P.C. Cast - Burned

She snorted and sat on the huge, four-poster bed. “If I sound like a dagger, then why the hell do you like me?”

Darius sat beside her and took her hand. “Have you forgotten that a throwing dagger is my favorite weapon?”

Aphrodite met his eyes, feeling suddenly vulnerable despite his gentle tone. “Seriously. I’m a bitch. You shouldn’t like me. I don’t think most people do.”

“The people who know you like you. The real you. And what I feel for you goes beyond liking you. I love you, Aphrodite. I love your strength, your sense of humor, the depth of caring you show your friends. And I love that which was broken inside you and is only now beginning to heal.”

Aphrodite kept meeting his gaze though she was blinking hard to fight back tears. “All that makes me a terrible bitch.”

“All that makes you who you are.” He raised her hand to his lips, kissed it gently, and then said, “It also makes you strong enough to figure out how to help Stark.”

“But I don’t know how!”

“You used your gift to sense Zoey’s absence, as well as Kalona’s. Can you not use the same road you followed before to sense Stark?”

“All I was doing with them was seeing if their souls were inside their bodies or not. We already know Stark’s is gone.”

“Then you shouldn’t have to touch him as you did the other two.”

Aphrodite sighed. “The same road, huh?”

“Yes.”

She looked up at him, gripping his hand tighter. “You really think I can do it?”

“I believe there is little you cannot do once you set your mind to it, my beauty.”

Aphrodite nodded, squeezed his hand before letting go. She unzipped her black leather stiletto boots and scooted back on the bed, resting against the mound of down pillows.

“Protect me while I’m gone?” she asked her Warrior.

“Always,” Darius said.

He moved to stand beside the bed, reminding Aphrodite very much of the way Seoras stood beside his queen’s throne. Pulling strength from the knowledge that her heart and her body would always be safe with Darius, she closed her eyes and willed herself to relax. Then she drew three deep, cleansing breaths and focused her thoughts on her goddess.

Nyx, it’s me. Aphrodite. Your Prophetess. She almost added “at least that’s what everyone’s calling me,” but stopped herself. Taking another deep breath, Aphrodite continued: I’m asking for your help. You already know I’m not real sure how this Prophetess stuff works, so it won’t surprise you to hear that I don’t know how to use the gift you’ve given me to help Stark—but he does need my help. I mean, the guy’s being sliced up in one world and flailing around trying to use poetry and an old guy’s confusing words to help Z, in another. Just between us, sometimes I think Stark’s more muscle and admittedly good hair than brains. Clearly, he needs help, and for Zoey’s sake, I want to give it to him. So, please, Nyx, show me how to help.

Give yourself to me, daughter.

Nyx’s voice in her mind was like the fluttering of a diaphanous silk curtain, transparent, ethereal, and beautiful beyond belief.

Yes! Aphrodite’s response was instantaneous. She opened herself heart, soul, and mind to her Goddess.

And suddenly she was the breeze drifting along the delicate line of Nyx’s voice, soaring up and away.

Behold my realm.

Aphrodite’s spirit flew over Nyx’s Otherworld. It was almost indescribably lovely, with endless variations of green, brilliant flowers that swayed as if to music, and sparkling lakes. Aphrodite thought she caught sight of wild horses and the many-colored flash of peacocks in flight.

And all throughout the realm, spirits flickered in and out of view, dancing, laughing, and loving.

“This is where we go when we die?” Aphrodite asked, awestruck.

Sometimes.

“What sometimes? You mean if we’re good?” Aphrodite had a sinking feeling that if being good was the criterion for getting to this place, she would probably never make it.

The goddess’s laughter was like magic. I am your Goddess, daughter, not your judge. Good is a multifaceted ideal. For instance, behold one facet of good.

Aphrodite’s spirit journey slowed, bringing her to a halt over an amazing-looking grove. She blinked in surprise as she studied it and realized it reminded her of the grove near Sgiach’s castle. As she made the comparison, Aphrodite sank gently down through the canopy of tightly knit leaves to rest just above the thick carpet of moss that covered the ground.

“Listen to me, Zo! You can do it.”

At the sound of Heath’s voice, Aphrodite whirled around to see Zoey, looking so pale she was almost translucent, and Heath. Z was pacing around and around in a circle, looking totally creepy, while Heath stood still, watching her with an incredibly sad expression.

“Zoey! Finally! Okay, listen to me. You gotta pull yourself together and get back to your body.”

Completely ignoring her, Zoey burst into tears, though she didn’t stop pacing. “I can’t, Heath. It’s gone on too long. I can’t bring my soul together. I can’t remember things—I can’t focus—the only thing I know for sure is that I deserve this.”

“Oh, for shit’s sake. ZOEY! Stop bawling and pay attention!”

“You do not deserve this!” Heath stepped close to Zoey and put his hands on her shoulders, forcing her to hold still. “And you can do it, Zo. You have to. If you do, we can be together.”

“Great. I’m Christmas Carol -ing like the damn ghosts of Christmas Past, Present and whatever. They can’t hear a fucking word I’m saying!”

Then perhaps, daughter, for a change, you should listen.

Aphrodite stifled her sigh of frustration and did as her Goddess advised, even though she felt like a creeper gawking through someone’s bedroom window.

“You mean it, Heath?” Zoey stared at Heath, seeming for an instant more like herself than the freaky ghostly thing that couldn’t hold still. “You’d really want to stay here?” She smiled tentatively at Heath, her body twitching restlessly under his hands.

He kissed her, and then said, “Babe, wherever you are is where I want to be—forever.”

With a painful groan, Zoey broke out of Heath’s arms. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she said, pacing and crying again. “I can’t hold still. I can’t rest.”

“That’s why you have to call your soul back together. You can’t be with me if you don’t. Zo, you can’t be anything if you don’t. You’ll just keep moving and moving and losing pieces of yourself until you fade completely away.”

“It was my fault you died; it’s my fault you’re here where you don’t belong. How can you still love me?” She wiped her stringy hair from her face as she began circling around and around Heath—never still—never resting.

“It’s not your fault! Kalona killed me. That’s all there is to it. Anyway, what difference does it make where we are and even if we’re alive or dead, as long as we’re together?”

“You mean it? Really?”

“I love you, Zoey. I have since the first day I met you, and I’ll love you forever. I promise. If you’re whole again, we’ll be together forever.”

“Forever,” Zoey whispered the word. “And you really do forgive me?”

“Babe, there’s nothing to forgive.”

With what was obviously a huge effort, Zoey stopped moving, and said, “Then for you, I’ll try to do it.” She spread her arms and threw her head back. Her pale body began to glow, first with a small, tentative light from within. Zoey started to call out names, and—