‘What was that pattern we saw?’ I managed to ask. ‘That was familiar, like an old symbol of some kind. It’s in one of my mother’s books on ancient Celtic myth, I think.’

  ‘Curious, this word “myth”,’ Deus remarked, and after a beat I knew what he meant. If there was one thing I’d learned since moving here, it was that many so-called myths were simply truths. ‘Perhaps you mean the symbol sometimes referred to as the triskele,’ he said.

  Yes, that’s it. It looked a bit like what I knew as an ancient Celtic symbol. But what had that symbol meant? Some said it was the triple goddess, others that it represented the three realms – land, sea and sky. Or hell, earth and heaven; or destroyer, sustainer, creator. Christians had sometimes used it to describe the Holy Trinity. And here we were in the Trinity Church graveyard. It had many meanings.

  ‘We had this symbol on our coins and pottery in Greece long ago,’ Deus explained, and it was still shocking to imagine he’d been around to see ancient coins in use. ‘The name comes from the Greek for three-legged but this symbol dates back at least to what you would describe as Neolithic times. In most cultures there is something like this described by the elders. Many religions have used it. It is called the triskele, triskelion or triple spiral, but there have been other names.’ He paused. ‘Are you okay, Pandora English, The Seventh?’

  I still seemed to be breathing fast. I hadn’t quite recovered from that perilously quick journey into the skies. Or perhaps it was the conversation, or who I was having it with, that quickened my breath. The blood bond was distracting, and I was far from coming to terms with what it meant. ‘I didn’t get a full breath of oxygen in before we went up there,’ I explained, and though that was true, it wasn’t the whole explanation for how I felt.

  ‘I am sorry,’ Deus told me solemnly. ‘I forget what it is like to need to breathe. I will take you home, if you like,’ he said, and opened his arms. ‘You have seen enough for now.’

  Deus stood in the dimly lit cemetery waiting for me to embrace him. For a moment I allowed myself to take him in – his magnetic ivory grin, the smooth, elegant lines of his body in the calming stillness of the old graveyard, moonlit and set against tombs of the dead he outdated by centuries, his dark suit, his outstretched arms and the cross his pose formed, mirroring a crucifix atop a weathered mausoleum behind him. Odd, this was. All of it. My body was distinctly stimulated by his presence, blood pumping, my heart still racing from the nearness of death I’d felt far above the world held in his grasp. And yet the idea of walking into his arms felt like a safe harbour. I did not fear he would drop me or endanger me, or latch on to my neck and drain me of my blood as he surely had done with hundreds or thousands of mortals in his time. Somehow, I trusted him. What was between us was exciting, mystifying perhaps, and yes I felt something physical. I knew somehow that Deus would not attempt to seduce me. Every action of the creature before me seemed at once dangerous and arousing, and yet calming, and I did not understand how that juxtaposition could exist. How could such a dark and capable creature be calming? Perhaps it was because I knew this ancient creature needed me, or at least he believed he did.

  For me, Deus was a protector. Though not a giant made of bronze like mythical Talos, he was nonetheless a powerful guardian animated by ichor. He was dangerous, yes. Deeply dangerous. But not to me.

  I took a breath, and feeling ready, I walked into the arms of the Kathakano vampire whose blood strengthened mine. He closed his cool embrace around me, held me tight, and we sped up and over the flowering trees of the beautiful cemetery, Manhattan flying past beneath us, and entered the supernatural ring of mist that surrounded my home with my great-aunt.

  I woke on Thursday morning before my alarm, feeling surprisingly refreshed despite the excitement of the previous two days and a lack of sleep. Last night had been fantastical, something I could not yet process. I may have dismissed it all as a vivid dream or nightmare if I did not know better. The bizarre dreams I’d had about drinking Deus’s blood had been real, too; something else to ponder. Drinking ancient Sanguine blood explained why I was so refreshed and full of vigour despite my lack of rest. But was it a blessing or a curse?

  Taking a deep breath, I reached over and turned off my alarm before it started up, then swung out of bed and made my way to my ensuite bathroom, eager to look myself over. The previous night had been intense, and it showed in my amber eyes, though not in the ways one might expect. There was no redness in them, despite the late night. The whites were clear, even extra bright. My amber pupils shone. Interesting. My hair was sitting softly at my shoulders, and I pulled it back on both sides and turned my head this way and that. My neck was unmarked. And I couldn’t help but notice that my skin was glowing. My complexion was usually pale – a Lucasta trait – but now it was particularly luminous. And I detected a faint tan on my chest and cheeks. I’d seen this before. This wasn’t from sun worship. To the contrary, I’d hardly seen the sun since moving to Spektor. No, this was from drinking Deus’s blood. It made a human extra UV sensitive to have vampire blood inside them. I’d have to take to wearing a hat.

  Frowning, I leaned towards the mirror and lifted my lips to examine my teeth. All human. No fangs. I wasn’t Sanguine, then. Just a blood drinker, I guess?

  Mom, what do you think of all this?

  I put the Babel Pendant on, the necklace sitting higher than the skeleton key on its longer, thin gold chain, deciding to wear it whenever I could, and I went about getting dressed and ready for the day.

  Today wasn’t just any day. Tonight would be the full moon, a special time to see my spirit guide Lieutenant Luke, though if I got caught up thinking about that, and him, I’d never get through my work. Before leaving for the Pandora magazine offices I tenderly touched the top of the envelope containing my mother’s letter, then packed my mother’s two books on ancient Egypt into my satchel, including the one on Hatshepsut herself.

  I looked to the book that had been beneath them, the one called Celtic Myth and Legend, and my eyes widened.

  There it was. The triskele.

  ‘Pandora?’ came a voice.

  I slammed my mother’s book shut, the image of the triskele etched in my mind. Earth, water and sky, spiritual, physical and celestial …

  It was late afternoon, nearly time to head home. The workday had gone fairly smoothly – so far. I had mostly kept my mind on work, though it was hard with the full moon coming, and with all I’d seen and learned the night before. All day I’d fetched an inordinate number of caffeinated beverages at Pepper’s request, typical for when we approached deadlines, and now at her beckoning I pushed the book I’d been peeking at aside, rose from my little cubicle and walked into her office, unsure what to expect next. A request for a skim soy chai latte, perhaps?

  (How banal these mortal demands were in the face of those green swirls of mist.)

  When I entered her office Pepper had several screens up with images from the Egyptian-themed shoot, and her desk was piled with magazines. As usual, I couldn’t help but notice her outfit – pinstriped linen from shoulder pad to fashionable ankle cuff. It was an off-white and beige ensemble that was a play on the masculine suit but softer and more draping for a spring fashion mood. Over the day it had wrinkled somewhat, but so high was the quality of the linen that this did not diminish the look. Perhaps to offset the softness of the linen, Pepper’s ice-blonde hair was styled in a tight, high ponytail that fell straight down her back. Every hair had been utterly tamed at some point early in the morning, and I marvelled that nothing had moved since. Did she spray it to death in the toilets when no one was looking? But wait, it was longer than usual, well past the shoulder blades, I noticed. Was this a new look? One with a hairpiece? Those temporary hairpieces were in vogue, I’d heard. I dared not ask, and stood straight as a soldier awaiting her command.

  ‘I have an invitation for you for Saturday night,’ Pepper said, much to my surprise, and that dead straight ponytail shifted barely perceptibly. She handed me a printed invitation card embellished in gold hieroglyphs and the name HATSHEPSUT. ‘You’ll need to take some notes about who is there, and who they are wearing, for the social section,’ she explained, not looking at me.

  ‘Of course,’ I responded, nodding and gripping the card. I was keen to see the Met exhibit on Hatshepsut, though I was more than a little worried about what my mother had said, and what I’d seen from on high over Manhattan, suspended in Deus’s arms. (Even the thought of him made me flush.) ‘Good then. Thanks,’ I said and something about the way I’d responded made her look up.

  Weird girl, I again imagined her thinking as she looked me over.

  ‘It’s a plus one invitation. You might like to take Jay,’ she suggested, and watched me.

  I resisted gulping, though my mouth came over all funny. The way she said his name seemed loaded, and the thought of him did make me feel conflicted. I suppose I should want to go to the fancy opening with Jay Rockwell, handsome (living) man about town, but I searched myself and found I did not. Going with my beloved Luke wasn’t an option either, or rather, if he attended he wouldn’t need a formal invitation.

  ‘I don’t think I will,’ I eventually responded. ‘I have someone else in mind.’

  Her already high eyebrows rose. ‘Is that so?’ It seemed now that her painted brows were somewhere near her tautly pulled hairline.

  I nodded.

  Pepper cocked her head. I thought I could see some pleasure there, perhaps. I knew she and Jay liked each other. I’d known that even before she became my boss. She shifted on her heels. ‘I want the who’s who and the basics,’ she told me, all business once more. ‘There will be a photographer taking official images, so you can concentrate on the rest.’

  That was an improvement. I did enjoy photography, but at a social event it was pretty stressful, I’d found, knowing you were on the clock and if you missed an important face or the shots didn’t turn out you would be in trouble. And walking up to strangers and asking to take their picture wasn’t the easiest. That kind of photography experience was not at all like spending time in the calm graveyards I’d photographed when I was younger, to say the least.

  ‘Would you like a brief piece on the launch event? Say five hundred words?’ I queried. Perhaps in amongst the who’s who and who’s wearing who, I could drop in a well-placed line about Hatshepsut herself and her fascinating history, I thought, but then felt ill at ease. Oh that’s right. You spoke with your dead mother. She died at the site of Hatshepsut’s tomb. A lump formed in my throat.

  ‘Good thinking,’ Pepper replied. ‘We may only have room for three hundred or so words, however,’ she said, nodding with a flick of her long ponytail. It moved like a whip.

  ‘And I’ll get my own byline?’ I dared to add.

  There was an awkward pause. This had been a problem between us before.

  ‘Yes,’ Pepper confirmed, her thin, painted lips barely moving. ‘You will have your own byline.’

  Good, I thought, and allowed myself a smile at this assurance. It was hardly going to be a groundbreaking piece to cover the social goings on of the Met launch but correct attribution matters. In that moment I realised I’d changed a lot since I’d started working there – I mean in human ways – because the fact is I wouldn’t have dared press an issue like that only a couple of months earlier. Perhaps I was gaining confidence, as Celia had suggested. I wouldn’t let Pepper grab credit for my work again, and I wouldn’t let my previous boss Skye push me around either.

  An image flashed into my mind of Skye DeVille flying through the air and hitting the street in Spektor with that sickening sound, and I stifled a shiver. Yes, a lot had changed.

  ‘Thank you,’ I said.

  ‘And well done bringing those books in. Ben has copied the relevant sections. I think it will help with the layout.’

  ‘My pleasure.’

  ‘I’ve been wanting to say, Pandora, that you’ve been here for a few months now and you shouldn’t be afraid to ask for a raise, if you want one,’ my boss said.

  I blinked. Well, I’ll be. Pepper was actually encouraging me, thanking me, inviting me to ask for an increase in pay? This was something. It had taken months to hear a single thank you from her and stealing credit for my work on the ‘Blood of Youth’ story hadn’t helped my view of her. (‘Additional reporting by Pandora English’. Please!) So either I was moving up at Pandora, which seemed to be the case, or she was developing some manners. Maybe it was both. Or maybe, with Skye gone, she was finding her own style of dealing with employees. With everything going on I honestly hadn’t even thought about a raise.

  ‘Thank you, Pepper,’ I said, feeling genuinely appreciative. ‘I will keep it in mind and get back to you soon.’

  ‘Good,’ she said, and turned away from me, getting right back to her work. I’d been dismissed, but with a smile on my face, at least.

  I gathered my mother’s books and packed up for the day, and for a change, it was right on five o’clock when I walked up to the reception on my way out.

  ‘Hey, Morticia, do you have a minute? I wanted to ask you something,’ I said, leaning on one arm and propping my heavy satchel up on the corner of the wide reception desk.

  My friend looked up and pushed the black, dyed hair out of her eyes. ‘Yes?’

  ‘Would you like to go to the Met exhibition opening with me on Saturday?’ I asked her. ‘I have a plus one.’

  At this her darkly painted mouth hung open, and she stood up from behind the desk. ‘Me?’ she said. ‘You want me to go?’

  I nodded. ‘Yes. I’d love you to come with me. Pepper offered me a plus one invitation and I’ll have to work a bit, but I thought it might be good to go together. The launch should be … something else.’

  I’d been about to say the launch would be ‘fun’ but then a visual had popped into my mind of the supernatural green reverse flowing waterfalls spookily hanging around the building, and the snake-like formations I’d seen from the air, and well, I had a new view of the Met. And according to Deus, I shouldn’t let it slip from my mind.

  I sure hoped nothing bad was going to happen on Saturday night, I thought. I wondered if I should open up to Morticia about what was going on.

  I must have looked funny because Morticia tilted her head to one side. ‘Are you okay?’

  Was I okay? That depended on your definition, I supposed. Was anyone ‘okay’ with an impending apocalypse? How could I explain the situation to her? Come to think of it, I didn’t know enough about the situation to explain it to anybody. But if there was one living human person I wanted to inform about the coming Revolution of the Dead, it was Morticia. But right now in the Pandora offices was not the time.

  ‘Yes. I thought if you wanted to go to the exhibition … Well, there isn’t anyone else I’d rather go with,’ I said. And I did mean it. ‘And I’d like to talk to you about something beforehand. You know, when you have time?’ I added.

  She nodded. ‘Okay. How about tomorrow? Lunch break?’ She looked intrigued.

  ‘Friday lunch. That sounds good,’ I said. That was a bit more than a day before the opening. But would she be able to hear what I had to say and get back to the rest of her workday? Gosh … I didn’t know how to approach this at all, but I could at least try to start the conversation.

  ‘Great. Thanks, Pandora,’ Morticia continued. ‘I know you asked me to come to the fashion shoot because you know I’ve always wanted to be on set, and I appreciate this. It’s nice of you.’ She paused and looked down at her black Doc Martens and dark mesh tights. ‘What about Jay, though?’ she asked.

  I shrugged. ‘I’d rather go with you, Morticia. You’re my friend. And hey, you had to work on the fashion shoot. It’s not like I was doing you any big favour. Let’s hope Saturday night isn’t too much work,’ I said, and smiled at her. I decided I ought to wait to say anything more.

  There would be time to tell her at lunch. Maybe I couldn’t tell all of it, exactly, but I felt like there had to be a way of preparing Morticia if this whole Revolution of the Dead thing was real. And imminent. And Deus had certainly thought it was, and that view of Manhattan was pretty hard to argue with. I wouldn’t be able to forgive myself if I said nothing to Morticia and something happened to her.

  I’d have to think of how to approach it before our lunch. We only had half-hour breaks, I remembered. This was going to be hard.

  As I walked down the stairs on to the SoHo street just after five, my satchel heavy with my mother’s books, I was busy thinking about exactly what to tell Morticia. How does one start that conversation? With my peculiarities? Or ‘gifts’ as Celia called them? Or with Spektor? Or the prophecy that the living world could end?

  ‘Hi, Pandora.’

  In that moment, hearing a man’s voice, I was hit with a most disorienting feeling, thinking of Lieutenant Luke waiting for me on the sidewalk but instead finding living, breathing, non-transparent Jay Rockwell.

 

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