Inspire (30 page)

The thread.

Fate.

It didn’t fade. No matter how far I drove. Not with time. Not with distraction. Not for anything. We’re still connected, our futures tied together for better or for worse.

So I spent another week traveling, popping into dive bars and art galleries and coffee shops for the occasional inspirational quick fix. And I thought about being made whole. And what that might mean.

Whole
.

It wouldn’t be enough to just be with Wilder, though I did feel like I’d lost half of myself to him.
To be whole
would be to be normal. To live without secrets. Without this curse or gift or whatever it may be.

For me, to be whole is to be
human
.

Throughout history there have been humans deified by the gods. Heracles. Ariadne. Psyche. Io. Some earned their spot in Olympus through accomplishments. Others were gifted it due to love. Still others found immortality through bargains or accidents or manipulation.

But the other way around? That is not a common story. There had been a centaur that was said to have given up his immortality when he suffered a wound that could never be healed. Some of the myths say he made a bargain and gave his immortality to free Prometheus, and agreed to take his place in the underworld. Instead, he was honored and placed among the stars as the constellation Centaurus.

But the way the myths have been told and twisted and fictionalized over the years, it’s impossible to know the truth of the past unless you were there. And even so, I have no wish to give up this world for the underworld or the stars. Not yet anyway.

I would gladly take death at the end if I could have a true life first.

But I don’t have the power to grant myself that kind of choice. Only a greater god, perhaps only Zeus, could make that kind of bargain. And it would be a deal, no doubt about that. I’d have to give something up or make a promise or complete a task, but as soon as the idea took root in my mind, I was unshakeable. I would make any bargain, do
anything
to have the life with Wilder that my gut said it was possible to have.

But you can’t make a bargain with someone you can’t find. I don’t exactly have the greater gods on speed dial. And my attempts to find the few other minor deities that still inhabit the earth in the hopes that one of them might have some clue, some connection to help me … well, those had been nothing short of a disaster so far.

Just like me, they learned long ago how to hide and survive among humans. I started with my sisters, trying to track them through historical records from identity change to identity change, inheritance to inheritance, assuming that they must live the same way as me.  But one by one, I lost the thread on each and every one of them. They’d hidden their tracks too well. I tried researching artists with a quick rise to fame, but in the Internet age, there are more of those than I can possibly count. I watched YouTube videos and scrolled through hundreds of thousands of event photos hoping to catch sight of a familiar face in the background of just one.

Nothing.  If my sisters are anything like me, they stay away from fame, from anything that might get them too much attention.

I visited cities known for their artist populations. New York. Los Angeles. New Orleans. Las Vegas. I tried smaller creative-friendly cities. Providence. Santa Fe. New Bedford. Nashville.

Nothing. I didn’t know what else to look for. I could leave for Europe, I suppose. Or Asia perhaps. But it’s a big world to try and find seven people who have spent centuries learning how to hide.

And even if I found one of my sisters … what then? Odds are they’re just as clueless as me. I could try the furies next. They mete out justice among both mortals and immortals. They’re more likely to know how to contact the greater gods, but they’re even more difficult to search for than my sisters.

It’s hard not to feel hopeless. Like I’m clinging to a solitary life preserver in a never-ending ocean. I could search for months. Years. And in all that time, Wilder will continue to age. He’ll meet new people. He’ll start dating again. What if he falls in love with someone else?

I drape my elbows over my knees and drop my head against my arms.

Where did my numbness go
?

As I work to get it back, something slams into my front door. I jerk my head up, and it happens again. Repeatedly. It takes my inebriated brain a few seconds to understand that it’s not something running into the door.

It’s someone
knocking
.

“Kalli! Kalli, are you in there? I see your car! Open the door.”

I cover my mouth to stop the sob that jerks up from my chest.

Wilder
. How is he here? I’ve been gone three months. There’s no way he’s still looking for me.

Is there?

“Kalli, please.” His furious knocks slow. The sound changes, grows more hollow, and I’d guess it’s his palm against the door instead of his fist. “Just open the door for me, please. I’ll do anything if you’ll just open the door.”

Another voice joins his outside. Deep and hesitant. “Come on, Wild. It’s dark inside. She’s not here.”

That’s Rook. Oh gods, what are they doing here?

“That’s her car. She’s back.”

“You know, they do make more than one of each kind of car.”

There’s a thud and then shuffling feet, like one of them shoved the other back.

“I drive by here every fucking day, Rook—”

“Yeah. That’s definitely an issue we should talk about.”

“There’s never been a car like that in this lot since she left. Not once.”

“So maybe someone has a friend visiting. Or maybe they rented out her place to someone else.”

Wilder ignores him and begins knocking on the door again, hard and fast once more.

“Kalli. I don’t care that you left. I don’t care why. Please just open the door.” 

He keeps knocking, and before I can help myself, I’m crawling across the dusty floor on my hands and knees. Sliding carefully so as not to make any noise.

“Wild, Bridget is waiting—”

“I don’t care. You go. I’m staying here.”

“Damn it. We’ve done this before. You said it would be different this time.”

Wilder doesn’t answer, and the desire to see him is burning me up from the inside out. I can’t breathe around the heat of it.

“Fine,” Rooks says finally. “Torture yourself a little more if that’s what you want. Call me when you get tired of the pain.”

I kneel before the door and press my hand against it. Numbness is long gone, and tears are falling so fast that I can’t see through the blur. But I know he’s little more than a foot away from me now. I listen for his breathing on the other side, scared now that his knocking has stopped. Maybe he went after Rook after all.

A thump follows, and I hear what I think is him sliding down my door, sitting down on the other side.

“Where are you?” he says, quieter this time, and I don’t think he’s talking to me anymore. Or rather, I don’t think
he thinks
he’s talking to me anymore.

“I just wish you’d call. Or write. Or anything. I just want to know you’re okay. You—that day …” He sighs. “I’ve never been so terrified in my life. The look in your eyes. The way you were crying. Goddamn it, Kalli.”

He quiets then, and as slowly as I can, I shift so that my back leans where I believe his is on the other side. I close my eyes and wonder how I can feel so far away when he’s this close.

He doesn’t speak again. Nor does he knock. But when I stand and chance a look through the peephole a few hours later, I can still see his legs stretched out in front of him on the concrete. I stare for a long while. Until I can close my eyes and see the image from memory, right down to the worn patch on his knee and the scuffs on his shoes.

Then I settle back down against the wall. Eventually, I fall asleep there, slumped over on my side, and when I wake in the morning, my porch is empty. 

It takes me two days, but after more research, I put a new plan into motion. A little poking around online reveals the name of Wilder’s old band.
Wild Roots
. There was a tree tattoo with intricate twisted roots on one of Wilder’s arms, and now I know its story. Or part of it anyway. I find a picture of the group, and just as I suspected … Bridget was part of his band.

From there, I find out her full name, which I then take to social media. And after a little light stalking, I see that she’s checked in at a hair salon. So I park my car outside, and wait for her to leave.

It’s a gods-awful, creepy move. But she’s the only person like me that I know how to find. And sure, she’s not going to be able to put me in touch with another god (hell, I’m not even sure she knows what she is), but another vision from her could give me some insight,
anything,
into the future. And this time, I’ll be paying attention. I’ll get every word.

It’s nearly an hour before she leaves, her hair shorter and a darker blonde than the last time I saw it. I decide it’s best not to approach her in public, so I swallow down a little more guilt over my stalking and follow behind her when she gets into her car and pulls away.

I’m relieved when she pulls into a parking lot outside an apartment building instead of going somewhere else. Unfortunately, it’s an old loft style building, so there’s one main entrance that’s keyed, and all the apartments are inside. I park quickly, and pull the baseball cap I brought down low on my head.

I have to get into that building right behind her. If I have to wait to get buzzed in or for someone else to come, there’s no way I’ll know which apartment is hers. With my heart hammering, I walk up behind her as she turns her key in the lock.

Thankfully, she doesn’t even look back as I catch the door. She just keeps right on going. I hang back then, pretending to search for something in my purse. I stay just close enough to keep an eye on her and catch which apartment is hers. It’s like a maze in here as I glance after her around corner after corner. Finally, she stops at a door. Once she’s inside, I take a deep breath and wait a minute or two. Then I step up next to her door, just out of sight of the peephole, and I knock. The door opens, but I’m off to the side so she can’t see me. I want her to be in a vision before she sees me. Otherwise, she’ll tell Wilder. And I don’t want him to know I’m really back. Not until I know if any of this is even possible. Nothing happens for a moment, and I’m scared she’ll close the door without looking further. But then just as I’d hoped, she takes a step outside her door, glancing down the hallway back in the direction we came.

I reach out and snag her wrist, and by the time her head whips around to me, the white is already creeping over her eyes. She sucks in a breath, and I bite down against the swirl of energy in me.

Daughter of Zeus, Eldest muse

Erebus draws near. A reunion calls.

To be made whole, all must first be lost

The eyes are on you, the eyes will come

First shall meet last on death’s breath

You will lose him to your secrets

The eyes are on you, the eyes will come

The eyes are on you, the eyes will come

The eyes are on you, the eyes will come

Her body shakes harder and harder as I hold on, her eerie gaze transfixed on mine. When I can barely hold onto her, I loosen my grip and she slumps into the doorframe. I sprint around the nearest corner, hoping to disappear before she comes back to herself. I keep going, turning a second time before I stop and settle against the wall.

I lean over, my hands on my knees, and struggle to breathe. Again and again, I repeat her words in my head until I have them committed to memory.

I don’t understand. I hadn’t expected to hear that line again …
you will lose him to your secrets.
I’ve already lost him, haven’t I? I’m trying to get him
back
.

Erebus draws near.

Erebus is the god of darkness. Could he be the one to help me? Am I supposed to find him or will he find me? Or maybe she didn’t mean the god. Erebus also just means darkness. She could mean that a dark time is coming. Hell, the darkness is already here. Or it could be that …
hell
. Erebus is the region in the underworld where the dead first go when they pass. Could that mean I will become mortal? Things aren’t always so linear for an oracle. They see what they see, and it doesn’t necessarily happen in order. If I became mortal, I would be far closer to the underworld than I am now. It’s also said that the furies once resided in Erebus. They guarded the entrance to Tartarus, the lower level of the netherworld reserved for those deemed worthy of punishment, even sought out offenders and brought them there to their fate. They might have even been born of the god Erebus, or just born out of erebus, out of darkness.

Gods. Now I remember why I didn’t put much stock in her prophecy in the first place. It could mean anything. A god could be coming or I could be dead or the furies could come for me.

My stomach goes icy cold.

They eyes are on you, the eyes will come.

That has to mean the Argus. He’s still watching me.

A reunion calls.
Could that be about the watcher? Or worse … one of the furies? Perhaps the one who put an end to my sister’s life when she tried to resist what she was?

And now I’m back to dying.
Great
.

But there has to be a reason she repeated the line about the watcher so many times.
That’s
the sign I was hoping for. I could spend decades searching out other immortals who may or may not be able to help me. Or I could get an immortal to come to me. He’s one of the watchdogs of the greater gods. If anyone would know how to get me an audience, it would be him.

So, that’s it then.
I straighten, my heart curiously calm. I push off the wall, and start back down the hallway. I’ve got to get the Watcher’s attention.