Chapter 27 #2
else—perhaps the actions of his sisters. But it touched something deep within her, and her tears welled anew. She buried her
face in his shoulder and cried. He held her and smoothed down her hair.
She pulled away. “I’m getting your jacket wet.”
“It’s just the rain,” Mo said, tilting his head toward the gray sky.
Aida blinked. She hadn’t even registered the rain at first, but now it was everywhere—running down Mo’s jaw, dripping from his lashes, soaking through his jacket and into hers.
She looked up. The clouds had been holding back, but now they gave in, releasing a downpour that flattened her hair against her scalp and ran in cold rivulets down her back.
She shivered but didn’t move.
“I miss being in the world,” she said. “Really in it—surrounded by people, by life. I miss all the things I took for granted:
crowded cafés humming with conversation, the clink of wineglasses over a shared meal. I miss the smell of old books in the
Biblioteca Angelica, the hush of a gallery, the jostle of the crowd at a concert.”
While this was true, she also hoped she could shift Mo’s sympathies.
“I don’t,” he said.
So much for shifting, Aida thought.
“People are mostly terrible, and terribly foolish,” he continued. “Humankind is on a path of self-destruction. Let me count
the ways—climate, politics, gun proliferation, religious disagreement, malware, identity theft, online bullying, thousands
of robocalls . . .”
“I get it,” she said, stopping him. “But with the lockdown, we still have those issues, plus heightened sadness, fear, death,
disease, depression, unemployment, poverty, homelessness.”
He was silent. Aida knew he couldn’t refute that but seeing him grappling with his very nature was strange. If he couldn’t
lash out with a heavy dose of snark, he had only silence. It softened her feelings toward him, this god whom no one liked
because, through the centuries, he couldn’t just keep his mouth shut. And here she was, instilling silence within him. Had
anyone else been able to do that?
“There are no easy answers,” she offered. She let him keep an arm around her.
The rain poured over them, drenching them both, making their clothes heavy and cold. Her sweater clung to her arms, her jeans stuck to her legs, and water ran down the back of her neck in icy trickles. But strangely, she didn’t care.
She tipped her head back and let the rain hit her face, let it soak into her skin. The air smelled of wet stone, of damp earth
and sky. The world felt so small these days, but this—this was something vast. Aida exhaled and stretched out a hand. She
turned her palm up, letting the rain pool there before it spilled over.
When she looked at Mo, she found him watching her. He was just as soaked as she was, his dark curls plastered to his forehead,
his jacket useless against the deluge.
When it finally broke, he removed his arm. His expression was troubled. “I have to go. Happy New Year, Aida.”
When the blanket of calm dissipated, Aida remained on the couch, watching the sky crack from gray to blue, her thoughts a
jumbled mess.
The next morning, Yumi and Aida took a walk to the Roman Forum. It was locked up tight as a result of the pandemic, so they
went to the overlook at Piazza del Campidoglio, the hilltop square near Palazzo Senatorio, Rome’s town hall. Their vantage
point gave them a perfect view of the Umbilicus Urbis Romae and the other ruins.
“So unimpressive from here,” Yumi noted. “It’s just a pile of bricks amid all the rest of this greatness.”
“All the better to be easily ignored, I suppose.” Aida leaned on the wall and stared out across the empty Forum. “It’s strange
to look over this in broad daylight and not see a soul.”
“It is. I suppose we should start praying.”
“No need,” said a voice from behind them.
They turned to find Sophie there, dressed head to toe in gray and black, her chestnut curls cascading down her back from beneath a wool hat.
She held a finger to her mouth—a shush—then made the same gesture she had in the restaurant, her hands in front of her, palms out, thumbs and forefingers touching.
She moved her hands to create the invisible sound shield.
“You’re wondering how I knew you were here. It’s my aegis,” she said, registering the surprised looks on Aida’s and Yumi’s
faces. “I’m connected to you and know where you are. When you came close to the Umbilicus, I assumed you may have news for
us.”
“We do. We think we may know where Effie is.”
Sophie looked toward the Forum. After a pause, she held out her hands. Yumi took one, Aida took the other, and with a whoosh,
they were standing in front of Vulcan’s golden lions. One of them growled.
“Shush,” Sophie said, ignoring the beast’s warning and touching the door. It opened into the humming forge. Vulcan stood there,
hands on hips, looking less than pleased.
“Sophrosyne. It’s been a while.” He looked at Aida and Yumi. “But not for you two. You know something useful?” His voice boomed.
“Y . . . yes,” Aida began. Sophie’s aegis didn’t seem to work in her immediate presence. She remembered that the goddess had
said they didn’t need it around her, but now there was no calm to shield them from the wonder that was the god of the forge.
Vulcan was like something out of a superhero movie. Larger than life, stunning in his appearance, and everything about him
was otherworldly. It didn’t matter that she had met him before—without the aegis, he was so imposing it practically took her
breath away. His hair was almost fire, and he towered over them. She wondered how Yumi had managed to keep any composure at
all when they first met him.
Aglaea emerged from a nearby doorway, and she was equally breathtaking. Her platinum tresses fell across her shoulders, and
she wore a white dress on her lithe frame. She went to her husband and linked her arm in his.
Sophie seemed to notice the problem, as she snapped her fingers and abruptly the calm returned.
Aida realized she had been gaping in awe. She took a breath. “Thank you.”
“Now then, tell us what you know,” Aggie said, her voice gentle and encouraging.
Aida and Yumi explained everything, relating what had happened with Pandora and Trista’s slipup about the Catacombs of St.
Callixtus.
“Interesting,” Vulcan said, raising a hand to stroke his beard. “Those catacombs hold popes now, but they are built on the
remains of an ancient hypogeum.”
“Why didn’t I think of that before?” Sophie said, her eyes wide with understanding. “Many centuries ago, there was an altar
to Oizys deep within the catacombs.”
“There was an altar there?” Aggie looked skeptical.
“I wouldn’t expect you’d have been aware of it. Our sister always kept to herself. Not to mention, your domains are far removed
from the abode of misery and despair. And Oizys, ever secluded in her ways, always shrouds her sanctums in secrecy. A journey
into the depths of sorrow to reach her shrine was the ultimate answer for those who sought solace in their pain. Think. How
did they unburden themselves of their grief?”
Yumi gasped. “They killed themselves.”
Vulcan crossed his arms. “An altar with so many years of sorrow and grief imbues the place with a power that likely reinforces
the magic keeping Euphrosyne from the world. Trapping her in my chair wouldn’t be enough; they’d still need to tamp down the
happiness that naturally flows from her. The catacombs . . . they make sense.”
“Our friend Felix says there is only one door to enter the catacombs,” Yumi began. “I think I might be able to hack in and
manage the cameras without too much problem.”
“But we’ll still have to pick the lock and find the room where she’s kept, then—” Aida continued, but Vulcan cut her off.
“Free her. Yes, yes. And you’ll likely have other godlike issues to contend with.”
“Issues like what?” Aida asked, not sure she was going to like the answer.
He looked thoughtful. “The deeper you get, the more the weight of Oizys’s power will discourage you. And if you set off any
triggers to warn the gods, they’ll surely throw whatever they can at you. Whether that’s mortals doing their bidding, nightmarish
apparitions, physical traps—”
“You mean Indiana Jones–style traps?” Yumi interrupted, then realized she had cut off a god and clapped her hand over her
mouth.
Aggie raised an eyebrow but didn’t engage with the comment. “I’m not sure what you mean, but my siblings don’t need elaborate
traps—they wouldn’t even imagine a mortal could get close to the throne,” she said coolly. “That kind of arrogance is their
real defense.”
Sophie agreed. “She’s right. First, the mere weight of sorrow hanging over Oizys’s sanctuary will be enough to keep all but
the most dedicated mortals away—those who already know about the sanctuary. Average humans would be repelled by the misery
without understanding it. One would need to be ready to give everything to Oizys to find her shrine. And aside from that,
there’s the natural age of the catacombs, which are certainly structurally dangerous in many parts. There’s a reason that
the lower levels have been closed off for decades.”
Aida frowned. “But why us? You’d be helping another god—Effie. So why aren’t you handling it yourselves?”
Vulcan let out a short humorless laugh. “You think it’s that simple? Gods can’t just go around stealing other gods’ prisoners
without consequences.”
Aggie’s expression was grave. “Yes, MODA took Effie. But under our laws, only the god who was wronged can retaliate. The rest
of us can’t interfere—not yet. That’s why the balance hasn’t shattered.”
Sophie added, “The balance among us is delicate, but still intact, because so far MODA hasn’t been challenged. If we move first, we aren’t just rescuing Effie—we’re breaking the rules ourselves. And if we do that, every god left on earth has the right to step in. That’s when things spiral.”