over her magic, she could pop herself there right now.
But she didnât. And that was the problem. She was half afraid to move or even open her mouth. She didnât know what would happen next.
Then her shoulders relaxed. Aethelstan had given her a few other emergency words and the most important, he had said, was the one that took her to the Fates.
The Fates were the women who governed the rules of magic for Emmaâs people. The Fates settled all disputes, and governed as a ruling tribunal, holding legislative and judicial powers in their beautiful hands. Emma hadnât given them much thought, since she didnât plan to come into her magic for another twenty years. But the Fates would be the best ones for her to see. They would understand that something had gone wrongâthat Emmaâs coma had interfered with the natural flow of thingsâand they would repair this damage.
They would also be able to put off her magic for another twenty years. They would yell at her for not training, of course, and she would have to promise to train, but that couldnât be so bad. It wouldnât be bad. She wouldnât let it.
She clenched a fist and mumbled the small incantation that Aethelstan had given her.
There was a small crackle, and then a bang. For a moment, she thought the incantation hadnât worked, and then she realized she was hot. Very hot. And the air was so humid that she could feel it like a presence against her skin. Her dress clung to her and her hair had immediately become damp. A trickle of sweat ran down her cheek, and settled at the base of her jaw.
She was in a grotto. The sun was outâa blazing summer sunâbut she was under weeping trees of a type she didnât recognize. The pool before her glistened greenly in the shade.
Emma swallowed. She must have done something really wrong. She was alone here, in a place she didnât even recognize. Her stomach clenched and she flashed back to waking up from her thousand year coma in that VW microbus, in a world made of steel and asphalt, facing a woman who spoke a completely different language.
Emma still had nightmares about that momentâand the first car ride, moving at speeds impossible to her tenth-century brain.
Had she just switched venues again? Had she hurt herself another time? She clasped her hands together and made herself take a deep breath. The worst thing she could do was panic. Especially with her magic bouncing loose like this. If she panickedâ
A womanâs head broke the waterâs surface. She pulled herself onto a nearby rock like a seal, her long blond hair covering her nakedness like a shroud.
âOh, dear,â she said when she saw Emma. âI hadnât expected visitors.â
âForgive me,â Emma said, âbut Iâm looking for the Fates.â
âWell, why else would you be here?â The woman leaned into the water until it covered her nose and mouth. She spoke, and Emma heard the words as if she were underwater: Atropos, Lachesis. We have a guest.
Emma felt her back stiffen. She had heard of the Fates, but never really met them. Of course, she had read all that the mortals had written about them. The Greeks were the mortals most familiar with the Fates. They had actually gotten close enough to understand some of what the three women did.
Atropos held âthe abhorréd shears,â which cut the thread of life, and Clothoâthe blond whom Emma had been speaking toâspun the thread of life. Lachesis was the one who determined how long that life would be. Some called Lachesisâs duty to determine a personâs destiny, but in truth all three of the Fates did that.
Two other heads broke the surface. One belonged to a redhead whose hair was a beautiful, curly auburnâeven while wet. The other to a brunette. They each swam to different rocks and climbed on. They remained naked.
Emma shifted uncomfortably. She was too used to the mortal
But she didnât. And that was the problem. She was half afraid to move or even open her mouth. She didnât know what would happen next.
Then her shoulders relaxed. Aethelstan had given her a few other emergency words and the most important, he had said, was the one that took her to the Fates.
The Fates were the women who governed the rules of magic for Emmaâs people. The Fates settled all disputes, and governed as a ruling tribunal, holding legislative and judicial powers in their beautiful hands. Emma hadnât given them much thought, since she didnât plan to come into her magic for another twenty years. But the Fates would be the best ones for her to see. They would understand that something had gone wrongâthat Emmaâs coma had interfered with the natural flow of thingsâand they would repair this damage.
They would also be able to put off her magic for another twenty years. They would yell at her for not training, of course, and she would have to promise to train, but that couldnât be so bad. It wouldnât be bad. She wouldnât let it.
She clenched a fist and mumbled the small incantation that Aethelstan had given her.
There was a small crackle, and then a bang. For a moment, she thought the incantation hadnât worked, and then she realized she was hot. Very hot. And the air was so humid that she could feel it like a presence against her skin. Her dress clung to her and her hair had immediately become damp. A trickle of sweat ran down her cheek, and settled at the base of her jaw.
She was in a grotto. The sun was outâa blazing summer sunâbut she was under weeping trees of a type she didnât recognize. The pool before her glistened greenly in the shade.
Emma swallowed. She must have done something really wrong. She was alone here, in a place she didnât even recognize. Her stomach clenched and she flashed back to waking up from her thousand year coma in that VW microbus, in a world made of steel and asphalt, facing a woman who spoke a completely different language.
Emma still had nightmares about that momentâand the first car ride, moving at speeds impossible to her tenth-century brain.
Had she just switched venues again? Had she hurt herself another time? She clasped her hands together and made herself take a deep breath. The worst thing she could do was panic. Especially with her magic bouncing loose like this. If she panickedâ
A womanâs head broke the waterâs surface. She pulled herself onto a nearby rock like a seal, her long blond hair covering her nakedness like a shroud.
âOh, dear,â she said when she saw Emma. âI hadnât expected visitors.â
âForgive me,â Emma said, âbut Iâm looking for the Fates.â
âWell, why else would you be here?â The woman leaned into the water until it covered her nose and mouth. She spoke, and Emma heard the words as if she were underwater: Atropos, Lachesis. We have a guest.
Emma felt her back stiffen. She had heard of the Fates, but never really met them. Of course, she had read all that the mortals had written about them. The Greeks were the mortals most familiar with the Fates. They had actually gotten close enough to understand some of what the three women did.
Atropos held âthe abhorréd shears,â which cut the thread of life, and Clothoâthe blond whom Emma had been speaking toâspun the thread of life. Lachesis was the one who determined how long that life would be. Some called Lachesisâs duty to determine a personâs destiny, but in truth all three of the Fates did that.
Two other heads broke the surface. One belonged to a redhead whose hair was a beautiful, curly auburnâeven while wet. The other to a brunette. They each swam to different rocks and climbed on. They remained naked.
Emma shifted uncomfortably. She was too used to the mortal
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