“You can’t start right now,” Mom said softly, and I could tell she was trying not to cry. “It’s too dark outside. Besides, even heroes should be able to sleep in their own beds once in a while.”
I laughed and hugged her. “I’ll stay tonight. I don’t know when I’ll need to leave, but when I do, it will be fast. Will that … will that be okay?”
Dad rose and embraced me. “Of course. We trust you to make the right choices, Darlena.”
“You always have,” Mom added, brushing strands of hair off my forehead and kissing me.
It felt strange to lie down in my own bed after everything that had happened. Xerxes curled up on my stomach, purring contentedly, while I stared at my ceiling, thinking. There was still so much I didn’t understand. But the biggest question that was weighing on me had to do with Aphrodite. “I wonder if she’s still my patron?” I asked the cat, scratching him behind the ears.
“She may be.” Aphrodite stood near the window, her back turned to me. Xerxes lifted his head and sniffed before hoping off the bed and crossing the room to wind around her ankles. I sat up in bed and watched the goddess.
After a moment, Aphrodite turned around. “I love the moon.” She sighed. “So peaceful, so beautiful.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Is that what you came to talk to me about? I thought we already had that lesson.”
She sighed again and crossed to the foot of my bed. Sitting gently, she plucked at the quilt with her fingers. “No. I wish it were that simple, though.”
I hugged my knees into my chest. “Are you still my patron?”
Her eyes met mine. “I can’t read your thoughts anymore.”
I frowned. “Does that mean no?”
“Darlena, when you ate the pomegranate, what were you thinking about?”
I thought back to that night. It seemed like it had happened in another lifetime. “I was thinking about Justin,” I began slowly, “and the spell I cast, and—” I broke off, realization dawning on me.
“And you were thinking about me.” She spoke softly, and her voice sounded sad.
Swallowing, I nodded. Was the goddess about to kill me? I thought about the oath I’d sworn to her, and waited for the waters of the sea to attack me for breaking faith. I squeezed my eyes, not wanting to see what would happen. After a moment, I opened them again, confused. I was still sitting in bed, unharmed. The goddess was watching me.
“You could choose to swear yourself to me again,” she began, “but I doubt that you will.”
I shrugged, uncomfortable. “I learned a lot from you. And I’m really grateful.”
“But you don’t think I’m strong enough to help you now, is that it?”
I shook my head quickly. “Not at all! You are strong, and I’m lucky you were protecting me and helping me.” I chewed on my lower lip, choosing my words carefully. “It’s just that … I need to be able to focus on Red magic, not just love magic.” Seeing the stormy expression on her face, I hurried on. “Not that I think love magic is weak! Believe me”—I laughed ruefully—“I learned my lesson. It’s strong; it’s just not the right kind of magic for me right now.”
Aphrodite was silent. Anxious, I leaned forward, willing her to understand.
“I made my declaration to Red magic without any thought, acting on impulse. And then when I swore myself to you, I was more afraid than anything else. I never thought I’d have the chance to reconsider some of the choices I’ve made.”
“I’m surprised you didn’t reconsider your choice of Red magic in general.”
I shook my head. “I still don’t understand it all, but something about this just feels right.”
She nodded slightly. “You are going to be powerful, Darlena. You have already exceeded my expectations. But”—she glared at me—“don’t assume your power will buy you another chance once I’ve left here tonight.”
My voice trembled. “Are you threatening me?”
She smiled sweetly. “Oh, not at all, little Witch. But I want to make one thing clear: if you want me as your patron, you must decide now. I will not offer again.”
I looked at the crescent moon shining through my bedroom window. I closed my eyes and drew a deep breath. “I’m not ready to vow myself to a patron. I want to make that choice when I am ready.”
She stood. “Then you will never serve me. And”—her voice softened—“I must admit, I’m disappointed. You showed great promise in the art of love.”
“Thank you. But I think there are other things I need to learn.”
Aphrodite nodded, but her smile looked forced. “Then I’ll take my leave.” She turned to go.
“Wait, please.” I hopped out of bed and crossed to my closet. I rummaged around for a minute before emerging with the mirror she had given me when I swore my Dedicancy. I held it out to her, hesitantly.
She looked at it for a moment, and then shook her head slightly. “You may have need of it in the future. And I am not in the habit of taking gifts back.” Her tone was acidic, but it was clear that she meant it.
I nodded, hoping I hadn’t offended her. “Thank you. For everything.”
When I looked up, the only other creature in the room was Xerxes.
That night, I had a vivid dream. The chanting was familiar, like I’d dreamed it before, but this time, the images became clear. Three women were leaning over a massive cauldron, their faces hidden beneath hoods. They were chanting and pacing around the cauldron in a wide circle while I stood nearby, watching. The woods surrounding us were thick and ancient, and the sounds of battle echoed through the trees.
Suddenly, a man burst into the clearing. He had a haunted expression, and the kilt he wore was stained with blood. Instead of looking at the women, he pointed his sword at me as he stalked across the clearing.
“One Red Witch in my land is one too many! I’ll not suffer you, too. Go back, if you value your skin!”
His sword flashed through the air, and the dream changed. A man with fire for hair crouched in the shadows before me. He held out his right hand, beckoning me forward. Confused, I dug in my heels and refused to move. The fire on top of his head flared, and a great snake of flame shot upwards, circling through the air and heading toward me. I turned and tried to run, but the king with his sword waited for me, slashing the blade in the air near my face. I woke up with a start.
I was covered in sweat and shaking from fear. I grabbed the notebook beside my bed and hurriedly jotted down the sensations and images I could remember from my nightmare. I crept out of bed into the bathroom, splashing water on my face and telling myself that it was just a dream. When I looked at my reflection in the bathroom mirror, however, I noticed an unmistakable well of blood across my cheek. Lifting my hand, I pressed the cut gently, and pain shot through my face. Dabbing peroxide on the strange wound, I thought back to the dream. It was like a scene straight out of a Shakespearean play. The women reminded me of the three Witches from Macbeth.
Macbeth.
Suddenly, everything made sense.
Rushing back to my room, my wound forgotten, I pulled my old atlas off my shelf and flipped through it. I reached down to trace my finger along the northern coast of the British Isles.
“If there were Red Witches in Scotland before,” I said, “who’s to say there isn’t one still there?”
The images of my dream seemed to point to one thing: Scotland. The old king had warned me to stay out of his land. But I wasn’t afraid of the ghost of a man long dead. If there was another Red Witch in Scotland, I would find her.