Page 27 of Hallow Hill at Halloween: Part One

I wondered what I’d done to make Ivy think I’d been too hard on poor Lochlan but vowed that I would correct any misunderstandings. Right after naps.

On the way to my sleepy sanctuary, I turned and looked down at the dogs padding behind me, looking hopeful. It was charming to have such wonderful creatures want to be close to me all the time.

“Yes. You can come in, but only if you agree to be quiet as little mice.” They wagged their tails. I never knew if they understood a thing, but I did know they were eager to please. As I shut the bedroom door behind them, I added, “I liked that you growled at the bad man today.” They sat and cocked their heads to the side with a synchronicity that the Rockettes would envy.

After I crawled on top of the made bed and pulled the throw on top of me, they flopped down and curled into each other in preparation for a pack nap. It occurred to me as my eyes drifted closed that I might be in bed because I was too chicken to open the dreaded file. I promised myself that I would dive right in when I woke.

In a sense, I’d outsmarted myself with my own avoidance and the Universe paid me back with frightful dreams about Medusa and lots and lots and lots of snakes. I woke with much less energy than I’d had before I slept. I know. Ironic.

When I sat up, the dogs raised their heads to check in with what was happening. Fen indulged in a protracted yawn that was almost comical. I say almost because the nap had left my mood questionable and my humor absent.

I swung my legs over, tied my sneaker laces, and made the bed look as presentable as it had before my afternoon-mare.

It seemed the best course of action might be making a cup of cocoa and facing the file like a big girl. Without a hint of audible warning, Keir appeared in the kitchen doorway. His eyes flicked to my cocoa stirring motion.

“Nice nap?”

“Don’t ask and fair warning. Don’t linger if you want our marriage to remain a blissful oasis of serenity.”

“Uh-oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Well, then, see you at supper. You’ll be righted by then.”

“Hmmm. I like your confidence.”

Leaving it at that, he disappeared as quietly as he’d come. I set the spoon in the sink, took a sip to satisfy myself that the cocoa was ridiculously sweet, just the way I like it, and trudged down the hallway toward my study. My feet were feeling a little heavier than usual. Maybe I needed more Vitamin B.

I hesitated at the study door and hated everything about that. Ever since the house of my dreams had become an instant reality, courtesy of the woman both my daughter and I call mother-in-law, my study had been a sanctuary of peace, ambiance, and work I loved doing. Now that the weather had turned cool, I had an excuse to have a small cheery fire burning next to my nap chair, even if I was feeling less than cheerful. Maybe I would take naps in the nap chair and get more refreshing results.

I sat and stared at the Medusa file. I hadn’t been there for more than a minute before deciding that the review would go better at my desk. I grabbed the mug, grabbed the file, and relocated a few feet away.

After a bit of rearranging things on my desk, straightening up a bit because I wasn’t good at thinking in chaos, I sat with the file in front of me. I took a deep, deep breath then took a long time letting it out. I untied the leather lacing and let the heavy cover fall to the side.

Between the two cases I had put in the definite pile for Samhain Court and the Medusa thing,the harmless fun of Hallowstide had taken a sinister turn.

The first page recounted what I’d already learned from Lochlan, that Medusa had escaped the private-dimension island where she’d been confined for roughly four thousand years. As background, the information went on to say that the tales often called Greek myths were recorded during the Hellenistic period, originally orally, by Minoans of Crete. The compendium of immortal exploits began as entertainment, a sort of early tabloid, but gradually morphed into a religion. The Olympians and their offspring got off on the super-thrill of being worshipped. What ensued was a sort of divine competition for salacious headlines about those exploits which invariably depended on the exploitation of mortals. They deigned to procreate with humans which created hybrids, often referred to as demigods. Though not part of the pantheon, demigods such as Ulysses and Heracles became the subject of heroic epics. The distraction from attention to the pantheon was risky considering the temperamental and possibly immature nature of the gods. But that was tempered by constant deference and recognition that nothing happens without approval of the high and mighty.

Eventually the Greeks got bored with their cruel teasing of mortals, whose reactions had at one time amused them immensely, and withdrew to their dimension of origin. When the headlines stopped coming, interest in worshipping the Olympians quickly faded and died.

What I discovered was an account told in side-by-side text. The left side was the press release distributed to human storytellers and historians by Hermes in disguise as a sort of traveling bard. The right side recounted the truth of events.

In Medusa’s case, the truth was that she was an A-list member of Athena’s crew and particularly comely. There was a subtext suggestion that Athena may have had an unrequited crush on Medusa. Whether that is true or not, Athena kept Medusa as a constant companion and cast herself in the role of Medusa’s protector.

As said, Medusa was extraordinarily beautiful. When she accidentally – wrong place, wrong time - caught Zeus’s attention, Athena stepped in with ahardno. Athena was a consummate daddy’s girl, which was understandable given that she’d sprung full grown from a thought in his head, but she drew a line when her only parent tried to raid her posse for pussy. She playedalmostevery card.

“I couldn’t have just this one thing that’s mine and mine alone?” she asked with just the right amount of indignation and quiver in her voice. “I didn’t even get a mother!” The girl knew how to pout.

With a deep and regretful sigh of a lost opportunity to bed a beauty, Zeus gave in and moved on. But while Athena leaned into her victory and relaxed, her uncle, god of oceans, Poseidon, caught Medusa in a moment when she wasn’t near Athena’s protection and seduced her.

Greek mythologists, meaning those keeping records of events, often used the word seduced as a sick euphemism for rape. Clever because seduction implies consent, and consent relieves the god of responsibility. The victim is easily transformed from victim to willing participant by the simple change of one word.

When Athena came across a distraught Medusa, sobbing because she’d found everything about the event painful and disgusting, Athena became a goddess of blind rage. The sort of anger on steroids that causes one to see through a red filter. On impulse, without thinking it through, which, of course, is what on impulse means, she magically executed the first unfortunate thought that came to her.

Medusa’s enviable golden tresses were instantly changed into a scalp-full of writhing snakes. Athena’s reasoning, having been influenced by seething anger, was that no one would be sexually attracted to Medusa ever again.

She was right about that.

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