Reborn (19 page)

Chapter 26

Before
this school year, I had never been knocked unconscious, but for the second time
in a span of only a few weeks I emerge from black forgetfulness, this time with
water dribbling out of my mouth onto my chin. Breathing quickly, I sit up on my
elbows, my skin chafing against the cool, rough granite of the sidewalk
underneath me. A white full moon has broken through the dissipating cloud cover
and glints off the now tranquil dark silver river. All around me my sorority
sisters and their dates, along with the Riverfront Bar and Grill’s cooks,
servers and other patrons are at different stages of awareness: Some are just
coming to, gasping and coughing up water like me, while others are already
sitting up, dazed eyes looking from the saturated lawn to the wood and plaster
guts of the restaurant.

There’s
a glimmer of blue in the skeletal doorframe. Her posture tall and regal,
Victoria walks through it cradling something in her arms, the pale moonlight
creating a halo around her auburn hair. The feathers of her snowy white wings
flutter in the chilled breeze. Realization surges forward in my mind, but
seeing the body she carries in her arms quickly extinguishes it. Victoria’s
swift stride jostles Max’s otherwise unresponsive body. One of her arms supports
his neck and head; his legs dangle over the other. I get to my feet and stagger
over the muddy lawn to them.

“He’s
okay,” she assures me once I’m within earshot, laying him carefully on the
ground. “He’s unconscious right now, but he’ll be fine.” Dried blood cakes the
gash above his eyebrow, and more red cuts crisscross his arms and legs. “Stay
with him,” she says before turning and walking back into the rubble. Except for
a few glistening droplets of water, Victoria’s skin is clear and unscathed. I
glance down at the smooth, peach skin of my own hands, arms and legs.

A
few feet away from Max, a girl is sprawled face-down on the grass. Hair clings
like black seaweed to her head and neck, and silver-blue fish scales cover
every inch of her slender back and arms. I bend down and place a gentle hand on
Max’s cheek, feeling his warm breath on my fingers. “You’re safe now. I’ll be
right over here,” I tell him before going over to inspect Genie’s body. 

I
gently flip Genie over. Her eyes are closed, the expanse of sleek scales
covering her face, chest and stomach as well. Instead of legs, her torso
transitions into a long, thick, slippery tail more like an eel’s than a fish’s
except for the forked fins at its end. Crouching next to her, I feel around her
wrist for a pulse, not sure exactly where it’s supposed to be—but even if I
did, I know I wouldn’t find one.

“She’s
gone.” Farrah’s voice behind me confirms my suspicion. When she kneels down,
her dress pools like liquid gold around her knees. “Did you know her?”

“Not
really,” I admit, an unexpected sadness for the girl whose name I couldn’t
remember at The End seizing me. I’d seen her several times with Jasper and his
gang, but I never even tried to warn her about him or snap her out of Jasper’s
spell. Now she’s dead. This could have been
any
of them. It could have
been Liz. “What is she? I mean—who is her ancestor?”

“She
was a Nereid. A water nymph, descended from Nereus and Doris. They’re supposed
to be protectors of the water, but here her powers have been used to destroy.”

“I
don’t understand…I thought ambrosia was supposed to make us stronger. Bring us
as close as possible to immortality.” Tears sting my eyes. “But she’s dead.”

“So
you know about ambrosia.”

“You
told me about the ‘compound’ from Olympus, Jasper has a bottle of it in his
medicine cabinet—I connected the dots. Jasper’s been slipping it into my drinks
without telling me,” I reluctantly confess. “Exactly like what you did.”

Farrah
smiles wickedly. “I guess the moral is to be wary of any drink an Olympian
offers you.” I stand up, the damp earth sucking at the bottom of my shoes as I
walk back over to Max. Farrah’s high heels make squelching noises alongside me.

“I’ve
been treating the executive board with ambrosia to prepare them for the ceremony.
With their consent, of course,” Farrah adds in response to my look of dismay.
“In answer to your question: The demigods will never be quite as resilient or
live quite as long as a full Olympian, but the girl would have survived if she
had been given enough ambrosia.”

“So
they used her before she was ready,” I conclude quietly.

Suddenly
Farrah steps in front of me, towering over me like a gold statue and blocking
my view of Max. “I hope you can see now how imperative it is we send my son and
his accomplices home. Eros isn’t the man he once was. He, Apate and Dolos are
going to get these demigods
killed
, and they don’t care.”

“Maybe
they do,” I object, saying “they do” even though what I really mean is “he
does.” “Maybe they didn’t realize they hadn’t given her enough.”

“Don’t
be stupid, Siobhan—”

“You
said it yourself,” I interrupt her. “‘Eros isn’t the man he once was’—meaning
he didn’t use to be like this. He can become that person again. I can help
him.”

Farrah
looks at me like she thinks I’m the most pathetic person in the world. “What,
you think
love
can save him? As much as you might like to think you are,
you’re not a Disney princess, and this isn’t a movie. You’re dealing with a
being that gets off on interfering in the affairs of Olympians and humans.
This,” she says, gesturing to the dreary scene around us, “is just another
extension of his mischievous nature. Once you peel through all the layers of
guilt and anguish over your death, you’re still not going to find the man you
hope to.”

“You’re
wrong.” Although all of the evidence up to this point supports her conjecture,
I don’t want Farrah to think I’m on her side, either. This isn’t a case of
siding with the good guys or the bad guys—they’re
all
bad guys, as far
as I’m concerned. This is a case of saving my friends—and possibly
humanity—while still being me. Eros isn’t the person he once was, but neither
am I—I’m not Psyche, and I’m not mischievous, or two-faced, or manipulative.
I’m not like them. “You don’t understand: I
am
going to help you. But
I’m doing this my way. I’m not tricking him into doing anything. I’m going to
make him see that what they’re doing is wrong.”

Farrah
is silent for a moment, then shrugs. “Fine. Have it your way. As far as I’m
concerned, this will be no help to us at all—and with or without your help,
we’re sending him back to Olympus.” With this promise hanging in the air,
Farrah leaves me to go talk to the two police officers striding across the
lawn. Their car is parked at the curb, lights flashing blue and red, and more
are pulling up behind it. The whirr of ambulance sirens approaches, slicing
through the eerie calm. What the hell are we going to tell the first
responders? How are we going to explain Genie, who hasn’t morphed back into her
human form yet? Watching Farrah’s jade eyes ensnare those of the two male
officers, their expressions glazing over, reassures me—they’ll believe anything
Farrah tells them.

I
shiver as a breeze passes over me, one I would normally find cool and
rejuvenating if my clothes weren’t heavy with water. A solid, comforting arm
encircles my shaking shoulders.

“How’re
you doing?” Jimmy wonders, kissing my wet, stringy hair.

“As
good as can be, I guess.” I lay my head on his shoulder. “You?”

“I’m
okay.”

“How’s
Peter?”

“He’s
fine.”

“Really?”
I exclaim doubtfully. “Because the last time I saw him, Tanya’s date had
knocked him out.”

“Peter
gets back on his feet pretty quickly,” Jimmy assures me. “What do you think
that was, anyway? A freak flash flood?”

Lifting
my head, I chuckle softly. “
That’s
an understatement.” Even though it’s
an extremely inappropriate time, I find once I start laughing, I suddenly can’t
stop, my laughs growing hysterical and breathless.

Jimmy
pulls away from me slightly but keeps a firm hand on my back. “Are you sure
you’re okay?”

I
clutch my ribs and try to catch my breath, giving a strangled sob. “No. No, I’m
not.”  Then, it all spills out of me—everything I’ve found out since he, Anna
and I talked at the party: about Jasper and Farrah’s true identities, about
Olympus and our ancestry. About the rebellion, Jasper’s army and the real cause
of tonight’s destruction. I go back even further and tell him about my
dreams—and finally, about me.

“He
was my husband on Olympus. I think I’m the only one who can bring him out of
this.”

After
a pause, Jimmy says, “So you’re still in love with him.”

“I—I
don’t know.” Jimmy looks understanding, but I know this isn’t what he wants to
hear. “I love you, too. I’m just really confused,” I try to explain it away.
“Anyway, I’m not doing this because I love him
now
. I’m doing it
because, if we loved each other once, maybe I’m the only one who can reach
him.”

“I
hate to say this, but Farrah might be right. He might not be worth saving. I
admire you for trying to take the high road, but you should stick to Farrah’s
plan this time around.”

“I
can’t believe you would say that.” I feel like my world is slipping away from
me—everything I love, everyone I care about isn’t really what it seems. “Tell
me I should do something I’m not comfortable with. I thought I’d at least be
able to count on
you
.”

“This
isn’t just about
you
. Or me. This is bigger than us, and lives are at
stake. Genie died today because of him. You still want to give him a chance to
leave on his own terms?”

“Yes.
Oh,
what
?” I shout, throwing my arms in the air in frustration at the
expression he’s giving me. It’s the same look Farrah had on her face minutes
ago: disbelief mixed with pity. “You think this is stupid. You think I’m being
stupid.”

“I
do.” He shrugs. “I think you’re being stupid and self—” A groan of pain from
the ground cuts him off and makes us both jump. Max has a hand to his forehead
and struggles to sit up.

“Here,
let me help you. Take it slow,” I advise him, using the weight of my arms to
guide him into a seated posture. Max’s blue eyes balk at me.

“I
didn’t know you cared so much,” he mumbles, rubbing his forehead.

“Of
course
I care!” I snap, my leftover anger at Jimmy boiling over. “Just
because I wanted to break up doesn’t mean I want you to
die
!”

Max
winces and hides his face in his arms. “Stop yelling.”

“I’m
sorry,” I sigh, standing back up.

Max
looks at me through his fingers. “So we are broken up,” he realizes. “You’re
really choosing him.”

“This
isn’t the time, Max.” The tenderness I’ve been feeling toward him ever since
Victoria came out holding his limp body in her arms is evaporating along with
the water in my hair and on my skin. “You probably have a concussion.”

“When
is it ever going to be the time?” he wonders, lowering his hands. He shakes his
head ruefully. “You have to choose one of us.”

I
glance at Jimmy for help, but his arms are crossed, his eyebrows raised as he
waits for my response. “Fine. I don’t want either one of you.” Grief spasms my
face as I stalk away from them in the direction of the restaurant’s remains.
Victoria has reemerged, wings retracted, this time helping along a limping,
defeated-looking Liz.

“But
you’ll choose
him
!” Jimmy yells after me. He means Jasper. I grind my
lips together to keep from screaming back at him, not even acknowledging him
with a backward glance.

  “The
shuttle’s here,” Victoria says when we meet up halfway. She passes Liz off to
me, and I let Liz lean on my shoulder. “I’m staying here to help Farrah.

“I’ll
help you down to the bus,” I tell Liz, “but I’m not going home with you guys.
I’m going to Jasper’s.” Wariness flashes in Victoria’s round eyes, glowing more
orange than brown in the dark. “Nothing anybody says is going to change my
mind,” I say before Victoria can start trying to convince me not to go.

Acceptance
settles in to replace the look of warning in her eyes. “Do what you need to
do,” Victoria says. While she joins Farrah and her gaggle of smitten cops, Liz
and I make our way slowly to the idling shuttle.

“I’m
sorry,” Liz says without looking me in the eye, her voice a hoarse whisper.

“I
know.”

“I
understand it if you guys hate me.”

“We
don’t,” I assure her. “Not that you don’t have some apologizing to do. But I
know—and I think the others do, too—that you haven’t exactly been yourself
lately. You got caught up in a new world, and a tantalizing one, at that. It
could happen to anyone. Who could blame you for that?”

Liz
nods, but a bleak frown still turns down the corners of her mouth. “I thought
they were my friends, but they’re not. You guys are. You’re my sisters.” As she
says it, Carly reaches out to her from the shuttle. Liz accepts her hand and
takes the steps one at a time.