The Woken Gods (11 page)

Bree and Tam stand beside each other, unified. She says, “I’m not backing out after that. Whatever you need. But your dad… He confessed, Kyra.”

“No,” I say. “He didn’t. He turned himself in. That’s different. I need to figure out what to do about it.”

Oz says, “We can’t let you do anything about it.”

“Not your call,” I say, sweetly.

“Where do you want to go?” Bree asks.

The question is simple and the answer oh-so-complicated.

“To Oracle Circle.” I have always known the day would come when Bree and Tam find out about Mom. Dread of their reactions has kept me from telling them. They know I keep my walls high, if not why, not the reason I’m like this. But necessity is a devil, and I can’t stomach lying to them anymore. Not after the way I feel about my dad lying to me. “I need to go there to see my mom.”

Bree’s head cocks back in surprise. “Come again?”

Tam says nothing.

“My mom,” I say. “I need to see her.”

Bree shakes her head. “First a grandfather, then your dad’s a super-librarian hiding out with Sumerian gods, and now
this
? A mom?”

“I’ve always had the mom.”

Bree doesn’t respond.

“You don’t have to come with me,” I say. “I had reasons, but… I know I should have told you sooner.”

I look down, study my boots. Oz and Justin stay out of this. It isn’t their business. I wait for Bree or Tam to tell me off, to start talking about what a lost cause I am. I dragged them all this way, put them through
that
, and without even being honest.

Finally, I can’t stand it any longer. I have to look up.

Bree must have been waiting for that. “We’re coming,” she says. She nudges Tam with an elbow. “Right?”

“Of course,” he says, and then, “I think I get why you didn’t want us to know.”

“No, you really don’t.” Because it’s not just that Mom’s an oracle at the Circle. That’s not the worst part.

When I start walking, they do too. We go back out the main hallway, where it becomes clear that twilight is coming on outside. We must have been in the abzu far longer than it felt like we were.

As we exit onto the top of the ziggurat, the sun sinks below the horizon of the strange view. That’s also where the monster meets us with a roar. Two beats of Anzu’s wings brings him to me. Make that in front of me, separating me from the others.

Oh no
.
This can only mean one thing.

“Guys,” I say, “meet my new guard. Anzu.”

CHAPTER TEN

“Anzu,” I say, in the careful tone I’d use on a stray dog, which may prove unwise, “these are not threats. These are…” I hesitate, considering what category Justin and Oz should go into. Bree gives me a meaningful eyebrow raise. “…friends. All friends.” But I amend to, “At least unless I say they’re something else.”

The lion head cocks to one side, but otherwise there’s no indication he understands. Or wants to. Until he launches back into the sky.

“We
are
friends,” Oz says. “Or, if you can’t believe that, we’re not your enemies.”

“I like your dad,” Justin adds. When Oz gives him a look, he clarifies, “Of course, not if he’s a traitor. Which it seems like he is. There’s never been anyone accused of treason who’s been cleared before…” He stops talking. “I shouldn’t say anymore, should I? I’ll just be quiet now.”

“There’s never been anyone cleared before? Ever? In the history of the Society?” The thought makes my head swim.

If that’s the case, I may have even less time to figure out how to get Dad back than I was planning on. Not to mention I’d rather make it out of here before darkness falls. So I start down the front ramp, and the others do too. It’s wide enough for us to walk abreast. Yes, Anzu continues to circle above.

“But, Justin, I bet it’s not much of a pool size, is it?” Oz says. “It’s a rare charge.”

“True,” Justin says, “only sixteen I can think of.”

Tam sniffs. “Technicality to the rescue. You were born to be a bureaucrat, Osborne. No wonder you’re Bronson’s pet.”

I expect Oz to counter him, but Justin does. “You mean the director’s ward. Oz is a model operative and that’s nothing to be ashamed of… not unless you’re sympathetic to traitors.”

“I’m sympathetic to Kyra,” Tam says.

Bree puts a hand on his arm. “We all are,” she says, “despite her keeping secrets from us.”

I can’t come up with a word to say to that. But Oz, again, to the rescue. “Cut her some slack. Her mom was a Pythia. That’s got to be hard.”

I stumble on the stone, and Oz catches me. His hand is warm on my elbow, and when he removes it, there’s multi-colored paint on his palm. “Sorry,” I say, “but
what
?”

“I know you didn’t know about your dad,” he says. “But they didn’t tell you about your mom?”

“What’s a Pythia?” Bree asks, and I notice she directs it to Justin. He checks with Oz before he answers. Oz nods.

“They were the oracles at Delphi, once upon a time,” Justin says. “Women conscripted by Apollo into divine mysteries, able to look into the future. Now the Society has Apollo’s cup and they work for us. The mother, maiden, and crone configuration is best, but two will do. That’s all we have now, since…”

I need to sit down. But all I can do is keep walking. “Since my mom left. What does it mean?”

Oz offers me his arm again, apparently not caring if I smear paint on the sleeve of his uniform. I take it, because we still have quite a ways to go before we reach the bottom. If the surprises keep coming at this rate, I’m bound to stumble again. I’ve already learned I have no clue who
either
of my parents is. And if I don’t know about them, what does that mean for me? Am I someone or no one? I honestly don’t know the answer.

“Oz,” I prompt. “What does it mean?”

“It means she’s probably had a hard time of it, on her own,” he says. “They do better in groups, when they can share the visions. The Pythias, they’re–”

“Oz saw them, yesterday. I never have,” Justin puts in.

“Then let him finish,” Tam says.

I don’t know if Tam’s working on some problem with Justin beyond his general dislike of operatives or not, but I also couldn’t care less at the moment. What Oz is saying matters to me.

“What were you going to say?” I ask. “Did they say anything about her? My mom?”

Oz stares into the distance at the tops of the Houses visible over the crazy forest. “They sent me to you. They were looking out for you, because of her.”

I gaze out over that same horizon, though I hardly see it. My thoughts are on my mom and our past. “That’s funny,” I say.

I don’t explain what I mean. They’ll see soon enough.

“They also refused to tell Bronson where your dad was,” Oz says. “They said your mom wouldn’t want them to.”

“What if he isn’t guilty?” I ask. “What would you do then?”

Oz frowns as if he’s not sure what I’m asking. Justin says, “We would do whatever we were told. That’s the way the organization works. Your dad would have agreed, before he went rogue.”

“So there’s nothing that could convince you not to do something they told you? You follow orders, no matter what.” I’m genuinely curious.

“Hypotheticals are meaningless,” Justin says, “without specifics. Your father hasn’t claimed to be motivated by any noble cause.”

But he had – not specifically, but he asked me to trust him, claimed that he’s doing the right thing. Tam and Bree exchange a look with me, and I give a slight shake of my head. I’m not confiding that in these boys. I wanted to see if they would be open to a truth different than the one they’re told to believe. The answer seems to be no. For Justin, anyway.

“About treason,” I say. “What’s the penalty?”

There’s an uncomfortable silence. Justin obviously knows – at this point it’s clear he knows just about everything, off the top of his head. But it’s Oz who answers. “It hasn’t been levied yet.”

“But you know what it is. So tell me,” I say.

“It’s death,” he says, with regret.

I drop my arm from where it’s linked with his. I can’t bear to be touching him – or anyone – with that word echoing in my head. Instead, I speed up. The sooner we get out of here, the sooner I can find out what the future holds.

When we pass the turnoff to Set House twenty minutes later, I brush my cheek at the memory of the Egyptian hench-god’s cold touch and check to see if Anzu’s still above us. He is and, if I’m right, he lowers his flight path so he’s nearer. But his protection skills aren’t put to the test, and neither are Oz and Justin’s.

We don’t meet a soul on the path as we make our way out, and we don’t talk much either. Dark continues to descend by degrees. Oz and Justin acknowledged that it’s better if we’re out of here before night falls. The only people who make a habit of visiting the Houses of the Gods then are other gods, and that alone is reason enough to hurry.

We reach the grand sprawl of the mansion that serves as the loghouse as dark takes hold. I pretend the calls that start up behind us in the forest and overgrown greenery aren’t happening. It was bad enough in there during the daylight. I’d rather not consider what might have been sleeping.

There are a couple of Society guards posted at the main loghouse, sitting at their posts as we enter a long tiled and windowed salon. They salute Oz and Justin, rake their eyes over the rest of us in disbelief. “I just want to wash my face,” I say.

Before they can argue, Oz moves in to talk quietly with them. Their respect for their fellow operatives – and maybe for my grandfather – gets us leave to use the loghouse bathroom to scrub our faces and arms clean. It’s not vanity. I don’t want to give my mother any reason to be more thrown than seeing my regular unadorned face will make her. That’s always been enough.

Tam heads into the men’s room, leaving me and Bree alone in this small wallpapered one that’s been converted for visitors by the addition of stall doors and two polished white sinks. I meet her eyes in the mirror. The one degree of remove makes it easier than actually facing her.

“I am sorry I never told you. I wanted to. So many times, I almost did.”

Her attention stays on me in the mirror. “I don’t doubt it, K. I really don’t. That you were sorry that time you drew on my face? That I doubt.” Her voice is artificially breezy, but I think she means it. She waves me in front of her, having freed the small make-up case she brought along from my backpack. “At least let me freshen you up for your mom. Do you see her much?”

I shake my head.

“Not ready to talk about that yet?”

“I guess not,” I say. “You going to take it out on my face?”

“No,” she says. “Not this time.”

I scoot up onto the sink, perching there and hunching so my face is easy for her to reach.

“You’ll have to soon enough, you know,” she says. “And you’ll find out nothing terrible happens. I’m not going to judge you based on her.”

“I won’t blame you.” Because I can’t imagine how anyone couldn’t. Whose mother feels about them the way mine does about me?

“Maybe a little, but we’ll still be friends. That’s a promise.”

I consent to let her comb my tangles, and swipe some neutral shadow over my eyelids. I even hold still while she applies heavy liner that tilts up at the end. Bree offers me a lipstick tube and starts on her own makeup, twice as elaborate as anything I wear. I hop down and smooth the red over my lips. “Better,” she says, “right?”

Undeniably. I put on my leather jacket, and feel almost ready for what’s ahead. Mom. I don’t rush Bree.

Sure, we’re killing time. I know we are. But it comforts us both, this chance to take a breath – and not of water. This is the same thing we do when we’re going out to the market or planning to try and sneak into a club. Sometimes before school. Here and now, it’s hard to believe we’ll ever do those things again.

When we emerge, Oz is talking to the guard again. He glances over and doesn’t look away as he watches us cross the room.

“Tell me we don’t still look like crazy messes?” I ask.

“You never did,” he says.

Bree says, “Good try.”

I point out, “We were coated in sand yesterday, and painted into hippies today. This is the first time you’ve ever seen what we look like.”

He hesitates. “You look nice,” he says.

Bree and I laugh.

“What?” Oz asks.

“We always say anyone who tells us we look nice is off the list,” I explain. “No girl is ever trying to look nice.”

“Well,” Bree says, “some of them probably are. Just not us.”

I expect Oz to be embarrassed by this, but instead he leans in. Solemnly, he says, “You look bad, then. Very,
very
bad.”

Bree drops her wrist, a parody of southern belle flirting. “Don’t you say the
nicest
things?”

Oz smiles. I can’t help but catch it and return one.

“Ready?” Tam asks, as he and Justin come back out, apparently not noticing the effort we put into our appearance. Justin, however, might be admiring Bree. Surreptitiously. If he is, this is something that I approve of. She deserves admiration.

In answer to Tam, I say, “For whatever’s next.” I mean it not even a little.

There’s a big black Society coach waiting for us on the street when we get outside. Oz unlatches the coach door and holds it open for me, like a knight in some fairy tale.

I remind myself that Oz is not on my side. But he might not be entirely on the opposite one.

We rattle our way toward the Circle, and I assume Anzu drifts above the carriage like the world’s most fearsome kite. The carriage slows when we hit the neighborhood’s heavily trafficked outskirts, and we decide to go the rest of the way on foot.

Tall buildings wear tattered remnants of bright paint, and lush green trees dot the sidewalk. The street is wide, with plenty of other people traveling the same way on business of their own. Every third streetlight or so works, and a few trash can blazes help… if not so much with lighting, then with conjuring a dangerous ambience.

Here’s what I couldn’t say to Bree.

I
see
Mom at least once a week. I wait across the street from the market, hoping to catch sight of her. On those rare occasions when I can catch her working a table, I quietly observe from a distance. I sneak, because Dad doesn’t approve. I’m not supposed to approach her. Dad has tried to explain that her reaction to me has nothing to do
with
me, that it’s part of the vision-brought madness that took her over after the Awakening, the thing that led her to leave us and live here in the first place. Logically, I understand he’s probably right. For the most part.