Chapter 4. Jenny #2
“First of all, if you’re going to quote Spider-Man, get it right. The line was ‘With great power there must also come great responsibility.’ Second, it’s complicated.”
“Why?” He smiled as if that would make the question less annoying.
“You want to know the real reason?” I leaned closer. He did the same. I lowered my voice to a whisper. “It was thirty-three years ago. My last hunt. I was searching for a mythical creature, a dangerous beast called the Nunya.”
Morgan sat back in his chair. “I get it. ‘Nunya Business,’ right?”
“Oh, you’ve heard of it?” I sealed the blood-spotted tissue back into the bag, then shooed Morgan away. “Thanks for your help with the security app.”
He peeked into the oven on his way out. “Save a muffin for me, Uncle Temple.”
My grin lasted until I heard him shut the hall door behind him. I allowed myself a minute to stuff old feelings back down where they belonged.
“Do you think he’ll come back?” asked Temple.
“No question. He loves your chocolate chip muffins.”
“I mean Ronnie.”
I picked up my phone and replayed the video of him squaring off with Annette. “It’s not just that he attacked a harvester. He also tracked her to us. He’s determined, he has access to magic, and he knows Annette is onto him. Yeah, he’ll be back.”
The urge to head out and find him myself was strong. I blamed Morgan for stirring up those memories. I considered our other options. “Can you add him to the house’s block list? Make sure he can’t get inside unless he’s invited?”
“He’s not a vampire, Jenny. But yes, we’re familiar with Ronnie’s appearance, and we’ll know if he comes back. That much I can still do. I haven’t lost all my power yet.”
The bitterness in his words hurt my heart.
I squeezed his hand. “You could lose five lifetimes’ worth of knowledge and power, and you’d still be one of the strongest wizards on the planet.
That harvester from last night is alive—more or less—because of you.
So are a lot of other people. And non-people. ”
“Last night was nice. It’s good to feel like you matter again for a few minutes.” He shrugged one shoulder. “For everything there is a season. I’m deep into winter, and it’s getting colder.”
“You’re not allowed to go.” I gathered the threads of my usual cheer and wove them into a smile, a mask for the fear and dread. I’d lost far too many people in my life. “If anything happened to you, we’d have to survive on my cooking. Or worse, Annette’s.”
· · ·
Seven weeks after I moved in with Temple, my bedroom had grown a second closet. The larger closet was for clothing and linens and such, while the smaller was the perfect size for worship and prayer.
My altar was just a low table, handmade from cypress wood, then sanded and oiled to bring out the grain.
A quiver of arrows and a compound bow rested against the left side of the altar.
The bow was a palintonos, the same type of weapon Odysseus had used.
Unstrung, the ends curled back until they almost touched.
I smiled, remembering how my friends used to take turns trying to string the bow. The five of them working together had come close, but they’d gotten in each other’s way. Raj had taken a nasty cut to the cheek when he lost his grip on the end. Another inch and he would have lost an eye.
I’d stopped letting them play with my weapons after that.
Atop the altar was a beeswax candle and a xiphos, a Greek double-edged short sword with a bone handle. A fine layer of dust covered it all.
I took a plastic disposable lighter from beneath the altar. I hesitated before lighting the candle. I’d hardly prayed at all since walking away from the Guardians Council and giving up my life as a Hunter. When I did, it was awkward and uncomfortable, like texting an ex.
I flicked the lighter and touched the flame to the wick.
“Beloved Artemis, goddess of the hunt,” I murmured.
The words flowed as easily as breathing.
“Fleet of foot and keen of vision, hunter and guardian, whose aim is ever true. Your servant calls to you. As a child I took up your bow. As a maiden I worshipped you. As a Hunter I slew those that threatened the natural cycle of this world.”
I paused. There was no response.
“I know you’re listening. I’ve felt you peering over my shoulder since last night.”
Nothing. She rarely bothered to respond to me. To the goddess, turning my back on my duties as a Hunter was the same as turning my back on her.
“You’re such a drama queen. You know it wasn’t about you.” I rubbed my eyes. “I still need you. Not as Goddess of the Hunt but as the Healer. My friend Temple is unwell.”
YOUR FRIEND IS IN DANGER. THEY BOTH ARE.
“Oh, you deign to talk to me tonight?”
MIND YOUR TONE, HUNTER, LEST I SMITE YOUR ASS.
“My apologies, mighty Artemis.”
She didn’t speak in a way anyone else would hear. Rather, her words filled my thoughts, pushing all else aside like an explosion. It was disconcerting on the best of days.
I missed it.
Her voice reminded me of an archetypical mother, both loving and stern. When she spoke, you couldn’t help but feel like a child, smothered by her knowledge and power.
No mortal mother could compare to a goddess, but mine had been further off than most. Joy Winter was .
. . flighty, to say the least. She and Henry had loved me, but they’d never quite understood how they ended up with a wild, undisciplined, overimaginative South Korean adoptee or what to do with me once they had me.
They’d taken hands-off parenting to the extreme, giving me freedom and distance that felt more like indifference and apathy.
I think the Guardians Council chose them deliberately, knowing their neglect would make it easier for me to train and fulfil my duties.
IF YOU WISH TO SAVE YOUR FRIENDS, YOU MUST TAKE UP MY BLADE AND BOW AGAIN.
First Morgan, now Artemis. “I’m not a Hunter anymore, remember?”
IT’S CUTE THAT YOU BELIEVE THAT.
“Rude,” I muttered. “Goddess, you know why I walked away.”
I KNOW WHAT YOU TELL YOURSELF.
In forty-plus years, I’d never truly won an argument with Artemis. “What danger are they in?”
THE HARBINGER KNOWS.
“I had a late night, mighty Artemis. Could we skip the cryptic clues?”
MORTALS USED TO HAVE MORE PATIENCE AND RESPECT. TECHNOLOGY HAS HOBBLED YOUR ATTENTION SPANS. I SPEAK OF THE BOY, RONNIE. HE IS THE HARBINGER. A pause. A HARBINGER IS ONE WHO SIGNALS THE APPROACH OF SOMEONE OR SOMETHING GREATER—
“I know what a harbinger is!” I clenched my jaw. Take a breath, Winter. Don’t get snippy with the goddess. When the frustration had crested and begun to recede, I asked, “Will finding Ronnie help me save Temple?”
IT WILL, THOUGH THE DETAILS ARE UNCLEAR. I HAVEN’T THE GIFT OF PROPHECY.
“Can you at least tell me where the harbinger is?”
YOU’RE THE HUNTER.
“I’m really not.”
Another pause, this one longer. I . . . CAN’T SEE HIM. IT’S ANNOYING.
Hiding from Temple’s magic was one thing. Hiding from Artemis raised Ronnie to a whole new threat level. “I’ll look for him, but not as a Hunter.”
YOU HAVE THE STUBBORNNESS OF ATHENA. I’VE GIVEN MY COUNSEL. HEED IT OR NOT.
Divine dismissals were rarely subtle. I bowed my head. “Thank you, Artemis, bright and fair as the budding leaves. May my senses be as keen as thine, and may your wisdom—”
LESS FLATTERY. MORE TRIBUTE.
I smiled. Despite all that had happened through the years, I loved Artemis. My life would always be incomplete without her. “Of course, my Goddess.”
I opened the music app on my phone and pulled up the playlist titled Tribute. I pressed Play, then set the phone on the altar as the opening beats of Beyoncé’s “Single Ladies” filled the room.
Artemis was also fond of Fleetwood Mac, Megan Thee Stallion, and Taylor Swift, all of whom were prominently featured on the playlist.
I left the goddess to her concert and headed downstairs, trying not to think about the last time I’d called myself a Hunter: my last mission from Felipe and the Council.
I’d moved on. I’d spent the next thirty-three years learning to leave that day behind. To shut out the screams, theirs and mine both. To forget that first thud as my arrow struck flesh that was all too human.
I’d even gone to therapy, for goddess’s sake.
But I could still hear the screaming.
“There’s a theory on the internet that Freddie Mercury was actually a siren and that’s why his songs were so addictive.”
“Newbies are all the same. As soon as you get a glimpse of the real world, you start seeing magic in everyone and everything. Here’s the truth. Freddie Mercury was as human as you and me. He was an immigrant and refugee with a gift who worked his ass off.”
“What about—”
“Humans don’t need magical help to be talented or brilliant or cruel or evil. Da Vinci didn’t have angelic guidance. Hitler wasn’t possessed by a demon. Taylor Swift didn’t make a deal with the devil. And aliens didn’t build the pyramids.”
“But—”
“Stop looking for supernatural excuses to dismiss what people are capable of. Whatever name you’re about to say, they were human. Except David Bowie, of course. That guy clearly had fae blood.”