, trying to still the growing queasiness as she thought about the expanse of the Dark World's powers.

"There's a rumor amongst the Dark World employees that you were responsible for both Atlantis and Pompeii," Mortimer continued, breaking her musings. "That there was some slight against your family each time and you—"

"I was young," Telese snapped, as the wind picked up and the lightning burst closer to them.

"Young?" Mortimer said, raising his eyebrows at her. "Now, now, you may be quite the deceiver when it comes to your age, but you and I can agree that a couple billion years old isn't considered 'young.'"

"You know what I mean, Mortimer," she said, hearing her own voice rise sharply, "you know how we age. I wasn't mature yet. I still didn't have control of my powers. If that's what you want from me, you'll be disappointed. I'm not some bomb waiting to go off anymore."

"No," he agreed, "But I heard that the scope of your powers was unmatched. Even Alexandros himself couldn't compare, which worried him, I'm sure."

Telese winced visibly at the mention of her father. She looked over her shoulder as a crack of lightning whipped across the sky above them and then looked back at Mortimer, though more timidly than before.

"My past is none of your business."

"Do you think he was telling you the whole truth when he punished you for that rendezvous with the human?" Mortimer asked, tilting his head to the side. "Perhaps that was just the excuse that he used. Perhaps he had simply been waiting for his chance to really weaken you to his wi—"

"Mortimer, enough!" an Irish voice commanded from behind them, making Mortimer fall silent against his own volition. He and Telese turned to see a thin, pale woman with long, black hair marching toward them, the skirt of her black dress billowing like a dark cloud in the wind. She joined Telese and waved her hand in front of Mortimer again. He regained his voice.

"Morgan, long time no see. Busy starting wars, I assume?"

"If you bother my little sister while she's working, the next war I'll start will be on your toxic innards."

"Now, Morgan, we were just having a chat," he assured, putting both hands up with his palms out, though his calm, cocky expression suggested no fear.

"Oh, a chat, then?" Morgan asked sarcastically, looking at Telese.

Telese nodded, feeling the anxiety loosen its hold a little at the appearance of her favorite sister. "Yeah, Morgie. You know, the kind of chat where Mortimer talks at me to hear his own voice and I am repulsed by his presence and try to pretend he's not there."