Free Moon Child by Christina Moore

right, she almost killed him. Not on purpose but he wouldn’t forget that. “You’re right. Thank you, Agamemnon. I’m in your debt.”
    “Nonsense, just don’t demise, depart— die before fulfilling your fate.”
    “And how exactly will I know when it’s fulfilled if I don’t even understand it?”
    The caterpillars that were the old man’s brows rose high to show that his eyes were in fact more than just specks of grey underneath, big and round and full of knowledge. “You’ll know. Whole world will know.” With that, the old man put his back to the group as he fussed about to start a new spell.
    As they were leaving, the old man called out, “It’s dusky, dim— dark . There’s a resort just down the street, on the water. Tell them I sent you, get a deduction, diminution— discount .”
    Chrysanthe smiled. “Thanks again, Aggi. You really saved our hides.”
    The old man looked up and frowned. “Didn’t do it for you.” He grunted, shaking his head and turned away again. The others all exchanged looks and shrugs before leaving.
    The old man harrumphed, throwing plants around haphazardly as the front door slammed shut. Within moments, the door in the back that lead up to his private sleeping room creaked open with a fright-house slowness.
    “You almost told them,” the commanding male voice said. The pythia stiffened, refusing to look back at his guest. “But you did well, I’m pleased.”
    The old pythia let out his held breath, finally chancing a glance back. His guest was looking tired these days, his tall frame hunched over his cane, but Agamemnon knew that despite his age, he was strong and keen.
    “Was he the one?” Agamemnon asked and then winced, realizing he shouldn’t have asked. It wasn’t his business. He was only supposed to do exactly what he was told to, not ask questions. But when he looked up, the other man wasn’t staring those midnight blue eyes into his, so full of wrath and contempt. No, in fact, his guest was smiling big, showing off bright white, perfect blocky teeth that didn’t look right on a man of his age.
    The guest inspected a red apple he’d picked up off the table. It was perfect and smelled sweeter than it should have. Polishing it on his cotton dress shirt, he proclaimed, “He’s exactly as I’d hoped.”
    Agamemnon grunted a laugh and then tensed hard enough to drop the herbs in his hands when the other man burst into laughter, cutting off his own. He’d have been less on edge if the man had hit him instead.
    “You don’t agree?” the other man asked around a bite of apple.
    Grey eyes wide, showing a lot of white, the pythia spun faster than his age should have allowed him to. “N-n-nnno. Of course, he’s—”
    The guest put his hand up, smiling warmly. “I understand. He’s a little rough around the edges… he’s American after all, but he’ll come around. I’ve no doubt of the possibilities he’s yet to achieve.”
    The look all over Agamemnon’s wrinkle-etched complexion said worlds about doubt and the other man laughed softly.
    “When it’s all said and done, I trust that he will be exactly how he was designed, a transcendent monster.”

 
     
     
     
     
     
    5: K armacoma
     
    JUST when it looked like they were about to settle in for the night, Chrysanthe announced that she was going out. Alone. But, oh, Silas was going. Silas always went. Basically, Tristan was being ditched. And guess what, there were no more ferries to the mainland today, had to wait until noon tomorrow. He was trapped on a fucking island with nowhere to go.
    This is bullshit!
    He couldn’t believe this was all happening. Ash being taken captive. He himself taken captive, because what else could he call his situation? It wasn’t like he meant to be stuck with these two, almost accidently killed by one. So, even as exhausted as he was, he wasn’t really in the right state to sleep. And if he wasn’t going to sleep then he’d do the next best thing,