“Yes. And no. Your mortal casing now, that is carrying your immortal soul, was born. You lived life as a human. The memories you made there were real. Well, as real as anything is in a world torn apart and rebuilt.”
“Then why does it feel like someone keeps hitting backspace on my brain?” Jo’s hands clutched his shirt, drawing deep wrinkles between his collar and his chest. It didn’t make sense. She remembered wrinkled hands pushing her hair out of her face. She remembered the smell of the kitchen before dinner, filled with spices. She remembered protective hugs and time-worn stories. Yet somehow the memories seemed faded, like the fraying ends of a dream upon waking.
“When you were mortal, the sliver of your magic that you still carry lay dormant. You were protected out in the world, hidden among normalcy and shielded by your own ignorance. But joining the Society. . . You cast off your mortal casing and now live as an immortal. . . So the memories of your past life—your first life—are returning.”
“So I am the same as you, then.” Jo thought back to the readings off Charlie’s sensors. That she and Snow shared similarities, but not her and Takako. “I’m a demigod.”
“You don’t seem surprised.” If anything, Snow was the one who looked surprised.
“Call it intuition.” Jo looked down at her hand, thinking of the desk and everything else that had gone awry.
“If I’m a demigod, then why was I born? Why am I in a, how did you put it, mortal casing?” Her memories were being muddled, pulled apart, like two images overlapped; neither was clear no matter how hard she tried to sort them. Even with the little bit of information Snow was giving her, she couldn’t make sense of them. “I feel like I should know, Snow, but I. . . My memories may be coming back, but they’re doing so in bits and pieces.”
“You were born mortal because your magic threatened to destroy the world—making you mortal was how such a fate was prevented.”
Destroy the world. Well. No big deal then. Despite herself, Jo blurted a loud“HA!”
“Jo—”
“I’m just a piece of work, aren’t I?” Heart hammering and stomach clenching, Jo shook her head. “A demigod that was going to destroy the world? So, then, what? I was put down by the other gods?” She pictured the canine version of herself forgotten in some twisted divine shelter, dragged away by vet techs to be prodded with needles until it was certain she’d stop biting volunteers and just accept her fate.
“Not put down. . .” Despite it all, as Snow spoke, hazy memories began to fill color into his words. A sort of clarity that came from the reassurance of knowing a deep truth at the very core of her essence. “You loved the world, and all its mortals. You feared for them. For while it was your magic that threatened the world, it was not you wielding it that was the true threat.”
“The true threat. . .” A conversation tickled the edge of her memory. Jo blinked, trying to pull the images into focus, desperate to read the lips of those speaking in the hopes that she may be able to pull the words out of the ether of her mind. There was truth there that Jo needed, information she craved. Information she wasowed.“Snow, how were demigods made?”
He had walked over as she’d spoken. Now standing above her, he loomed like a gentle judge—but one who was passing judgment on her fate nonetheless.
When he didn’t answer right away, Jo clenched her fists by her side, looking away. “Tell me,” she whispered. It was important; it was a binding thread. Every fiber of her being screamed for it. After a long, agonizing moment, Snow relented.
“There were two ways. Birth—well, being carved out of time by greater gods—or by splitting the essence of a god or goddess.”
“I was split.” The conclusion felt right, memories returning in wide swaths.
“Twice.” Snow knelt down, taking both her hands in his, now shifting to look up at her. “You made the ultimate sacrifice. The first time you were split was when you were born as a demigod. Then you allowed yourself to be split again. Because for a demigod to be split is for that demigod to be made mortal. You gave part of your power to me for safekeeping, to use as a tool to destroy the world and with it she who would try to use your power against you. Then I could rebuild everything with my own magic of Creation.
“With the part of your essence you gifted to me kept safely beyond time, your soul would not die, but be reincarnated—ever seeking its other half—and I would find you again in the world to reunite you with your magic and divinity.”
“But it didn’t work.” He winced, even though she hadn’t aimed to be harsh.
“It did, and didn’t. Because of you relinquishing your power, I was able to bring about an end to the Age of Gods.”
It was Jo’s turn to mindlessly stare out the window. Processing everything was all too easy, and that almost made it harder. She wanted more resistance to accepting the fantastical claims he was making. But there was too much evidence that it was true. Denying it was pointless. Fruitless.
“Well, here we are,” Jo said finally, not quite looking at him, but reveling in the feel of his touch nonetheless. “You ended the Age of Gods and rebuilt the world. And then did it again, and again, countless times in the Society.”
He nodded solemnly.
“And yet myths of gods long gone still linger,” Jo whispered, swallowing. “And it’s still not safe, is it?”
Snow didn’t answer right away, eyes shifting to the side almost as if on reflex. Jo knew what that look meant. She’d seen it all too many times from the secretive man. The curiosity she’d pushed aside from earlier came roaring back.
“She, you said, the one to use my magic as a weapon. . . You mean Pan?” It was the only thing that made sense. Pan’s fearsome power. Her age—both immeasurably old yet childish at the same time. The way she seemed all too giddy from the moment Jo had walked through the door. All the moments Jo had looked at her as if seeing a familiar face.
“Yes. Which is why we must return to the Society soon, so as not to arouse her suspicion.”
She suspected it may already be too late for that.
“There’s one more thing.” If they were putting everything on the table, then it needed to be everything. “You said I wasn’t the true threat, that it was Pan. But. . . I may be a threat now.”
