“Yes, they prophesied that someday, one of Selene’s descendants would cause the rise of Atlantis. It would be a girl born on a day that doesn’t exist, a motherless child and childless mother whose emotions brew like a storm her whole life until she couldn’t withstand them anymore. And she wept.” Eureka swallowed. “And flooded the world with her tears. That’s me. I’m her.”
“So you don’t know the most important part.” With great care Esme smoothed the missing pages, held them up to the amethyst light. “Do you remember where you left off with your imposter translator?”
“I remember.” Eureka unzipped her bag and pulled out the plastic-sheathed book. She turned to a wrinkled page flagged with a green Abyssinian lovebird feather. She pointed at the bottom corner, where the text tapered off. “Selene and Leander were separated in a shipwreck. They never saw each other again, but Selene said”—Eureka paused to remember her exact words—“ ‘The witches’ prophecy is the only lasting remnant of our love.’ ”
“Your translator guessed correctly. We witches clearly are the stars of this story, but there is one other … lasting remnant about which you should know.” Esme held the parchment up to the light again, closed her eyes, and uttered Selene’s missing words:
“For many restless years I have kept the final chapter of my story locked inside my heart. I painted a romance using only bright colors. I sought to leave out the darkness, but as the colors of my life begin to fade, I must allow the narratory darkness in.
“I must face what happened with the child …
“The last time I kissed Leander, we were sailing from the only home we’d ever known. The ghost robot Ovid steered our ship. We had stolen it to help us. It was still empty, devoid of souls. We hoped Ovid’s absence might slow the Filling, that once we reached our destination, it might reveal how to defeat Atlas.
“Leander’s caress soothed me when skies darkened; his embrace reassured me when they wept a chilling rain. He kissed me nine times, and with each tender touch of his lips, my lover changed:
“First came the lines around his smile.
Then his blond hair grew white.
His skin became papery, loose.
His embrace slackened weakly around my body.
His whisper became hoarse.
The need in his eyes dimmed.
His kiss lost its urgent lust.
His frame stooped in my arms.
“After his last, weary kiss, he pointed to the woven basket he had carried onboard. I assumed it contained a nuptial cake, perhaps some ambrosial wine to toast our love.
“ ‘What’s mine is yours,’ he said.
“I lifted the basket’s lid and heard the babe’s first cry.
“ ‘This is my daughter,’ he said. ‘She does not have a name.’
“When he had bid Delphine farewell, she presented the child—the child they shared. Leander could not bear to leave the infant with an evil mother, so he grabbed her and he ran. As he did so, Delphine cursed him:
“He would age rapidly if he loved anyone but her.
“I asked him jealous questions about the baby, about his love for Delphine, but he struggled to remember. His mind had become as feeble as his body.
“The child cooed in her bassinet. I feared her. What would she do, when she was older and felt betrayed? I looked at the sea and knew she would do worse things than her mother.
“I lost my love in that storm—Leander was so decrepit by the time a thick bolt of lightning split our ship, I knew he must have perished in the wreck that followed.
“But his daughter survived.
“When I awoke on a windswept abandoned shore, I found Ovid submerged in wet sand—and the baby in her bassinet, at the edge of soft ocean waves. I thought of killing her, leaving her to die—but she had his eyes. She was all I had left of my love.
“In the early years the robot, the girl, and I spent together, I almost forgot who her real mother was. She was my treasure, my life.
“Over time, the girl grew to be like her mother.
“For seventeen years I kept her hidden, until one day I returned from bathing to find her disappeared. Ovid knew which path she’d taken, but something told me not to follow. Like a flame suddenly extinguished, she was gone, and I was cold and alone.
“I never saw her again. I had never given her a name.”