When she’d seen what the Helyx had done to him, her heart had been in her throat. She’d chased them into the sky but wasn’t fast enough to catch them. Relief that he was still alive when she fished his broken body out of the water had been all too sweet. She almost never used the cursed sight, but she’d been compelled to do so now, for his sake more than her own.
Why? Why was she engaging him and this utterly foolish desire to be by his side?
When she agreed to help him, she’d told herself it was about being a thorn in Poseidon’s side and ruining Olympian schemes and that was mostly true. As they walked in silence, the remaining villagers scampering out of their way to hide in their sad hovels, terrible memories drew her backward through time, back to the beginning of her days with his family and the end of her humanity.
Medusa had come from a far-off land seeking knowledge and adventure. She was young then. She’d always been told her great beauty would bring her fame and fortune but that had been meaningless to her after she’d come to this country and found their gods. Found Athena, wise and strong, everything Medusa wished she could be.
She grew to love Athena and wanted nothing more than to serve her and learn from her. But that worship had come with a price too heavy to pay. After the fateful night when Medusa had been cornered and abused by the God of the Sea within the temple itself, her soul shattered like her innocence, Athena had appeared before her. When Medusa raged at the injustice of Poseidon’s assault and begged for help in avenging herself or at least for protection, what was great Athena’s answer? To turn Medusa into a creature she didn’t recognize and damn her sisters too, for good measure.
“But why?” Medusa had cried, helplessly watching her own brown skin turn green and feeling the long locks of her hair come alive. “Why would you punish me?”
Athena had smiled as she rose into the sky. For the first time, Medusa realized the gleam in the goddess’s eyes wasn’t brilliance or benevolence. It was madness.
“I’m doing this to protect you. No one will ever lust for you again, and no one will survive your wrath if they do. Snakes. Wings. Burning Blood. A Witch’s Sight. I gift you the power to defeat them all.”
But that hadn’t been the end of it. Perseus had admitted the sword, the shield, the shoes, even the special anti-acid sack he’d brought had been given to him by Hermes and Athena. Cheap trinkets meant for her doom. The Olympians would never let her be. They were nothing but a pack of psychopaths ruining the lives of nearly everyone that crossed their path. Medusa had sworn after her forced metamorphosis to thwart them whenever she could. She’d done that, and now after all of that terrible history, was she really going to risk heart ruin with another member of that awful family, a man they’d sent to kill her?
It has to be masochism. She must be addicted to trouble, to the irresistible chaos Perseus represented. Recognizing it still wasn’t stopping the foolish fantasy that had been growing since their night together. The fantasy that things could be different with him.
Stop it,she told herself with frustration. No matter what he said, he was one of them. And on top of that, his heart was already claimed.
Medusa was quite certain that despite his sweet words and attentiveness to her in the dark of night, he was all in for Andromeda. From what she’d heard, Andromeda was the rare combination of true outer and inner beauty. People adored her; her praises were sung by the entire kingdom of Ethiopia and beyond. There was no way Perseus, as hot-blooded and loving as he was, couldn’t be enraptured with the princess. Risking his life for Andromeda’s was a cost he seemed prepared to pay, gladly.
“I think we need to talk,” Perseus said, breaking into the labyrinth of thought she was trapped in, as if he knew what was going through her mind. “About me and Andromeda—”
“Oh, look. It’s Stone Carver’s property,” she said, her voice almost cracking trying to sound like her normal self.
She feared what he was going to say. This close to his beloved princess, he was probably going to let her down easy with the truth that Medusa didn’t want to hear just then.
Perseus sighed and followed her to the lopsided wooden gate that separated Stone Carver’s house from the path and went in. Smoke curled from the lone chimney in the large sun-scorched, bone-white stone structure. Bundles of herbs and tiny bits of sea glass were strung in the windows and over the front door. They were Stone Carver’s talismans to protect him from Cetus’s minions when they got out of control. Medusa hoped he was home and unharmed in the madness they’d unleashed.
But the ancient miracle worker wasn’t there. Medusa looked at the half-eaten roasted fish and a half-empty cup of grog on the table. He must have heard what was happening and took off to find someplace safe to wait it out. Smart man, which is how he’d lasted this long. She wasn’t sure how old he was, but he was older than her and Cetus both.
“Dammit,” Medusa murmured, looking around the tidy cottage with her hand on her hip.
“Do you think we might have killed him by accident if he was in town?” Perseus asked, looking around with an unreadable expression.
“No, he’s in hiding. He’d know better than to run toward a fight rather than away. We’ll have to hope when we’re done with Cetus, he’ll come back so we can get that cure. You don’t want to…”
“Don’t want to what, look like this forever?” Perseus asked with a slight grin, raking his face with light claws.
“Lose yourself. Become an outcast.” She held her arms up and bowed with a sarcastic smile. “You won’t like going from the golden boy to the thing everyone is taught to hate. Trust me.”
She paused to avail herself of some fresh water from the barrel outside and washed her face, wings and arms of blood. Perseus did the same. He was quiet as they left Stone Carver’s cottage emptyhanded. Medusa didn’t have much more to say either as they reached the shoreline, the rocky coast littered with rotting seaweed. A channel separated them from another island. The stones were slippery with green slime. Even the water seemed thicker, oily and roiling and foul-smelling. Clapping his blanket over his nose and mouth, Perseus coughed.
“This is awful,” he said. They both looked at the stone cottages and the towers that dotted the other side of the channel. It was still daytime but here it was darker in the shadow of the towers. “I’m going to bet she’s in one of those.”
“I’d bet you were right,” Medusa said. “You’ve got keen eyesight. What can you see?”
Perseus concentrated, then grimaced. “I see her. She’s in that third stone tower, to the left.”
“I wonder where Cetus is,” Medusa said, looking at the water. “I can’t sense him.”
“Maybe he left after we beat his friends?” he suggested, rubbing his facial hair.
He’d grown much hairier since the Helyx encounter. She rather liked it. Being honest, she loved it, even as she knew they needed to reverse it for his sake.
“Maybe but let’s not assume.”
