Seelie—when Poseidon swore his allegiance to Ozara. When she returned to the Weald, each Olympian took turns trying to free Pandora. Poseidon tried for centuries. Not one could release her.”
“How long did Ozara keep her in there?”
“Ozara didn’t open the jar. I don’t believe she ever intended to. Pandora was in the jar for over two thousand years. Not until the next Aetherfae came along was she freed. It was Dagda who opened Pandora’s jar. We didn’t recognize Pandora when she emerged. Ancient, radiant, and kind when she went inside, what emerged was a malignant, dark, rage-filled specter of her former self. She attacked the Olympians—it took the five ancients to repel her. She blamed her torment on their hubris and pride. She blamed Poseidon most of all—she has tried to kill him on several occasions.”
“Does she blame Ozara?”
“I’m sure there is a festering hatred for Ozara too, and that may be the reason she now fights for the Rogues.”
“And that’s why she joined the Unseelie?”
“No, she is not Unseelie. Not exactly. She did fight for them—a debt she owed Dagda for releasing her, but she was little more than a mercenary. You see, more than anything, she now delights in bringing misery to my kind, regardless of the clan. She leaves misery and chaos in her wake—not so far removed from the legend, is it?”
EIGHT
A PHOENIX RISES
M y father’s funeral wasn’t anything like I expected. I was sad, sure, but seeing his body did something else to me: it deepened my anger. Mom, Mitch, Grandma and Grandpa, they all cried. I tried to, but I couldn’t. I felt pain and loss and heartbreak, but I couldn’t muster a tear. I wanted to cry because somehow that would feel normal, but I just grew angrier. I replayed the moment he collapsed in my head over and over, each time followed by his last words to me, “You’re so strong. I understand now.” Something much darker than grief festered in my heart. What’s happening to me?
I lingered when my family returned to the house and prepared to leave. Vermont, the isolated farm, we didn’t belong there—we belonged in the Weald. We wouldn’t be going back that day, or anytime soon after, but I promised my father that we would go back. With Mom’s permission, Tse-xo-be cremated my father’s body and gathered the ashes. He put them in an urn Tadewi created. She etched it with the bluffs from the Weald.
I carried the urn into the house, reluctant tears finally finding my eyes, and handed it to Mom. She looked at me with gentle eyes for the first time in two days. I wanted to say something to her, but I had no words. What could I say? After a few moments, she gently pulled the urn to her chest and walked away, closing the door behind her.
* * *
The rain began to fall hard a few minutes before we crossed the yard to an enormous white SUV—the latest iteration of Doug’s Jeep. Great! I threw up an Air shield to keep us dry. When we got to the vehicle, feet wet in spite of my shield, Tadewi handed me a wooden box about the size of a briefcase.
“What’s this?”
“Everything,” she whispered.
“Everything?”
“Faye and I packed up your belongings before we left Florida. It’s all inside.”
I laughed. “Thanks for trying. This is more than I thought you saved.”
“Maggie, it’s all inside. We left nothing.”
I unhinged the latch and didn’t recognize anything inside. Like an old tin full of buttons, there were tiny objects of every color. I picked up a small pink square an inch wide and two inches long. “My Thunderbird?”
Tadewi nodded. “When you get to a safe place, I will change everything back—unless you learn how to do it first.”
“Thank you so much. I thought we’d lost everything.”
“It was Faye’s idea. She knew how much some of these things meant to your family.”
“Did you get the garden journal?”
She reached into the box and fished out a small square book little more than an inch
“How long did Ozara keep her in there?”
“Ozara didn’t open the jar. I don’t believe she ever intended to. Pandora was in the jar for over two thousand years. Not until the next Aetherfae came along was she freed. It was Dagda who opened Pandora’s jar. We didn’t recognize Pandora when she emerged. Ancient, radiant, and kind when she went inside, what emerged was a malignant, dark, rage-filled specter of her former self. She attacked the Olympians—it took the five ancients to repel her. She blamed her torment on their hubris and pride. She blamed Poseidon most of all—she has tried to kill him on several occasions.”
“Does she blame Ozara?”
“I’m sure there is a festering hatred for Ozara too, and that may be the reason she now fights for the Rogues.”
“And that’s why she joined the Unseelie?”
“No, she is not Unseelie. Not exactly. She did fight for them—a debt she owed Dagda for releasing her, but she was little more than a mercenary. You see, more than anything, she now delights in bringing misery to my kind, regardless of the clan. She leaves misery and chaos in her wake—not so far removed from the legend, is it?”
EIGHT
A PHOENIX RISES
M y father’s funeral wasn’t anything like I expected. I was sad, sure, but seeing his body did something else to me: it deepened my anger. Mom, Mitch, Grandma and Grandpa, they all cried. I tried to, but I couldn’t. I felt pain and loss and heartbreak, but I couldn’t muster a tear. I wanted to cry because somehow that would feel normal, but I just grew angrier. I replayed the moment he collapsed in my head over and over, each time followed by his last words to me, “You’re so strong. I understand now.” Something much darker than grief festered in my heart. What’s happening to me?
I lingered when my family returned to the house and prepared to leave. Vermont, the isolated farm, we didn’t belong there—we belonged in the Weald. We wouldn’t be going back that day, or anytime soon after, but I promised my father that we would go back. With Mom’s permission, Tse-xo-be cremated my father’s body and gathered the ashes. He put them in an urn Tadewi created. She etched it with the bluffs from the Weald.
I carried the urn into the house, reluctant tears finally finding my eyes, and handed it to Mom. She looked at me with gentle eyes for the first time in two days. I wanted to say something to her, but I had no words. What could I say? After a few moments, she gently pulled the urn to her chest and walked away, closing the door behind her.
* * *
The rain began to fall hard a few minutes before we crossed the yard to an enormous white SUV—the latest iteration of Doug’s Jeep. Great! I threw up an Air shield to keep us dry. When we got to the vehicle, feet wet in spite of my shield, Tadewi handed me a wooden box about the size of a briefcase.
“What’s this?”
“Everything,” she whispered.
“Everything?”
“Faye and I packed up your belongings before we left Florida. It’s all inside.”
I laughed. “Thanks for trying. This is more than I thought you saved.”
“Maggie, it’s all inside. We left nothing.”
I unhinged the latch and didn’t recognize anything inside. Like an old tin full of buttons, there were tiny objects of every color. I picked up a small pink square an inch wide and two inches long. “My Thunderbird?”
Tadewi nodded. “When you get to a safe place, I will change everything back—unless you learn how to do it first.”
“Thank you so much. I thought we’d lost everything.”
“It was Faye’s idea. She knew how much some of these things meant to your family.”
“Did you get the garden journal?”
She reached into the box and fished out a small square book little more than an inch
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