August 22 | Day

Playing with fire had never been a hobby of mine, but Nixie Fontenot was a different kind of thrill. She wasn't a flame; she was a tidal wave. As I tucked a hand to her ear to whisper the getaway plan, the scent of her perfume–sliced papaya and water lilies–rolled into my nostrils, and my eyelids fluttered in appreciation. God, her beauty is flawless. She glanced at me in profile and smiled with a subtle nod.

Five minutes later, I stared after the sway of her hips as she strutted out of the museum. From her high-heeled sandals to her colorful locs pinned in a stylish twist, she carried herself with a regal bearing, and it puzzled me that she couldn't seem to see herself the way others saw her. Her lithe figure filled out a cerulean romper. Men did double-takes in her wake. Women stared after her with envy and approval.

The princess was fast-becoming my weakness, but I forced myself to avert my gaze, chided myself to listen to the alarm bells resounding in my head. For a week, I had taught Nixie assertiveness as she had practiced her siren call, and it had done nothing but distract me. Now someone had gotten close enough to shadow us. I couldn't afford to forget my objective.

Scanning the room, I spotted the woman in the red dress as she pretended to be consumed by a work of art.

There was Legend standing near the chariot. His graceful body commanded attention, and his handsome face drew second glances. Curse Van der Woodsen for sticking me with two people who can't blend in to save their lives. I sighed. Legend would do as he had been instructed. He didn't need me.

Satisfied Fitz had gotten Nixie out without being followed, I marched from the building and hailed a rideshare. As I paced outside in the hot sun, my inner critic went on full blast. "You're acting like a foolish coed, Dex," I groused.

I was taken aback by my own feelings. Sexual attraction had never interfered with my work before. Sure, I hadn't put a lot of effort into finding the Rainbow Bridge because the amulet had bought us some time. But that wasn't the only reason. I told myself that Nixie needed the training I was giving her. She needed to be toughened up for the journey ahead and prepared to ascend to the Fontenot throne after the book was delivered.

The issue wasn't her request for training, but my behavior. Why, oh, why was it so difficult to remain detached and keep my hands off? Because she didn't want me to. Neither did Legend. He wanted the seduction, the playfulness, and the reassurance that it was okay if his family didn't want him, that he was still desirable.

My ride arrived, and I headed to a bar on Bourbon Street where Nixie and Fitz were already waiting at a table in the back. Settling in the chair next to the princess, I ordered a mocktail and tried not to show how disconcerted I was by the revelations about myself. Less than twenty minutes later, Legend showed up, and I covertly studied him and the princess with a feeling that I was in over my head. After years of being content with my predictable, professorial life, I feared that the part of me that had longed for excitement was now taking whatever it could get, even if it was against my better judgment.

Grabbing ahold of my priorities, I turned to Fitz. "You mind going to the bar and ordering us another round of drinks?" We Supernaturals had work to do.

"But the server's com—oh, I get it. Important FBI business," he sighed.

I smiled, glad he knew the routine. "So, what did you two think of the chariot?" I asked once Fitz was beyond earshot.

"I can't wait to give it a try," Legend said. "It's a bit cramped with the window right there, but I'm sure my dragon and I can get it airborne in the space we have."

"That thing has to be hundreds, if not thousands, of years old. How do we know it'll move at all?" Nixie asked.

"It's not just any cart and horses. Haven't you ever heard the story of Apollo and his demigod son, Phaeton?" I asked. Fitz returned to the table and I nodded for him to rejoin us. "According to myth, one day Phaeton got tired of people teasing him and saying he couldn't be the son of a god. So, he went up to the heavens and asked Apollo for a favor."

The server came around with a tray of drinks, and Legend stared thoughtfully into his glass as I continued, "Apollo, being a doting father, agreed to give him anything he wanted. 'If you lend me your Chariot,' said Phaeton, 'I'll fly it across the heavens, and everyone will know that I'm your child.'

"But at Phaeton's request, Apollo became distraught. 'The horses are too difficult for you to control. You'll kill yourself,' he warned. Phaeton wouldn't be deterred, however, and his father couldn't break a promise. The next morning before dawn, Phaeton arrived to hitch the horses."

"Hang on a second. This doesn't end well, does it?" Legend interrupted me.

"Well, no, but it's only a story," I said.

"A story about the perils of biting off more than you can chew," Nixie giggled.

"By taking the Chariot of the Sun, no less. How apropos," Legend replied dryly.

"Let me guess, Phaeton dies in the end?" Fitz cluelessly got in on the gentle ribbing.

Nixie tapped her glass to his and Legend's. "Cheers to going out in a blaze."

"Cheers." Fitz grinned.

"Well, you've all ruined the ending, but, yes, Phaeton takes the Chariot of the Sun, and it veers wildly out of control and scorches the earth and nearly destroys all of humanity until Zeus has to kill him to end the carnage. There, the end." I huffed.

Legend widened his eyes at me pointedly, and I felt the downturn of my lips. "Don't worry. We'll be fine," he murmured.

I leaned back in my chair and folded my arms. I assumed we would be okay. But I also understood that Van der Woodsen was asking a lot of us, and I had told him that we could do it in a bid to secure funding for my research. It occurred to me that letting my emotions get involved wasn't the worst thing that could happen. Perhaps not allowing myself to feel was worse.

***

The minute I stepped through the front door, Abuela Maya said, "You can't run from your destiny. You're always running toward it." She sat on the sofa with an herbology book across her lap. Bifocals rested on her nose. Tendrils of hair floated around her cheerful face as she regarded me standing on the threshold.

"What are you talking about?" I side-eyed her, knowing that she had cornered me.

"The initiation," she said. "From the look on your face, you're finally starting to realize that your usual methods won't work. To complete this mission safely, you'll need to travel to where the numinous awaits."

I exhaled gustily as I came the rest of the way into the living room. She had found me alone, as Legend had taken Fitz and Nixie for a row on the pond. Then, reading me like a book—as she always did—she was waiting for me to be vulnerable enough to seek other ways of doing my job. She knew I didn't want to see Legend or Nixie get hurt.

"Have you figured out what the Oracle meant by finding the key to the Gates of Mortality?" I changed the subject.

Abuela closed her book and guided me to a chair. "I've considered it long and hard," she said as she finger-combed my hair. "I believe this initiation is the key. It opens the door between this world and the next."

"The Rainbow Bridge," I surmised.

"Yes. To be a shaman is to walk both paths simultaneously. I know that you're afraid," she murmured in Spanish. "Destiny is a union of contraries. You have a gut feeling about what you need to do, but you don't believe that you have what it takes. Well, why would you have the inclination in the first place?"

I had never spoken about what truly prevented me from dabbling in the occult. "Don't you ever wonder why Torres is an addict?" I asked. "Look at what we came from. Our mother... She was never strong enough to withstand the stress of daily life, and our father got defeated by his own mind. Don't you see how vulnerable I am?"

Nodding, Abuela hummed a familiar folksong as she plaited my hair. "You've had it harder than most, my heart. It's true. However, your wholeness of mind is on the other side of your fear of losing it. Let me put it to you this way. You can't research your way out of this. You must find the courage to take the next step inward. Perhaps most ironically, courage is harnessed in crisis. To be a healer, as you intend with your life's work, you must understand what's in the wild dark that you refuse to see."

"I'll give it some thought, but if I decide to proceed, what will you need me to do?" I asked at length.

An hour later, I was on campus, en route to the mycology suite. Abuelita had given me a list of supplies that I had on hand in my office, specifically herbs for a special enhancing potion, but nothing from my own list of forbidden items. I was comfortable with what she had chosen, as far as nature was concerned.

My grandmother also wanted to call on the ancestors and spirits to awaken my shamanic abilities, which I was unsure about. However, I couldn't let Legend and Nixie be the only ones pushing themselves beyond their comfort zones. It felt like my life had been leading up to this moment from the start. Maybe Abuela had been right: No one chose their path; the path chose them.

"Good afternoon, Dr. Rodriguez," my lab assistant greeted me when I walked in. "I thought you were on vacation. How's it been?"

"It's been, uh, active. Have I received any important calls while I was away? How has the TA been?" I asked.

"Your teaching assistant hasn't received any complaints. You left a very thorough syllabus, obviously," she smiled. She had put the syllabus together. "And there were a few calls. Dean Brumfield wanted me to find out if you will definitely be able to get him the paper he requested by midterms, and you got a call from a Mr...Darcy Cyprian?" She looked up from the stickie note at me.

I stopped with my hand on the door to my office. "Did he leave a callback number?" I asked. My heart was pounding in my chest. Why was the billionaire calling me? How could he know what I was up to? I thanked her and took the message.

I closed the office door behind me and hurried to my desk, where I picked up the receiver. I hesitated for a moment, unsure whether to call Darcy back or not. On the one hand, if he didn't know anything, I didn't want to give away any information. On the other, I needed to find out what he did know. I quickly dialed the number and got his assistant on the line.

I brushed my hair out of my face and glared at my bookshelf while I waited for him to come to the phone. When he answered, I brightened my voice. "Mr. Cyprian, this is Dr. Dex Rodriguez. I apologize for missing your call. Is there something I can help you with?"

"Dr. Rodriguez, what a pleasure," he purred. "I was going over financials for the Council of Overlay Affairs and noticed a request for funding for a project of yours?"

I held my breath. "I'm sure you should take that up with whomever requested it."

"No, no," he laughed. "I simply meant that the request reminded me that you're a gifted researcher and potions master. You've done work for the council in the past. Listen, I have a favor to ask. Would you meet me somewhere?"

"What's the nature of your request?" I didn't make the mistake of promising him anything, especially not meeting him. Despite the billionaire's philanthropic reputation, Darcy Cyprian had a history of seducing and assaulting young women. He was vile, and there wasn't enough money in the world to entice me to trust him.

"In my travels as a collector, I've stumbled across a formula for a potion called the Hermetic Draught, and I would be honored if you could apply your expertise to reinventing it for me." I heard the smile in his voice.

"What can it do?" I asked, trying not to sound too curious.

"Allegedly, the draught can expand brain power and drastically, although temporarily, boost thinking capacity. Imagine what a benefit that would be for the council," he chuckled darkly. "There is a certain Map of Destiny I'm close to getting my hands on, and I'll need the Hermetic Draught to help me unseal it. Does that assuage your fears? Completely harmless business."

I gnawed my bottom lip, stuck between a rock and a hard place. I knew the vampire would eventually realize that he could use the Map of Destiny to find The Book of Tides, but my hope was that I could waste as much time as possible making the potion for him.

"Sounds great. I can do that for you. Send me a copy of the formula," I said.

I also knew that I couldn't stall him forever. If the Hermetic Draught was his Plan A, then what was his Plan B? From what I had learned about Darcy Cyprian, the cunning vampire never left home without a backup.