CHAPTER XIII

CHAPTER XIII

Prometheus felt the presence of another, like one feels the eyes on the back of their neck. It was an instinctive thing for humans and gods alike. The exhibition was closing shortly and he hadn’t expected anyone else to be here. But there were two others with him, one a female that he could see out of the corner of his eye even now and another man whom he’d passed earlier.

Tyche, as ever, had been right and, as usual with her revelations, he could only admit it in hindsight, much the same way as the humans did when it came to her actions. He had been troubled and the sight of reconnecting with his siblings in the stars when he couldn’t see them in person did something to soothe what remained of his soul. The melancholy of the past always helped him understand his gift when it felt more like a curse. He liked the Scottish lands too. There was something about them that reminded him of the earlier days when he had roamed amongst the humans freely, teaching them the arts they would need to survive and thrive. Edinburgh had taken those lessons to heart and it was a city that thrummed with activity because of it.

As Tyche had predicted, he’d been able to sneak past the Olympic barrier undetected by Zeus’ eagle. Not that he thought the God of Gods could remember why he was mad at Prometheus anymore. He was probably off hunting heifers or his next conquest, provided his wife was kept busy. Zeus’ selfish streak knew no limits. Prometheus almost regretted siding with him. Almost. It had been inevitable though, the Titans’ future written in the stars. Here, in the stars, were the stories of their battles. Everything, every event, every loss, every win, every myth, could be traced back in the constellations.

Prometheus always felt the pull, the longing to understand his gift, his foresight, when it eluded him the most. And so, he tried to retrace footsteps to understand the past and make sense of the future. As always, it was fruitless. Like tying yourself to a shipwreck, hoping it would wash you out to sea again.

The feeling gnawed in his gut.

The goddesses had been callous in their plan for the priestess, and while he had told Aphrodite that he would offer the priestess more support ... that would only work if he could find her. While he knew she was in Edinburgh thanks to Aphrodite’s insight, the city was home to over half a million humans. And it seemed as though she had gone to ground ever since her attack. Even if she hadn’t, it wasn’t as if he knew what she looked like. He had been foolish not to ask Aphrodite for more information before rebuffing her, and he didn’t want to turn to Athena, for he knew they would only argue should they meet, anger still a dull ache in his bones at her actions. All he knew was that the priestess wouldn’t look the same as when she’d met him at the cabin, given the human cloak he’d given her ... of that he wascertain.

If Prometheus had still been in contact with the humans, he would have had a network of people to rely on, to be his eyes and ears to find her. But those souls had scattered to the wind and any remaining bloodlines were unlikely to believe the legends that their family line was once in favour with a Greekgod.

While he understood the goddesses’ plan to reintroduce alchemy to the world, he couldn’t help but think of the last time they’d tried to bring magic back to the human realm. They’d burnt those women at the stake. Repeatedly. Each death had felt like a branding on Prometheus’ flesh. While Amara would be using human tactics, he found himself still ... fearing for her. It was an acutely uncomfortable sensation. Worry for the humans he was used to, but this fear was acidic.

He knew what humans would do if they found out she was essentially teaching them witchcraft again. Now humans didn’t burn what they didn’t know; they ridiculed it. It was an insidious, black, crawling thing that covered them like slick hair gel, the fear. It spread until it silenced anyone they didn’t understand with mocking laughter and dismissive tones. The mouths of laughter opened like caverns and unless you knew how to fight it, the fear that bubbled in those caverns would swallow you whole until there was a black vortex, an empty space, a void where your soul had been that denoted complete and utter annihilation. If they were to discover the priestess’ true nature, they wouldn’t burn her. They’d destroy her. Turn her into a shell of a woman, with no heart, no connection to her soul, no sense of purpose other than to serve the fear that drove them all. And because she was technically immortal, she would live out that reality for eternity, whatever form her bodytook.

Prometheus didn’t understand why Athena and the others would place that burden on only one pair of shoulders. What did the Fates think was going to happen? That one priestess could change it all? What act of humanity could be saved by one woman?

“Excuseme?”

He turned his face and torso towards the voice, his arms still crossed against his chest, when he was hit by the sheer beauty of her. Cat-like green eyes watched him. They turned sharply inwards to a thin nose, with lush rosebud lips that rested underneath it. Her cheekbones were as sharp as her nose but softened by a speckling of freckles. Her hair was tied up into a messy bun, the few curls that had managed to escape were bouncing around her like drunken bumblebees. She was wearing a baggy green parka that swamped her, and black jeans that tailored her legs into brown boots with a small kitten heel.

She looked vaguely familiar, but then he’d known many humans. Sometimes he liked to play a game with himself to try and pinpoint the lineage between the human in front of him and the originals he’d created. A fun game if nothing else to puzzle himself over. He liked puzzles. But he couldn’t quite placeher.

“Yes?” he answered.

She pulled an embarrassed face, a light blush dusting her cheekbones.

“Would you mind pretending that we know each other?”

Prometheus’ hacklesrose.

“There’s a man over there … um … and I think I may know him and I would really like to not be alone with him ... if it ishim.”

She was rambling now, unable to meet Prometheus’ eyes. He reached out slowly and clasped a hand around her shoulder. She was so small that his hand covered the entirety of her rotator cuff. She flinched at the contact.

“It’s ok,” he said, his tone deep and slow and calming, for she looked like a rabbit caught in headlights. “But you need to pretend like you knowme.”

She gave a stiff nod and inched closer, though her body language continued to scream stay the fuck away from me. Prometheus’ brow darkened at why she would have felt the need to approach a stranger she clearly wasn’t comfortable with. Noted, too, the steel of herspine.

“Do you see this?” Prometheus took his hand from her shoulder and pointed to a collection of stars that looked like twoboulders.

“Yes.” Her eyes lit up, her breath hitched in her chest, but she was breathing slowly and she was listening to him.

“That’s the Titan who holds up the Earth, Atlas.”

Amara traced his fingers with her eyes, her eyelashes brushing lightly over her cheeks when she blinked.

“And there, where the ‘Y’ seems to shoot up into a star, that’s Aquila, Zeus’ eagle. He placed the image of his eagle in the sky to commemorate all his bird had done for him.”

“You speak as if you knowhim.”

“I suppose I do.” Prometheus chuckled heavily, scratching at his three-day-old stubble. He glanced at Amara who was giving him a funny look.

“How do you know so much about the Greekgods?”

Prometheus shrugged. “Spent a lot of time studying them.”

She continued to eye himwarily.

“Why are you being so nice tome?”

Her cheeks flushed again, as if she was aware of how uncourteous it was to demand a stranger’s time, their protection by association, and then furtheranswers.

“Because you asked me to be,” he saidquietly.

She started to open her mouth, then shut it again.

“I’m …” he went to tell her his name but realised she wouldn’t believe him if he told her, so he settled for a varnished version of the truth.

“Theo, by the way. So you don’t feel like you’re talking to a stranger.” At her wide-eyed look, he knew instinctively what she was panicking about. “You’re under no obligation to give meyours.”

She took a noticeable sigh and nodded back; her hands remained firmly tucked into the pockets of her parka. Prometheus most certainly wasn’t getting a handshake. Perhaps, if he had, he’d have realised that warmth radiating through him wasn’t his usual protective love for his creations coming to the fore, but something much more tinged with Aphrodite’s mark.

The sound of measured steps walking towards them, echoing and bouncing off the marble flooring had both Amara and Prometheus turning around. A tall, bird-like woman approached them. It wasn’t simply the hook nose that gave the impression of a beak, but the high, white Victorian collar and the severity of her grey hair pulled back into a tight bun that illuminated her forehead and pointed chin, an unfortunatecombination.

“I’m terribly sorry, dears, but this exhibition is now closed. I’m going to have to ask you both to make your way towards the exit.”

The exit, which the woman in question had come from, was right behind them to their left. There was no sign of the other man, the one Amara had been too terrified to potentially bump into alone enough to approach a stranger. The bird woman continued to stand there, unmoving from her spot, practically ushering them out of the door with her stoicism. Once outside, they both stood under the robust stone brick entranceway. In good old traditional Scottish style, it had begun raining and the dark had seeped into the night sky. Time had flown after all. Amara worried at her lip with her teeth, taking a chunk of skin withit.

“Thank you … for before,” Amara clarified.

“I was happy to assist.”

Prometheus gazed intently at Amara, but she only made eye contact for a split second before turning her own gaze away and biting back tears.

“I feel like I owe you something.” She laughed.

“You don’t owe me anything.”

When she didn’t say anything, Prometheus took her silence as his cue toleave.

“Would you like me to call you ataxi?”

She shook her head.

Prometheus mistook her shake as a sign to leave her alone.

“Well, it was nice to meet you. Take care,” he said softly.

“Wait …”

He turned back to face her and watched again as she lowered her head in embarrassment to hide her face. Whoever had done a number on this poor woman deserved to be pounded into the ground until they were dust, hethought.

“I, uh … don’t like taxis. But I also don’t like walking alone in the dark. Would you ... would you mind if …”

“I can walk with you,” he said immediately and he noticed her shoulders visibly relax until her glance went beyond him. Turning, Prometheus saw a short man wearing a blue cap that had blonde hair flicking out underneath either side of it. His baseball jacket and baggy beige trousers didn’t make him look particularly threatening. If anything, he looked like your average run-of-the-mill human. His companion had gone sheet white nonetheless.

“You want to get going?”

Her eyes darted back to Prometheus, the fear an insidious black thing that crawled behind her eyes. So, she was already acquainted with the worst of humanity’s traits. A pity. A damn pity, Prometheus thought.

A sharp nod from Amara and Prometheus was striding out into the rain, Amara’s hurried footsteps clipping shortly behind him until she caught up to his stride. She didn’t tell him which way to go, but he figured he would wait until the other man was out of earshot and she relaxed once again. For now, she kept her arms firmly crossed against her chest as they walked against the wind, which was beginning to pick up. She walked along the edge of the street, flirting with the gutter.

It irked Prometheus. Usually, he’d have preferred to have her on his inside, closer to the safer side of the walkway. But she seemed more comfortable walking at the edge so when they turned the corner up ahead, she wouldn’t bump into anyone, he supposed. He was getting the sense that this woman was big on personal space. The thought of what must have happened to ensure that protection was at the forefront of her mind made the colour of Prometheus’ assumptions darken until she suddenlystopped.

“Everything ok?” He turned to her.

“I forgot. I need to grab something for dinner,” she saidnervously.

“I couldeat.”

She chanced another look at him, caught him grinning at her.

“I have no idea where around here is good,” shesaid.

“I do. There’s actually a really great place just up around the corner on the left here,” Prometheus told her. He waited for her to nod in agreement, slowly because spooking her was not an option − she was far too intriguing − before leading the way.

A minute later he found himself unexpectedly laughing. Because for all her nervous disposition and manners, his companion couldn’t hide her confoundedness at being brought to a chicken shop that clearly catered for the late-night drunks and university students. Luckily, it was still early in the evening so the shop was deserted apart from the young man behind the counter, texting on his phone.

“I swear, they do the best chicken in the whole of Edinburgh.” Prometheus held his hands up, the size of small baseball mitts, still laughing.

“You better be right about that,” Amara muttered as she bowed her head, brushed past him in the doorway, and went in.

It was the closest she’d come to initiating contact, and Prometheus felt a swoop of deep delight surprisingly roll through him. In truth, he had brought her here because he figured the casual setting would make her feel more at ease, though they really did do great fried chicken. He had seen enough fear in humans to know that home or small comforts could be like a weighted blanket against the feelings surging through their bodies.

The shop itself was narrow, two-thirds of it being taken up with the aluminium cooker tops and the counter itself, which separated the customers from the cooking. The Perspex counter displayed a selection of cooked meats. There was fried chicken as well as battered sausages, an assortment of pizzas, and a separate salad and cold bar section closer to the cashier. On the other side of the cashier, there was a door to what was clearly the staff area and, Amara supposed, a toilet facility. Not that it was accessible to the customers, what with it being behind thecounter.

She drummed her unvarnished and neatly clipped nails on the red countertop, looking at the menu up ahead behind the cashier and settled on a chicken box meal deal. Prometheus stood behind her and ordered himself two burgers, onion rings, fries, salad, and a large drink.

Amara’s eyes widened at the order. Then again, he wasn’t exactly a small man. Strange then, that she should feel so comfortable with a large male presence at her back. Then again, her abuser hadn’t been big. Strength she had discovered, painful humiliating brute force, did not necessarily require a larger size.

Taking their seats at one of the four tables located opposite the counter, with its uncomfortable metal chairs and scratched-up fake wooden top, they waited for their food in silence. Theo appeared to like the silence. But Amara’s mind was anything but a silent place. Thoughts raced behind her eyes as if she had a million things to do and a million places to be. Yet, here she was, having dinner with a stranger in a shitty little chicken shop.

“Miss, here’s your meal.”

The lanky kid behind the counter couldn’t have been more than nineteen. He had a face covered in acne spreading from his temples all the way down to his chin that held a scrap of bumfluff. His ginger hair was tucked into a red cap that matched his oversized polo shirt of the same colour, which only served to make his skin look more inflamed. Amara couldn’t tell if the lad was blushing at her or if he had the misfortune to have eczema too.

Theo kept his back to the wall as she returned to her seat, facing the counter rather than her so she didn’t feel like she was being watched. But he kept an eye on her in his periphery and gave a small smile when he saw her eyes roll into the back of her head, her face infused with pleasure at the taste of her meal. Retaking his seat after collecting his own order, he tucked his legs under the table, his thighs brushing against the underside of the tabletop. There was a brief second where his knee touched hers.

Amara immediately jerked hers away.

“Sorry.”

“It’s fine,” she muttered, her eyes firmly on her food.

“No, it’snot.”

Amara looked up to see him staring at her with those deep brown eyes intently.

“There’s only one reason a woman actively avoids touch.”

He could see her pulse pounding in her throat. He continued.

“It denotes abuse of somekind.”

Amara remained silent. The lights above them flickered slightly. A couple entered the shop and placed their order at the counter. A chicken burger, chicken nuggets, and two portions of chips, extrasalted.

“That man, in the exhibition with us …”

“I don’t want to talk aboutit.”

He paused for a moment then tried a different tack.

“How long have you been in Edinburghfor?”

Amara played with the chip, swirling them around in a ketchup and mayonnaise painting. She’d lost her appetite.

Finally she said, “A fewmonths.”

Unwrapping the foil on his second burger, Theo didn’t say anything for a while, his gaze lowered. It helped her not feel intruded upon. She closed the polystyrene lid on her meal while he continued taking large, measured bites of his burger.

Eventually she said, “I used to love meeting new people when I was back home. But now, travelling, nowhere feelssafe.”

Now she was talking, he tentatively leaned forward and braced his elbows on the table. Amara wasn’t sure the weight of the chair he was in could actually hold the size of him.

She noticed his forearms, dusted with dark brown hair, bulging against the fabric of his blue shirt that was rolled up to the elbows, as if they were desperate to escape.

“What made you want to comehere?”

Amara laughed. “You wouldn’t believe me if I toldyou.”

“You might besurprised.”

She considered him for a moment and then, for reasons she didn’t entirely understand herself, told him, “I felt the pull to come north. I couldn’t explain it to you if I tried. I don’t know if I can even explain it tomyself.”

“Like when the birds migrate.” Theo nodded.

Amara gave him another assessing look.

“I never consideredthat.”

“There’s lots of things humans do that can’t be explained, or justified.” His tone turned dark. His brows furrowed over his deep-set eyes that were focused once again on her. But there was a kindness behind them, so even though her pulse thundered in her throat, Amara decided to be brave and share why she was reallyhere.

“I don’t like beingalone.”

He waited patiently for her tocontinue.

“But I suppose that’s probably quite common for orphans.” She smiled sadly. “That’s why I was actually in the library today. I was looking at birth announcements. I thought maybe the urge to come here was somehow linked to discovering more about myheritage.”

She glanced at Theo, who was still watching her with those eyes that said they’d seen more pain than she would ever know.

“Stupid, Iknow.”

“No,” he shrugged, tentatively leaning back in his chair. “I getit.”

“Anyway, it was a complete waste of time. Nothing came of it. I should just go back to the parish and forget about it.” She sighed, shaking her head as two more loose curls escaped her bun. The fluorescent light above them continued to flicker. Amara wasn’t sure which of the two was more annoying.

It was a flippant comment she’d made, one they both knew she didn’t mean. The fire that had bought her all the way here wasn’t about to be snuffed out because she’d been subjected to abuse of some kind. No one determined enough to travel alone, on an instinct few would understand, was so flippant when turning their back on what could be considered a fatedhand.

“Parish?” heasked.

“I was left as a baby on a parish church doorstep in Paris,” she told him. “Father Michel practically raised me, even when I was in and out of foster homes. But I’d thought, seeing as I’d been wrapped in a tartan blanket that it must have been some clue ... some ... what?”

Theo was looking at her as if she’d just grown another head.

“What did yousay?”

Prometheus didn’t hear her response, his mind slow, stupid, unable to connect the dots until this moment. Until she’d literally spelled it out for him.

An unknown lineage. Paris. Parish church doorstep.

He’d found the priestess. Or, rather, she’d found him.