Page 56 of Fear No Hell
I wave my hand in an awkward dismissal. It wouldn’t have mattered even if she had known.
She likely wouldn’t have been able to do anything about it besides potentially putting me in an enchanted cage of her own, so I wasn’t a risk to the humans we were meant to be inspiring.
I would have traded my cage in Arthur’s attic for one in my childhood home.
I shiver. No, it’s for the best she didn’t know.
“If Phoibê bound Lila’s powers, then why is she reverting to her true self and appearance?” Sam suddenly speaks up. He’s using his doctor voice, the one that demands answers.
“That, I don’t know. Phoibê’s powers are formidable; so much so that she bore the dark goddess of witchcraft, Hecate.
Calliope’s true powers were never supposed to become unbound, although Phoibê did acknowledge a daimonic trigger might be enough to break her binding spell.
” Her gaze sharpens on Sam. “What did you say your name was, dear boy?”
“Sam Eaton.”
“And you’re a mortal?”
“As far as I can tell.” Underneath my weight, Sam twitches. It’s a subtle tell—one my mother doesn’t see—of my sweet doctor’s ongoing concerns about his paternity, especially given Arthur’s ramblings that night. “Nothing really all that special about me.”
Nothing special except for bringing me back from the dead. Making me feel safe and giving me room to feel strong again. I keep those to myself, though, because I know they aren’t relevant to the conversation.
“Hmm.” She wrinkles her nose. The subtle rose scent I’ve always associated with her magic fills the room as she probes at his memories, taking his measure with her power. “I’m not so sure about that. There’s something odd about you, young human.”
Mouth dropping open, Sam gapes at her. “What—"
“I think you should—” Her eyes glaze, the expression a familiar one to me: she’s being summoned.
Once they clear, she starts over. “You should discuss—” She freezes again before shaking away the summoning.
“If I were you—” The haze descends over her gaze again, this time paired with a snapped, “Alright, alright, I’m coming! ”
She extends a hand to me, a stern look of concentration on her face as if she isn’t going to allow whoever’s summoning her to distract her once more. “Calliope. Would it be—perhaps I could come see you again? In the future?”
I’m not ready to rebuild our relationship.
Not after she ignored me for so long. Even if she wasn’t aware of what Arthur was doing, she still heard my increasingly desperate pleas for her, my countless summonings, and chose to disregard them.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to show up without warning,” I respond slowly.
“Perhaps, if I call for you again, you could come immediately? Rather than waiting for almost a month or ignoring me entirely?”
Sam nuzzles a supportive caress against my hair.
“I would like that.” Slowly, my mother stands from her chair and crosses to where I’m nestled in Sam’s lap.
She’s agonizingly tentative when she bends down, brushes a light kiss along my cheek, and whispers for my ears only, “I am sorry, my darling daughter. If you never believe anything else I say, please know I regret leaving you to a monster when I might have been able to help.”
I can’t bring myself to respond, so I nod.
“I… I will wait for your summons. I hope to hear from you someday.” Rising to her full height, she squares her shoulders and looks down her nose at Sam. “Protect my daughter, dear boy.”
“I always will but not for your sake.” Unwavering, as if he didn’t insult a Titaness to her face, Sam stares my mother down. “Anything and everything I do is for Lila alone. It’s just a bonus—and one I don’t really care about, honestly—if you’re happy too.”
A rare smile touches my mother’s lips. “You’re good for her, young human. No matter what you may be.”
Without another word, she stalks towards the wall where the portal to Mount Helikon has appeared once more.
One foot planted on the mountainside, the other firmly in our dining room, she glances over her shoulder and gives me a tiny nod before stepping through the gateway.
It snaps shut behind her, taking with it the smells of my long-ago home.
The briny scent of the Aegean Sea. The subtle citrus of the fir trees that populate the mountain.
The rich smell of magic that permeates the area after millennia of powerful gods populating the region.
None of it smells like home to me anymore.
Home is the spearmint, oud, and inexplicable darkness of Sam’s scent.
It's the deep sound of his voice when he calls for me as he walks through the front door.
The steadiness of him as he supports me in everything, no matter how unhinged or criminal it may be.
Home is Sam.
With my mother gone, we’re quiet, me snuggled against him, held to his chest by his tight hold.
Sam breaks the silence first.
“Is it just me or did that somehow raise more questions than answers?”
I huff a laugh into his neck. “Which part? Me being the queen of daimons or there being ‘something odd about you, young human.’”
“Yes. All of it.” He snickers, the sound dying away too quickly, replaced by a deep sigh. “I really need to talk to my mom.”
Rather than answer, I stroke my hand down the side of his face, relishing the way he turns into my palm, lips pressing softly against my skin.
“What am I supposed to do, live in her house until she deigns to come back? Keep leaving her voicemails? Legit, I have no idea how to get my own mother to stop ghosting me. It would almost be funny if it weren’t at the literal worst possible time for her to go radio silent.”
“You still have a few weeks left before you start back up at the hospital, right?”
He nods. “Two weeks. I start on July 16th.”
“So let’s start doing every other day visits to her house, and you call her on the days we don’t.
Eventually, one way or another, we’re going to get ahold of her and get some answers.
” His brow is still furrowed, so I press a thumb to it and rub gently at the deep lines until they start to loosen. “My love, we’ll figure this out.”
He hums out a sound that may be agreement.
“Since we can’t do anything about it tonight, how about we eat this incredible dinner you made for us?”
“It may be cold,” he comments offhandedly.
"That’s what a microwave is for.” I wiggle in his lap until I’m sure I—and not whatever dark thoughts are clouding his eyes—have his attention. “Even cold, I’m sure it’s better than my attempt at it was.”
The concern in Sam’s eyes vanishes as he laughs, the happy sound sending my heart soaring in happiness. “It wasn’t bad.”
“Oh, pet, it absolutely was,” I comment. “But I love you for trying to make me feel better about it.”
His eyes crinkle with his smile. “Always.”
Together, we eat our way through the casserole Sam prepared while we process the cataclysmic information my mother shared. There’s still a piece of the puzzle missing, something I can’t shake loose, an element I don’t understand.
Sitting in Sam’s arms, laughing with him as we try to forget the darkness all around us, it doesn’t feel quite as urgent as it otherwise might.