Abe stood, puzzled.
Sara was up, whispering. “Oh great and patient Oracle. I pray to you. Let me kneel on Apollo’s altar, your devoted priestess. I summon you. There is no time. Hear me now. Please—”
Abe came behind her, holding her arm, taking her Athame, leading her back to her chair.
No one was listening. Why? Why was he touching her? Sara twisted her arm free and punched him in his big stomach. Then she stood still, silent, feet planted.
Abe stepped back.
Sara melted into the big leather chair, her feet underneath her, her head bowed, and her arms wrapped around her knotted stomach. When she finally raised her head to speak, her voice came out softly, “You can’t help me, and you don’t know who can.” Then she lowered her head, hugging herself tightly.
Abe stood above her. “Let me try, Sara. I’d like to try.” His furrowed brow formed a V as he waited for her to look up. “You may be surprised.”
***
The swing was a favorite spot for Billy Logan-Stein and his mom, Corey Logan. Neither of them could say exactly how it happened, but weather permitting—and their tolerance for foul weather was high—the two of them ended up on that creaky front porch swing maybe twice a week, spring, summer and fall. Today was a cloudy April day, and an on-again-off-again drizzle had left the sidewalks slick and gunmetal grey.
Corey was sitting beside her son, slowly rocking. She’d asked him a question, and he was thinking it over. They had the same black hair, parted in the middle, though hers was cut short and his was tied back in a little ponytail. She wore a blue sweater and form-fitting jeans, which is what she almost always wore. Today, she wore a pea coat—the same coat she’d worn at sea, running from Nick Season almost two years ago.
Billy liked long flannel shirts worn unbuttoned over a tee shirt and well-worn jeans. Corey had a patch of freckles on her nose that crept onto her cheeks when she smiled. Billy’s face was darker, and she thought, darkly handsome, even when he was frowning, as he was now.
Billy’s frown softened as he turned toward his mom. “Sara kind of freaked out,” he explained, in response to her question about the fire at school.
“Is she okay?”
“She’s not hurt, if that’s what you mean. But she’s not exactly okay either.”
“How’s that?”
“She’s got this idea that we’re all in danger, and she keeps talking about how these Greek Gods are supposed to help her. It’s kind of weird.”
“Greek Gods—like Poseidon or Zeus?”
“Yeah. Like in the myths. You know—”
Corey nodded. When Billy was younger, she’d told him the same myths her Greek mother had told her. “That is weird.”
“She got suspended.”
“I’m sorry. I like her and her dad.”
“She’s sort of a friend. I mean she’s younger, but she’s unpopular. I mean I’m unpopular, but she’s like poster-child unpopular, which is even worse. The popular kids make fun of her. And they can be really mean.” He nodded, ruefully, when his mom frowned. “I like her okay, and she’s friends with Randy. So we kind of all stick together, you know, look out for her.” Billy nodded again; he knew high school life. And then, an afterthought, “She sometimes reminds me of Maisie.”
Corey remembered Maisie, vividly—how she was before, and after, she was kidnapped by Teaser. “How so?”
“Really smart, fast…” And after a beat, “How’s Maisie doing? When I see her, she’s still so quiet.”
“You know your dad can’t really talk about that. It’s no secret, though, that he’s still working with her. What I do know is that she’ll be back next fall. Her mom’s home schooling her. I ran into Amber at this parent food drive deal, and she told me that Maisie will be in your senior class.”
“That’s good…really good. Aaron and his family will be back from China then, too. I mean I really like hanging with Amy’s friends, but they’re seniors already and they’ll be gone next year. It’ll be good for me to have Maisie and Aaron around, especially if Amy’s gone.”
“I get that.” And shifting gears, “Who says you’re not popular?”
“Hey, I’m your son—I know what I know.”
“I don’t get it.”
“When you were in prison, I got drugs for the popular kids. I’ve told you about that.”
Corey nodded.
“When I stopped. They got pissed off. They never forgave me. And now I’m with Amy, who used to hang with them. I think Dave, the ringleader, has a crush on her. So now they routinely give me and my friends a hard time.”
“Can I do anything?”
Billy smiled at his mom, imagining her bracing Dave or Russ. “No, we’re okay. We pretty much ignore them.”
“You’re popular with Amy,” Corey remarked, thinking Billy was more and more like Abe, the way he was so realistic about his life, and the way he could talk about it.
“Amy’s cool,” Billy said, smiling now and rocking. He was taller than Corey, and still gangly. His long arm was draped over the back of the porch swing, around her back. He touched her far shoulder, and when she turned that way, surprised, they laughed, a private joke between them. “I really like her.”
“How are you two doing?” she eventually asked.
“She wants to go out.”
“What exactly does ‘go out’ mean?” Corey ran her hand through her short, black hair. There was a braided red and black bracelet tattooed on her wrist.
“It means we see each other a lot. You know, lunch, after school, even at night on the weekends.”
“Sounds serious.” Corey watched his face. Billy’s first, and last, girlfriend, Morgan, had ended their relationship six months after her family moved to New York City less than a year ago.
“I dunno. We’ve only been together—what?—it’s not even three months.”
“I’m sure she’s had her eye on you for quite a while. She was just waiting for you and Morgan to break up.”
“You think?”
“Yeah, that’s what I think, and even if you factor in that I’m your mom, I’ll bet I’m right.”
Billy smiled. “It’s not always, well, a good thing, to have a mom who’s so sure of everything.”
“Fair enough…so what’s worrying you?”
“Well she’s had lots of boyfriends, and she might lose interest.”
“Why would she do that?”
“I’m not so…you know.”
Corey took a beat, putting it together. Okay, Mom. “You mean you’re not as experienced as she is?”
“I guess.”
When Billy was uncomfortable, he got vague, monosyllabic. “Listen. I went out with guys who weren’t as experienced as I was, and the ones that I kept seeing were the ones that didn’t pretend it wasn’t so.”
His black eyebrows tilted down. “How do you do that?”
Corey leaned in, pleased that he was asking her about this. Pleased, too, that he was smart enough to know she could help. “Tell her. You can even ask questions about what she likes.”
“Are