11. Medusa #2
Medusa hesitated—just long enough to make the room feel smaller. Then her eyes met Calliope’s across the kitchen. Her cousin had paused mid-reach for a tea tin, watching her closely.
It wasn’t an accusation. It wasn’t even judgment. Just a question. But one that Medusa wasn’t quite ready to answer. Not fully.
“I needed space,” she said, reaching for a plate and placing it on the counter. “And I needed to think.”
Medusa stayed quiet as the girls laughed and bickered over the last of her fig jam, her hands moving on autopilot as she wiped the counter.
Why had she stayed away? She could say it was the need for solitude, for peace after the chaos of the Upperworld.
And that was partly true. But the real reason was one she couldn’t share—not with them.
Especially not with these two, who’d already suffered enough.
She had fallen in love. Completely, terrifyingly, deeply.
And now, the man she’d given her heart to couldn’t even look at her without seeing betrayal.
If they knew—if they knew that she had chosen to deceive him, even if it was to save them, they would only feel guilt.
Guilt for her heartbreak, for her loneliness.
And that was the last thing she wanted. Their freedom was her choice.
Her burden. Not theirs. So, she smiled when they teased her and let them believe she just liked the quiet mountain air.
Calliope came up beside her, gently nudging her shoulder. “Thinking’s good. But don’t get stuck in your own head.”
“I won’t,” Medusa said, half to her cousin, half to herself.
Behind them, one of the teens popped a cracker into her mouth and mumbled, “You need better snacks.”
Medusa rolled her eyes. “You need to remember whose kitchen you’re raiding.”
The girls giggled, tension broken, and began throwing together a feast of whatever they could scavenge. Medusa watched them as they left the kitchen—safe, laughing, alive—and tried to ignore the ache behind her ribs that never quite went away.
The girls were arguing over music when Medusa stepped back into the room.
Someone had conjured a speaker from their pack, and now a deep, thumping beat echoed off the stone walls of the mountain home.
One of them had commandeered a pillow as a microphone and was dramatically lip-syncing into it while the other danced around the room, limbs flailing, laughter high and infectious.
“Okay, but my version was better!” said Euryale.
“In your dreams,” Stheno shot back. “You can’t hit that note without summoning a banshee.”
“That was one time!”
Calliope chuckled from her seat, her arm draped over the back of the worn-out couch.
Nyra had woken up briefly, giggled at the noise, and promptly fallen back asleep with her thumb in her mouth and a tiny snakelet curled protectively over her temple. The chaos didn’t bother her in the slightest.
Medusa leaned against the doorframe and watched them.
Her heart ached in a way that was both soft and sharp.
This—this wild, untamed joy, the kind that came from being free and young and completely safe, was why she had done it, why she had risked everything.
The girls had color in their cheeks, brightness in their eyes.
They had inside jokes and favorite songs.
Not haunted silences. Not walls for eyes.
They had survived and then gone on to live.
She blinked hard, swallowing the knot that had risen in her throat.
Calliope caught her eye and motioned to the far corner of the room, where a bench was carved into the stone wall. Medusa followed her, unnoticed by the teens who had now decided to choreograph an impromptu dance routine that would surely end in someone falling.
“Tell me,” Medusa said, her voice almost lost beneath the music.
Calliope didn’t pretend to misunderstand. She rested her hands on her knees, her fingers absently playing with the silver ring on her thumb.
“He was down for a while,” Calliope said. “Bedridden for almost two weeks.”
Medusa’s stomach clenched. “Injured?”
“Not anymore, anyway. The worst of the damage passed fast—his body healed. But he didn’t speak to anyone. Didn’t shift. Barely ate.”
Medusa stared at the floor, the weight of those words pressing into her chest like a stone.
“But he’s up now,” Calliope added. “Started taking on field assignments again. Smaller ones, close to their home.”
Medusa nodded, her throat dry. That was good. He was moving. Functioning. Maybe even healing.
“And emotionally?” she asked, dreading the answer.
Calliope exhaled, slow and measured. “He’s…quieter than usual. Still focused. Still reliable.”
Medusa looked up, her gaze distant now, drawn to the flicker of the firelight playing across the stone walls.
A scream of triumph came from behind them as the teens nailed their routine—sort of—and collapsed into a heap of tangled limbs and triumphant grins. Nyra stirred, mumbled something about noisy big sisters, and rolled over.
Medusa turned to Calliope. “I did what I had to.”
“I know.”
“It cost me him.”
“Maybe not forever.”
Medusa didn’t reply. She couldn’t hope for that. Not yet. But she could hold onto this—the dancing, the joy, the breathless laughter echoing through the mountains. If nothing else, she had given them that.
And maybe, just maybe, that was enough.
“They’re good kids,” Calliope said, watching the teens now arguing over whether they should make cookies or try to conjure up popcorn again.
Medusa smiled. “Better than good. Resilient.”
“They didn’t even wake up until we had them back,” Calliope added. “Did I tell you that?”
“No,” Medusa said, eyes flicking to the girls.
“They were under a spell that kept them unconscious,” Calliope said, voice low. “They never knew the worst of it.”
“Thank the gods,” Medusa exhaled, relief washing through her like warmth in her veins. “That was always my fear. That they’d live through what we did.”
Calliope shook her head. “They don’t carry that weight. And they don’t need to. You made sure of it.”
Before Medusa could respond, a sharp, startled cry broke through the room.
Nyra.
Medusa was on her feet in a second, crossing the space to where the little one sat up, eyes wide with panic. Her small snakelets hissed and twisted, responding to her distress.
“Shh, darling,” Medusa said, sinking beside her. “It’s okay. You’re safe.”
Nyra’s tiny fists were clutching at Medusa’s tunic. Her body trembled. “I dreamed—” she whispered, voice thin. “They took you too.”
“No one’s taking me,” Medusa whispered back, stroking the back of her head. “I’m not going anywhere. You’re safe. We’re all safe.”
Nyra nodded but didn’t let go. Her snakes slowly began to calm, curling back down into soft spirals.
The room had gone still. Quiet.
Medusa looked up—and her breath caught.
Standing in the middle of the space, as if he had simply appeared there, was Lord Eros.
He wore wire-rimmed glasses, which should’ve made him look harmless. But there was something about him that commanded silence—his presence cut through the air like the first note of a symphony.
The teens stared at him wide-eyed, frozen midmotion.
Calliope stood slowly, one brow arching. “Lord Eros,” she said cautiously. “You’re not exactly expected.”
“I rarely am,” the god replied.
Medusa gently eased Nyra back down and rose to her feet, heart already pounding with dread. She met his gaze steadily.
“Why are you here?”