“I told you no one will overhear us,” she said.
“We still can’t tell you about MODA.”
“Why not? Why ask if I am with MODA and then refuse to tell me about them? What binds your tongues?”
Aside from the archaic language, Aida marveled at how Sophie’s expression didn’t change. She was perfectly measured, her features neutral, not a speck of irritation or emotion to be seen. For a moment, Aida was reminded of Disa and her often unreadable expression.
“We’ve each signed an agreement swearing that we will not discuss the nature of our work,” Aida explained.
The woman was unwavering. “I give you my aegis.”
They stared at her. Aida tried to make sense of her strange proclamation. Finally, Luciano responded, “I don’t think yourprotectiontrumps a legal contract.”
Sophie nodded. “A legal agreement. Well, that’s something.” She waved a hand, and suddenly the waitress was there with a bottle of Chenin Blanc. After pouring the wine, she readied her notepad to take their orders.
“Chor muang, please, for the table. I’ll have the green curry.” Sophie gestured to Luciano. “He’ll have the lamb shank.” A glance at Aida. “And for her, the lobster tail pad Thai. Thank you.”
Aida watched the waitress depart, dumbfounded. She likely would have ordered that—if she’d looked at the menu.
Sophie gave them a measured smile. “I suspect I’ve determined your likes well enough. Now then, since you won’t tell me about MODA, let’s discuss the disappearances. You’ve noticed them, and you’ve managed to not entirely forget. That makes you somewhat different from every other person I’ve met. These are places that slide from the memory, but you are aware of this slippage. Why?”
Aida took a large sip of her wine, hoping it would calm her nerves. Luciano said nothing.
“I see. You don’t trust me. I suspect it has to do with whatever MODA is. There was fear in your voice when you mentioned it.” Sophie stretched her hands across the table. “Fine. I am loath to do this, but time is short, and I need to know. Each of you put a palm on mine. I’ll prove that your trust is not misplaced.”
“What will that do?” Luciano asked, his voice on edge.
“Just give me your hand. All will become clear, I swear.”
Aida gritted her teeth. She could have been having a nice evening alone with Luciano but instead she was here with this New Age weirdo. She reached out a hand, hoping to hasten along the evening so the woman would leave.
Sophie’s hand was warm, her skin softer than Aida expected. She had braced for a firm grip, but Sophie didn’t curl her fingers around hers—just let their palms press together. She jutted her chin at Luciano, who sighed and extended his hand.
The moment his skin met Sophie’s, warmth surged through Aida—not just heat, but something deeper, something alive. It settled in her bones, humming with a quiet resonance, as if she had tapped into something vast and ancient. A presence older than memory itself. The world around her softened. Doubt unraveled. A quiet certainty took its place.
Sophie’s hand seemed to glow beneath hers. Aida parted her lips to speak, but before she could form a word, the warmth unfurled into something else—a flood of understanding crashing over her like a breaking wave.
And then, just as suddenly, Sophie let go.
“You’re...” Luciano breathed.
“A goddess,” Aida finished. Her hand tingled. “But how can that be?”
“Now then,” Sophie continued, “do you trust me?”
“Do we have a choice?” Aida asked, an automatic retort that she immediately regretted.
Sophie rolled her eyes. In an elegant gesture, she turned her palm toward the door. “Yes, of course, you have a choice. Get up, go, leave here. Then neither of us will be any further along in our understanding of why the fabric of the world is thinning.”
“I trust you,” Aida said. “Sophrosyne.” She marveled at the deity sitting across from her. “You’re the goddess of temperance and restraint.”
“You know your myths, I see.”
“I devoured the stories when I was young,” Aida explained. “And studied Greek and Roman mythology as part of my literature degree.”
Sophie gave her a small smile. “Few remember me. Few remember any of us save those whose voices were the loudest, those who are mostly no longer of the earth, who fled this world with Zeus in the Age of Stars.”
“Age of Stars?” This was mythology Aida didn’t know.
