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The goddesses have been alerted, and are in the ritual room, bathing and dressing.
Now I must initiate the final phase.
I’d amassed everything beforehand. I’d known that, when the time came, my emotions would be too erratic and too overwhelming.
I wasn’t wrong.
My hands are shaking as I turn off the furnace. A necessary precaution. Nothing can ignite prematurely. Right beside the furnace is the plastic garbage can I’d dragged in from the garage. Into that, I empty the fifty-pound drum of dry chlorine pellets I’d bought from a local pool-supply company. I then fill an empty, half-gallon ice-cream container with several cans of cheap brake fluid, tape an electric match to its side, and place the ice-cream container inside the garbage can, on top of the pellets.
I pause, forcing myself to take a few deep, composing breaths. I can’t spare another second, not with Gaia hovering on the brink.
Still trembling, I continue.
I connect the leads from the electric match to a digital timer. I set the timer.
The countdown begins.
With Gaia entering her final moments of life, there is precious little time to waste. I must hurry. She needs me.
I conclude my final preparations, arranging three propane barbecue tanks symmetrically around the room, cracking open the valve on each until I can hear and smell the propane escaping.
The funeral pyre is ready.
Sloane had just finished tying the rope of the ceremonial gold-trimmed chiton Luke had set aside in her closet—trying not to picture it covered with bloodstains—when his rushing footsteps pounded up the stairs. A brief lull, probably as he checked on Gaia, and then the running resumed, this time in the direction of “Artemis’s” room.
His fist hammered against the door.
“Artemis? Artemis, please wake up.”
Sloane knew in her gut that the moment of truth had arrived. And that meant there was no rescue team, placing the ball squarely in her court.
Seven women were depending upon her. That, in itself, would have to give her strength and purpose.
“I’m awake,” she replied, going to the door. “I’m also dressed.”
Luke fumbled with the key, finally unlocking the door and opening it.
He’d obviously stopped off in his room as well, since he was freshly shaved and impeccably groomed. He was dressed in a long chiton, also embroidered with gold, with the pistol tucked in his rope belt. But his face was whiter than his chiton, and he looked like hell.
“It’s time,” he announced, and Sloane could hear his voice quaver despite all his attempts to appear calm. “All the goddesses are in the ritual room, washing and dressing. I’ve prepared them for what lies ahead.” He swallowed. “You were right. Sedation will be needed. A few of them are weeping hysterically, and a few others are putting up a fight. I can’t allow Gaia to be exposed to that negative energy. This must be a peaceful, sacred passing.”
He glanced toward Gaia’s room. “I have to get back to her. The music and candles are in place, as are the goblets of wine. But I…” He turned back to Sloane. “You have to prepare as well. Wash. Dress.”
“I’ve done both.” Sloane kept her voice low and respectful of what was about to occur. “I heard you dashing around. I assumed it was Gaia. So I rose, bathed, and put on the ceremonial chiton you left me.”
For the first time, Luke seemed to actually see her. “You knew. I shouldn’t be surprised. You look every bit the goddess.”
“I wanted to braid my hair.”
“Yes. Good. That is fitting and proper.” Luke was talking more to himself than to Sloane. “The gods will give me the strength I need. She and I will only be separated for minutes.”
“Of course.” Sloane considered touching his arm, then thought better of it. “Delphi,” she asked, gazing directly into his vague, empty eyes. “Would you like me to sit with you at Gaia’s bedside—at least until it’s time to bring up the other goddesses? Because I could keep vigil with you. It might ease this transition.”
Another of those rare flashes of sanity. “I’d like that. So would Gaia. She feels deeply bonded to you. The walk you two took last night is all she talked about during her lucid moments. You made her happy. And that brings me more joy than you can imagine.” He stood there for a moment, like a lost boy.
“Check on Gaia,” Sloane urged. “Then sedate the goddesses. Leave them in the ritual room until they’ve calmed down and their presence is required upstairs. I’ll braid my hair. I’ll be ready for you when you return.”
“Right.” Robotically, he walked out of her room, shut and locked the door.
