Page 17 of Curse the Flame

I suck in a breath when I get a good look at her.

Whoa.

I’ve spent most of my life in Manhattan. I’ve seen all kinds of people, from interesting to unique to breathtaking.

This woman is firmly in the breathtaking category.

She has a timeless face and perfect features. Dark complexion, dark eyes, and dark hair, she seems to glow as she watches me unblinkingly. She is wearing a green dress that hits her ankles, a pair of old-fashioned golden sandals, and her curly hair is blowing around her face despite the fact that there is very little breeze now. A cream-colored apron is tied around her slender waist. I can see the handle of a wooden spoon poking out from the top of the apron’s pocket.

Still. She looks like she should be walking runways rather than appearing suddenly in the middle of the woods—well, except for the fire in her hand, maybe.

Seriously. Her right hand is cupped in front of her, and I see an honest-to-God fireball-looking thing hovering over her palm. The orange light plays off of her black skin, and as I stare—and I know I’m staring—I see it reflect in the depths of her black eyes.

She looks close to my age, though there’s something about her that makes guessing feel pointless. There’s an air of something older about her, and she watches me like she already knows who I am even though I know for darn sure that I’ve never seen her before.

Sir growls softly again. It’s a tiny sound, more rumble than threat, but smoke curls from his nostrils.

And the woman smiles.

“There you are.” Her gaze flickers between the puppy and me. “You’ve already found each other. That’s good.”

I inch closer to the puppy. “Do you know Sir?”

She purses her lips, barely concealing a snicker. “Sir? Is that what he told you his name was? How… charming.”

“Um. No. Puppies don’t talk. I just call him that so I don’t have to say ‘hey, you’.”

I mean it as a gentle tease to break the ice. The way she twists her features, almost as though she doesn’t know what to make of me… yeah. I think that fell a little flat.

That’s okay. She’s a human; at least, I think she is. She speaks my language, and she’s physically there instead of being a disembodied voice. This is my best chance to get some help—or, at the very least, some answers.

And, yet, the next thing that pops out of my mouth is: “I’m sorry. But the fire… how are you doing that?”

Her eyes spark, further reflecting the flames in her palm. “Magic.”

“Magic?” I ask, part wonder, part disbelief. “You can do magic?”

“Of course.” She nods. “After all, I am the witch of the woods.”

Of course she is.

I go back to my default. A little humor never hurt anyone, and I ask her, “‘Are you a good witch or a bad witch?’,” quoting The Wizard of Oz.

A small smile, so I know that one at least landed, before she says, “I’m the one who foresaw your arrival. And because I also saw that we need you more than ever, I came to welcome you to the Other myself.”

What?

I blink. “This place has a name.”

“It has many. Olympus is one. You’re in the dark woods now, my domain, but if you keep walking, you will reach Delphi. Head west, and you’ll find Sparta.”

Olympus. Delphi. Sparta.

A cyclops.

A puppy with orange eyes who breathes smoke…

She nods, even though I don’t verbalize my suspicions out loud. “Yes. Ancient Greece in the modern world, tucked away in a mythical realm where we all get to play our part in keeping the old ways alive.”