Goddess (18 page)

She didn’t meet my eye. Despite her offhand tone, I knew she was afraid. The goddess and I had given her more than she’d bargained for.

‘It’s OK,’ I said. ‘I was leaving anyway. Artemis has a new task for me, and Aiden can’t be involved. The goddess wants me to do this alone.’

Her relief was obvious. ‘Great. I mean, it’s great that the goddess is guiding you. Because your prophecy’s already been proved true. It was the prime minister – did you know? He was found an hour ago, swinging from a lamp post. It’s just been on the news.’

‘Oh.’

‘Horrible, isn’t it? The Emergency Committee says it was another terrorist attack, but it’s more likely they arranged it themselves.’

‘I’m sure you’re right.’ It didn’t seem real, or particularly important.

‘So, uh, what are you going to do now? Is there anything I can do to help?’

Good question. It was time to pull myself together. Time, too, to exploit Scarlet’s guilt at getting rid of me. I’d start by finding Leto, I thought. I had a lot of questions for her.

‘Actually, I could do with a change of clothes and something to eat. And is there any chance you could give me a lift into London?’

‘Of course.’ Scarlet was brimming over with helpfulness. ‘I’ll get you some cash too. I can even give you the keys to my mother’s flat. She’s in the States at the moment so you won’t be disturbed.’

‘That’s very kind.’

She gave an over-bright smile. ‘No problem at all.’

Twenty minutes later, she returned with clothes and a baseball cap, plus a small bag of essentials. Once we set off, I stretched out in the back seat of the car and closed my eyes, willing the last few days to dissolve into fantasy and forgetfulness. I had to tell myself it was all a dream. If I was to remember the warmth of Aiden’s hands, the scent of his hair, his breath on my neck, then I would also have to remember my crazed run through the woods. I was awake now and returned to sanity. I mustn’t defy the goddess again.

The main roads into central London were subject to checkpoints, so I asked Scarlet to drop me off in a quiet suburban street. From there, I was going to get a bus and trust my luck it wouldn’t be pulled over for a stop-and-search.

‘Are you sure you’ll be OK?’ she asked.

‘Artemis will protect me.’

After the woods, I knew that for certain. Possessed by the goddess, I was armed and dangerous. Untouchable.

Scarlet cleared her throat. She still couldn’t look me in the eye. ‘What should I tell Aiden?’

‘Keep him with you. Don’t let him come to London – it’s not safe.’ I had no way of explaining that the danger wasn’t London, but me. Me and the goddess. ‘And tell him . . . tell him I’m sorry.’

This was as much as I could manage. I got out of the car without saying thank you or even goodbye. I couldn’t bear for her to hear the break in my voice.

Not so long ago, the idea of navigating the city on my own would have terrified me. Now I was simply grateful to be alone and anonymous on its streets. I had money and a place to stay, thanks to Scarlet’s guilt trip. I even had a plan, of sorts. Just one step forward. And another.

Don’t think too much about it
, I told myself, tugging the baseball cap down over my forehead.
Don’t think about anything. Just keep going.

I boarded the right bus, without attracting so much as a second glance from my fellow passengers. I even managed to get off at the right stop. I gazed up at the British Museum’s parade of columns and pediment and felt briefly comforted. It was designed just like a Greek temple.

Since the riots, most of the museum’s major exhibits had been moved to a secret location for safe keeping. Still, the fact that so many of its staff had been laid off would be to my advantage. I trusted in Artemis to keep me hidden and was waved through security with the rest of the queue. We poured into the museum’s Great Court, under the milky light of its billowing steel-and-glass roof.

The cult had been instrumental in founding the museum, and so priestesses have always had a token role in curating the ancient Greek artefacts. As I made my way to the Greek pottery room, I could only hope that the usual roster for this was still in operation.

My luck was in: there was no attendant on guard. And after only fifteen minutes of examining a case of Athenian vases I saw a veiled woman emerge from the back office. I knew from the eyes, large and watery green, that I’d got the right priestess.

‘Cynthia. It’s me.’

She started violently.

‘
Aura?
No. No, I can’t talk to you. It’s forbidden.’

She backed away, eyes darting wildly. I’d taken a big risk. But when I was little Cynthia had been especially kind to me. Playing games, telling stories, saving me sweets. Until the night she was initiated as a priestess, and everything changed.

I pressed on. ‘Have you heard about the films I’ve been making? The accusations I’ve made against the cult?’

She gave the tiniest of nods. I’d been fairly certain that even the most ruthless crackdown couldn’t keep the Sanctuary gossip-free, but the news still came as a relief.

‘Do you believe I was speaking the truth? The truth about my initiation night?’

Another tiny nod. Her hands twitched. I could tell she wanted to suck her thumb.

I let out a long wavering sigh. ‘Can we talk somewhere, then? Please?’

After an anxious survey of the room, Cynthia led me into one of the museum’s service corridors. It was ill-lit and, for now, deserted.

‘After you ran away,’ she said, whispering so quietly I strained to hear her, ‘we all got interviewed by the police. Everyone’s saying you’re a criminal. That you’ve been cursed by the goddess.’

‘I think you know who the real criminals are. The cult, the council, the coup – they’re all connected. They’ve hurt a lot of people and they have to be stopped.’

She flushed. ‘Phoebe’s left the cult, you know. Her family came and collected her. I heard them shouting at Opis.’

I wondered about the other girls I’d left behind in the Sanctuary: Iphigenia and Arethusa, the twins. They didn’t have anyone to take them away.

‘I’m really sorry to involve you,’ I said. ‘I know there are all sorts of people looking for me and I don’t want you to get into trouble. But I really need to get a message to Leto and I’m kind of out of options.’

Cynthia gazed at me with wide green eyes, eyes that had once danced with liveliness. ‘I tried to run away too, you know.’

‘It was different for me,’ I said gently. ‘Easier. I had help.’

‘The goddess would want me to help you, wouldn’t she?’

I nodded, suppressing a stab of guilt. My reasons for contacting Leto were selfish. Only Leto could tell me the truth about my mother and father.

Exposing Opis and overthrowing the Emergency Committee was still my priority. But now I had another burning need: to free myself of Artemis. That was why I had to find out about my mother’s oracle. I had to know if she’d escaped the goddess before she died.

Chapter 18

The Emergency Committee has issued a statement strongly condemning the lynching of the prime minister, Nicholas Riley, and assuring the nation that those responsible will be brought to justice. General Ferrer rejected claims that the committee was involved in the hanging as
‘
sheer fantasy
’
.

The leader of the committee, Malcolm Greeve, has confirmed he will visit the Temple of Artemis tomorrow for a private oracle. However, he was unable to set a date for the re-call of Parliament, citing on-going security concerns.

BBC News

Scarlet’s mother, a part-time actress who lived in LA, obviously hadn’t used her London flat for a long time. The air smelled stale and there were dust sheets over the furniture. Most of the other apartments in the luxury development were unoccupied. The building’s silence was eerie. Before going to bed, I switched on the TV, partly to have some background noise, and saw a repeat of Cally announcing her last oracle, the one promising sunshine and rainbows and treats for all. She was sitting on a gold throne next to Opis, dolled-up like some kind of film star. I wondered if she was enjoying herself.

The shock of the last twenty-four hours had worn off; I couldn’t numb my thoughts any more. I lay on the bed, staring into the dark, and felt more alone than I ever had in my life.

Whenever I closed my eyes, I saw Aiden’s face as he looked at me for the last time. Did he think me a freak? A madwoman? Possessed by demons? I didn’t blame him. I hardly knew myself.

I kept thinking of another famous oracle: the Sibyl of Cumae. She asked the gods to live a thousand years, but forgot to ask for youth to go with it. So she got older and older, until she was so tiny and wizened she was kept in a jar. In the end, only her voice was left, with which she begged to die. Aiden would dismiss this as just another fairy tale. But I could imagine what a lifetime spent listening to the goddess would do to the body and soul. A lifetime shut away from the ordinary world. A lifetime unloved, untouched, by mortal hands.

It was better in the morning, as it always is. I went to check the drop-off I’d agreed with Cynthia: a bench outside the British Museum. There was an envelope taped to the underside of its slats with a note from Leto. Somewhat to my surprise, she had agreed to see me. We were to meet that afternoon, in plenty of time before the curfew, at an address in West London.

I wasn’t the only person to be hunched over and covered up, eyes fixed on the ground. Nobody wanted to draw attention to themselves. CCTV cameras were everywhere and there seemed to be more than a usual number of police officers on the streets. Along the way, I saw a bow and arrow spraypainted on a wall. The arrow pointed to my name, Aura, written in large wobbly red letters. I knew I should be encouraged by this show of popular support. Instead, I felt like I was walking around with a giant bullseye tattooed on my forehead.

However, my goddess-given luck continued to hold and I didn’t run into any checkpoints, arriving at the address only ten minutes late. The neighbourhood was wealthy enough to have escaped the rash of boarded-up windows and smashed-up cars. I made my way to an upmarket mansion block and looked at the name listed for Flat 6: Miss P. Smith.

Leto’s querulous voice answered the intercom. She didn’t buzz me in but came down to the lobby. She was dressed in her usual black tracksuit, her usual scowl on her face.

‘I’m not at your beck and call just because you’re on first-name terms with our Higher Power,’ she said before I could even open my mouth. ‘The only reason I agreed to meet was because I wanted to put a stop to your pestering.’

I couldn’t stop grinning. I hadn’t realised I would be so happy to see her. ‘How are you? I was worried that you’d got into trouble. I was worried that Opis and the rest would suspect you after I escaped.’

She snorted. ‘One of the few advantages of being old – everyone reckons you’re daft to boot.’

‘So you didn’t have problems getting away this afternoon?’

‘Why should I? This is a regular appointment.’

I remembered that Leto did, in fact, use to disappear every Thursday afternoon. I’d plucked up the courage to ask her about it once and she’d muttered something about visiting the sick. I hadn’t been sure if it was a joke. The cult’s charitable efforts were mostly restricted to food parcels and fundraising galas.

I followed her up the stairs to Number 6 and the mysterious Miss Smith. We found the flat’s occupant lying on a daybed under the window. Trying to cover my surprise, I touched my fingers to my brow.

‘Honoured Apollonia.’

The ex-High Priestess shook her head. ‘Call me Polly, my dear. We don’t stand on ceremony here.’

The last time I’d seen her was at Opis’s dinner party. At the time, I’d thought she seemed unwell, and she looked worse now. Though in her mid sixties, she still possessed a dainty prettiness. But her skin was waxy and her hands shook. The table by the daybed was littered with bottles of pills.

I didn’t want to feel pity. Apollonia/Polly would have known both my mother and father. She’d been a regular if infrequent visitor to the Sanctuary as I was growing up and yet, like Leto, she had never thought to tell me where I had come from.

The flat showed no sign of the goddess or its owner’s former vocation. It was large and plush and covered in chintz. China figurines of cats, clowns and girls in ballgowns crammed every available surface. Leto set about giving the ornaments a disapproving dust.

Our former leader smiled at her weakly. ‘You’re so good to me.’

‘Hmph. It’s the extra channels on the telly I come for,’ said Leto. ‘And the interweb thingy. Poll’s downstairs neighbour is one of those technical types,’ she told me. ‘Used to work in IT. He set us up with all the right equipment, showed us how the buttons work.’

So this was how Leto got round the Sanctuary’s news censorship.

‘That was quite a speech you gave, missy,’ she continued. ‘Standing up on that hill, yelling at everyone to protest against the fake oracle and tell the committee where to shove it . . . Which is all well and good, except that it won’t be you shut up in the temple with a baying mob outside.’