Midnight Medusa by Stephanie Draven

found her python while she was away. Renata pressed her hand against the glass cage and watched Scylla’s forked tongue taste the air. Renata lifted her nose to do the same, but didn’t smell anything, comforting or otherwise.
    She missed Deimos. If she closed her eyes, she could trace the contours of his face with her artists’ fingers. She had memorized the smooth planes and the hard edges. But memories were no substitute for the warmth of his skin against hers. She had no way of contacting him, no way of telling him how much she ached for him. He was just gone. Gone from her life as if he’d never been there at all, and she wasn’t certain she would ever see him again.
    Meanwhile, she wandered around her apartment, aimlessly. Yellow police tape littered her studio like drooping party streamers, and Renata realized that they must have searched the whole place for clues to her whereabouts.
    The first call she made was to her foster parents, who were so relieved to hear from her that they insisted on hopping on a plane to come see her. But Renata knew they’d ask questions she didn’t want to answer—not yet, anyway—so she told them to give her some time to collect herself.
    There were about a hundred calls from her therapist, and Renata deleted them all. It was near midnight. The skyline was as black as her mood, so she tied up her hair, picked up her chisel and began to sculpt.
     
    Renata had been expecting a visit from Ms. Athena Kokkinos and her nephew the police detective a few days after her return, so she didn’t startle at the knock. “Good to see you again,” the detective said when Renata opened the door.
    “I’m glad you think so, Phobos,” she said, her heart aching at the familiarity of his face and the sadness of knowing that he only looked like the man she loved.
    The detective seemed taken aback by the use of his true name, but his aunt pushed into the studio and marched over to Renata’s workspace. With one good yank, she pulled the canvas off the stone then turned her angry eyes on Renata. “What’s this?”
    “It’s a statue of my father and my brother,” Renata said, squaring her shoulders. “I took all the details I remembered, all the sweet little lines of my baby brother’s smile, all the rough calluses of my father’s hands, and I brought them to life. At least, as much life as a gorgon can give to stone statues.”
    “I gave you a sketch to carve,” the woman barked. “A sketch of a man you should hate. Make an end to him. Avenge your family.”
    “I should,” Renata said. “But not the way you want me to. I won’t kill for you.”
    “It isn’t as if he doesn’t deserve to die,” she said.
    “But that isn’t why you want me to kill him,” Renata said. “He’s in jail and you can’t reach him, but I can. He’s on trial, and for some reason, you don’t want him convicted. I only asked you to come here today so I could return your sketch to you. I can’t accept your patronage.”
    The older woman glared at Renata and drew herself up to a towering height. “Do you know who I am?”
    “Oh, I know,” Renata said to the gray-eyed daughter of Zeus. “And I mean you no disrespect, but you’ll have to find yourself another sculptress.”
    “Do I need to bend you to my will?” Athena asked.
    “Only if you want to risk the lives of your other pets,” Renata said. “Give me a chisel, and you never know what I might carve. Take my chisel away and I can always make a sculpture with a butter knife and a bar of soap.”
    Renata had no idea if this was a legitimate threat, but she felt that it was one that she needed to make.
    “I’ll make you too scared to refuse,” Phobos said.
    “If you do, I’ll scream,” Renata warned. “If you come near me, I’ll scream my gorgon scream, so terrible that you’ll choke on it.”
    Phobos looked as if he might test Renata’s resolve, but his aunt stopped him. “Leave it be, Phobos. She’ll change her mind in time,