Maybe Marissa's right. Maybe I have been self-focused, and though I don't get why those things are important to her, they obviously are. She's stood by me for the last three years of struggling with school. The least I can do is be here for her now. It's what every good A.P. would do. Besides, somewhere along the way she's become more than just an A.P. – she really has become a good friend.

'Riss?' I call after her. 'Riss, wait up.'

As I enter the classroom behind her I cringe. Because seated quietly on a bench at the front of class, where they've been told to wait since yesterday, are the three missing boys from the news report this morning. Though unlike their serious headshot images, they have giant smiles now. Forced. False. But smiles nonetheless.

They wave and perk up when they see their girls. Paisley approaches her victim, a boy with the same shade of red hair as my father. He nearly stumbles getting off the bench to greet her.

'How was your night?' she asks. 'Is there anything I can do to make you more comfortable?' At least she cares about his wellbeing, in a way.

'Making you happy makes me comfortable,' he says with a giant smile.

I roll my eyes and turn my back so I don't have to see the rest of their exchange.

Marissa's already spread her things over my usual spot next to her. I ignore the message and plop down in the chair. She gives me one of her dramatic glares.

I force a smile. 'You got Marilyn, that's awesome. What are you going to do for your presentation?'

She crosses her arms and leans into the desk. 'Like you care.'

The bell rings before I can reply, and Sister Hannah Marie enters.

'Good morning, ladies. I trust you've come prepared to learn.' Her voice is all sing-song which means we're most likely having a pop quiz or a live demonstration. I hope to the gods this isn't either, but if it has to be one, I'm praying for the quiz. 'Why don't you push your tables back, grab some floor mats and make a circle at the front.'

I groan – floor mats mean demonstrations. After this morning, this is the last thing I want to do. I debate excusing myself to the restroom or the sickroom. But of all the Sisters, Hannah Marie loves her job the most. Her eagerness to teach often results in me with a detention. If I don't want to be sent to Mother Superior's office early, I'll have to at least look interested in the lesson.

'How did your assignments from last class go?' Sister Hannah Marie asks, surveying the room and taking a mental attendance as we get to work setting up our mats.

Marissa's first to raise her hand. She kicks off her heels and stands on the edge of the squishy foam waiting to be called.

'Miss Bale.' The Sister acknowledges with a nod.

Marissa's head jerks up and she flashes one of her pageant-winning grins. 'I turned a boy this morning. A cute one.'

The class bursts into a fit of giggles and Sister Hannah Marie claps her hands in joy at the news. I force a smile so as not to look too out of place.

She walks down the aisle to our corner of floor. 'How did it go?'

Marissa's posture straightens. 'It seemed to affect him more than anyone I've turned so far.' There's a pressure in her gaze, a longing for perfection, and it freaks me out.

'That's splendid news, Marissa,' the Sister says. 'You're well on your way toward top marks with all your accumulating turning credits. Where is he now?'

Marissa's smile slips. 'I haven't been notified of any visitors and it's been over an hour. Shouldn't he be here already?'

'For some it takes longer.'

It's hard to believe that I'm listening to them talk about taking the will of someone so casually. But then again, there are three boys sitting at the front of class waiting to be called on for experimentation. I roll my eyes at the absurdity of it and Sister Hannah Marie notices. She gives me a warning look before returning to the board to jot down some notes.

'It is important to learn to control your release. When you graduate you should be able to determine the amount of force required for the length of a turning you need. If you do not focus you can under-turn your target. Too much, too soon can result in a very powerful but very short turning of a couple days. If you focus your release, you can turn someone for ever.' She diligently writes her points on the board, making sure to underline the key elements.

I can't help shuddering. I've seen someone who's been turned for ever – it isn't as glamorous as Sister Hannah Marie makes it sound.

The Sister stops writing and spins around, clapping for our attention. A cloud of chalk dust floats from her hands, sparkling in the colourful light from the stained-glass window as it drifts to the floor. 'It seems to me, Marissa, that you released too strongly and didn't control where you were targeting.' She returns to the board, rewriting CONTROL in big letters and circling it.

'Now class, can anyone tell me what Marissa felt when she released her gift into the man?'

'That part sucked,' Marissa says, getting another round of laughter. She smiles, proud of herself, and takes a seat beside me on the mat.

Everyone in class has a hand raised, except me. It earns another look of disapproval from Marissa, and Sister Hannah Marie.

The Sister points to Paisley, kneeling on a mat a foot away, waving a little too keenly. 'Yes?'

Paisley jumps to her feet, the momentum popping a button on her cardigan. 'It's painful. Almost like when your arm is asleep, or like a bee sting, or like vampire venom.'

The class giggles and Sister Hannah Marie purses her lips. 'If vampires were a real thing, I'm sure it would be. Thank you for your contribution, Paisley.' She looks to the other side of the room. 'Now, can anyone tell me why it's painful to release their gift?'

I know the answer – I read it in our manual. It says that Eros wanted to keep the arrow of infatuation away from his mother, Aphrodite. Apparently, Aphrodite wasn't happy with his choice to marry Psyche, and Eros was worried she'd use the golden arrow to turn Psyche's love towards another man. So while she was asleep, he hid it inside Psyche. But he didn't know she was pregnant and the arrow pierced their unborn child, the power transferring to baby Hedone. Thanks to that we, the descendants of Hedone – Hedonesses – have the power of Eros's golden arrow in us, but when we use it, we feel what that baby felt.

I don't bother raising my hand. It's one thing to read it, it's another to announce it as truth.

When no one answers, Sister Hannah Marie walks to the middle aisle. 'Pull out Eros's Arrows and turn to page 230.'

I slide the textbook out from under my pile of papers. The leather cover's still dirty from this morning. I run my finger over Marissa's heel indent before flipping to the page. It's a full-colour fresco of Eros shoving a gold arrow into Psyche's swollen belly and the words IN THE BEGINNING. This is how we came to be – the Hedonesses' origin is one giant mistake.

The Sister nods with excitement. 'It all comes back to the arrow. The act of creating love is painful. All the tension, embarrassment, all the emotions balled together and injected into someone, just like an arrow piercing a heart. That is what your chosen ones feel when you use your power. What you feel is the physical manifestation of what Hedone felt when she was stabbed while inside the womb: fear, pain, isolation, the absence of love, and then all love at once.' She pauses, letting us take it in. 'Can any of you tell me why Eros gave up his arrow, his greatest power?'

I drift off, thinking back to the painting of Eros in the hall, and almost don't notice Sister Hannah Marie calling my name until Marissa nudges me in the side.

'Yes, Sister?' I rub my ribs and glare at Marissa.

She raises an eyebrow and mouths, you're welcome.

'I was asking if you knew why Eros hid the arrow?' the nun repeats.

I know but I shrug. I've heard the story more times than I'd like. I just don't want to be a participant in this conversation.

The Sister frowns, stepping back to scan the classroom. 'He gave over the arrow in order to keep Psyche to himself.' She places her hand over her heart, trapping her rosary beneath her chalk-tinted fingers. 'You Hedonesses are a product of an act of love. Eros gave up his greatest power to keep his true love. This is no small gift from a god, and that makes it a huge responsibility bestowed upon you. Each time you turn a man, you give over a piece of your power, much like Eros.'

Marissa's hand shoots up.

'Yes, child?'

'Will we lose our ability to turn men if we give over too much of our powers each time?'

I laugh to myself. Of course she'd care about that.

'There's no need to worry,' the Sister says. 'The love your charge gives you will fill you up, make you stronger. Most young Hedonesses' power sparks for the first time when they feel love, or choose to pursue it. And some Hedonesses even learn to return the love of the men in some way. In those cases, we've seen their powers grow exponentially. In very rare cases, they can even turn men with their touch.' She smiles and looks right at me. 'Much like your mother, Rachel.'

I fidget in my seat, too afraid to look up for fear of locking eyes with anyone. I hate people talking about my mother's heightened ability almost as much as I hate being a child of forced love. I imagine Joan of Arc riding into the classroom, the word fighter painted in red on her back, a fierce look in her eyes as she rams her sword through the Sister.

Marissa shoots up her hand again. 'So if I love a guy I turn, I might be able to get powerful enough to turn by touch?'

'Love is a most powerful magic,' the Sister answers.

I'm so tired of all this. 'What we do isn't love,' I blurt, regretting it when I see the look on Sister Hannah Marie.

'It is love,' she says with an icy sharpness. 'Don't you see? It's the amount of love you offer that gets transferred into your charge. The more the intentions are true, the more power surges into him, the longer he stays turned, and the more it affects you.'

The class erupts in murmurs of understanding, and the fact that they buy everything they hear without question only makes me madder. If we're really offspring of a god, shouldn't that give us the right to some power of our own, something stronger than making puppets of men?

I glance at the boys seated up front and anger burns through me. 'Who decides the intentions? One person might believe in something that another person thinks is wrong.'

Marissa inhales sharply and the hopeful expression on Sister Hannah Marie's face fades to stone.

'I am tired of your doubt.' The Sister scribbles something on a piece of paper, a long something – it takes up the whole sheet. When she finishes, she seals it with wax from her altar candle, and lays it on the corner of her desk. 'Take this letter to Mother Superior and remain in her office until she permits you to leave.'

I set to work packing up my things, running through every excuse I can give My ma when she finds out. Because she will. She always does.

Marissa watches me with a mix of sympathy and confusion. This stuff is important to her – she seeks her identity in being a Daughter of Hedone. All I want is to be normal.

The Sister claps and the class turns from watching me. 'Marissa, come partner with Paisley. You can be first to demonstrate.'

Marissa hops to the front, assuming position at the corner of the mat. Paisley stands inches away, palms out, feet spread, shoulders braced. Marissa takes her hand and gives it a gentle kiss. Instantly Paisley's eyes roll back and her knees wobble, but it's not as strong as how the boy with the blue eyes in the park reacted. The Hedoness power doesn't work the same on us. It's why they make us practise on each other first.

Paisley giggles and rubs her hand. 'That was intense. I almost blacked out.'

'Very good, take a seat in case you do,' the Sister motions Paisley down. 'What did you feel, Marissa?'

'It hurts much less than kissing a boy,' she says, 'but it's a lot less fun.'

The class giggles again. Even the Sister chuckles. I fight the urge to shake my head.

'Paisley, can you call your gentleman friend up? We shall have Marissa demonstrate on him.'

Paisley hesitates. 'It won't hurt him, will it?'

Sister Hannah Marie smiles. 'I assure you he won't remember a thing. What we don't know doesn't hurt us.'

I roll my eyes. Paisley nods and waves her boy over. He stands on the mat in her place waiting for Marissa's kiss, his eyes never leaving Paisley's.

'Who knows what happens when a turned boy is injected with the powers of a different Hedoness?' the Sister asks.

Paisley raises her hand and the Sister nods for her to answer.

'Does it erase the instructions of the last Hedoness?'

'It does not,' the Sister says firmly. 'Every command given to a turned man stays in place even after the Hedoness's ability wears off. Unless, of course, the next Hedoness instructs him differently. But thank you for your question, Paisley. Now, could you please command him to do something? Then we will have Marissa demonstrate the change.'

I finish gathering my things, and approach Sister Hannah Marie for the letter before I have to witness any more of their experimentations. Her eyes offer a look of disappointment, much like the look Sister Anthony Christine gave me earlier. I try not to read into it as I take the letter from her outstretched hand and head for the door.

'And Rachel?'

I pause, not turning around.

'It's your own heart that's the judge,' she says.

♥

Mother Superior's reading spectacles slide down her nose as her eyes dart across the note.

I gulp and shift in the doorway, waiting for my verdict, my Converse shuffling awkwardly on her tiled floor.

She glances up from the page, those dark eyes assessing me, then carries on reading.

A few throat clears and a 'hmmm' or two later, she lowers the note to her desk. 'Take a seat, Rachel.'

She points to an altar chair in the corner. I place my books beside it and shakily lower myself in, then sit rigidly with my hands folded in my lap, and my shoes tucked under so she doesn't see them and get mad all over again. Sister Hannah Marie's class on turning is maddening, but anything's better than Mother Superior's office. It's dim and dusty, a collection of gothic crucifixes line the walls, and dozens of lit prayer candles –

each painted to depict the death of a Saint – clump in random groupings about the place. It's more like a funeral parlour than an office. My eyes are drawn to a grey rock with bright gold veins, under a glass dome on a corner of her desk. It's the only thing in the room that isn't staged and it's the only thing not covered in dust.

'That's a philosopher's stone,' she says. 'It's used to turn base metals into gold. Though this one has run out of magic.' She rubs a phantom smudge off the glass. 'It could work again, if I find a god willing to give me their magic-restoring blood.' She smiles to herself before looking up. 'It was a gift from the Committee.'

When I don't reply, Mother Superior sighs and adjusts her seat, resting the letter and her spectacles on her large mahogany desk. 'You don't like it here at St Valentine's, do you?'

My first instinct is to apologize. But I take a deep breath and lift my chin, noticing a particularly gruesome candle with a caricature of a decapitated man. 'Not really, no.'

'You have no desire to use the gift given to you?'

My stomach flips. It's this belief that makes me twitchy – the idea that I have one talent, one purpose in life. I'd like to believe I have several gifts and being a Hedoness isn't one of them.

'Which gift are you referring to?'

Mother Superior slams her hand on the desk. 'Don't play games with me, Rachel. You know what I'm asking. I will not tolerate disrespect.'

My breaths come short. 'Honestly? No, I don't think it's a gift to steal a man's will. I think it's selfish. Awful, even.' Heat floods my cheeks and I cringe, waiting for the shouting, the anger, but the nun stays calm. I lean forward, my hands gripping the side of the chair, it's tattered wooden edge gripping back. 'Shouldn't love be a—'

'Rachel.' She hisses my name, causing me to jerk back. The tension of her on again off again temper has my entire body in knots. 'It's time you stop thinking about what you don't have and start being thankful for what you do.'

'And what's that?' I ask, a little too sharp.

Mother Superior locks onto me, those dark eyes holding me captive. 'You are a strong, intelligent young woman who has been given a gift that could change the world for the better. The greatest of all things is love. If you used that brain to think of solutions instead of problems, imagine what you could do. Look at the good done by the Hedonesses that have gone before you. There are women, who started right here in St Valentine's, in key political positions in nearly every government. If necessary, the Committee can step in and take control – we have you Hedonesses to thank for that.'

'How good of them.'

'Rachel . . .' She says my name like a sigh. 'It's a disappointment that you refuse to embrace your gift. With your mother's extraordinary ability, I had high hopes for you. There was even talk of the Committee continuing training during your work years and placing you in a respectable position. But your lack of acceptance makes us doubt you're ready.'

The last thing I want is to sign up for the 'strongly encouraged' after graduation work years. And I certainly don't want to spend them training with anyone who values utilising Hedoness power.

'At this point I'm going to be advising the Committee to hold you back for an additional year at St Valentines, unless you show some major progress in your last semester.'

'What?! That's not fair.'

'The life of the gifted is rarely fair.'

'So if I turn someone, I can graduate and go on with my life? Is that all you care about?'

She crosses her hands over her desk and takes a calming breath. 'That and law and history. It is imperative you learn your power before your next stage of training.'

'Next stage? What if I don't want it?'

'Then you are the Committee's problem.'

'Isn't the Committee busy with important things? What would they want with a Hedoness who doesn't want to be a Hedoness?'

'The Committee oversees everything we do. But we can discuss them later. Right now, we're discussing you.' She puts her glasses back on, but doesn't open the note. Part of me thinks she just needs an added barrier between us, as little and insignificant that it is.

'Rachel?' A look of disapproval washes over the nun's face. 'This is a serious matter. The gods have given you a gift and you refuse to embrace it.'

I absorb the nun's penetrating glare and try to keep my breathing calm, collected. It's not working. It's like I'm on trial.

She takes my silence as doubt. 'How can you have such a gift and still question the gods' existence?'

'It's not that I don't believe in the gods. It's that I'm not sure I agree with them.' I regret the words the moment they slip off my tongue. Not because I don't mean them. I do. But because I don't want to sit through the lecture that's twitching on her lips. 'And anyway,' I say, hoping to change the subject, 'I just don't understand why the Committee needs Hedonesses to do their work when there are actual gods around.'

'The gods are not allowed to interfere with humans and as such are not allowed out of Olympus. You know this.'

'It seems strange that those who are supposed to keep the gods and demigods from interfering would encourage Hedonesses to—'

Mother Superior sighs. 'Over the years, the Committee learned that it was easier to control the gods with the help of Hedonesses. Now that the gods no longer interfere in our world, the Committee's efforts have turned to world politics, trying to spread peace by placing Hedonesses in influential and strategic positions. You should know this also, Rachel.'

'Maybe they'd be better off letting them out than having a bunch of forced-love children do their work.'

'I see what this is really about.' She pushes up her glasses and re-crosses her hands, leaning over the desk to be nearer to me. 'A child who is a product of forced-love is a form of beauty birthed from darkness. A gift. You are born of sinners, yes. We all are. Still, future sins are your choice not your right. You can be a part of greatness, Rachel.'

The nun's quiet response stabs my heart.

She's confirmed what I've always known – I am a product of sin.

I am birthed from darkness.

I am a monster.

If you liked it, please do me a solid and vote. If you take the time to comment, I'll take the time to reply. It seriously means so much to me that you chose to read my book! xo

*new chapter next wed or thurs (21/22)

*the band in the banner is my hubby's band!