When we stopped in front of the gates, I handed the driver a couple of twenties and sprinted toward Sheridan’s grave, my heart hammering away. I stopped in front of it with a pant, resting my hands on my knees. The dirt lay upturned around the grave, like something had come out. The smell of fresh-tilled earth filled the air. It’d already claimed her.
I stood up straight and rubbed my wrist as a slight searing rippled through my tattoo. Yes, it was still here! I hurried down the sidewalk with my wrist held out like some sort of homing beacon. Left. Now to the right. The burning intensified as I came to a part of the path that led up the hill. The setting sun blazed behind me, turning the sky into a pumpkin shade. I clenched my fist and marched up the hill, ready to face whatever the ker had to throw at me, even if it was a gravestone.
The steady, high-pitched squeaking reached me before I crested the hill, and something in the pit of my stomach tightened. I sucked in a sharp breath as the burning on my wrist intensified. I got the bitch.
At the bottom of the hill, a man and a woman stood near a tall gravestone of a weeping angel Their heads, one blonde and one gray haired, were bent, looking at something on the ground. As I crept closer, using the taller headstones as cover, their conversation drifted to me.
“You can just use this one as a new vessel,” said the gravelly voice of the janitor I’d heard arguing with Hermes. “Leave the other one to me like I wanted in the first place.”
“But this one is old and broken.” Sheridan’s voice rasped. “I wanted the young one.”
“Well, you ruined things for me. So, that’s not happening.”
The ker made a snorting sound. “Don’t blame me. You still haven’t gotten rid of the god.”
“He’s an annoyance. Nothing more,” the man said. “Just avoid him and we shouldn’t have a problem.”
“That’s hard since he’s hanging around the pandoran. You’re going to have to deal with him.”
“I’ll think of something.”
The old man squatted, and my view was obscured by the angel. I crept to an adjacent grave that provided a clear view of their focus. My heart leapt in my throat, and I was mentally transported back to that night with my mother. The world lost its color, and the warm air couldn’t stop the artic chills that spread over me.
A wheelchair lay on its side with its top wheel turning with a squeak. My aunt’s body lay sprawled in the grass as blood spread from her midsection, redder than her hair.
Patterns of white-blue and orange tinted the world around me, and a wave of heat flashed through me, burning the chill away to nothing. The grief that threated to rise up was consumed by the need to burn it all. I stood. The ker turned with Sheridan’s pale, dead eyes going wide with surprise. The janitor looked up at me and grinned as he crouched over my aunt’s corpse.
“Hello, little spider,” he said. “Welcome to my web.”
“I don’t remember there being any spider daimones.” Tiny flames danced around my fingertips. I couldn’t hold back an inferno for long.
He got to his feet with a grunting laugh. “No, but I am a weaver of sorts. Of destines.”
I raised an eyebrow. “The Fates travel in three.”
His grin twisted to a scowl and he hissed. “My sisters are always getting the fame. Those three need each other to drive men to their end. There’s only me to bring doom.”
“Moros.” The wind tore his name from my lips and spread it across the cemetery despite my soft utterance. “Doom and depression.”
He let out a soft sigh. “It feels so good to be remembered, even if it is by a foolish pandoran.”
Fire flared around my fists. “I’ll make sure you’re forgotten.”
The ker scooped up my aunt’s wheelchair with one hand, spun, and hurled it at me. I threw myself to the side into a roll and came up on one knee on the concrete sidewalk. The air thickened, and the dimmer sky became even darker. Moros’s influence slithered in my mind, trying to raise the sorrow buried in the pit of my stomach. Instead, the fire inside rose up and incinerated the connection. He yelled as the sleeve of his corduroy jacket caught aflame.
He dropped to the ground and bashed his arm against the grass repeatedly. I spread my hand in the ker’s direction, and a ball of flame burst from my palm. She dove to the side and the fire hit the grave behind her with a sizzle.
Moros scowled at the ker. “You told me she was weak.”
“She is.” Sheridan’s voice rasped out. “And predictable. It’s just a little fire.”
“Just a little?” Heat rushed through my body. “Fine. Let’s amp it up for you.”