Page 23 of Tangled Threads Of Fate

She looked out the window, and we completed the rest of the drive in silence. Clio lived down a random street in suburbia, which would make you think she was hiding out. But you’d be so wrong, which you’d soon discover as you pulled up to her little colonial house.

Because the whole thing was blacker than a widow’s veil. The cladding, the trim, the door, even the letterbox were all pitch black. The windows were tinted the darkest shade money could buy. There was a spindly fence around the whole place, sharp spikes on the top. It was a foreboding kind of house, the kind the neighborhood kids would dare each other to knock on the front door as a rite of passage.

Clio loved that shit.

“Woah,” Wren breathed, trepidation written all over her face.

Shaking my head, I climbed from the car and walked around to her door. I helped her out, my hands wrapped around her waist. “Don’t let it fool you. Clio enjoys theatrics.” I opened the squeaky gate and strode down the path. There was no Mythic on this planet that scared me, least of all Clio and thebean-sidhe.

Using the knocker shaped like a woman screaming, I slammed it down three times. I held my breath as Clio opened the door, taking in me and then Wren. I waited for her to scream. The wail of thebean-sidhethat would tell me that I was working against the very hands of fate. She opened her mouth, and I tensed.

Instead of the wail that you would feel in your very soul, she laughed in my face. “How’d you manage to knock up a mortal, Néit?”

Wren flushed, and I growled. “Are you going to invite us in?”

“Sure. Welcome, Wren Mahone.”

I didn’t know if it was reassuring that Clio knew her name or not. And I didn’t know how to interpret the shit-eating grin Clio threw my way as we stepped into her house.

Chapter 11

WREN

Ididn’t know what I’d expected of a banshee, but it wasn’t the woman in a Nirvana shirt and leather pants. I’d expected the inside of her house to be as dark and gloomy as the outside, but instead, it was like a cottagecore wet dream. Everything was shiny, dark wood and flowers. Prints on the wall, vases on every flat surface. Comfy leather furniture and coarse wooden benchtops. It was… quaint.

Unlike Nate, I looked at Clio and something inside me immediately knew she was different. Not wrong, just not… right. Perhaps that didn’t make sense, but you know when you meet a person and there’s something about them you find immediately unsettling?

It didn’t hurt that she was ethereally gorgeous. All fine-boned and willowy. Her hair was fire-red, and her blue eyes sparkled wildly.

Nate huffed. “Wren, this is Clio. Clio is the representative for the Celtic Pantheon here in Boston. I obviously don’t have to introduce you to her, because she seems to know your name already?” There was a question, and maybe a little threat, in his tone.

Clio waved a hand, ushering us over to her kitchen table. “My fluffy little retired Godling, it is quiteliterallymy job to know every person.” She sighed. “However, I can’t really claim credit for this, because our girl here is being whispered about in all the dark corners.”

I sucked in a breath. “But why?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know, girlypop, but the boons they’ve put on your head for proof of death are wild. Only for the Greeks, though. They’re a pompous bunch of fucks, but at least that means none of the other Pantheons give a flying fuck about you, right? Silver linings and all that.”

Nate stood up and paced around the kitchen. “She’s a fucking human,” he grumbled, though his accent seemed to be thicker in the room with Clio, so hisfuckingsounded a little more likefooking.It was kinda cute, not that I’d ever tell him that. I swallowed down my grin as he continued. “What the hell could she have done to piss off the damn Greeks so much that they’d send the Lamia?”

Clio’s brows rose high. “The Lamia?” She whistled. “Girl, you really did shit in someone’s Wheaties.” She eyed me with an expression that said she’d like to dissect me for parts.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Nate came over and rested a hand on my shoulder; a gesture that wasn’t lost on Clio. “Have you heard anything else?”

She shook her head. “Just the usual squabbles and shit. West Africans want East Boston, and I say let them have it, because it’s just the damn airport, right? But no one can agree on how much, and obviously, no one wants to cede a damn inch. Very tedious.” She stroked her chin. “There have been rumors that we’ve reached the tail once more.”

“The tail?” I asked, because honestly, it was like she was talking in riddles.

It was Nate who answered. “If there’s one thing we all agree on, it’s the circle of time. The passing of ages. When the Ouroboros—or Jörmungandr, Leviathan, whatever other name they’ve given the Great Serpent—reaches the point where his tail is consumed by his mouth, it is a time of destruction and recreation. Civilizations and religions fall, and something new is built in its place. It has happened many times throughout the long history of the world, and will happen again.

“When I was, uh, deposed during the battle for the Emerald Isle, it was one such recreation. Both when the Roman Empire rose, and fell again. Sometimes the cycles are long, and sometimes they are short, but inevitably, the world changes.” He was gazing into the distance thoughtfully. “The real question is, what does that have to do with a mortal girl?”

Clio shrugged, pouring me tea and putting cookies in front of me, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Rooibos. No caffeine,” she said offhandedly, still looking at Nate. “Tell me again what they said to her?”

Between the two of us, we recounted both attacks. The unhinged taunts of the Lamia, and the vague threats of the Verserpent. We also told her what the drive-thru Oracle had said. Nate even told her about my surprise pregnancy and the fact I didn’t know who the father was, which made me wince and feel all sorts of guilt that I didn’t need to be feeling.

That had made Clio pause the most. “No idea at all?” I shook my head, and she hummed. “You live in a house with a God, so I doubt anyone snuck in through the window. We can probably rule out the incubi.”

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