“I’ve got a few tricks up my sleeve, Portia, ancient as I may be.”
Portia didn’t have the energy to press the issue. She just couldn’t handle one more paranormal revelation.
She began to recount every detail of the night with Max. Leucosia was not familiar with Ogden Nash’s
Adventures of Isabel
, but was happy to hear that Portia had experimented with her vocal powers and had yielded such fantastic results.
“The boys must have loved that,” she assured her young charge. “That’s pretty advanced for a newbie…very promising…”
Portia had forgotten about the boys. What if they had heard her hysterical fit? What if they had actually seen her claw Max’s hand?
The rest of the evening’s details gushed out of her in a torrential downpour.
When Leucosia heard about the reappearance of the distorted reflection in the bathroom mirror, her composure visibly faltered.
“Portia, I hate to be a bad influence, but do you think Charlotte Trotter would cover you for a sleepover tonight? There are people, well, actually immortals, who might be able to help us. We need some time to get this sorted out.”
Portia did not relish the thought of spending the rest of the night surrounded by a group of ancient Gods, but the look on Leucosia’s face told her that she didn’t have much of a choice.
She dialed Charlotte’s cell.
“Hey, Portia, how’s it going with Max—”
“Charlotte, I need to ask you a huge favor, and I’m hoping we can avoid the millions of questions that you’re for sure gonna have.”
“OK,” Charlotte said cautiously.
“I need to tell my parents that I’m sleeping over at your house tonight. I’ll tell them you called me all worked up about the chem test, and that I told you I would come help you at your house because you didn’t want your mom to be alone.”
Charlotte hesitated for a quick moment. “Um, OK—as long as you’re safe, Portia, it’s done. But you’d tell me if you were in trouble, right?”
Portia thought for a second and realized that if she were to tell anyone that she was in trouble, it would actually be Charlotte. But with everything on Charlotte’s plate, she thought it best to spare her the more implausible details of her life.
“I’m OK, Charlotte—I mean, I’m safe. I promise. I just have to work a few things out.” She hated sounding so cryptic.
“OK, Portia. I’ll do it. But, please, be careful, whatever it is you’re doing.”
Portia hung up with Charlotte and started nervously dialing Helena.
Leucosia offered her a nod of encouragement as Portia braced herself for the lie she was about to tell.
“Hi, sweetie. How’s it going over at Max’s?”
“Hi, Mom,” she drew in a sharp breath at the mention of Max’s name. “Actually, I’m on my way to Charlotte’s now with Mrs. Trotter. Charlotte was stressing about the chemistry test tomorrow and wanted to know if I could come study with her. I have a feeling it’s going to be a late night, so I’m thinking maybe I should just sleep over.”
“OK, honey. Do you want me to drop off a clean uniform for tomorrow?”
“No, that’s OK, Mom. I’ll just borrow one from Charlotte.” The lies produced a sour taste in her mouth.
“All right then, but try to get some sleep. It’s never good to take a test after pulling an all-nighter.”
“I know, Mom. Don’t worry. I love you.”
“Love you too, sweetie. Oh, and let me speak to Janie for a sec.”
Oh God—now she was screwed. She shouldn’t have lied.
Putting her hand over the mouthpiece, she whispered to Leucosia. “I’m dead. She wants to talk to Mrs. Trotter.”
Leucosia smiled, grabbing the phone gingerly.
“Hi, Helena. How are you?” Her voice was an exact clone of Janie Trotter’s—even down to the slight quiver it always held. “Oh, no problem—I was out anyway.” Pause. “I won’t, don’t worry. Yes, yes, thank you. I think we’re good for now, though.” Pause. “Ok, Helena, I’ll talk to you soon. Bye.”
Portia was dumbfounded.
“Wow, I guess Homer really didn’t have you guys figured out, did he?”
“My dear, you ain’t seen nuthin’ yet…”
♪
A few minutes later they pulled up to a lovely white stucco house with black shutters and trailing green ivy scaling the walls. It was exactly the kind of house Portia would have expected Leucosia to live in.
When they walked in, Leucosia was immediately greeted by a fat charcoal gray snowball.
“So you actually do have a cat. I was wondering if that was just an excuse you gave me in your office that day.”
“Yes, I do have a cat, but that
was
just an excuse, Portia. This is Hermes, named for the God, not the store. He would never scratch me. He’s about love, not war. I actually felt so bad when I blamed my bleeding on him.”
The cat was sidling up to Leucosia’s leg, purring loudly.
“He’s cute,” Portia offered. “Does he let strangers pet him?”
“Are you kidding? Hermes will do anything for a good rub.”
Portia leaned over and started scratching the flat-faced Persian cat under his chin. Hermes stretched out his neck encouragingly. Against her better judgment Portia asked, “So what was the bleeding actually from?”
Leucosia was nervous about overwhelming her young charge with too much information at once, but it was inevitable that Portia would see her wings, and she figured now was as good a time as any.
She closed her eyes and within a millisecond, two giant wings emerged from her back, piercing matching holes in the back of her blouse.
“Holy shit!” said Portia.
Leucosia was not accustomed to hearing people swear, and Portia was not usually the swearing type, but in this instance they both felt the expletive was warranted.
“Portia, I realize this must look totally out of the ordinary to you—”
“Out of the ordinary? It’s completely messed up.”
“Yes, well, feeling that way is understandable. For me, the emergence of my wings is as mundane as brushing my teeth. The bleeding you saw in my office is called breakthrough bleeding. It’s common among all winged Gods who have been sustaining their wings for so many years. I had taken a long trip the night before I saw you in my office—Zeus needed me to check on a disturbance coming from my old neighbor, Scylla—”
“The one with the six heads?”
“The very one…wow, you really have been paying attention in Mr. Morrison’s class. Such a shame about Scylla, you know. She used to be a beautiful Goddess, only one head, and then Circe interfered and well, it’s not pretty. Did you know that after Odysseus sailed by my sisters, Scylla actually killed six of his oarsmen? Just plucked one per head, right out of their ship and killed them. Anyway, the reason I had to go is that Charybdis, Scylla’s neighbor, kept complaining about too much noise coming from Scylla’s rock—lots of screaming, she said—and I guess because it was my old stomping ground, Zeus wanted me to check it out, which was no easy task. Scylla was less than welcoming to me, I’m not sure why. I mean, what did I ever do to her? But forasmuch as she would let me see, everything seemed fine to me—a bit overgrown and unkempt, maybe, but nothing suspicious that I could see…”
Portia nodded her head as if she understood, but her head was spinning at the crazy story.
Leucosia caught herself. “Yes, but I’m off on a tangent, I suppose. Sorry about that—I’m really trying not to overwhelm you. Anyway, the pains you were having in between your shoulders were preparatory pains. As your syrinx neared its full development, the muscles in your back began to ready themselves for the burden they sensed coming. Wing emergence, though, does not have to be at the top of our worry list.”
With these words Leucosia’s wings disappeared as quickly as they had come out. She reached her hands to her back and felt the holes that were left in her blouse.
Portia kept nodding methodically, a resigned look in her eyes. “So I’m, um, going to grow wings one day?”
“Well, not so much grow as sprout. And I can’t say that it’s a painless acquisition. But totally worth it.”
The nodding continued as Portia retreated back to that place of ‘this cannot be happening.’ The fact that she might one day sprout a pair of wings from her back was…well, laughable.
But when Leucosia turned around to put water in Hermes’s bowl, the holes in her blouse brought Portia back to the reality at hand.
“What is at the top of our worry list?” she demanded.
“Well, for starters, I think we need to prevail upon some of the other Gods to help us figure out what exactly my sisters are up to.”
“OK,” Portia conceded. “Why don’t you go change into something, um, that doesn’t have, like, two gaping holes in it, and then you can explain to me how exactly we’re gonna do that. Where’s your closet—I could use a pair of sweats, myself…”
Portia started heading toward the nearest bedroom, trailed by a disinterested Leucosia. There was a huge walk-in closet off the entry to the room. Its door was ajar, so Portia peered in and felt like she had just stepped into the mother of all costume studios. Even she could not pass up the opportunity to scan its contents.
“Oh my God, Leucosia! This is insane! Can I look?” she asked, already fingering the vast wardrobe.
Leucosia shrugged her consent.
Portia tried taking it all in. The simple white sheath dresses, complementing ivy wreaths clipped onto their hangers. The ornate scalloped lace collars of the elaborate Elizabethan dresses. The silks and brocades of the empire Victorian garb, whose coordinating hats were striking not only because of their largesse but also because of their lifelike flowers and variegated silken ribbons. There were Chanel suits and Pucci prints. Bell-bottoms and leggings. Ruched velvet tunics and worn cotton T-shirts.
And the shoes! The sandals, the silken slippers, the lace-up booties, the kitten heels, the platforms, the thigh-high boots.
It was all there. Every trend that had ever existed in fashion was right there on display in Ms. Leucosia’s cavernous closet.
“This used to be a bedroom,” Leucosia admitted, a hint of mischief in her face, “and then I realized I was going to need a bigger closet space, so I had it converted.” The Goddess suddenly sounded like a teenager as she broke out into a huge smile and said, “Isn’t it wonderful?! My favorites are the Victorian hats! Wait, no, I take that back—the flapper dresses, or actually the Elizabethan collars. Will insisted I wear this one to the opening of Hamlet.”
She picked up a gold brocade corseted dress with a protruding stiff lace collar and an enormous crinolined skirt. The hanger bowed dangerously under the weight of the dress.
“Will, as in Shakespeare?”
Leucosia nodded as if attending an opening of Hamlet with William Shakespeare was as mundane as catching a Saturday night movie. Placing the hanger back on the rod, she retrieved a striking black columnar cocktail dress—sleeveless, dropped waist, the high neckline edged by tiny black and white flowers.
“And Coco designed this for me herself,” Leucosia beamed.
“Coco Chanel?”
“The one and only. Very elegant—heavy smoker, though, I was always trying to convince her to quit.”
Taking in the contents of Leucosia’s closet, Portia felt overwhelmed at the thought that she, too, would accumulate an extensive wardrobe like this one, albeit with far fewer bustiers. How many people would she meet over the course of her interminable life? Abruptly she closed the closet door, trying to shut out any thoughts that revolved around her immortality.
“Oh, wait—you didn’t grab a change of clothes.” She opened the door again. “Your, um, wings really destroyed that shirt you have on.”
“Portia,” Leucosia said dismissively, “I’ve already ruined one blouse tonight. I don’t see why I should ruin another.”
“What do you mean? Don’t you want to throw on some comfy sweats or maybe a corseted ball gown?” Something told her that her attempt at a joke was not going to lighten things up.
“Portia, in order to beseech the Gods, we actually have to go see the Gods.”
Portia started shaking her head.
“No way, Leucosia. I’m not traveling anywhere on wings that are not attached to an airplane.”
“Portia, I have only your best interests at heart. We must implore the Gods to help us before it is too late. I promise to return you safely home. But for now you must trust me.”
“No way. I can’t do it, Leucosia. There’s just no way.” Her voice was loud and shrill. She was terrified. There was no way around it. There was too much to learn, too many issues to contend with.
“I promise you, Portia, I’m an old pro at this.”
“It’s not just the flying, Leucosia. It’s everything! I’m terrified about what happened with Max tonight. I’m terrified of losing Felix. I’m terrified of outliving everyone I love. I just can’t process all of this. It’s too much.”
“Portia, I promise you that after tonight you will feel more settled. Knowing there are others out there like yourself will be a great comfort. You just have to trust me. Do you think you can do that?” Leucosia’s wings suddenly emerged once again, as breathtaking as they had been just moments ago.
“Please,” she extended her hand toward Portia, “I’ve traveled with all manner of being on my back—mortal men, wild boars…don’t ask.”
Portia inched her way over to Leucosia and extended a cautious hand to the tip of one of the giant wings. The feathers felt silky to her touch, and she had to admit that the flutter of the wing against her hand was exhilarating.
“What do they feel like?” she asked cautiously.
“You’ll know in time, Portia.”
“Yeah, I figured you’d say that.” She stroked the full length of one wing, then the other. “So how does it work? Do you have to take a running start? Or is it more like a helicopter that just shoots straight up? God, I can’t even believe I’m considering this.”
“No running starts, Portia. And not quite a helicopter, either. Look, I have waited thousands of years for your arrival. Do you really think that I would do anything now to put you in harm’s way?”
Portia measured the sincerity in Lecousia’s eyes. She did have a point.
Ok, let’s do it.” The words surprised even herself as she walked around to Leucosia’s back and gripped her shoulders before she could change her mind.