“I’m not attracted to a male nymph, Isis!” Medea exclaimed. “I’m simply asking, hypothetically, have you ever thought about men?”
They ducked into the cottage and left their jugs near the hearth for their mother before all three of them ventured out toward the hills on the far side of the garden.
“I’ve thought about men,” Circe whispered when they were far enough away from home to feel alone. Medea hadn’t realized she’d even heard their conversation. “After we conjured the grimoire, I wondered if we could conjure mates in the same way. I think I would like to know a man.”
Isis’s dark brows rose. “You want to conjure a man? What if you try and accidentally summon a beast or an ugly slob who paws at you incessantly?”
Circe laughed. “What if he’s a prince? I’d like to kiss a prince.”
They arrived at the hillside where the golden sheep roamed. The round balls of gold fluff wandered away from them as they neared, their lips never leaving the emerald grasses on which they grazed.
“Anyway,” Medea said. “I can’t stop obsessing over the idea that Mother and Father didn’t think it through. Yes, we are safe here in the garden, but we are alone. We are forever children, never to know love or the feel of a man.”
A shadow passed through Isis’s expression. “Only if we stay forever.”
They all stared at each other, all levity draining from their features. Leaving the garden was something they never spoke of. But wasn’t that why they’d conjured the book to begin with? They’d been frightfully interested in learning what was out there. They wanted to exceed their parents’ abilities and needed a teacher from the outside.
Medea pulled out the gem that held the golden grimoire and held it up to the light. “Considering we don’t particularly want to risk summoning a pawing slob, what shall we practice today?”
“I’d like to fly,” Circe said.
Medea laughed. “Fly?”
Isis shrugged. “We’ve levitated many things of all shapes and sizes. Why not ourselves?”
The pages flipped like a kaleidoscope inside the facets as Medea turned the gem. She focused her intention on their goal—flight. Her mind immediately jumped to Tavyss and his wings. The pages stopped flipping.
“Here’s one.” She handed the gem to Isis.
“Transformation?” Isis shot her an incredulous glance. “Instead of magical levitation, you wish to give us wings?”
Circe snatched the stone from Isis’s hands. “Will the wings actually work?”
“Only for as long as the spell is active. It’s not permanent.”
Isis’s smile held a hint of madness. “Let’s do it.”
One by one they committed the spell to memory, formed a circle, and began. Isis used mud to trace symbols on her sisters’ shoulder blades with her finger and shifted to allow Circe to draw the same pattern on her own. Isis drew the same symbol on the earth to act as an anchor. At Medea’s request, Circe collected and mixed a concoction of herbs that each of them drank despite its foul odor. Then Medea sang the book’s incantation.
Dark gossamer wings sprang from Isis’s back first, followed by Circe’s and finally Medea’s. The three sisters bounced, giddy with excitement.
“We’ve done it!” Isis pushed off into the air, flapping her new wings and delighting in their capabilities.
Medea took a mighty leap, the muscles of her back straining as she dipped and soared with her sisters over the grazing sheep. After some time, she broke from her sisters and coasted over the tops of the trees, hoping to find Tavyss at their usual meeting place.
Joy seized her heart when she found him crouched, waiting in the same tree where she’d first seen him. Warmth blossomed inside her at the sight, as if her spirit had lit a candle inside her chest. Heart fluttering, she flew from behind him and landed on the same branch.
His arm slammed into her gut and turned her effortlessly on the tree branch, thrusting her up against the trunk. The move was so quick, so practiced, she found herself too breathless to make a sound. She stared up at him. Her heart hammered, jarred into action by fear but also something else, something she couldn’t quite name.
“Medea?” His eyes drifted over her face and the wings. He loosened his grip but planted his hands on either side of her shoulders, caging her in. The heat of his nearness warmed her through her thin dress.
“It’s me,” she said, overwhelmed by his strength and presence.
His dark wings lorded over his shoulders, shading her. There was a talon as long as her hand at the tip of each one, and she couldn’t help but think how easily he could tear her apart if he wanted to. Thank all the gods she did not believe he wanted to. Even now recognition was dawning and his expression softening.
His dark eyes traced the length of her wings. “I didn’t know you could fly.”
Their gazes locked, and Medea’s lower abdomen filled with a strange and weighty need. Any fear she’d felt before was jarred loose by a powerful wave of heat that warmed her cheeks. Her skin tingled. She swallowed hard and felt her lids flutter at the intensity between them.
