Life and death. The crossroads.
“This fountain once sat in a small chapel in a Roman village someplace in the Mediterranean. Hundreds—maybe thousands—of babies were baptized in this basin. But you’ll notice, these images are not like anything you’d find in a church.”
“It wasn’t a chapel,” I say suddenly. All eyes swivel, slowly, to focus on me. “It was a temple first. Then it became a chapel.”
“Exactly right, Diantha.” Through the anemic light, I see an implacable glimmer in Bowen’s eyes. Ever since our meeting in his office, we’ve exchanged a few looks like this. “And the altar…well, you can imagine what a desperate man might do.”
A deal with the devil. A blood pact. A sacrifice in return for a favor.
And then, years later, how many fell to their knees at that altar and begged for mercy?
A shiver runs through me, turning my blood cold. What world had my mother gotten herself tangled in? What world have I been pulled into?
I’ve never believed in the simplicity of good and bad. In my life, that would have been impossible. I had a perfect motherwho could barely take care of me. I lived in a vibrant city that could turn gray in a flash. I met a vampire who, for all his alleged inhumanity, makes me feel so, so alive.
Suddenly, I feel a familiar warmth in the center of my back. Orfeo is beside me.
And I see him now as he is—a sacrifice himself, but not one he was able to consent to. Turned against his will. Imprisoned by a brutal overlord. Passed from one purveyor of evil to the next.
I couldn’t blame him for running away, for hiding in his hurt. Humanity, freedom—it was always right there, wasn’t it?
In the dim light of our phones and the distant gas lamps, I look into his eyes. Those soft, caramel-brown eyes.
He reaches out and hooks a thumb under my chin. For a moment, I let my head grow heavy in his hold.
Bowen’s lecture continues but I can’t focus.
I know what I need to do.
My classmates rush after Bowen as he takes them back the way we came, and he tosses me a quick wink over his shoulder.
When their steps fade from the room, I drop to my knees beside the basin. I press my hand into the stone, following the carvings with my fingertips and my phone’s light. The last panel is blank, whatever piece of the story that had once been here has been worn away by thousands of hands and by time.
“This is the portal, isn’t it?”
Orfeo stays silent, but I don’t need confirmation. My entire body vibrates with the force of the energy I feel from the fountain.
I take a deep breath and invite it into me. I close my eyes and press my palm flat against the worn stone, against the missing panel of the story.
At first, I see nothing but swaying forms behind my closed eyes. But the lights grow, twist, and take shape.
Suddenly, I see women’s bodies dancing through the stars. The women I saw during my last trip to the Dream Place. They link fingers, twisting and spinning around each other until the dovetailed fabric of their skirts fans farther and farther out.
One of the women breaks away.
We’re no longer in space.
Now, we’re in a pizza shop. Crowded, bustling, bodies pushing against me from every angle. The young woman is behind the counter. Chestnut-brown curls pulled back into a clip. Soft mauve gloss on her lips. A handsome man smiles her way. His hair is already silver, unnaturally so. He has a tidy, trimmed beard and wears a perfectly tailored suit. Even hidden under layers of luxe fabric, the contours of his body are clear. He hands her money, and she takes his palm.
Your love line is strong, she says.
His lips curl into a smile. He takes her hand in his and…
She lays in his arms; he strokes her hair; they travel together across the sky. The universe expands and contracts, like every galaxy is breathing with them. He is soft in her arms, pressing his head to her chest. She strokes his hair and sings to him. They share meals, bodies tangled. Laughter follows them everywhere.
I watch her lips form the words:I love you, Hades.
The young woman’s stomach grows. They pass hours lying beside each other, hands on the dome of her belly. They whisper. She’s worried. He placates.
