“No!” I shout.
As soon as the room is drowned in stars, Dark Matter pulses out from the heart of Virgo, and I hear a screeching noise, like the shrieking that came from my black opal. For a moment, I can only stare, petrified.
Moira stands and looks around, her gaze crinkled, as if she hears the psychic disturbance but it doesn’t overpower her as it does me. “The Psy has been unsteady since the disaster on House Cancer,” she murmurs, more to herself than to me.
She points to the Triple Virgin constellation. “On Virgo, as I’m sure you know, we have our own version of the Ophiuchus myth. Here, he’s represented as a serpent who tempts Aeroth and Evandria, a virtuous Virgo couple who stray off the pure gardening path. He leads them into temptation. Yet in all my years as Guardian, I have never seen a shred of evidence to prove Ophiuchus is or ever was real. Now show me his Thirteenth House, if you can.”
“He’ll see us!” I scream, once I’ve regained my voice. “Please, shut this down!” I leap to my feet and reach for the projector, but it’s too high.
“You’re being absurd.” She moves away as if I might infect her with my lunacy.
“Empress Moira, trust me. You don’t want to draw his attention. He’s . . .”
Moira’s not listening. She’s staring into her Ephemeris, transfixed.
I start to shout, “Turn it off—!”
But a voice like a hurricane is already blasting through my mind. There you are, Empress Moira. I’ve long been savoring the thought of this day.
23
THE PHANTOM BILLOWS INTO THE ROOM, a man-shaped wind devil, overturning chairs and whipping Moira’s clothes. Half tempest, half glacial frost, he whirls around Moira and almost lifts her off her feet.
Whispers echo from every corner of the room, the words swimming through the air we’re breathing. Virgin Empress . . . first-order master of the Psy . . . so meticulous in all your dealings.
“What are you?” Moira tries to push him away, but he constricts around her with suffocating force.
I’ve prepared some entertainment for you, Empress. Today, you will watch your House fracture and fade . . . as I watched mine.
She squirms and thrashes, her face going gray with shock.
Don’t struggle so hard, teases Ochus. I want you very much alive to see my little show.
“Let go of her!” I yell.
Ochus’s stormy face shifts toward me, and his features harden to glaring ice. It’s not your turn right now.
Moira’s lips are blue. “Leave her alone!” I shout.
With a malevolent smile, he releases Moira and moves toward me. Foolish child, you think you’re brave.
I edge backward, but he’s too fast. His icy hands reach for my throat. “Get away,” I moan, punching wildly.
Trust Only What You Can Touch, Acolyte, he taunts, gripping my throat. Can you feel me? Am I trustworthy?
My airways tighten, and the lack of oxygen rushes to my brain, making my vision blurry. I’m desperate to fight him, desperate to defend Virgo, desperate to save these people from what happened to mine.
The thought of my House focuses me in the Psy, steadying the chaos in my mind. The physical pain becomes more present, like I’m moving closer to its true source. When I’m steady enough, adrenaline and survival instinct compel me to take a swing.
At last, my fist connects with something solid and bitterly cold. I push against it, straining my mental will. His freezing skin burns my fingers.
You’re stronger this time. His words fly like hailstones.
My hand starts turning black, but I manage to throw another punch, and a crack runs down his icy face. His gravelly laughter grates my ears. Stronger, yes, but still unripe. Yet today’s battle is not on water—it’s on land.
His shape dissolves and he shrinks away, retreating into the Ephemeris, until he vanishes into the region beyond Pisces. I fall to the ground, my skin still burning, as the room grows quiet.
Moira is still staring wild-eyed at the place where Ochus had been, her hair tumbling loose. I survey my aching hands, but they’re undamaged. The pain wasn’t real. . . . It was an illusion.
When I look at Moira again, she’s giving me a long, penetrating stare. Just as she seems about to speak, we’re interrupted by an ear-splitting clap of thunder. “Windows on!” she commands, pulling herself upright. “I’ve forecast no storms today.”
As soon as the glass clears, we see a bolt of lightning streak down and singe the nearby field, followed by another bolt, and then another. Soon, lighting is forking across every visible patch of sky.
A lurid storm cloud foams directly above us, flashing ugly purple and red. It spreads wider, shading the ground below, and then an acidic rain starts to pummel the ground, burning through the green and grain like fire.
Moira turns to me in terror. “A Psy weapon? How was this hidden from me?”