“I told you,” Levi says, beaming. “You are a wonder.”
We stream into the kitchen of the Horse & Yard pub, a name I pick up from the monogrammed apron of an older woman scooping breaded pickles from hot grease, who nearly comes unglued when she sees us. We apologize profusely as we bolt for the nearest exit. After upsetting several patrons in our rush to freedom, we find our way into the brisk Seattle night air.
I immediately pull out my phone and call an Uber for Cadence. “There’s a car on the way. A black Corolla. I gave it the address of a Best Western in Tacoma, but take it anywhere you want, just go far. I don’t care how much it costs. She’ll tear this city apart looking for us.”
“Thank you,” she says. “For everything. You didn’t have to help me, but you did. I’m sorry I didn’t open my door that day. I was so afraid. I didn’t know who to trust anymore. But you’re one of the good ones, Jude.”
I throw my arms around her in a genuine hug, careful of her burns. I fully expect this will be the last time we see each other. “Take care of yourself, Cadence,” I tell her. “You’re one of the good ones too.”
Her lips press into a smile, and she nods once before Levi and I turn and start down the street, most of Seattle at our back and a monster waking up beneath our feet.
“We can head back to my place, or the bookstore even,” Levi offers as we jog toward the block where we left our car.
“No,” I tell him. “We can’t be anywhere she’ll think to look. She knew about your store, she might know where you live.”
As my car comes into view, a fire truck flies past us followed by an ambulance. They must be on their way to the club, sirens screaming and lights whirling so fast the colors blend to purple. If we’re lucky, the authorities will stall her, buy us time with their questions and inspections.
“Where do you suggest we go then?” Levi asks.
“A hotel, I guess? Outside the city.”
“We’ll have to check in,” he reminds me. “Give a credit card. Do you think she could trace that?”
I honestly have no idea. But then a tiny golden speck of flower drops from my hair onto the concrete at my feet, illuminated by the full moon riding the city. The bay rolls through the air and across my tongue, tasting of history and brine. The columns and flowers in the club tonight parade through my mind.
There is one place Arla would never expect to find me. One place we won’t have to check in, give our names. Because there’s no service, no beds, nowalls. It’s hiding in plain sight.
“I know somewhere we can go,” I tell Levi. “Long enough to figure out our next move. Somewhere she won’t think to look.” I rub a frustrated hand over my face. “At least my back seats lie down.”
His eyebrows raise with concern. “Car camping? Sounds rustic. Where are we going?”
Home,the voice whispers.Home.
The words are leaden, ball bearings rolling under my tongue. They taste bitter and strange like poisoned fruit. “To Solidago.”
26DAEDALEAN CREATURE
The drive is over six hours if you don’t stop, but the last time I made it I was riding away from Solidago, not toward it. That was a lifetime ago and it felt like it went on forever then, the coast stretching into the endless distance, mile after beautiful, gobsmacking mile. This time we’re making it at night, the moon quietly shadowing us as we creep out of the city and then the state, reminding me that this nightmare won’t be over until that well is empty and the Fathom is far from here. What happens to Arla then, or any of us? I couldn’t say. But without her source, surely the worst of her power will be drained. Maybe then we can go to the authorities, report Aaron’s and Brennan’s murders. Maybe then they can contain her.
At least we decided to drive my car tonight, since my Mazda crossover has back seats that fold flat. Anneli’s book was still inside. I pore over it as Levi takes a turn behind the wheel, flipping between chapters, trying to find some reference to what specifically is trapped in Arla’s basement. There is nothing that points directly to the Fathom, though several water goddesses are listed, from Sassuma Arnaa in Greenland to Tiamat of Mesopotamia to the Greek Thalassa I’m already acquainted with. She explains how the “primordial waters” indicate memories in the collective unconscious of both the mother’s womb and evolution from a shared aquatic species. At the same time, they represent our fearof returning to a preconscious state, what we perceive as the loss of autonomy and control, as death itself.
She does the same with fire, likening it to dual roles of protector and destroyer, order and chaos, the heart of civilization and the center of our apocalyptic nightmares. This she attributes to an instinctive understanding terrestrial species carry of the sun, the giver and nurturer of life. But we know it also as our sure demise, for all stars must die.
According to Anneli, water and fire are not opposing elements but procreative dualities that generate, nourish, and govern life through their union. While today’s mind might think of them as separate, copulating entities, she insists their reproduction is parthenogenetic, housed figuratively if not literally in the bodies of these ancient goddesses. She describes them as forces, more than beings, that hold within them the violence of our awakening and the seed of our destruction.
It’s hard to imagine she wrote this before her experience on the mountain. I wonder if she’d write it differently now. Setting the book down, I look at Levi.
“Learn anything useful?” he asks.
“I don’t know. Maybe it’s better if I drive and you read. The journal, I mean.” I pick it up from the floorboard and unwrap it again, flipping through its many decorated pages. There must be something here that can help us. I have the key; I can get inside the chamber. But what then? How do I make it so the Fathom can get out?
“Take some time,” Levi says. “You need rest. We’re not going to fix this by sacrificing ourselves.”
His choice of words unsettles me. He has no idea how close they are to the truth. But he’s right—I’m terrified and exhausted, and that combination does not make for the best problem-solving skills.
I return to Anneli’s book, my eyes finding a paragraph I haven’t read yet.
Primordial goddesses are neither benevolent nor malevolent. They do not plot and scheme, nor are they passive observers. They are to be feared and revered. Appeasement is questionable, control, futile. It is their nature to be unpredictable, but not accidental. Their actions and reactions may be beyond mortal understanding, but they are cosmically true. How one might reveal herself to you, it is only one profile of a compound face, one facet of a complex prism, one arm of a Daedalean creature.
