The Deep End of the Sea (7 page)

This startles me, even though I’m the only other person in the room. Even still, I offer him what I hope is a friendly smile. “Go for it.”

“How many people have you killed?”

My thundering heart sinks; the Girls hiss angrily. I find my hands instantly go to my glasses, to check if the strap holding them in place is still firmly attached. “I don’t know.” The words stumble out of my mouth; I am the world’s worst liar, or so Hermes often tells me. Because I do know how many people have perished because of me: sixty-three souls over two thousand years. And I know each and every one of their faces better than I know my own.

The Girls press soothingly against my skull; I soak up their sympathy, even if I know it’s misplaced. Because I am a killer. And even though I wish desperately I could undo each and every one of those deaths, and none of them came about from purpose, there is no two ways about what I’ve become.

“Huh,” the satyr grunts, clearly skeptical. But then the intercom on his desk beeps. “The Assembly has finished reviewing your case. You may go in for judgment now.”

I pat my scarf again and check the knots. Even though it’s been less than a minute since inspecting my glasses, I confirm they’re not budging, either. Then I head to the door that the satyr is holding open.

“Good luck,” he says before disappearing behind the closing door.

In front of me is a long hallway resplendent with mosaicked scenes. Predictably, it showcases the greatest hits of the Assembly’s achievements. I find myself smiling at the ones that show Hermes—even in tile and glass, he is as wonderful and heroic as always. A few feet later, I flinch when I see Poseidon with his trident. I beat myself up over how he still has that power over me. I’d thought ... two thousand years have passed. I shouldn’t react so, should I? Stars, what will it be like when I’m to stand before him in moments, face to face? I haven’t seen his face in person in millennia, yet he has been a thorn in my side every single day. His waters, churning around my isle, remind me how he’s trapped me; his rejection of any suicide attempts in the seas proves lingering control. Every single day, his presence has tormented me in one way or another.

I’m ready to be done with him.

The Pantheon opens up before me, and it is a good thing I’m wearing sunglasses, because it’s so dazzlingly white it threatens to blind me. A semi-circle of raised thrones rings the room, each seat tailored specifically to the god or goddess who reigns over it. Instinctively, I seek out Hermes first, who sits three down on the left of the front and center Zeus. My friend gives me a supportive smile, like he knows my eyes are upon him even though the glasses are so dark nobody could see beyond the carefully constructed mirrored plastic.

I quickly do a mental checklist of what I’m allowed to do in here: 1) stay silent, unless spoken to; 2) show no outward emotions; 3) keep any answers brief and to the point; and most importantly, 4) tell only the truth. Zeus can always pinpoint liars, and he is notorious for denying mercy to those who set out to deceive him.

“So,” Zeus booms, and my attention snaps back to him. He is lounging in his throne, dressed in a t-shirt, torn shorts, and flip-flops. There is no beard, no mustache—just sandy hair and weathered, tan skin. I can see where Hermes gets his good looks. “Medusa, is it?”

I will my hands to remain at my sides, rather than go to the Girls or my glasses. My little snakes press tightly against my skull, shaking in the aftermath of the Lord of the Skies mighty voice. I want to shake right alongside them, but I force myself to stand still. “Yes, sir.”

Zeus’s fingers drum against the arm of his throne. “My son is most insistent that you’ve been unfairly punished for too long.”

Do I agree? Is that okay? I have no idea if this is something that requires an actual answer, so I incline my head just enough to let anyone know that I concur with Hermes’ assessment.

“We’ve just had a very interesting discussion about your circumstances.”

Somebody coughs pointedly; from Hermes’ descriptions of his family over the years, I think the perpetrator is Ares. And then, more loudly, he mutters his vehement disagreement with the use of
discussion
to describe what just went down.

Zeus doesn’t look away from me when he says, “Enough of that, son.”

It’s then that I finally allow myself to acknowledge Poseidon’s presence, sitting to Zeus’ right. He is exactly as I remember him: stunning, with hair so black it shines, and shrewd eyes whose color changes in waves as the blues in the ocean do. My stomach clenches so hard I feel like throwing up.

The bastard is staring at me, concern etched in his eyes. Full on, blatant
staring
. Face entirely passive, but I get the impression that a bomb could go off and he’d still be looking exactly where he is now.

His hands, on me. His voice, in my ear. The bile shoots up my throat.

Don’t make a sound. I promise I’ll gift you an experience you’ll never forget
.

“Athena,” Zeus says, and I rip my attention away from Lord of the Seas. My skin crawls with anxiety as I continue to feel the pressure of his undivided attention. “Before I lay final judgment, is there anything further you want to add to counter the frankly disturbing claims your brother just presented us with?”

A god I believe to be Apollo says, “Father, we’ve heard more than we’ll ever need from that bitch.”

Zeus says, his voice tempered with what surely must be exaggerated patience, “As with any case presented to me in which you are concerned, you are also given opportunity for a final comment or argument. Athena is due hers in this case.”

Athena is sitting next to Poseidon. Her hair is in a tight bun, her expression sour as she peers down at me. There is disdain there, and something else—something I can’t quite pinpoint. But whatever it is, I am more than aware of her revulsion, and it saddens me. I worshipped her. Served her. “How many times do I need to say it? The little whore got what she deserved.”

I literally have to swallow back the vomit. It burns as it slides back down. Athena gets her say? What about mine? When do I get my say?

“Horseshit,” comes another voice, and my focus swivels to the left of Zeus. It’s Hades, the Lord of the Underworld. He is dark and handsome, but what has my attention is that his own eyes are filled with anger. I must admit I am surprised to see the emotion there.

“Uncle,” Athena says, but he holds out a finger towards her and her lips immediately shut in a way that tells me she’s probably not in control of her mouth at this moment.

“Niece,” he stresses, mimicking her formality, “this isn’t the first time you’ve overstepped your bounds by punishing innocents; this one just so happens to be the last remaining victim. If you even try to spew that victim blaming crap again, I’ll take you down to the Underworld with me for a spell. Maybe then you can understand what true justice entails.”

She gasps in outrage. I can’t help but stare up at Hades in amazement. I’ve never had any contact with him before, except for sending far too many souls his way over the years. Is he one of Hermes’ supporters?

“For somebody who is supposedly the bastion of wisdom,” Hades continues darkly, “you do a piss-poor job of exhibiting it yourself.”

A goddess I assume to be Aphrodite bursts into laughter; the sounds of wind chimes fill the hall. She’s sitting on the other side of Hermes, looking every inch of what the Goddess of Love ought to look like. And I am struck with a small sliver of jealousy, that she possesses her beauty and I a face that can literally lead to death.

The irony of this is not lost on me.

“Cease your frivolity,
cow
,” Athena hisses at her sister.

“How delightful. Your daughter strives to show example of my words,” Hades says, this time to Zeus.

“Athena, shut it, will you?” Zeus snaps. An exasperated sigh escapes from his lips as he kneads his forehead. Hermes was certainly right on this account—the Assembly loves to bicker.

“I agree with our Brother,” Hestia pipes up from her seat next to Poseidon. “Athena’s punitive play at a snit-fit has gone on long enough. Goodness,” the Goddess of Hearth and Home tut-tuts. “If she were my daughter, this nonsense would have ended long ago.”

Athena’s eyes bulge, but she prudently stays silent.

“You coddle her,” Hestia continues, shifting in her seat until she’s facing Zeus.

“Don’t start this again,” he warns, and then there is an explosion of arguing within the Assembly. Bewildered, I seek out my friend, but he’s focused on Poseidon, who, in turn, is focused on me. I stay silent, as still as the statues back on my isle.

“Enough,” Zeus eventually booms. “I’ve had enough of this. Hermes, you were right to bring our attention to this matter. With our influence waning in the modern age, we cannot condone such petty actions of our past. Athena, revoke the curse. The Gorgon Medusa has been punished long enough.”

Athena lurches to her feet. “She desecrated the sanctity of my temple with her overzealous, whorish libido!”

An imaginary fist punches my stomach. Before I break the rules and start shrieking, Hermes also stands up, visibly shaking. “You think she
chose
that? She was
raped
, you idiot!”

His words echo across the room. I cannot bring myself to look at Poseidon, but I know, just know, he is still staring at me.

His hands, on me. Blood on the floor, afterwards.

“If you want to be angry at somebody for defiling your holy ground, then take it up with our bastard of an uncle,” Hermes continues, his voice low and angry. “But you know that none of this was Medusa’s fault. You are acting beneath yourself to continue to punish her for something
that was not her fault
.”

Yet another reason, in a huge laundry list of many, as to why my gratitude toward my friend is boundless.

“Here, here!” Aphrodite fist pumps in the air. I glance over at her and she offers me a smile that’s a surprising mixture of sympathy and support. But then I remember, Hermes has always said that he and this sister are thick as thieves.

Zeus is clearly weary. “It’s done. We’ve voted, and I’ve decided. Daughter, reverse the curse now or your Uncle will be more than welcome to take you to the Underworld as he wishes.”

Athena is still not swayed. “But—”

I hold my breath. Hades rises and takes a step towards her. She slams herself back into her seat. “Fine. The beast may seek me out this week when there is time—”

Hades steps down from his throne. “Now or never, niece.”

“FINE!” the goddess of wisdom yells, and something strikes me so hard that I topple backwards. Pain, excruciating and sharp, coils around me tighter than any snake could. Hands grab me before I slam into the ground, but I can’t even see whom they belong to, the agony is so intense. I want to scream, want to claw at something, but I am incapacitated. My insides are shredding, my skin is on fire. All I can do is pray that the death I’ve yearned for for so long will be swift before I black out.

“Here. Drink this.” A soft voice tickles my ears. “It will help.”

I go to open my eyes and then I remember who I am. I am Medusa. My eyes offer death. I weakly root around for my glasses, but they are nowhere nearby. “Glasses,” I croak.

“Open your eyes, Dusa.” I know this voice, and it hurts to hear so much worry in it.

“Glasses,” I try again.

“No need.” His promise is gentle. “The curse has been removed.”

A hand instantly goes to my head. The Girls ...? But there is no movement, no soft hissing. There is only what feels to be hair, soft and matted.

“Snakes?” I mumble. A hand joins mine to tug through the strands; foreign shudders of mixed pleasure and comfort take hold in my muscles.

“Don’t tell me you miss them,” a female says, the very voice that woke me up. It’s kind. And I am ... panicky. The Girls, gone?

“Oh, stop,” a deep voice admonishes from further away. But it’s not in exasperation; it’s laced with amusement.

“Eyes?”

“You are no longer an instrument of death,” the female says.