Jordan snorted. “Bullshit.”
Bridget squeezed her hand. “It’s okay if you don’t believe. Trust me, this is hard for me, too. I guess I sort of hoped I might turn out to be the one.” Her expression turned strangely shy, very unlike the Bridget she knew. Her laughter was more than a bit nervous. “I fantasized about it, envisioned this great cosmic awakening. And it even would have made sense. Once upon a time Lamia masqueraded as my older sister, Moira. Alas, it was not to be.”
Jordan couldn’t stop shaking her head. “No, no, no. This is ridiculous. Deities don’t procreate with humans.”
Bridget brushed long strands of golden blonde hair from her face. “You’re proof to the contrary.”
“Look, even if Lamia had a daughter, how could you know I’m the one?” Jordan laughed without humor. “I was trying to stay alive, so you’ll have to offer more proof than…what I did to Angela.”
Bridget’s expression changed again, her sky blue eyes projecting total confidence now. “When you were attacking her, you…well, you…changed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Your face…it changed. Morphed.” Bridget’s tone was a mixture of fear and awe. “Your face became her face. You and the goddess are inextricably, uniquely linked. Like I said, she told us about you. Not about your human identity, but about your existence. And she said your true nature would be revealed to us one day, in this very way.” A shiver rippled through her. “And there’s more. So much more. Wondrous things, Jordan.”
Jordan’s heart was beating fast. “What are you talking about?”
Bridget shook her head. “Some things are not for me to reveal. You’ll know more when you meet your mother.” She smiled. “Your real mother.”
Jordan frowned. “Fuck this. I don’t believe any of it. It’s crazy. And if that goddess of yours is really my mother, and if she’s so fucking omnipotent, why did she let you and your bitch friend torment me so?”
Bridget’s eyes betrayed a deepening fear. She shivered. “I think I know. I…”
Jordan clamped a hand around Bridget’s jaw, forced the girl to look her in the eye. She saw terror in her expression. The real thing. Pure and vibrant. The kind even the best actress could never fake. And despite her doubts, Jordan became aware of a new strength thrumming within her. She moved her hand to Bridget’s throat, felt the life pulsing there, felt how easy it would be to snuff it.
“Tell me.” Her voice was hard. “Now.”
Bridget’s jaw quivered as she struggled to speak. “I…I suspect she wanted this to happen. She…must have wanted us to goad you to a breaking point, to where you’d feel compelled to defend yourself, to…kill.”
Jordan rose to her feet. No trace of her former weakness remained. She felt strong. Powerful. Invincible. Like some kind of fucking superwoman. It was amazing. And though it made her mind reel, she now knew Bridget was telling the truth. She felt it down to her DNA. Glaring down at her former adversary, she felt a resurgence of what she’d felt just before Angela’s death.
Bridget cowered at her feet. “Please…”
“WHY, Bridget?” Jordan was screaming now. “WHY WOULD SHE WANT THAT!?”
Bridget sobbed. “I don’t…know. Part of a process, a…transformation…maybe. I don’t really know. There’s nothing more I can tell you. Please believe me.”
“YOU’RE LYING!”
Bridget’s face was streaked with tears. “No…I swear…”
“I ought to kill you.”
Bridget bowed her head. “If…if that’s what you want.” Her body quaked with the force of her fear. “I submit to you as I would your mother.”
Jordan thought about it. She wouldn’t even need the knife. She could snap Bridget’s neck as easily as she’d snap a twig. Or punch through her chest wall and rip out her still-beating heart. The knowledge was exhilarating-and terrifying. She felt a strange and unnatural energy pulsing within her, something dormant come to full, screaming life, and she felt a strong urge to revel in it. Yet, a part of her was repulsed by it. This was the voice of her conscience, she supposed.
Yes.
Her mother was a goddess, which meant she had some aspect of the deity within her. But she was of the human world, as well. Her humanity had shaped her, not that secret touch of the divine. She had a soul. A conscience.
Her body relaxed. She let out a deep breath. “I’m not going to kill you.”
Bridget looked up at her. “You’re not?”
Jordan shook her head. “And I’m not killing anyone else, either. You can tell my mother that when you see her. Neither is she. I’m going to find a way to stop this massacre she has planned.”
Bridget gaped at her. “But that’s impossible.”
Jordan smiled. “You’re wrong. This time, you’re really wrong.”
Jordan found the clothes that had been forcibly removed from her hours earlier. She put them on and left the apartment without another word. Lamia’s minions tensed at the sight of her as she emerged onto the landing. They sensed the change within her, felt the power flowing through her, and they parted as she walked down the stairs, allowing her passage as she brushed past them.
Jordan stood in the parking lot and stared up at the clear night sky.
Her smile was a cold, almost dead thing, her voice quiet but hard. “I’m coming for you, Mother. And there’s nothing you can do about it.”
A dark cloud passed over the silver moon.
And somewhere far away, a scream resonated in the night.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Jake awoke feeling sick. The glare of the sun through the open mini-blind slats didn’t help things. Nor did the blare of AC/DC’s “Highway To Hell” coming from the living room stereo. The CD apparently had been left on repeat play mode all night, and though the speakers were in another room, the sound was loud enough to make the hangover ache behind his eyes throb mercilessly. With a groan, he rolled onto his back and covered his eyes with a forearm. He stretched out his legs, kicking a crumpled beer can over the edge of the bed. The vague bad feeling that was always there after a night of hard drinking arrived on cue, and he couldn’t help thinking there was something seriously wrong, something he couldn’t remember.
There’d been a lot of sex. He remembered that much. The kind of sweaty, alcohol-fueled sex that goes on seemingly forever. And there’d been a great deal of drinking.
Kristen, it turned out, was no casual drinker. She matched him drink for drink throughout the night, eventually revealing that this kind of binging was a regular thing for her. He thought it odd she hadn’t mentioned this when he’d told her of his struggles with alcoholism, but she shrugged it off when he pushed her about it. She didn’t see the omission as a big deal. But Jake wasn’t so sure. At times, she seemed to play on his weakness for booze, manipulating his emotions by plying him with drink and offering up the endless temptations of her body.
In the harsh light of this new day, she didn’t seem quite so wonderful anymore. He felt anger-both at himself and at Kristen-as he reflected on the events of the previous day. So much of it seemed unreal now, like a half-remembered dream. Their instant, mutual obsession made him wince with embarrassment. It was probably unhealthy.
Jake sighed.
There was just one conclusion to draw-he would have to break off this thing with Kristen before it went any deeper, before they could do any more damage to each other’s psyches. And though he recognized this as true, the reality of it hit him hard. He would do what he had to do, but you don’t go through something that intense with a person and not feel pain at the prospect of its demise.