<h1>Chapter 9 – A New Path</h1>


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    Once more, I hid in the shower, shivering with cold and fatigue. I had managed to keep my thoughts away from the disturbing experience in the Beyonder only as long as Axel had been with me. Too much had happened in a single day; the slow flow of time in the other realm had crammed too many unsettling events in a few hours, and my mind struggled to keep track. Now that I was alone, the memories came back like a furious tide, beating at the walls I had erected in order to protect myself. After a long while, I crawled out of the shower feeling drained, my limbs laden, and my thoughts sluggish. I glanced longingly at my bed as I passed by on my way to the living room; but I had much to do before I could sleep.


    The fridge was almost empty, and my stomach growled. I had to improvise some sort of dinner if I wanted to stay up a little longer. With a sigh, I fished out some remains of Brie cheese, and butter. In the grocery bag hanging from the cupboard’s handle I found half a stale baguette. It would have to do. I opened the last bottle of beer and took my plate on the couch, where I plopped down heavily. It was all I could do to keep from falling asleep face-first on the coffee table. I turned on the laptop, and forced myself to chew one morsel, then another, as I wrote down brief notes like I used to do in college. Kapnobatai, I added after finishing the summary of the latest events, must research: title, role? Possibly Dacian and/or pre-Roman. Starry twins: connexion with other myths? Maybe useful information; and finally,  reluctantly, I typed: underworld??


    ▁▁▁


    I lean back and rub my eyes tiredly. I’ll fill in the notes later, when I have enough energy to deal with the memories of the rusalka’s cadaverous lips pressing to mine, and those of the overwhelming dread I fought alone in the darkness. With the insane hope that I had found David and the others in the middle of the earthquake. And remember what you did to Codrin’s hand. I shake my head violently and take another sip of beer to shut the inner voice away. It’s the last one, and I feel like I need at least another bottle. Flashes assault my mind again through the fogs of exhaustion. My heart, thumping madly. Talons digging in my neck. Shadows boiling and spreading.


    No, not again.


    Bestial howls in the night.


    A whisper. Come to me.


    Emaciated heads spitting sickly lights on the dark waves.


    I curl up on the couch, hugging my knees and shivering.


    Not again, not again… Please, no.


    Unseen tentacles roll around my ankles and pull me into the river.


    Oh no, oh no…


    I’m shaking, my eyes closed tight, my teeth chattering with dread as the water engulfs me, and I drown.


    No!


    Cold explodes from the wound on my arm and spreads throughout my body.


    No. Not again.


    My wrists burn. White light coils and dances beyond my eyelids.


    I open my eyes.


    I’m standing in the middle of the river. The gloom parts slowly, consumed by a moon-like luminescence that draws a path in front of me. I lift my hands; the spirals of the ram horns shine softly as the ice trickles down towards my elbows.


    Under the surface, a shape circles me, its movements souple and elegant.


    ‘Rusanda…’


    Not you. Not again.


    ‘My daughter.’ A soft murmur, like the wind through the willow leaves.


    You will not fool me again.


    I clench my fists, and the ice thickens around them.


    The lightpath shatters as the rusalka rises. Her pale hair catches the moon gleams, and her amber eyes sparkle.


    ‘Don’t fear me’, she whispers, reaching out with a pale hand. I step back.


    ‘Stay away from me!’


    She tilts her head sadly.


    ‘Why? Why are you afraid of me, you of my own blood?’


    A hysterical laugh escapes my throat.


    ‘Really? You tried to drown me! Twice!’


    ‘And now we meet for the third time’, the rusalka says.


    A chill runs down my spine. I am too tired to fight her, or even to think. The ram horns fade from my skin, and I search frantically for an escape.


    ‘You are dreaming, my child’, she whispers as soon as the question crosses my mind. ‘You may leave if you wish.’


    May I really? Can I just wake up, that’s it? That’s all?


    I hesitate. If I can truly escape her so easily, then I could stay a little longer, and ask her about… There are so many things I want to ask her about. She could give me answers. Or she could attack again, my inner voice points out. Yes, but I can leave whenever I want, I retort.


    The rusalka watches me struggle. She takes in my hair, my features, as if measuring me against a memory. Our gazes lock; she swims towards me, and rises slowly, until I can see myself mirrored in her green eyes.


    ‘Why… why did you try to kill me?’, I whisper, enthralled. She touches my hair lightly, and curls a strand around her finger. The brown dye fades, and the copper shines in its stead.


    ‘That was only you’, she says.


    ‘Riddles and quizzes, again’, I snap and pull back sharply, her spell broken by the anger that flares once more in my chest. ‘They’re of no use to me. I’d rather wake up.’ The water swirls as I turn my heels.


    ‘Stay’, the rusalka pleads, and her voice wraps around me like a silk rope.


    ‘No.’


    The cold flares again around my wrists. I take another step.


    ‘Please…’


    My fists clench. I’ve had enough of this game. It has to end.


    ‘I said no.’ The words come like a hiss through my teeth.


    Above us, a blast of wind whips through my hair. She lets out a sharp breath.


    ‘Rusanda!’


    I turn my head at her call, and she points upwards. My gaze follows her gesture; I freeze at the sight, and stare.


    Silhouettes, indefinite against the dark sky, circle above us. The whirlwind they raise upsets the surface of the river. Waves slap at my chest, and the rusalka is swayed away from me.


    ‘What is this?’, I manage to whisper.


    ‘You called for them’, she replies softly, keeping a wary eye on the ever-moving shapes. ‘Like Gheorghe did… when we first met.’


    The wind becomes stronger, louder – or is it them moaning and wailing? They circle faster, lower, like a tornado descending, and the water lifts to meet them in an ascending whirlpool. My wrists flare and burn.


    ‘Stop them!’, the rusalka yells, fighting against the currents, her sinuous tail flailing wildly in and out the waves. ‘You have to stop them!’


    ‘I don’t know how!’, I scream back, terrified by the maddened elements that sweep around me. I don’t dare move from the eye of the storm I somehow brought upon us. As she struggles not to be carried away, her appearance starts to flicker: lustrous hair becoming a tangle of putrid weeds around her lovely face; white, dead eyes above a beguiling mouth; ghastly scales spreading down the alluring curves of her breast. I shiver in horror.


    ‘Help me! Help me, my daughter…’, she gargles, striving against the angry maelstrom, which now embraces the swirling winds above.


    I am petrified. The ram horns coil on my skin like a furious swarm of ants, their light almost blinding.


    I can’t. I can’t.


    I close my eyes, searching desperately for the way out of the dream.


    ‘No!’


    I wake up.


    Her voice fades.


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    I’m breathing fast, taking gulps of air as if I were drowning. My entire body is shaking uncontrollably.


    ‘Rusanda…’


    A faint whisper, beyond the edge of wakefulness, pleading. I cover my ears, pulling my knees tight against my chest, trying to keep away the tide of shame that threatens to engulf me once more. There was nothing I could’ve done, I keep repeating to myself, like a mantra. I didn’t do it on purpose. I couldn’t stop it.


    ‘You called them’, she had said. But how?


    It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault. It’s not my fault.


    I’m rolling back and forth on the couch, shaking and crying with fear and dread and guilt.


    You should’ve done something.


    Again.


    My own thoughts stab me in the guts.


    I let go.


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    I don’t know how much time has passed before I came back to my senses. My clothes are soaked with tears, and weariness weights my entire body down. I stare ahead of me, unseeingly, and feel like I’m floating, my mind empty and numb.


    After a while, I rise from the couch and stumble to the bedroom like a broken automaton. I fall on the bed, and sleep claims me.


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    Something buzzed unpleasantly in the distance, dragging me slowly out of the blissful oblivion of sleep. I groaned in protest, but it didn’t stop, so I crawled out of sheets and into the living room, rubbing at my stinging eyes. The droning sound kept on and on, until I located its source: my phone, its screen lit up with an incoming call, vibrating on the coffee table. I plopped down on the couch and picked it up. It was Axel.


    ‘Mmmmyeah?’, I mumbled. ‘It’s very, very early, you know…’


    ‘Good morning to you too’, he said, and the tone of his voice made me stand upright and focus. He sounded harried.


    ‘What’s wrong?’


    ‘I will be at your place in an hour. Something happened.’


    ‘What? What is it?’


    ‘Call Michelle’s sister. It is urgent, make her understand that.’


    ‘Axel, tell me what…’


    He hung up. I growled out loud in frustration, now entirely awake. What could have happened? Was it Lilianne? I couldn’t see any other reason for the tension in his voice – he was always so calm and in control. Knowing that now he was not was an unpleasant feeling, as if my world had suddenly become unstable. I busied myself with the ibrik to keep my mind off it, then looked for the supermarket receipt on which Lucie had written her number. I texted her: “Hi, it’s Rusanda, we met at the hospital. Sorry to bother you so early, but could we meet? Axel said it’s an emergency, but that’s all I know.” I pondered briefly, feeling uneasy with the tone of my message, and added: “I hope you can make it.” I had just turned back to the stove when the answer came: “Hello Rusanda, thanks for reaching out. I can be at your place in about half an hour. I’ll bring something I think you should have. Text me the address. Lucie.”


    I stood by ibrik, forcing myself to watch the slow simmer of the coffee so I wouldn’t pace around the cramped room until she arrived. Oriental coffee was all about patience. It didn’t have the nervousness quality of an espresso, shot out of the machine at high pressure in a handful of seconds. On the contrary, it invited the maker to take their time, to enjoy a few minutes of rest, of daydreaming, while it bubbled and foamed peacefully. Around me rose the sounds of the city awakening; those of the street six floors below me, and of the ancient building. The rush of traffic was muffled; beyond it, faintly, children squeaked on their way to school; somewhere, a neighbour’s music made the old wooden floor thump.


    A hiss from the stove startled me back to reality, and I rushed to move the overflowing ibrik away, scolding myself for ruining the coffee. It would probably be as bitter as my guilt, now. With a sigh, I resolved to put my principles aside for this one time, and hastily whipped some cream. I would serve it the way the women in my family used to – and also cover its taste of failure. May the gods of black coffee forgive me, I prayed, taking the ibrik and two cups to the couch.


    The narrow wooden stairs creaked, and I opened the door before the knock came. Lucie stood in the doorway, and I took a step back in surprise. I’d forgotten how much she looked like her sister. For a confusing moment I thought Michelle had come out of the hospital. At a second glance, though, I could see some faint differences: Lucie’s hair, held back with a green-and-yellow headwrap, was longer and more luxurious,  and whereas her sister’s eyes had the colour of brown amber, hers were like deep water on a moonless night, dark and mesmerising.


    ‘Are you alright?’, she asked, looking worried, as I hadn’t yet uttered a word. I nodded wearily and invited her in. ‘You look pale.’ I noticed another difference between her and her twin: both their voices were warm and velvety, but Lucie’s carried a more distinct, melodic Cameroonian accent than Michelle’s had.


    ‘It’s my natural colour’, I tried for a joke. ‘It’s just that you…’ I gestured vaguely at her face. She smiled sadly.


    ‘I know. Here, take this’, she added, and only then I noticed the box she carried. When I took it, something moved inside, and I almost dropped it in surprise. Lucie steadied it in my arms, and a feeble squeal came from inside. I stared at her, confused.


    ‘What is this?’


    ‘Sit down, we need to talk about many things.’


    I put the box carefully on the couch next to me, not knowing what to do.


    ‘Open it’, Lucie prompted me gently.


    ‘Meow’, said the box in a tiny voice.


    I hurried to it, my hands shaky with a mix of disbelief and excitement. From the depths of a blanket, a small, scruffy head with ridiculously large ears emerged cautiously, squinting at us. My heart melted, and, without a second thought, I pulled the black kitten and her blanket out and cuddled her tightly, cooing while she meowed weakly in protest.


    ‘I think Michelle has told you about her’, Lucie said, scratching the tiny head with a finger. ‘She was David’s – he and my sister were trying to find her a family.’ A pang tightened my chest. The comical little creature was now the only link to him that I had.


    ‘What’s her name?’, I whispered.


    ‘Why, Sekhmet, of course. She has a sister named Bastet.’


    ‘Of course’, I repeated absentmindedly, as memories of David playing with his dog Anubis made my heart suddenly heavy. ‘He was fond of his roots, wasn’t he…’


    ‘He still is’, she corrected me, patting my arm. I flinched and pulled away, as a sharp pain flashed through my flesh. ‘What is it?’, Lucie asked, startled. I rubbed my skin, grimacing, then pulled my sleeve up to show her.


    ‘I’ve got some cuts that haven’t healed yet.’


    She inspected the red gashes closely, running a light finger around them, and frowned. ‘It doesn’t look good. There’s something I could do to help, if you agree.’ I nodded. ‘Hold out your hands, please, palm up.’ Lucie placed her own hands on mine, and, closing her eyes, began to murmur something. Her face lit up with a faint, pearly glow, tracing the same patterns I’d seen at the hospital. The cuts on my arm tickled as a gentle warmth spread from her fingers. The angry red that surrounded them started to fade, until the flesh was again the same pale colour as usual. Lucie opened her eyes and smiled. ‘How does it feel now?’


    ‘It doesn’t feel… anything, actually’, I said, touching the wounds carefully. ‘It doesn’t hurt anymore. At all. How…?’ I let the question hang in the air, looking up at her. She settled more comfortably, tucking her feet beneath her. ‘It’s a story for another time, and for now we need to talk about… what happened.’ Her eyes unfocused, and her lips pressed together tightly. What happened to Michelle, she meant. I bit back the urge to cry at the renewed pang of guilt, settled the kitten on the bean-bag, and rose to fetch the coffee while I fought to regain control. I wiped my eyes hastily while my back was turned, then filled two cups and spooned a generous amount of whipped cream into each of them. Lucie took hers with a nod of thanks.


    ‘So’, she said after taking a sip. ‘Can you fill me in?’


    I took a deep breath and started talking, trying to keep things short, but as clear as possible. The little Sekhmet scrambled down from her place and bumped my foot with her head. I picked her up, stroking her fur while I told the story, and she purred contentedly.  Lucie remained very silent, listening so attentively that I felt like she was absorbing my words. Never before has anyone listened to me the way she did; talking to her was a liberation. When I finished, I felt much lighter than I had been in the past five days, as if her listening had unburdened me. I lay back with a sigh, and stared into the cup I was cradling. Silence descended on us, a familiar silence made of muffled life – distant traffic, the hum of the heaters, and the slow purr of a sleeping kitten. Rain started to splatter softly on my windows, as if asking to be let into our cocoon.


    ‘There’s a lot I’m not familiar with’, Lucie said after a while, gazing thoughtfully at the drops that danced on the glass. ‘All this is as far from what I know as it could possibly be, and I’ll need you to talk me through it. But for now, what I think is urgent if we are to work together to help my sister and your friends, is the skill you’ve discovered.’


    I shrank deeper into the couch, pulling my knees up and disturbing Sekhmet. ‘Sorry, little one’, I whispered, petting her back to sleep. ‘I don’t know how to handle it. I don’t know what it is, or who could teach me.’ A sudden idea made me look up at Lucie. ‘Could… you?’ I asked uncertainly, a small flame of hope kindling in my chest. ‘You seem to know a lot about…  these things.’


    She shook her head apologetically. ‘We don’t have the same blood, and even if we did, I can’t teach you the ways of the liengu. I couldn’t even teach Michelle.’


    ‘The liengu…?’ I started.


    ‘Later, when your friend comes too. Meanwhile, could you show me your skill again?’


    ‘I, uh… I’m not sure’, I stammered. ‘I never did it on purpose. I wouldn’t know how.’


    ‘Give it a try’, she encouraged me. ‘Remember how it felt.’


    I thought of the cold, spreading from my fingers and up my arms, focusing on the trickle of the ice as it crawled up my skin. As hard as I tried, however, nothing came.


    ‘I can’t do it at will’, I said with a sigh of exasperation. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.


    ‘Try again. Use your memories, if needed be, bring forth the cold from your mind.’


    I closed my eyes again and tried to remember what a true winter felt like.


    Since I’ve moved to Paris, I might have seen snow three or four times, and I miss it. I thought fondly of the heavy, grey sky, and the specific smell in the air that announced the first snow during the first days of November. Of that one unforgettable morning when a perfect silence had wrapped over the town. I had walked to school, holding my father’s hand, and bundled up from ears to ankles in a thick coat and rabbit-fur hat that used to be my mother’s, ploughing through the snow that swallowed me up to my knees at every step. I remembered the pale, yellow lights on the whiteness that had engulfed the street, and the silent figures that plodded towards the factories neighbourhood, walking in the middle of the road that was now inaccessible to cars and tramways. It was an eerie, although peaceful, memory, that of the spectral march through the quiet darkness of the early hours, all sounds muffled by the steady, thick snowfall. After school, I would drag out the sleigh to the hillside behind our building, and stay there until I’d be frozen to the bone.


    I smiled to myself as I remembered another hillside, behind my grandparents’ house, where we would all gather to play the day away. The snow was so high there, that we would dig burrows large enough for several children to sit inside, and we’d make chairs and tables and shelves out of snow, until our wool gloves were soaked through, and we couldn’t feel our fingers anymore.


    I remembered the sharp bite of the cold, freezing my bones and burning my skin as I stubbornly dug just a little longer, made just another snowman, threw one last snowball, and I was out there again, breathing into my hands in an attempt to delay the moment of going home. The chill crawled up my fingers, and the rough gloves rasped against my reddened skin as I cupped another handful of snow and imagined it melt and soak through my sleeves. I felt it slither towards my elbows, spread its roots around my arms.


    I opened my eyes, and the ice glimmered as it moved. Sekhmet woke up with a jolt, stared, and jumped on the floor, where she hid behind the bean-bag. The pale scars of the rusalka’s gashes pulsated insistently. I watched, mesmerised, and somehow proud that I succeeded, until the ache became uncomfortable.


    ‘How do I stop it? It hurts!…’, I managed a whine as the pain became almost blinding. Lucie lunged and caught both my wrists in her hands, her tattoos flaring as her face twisted with evident effort. The torturing cold faded slightly for a short moment, but suddenly she yelped and yanked her hands back. They were red and frostbitten.


    The ice was inescapably inching towards my shoulders. What would happen if it arrived in my heart?, I wondered feebly, dizzied by the slumber that creeped on me. I must not give in, not sleep, I thought, while my laden eyelids were slowly closing. I must resist.


    An iron grip tightened around my arms, almost crushing them, and I gasped as it wrested me from the overwhelming sleep. My wrists shone with the white light of the burning ram horns, their intertwining loops twisting under the ice as if fighting it back. We could but watch  the struggle of fire and ice wordlessly. Step by step, the swirling spirals seemed to drink the cold away from my shoulders, then my arms, forcing it to fall back until I saw my skin again, frostbitten like Lucie’s – or Codrin’s. They flared once more, and disappeared.


    We stared, stunned.


    ‘That was… something’, Lucie finally whispered. ‘And you definitely have to find a way to harness it.’ I felt too exhausted to do more than nod. I couldn’t even think of anything beyond the throbbing burn of the frostbite. She foraged in her bag, and produced a small tube of flower scented balm, which she spread carefully on her hands, then my arms. It eased the pain a little.


    ‘Thank you’, I managed to mutter.


    ‘There is one thing I can suggest in order to help’, Lucie said, still rubbing the balm into the skin of her hands. ‘How did you make it happen?’


    ‘Well, the first times it just… appeared.’ I pondered for a moment, trying to recall each occurrence. ‘I was scared, or in danger…’ I remembered Codrin, and felt cheeks burn violently with sudden shame. ‘… Or angry’, I finished, looking down.


    ‘And today?’


    ‘Memories’, I replied briefly, my throat still tight with guilt, then forced myself to elaborate. ‘I remembered the winters back home.’


    Lucie nodded thoughtfully. ‘It seems rooted in what you feel, like an organic response, at least the first times it happened. Even if this time you summoned it on purpose, I think it was the fact that you panicked that fed it even more. You lost control of what you felt, so you lost control of it, too. Maybe that’s what you have to look into: some way to steer your emotions, to channel them into your magic. The tattoos you have stopped it, but it was a close call.’


    She was right. I couldn’t rely on the ram-horns every time. Now that I had this… skill, if there was no way to make it go away, I would have to learn to live with it – and to control it. I took a deep breath, trying not to panic at the unfathomable world of new possibilities and consequences that now lied in front of me. It was time to act like an adult, and face the unknown.


    ‘What do you suggest I do?’


    ‘I don’t know what would work for you, but you should find a way to improve your discipline. Maybe join a martial art class, maybe meditate, you know best. You need to get control over your mind. You should also try to find out more about the way your ancestors handled it: did they use specific objects for focus? Clothing? Tattoos?’


    I opened my mouth to tell her about Gheorghe and the Stonemaster, about their bark belts and the rest, when the doorbell rang. ‘It’s open’, I called, unwilling to disturb Sekhmet again. She stirred, then settled back peacefully.


    ‘Good morning’, Axel said, hanging his coat by the door and ruffling his wet hair. Lucie waved from the couch. He replied with a small nod, then kneeled next to the couch. ‘Hello, Sekhmet.’


    I stared at him, confused. ‘How do you…?’


    ‘Are you seriously asking this?’


    My tired mind finally put two and two together, and I felt like an idiot. Of course.


    ‘There’s some coffee left on the stove’, I quickly changed the subject. Axel shook his head, still incredulous at my morning doltishness after all these years, and went to pour himself the last of the coffee. When he sat back down on the floor, the grey winter light brought out new lines around his mouth, and the darkening circles beneath his eyes. I reached out to touch his hand, feeling concerned. ‘You look awful. Did you get any sleep?’


    He waved the question away with an evasive gesture. ‘Sleep is not my main concern right now.’ He rubbed the bridge of his nose, frowning as if in pain, then took a large gulp of coffee. I was anxious to know what was the emergency he’d mentioned, but at the same time, I was afraid of the news. I shrank back in the refuge of the couch and its pillows, wishing I could hide there until everything went away, or somehow fixed itself without my aid. The silence fell again, heavy with all the words that were unsaid. Axel seemed to have closed down on himself as well; he put me in mind of a fighter sheltering a deep wound.


    Lucie’s gaze travelled between the both of us, weighing the situation, and she probably decided we needed a nudge. ‘I’ve been told there was an emergency’, she prompted Axel. He seemed to close down even more, his arms crossed tightly against his chest, and muttered something I didn’t understand.


    ‘What was that?’, I asked as gently as I could. He took a deep breath.


    ‘I said Lili’s getting worse. Critical.’ His voice was strangled, as if he didn’t want to say the words out loud. ‘The doctors called.’ Another pause. ‘She can’t breathe on her own anymore.’


    Lucie jumped to her feet. ‘What about Michelle?’ Axel shrugged weakly. It surely had been the last thing on his mind. My chest tightened when I realised that maybe David was in danger as well; tears welled up.


    ‘I’m going to see her right now’, Lucie announced, gathering her coat and bag in a single sweep.


    ‘I’m coming with you’, I said, wiping my eyes with my sleeve. I had to know. We got ready quickly and made for the door. Axel stumbled slowly to his feet. ‘Do you mind if I just wait here?’


    I reached out to caress his cheek. ‘Of course I don’t mind.’ He looked as if the light had gone out inside him, and I pulled him close for a hug. ‘I’m here, you know. You’re not alone.’ He nodded slightly, and Lucie cleared her throat discreetly. I felt her impatience and let go of Axel with a last worried glance.


    ‘I’ll be fine. Go.’


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    We ran down the stairs, threw the door open and rushed into the street.


    ‘What’s the quickest way?’, Lucie asked breathlessly. ‘Do we have to take the subway?’


    I shook my head, diving into the morning crowd. ‘The hospital is less than ten minutes away’, I said above my shoulder, trying to walk as fast as I could without shoving people aside. We made haste, stepping down on the road when needed, avoiding cars and bikes at the last moment. Curses and klaxons accompanied us, but we only had one thing in mind and paid no attention to the rest of the world.


    At the hospital’s gate, we stopped to catch our breaths, then looked at each other. I bit my lip as stress, and fear at the news I expected rose inside me. My knees felt suddenly weak, and I had to lean against the stone wall. Lucie touched my arm slightly. ‘I know’, she whispered, her eyes a little wider than usual. She tugged at her scarf to loosen it and swallowed hard. We couldn’t delay it much longer. ‘Let’s go.’


    David, Michelle, and Lilianne had been moved from the Emergencies unit to Intensive Care. Lucie led me past the awful beige and metal building where they used to be, and along the older premises of the hospital, their walls covered in red and ochre bricks. At the welcome desk, a tired nurse was trying to answer the questions of several visitors who talked at the same time.


    ‘This is good, they might not have let you in, only family can visit at this hour’, Lucie whispered to me. We tiptoed along the hall, but were greeted by a guard that kept the door to the courtyard. ‘Where are you headed to, ladies?’, he inquired, somewhat brusquely. I flinched at his tone, but Lucie was not impressed. ‘My sister is in Intensive Care and I heard she was not doing well. I’m going to see her and talk to the doctors.’


    The guard nodded for her to pass, but frowned when he saw me. ‘It’s family only in the morning’, he said, stepping in my way.


    ‘I’m her cousin’, I lied without even thinking. The man eyed me suspiciously, taking in my ghostly skin and turning to look at Lucie with an eloquent stare.


    ‘Dr Martin is waiting for us’, she said pointedly, a hand on the knob. The guard studied us once more, but gave in under Lucie’s firm gaze and buzzed the door open. ‘Alright, have a nice day.’


    I let out a deep breath as soon as we were out of his sight, only then realising I had been holding it, and followed Lucie across the courtyard and into another, identical building. As we arrived on the second floor, a group of nurses and doctors passed us, whispering in urgent tones. Lucie frowned. ‘Michelle’s room is that way’, she gasped, and bolted. I rushed after her, and stopped dead at the door.


    The sight was unsettling. Michelle lay on her bed, her once warm skin now cadaverous, her face sunken and sharp, half-hidden beneath a breathing mask. Machines surrounded her, blinking and beeping softly, their tubes and cables spread like tentacles. Lucie was standing still, staring at her twin, arms hanging uselessly at her side. I didn’t dare to say something, or even move; so I stepped back soundlessly, and closed the door.


    My knees gave in, and I slid slowly down along the wall, suddenly empty of all feeling. I sat there, crouching, my gaze fixed on the metal leg of a chair in front of me. A few scratches ran along it, ending in a small spot of rust where it curved, and a bit of dry mud was spattered on the lower half. The other half mirrored the hall, and me with it, twisting and elongating everything, and I stared and stared until I felt dizzy.


    A pair of worn out, but well taken care of, sensible shoes appeared in my peripheral vision. ‘Miss? Are you alright?’ My gaze traveled up the green uniform until the nurse’s concerned face came into focus. One of her bobby pins was getting loose, and a strand of chestnut hair was slowly sliding free. She kneeled down by my side. ‘Miss? What’s wrong?’ Her voice seemed to come from afar; the only thing that had my attention was her pin, and the few hairs that barely held it in its place. ‘Hey’, she insisted, taking my hand and tapping it with the other. ‘Talk to me.’ With an effort, I managed to look into her eyes and tried to blink my confusion away, feeling I was drifting away.


    ‘Marie! Over here’, she called above my head, and told her colleague something I didn’t catch. My head lolled, and she steadied me against the wall. ‘Don’t fall asleep. Look at me. Keep your eyes open. Can you tell me if you’re sick?’ It took me a few seconds to understand, and I shook my head slowly. ‘Are you taking any medication?’ Another negation. ‘Alright’, she sighed, ‘did you eat today?’ It was hard to remember. Had I? My mind was still foggy, I felt a headache coming whenever I tried to think. Her colleague came back with a glass, and the nurse lifted it to my lips. ‘Drink this.’ I obeyed. It felt weirdly powdery, as if I was drinking dust, and it tasted like hospital. I choked a little, but continued until the glass was empty.


    ‘Can you stay like this for a few minutes? You should feel better soon, and I’ll be right over there if you need me’, she said.


    I nodded feebly and leaned back against the wall. ‘Thank you’, I managed to whisper.


    ‘Just stay still and don’t give in to the temptation to close your eyes’, she replied firmly, and left. I felt somehow guilty of having troubled her, but I was still too weak to process it. Minutes passed and, slowly, the sounds around me became clearer and the world stopped spinning. I stood up gingerly and walked to the chair with the mud drops so I wouldn’t be in people’s way. Someone gasped down the corridor, and I looked up instinctively.


    ‘I’m sorry to give you such news’, a doctor said. Before him, a tall woman in a well tailored suit pulled a corner of her hijab to hide her mouth. The man by her side put his arm around her and pulled her close, his face closed in an effort to remain expressionless, and murmured a few words. The doctor nodded apologetically. I couldn’t help but stare at the couple: there was something strangely familiar about them. The man had turned his back to me, but his silhouette, the way he stood, the slight curl of his hair reminded me of something I couldn’t put my finger on. Then the woman looked up from her blue hijab, and it struck me. I knew those dark eyes and the long eyelashes, the shape of those cheekbones. They were David’s parents.


    I looked away quickly, shuddering at the perspective of them knowing I was responsible for their son’s condition. What could I possibly say? How could I even explain I should’ve known, kept them safe on Saint Andrew’s Night? What would they think of me? Of what had… (really?)... happened? Too ashamed to face them, feeling too guilty to even try to have a glimpse of David, I stood up carefully and, keeping close to the wall, I fled.


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    I walked the streets aimlessly for a while, letting the cold numb me until it was all I could feel. The rain had stopped, and a few shy rays of sunshine pierced the thinning clouds. The air was damp and chilly, however; I craved a smoke, a strong drink, and a nap until the end of days. Only one of the three was possible, so I stepped into a cigarette shop and, shutting away the voice of reason, bought a pack. If only I could find a decent cappuccino, my morning would, at least, improve slightly; I headed to the coffee-shop where the friendly barista had let me in before opening time when I had been waiting for Axel. They had put a couple of tables outside, so I took my coffee there and lit a cigarette. My lungs filled with the long-forgotten smoke and bliss and, for a short moment, the world was a better place. Then, because I had quit years ago, I started to cough my lungs out until my head spun and the world with it. The fit was bad enough for the friendly barista to come check on me. She brought me a glass of water and, when she handed it to me, our fingers touched for a brief moment. She held my gaze and smiled.


    ‘I can sit with you for a while until you feel better’, she offered. ‘There’s no one at this hour anyway.’ Intrigued, I nodded towards the chair next to me, and took a better look at her as she sat down and crossed her arms on the table. Her short hair was henna-dyed to a deep red, contrasting with her Mediterranean skin and making her olive green eyes stand out. ‘My name’s Samia, by the way’, she smiled.


    ‘Rusanda. Nice to meet you.’


    ‘That’s unusual’, she mused. ‘It goes with your accent, I guess. It’s a charming one’, Samia hastened to add when I frowned.


    ‘Sorry, I’ve had a lot of unpleasant comments about it since I’ve come to Paris.’


    ‘People are assholes sometimes, aren’t they?’


    ‘Oh boy, don’t even get me started’, I sighed. ‘I’m a barista too, you know.’


    She grinned at that, and we spent a few minutes talking shop: coffee machines, espresso recipes, and stories about customers, nice or otherwise.


    ‘Speaking of which, here comes one’, Samia said, and stood to go inside. ‘Do you need anything else?’


    My stomach grumbled, and I realised I still hadn’t eaten. No wonder I had almost fainted at the hospital, especially with the exhaustion that took me after my impromptu ice summoning earlier. ‘If you have a muffin or something consistent, I won’t say no.’ She nodded and left. I took my phone out: it was only 9 a. m., although it felt like more time had passed since Axel had woken me up. Neither he or Lucie had texted me, so I started digging around the internet for information. The most urgent, it seemed to me, was the underworld; I was sure that the river with the ghostly boat that I had dreamed of was the Styx. If I was right, then the couple I’d seen several times already must have been Hades and Persephone. But why, then, had it looked like she was taken away from him? And what did it, or they, have to do with Saint Andrew’s Night?


    The sudden memory of the threshing shadows in the Carrefour des Morts overtook me with a wave of cold. I froze, staring unseeingly at the phone I clutched tightly, as dread rose in me once more and crushed my lungs. No no no no. I closed my eyes, pushing the images away with all I had. Breathe. Breathe. Each gulp of air hurt. Keep breathing. It’s alright. It will be alright. It will pass. Michelle’s soothing voice came to me, and I saw myself in the dim candlelight, staring at the pebble with the shell in it. I struggled to focus on that memory instead: I was safe in her arms, my panicked body following the steady, slow rhythm of her breathing; surrounded by Axel, who held my hand, and David, so close, so warm. Second after slow second, the threatening terror withdrew, until there was nothing left but me and my weariness. I pressed my shaking hands down on the table, firmly, and waited for the shivers to pass. I need help, I thought. I need to seek help. It was an unpleasant perspective, from which I had shied away several times before; but I could not deny it any more. As soon as this is over, I promised myself. It was both a decision and a compromise for more time.


    For now, I needed to focus on the task at hand: find the way to help my friends. The first lead pointed at Hades, so I ate my muffin while scouring every website I could find and reading every legend about heroes in the underworld. It was disappointingly little, though; until something caught my eye. I went back to the beginning of the paragraph and read again, more slowly. Texting Lucie to ask her if she could come to my flat, I gulped down the rest of my cappuccino and rushed inside to pay. ‘Sorry, I have to run’, I apologized, and Samia, who had welcomed me with a grin, seemed to deflate. ‘You’ll see me again’, I promised.


    ‘I’ll be waiting, then’, she said, reaching over the counter to touch my hand. ‘Don’t make it too long, though, okay?’


    Something in her voice made me want to linger a little more, but I needed to talk to Axel about what I had found. He was the only one who might turn the information into something concrete. ‘I’ll be back soon’, I repeated, and stepped out. Once on the sidewalk, I couldn’t help but glance back through the shop’s window; Samia was still looking at me, and waved.


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    I walked quickly, stopping only to buy some croissants for Axel, while turning over the facts and the legends in my mind on the way home. The more I did, the more they fit together; the only problem was that the facts were rather a vague memory, and I could have been getting my hopes up in vain. I prayed I remembered correctly, and that Axel would confirm – and maybe, just maybe, if it wasn’t too much to ask for, he would know where to look.


    I slammed the door in my haste to tell him what I''d found, and he almost jumped from the couch, making Sekhmet roll to the floor in the process. She fell on her feet and, with an offended look, climbed on the bean-bag.


    ‘Oh, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were sleeping’, I apologised. The sight of his sunken eyes as he inched up in a sitting position made me feel even worse for it. ‘I’ll make some coffee’, I said, putting the bag of croissants on the table. Axel grumbled, rubbing his temples, then sat slowly and stretched. ‘I don’t have time for sleeping right now. I should not have given in. I should have...‘


    ‘There was nothing for you to do’, I replied. ‘And you needed the rest.’


    ‘I could have done some of the research, or…’


    ‘Axel’, I said firmly, putting the ibrik down. ‘Stop beating yourself over it. Sit down.’ He raised an eyebrow at my tone. I walked over to him and pushed him slowly back to the couch. ‘Breakfast, coffee, and then we talk. There might be something you can do–’, he moved to stand again at this, ‘– but not before you eat.’


    ‘Yes, ma’am’, he replied, but the tone of his voice was inquiring. While he ate, I scooped a generous amount of grounds into the pot. We needed a stronger brew than usual. Axel offered me the last croissant, but I shook my head: ‘Nah, thanks, I already ate.’


    He put it aside with an eloquent glare; then, leaning back, he sighed and asked the unavoidable question: ‘So… what are the news?’


    I stared stubbornly at the coffee pot while my eyes blurred and my throat clenched, searching for the right words.


    ‘Ru?...’, he prompted me gently. I swallowed hard, still unable to talk. ‘I suppose, then…’, Axel continued. I nodded before he finished. A heavy silence slithered between us, and the soft bubbling of the coffee sounded like an intrusion.


    <h1 style="text-align: justify"> </h1>


    After a brief knock on the door, Lucie stepped inside, still flushed from walking in the cold. ‘What’s happening?’, she asked right away while she took off her coat and scarf. I waved an invitation for her to sit down with the hand holding the ibrik, and nearly spilled the coffee. Axel jumped from the couch and took it from my hands. ‘Would you please sit down and eat, now.’


    I gave up pretending everything was fine; I was painfully hungry, and longing for the comfort of the bed as well. My knees all but buckled before I reached the couch. Axel poured the coffee, then pushed a mug and the last croissant in my hands. Both tasted like a blessing from the gods. Between mouthfuls, I filled them in on my most recent research, feeling a little more alert with every sip of the thick, strong coffee.


    ‘As for the… hallucinations I had’, I finally said, after a deep breath.


    ‘Or visions’, Lucie said gently.


    ‘Maybe.’ I felt reluctant to use that word. ‘What I… saw… was a couple, the man dark haired, the woman young and…’ I struggled to find an appropriate description for the impression she had left on me. ‘She reminded me of spring. She had something about her, as if… she was shining. Like that specific colour of the light on an April morning – fresh, like new grass, and golden – but a pale kind of gold, as if it was shy.’


    As I visualised and described that particular kind of light, my voice became warmer and fonder. Lucie smiled, and even Axel turned his head to stare at me intently. I looked away, somehow embarrassed, but still basking in the pleasant image I had conjured in my mind.


    ‘There is power in your words’, Lucie said encouragingly. ‘Maybe that’s the core of your magic. You should explore it.’


    ‘We’ll see that later’, I eluded the matter. ‘Anyway. What I saw, the two lovers in the garden, the woman being snatched away… it makes me think of…’ I hesitated saying it out loud, as if, by that, yet another tale would force its way into existence in the real world. It had seemed so easy, so logical, while it existed only in my mind. But now...


    ‘Yes?’, Axel asked, leaning forward attentively. I felt his eagerness for a new clue, a new lead. I didn’t want him to be disappointed if it turned out to be only scraps and crumbles once more.


    ‘That, and also the dream I had in the cavern…’ I looked up at each in turn, the conviction melting away as it turned into words. It was, actually, immensely silly. However, they nodded at me to go on.


    ‘It’s only a legend. Maybe I’m seeing connections where there aren''t any.’


    ‘Every legend is rooted in truth. Maybe, once upon a time, it was the truth. Maybe it has become a legend because people stopped believing in it’, Lucie pressed me. ‘Just say it. We’ll see if it’s helpful afterwards.’


    I sighed, still doubtful. The threads I thought I held together now seemed thinner than spiderweb.


    ‘Come on, Ru.’ Axel was getting impatient.


    ‘They made me think of Hades and Persephone’, I blurted out. There.


    I pulled my knees up, crossing my arms around them defensively.


    Lucie looked at me, then at Axel, raising her eyebrows.


    ‘…Okay?’


    Axel shrugged. ‘It’s not my field of expertise, I’m afraid I can’t offer you any help.’


    ‘I only have a vague inkling of the European mythology, so… Can you explain?’


    ‘Oh. Umm, sure’, I scratched my head, putting some order into my thoughts before speaking.


    ‘Persephone was the daughter of Ceres, or Demeter, goddess of agriculture, and Zeus. She was, of course, a goddess herself, of spring and rebirth. The common lore says Hades fell in love with Persephone, and kidnapped her to the Underworld. To make her stay, he would’ve used an old trap – someone who ate or drank something belonging to the Underworld would be stuck there. So Hades offered her a pomegranate, and she fell for it. As for Ceres, she freaked out when her daughter disappeared, and even more when she heard that Zeus had agreed with his brother’s plans. She went on a strike, and there weren’t any crops for months, until Zeus gave in. They compromised on sharing Persephone: she’d stay with her mom during spring and summer, and with her husband during autumn and winter. That’s why everything withers away when she’s underground.’


    ‘I think they’ve been having some marital issues’, Lucie said, nodding towards the window. ‘Look at the wild weather we’ve been having for years now.’ Bright sunlight poured in, over-heating the room, much to Sekhmet’s content. She jumped down on the wool rug and rolled on her back, basking in the sun. ‘I bet Persephone is staying with her mother these days.’


    We smiled faintly at the joke; the news from the hospital still weighed on our hearts.


    ‘If I’m right, many details would fit’, I continued. ‘The dream, for starters – the river would be the Styx, I suppose, which makes the boat Charon’s. And also, what the dark man said when I was on the train, about finding him in the deepest place – the motif of the katabasis’, I said, as my literature studies came back to me.


    ‘The what now?’


    I paused, noticing their blank stares, and tittered, blushing.


    ‘Sorry, I got carried away. The katabasis is the descent to the underworld. It’s quite common in the myths of Antiquity. And’, I paused for effect, ‘here’s where everything aligns. If I’m not wrong, that is.’


    Axel perked like an exhausted hound finally picking up a scent.


    I couldn’t say how I knew this, when or where I had read it or seen it, so I remained silent for a moment while I put my thoughts into words. ‘I was reading about the entrances to the Underworld: it’s always a cave, a chasm… An opening to the bowels of the earth. It’s usually given away by stinking fumes, although I’m guessing that sulphur was a later addition to the legends.’


    Axel’s eyes widened slightly as he started to see where I was going. ‘Are you thinking that the Well of Bones was…?’


    ‘During Saint Andrew’s Night’, I nodded. ‘When the gates open.’


    ‘So, what can we do? You said there was something’, Lucie asked, poised on the edge of the couch.


    ‘If the dark haired man I’ve been seeing was indeed Hades, we need to find another gate.’


    Axel clenched his fists: ‘And confront him.’


    ‘Are we going back to this well you mentioned?’


    ‘It has returned to what it used to be. I have checked’, he answered in my stead.


    ‘Yes, but’, I grinned, ‘I think there’s another way.’


    I told them what I knew, and the conclusion I had drawn. Axel jumped to his feet.


    ‘I know where it is!’, he exclaimed, and, before we could say anything, he was already lacing up his Rangers. ‘Prepare for a descent. I’ll text you’, and he bolted out the door.


    Questions for the readers</a>