Adrian Phoenix - In the Blood

Alex’s skin prickled as his twin’s gaze turned inward, seeking the sacred. “Green waters? For Dante? What do you mean?”

“Green and green and green.”

“What else do you see?”

“The old cow’s time is almost here,” she murmured.

“Do you see it? Mother’s death?”

Athena laughed. “Yes, a vision of a near-future event. I see a pillow over her face and my hands over the pillow.”

“An overdose would be simpler, less suspicious.”

“Ah, but less fun, Xander, and I have so little.”

Alex squeezed his twin’s hand and listened to her circling thoughts: A pillow over her face, my knee and heart and hands over the pillow. Welcome to hell, Cow. Let me be your guide .

Call me Hades .

Madness or divinity? Was there even a difference?

Father had tinkered with his and Athena’s genes while they were still in the womb. He’d wanted gods. But believed himself disappointed.

He was wrong. He had his gods. Just not the ones he’d planned for. Dante hadn’t been the only one to keep secrets. Father had designed his and Athena’s telepathy, but he knew nothing about their other gifts.

“Yes and yes and yes,” Athena whispered. “Secrets. Godhead. With Dante we’ll have the perfect trinity—Conqueror, Counselor, and Creator. We’ll begin a new age. After we punish the wicked first, of course.”

“But of course,” Alex agreed. “Isn’t that the first rule in the Godhead and Divinity for Dummies handbook?”

“Prick.”

“Thank you for noticing.”

Athena squeezed his hand. As always, her touch somehow completed him, closed a circuit. He shared the silence with her as they rocked back and forth in the swing.

But it wasn’t truly silent for her. No.

If only Father had devoted his medical and research skills toward helping Athena instead of funneling it into the swirling drain that was his dying wife. If only he hadn’t viewed Athena as a flawed project instead of a daughter.

A daughter who’d needed him. Once. But not anymore.

The wind-in-the-pines sound of Athena’s whispers ended the silence. Alex squeezed her hand, then released it. “Time for your meds,” he said, standing.

Still whispering, Athena rose to her feet. Her gaze was turned inward, truly lost in thought. Alex opened the screen door, guided his twin into the house, and walked her into the living room. Whispering, she sank onto the sofa, automatically crossing her legs under her.

Kneeling beside the coffee table, Alex picked up the little paper cup holding Athena’s meds—antipsychotics, antianxiety, tranquilizers—and placed it carefully in her hand. “Put in your mouth and swallow.”

Athena raised the cup to her lips, tossed back the pills. Alex slapped a bottle of water in her hand and she drank obediently. He picked up the syringe containing her sleep dose.

Alex glanced at his twin. Listened to her oracle whispers and wondered: Could he keep Athena under control until Dante arrived? Could he keep her balanced and calm for a few more days? She was slipping deeper into madness and it terrified him to think she might plunge so deep into the abyss, he’d never find her again, never recover her.

Rolling up the sleeve on Athena’s left arm, Alex swiped the injection site with an alcohol swab. His nose wrinkled at the sharp odor.

“Coldandcoldandcold,” Athena whispered.

“Sorry. I should’ve warned you.”

A few more days, he could do that, keep her calm. He had to—for both of them. He’d pick up more material for her experiments.

“I need you to stay here while I’m gone,” he said. “Don’t go into the main house, and avoid Father. I figure the SB operative will target only him, but collateral damage is usually allowed if necessary.”

“Yesandyesandyes.”

“If you could be well again,” Alex said, his voice low and rough. “If you could return to your career and everything you’ve had to leave behind, would you?”

“Xander.”

Alex looked up and into Athena’s eyes. Her gaze seemed more lucid than it had in years. “There’s nothing wrong with me,” she said gently. “I see more clearly than I ever have. I don’t need to be healed.”

Something twisted tight in Alex’s chest. He nodded. He inserted the needle into his sister’s cleaned skin, and thumbed the plunger.

“I’ll never leave you. I promise,” Athena whispered.

Alex leaned forward and brushed his lips against his twin’s forehead. She’d said the words he’d longed to hear from her, but instead of the joy he’d imagined—the circuit closed once again, the womb bond that she’d unraveled five years ago to protect him finally restored—he felt only a stark desperation.

Her promise was empty and beyond her power to fulfill.

The bond would never be restored. The circuit would never be connected, closed, an infinite loop. Not until Dante repaired her misfiring synapses and stilled the lightning storm within her hyperactive brain.

Athena tilted her head as though listening—and Alex knew she was—to all the ideas and thoughts pinging through her never quiet mind; she unhooked her thoughts from his.

“Is there anything else you need me to get for you when I go out?”

A smile dimpled Athena’s cheeks. “My Xander,” she said; then she giggled, a sound Alex hadn’t heard from her in years, girlish and light, happy; it spun like a Ferris wheel through his heart.

“What’s so funny?” he asked, a grin pulling at the edges of his mouth.

“Could you pick up a copy of Godhead and Divinity for Dummies ?”

Alex laughed. “C’mon, let’s get you in your PJs and into bed.”

He scooped her up from the sofa and into his arms. A pang of sorrow shafted him as she looped her arms around his neck. She was so light, his goddess of wisdom, buoyant with far-sight, untethered to the earth. He imagined her floating away from him, rising higher and higher into the midnight sky until she disappeared from view.

As Alex carried his sister to the bathroom, the wind-rushing-through-the-pines whisper of Athena’s voice filled the hallway, and the corridors of his heart.

Seattle, WA

March 22

ANNIE ZEROED IN ON the rumpled boxes marked WAL LACE, SHANNON. She’d knock the fucking things clear out of the dining room, out of the universe, a fucking home run. She swung the crowbar with every ounce of her strength, weighted the piece of steel in her hand with every dirty, festering bit of her hate.

She caught a blur of movement at the edge of her vision, then the crowbar struck hard, smacking into flesh instead of cardboard. The force of the impact shuddered up her arms and into her shoulders. She stumbled forward, slamming her hips against the table’s edge as the crowbar was wrenched from her hands. Her gaze fell across the photos arced across the polished wood.

She looked into her mother’s sightless eyes. Saw her curled up and dead on the ground like some fucking Raid-gassed cockroach.

Your mother’s been killed in a car accident. She’s not coming home .

With a guttural scream, Annie threw herself onto the table, sweeping everything off—photos, papers, table runner. Grabbing one of the boxes marked WALLACE, SHANNON, she hurled it with all she had. It exploded against the wall. Glass shattered. Steel-hard fingers wrapped around her upper arm and spun her around.