Page 104 of The Cursed Chalice
“If it’s not Dionysus, then who is responsible for all of this?”
“Who is behind all this then?” My jaw clenches with tension.
Hecate passes her hand through her hair. “I suspect three goddesses: Artemis, Athena, and Aphrodite.”
“All are cunning and pains in my ass.” I take a gulp of my coffee, letting the hot drink steam to my stomach.
“Still no loopholes on my end,” Hecate says. “I’ve been digging through old tomes for weeks. I’m on the edge of something.”
As Hecate speaks, I begin losing faith. The situation remains: I have to kill Soraya to free Talia. The truth is that my love for Talia remains, but she is becoming a distant memory. Yet she will never find peace if Soraya lives.
I close my eyes and groan when I hear Hecate’s voice. “We will figure it out, Ares. I promise.”
A promise. It feels so close; that perfect life is just within reach, like my fingertips are grazing it, and it’s all about to be ripped away from me.
SORAYA
I love this time of the day, near closing time. When I am alone with rock music in the background. The scent of varnish and aged canvas permeates the air. I adjust my gloves as I begin to remove the yellow tarnish on the painting. As I bend, I can still feel the memory of Ares pounding behind me. Then I just laid in his arms as he kissed me and murmured, “I love you” in my head. Jesus, it’s a fabulous way to start the day. When I get home, I am going to make a big dinner to thank Ares and the others. I gaze up at the clock on the wall: 5:55 p.m. I am excited because a new painting is coming in today.
The heels of a shoe click-clack into my office. I take my gloves off and wash my hands.
“Ms. Maude.”
I turn, instantly, recognizing that posh accent anywhere. It was Venus, the beautiful stranger that I met in the café some days ago. I mean, she was striking before, like a Renaissance portrait. Now, as she enters the room, she carries herself with power.
“This way.” She flicks her wrist, instructing some men to place a painting covered with a cloth against the wall. She drops her purse and jacket on my chair.
“I thought you were coming later this week. You’re early,” I say, eager to see what’s under the cloth.
“Love doesn’t wait, my dear,” Venus says slyly with a smile.
The men rush out of the room, leaving us behind.
“Shall we?” Venus says, walking to the painting.
“Yes, please,” I reply, looking at the over-six-foot frame.
Venus tugs on the linen, and I hold my breath as it falls away.
I don’t recognize this painting. The colors are violent yet hypnotic. My heart thuds; something about it feels real and familiar. My hand trembles as I touch the golden frame.
The scene shows a marble hall. At the center kneels a man who looks like Ares, broad-shouldered, with a scar across his face. Gold chains bound his hands, but still, he is trying to reach forward. A woman with long red hair is chained to a stake. Her eyes are cast heavenward at the lightning about to strike her. The gods sit above, their faint-shaped thrones behind a fog, watching without pity.
My breath stops when I see the chalice hanging above them all, golden and celestial. It’s painted as if it glows on its own, casting a divine light on Ares and…the woman with the red hair.
I close my eyes, trying to remember where I have seen this before. I sigh. “Talia. I dreamt of her.” I shake my head and step back. “Wait, what is this?”
Venus smiles empathically and turns back to the painting. “This is truth and fate all on one canvas. You, of all people, should appreciate how art preserves what people try so hard to bury.”
Suddenly, it feels hard to breathe. “This is a grotesque fantasy.” It has to be a fantasy.
Venus chuckles. “Fantasy? Soraya, no, darling; this is history.”
She touches the frame, and slowly, the painting comes to life like a live-action movie.
I can hear Ares struggling in the chains. “Talia!” His screams make my blood run cold. It’s filled with rage and hatred.
“You have been living a fantasy created by Ares, your great love. Ares is no man; he is the God of War. Exiled. Cursed. Condemned for his weakness.”
