[audi alteram partem]
New York City was hauntingly silent. This war waged underneath the city's nose had eradicated the streets of its bustling crowds and traffic jams. Now, only those too intransigent to leave or those unable to remained in their apartments and houses across Manhattan. Every so often, the flickering lights and wailing sirens of first responders would tear through the night towards whatever crime had been committed in the wake of the violence, then dissolve into nothing.
Dale stood at the bay of windows in her suite, listening to the haunting drone of police sirens echo through the night. She didn't know what was scarier: the ghostly noise or the fact that these first responses were never enough to quell the violence. Danger was a deadly flower that blossomed under any circumstance, through any fortress.
A shiver ran down Dale's spine, forcing her to move. Being pensive had its advantages, but not after a devastating battle.
She sat back down on her bed, amid the dozens of reports and files she'd elected to go through in the wake of the attack on Wall Street. Scouts had given her their findings, confirming that Menoetious' former lair was nothing but a heap of rubble. There had been no half-blood casualties, no one except Ms. Hale, who had sacrificed herself for them all.
Dale had heard her final words through Reese's comms. Even now, they chilled her to the bone. She fought another shiver and moved on.
However, as Dale was reaching for another file with the sound of the ebbing and rising sirens in the distance, she froze. Something didn't seem right. A chill had settled into her very bones. Those weren't sirens in the distance.
Every hair on Dale's body shot straight up as she realized that the noise was some kind of haunting melody, growing louder and softer as if it was being carried on the wind.
And it was coming from inside her room.
"Daughter of Demeter..."
Dale whirled around, her knife elongating in her hand as she pointed its tip towards the specter materializing from the curtains on the opposite side of the room. It was the same ghost as always, only now, she seemed more tangible. She glowed with an eerie blue light, like the ghosts in horror movies did.
"Who are you?" Dale demanded. "What do you want with me?"
The ghost merely watched her, tilting her head to the side ever so slightly. Her hair and gown billowed in an unseen wind.
"Answer me, or I swear on the River Styx—"
The woman held up a spectral hand, her blue aura flickering. She did not open her mouth, but the haunting melody emanated from her figure. She pinned Dale with a chilling yet desperate look, as if she needed Dale to understand something.
There was something familiar about the melody, as if Dale had known it in another lifetime. The words were soft, hardly even whispers, yet in another, cryptic language. It tickled a memory at the back of Dale's mind, but she couldn't put her finger on it.
Dale tightened her grip on her knife, and the motion halted the phantom's melody.
"What do you want with me?" Dale demanded again.
The woman's eyes glowed, and if she could show expression, she must have been angry. She lifted her hands, the blue light around her flickering as suddenly, Dale's suite started to tremble violently as if caught in an earthquake.
Dale didn't know what else to do.
She screamed.
As she did, the ghost woman lowered her hands and disappeared into mist. The rattling stopped as she disappeared, but Dale's room still looked like it'd lost a fight with a tornado.
The door to her suite flew open and Mark ran inside. "Dale?"
"I'm here," Dale found her voice, pushing away from where she'd been thrown against the wall.
Mark looked from her to the wreckage that was her room. "What happened? I heard you scream."
"There..." Dale took a deep breath. "There was a ghost."
Mark raised his eyebrows, his lips pursed. "A ghost?"
"Yes," Dale snapped. She resisted a shiver at the thought, moving to clean up the detritus the woman had left. "I've been seeing her for a while now."
"And you didn't tell me?" Mark asked. Upon the scathing look Dale gave him, he relented. "What did she want?"
Dale drew out a breath, dropping a handful of papers back onto her bed. "I don't know. She wouldn't speak. But she seemed to summon this weird song that I feel like I know but I can't remember it." She turned back to Mark but faltered upon seeing his attention locked elsewhere. "Mark?"
"Uh, I think we found what she wanted." Mark pointed at the bay of windows.
Dale followed his gaze and froze upon what she saw. There, scratched into the windows as if by a thousand claws, were the Latin words: EXPECTO AUCTOR.
I await a champion.
~~
"Come on!" Mark exclaimed as they raced from Dale's suit.
"Mark, slow down!" Dale yelled as she chased after him. "This is crazy—"
Mark skidded to a stop, spinning around to point a finger in Dale's face. "No, what's crazy is that you're being haunted and don't want to stop it! The ghost lady left you a message, for crying out loud!"
"Mark," Dale gave him a stern look. "We have more important things to worry about than my personal paranormal activity. Remember the whole war we're fighting?"
Mark waved a hand. "Nothing's going to be happening anytime soon. Menoetius and his allies need time to allocate their forces before they think of launching another attack, and besides, we know what they want. So long as we have Tessa and they don't, we're in good hands." He folded his arms, smug. "So can you please trust me on this?"
Dale glared at him, but Mark was persistent to a fault. "What's your plan?"
Mark beamed and started back down the corridor. As they walked, they passed demigods recuperating in the halls and in their rooms, darting from room to room, polishing weaponry and armor and stuffing food into their faces.
"We happen to have a mutual ally who might be able to help us with this," Mark said.
Dale raised her eyebrows at Mark. "Oh, so that's what we're calling her?"
Mark's cheeks burned. "I'm not calling her anything."
"Uh-huh."
"Shut up."
They continued down the hall until they reached the last room on the floor. Fumes of incense and orchids emanated from behind the ajar door. Mark knocked gently, "Adhara? Are you in here?"
Just when Dale thought Adhara wasn't home, the door swung wide open to reveal her standing there, an absent look on her face contrasting the irritated look in her eyes.
"Yes?" Adhara mused.
Mark cracked a stupid grin and gestured to Dale. "Dale needs your help."
Adhara quirked a finely-plucked eyebrow. "With what?"
"I'll take it from here, Mark," Dale said from behind her teeth. She cleared her throat. "I've been seeing ghosts."
A hint of mild intrigue flickered across Adhara's violet eyes. "Is that so?"
"Er, yes," Dale said. "She left me a message: expecto auctor."
"I await a champion," Adhara translated, raising her chin. She pursed her dark lips, then spun around, waltzing back into her room. "Come in."
Despite only being hers for less than 48 hours, Adhara's room reflected the spirit and aura of its owner. Jewels and necklaces and bangles hung from various jewelry trees around the room. Her closet was thrown open, spilling out varying shades of red, purple, and black. Candles were perched on every available windowsill and shelf, filling the room with varying scents.
"You both were right," Adhara mused as she dotted about her room, gathering up various things. "I needed to confront what was happening to me. Before Menoetius discovered me, I ran into Grace, the Huntress of Artemis. She told me of a curse she'd bore for decades, one that alluded her to the precarious line between life and death. When the balance shifted too harshly to one side, or her senses became overpowered, it thrust her into prophetic visions regarding the change."
Adhara turned on her heel, leaning against her vanity. "It's called the Phantom Curse, born of the joint powers of Persephone, the Oracle, and the Fates. It's bestowed upon those who have an affinity for balance, life, or death." She took a deep breath. "So, in short, Grace died, allowing me the full abilities of the Curse."
Dale blinked, resisting a shiver. "And this Curse...is it deadly?"
Adhara shrugged, bringing her array of collected items to a table in the corner of her suite. "Well, it doesn't exactly sound like it promotes longevity, does it?" She winked at Dale. "But it does have some perks, in which case will allow us to find out what this ghost wants."
Adhara motioned for Dale and Mark to take a seat at the table, to which they obliged. As they did, Adhara set up candles around the perimeter of the table, as well as some other trinkets and objects.
"Are we having a séance?" Mark asked, eyes wide with amazement.
Adhara fixed Mark with a look. "Don't romanticize it. Seances are powerful rituals and should not be performed lightly." She perched herself in the seat between Dale and Mark. "And besides, its not totally a séance."
Maybe it was Dale's imagination, but the light in Adhara's room seemed to dim as Adhara herself closed her eyes and opened her hands. After a few deep breaths, the room seemed to vibrate with an unseen energy.
Mark leaned in closer to Adhara. "Aren't you supposed to like summon it?"
Adhara whacked Mark out of the way, shushing him. Mark fumbled to regain his posture.
"The Underworld is a tricky place to navigate," Adhara murmured. "Don't distract me."
"Wait, you're in the Underworld?" Dale whispered, to which Adhara hissed at her to shush.
Dale watched as Adhara's face seemed to shift ever so slightly. Her lips would part or her eyebrows would furrow the slightest of distance together. A feather of a muscle would twitch along her jawline. Until at once, Adhara opened her eyes with a gasping breath and Dale's heart stopped upon seeing the girl's typically violet irises replaced by empty balls of blue light.
The eyes of the woman.
"Who summons me?" The woman said through Adhara, both of their voices in a chilling harmony.
Dale straightened in her seat. She raised her chin. "The daughter of Demeter."
Adhara turned towards Dale, and she resisted the urge to run for the hills. "Ah, so it is. I see you received my message."
"Who are you?" Dale insisted.
Adhara raised an eyebrow. "Why must you know, half-blood?"
"Answer the question." Dale asserted. "Don't make any of your own."
Adhara narrowed her glowing eyes at Dale. "Very well. I am Melinoe, goddess of ghosts."
"What do you want with me? Why do you need a champion?" Dale continued, her words sliding into one another.
Melinoe released a deep, taunting laugh that seemed to echo throughout the room. "So many silly questions." She returned her focus to Dale. "You have wronged the dead, my girl. With powers of life, you wreak death."
Dale felt her blood run cold. "W-what are you talking about?"
"You know very well what I am referring to." Melinoe smirked. "A dead man has no secrets, Dale, but his killer harbors plenty."
No.
"Dale?" Mark asked. "What's she talking about?"
Dale took a shaky breath, trying not to shatter her resolve. "Of course I've killed. I'm a demigod. A warrior. It's in the job description."
"Ah, but you are also a daughter." Melinoe chided.
"The daughter of Demeter," Dale said numbly.
"Even before you knew your godly parentage, child, you were another parent's daughter. That parent who had died in vain." Melinoe continued.
Suddenly, Dale wasn't seated at this table in Adhara's room but back in the fields of California, her father's blood on her hands.
Just breathe, Dale, it's okay.
No, it's not okay. Howcoulditbeokay?
"I require you to right your wrongs, daughter of the earth. The Underworld is growing weary and our Queen has curses to create." Melinoe said.
"Persephone is on Olympus, now." Mark countered.
Melinoe turned sharply to look at Mark. "And her power may be rendered useless should this unrest continue!" She hissed, turning back to Dale. "I urge you to..."
Melinoe trailed off. Maybe it was Dale's frightened imagination, but the sound of a rageful scream echoed through her ears.
"It has been stolen," Melinoe muttered. "My father's wrath will be unleashed."
"What has?" Dale asked, stammering over her words.
"Your father is Hades," Mark said. "Is it his Helm?"
"Silence!" Melinoe bellowed, and the room seemed to quake. "The spirits grow restless."
Melinoe fixed Dale with a final chilling look. "Your battles are far from over, half-blood. Your sins do not end with this war."
But before anyone could get anything more out of the goddess of ghosts, Melinoe released Adhara's body, gasping for air, at the head of the séance table.
Dale got up abruptly, storming from the room.
"Dale!" Mark exclaimed, and Dale didn't need to turn to know he was coming after her.
"Dale, what was that all about?" Mark asked, grabbing her arm and turning her around.
"Mark, please," Dale beseeched. "There's a reason I haven't told anyone. Don't force me to come to terms with it when I'm not ready."
"It sounds like you're going to have to soon," Mark motioned back in the direction of Adhara's room. "What was Melinoe talking about?"
"Mark," Dale said, searching his eyes. Her heart raced in her chest, begging the universe to get him to stop. "Please."
For a moment, Mark didn't appear to believe it and Dale couldn't blame him. If she'd just heard rumors that he might have killed someone, what would her first reaction be? But then, Mark released his grip on her arm and nodded. "Okay."
Relief flooded into Dale's chest. "Thank you—"
"Guys!"
Dale and Mark turned to find Eli in a brisk powerwalk towards them, holding a tablet in his hands.
"What's up?" Dale asked, taking the tablet from Eli.
"Well...we might have a security breach." Eli said.
"Like the kind of security breath that comes with unauthorized teleporting?" Mark raised his eyebrows at Eli.
Eli fixed Mark with a sour look. "No." He looked back to Dale. "This is the more...troubling kind."
Dale swiped through the security footage of Nectar & Ambrosia, and froze upon the footage for the café. There, standing at the front door before Tessa and Reese, in absolute shock, was Adam Bennet, Tessa's very mortal coworker.