Jo felt a twinge of frustration at being treated like a child who could not be trusted with her parents’ toys. Yet she knew there was still much for her to learn—both about her magic and about the Age of Gods—so she kept her mouth shut and stifled her objections. Her fingers slotted between his body and elbow. Gently but firmly, Jo pulled him to her. “All right, I won’t.”
“Thank you,” Snow whispered into her hair.
“Is it true?”
“Is what true?”
“Everything they once called me?” Her words came easily, even if they seemed baseless. Monikers far worse than “Shewolf” echoed from a past she’d long forgotten—names mortals had given her, like The Great Ender or Star Killer.
“You remember that?”
“I don’t know what I remember. . .” Jo confessed. “Like I told you, my memories, they’re all a blur.”
“Listen to me.” Snow pulled her closer and Jo wrapped her arms around him, holding on so that she could almost reach her elbows at the small of his back. He responded in kind, with an embrace so tight she could barely breathe. “Yes, your magic can bring an end to all things—unravellings, undoings. It is the momentum that pushes bodies to ash and stars to darkness. But the tree must die by fire for its seeds to fall, and the saplings need the nutrients from the ash.
“You—your magic—is one side of the coin, Jo. A necessary one, and what makes us counterbalances.”
Coin. Jo closed her eyes. Coins made her think of Wayne. Wayne made her think of the team he so treasured.
“Wayne said something to me the other day.”
“Well, this promises to be interesting,” Snow muttered.
“Wayne said that, since I joined the Society, everything has gone to shit.”
Snow stopped all movement for several breaths and when he answered her, it was with a cooling certainty. “I can assure you that such a claim is categorically untrue.”
The sincerity of his words combined with the delicate way in which he said them left no room for doubt. Regardless of any objective fact, Snow believed what he said to be true. That meant something to her, but little to the rest of the people she cared about. “That’s not an answer,” Jo continued before he could try to divert things yet again. “Tell me this: have the wishes become more. . . intense, since I joined the Society?”
“Well—”
“Yes or no?” Jo watched the lump in his neck bob as he swallowed hard.
A beat. A breath.
“Yes.”
“The wishes, are they decided by her?” Jo had assumed Snow’s room was a safe haven in the Society. Anywhere else, she would guard her tongue.
“They are somewhat random, I believe. But ultimately . . . yes.”
Jo’s anger flared, fresh and hot. It was her fault. Jo’s every suspicion was being confirmed.
“Why?” Jo demanded, pulling away slightly. It was difficult to be tender when her heart was racing in anger. “Why does she have that control? How are you ensnared in this death trap?”
“There was one age before the Age of Gods,” he began, his voice taking on a deep, almost storyteller-like quality. She couldn’t tell if it was to calm her or emphasize the fact that she should give him her attention. Either way, it accomplished both. “The Age of Oblivion.”
Oblivion. The word stuck out, echoing in her long after he’d said it. It was uncomfortably familiar.
“It was a time of chaos and destruction. The darkness filled every corner of the universe until, with a crack of lightning, the god of Light—Jupiter, as you may know him—tore apart the darkness. It made a path for other gods and goddesses to follow behind Light. The foundation for the land was built from the boughs of the Life Tree—called Yggdrasil by the early mortals—by the hands of the Maker, Ngai, on the back of the World Turtle. Growth—Demeter, I think they called her—harvested the seeds of life from Yggdrasil and planted them with the help of Life, Chimalma. . .”
Jo’s mind swirled with names of people and places that she once knew, but had long ago forgotten. Deities she recognized from her upbringing in modern times stood alongside those she’d never once heard of, all merged together in one giant painting that mirrored the art splashed across Snow’s ceiling. Every god and goddess had the name of what they were—Life, Death, Light, and so on—as well as the name seemingly given to them by mortal tongues.
“As you may be able to assume, Oblivion—or Rella as the mortals called her—was not pleased with all this order being brought into her void.”
“So she challenged the gods.”
Snow nodded solemnly. “The battle was fierce and painted across the heavens. But the pantheon won out over the lone goddess, and they split her.”
Jo knew what was coming next without him needing to say it. She almost stopped him, because she didn’t want to know. But at the same time, she knew she must hear it. She braced herself.
“Her two weakened forms, demigoddess, were called Chaos and Destruction.”
“Me.” Jo now recognized her ancient name as clearly as she recognized the true nature of her magic. Numbness tingled across her clenched hands. “And Pan.”
Snow nodded solemnly. “Man gave Chaos the name Pandora.”
Pan, Pandora, it seemed so bloody obvious when it was all neatly laid out; Jo kicked herself for not seeing it before. As if, somehow, the demigoddess within her should have sent a quick memo to her brain summarizing all this from the moment she woke up in the Society.
“I take it Pan wasn’t too pleased?”
“Neither were you, at first.”
Jo blinked in surprise. “I wasn’t?” She didn’t really take herself for the wanting-to-go-back-to-being-a-goddess-bent-on-oblivion type. But with everything that had happened, could she really still say she knew anything about her true nature?
“You were split, unwhole, robbed of half your power,” Snow said solemnly. “Even if I never agreed with Oblivion, I understood how such a violent fate could leave one wanting retribution.”
“Don’t make Pan out to be the victim here.”
“No,” Snow said swiftly, so there was no confusion. “I can understand her position, but I do not agree with it.”
“So, what made my opinion change? Judging from your tone, from the way I feel, I can’t think I wanted to return to Pan and be Oblivion once more.”
Snow gave a nod of affirmation, accompanied by a small smile that was almost. . . proud? “You found your own place in the cosmos. And the pantheon made a demigod counter-balance to level your more extreme tendencies.”
“You. Creation. . . Why didn’t you tell me all of this at the beginning?” Jo demanded.
“Would you have believed it?” He had her there. She had struggled with merely accepting “because magic” as an explanation. If he had thrown in, “because you’re a demigod who almost destroyed the world,” she would’ve thought he was raving mad—even with all the incredible things that had happened. “Furthermore, I wanted time to assess your magic, to see what happened once your mortal coil was shed.”
“I guess I can forgive you for it. . .” Jo mumbled. “You said once, that the Society was founded because of a dangerous magic, a split goddess, and the bravery of someone you loved,” Jo repeated his words from what seemed like forever ago. “I get that the dangerous magic is me, a split goddess was Oblivion.” Jo paused, working together everything he had told her. “I was split a second time, made mortal. You destroyed the Age of Gods to destroy Pan . . . but it didn’t work. Why?”
Snow continued his story and Jo settled in for the final information she’d been seeking her whole life without realizing it. “Chaos’s actions grew more erratic, more severe, as she hunted for you. She began to throw the world into madness however she could. Nothing would stop her and, while my magic could shield your presence, it became only a matter of time before something must be done.”
“Why not just kill her?”
“To kill her would mean killing you.” Snow’s grip
tightened some, his head dipped slightly in shame as his eyes searched for absolution for an ancient crime. “That was something I could not let happen. Not just because I loved you. But because Destruction is important for Creation. It is a cycle, Jo.”
“I-I believe you.” Jo nodded, unsure of what else to say to those pleading eyes.
“You gave me the majority of your power for safe-keeping, and with it, I brought an end to the Age of Gods. A world with no gods yielded an Age of Magic.
“We—you and I—thought it would be enough, that she would go with the rest of the gods unshielded and with you as a mortal, but it was not. Your magic lived, so Pan still lived. The world was new, and I was weak. . . I am so sorry, Jo. She trapped me with her in this Society, a place for two demigods to exist through the ages, protected. She invented the rules of inducting all those who made wishes with magic, knowing that… eventually, if given an infinite amount of time, we would walk enough realities that we would eventually find you.”
“And she would get what she’s wanted all along,” Jo finished grimly. “You had no choice but to keep feeding it, or stop existing entirely.”
“I have tried to find a way out. . . but when you made your wish, our time was up.” He finally released her and Jo made the motion to catch him, but Snow stumbled away.
He leaned against one of the columns surrounding the fireplace in the center of his room. The light flickered off his face, washing him in orange, as though he himself was being immolated by the crimes of ages past. Guilt sat on his back like a monster, so grotesque that Jo wondered how she’d never seen it before.
Jo looked around the room, the last remnant of a time completely vanished from the universe. “So much lost. . . because of her.” Jo thought back to the briefing room. She should’ve punched Pan while she had the chance.
The briefing room. Another memory came back to her, a sensation she’d begun to make sense of despite its horrifying implications.
“Nico.” The name was more of a demand than anything else. “Snow, Nico, he. . .” She knew what she wanted to ask, but Jo didn’t know if she possessed the strength. “On that wish, his magic, with the painting. I was there. I stood there, I felt his magic working. But then I felt something. . . Something like a fracture.” Now that she knew the truth of her magic, it all suddenly made sense. “Snow, did I—”
She didn’t have to finish her question. The expression on the man’s face told her everything with terrible clarity.
BTCOTS NOTES 6
DEFINE: OBLIVION
ob·liv·i·on
/əˈblivēən/
Noun
1. The state of being unaware or unconscious of what is happening.
2. The state of being forgotten, especially by the public.
3. Extinction.
Chapter 22
Comfort
Snow was at her side, trying to comfort her.
Jo was struggling to pull away; she didn’t want comfort. She didn’t want to be consoled. It felt as though all she deserved was pain and punishment. She had reverted near-instantly to the hours immediately following Nico’s death. But somehow the emotions were magnified and made worse in a way Jo couldn’t have imagined possible.
“Wayne was right,” Jo groaned, relenting all at once and burying her face in Snow’s chest. Her head felt too full with all of the things she could have done, all of the things she was doing without even realizing. How many missions had been more difficult just because she’d been there? How many might have failed if everyone else hadn’t picked up her slack? What else had Pan put them through—would put them through—for the sake of getting to Jo?
Jo’s chest clenched, her stomach roiling. She might throw up.
“How?” Jo asked the silence, just distressed enough to get the word out. When it felt as though the rest of her plea wouldn’t get caught in her throat, she wrapped her arms around her stomach and worked to get her breathing in order. “How am I supposed to do my job if. . . if I can’t trust myself?” Wayne had told her she was out of control, that this was beyond them, and she had naively—Jo swallowed. “If someone else dies because of me . . .”
“No one else will,” Snow whispered, keeping her close and breathing the words into her hair. Jo wanted to feel comforted, but the subtle tremors wracking her body kept her on edge, like she deserved to be anxious.
“How?” she whimpered, hating how vulnerable her voice sounded but unable to offer much else. In response, Snow planted a barely-there kiss on the crown of her head. “How can you be so sure?”
“Because you know the truth now. A truth I should’ve told you all along. If there is blame for Nico’s death then it is on me for not telling you what you are so that you could act with the full knowledge. So that I could give you guidance and counsel.
“And. . .” He drew a slow breath, squeezing her even tighter, as if to try to pull her into him and hide her from the world. At this point, Jo wouldn’t object. “Remember, I am your counterbalance. I can try to contain you more than I have so far, now that you know the truth.”
“Then never leave my side.” Jo already would’ve spent eternity in his arms if given the chance. Now, she would just to make sure no one else was harmed because of her. Even if it was as he said—that she was a sort of necessary part to the cycle of the universe—Jo wanted to play her role as needed, not let her magic run rampant like wildfire.
“I’ll never leave you,” Snow said, pressing a kiss to her temple. Jo leaned into it, willing herself to believe the words. Because, despite never having known the man outside of the Society in this lifetime, a part of her had known him. And that part of her craved him more than air, more than life itself. It was as though the only place she’d ever felt comfortable, ever felt alive, was in his arms.
“What if that’s not enough, though?” she whispered. “What if—”
Snow placed a finger on her lips, stopping her.
Jo didn’t have the chance to object further before he was leaning in and capturing her lips in a deep and lingering kiss. She wasn’t sure if it was all in her mind or if something was truly different between them now that she understood more of who she was, but the kiss felt almost electric. She swore she could feel it resonate against every string of her, turning the stress song her body had been singing into a perfect harmony. It rushed up to the crown of her head and then dipped low, settling like a pleasant warmth within her very core.
It was as natural as breathing for Jo to shift, pushing Snow back into the bed as she straddled his thighs. Well, he’d said to calm herself; this was certainly one way to do it.
The kiss never broke, only growing more passionate, her need to be closer to him coalescing into something nearly tangible. Snow’s fingers were tangled in her hair, clutching her to him, deepening the kiss with a moan. Jo responded in kind.
Swimming in the blissful haze of Snow’s touch as she was, it was hard to say when they’d managed to remove their clothes. It was as if one moment they were merely kissing, and the next Snow was naked beneath her, the vast expanse of his skin hers for the taking. She wanted to savor it all: the heady sensation of him easing into her, making Jo feel the most whole and complete she’d ever felt—in this life or any life. The soft gasp that tightened his brow as she encapsulated him. Jo wanted it all. She wanted something to feel right when everything else felt so broken.
Even having slept with Snow before, Jo couldn’t deny that something about this time was markedly more intense—a connection had been formed that hadn’t existed before. Like, with the first rise and fall of her hips, she was feeling true pleasure for the first time. When she looked down at Snow, at his parted lips still wet from their kissing, face flushed and eyes hooded, it was like seeing true beauty for the first time.
Jo kept a steady but slow rhythm, desperate for the moment to last as long as possible. This wasn’t about chasing her own release or falling into easy ecstasy; this was something deeper. Snow’s hands gripped at her upper th
ighs, matching her with the subtle shift of his own slow thrusts.
His eyes found hers, a gaze even more penetrating than the feeling of him inside her. He held her, in body, mind and soul, with just a look. She let him search her without ever looking away, without ever moving anything more than his hips. Jo wanted to be his, but only if he knew every last thing he was taking when he took her. Only if he would be hers in return.
This time felt as familiar as any other, but more so, no longer just sex followed on the high of chemistry and attraction, no longer just the pull of a magnetism that Jo didn’t understand. It was an escape, but not a cheap out from stress—more like retreating into the safety of a world only they could find. This time wasn’t sex at all, Jo realized with the same spark of recognition as the sparks of pleasure arching up her spine.
As corny and cliché as it sounded, they were making love.
As if Snow had been listening to her thoughts, he moved beneath her, using his strength and momentum to lead her into the bed in his place. His stare never broke, filling all the cracks of her spirit with his adoration. Jo wondered briefly what her own expression was, though she wouldn’t be surprised if it mirrored his.
Before she even realized what she was doing, she was reaching up to trace slightly trembling fingers against the striking angle of his jaw, the curve of his lips. When he turned his head into her touch just enough to place a kiss against her fingertips, Jo’s heart swelled and eyes stung with unshed tears.
She refused to cry during sex, every stigma about it ringing loudly across her mind, but in that moment she came all too close. They were tears of sorrow at the fact that she had spent so long without this feeling, of joy at finally finding it. Tears of frustration at the knowledge that it would be over all too soon. Of pain at everything she had caused, but excitement at all the hope they had for a future where the suffering would end.