Jade
“So, Tempest chose me to stop Ambrogio and destroy the Revenants?” I ask Circe, the words coming out steadier than I feel.
“Yes.” Her golden eyes meet mine. “The cosmic goddesses cannot directly interfere in mortal and mystical realm affairs, because their responsibilities to the forces they represent are too great. So, they chose champions—young women blessed with their celestial magic called the star touched, who’ve been gifted powers of the moon, the sun, the stars, and now, the storm. ”
I pause for a second, absorbing this. It lines up with everything I’ve learned so far. But if I’m one of these star touched, then why…
“My thread is wrong.” I point at the loom, where the scorch marks are cutting across the silver.
Circe rises and moves to the tapestry, her fingers hovering over the damaged area.
“Your thread keeps tangling and burning,” she says slowly. “Every time I weave it into the pattern, it catches fire, leaving these marks behind.”
“That… doesn’t sound good.”
“It’s most unusual.” Her brow furrows. “It didn’t happen with the other three. Their threads wove smoothly into the pattern, their fates clear and bright. Yours, however, fights me at every turn.”
Of course it does. Nothing about me can ever be simple, can it?
“Is something wrong with me?” I’m on my feet now, moving to the loom. “Or with my magic?”
“I don’t know.” Her eyes soften, her expression sad. “I’ve been weaving fate for millennia, and I’ve never encountered a thread like yours. It’s as if your destiny is at war with itself, powerful forces pulling you in directions the pattern cannot accommodate.”
I stare at the scorch marks that look like lightning strikes frozen in thread.
“Can you contact T? I mean Tempest?” I ask, the question bursting out. “Can you get her to come here, or talk to her about what’s happening with my thread, or tell me what I’m supposed to do next?”
Circe’s expression softens in a way that looks almost human. “The gods rarely visit the Lost Islands. Even I, with all my power, cannot summon them here.”
“Then how do I find her?”
“You’re most likely to reach Tempest in the mortal realm.
” Circe moves back to the table, lifting her cup.
“The storm goddess walks among humans more freely than her sisters. She’s been known to appear as a lighthouse keeper, a pilot, a stranger, or a voice in the thunder.
If she wishes to speak with you, she will find you. ”
“But what if I need to talk to her now? What if I have questions that can’t wait?”
“Then I’m afraid you’ll have to be patient,” Circe says, gentle but firm. “The gods speak to mortals when they choose, not when they’re called upon. You can pray, you can rage, and you can beg, but ultimately, Tempest will come to you when she decides the time is right.”
Frustration burns in my chest, electric and sharp, and it takes everything I have not to let it spark from my fingertips.
“There has to be more you can tell me,” I say, hating how desperate I sound. “Something about what I’m supposed to do next, or about how to stop the Revenants. Anything.”
Circe studies me for a long moment, her golden eyes so intense that I start playing with my rings.
“The other champions have been fighting this war for longer than you have,” she finally says.
“Two years ago, Ruby interfered with Ambrogio’s resurrection, weakening him so he couldn’t immediately create Revenants.
That summer, Amber destroyed the shadow army Ambrogio created in the Underworld and released into the mortal realm.
Last year, Sapphire infiltrated the Night Court and stopped their kingdom from allying with the Blood Coven. ”
She pauses, the weight behind her eyes making my chest tighten.
“Your thread is different, Jade Harrington. The role you’re meant to play isn’t the same as theirs. It’s not... clean.”
Not clean.
The words echo in my mind, and suddenly I’m seeing Oliver’s body turning to ash on the Crown, Elizabeth dying by my hand, and feeling the weight of every secret I’m carrying pressing down on my chest.
“Yeah,” I whisper. “Clean isn’t really my thing.”
Circe gives me a sad smile, not bothering to refute my statement.
Evie cuts through the heavy silence. “What about Oliver and Thad?”
My whole body goes rigid.
“Oliver Thorne and Professor Thaddeus Morgrave,” she continues, and there’s so much hope in her eyes it makes me want to throw up. “They disappeared from Blaze Academy nine days ago. We thought they might have ended up here.”
Circe’s brow furrows. “I know of no Oliver Thorne or Thaddeus Morgrave.”
“Are you sure?” She leans forward. “Oliver’s my brother. He’s about six foot tall, hazel eyes, and auburn hair like mine, but darker and perpetually messy from running his hands through it. Thad is older, with salt and pepper hair, and he’s probably wearing a band t-shirt under a blazer.”
Circe shakes her head slowly. “No one has washed up on my shores these past few weeks, and if two men were wandering my island, my animals would have found them and made their presence known.”
Evie’s face crumbles, her whole body folding inward. Then she swallows, presses her lips together, and drags herself upright with visible effort.
“Maybe they’re on a different island,” she says, sounding smaller now. “The Lost Islands are vast. There are so many places they could be.”
“Perhaps.” Circe’s tone is gentle, but offers no false hope. “I can’t speak to what exists beyond my shores.”
No. I can’t do this. I can’t keep watching Evie’s hope like it’s a living thing. Every question she asks is a knife twisting deeper into the lie I’m maintaining, and if I stand here much longer, the truth is going to claw its way out of my throat whether I want it to or not.
I need to say something—anything—to change the subject.
“How do we get back to the mortal realm?” I ask, the words coming out too fast, too desperate.
Kieran’s eyes flick to me, one eyebrow raised.
Circe hums as she considers the question. “There are three paths from the Lost Islands to the mortal realm. The first is through the Underworld. However, the dead don’t appreciate living visitors, and Hades’s domain has grown temperamental in recent centuries.”
“Hard pass on visiting Hell,” I mutter. “What else?”
“The Cosmic Tides.” Circe’s expression darkens further. “They hold the currents that flow between worlds. I don’t recommend that path unless you wish to become one with every universe in existence, while also existing nowhere at all.”
I shudder, liking how that sounds less than Hell. “Also a no. Great options so far.”
“Relatively speaking, the third path is the safest.” Circe moves to a window that looks out over her gardens, gazing out at the flowers and trees.
“The Pillars of Hercules stand at the edge of the Lost Islands, where the sea meets the mortal realm. Pass through them, and you’ll emerge in the Strait of Gibraltar. ”
Evie straightens. “That’s the passage between Spain and Morocco.”
“Correct.” Circe turns back to face us. “However, be warned that the Pillars have a guardian. Geryon.”
Evie inhales sharply. “The three-bodied giant from Greek mythology. Hercules killed him during his tenth labor.”
“Myths are often simplified.” Circe’s golden eyes hold a warning. “The Geryon of your stories—the cattle herder defeated by a demigod’s arrows—is not the creature that guards the Pillars. That version is a children’s tale compared to the truth.”
Kieran lifts his dagger from where it rests on his knees, examines the blade, and places it down again. “What is he?”
“Geryon is the three aspects of judgment. Past, present, and future. Origins, Essence, and Consequence. He sees what was, what is, and what will be. He cannot be fought, tricked, or bribed. He simply judges. Your reaction to his judgment determines whether you pass through the Pillars or remain in the Lost Islands forever.”
I stare at her like she’s lost her mind. Because unless I misheard—which I definitely didn’t—she just told us that an ancient three-headed fortune teller will decide if we’re worthy of going home.
What could possibly go wrong?
Evie returns her notebook to her bag and sticks the pencil she was using into her messy bun. “Before we leave, would it be possible for us to search the island, so we can be certain that Oliver and Thad aren’t here?”
“Be my guest.” Circe gestures at the corridor we came through. “My animals will guide you, but you won’t find what you’re looking for.”
Evie stands and glances longingly at the exit. “I have to try.”
“Of course you do.” There’s no judgment in Circe’s tone—only ancient, weary understanding. “Hope is a stubborn thing.”
Kieran rises, moving to stand beside Evie.
Then Evie turns to me. “Are you coming?”
The word yes is right there on my tongue. A good friend would help search. They’d hold onto hope and believe there’s a chance.
But by this point, I’m far from a good friend.
“I’m going to head back to the boat and fill Logan in on what we’ve learned,” I say, sounding way steadier than I feel.
Evie’s eyebrows lift. “Right. Fill Logan in. That’s definitely the reason.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Nothing.” She exchanges a glance with Kieran. “Just that Callie’s been alone with him for a while now.”
My face burns. “That’s not why I’m going back.”
“Go,” Kieran says, sheathing his dagger. “We’ll handle the search.”
Shame burns hot in my chest.
“Just be careful, okay?” I say, mainly to Evie, since Kieran has enough weapons on him to kill anyone who gets within a ten-foot radius—and that’s not counting how far he can throw the knives strapped to his forearms. “When you get back, we’ll figure out how to get past the three-headed judgment monster. ”
“Three aspects,” Evie corrects. “Not three heads. Although, given the mythology surrounding Geryon, the distinction might be significant. The original texts describe—”
“Evie.” Kieran puts a hand on her shoulder. “Research later. Search now.”
She nods, blinking a few times like she’s recalibrating her brain. “We’ll meet you at the boat in an hour. Two at most.”
“Be safe,” I say, because it’s all I can manage.
They head to the door, following the fox who guided us inside. At the threshold, Evie pauses and looks back.
“Jade?”
“Yeah?”
“Whatever’s tangling your thread...” Her eyes are soft and concerned. “We’ll figure it out.”
“Thanks,” I hear myself say. “Sounds good.”
Then she’s gone, leaving me alone with an ancient sorceress and the weight of all my secrets.