December 2019
Aida and Yumi spent the rest of the day poring over Wikipedia, JSTOR, Academia.edu, and ancient Greek and Roman mythology journals, looking for every bit of information they could about Euphrosyne and MODA. They scoured countless images of the Three Graces, wondering if there was a hint of truth in them—could the goddesses have actually modeled for Botticelli? Or inspired him?
They only found one brief mention of Euphrosyne and Sophrosyne being sisters, and it was merely a passing note that they were both borne of the primordial gods Erebus—darkness—and Nyx—night. It turned out that Nyx was a rather prolific goddess, with over forty children, most minor gods, including doom, madness, prudence, and even the Fates and the Furies. And only one story mentioned that Sophrosyne was one of the good spirits let loose by Pandora when she opened the jar, which also let evil into the world.
Regarding MODA, there was also scant information about the various gods who seemed to make up the organization, save for a few mentions. Momus, who was Oizys’s twin, was so annoying that Zeus had ejected him from Mount Olympus. In fact, the only being who Momus seemed to have little criticism of was Aphrodite, whose only fault, according to him, was that her sandals squeaked. Over the years, mankind had begun painting Momus as less of an ass and more of a lighthearted comedian, aharlequin. The French even began depicting him on their cards as the Fool, which gave Aida a chuckle. She wondered what Mo thought of such a portrayal.
“I’m starting to get a headache from staring at this screen,” Yumi said. “And we’ve not found anything useful.”
“We did discover that all the gods we know of at MODA were born of Nyx, which validates what Sophie said—that they are her siblings.”
Yumi shrugged. “But how does that help us? We’re still no closer to figuring out how to crack into that database. Maybe you should try to reach Sophie.” She motioned toward Aida’s personal cell phone on the table in front of them.
“She didn’t give me her number.”
Yumi’s eyes widened. “Well, how are you supposed to contact her?”
Aida reached for Yumi’s hands. “We pray.”
Yumi started laughing, but she didn’t let go. “Seriously? Okay, okay.”
Aida squeezed her friend’s hands, then closed her eyes and bowed her head. “Dear Sophrosyne...”
Yumi snorted. “You aren’t writing a letter!”
“But prayers start with ‘Dear God’!”
Yumi frowned, then rolled her eyes. “Forget I said anything, go forth and pray!”
“Stop the giggling, and I will!”
After a few starts and stops punctuated by bouts of uncontrollable laughter, they calmed enough for Aida to attempt an awkward prayer.
“Dear Sophrosyne, oh, goddess of balance and temperance, we ask that you come to us, so we may speak to you about the database.”
Aida began to withdraw her hands, but Yumi stopped her. “Do we sayamen?”
Aida shook her head. “That’s Hebrew.”
Yumi let go of her hands. “Now what?”
“I guess we wait.”
Yumi flipped on the TV. “Grande Fratellois on. I’m obsessed.”
“Big Brother? How can you watch that? You barely understand Italian!”
“Eh, the drama is all the same.”
After an hour of watching the Italian Big Brother House guests do a whole lot of nothing, Aida began to believe Sophie wasn’t going to respond, which she found equal parts disconcerting and annoying. Finally, she reached for the controller and flipped off the TV. “Let’s get out of here. I need anaperitivo.”
Ten minutes later, they were on the rooftop deck of a ritzy bar overlooking Piazza Navona, ordering big glasses of Aperol spritz. They had finished one drink and were about to order another when a blanket of calm enveloped Aida just as a woman approached their table and sat in the extra chair.
She was easily one of the most stunning people Aida had ever seen. Cloaked entirely in ivory, she had an ethereal aura. A delicate silk jacket hugged her lithe frame and a gossamer pleated scarf adorned her neck. Her platinum hair was styled in an exquisite updo, with wispy tendrils framing her alabaster face. Her eyes, like pools of liquid mercury, shimmered beneath gracefully arched brows, their allure heightened by her high cheekbones. Her nails gleamed with a lustrous pearl sheen. Everything about her was exceptional, and she seemed perfectly at home joining Aida and Yumi at their table.
“Hello,” Yumi began to say, awe evident in her voice.
“Oh, aren’t you lovely,” the woman said, cutting her off with a smile. The gentle lilt of her speech carried a calming warmth. Every movement she made was with grace and poise.
