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  Ryan’s anguished scream breaks my concentration and I look up with startled attention, coming back to the room. There’s a stone arrow protruding from Ryan’s shoulder.

  “Ryan!” I screech and start towards him, but an arrow flies towards me, and I shy out of its way, back behind the pillars by the loom. The centaur is back. Apparently, he went to reload.

  “Pass me the scythe, Mer,” Ryan says quietly as the centaur notches another arrow and lets it fly.

  Ryan tries to dodge, but he’s too slow. It buries itself into his thigh. A cry of agony rips from him, twisting me in knots. He falls to his knees, doubled over in pain.

  I return to the loom, releasing a shuddering breath, my hands shaking over the threads. Over the green thread. Once again, Ryan’s life is in my hands. One little snip is all it’ll take to end it.

  “Mer!” he cries, desperate for the weapon. I look back and see the centaur approaching slowly, another arrow ready. Its hooves echo on the floor. Clop. Clop.

  If I’m to give Ryan a prayer of a chance of defending himself, I have to throw him the scythe now. But I can’t. Because I need to use it to snip the green thread. It’s the only way to end this. It’s his life that’s desperately intertwined, warping the threads around it. If I use the scythe to cut his thread, my sisters’ and my threads will untangle. We’ll be free. The curse will be broken.

  “Now, Mer,” he pleads. Ryan is on his knees, his hand outstretched towards me, his fingers grasping. The centaur is upon him, standing tall before him, its bow pointed towards his chest. It looks like an execution. His wild, blue eyes meet mine, and I let myself drown in them one last time.

  I’m sorry, I mouth as I look away. For I cannot face the moment when he realizes what I’m about to do. I’m too much of a coward.

  I can barely see the pattern through my refracted tears. I trace the emerald thread with shaking fingers. I slip the shears underneath the delicate filament and close my eyes.

  Snip.

  Chapter 32

  The threads begin to right themselves as Ryan’s slips free of the knot. But now it’s slipping farther, the blunt end of the emerald filament pulling itself from the fabric. I lunge at it, grabbing the two loose ends with delicate fingers, holding it steady. “Oh no, you don’t,” I mutter. I try to ignore that Ryan looks exactly like I saw him in my vision. But I didn’t see the loom in my vision. I didn’t know about this chance.

  The sound of hoofbeats striking stone startles me and I throw a look over my shoulder. Ryan’s body has gone still; no hint of breath moves his chest. The centaur has lowered its bow. It has no interest in dispatching dead intruders. That’s not what the spell raised it to do.

  But not every intruder is dead.

  The centaur’s gaze swings to me. Shit.

  I move on instinct, transferring the two tiny threads to one hand, freeing my other to seize the scythe-scissors. And then I throw those suckers with every ounce of strength in this mortal body.

  The scissors sail through the air, borne on my fevered prayers, and bury themselves in the centaur’s chest.

  “Yes!” I whoop as the centaur explodes into dust, raining down upon Ryan’s still form.

  Ryan.

  I turn back to the loom, to the two precious threads held in my hand. The pattern of my sisters’ threads is beautiful—a riot of color woven together in perfect harmony. Seven threads, a rainbow of colors. Lives well-lived. I find the tiny vacancy where Ryan’s thread should lie. I look at the pattern, uncertain. Yes, it should be woven under mine, and looped around once.

  I hesitate. Is it wrong to keep him tied to me like that? Even though it’s what I desperately want? But it’s what the Fates ordained, what the warp and weft of the fabric is calling for. To hold us apart would be to break the pattern. And the Fates must have had some wisdom, after all.

  I carefully thread Ryan’s filament around mine before tying it off delicately. My soul is keening within me. This must work. If this doesn’t work, it will break me. I’ve seen much of death in my many lives, but never have I caused it. I suddenly understand the yoke of guilt that Ryan must have carried all of these years, all these lives. If this doesn’t work…

  Ryan’s green thread vibrates and a shimmer of gold runs up and down its length. I pull my hand back with a gasp, and then look closely at the fabric. The pattern is perfect.

  A groan behind me makes my heart leap. I whirl around. Ryan is stirring, leaning on one elbow, brushing centaur sand out of his hair.

  “I’ve died a lot of times,” he croaks. “But that was one of the worst.”

  I run to his side and fall to my knees beside him, helping him sit up.

  “Your arm,” I say, marveling. The wound from the Cerberus dog, the arrow in his shoulder—he’s healed.

  My wounds rush back in sharp and angry—the throbbing pain in my ankle, the vise grip of my ribs around my lungs.

  “My girlfriend snipped my lifeline and all I got for it was this healed body,” he says with a wry grin.

  Hope surges in me. That he’s not angry. That I haven’t ruined everything by sacrificing him. “Girlfriend?” I ask, unable to keep the answering smile from my face.

  “The couple that slays together stays together,” he says, still through that ridiculous grin.

  “Are you just going to keep the idioms up or are you going to kiss me?”

  “No more idioms.” He leans in, pressing his mouth to mine.

  Grains of sand cling to his full lips, but nothing short of another invasion by ancient Grecian attack statues could make me break off this kiss. He threads his hand in my hair and I wrap my arms around his shoulders, pressing my chest to his, ignoring my protesting ribs. He tastes of bacon and coffee and destiny.

  We drown in each other for a time, reveling in our newfound freedom, in each other. His lips move against mine in a way that steals my good sense and sends heat coiling through this teenage body. No—my body. For I’m finally just me. Meriah.

  Eventually, I come up for air, pulling back. Ryan gently kisses the tip of my nose and each of my eyelids before pulling me into a hug. He feels so warm and good and alive that I can’t stop the emotion from flooding over me.

  “I’m so sorry, Ryan,” I say. “It was the only way. I didn’t want to do it, but your thread was what was holding the others out of place—”

  “Shh,” he murmurs into my hair. “I came here expecting to die. But you saved me. I’m here—whole. Curse-free. That’s what I choose to remember.”

  I look into his eyes, uncertain. “So you…forgive me?”

  “For cutting my thread? Of course. For kidnapping me and holding me hostage without even anything to watch on TV…? That’s going to take some serious groveling on your part.”

  I shove him with a laugh.

  He gets to his feet and offers me his hands. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”

  Ryan pulls me up, and I hiss as I put weight on my injured ankle. He retrieves his bow and arrows, the scythe, and the shield. “In case we encounter anything else on the way out.”

  “You think there might be something else?” My eyes go wide.

  “No, of course not.”

  “You’re a terrible liar.” I groan.

  “Takes one to know one,” he shoots back.

  Ain’t that the truth.

  I put my arm around Ryan’s shoulder and we start slowly towards the exit.

  We aren’t even out of the loom’s chamber when Ryan frowns. “The key is tugging at me.”

  “Maybe it’s showing us a shortcut?” I offer hopefully. It’s going to take forever to get out of here at this rate, and I’m eager to be gone from this place. The sibyl’s warning is loud in my mind. The stone creatures might not be the only trap here.

  “Maybe.”

  “It didn’t lead us astray before. Let’s follow it.”

  We turn around and start towards the exit at the back of the room. Ryan huffs, and before I know it, he’s scooping me up into his arm
s. “Hey!” I protest. “I can walk.”

  “I know you can,” he says. “But it’ll be faster this way.”

  The pain of his grip on my ribs is powerful, but it’s a dull roar compared to the fireworks that were going off in my ankle. “My hero,” I say in a simpering voice.

  “I think you’re the hero in this one. You figured out the loom. You broke the curse.”

  I lean my head against his shoulder, weariness washing over me. “We can both be the hero.”

  “How very progressive of us.”

  “What can I say? We’re that kind of ancient reincarnated couple.”

  “Not anymore,” he says. “We’re just normal teenagers now.”

  I sigh happily. “Normal. Normal sounds good.”

  “Normal sounds perfect.”

  The key does, in fact, lead us to another exit from Olympus. I guess it makes sense that there’s more than one way in and out of this place.

  Ryan sets me down and slips the key into the lock. I expect for some sort of warning klaxon to sound when he does, but Olympus stays silent and still. I guess we passed its test, and it’s content to let us go.

  Our passage through the Byway has none of the clinging suspense of our last trip. We aren’t frightened kids unsure of what we’ll face inside Olympus. We’re conquering heroes, curse vanquishers. But mostly, we’re just dirty and tired and seriously jonesing for a cheeseburger.

  Stepping from the dim fog of the Byway into the brilliant sunshine of Shasta’s afternoon is startling. I hold up a hand against the sun, letting my pupils adjust. I heave a sigh as Ryan pulls the key out of the lock and the portal closes behind us. I can’t believe we frickin’ did it!

  “Mer,” Ryan whispers, nudging me with his elbow and nodding a ways down the hill.

  I squint until two figures come into view in the meadow below us. Between Brandon’s signature curls and Zoe’s black hair shining almost blue in the sun, there’s no question who it is. Despite the fact that the two are having a serious make-out sesh in the wildflowers.

  I press my lips together, trying to keep the grin from my face. Go Zoe!

  “Come on,” Ryan mouths, and we creep down the hill, as quiet as mice—well, a limping mouse for me.

  When we’re standing just feet from where Brandon is lying on top of Zoe, kissing the living daylights out of her, Ryan clears his throat.

  Zoe screeches and the two fly apart.

  Ryan crosses his arms before his chest. “So just how long exactly did you mourn your dead friend before you made your move on Zoe?”

  The relief on Brandon’s face at the sight of Ryan is palpable.

  “Mer?” Zoe wipes her mouth, trying to smooth her hair. It’s hopeless. She still looks well and thoroughly kissed. “Did you do it? Did you break the curse?”

  Ryan and I just look at each other and grin.

  Chapter 33

  The soft May breeze tousles my hair through the truck’s open window. My face is raised to the sun, basking in its warmth. Ryan’s and my fingers are threaded together on the bench seat between us. We’re driving to Sibyll’s house to return the key and the other items that we took from Olympus.

  Ryan and I debated what to do over the past three weeks. We have the scythe, the shield, and his bow and arrows. All are precious relics that would garner a small fortune at a sale to a museum or private collector. We could use that money, Ryan especially. But with all our good fortune, it doesn’t seem right to keep them. Sibyll will know what to do.

  The drive back from Shasta was ebullient. It took some serious doing to get me down the mountain back to camp, but between Ryan and Brandon, we managed. The guys packed up camp while Zoe and I engaged in some covert squealing, and she told me every whispered detail of what had happened with Brandon. Sometimes a comforting hug over shared sorrow turns into something more. I couldn’t be happier for Zo. The two of them have been inseparable the last few weeks. I have to admit they make a perfect couple.

  I got some serious lectures about safety when I returned from camping—it turned out I had two fractured ribs and a broken ankle from my “fall” on the “hiking trail.” Track season was over for me, and I’d have some physical therapy to do—but I didn’t mind spending my time curled on the couch with Ryan binging Netflix shows.

  Ryan looks over at me and I smile at him. I find us doing that a lot. There’s an inordinate amount of looking and smiling. And kissing. Gods, is there a lot of kissing. I can’t seem to get enough. The song on the radio changes and Ryan and I both tap our feet to the twanging country beat. I’m not sure I’ve ever felt so free. Ryan hasn’t had a seizure since we got back—not even a headache. I haven’t had a vision. I think we’re finally free.

  And then there’s my sisters—Alcyone, who died after nearly drowning, and Electra, who died in the car crash. When we returned, the news had changed. We could find no sign that either girl had ever died—both walked away from their accidents safe and whole. Deputy Romano was nowhere to be found, either. No investigation. No warrant. Even the subtle warp in Ryan’s fender had disappeared. I guess tying those threads together changed the fabric of reality, too.

  Ryan pulls into Sibyll’s driveway, and the shimmering ribbon of the river doesn’t send fear stabbing into me this time. We called ahead this time around.

  We gather our ancient artifacts and I can tell we’re a little hesitant to see them go. To release the stories they represented.

  “Ready?” Ryan asks.

  I shrug. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”

  Sibyll opens the door before we can knock. She’s excited. “Come in! I can’t wait to see what you brought.” Her eyes caress the gemstone-encrusted shield as I carry it past her, and I can tell she’s dying to hold it.

  She offers us our choice of LaCroix and we accept, laying down everything on the coffee table.

  Ryan wraps his arm around my shoulder and I settle against his side on the couch.

  Sibyll puts her glasses on and inspects everything, marveling at the craftsmanship, the detail. We filled her in on our trip through Olympus over the phone, so all there is to do is return the artifacts and the key.

  Finally, she puts the scythe down. It’s still in scissor form. “You can make it turn into a scythe if you want,” I explain, taking it and willing it to change form. When it transforms once more into a curved blade with a long, wooden handle, she lets out a surprised little screech, falling back on the couch.

  “Marvelous.” Sibyll presses a hand to her chest, letting out a shaky breath. “I’ve talked to the other sibyls about what’s to be done.”

  Ryan and I exchange a look. That sounds ominous.

  “We’re in agreement that the scythe is too powerful to fall into mortal hands. The order of the sibyls will hide it and keep it safe.”

  I nod. That’s a reasonable precaution.

  “As to the other items, they belong in a museum. We’ve reached out to a few contacts, and there’s a lot of interest. We’ll be setting up an auction. The sibyls also agree that the bow and arrows belong to you, Ryan. Any amount we get for their sale is yours.”

  We exchanged another glance. That’s surprisingly fair.

  “How much do you think you’ll get for them?” he asks nonchalantly, but his fingers tighten on mine.

  “At least two million.”

  “Two—million—” Ryan splutters. Warmth floods me. This could change everything for Ryan.

  I wrap his torso in a hug and he rests his chin on my head, squeezing me back. “What about the shield?” he asks.

  “The shield will likely garner a larger price due to the precious gemstones inlaid in its surface. At least ten million.”

  Zeus’s balls, that’s a lot of money.

  “The sibyls agree that it’s appropriate for us to award Meriah a finder’s fee for her role in retrieving the shield from Olympus. It was no easy feat.”

  “How much?” I ask. Now it’s my turn to pretend to be nonchalant.

  “Ten perc
ent,” she says, and my mouth drops open. A million dollars.

  “I hope this is acceptable to both of you. The sibyls will retain the remainder of the proceeds to continue to fund our work.”

  We both nod. I take a gulp of my LaCroix. I’m suddenly feeling parched.

  The rest of our meeting is a blur. All Ryan and I can see are dollar signs. What we could do with that money. A newer house for his grandma to live in. Care for her when she needs it. College—without student loan debt.

  We walk back out into the bright sunshine, waving goodbye to Sibyll. She’s suggested that Ryan and I consider degrees in history. We already have the background.

  Ryan opens my door, helping me into the truck as the orthopedic boot on my foot is unwieldy.

  He closes the door and comes around the other side, hopping in. The truck roars to life.

  “I was thinking about what she said,” Ryan says as he backs down her driveway.

  “You want to be a historian?” I arch a brow. I’m sure Ryan could do anything he put his mind to, but I can’t really see him holed up in a dusty library. Though he would look cute in one of those blazers with the leather arm patches.

  “No. But maybe…an archeologist.” He puts the truck into drive. “Being out in the field… I don’t know. It’s not a very practical career.”

  “I think it’s perfect,” I say, and I do. “Besides, you’ve got two million reasons why you don’t have to be practical.”

  He lets out a delighted laugh. “Come ’ere.”

  I scoot across the seat and into his open arms.

  “I don’t mind the money, but there’s really one true prize I got out of all of this. You.” He kisses the top of my head.

  “Samesies,” I say as I burrow into his side. I was a seer for a hundred lifetimes, and even I couldn’t have foreseen how perfectly everything would unfold. How it would all bring us here to this. Happiness. Maybe the Fates aren’t such bitches after all.