Page 59 of The Sirin Sisterhood (The Sons of Echidna #2)

Lucy

Lucy was awake.

She remembered that she’d been enjoying sweet iced tea, a peace offering from Agata, and her fear as her body slowly locked around her.

She was awake when she hit the floor, and she was awake when her body was wrapped in a sheet and then stuffed into the suffocating straw.

She was awake to hear voices and songs, the celebrations meant to honor her.

She heard Klein’s voice calling her name as he looked for her at the party, but she couldn’t answer.

She couldn’t even take a deep breath, her body struggling to pump the oxygen through her paralyzed body.

Lucy was awake when she smelled the smoke.

Awake when she felt the heat.

Awake when she saw the embers.

Lucy was awake when the flames reached her.

She couldn’t scream, she couldn’t move.

She couldn’t die.

All she could do was burn.

The fire stripped away her flesh, and the pain stripped away her humanity.

All that was left was her anger. Red and hot, burning brighter than the effigy.

She would make them pay for their treachery. All of them. She would seize the flames and unleash them on the coven tenfold, a hundredfold, scorching everything in her way.

The fire was beginning to fade. The pain was not. There was nothing left of her but memories, playing out in her mind as though they were begging her to remember who she really was. She tried to push them away. They were nothing but annoying distractions from her fury.

Remember the trials you won ,the persistent, hopeful voice insisted.

Think of the journey.

Xim is missing you. You can still taste her kiss, can’t you?

Don’t you remember the escape from the manor?

The fire? That memory made her flinch, the heat of the flames blistering her skin.

Eleanore, you need to remember.

Eleanore? Was that her name? It didn’t feel right. The memories of ruin and despair belonged to Eleanore, but they weren’t her own; they were stolen, snatched from Eleanore’s mind as they’d connected, and now they were fighting to stay.

“Lucy!”Lai’s pained cry called to her.

Lucy? Who was Lucy?

She was rage. She was hatred. She was Eleanore.

◆◆◆

Lucy looked down at them from high above, weightless. Painless. The memory of Eleanore’s hatred that she’d stolen from her at the manor haunted her body like a ghost, keeping it held together though sheer spite, while Lucy’s spirit floated freely above it.

She watched Lai’s desperation as he fought to get to her now useless body, having to be dragged away, kicking and screaming, to keep from plunging into the flames with her.

She couldn’t leave him yet. She had made a promise. The intent that had kept the cheap friendship bracelet on her wrist even as she’d burned had grounded the fledgling Goddess before her spirit could dissolve into nothingness.

Now, she floated between life and death, watching Lai fight and Klein search for a knife. His recent transformation was forgotten in his fury, and he was determined to shift again, to enact her revenge on her behalf. Her heart ached for him. Klein wasn’t that cruel; the regret would eat him alive.

As she watched, she noticed glowing energy gathering around her. It was not the threads that she was used to, though. They were orbs of light—offerings to the Goddess raised up to the heavens amidst the smoke from the pyre. Reluctantly, she concentrated on the power, testing it.

It greeted her like an old friend. The orbs sank into her, bolstering her spirit with the prayers of the coven, filling her with strength and clarity.

The prayers weren’t enough, not if she wanted to go back into her body.

Emboldened, she reached further, her senses alive, following the orbs of light and power.

She realized there was more of it, and she climbed up into the heavens until she ran headfirst into a solid wall of ancient energy.

It was made of bricks of light, the prayers and worship of centuries stretching in a massive dome over the forest, each generation of witches adding to the protective barrier that cut them off from the outside world and kept them safe in their village.

Now that, that was what Lucy needed. She closed her eyes and pulled the light towards herself, dismantling ancient spells and converting them into the golden threads that fueled her, weaving them around herself.

The prayers that had been left unanswered for so long clung hungrily to the willing Goddess, giving her their power.

It was slow at first, but the flow was unstoppable as she opened herself to it.

The light poured into her too fast, too much to control, making it hard for her to think, making it hard for her to breathe.

The blissful trickle had turned into a tidal wave of mortal hope—hope for love, hope for power, hope for riches, hope for the fall of enemies, and for the fruition of selfish desires.

Hope that had lingered for centuries untold, preventing healing and stopping souls from moving on, souls so full of hope of return that they ignored the hope of something better than their short, sad lives in the beyond.

The newly forged Goddess stood no chance against the relentless force that was hope.

Lucy tried to push it away. She had enough, but the prayers almost began to burn her anew. She screamed, feeling her newly made flesh begin to catch alight.

It stopped.

The flames died suddenly, and the corpse’s eyes opened, revealing a bright blue glow. The blackened skin cracked as it moved, showing pink, unblemished skin underneath.

Lucy stepped out of the ashes of her own pyre like a phoenix out of the inferno’s embrace, her new power forged by the divine flames.

With every step, she infused life into the scorched earth beneath her.

Her hair, burned away by the flames, had grown anew.

The brand she bore on her breast was the only mark left from her past. Unmarked by the fire, a silver bracelet flashed and glittered around her wrist.

She looked through the crowd and locked eyes with Agata.

The head of the coven recognized her, a firebird facing a firebird. And she was holding something in her hands.

A jar. Its lid was open, the stopper hanging from a string tied to the neck. Lucy watched as it collected the last of the torrential flood of hope that had almost overpowered Lucy.

To thank or to punish? Lucy battled the conflicting urges.

The bitter part of her that had lingered inside her corpse wanted to drag Agata into the pyre and make her feel everything Lucy had endured, make her burn.

But more pain would not solve anything, and Lucy’s eyes had been opened.

She had felt Agata’s prayers empowering her and reviving her.

Please, spare my sisters.

What do I do? I beg you, show me how to save them.

Why won’t you answer me? Send me a sign, Goddess. Show me that my path is true.

Please. I don’t know what to do.

Agata tried to do what was right, even if her methods were wrong. Lucy knew that struggle all too well. She saw herself in the witch, trying to protect her family and sacrificing her humanity to do so.

Punish her!

No.

She wouldn’t be a cruel god. She wouldn’t retaliate.

She would not burn down their home. She would not follow in Eleanore’s footsteps.

The story had repeated itself too often, and Lucy needed to break the cycle.

If she didn’t, her hate would create another angry young woman, another Eleanore, her home in ruins, and her mind slowly consumed by revenge.

She looked around at the silent sea of faces that watched her, awaiting her judgment.

Any one of them could become the next link in the endless chain. But it wouldn’t be by her hand.

As one the students dropped to their knees, foreheads pressed against the wet soil in front of the Goddess, lips frantically muttering prayers, filling Lucy with more power, a feeling she was learning to enjoy.

The few fresh prayers felt like gentle touches, soothing, nothing like the avalanche that had drowned her before.

Agata stood in front of her, her head lowered in resignation.

A cruel god, she called her once. Lucy was proud to prove her wrong.

Lai broke free from his brother, pale-faced. He was covered in burns and soot, his tears cutting channels through the ashy smears on his cheeks. He stumbled towards her.

She met him halfway, reaching up to gently wipe away his tears. The silver bracelet on her wrist flashed in delight at being so close to its other half.

“I’m okay. Please don’t cry.”

“I’m not crying. I got smoke in my eyes.”He tried to laugh, scrubbing his face on his sleeve and steadying his breath.

Lucy chuckled. “You aren’t going to admit you were upset?”

“I am now. I thought we were having a barbecue. Turns out it was just you under all that nice, crisp crackling.”Lai grinned, his eyes still wet.

Klein stood back, staring at Lucy in awe while the coven respectfully averted their gazes.

“Stop that, Klein,”Lucy grumbled, flustered by all the attention.

Her humanity returned hard and fast, filling her with the potent cocktail of human emotions that came along with it.

Embarrassment carried the top notes for the moment.

Especially while she was naked. Maybe goddesses weren’t supposed to be ashamed of their nudity, but she was still human enough to blush.

Klein quickly lowered his eyes, allowing Lucy some privacy. Lai didn’t. He reached over to touch her, pinching her upper arm and squeezing her side.

“Medium-rare. I prefer my meat well-done,”he whispered with relief, and Lucy swatted his hand away.

A group of students separated from the rest, heads bowed, as they stripped in front of Lucy, joining in her nakedness as they tossed aside their clothes and offered her the gifts that would normally get burned in her honor: hand-carved talismans, jewelry, and richly embroidered scarfs.

Lucy felt a small burst of energy with each gift laid out to her.

They worshiped her, and she could feel it.

“Um, thank you. Everyone, stand up, please. Continue with the festivities. Just no more burning people.”Lucy looked around nervously. The other members of the coven were following suit, jolted out of their reverie by their sisters, stripping down to bare flesh to match their new Goddess.

“I don’t think they understand you,”Lai looked a little stunned.

He turned to speak to the women in their own tongue, translating for Lucy.

The songs resumed, but no one bothered to dress, gathering around Lucy and lifting her in their arms. Their worship, adoring and pure with unbroken faith, made her skin glow like she was on fire from within.

“Oh shit, what’s happening?”Lucy asked, feeling like she had slammed four shots of vodka in a row and chased them down with a Red Bull, her head spinning pleasantly.

Unlike the rush of caffeine, though, the rush of power wasn’t followed by anxiety.

Instead, she’d never felt more calm. Each student sang to their Goddess, asking for her blessing, their hands caressing every inch of Lucy’s body, offering faith and pleasure in exchange.

It was almost too much for Lucy, but eventually, intoxicated by their adoration, she relaxed into their attention and touches.

She was thankful and just a tiny bit disappointed when Lai took his cue to leave and dragged Klein out behind him.

Freya approached Lucy as if in a trance, one arm out to touch the Goddess.

She was staying, at least. Lucy was glad and eager to indulge the woman’s curiosity, and Freya wasn’t afraid of her; she was just fascinated.

It wasn’t every day you got to fuck a literal God, and Lucy could sense the intentions of the crowd.

There was just one matter to deal with first.

Lucy gently stepped away from the coven’s touches as Agata took a few steps towards her, dropping to her knees.

“Forgive me, my Goddess. I was misguided.”

Lucy was unimpressed. “You said I would be betrayed. I should have listened to you.”

“I will accept my punishment.”The woman slid her arms from her sleeves and pushed her dress down to her waist, her breasts bared in offering.

She raised her hands, holding out a silver dagger.

Lucy noticed that it looked identical to Freya’s, something they carried as sisters.

The witch wasn’t trying to trick her anymore.

Lucy felt a surge of energy as a devotee offered her their life.

“This sacrifice is offered willingly.”

“Idon’t want your sacrifice,”Lucy said. “I’ll be taking Freya, though, for a little while. I’ll give her back,”she promised clumsily, unable to concentrate as Freya’s hands closed around her hips and drew her back to the coven. She dismissed Agata, offering her forgiveness with a simple wave.

Eager, worshiping lips were joined by curious fingers. Warm mouths and soft tongues took turns sucking gently on Lucy’s nipples. Her boldest believers offered their devotions lower down, embracing her, tasting her.

The loving touches were as passionate as the rusalki but with none of the pain.

Lucy pulled one of the women close to her, kissing her while her hands reached out, touching whoever was closest to her.

Trying to pleasure them as well, each of her touches multiplying their powers, igniting their magic.

Some could not contain their elation, tears streaming down their faces as they basked in the radiance of a Goddess.