Page 21 of Curse the Flame

Only after he disappears does she let out a sound that’s suspiciously close to a sob.

Nope. I can’t just sit here and stay quiet. Even if I know better myself than to interfere, I have to say something.

Clearing my throat, I move out where she can see me. Her head was tucked into her chest when I make my presence known. She lifts it up, and I see that her blue eyes are shining with the gleam of unshed tears.

I give her an apologetic smile. “Sorry about eavesdropping. I didn’t mean to. I was just following this dog⁠—”

As if on cue, Sir bounds out from behind the tree at my back. He yips happily, and I drop low to rub his head. And, okay, maybe I’m giving her a chance to wipe away the tears before I stand up again.

Once I do, I look at her and see the hurt all over her face. “Okay. I know it’s none of my business, but I can’t help myself. I heard the way that guy⁠—”

“My husband,” she whispers.

Of course he is. “Girl to girl? You can do so much better than him.”

I don’t try to be nosy. I’ve just always had this heightened sense of justice. Of right and wrong. I’m one of those people that takes “if you see something, say something” to heart, whether I should or not.

She probably doesn’t want my two cents, but in case she’s too close to the situation to see what’s so clearly plain to anyone on the outside, I just have to say something.

To my surprise, she bites down on her bottom lip. “I… I know. But he’s my soulmate. The Fates gave him to me. Shouldn’t that mean something?”

Um. Maybe. Considering I have no idea what any of that means, I give her an awkward shrug. “Shouldn’t what you want mean something?”

“I… yes. I suppose you’re right.”

She looks so thoughtful for a moment. Her eyes drift toward the path her husband had taken, walking away from her.

And then, with a quiet nod toward me and Sir, she turns and walks away in the opposite direction.

Once she’s gone, Sir lets out a litany of excitable barks. When I look down at him, he’s already trotting toward a third narrow trail that is leading deeper into the woods.

“Right.”

I give the trees where Aria walked off into one final glance, wishing her the best of luck, before I hurry after the puppy.

And… I’m still going.

I’m still following Sir, too.

I feel like I’m about to keel over, but until I find somewhere that Sir decides it safe for us—away from cyclops and witches and heroes with commitment issues—I guess I’ve gotta keep walking.

This kind of sucks; the portal fantasies never make you realize how terrible it is to keep on trucking in some sort of mythological world, especially when you’re stuck wearing day-old clothes and house slippers. And while I spent my entire life up until this summer living in one of the most walkable cities in the country, this is a little out of hand. It’s been hours, and I’m beginning to think that Sir has no idea where he’s going, either.

Sir trots ahead of me, his tiny tail sticking straight up while the path continues to twist through a part of the forest that seems as endless as every other part he’s guided me around. Persephone told me to trust the hound, and since I have no other choice but to listen to the voice that seems to live inside of me, I do, even if I feel like I’m going to have to sit down and rest sooner or later.

It’s dark now. Moonlight peeks through the trees, the silver glow shining on the flowers that continue to sprout beneath my ruined slippers. At first, they only appeared when I lost my slipper and stepped on the ground with my bare foot, but about an hour back, they started to show up sporadically regardless of if I’m wearing shoes or not.

I still don’t understand that. I’ve tried stepping lightly. I’ve tried hopping over bare patches of earth. At one point, I even walked backward for a few paces to see if that made any difference. I don’t want to leave a trail, but it looks like I have no choice.

Flowers bloom wherever I go. I recognize daisies. Pretty wild roses. Then there are these flowers with purple blossoms I don’t know, along with tiny blue ones that close whenever Sir sniffs them. No matter what I do, the forest floor is turning into a garden behind me, marking our path so clearly that I’m beginning to think Hansel and Gretel would’ve had a much easier time if one of them had been able to create flowers instead of dropping breadcrumbs.

Then again, their breadcrumb trail was eaten by birds. Mine might attract another cyclops. Or a witch. What about a couple having a marital spat?

Or a monster…

I let out a nervous giggle.

I can’t help it. The more I’ve come to accept that, wherever the mirror brought me, I’m in a world where Persephone is my new conscience, a puppy with orange eyes is my guide, and I saw an honest-to-God cyclops stumble by the bush we were hiding in. He’s only one monster. In Greek mythology, there are thousands.