Page 31 of The Cursed Chalice
It doesn’t take me long to order two large pizzas, one with Nisa’s combination and a regular meat specialty.
“What do you think we should do about the woman and the chalice?” I ask out loud.
I am thinking kill her in her old age. It wouldn’t kill us to wait until she is old.As Ares talks, my shadow moves like it has a mind of its own.
“She has to fall in love with us.” I open the fridge, looking for anything that I can munch on. It doesn’t take me long to find an apple.
I lean on the counter and bite.
“Suppose we fall in love with her, Ares?” I ask, chomping on the apple.
“We won’t. We are focused on Talia.”
Somewhere outside, a car engine cuts through the stillness, low and steady.
“Who is that?”
I sigh, walking to the bin at the side of the door and dumping my apple into it.
“Most likely Hecate and the new nanny.” I wash my hands under the kitchen faucet.
SORAYA
We have been driving for what feels like an hour. Hecate said very little; the only sound around us is a mixtape of ‘90s rock. I figured out that Fiona Apple and the Cranberries were her favorites.
We drive through what looks like the countryside with acres upon acres of deep green, well-manicured lawns sitting behind black wrought iron bars. Whoever lives here believes in protection.
“Why does he need all these bloody bars? By the Fates!” Hecate taps her fingers on the steering wheel.
I haven’t really relaxed since I entered this car. But I haven’t been on super high alert until now.
“Finally!” Hecate exclaims. She flicks her wrist, and the gate opens. Maybe she has an app on her Apple Watch that makes the gate open.
The tall cypress trees line the driveway, and it takes us two minutes to reach the front of the house. The first thing that catches my attention is a large gold bowl sitting on a white fountain. The bowl is lit, and fire dances in it. Why a bowl of fire is lit at 1:00 in the afternoon is beyond my understanding.
When I turn my attention to the house, I swallow. I feel intimidated by it. It’s not like I had never seen a mansion before. Elias has a lot. It’s just that I’ve never seen one so imposing.
Hecate turns the car off. “Follow me.” She opens the car door and walks to the front of the car.
I exit the car and lift my head higher. The air around the house feels different. I don’t know; it feels…heavy, quiet...expectant. The mansion looks massive, unyielding. It could be the modern columns holding up the second floor. Or the large mahogany door with its wrought iron black hinges and delicate forming scrollwork. The windows are floor-to-ceiling; the walls are all cement and stone smoothed out to perfection. Every inch of this house feels like it was designed with a purpose in mind. And that purpose was and is to imbue fear. The person who owns this house has to be a king or has a power that rivals one. This house reminds me of a beautiful fortress. It’s a deliberate declaration of power. The owner is saying subtly that this is their property.
There are small red shrubs that line both sides of the walkway. I can see solar lights stuck in the ground.
Hecate skips up the stairs, screaming, “Ares!”
Ares? What kind of name is that? What is he? The God of War or something?
Hecate pushes her hand against the door, and it opens diagonally without a fuss. The apps on her watch are amazing.
“Ares, stop hiding!” Hecate shouts. Inside, the walls are a blend of dark wood and white walls, clean. A grand double-curved staircase made out of dark wood is the first thing I see when I step on the marble-covered floor. The chandelier is a delicate mix of modern and antique. There is a beautiful blend of scrollwork, cast detailing, wrought iron, and wooden finishes with crystals.
“By the first flame! Ares!”
Maybe Ares is not as great as his name. Maybe he is a little man with lots of money. The name must make him feel big. I chuckle to myself.
“Something funny?” the deep voice behind me asks, and everything stops inside me. I was wrong. I step forward and turn. There is nothing small about this man.
He stands at 6’7, and his body is carved with muscles as if he were chiseled from stone. I can’t put my finger on it, but there is a raw, magnetic beauty about him. Dark hair frames a face that I can only describe as strong and rugged. A firm jaw, strong chin. His eye tells a tale of dangerous confidence. But his perfection is fractured. One side of his face is handsome; the other side shows signs of an injury from long ago. A jagged, gnarly, pink scar runs from the top of his forehead all the way to his chin.
