"Our conversation has triggered a memory," Mrs. Late says next to me, breathing heavily as if she had just run a marathon. 

I flinch, realising her presence beside me.

"There, again. Another flinch. Is it that bad?"

"How'd you—"

"You're sweating, your eyes are dilated and distant. You've only blinked twice since..." She trails off, noticing my scrunched-up expression. "Oh, you mean the gag, not that I was creepily watching out for your cues and tells."

"Mum, you're not helping," Cain interjects.

Mrs. Late sighs. "Whatever it is you've remembered, embrace it. It should give you all the answers to your questions." She fidgets in her seat. "God, I'm way below my pay grade."

I scoot further away from her, the memory insisting on resurfacing. I give in. I've had enough; everything I believed in feels like it's been flushed down the toilet along with whatever meal I had that day. After leaving the hospital, I cut all ties with the world. I stopped combing my hair, I stopped leaving my room. My dad was finally in rehab, but that only left my mum to deal with another mess. How much misery could one person endure? I remember Joshua knocking at my door every day for almost a year, and I'd ignore him. Everything had shattered, which is also why I never made it to college.

But what bugs me most at the moment is the eerie whisper I've only just remembered. Who was that person, and what were they trying to tell me?

"You've made a huge mistake," Mrs. Late's curt interjection cuts through my reverie. She struggles to free her arms, tied behind her back like her feet that kick Iris' seat and my calves, prompting me to scoot further away.

"Can one of you put her gag back on? She's driving me insane!" Jacobson implores as we enter the suburbs.

We are no longer being followed. Turns out, the 'paragons of desire' was part of the plan. They just had to expose themselves long enough to create a distraction, good enough to capture our supposed Medea before taking back their control. Well, it worked out too well and I still haven't figured out why I agreed to all this in the first place.

The car comes to a sudden halt and I headbutt on the driver's headrest.

"Hey!" I scream.

"Sorry. Still getting the hang of it, darling. Come on out!"

"I shouldn't have spoiled you, Cain. Is this how you repay me? Who even are these people, and why do they keep calling me Medea? I knew Corinthians aren't to be trusted." She gives me a scornful look as I jump out through the driver's seat.

"We don't got all day, hey!" Jacobson presses.

"I don't have anything to do with this, Mum," Cain says defensively.

"And yet you are here, helping them kidnap me."

"A bit more action than you get daily, right? I mean, when can you say one of your clients arranged such an adventure," I counter.

"You're not my client now, are you?"

"We've had a session, no?"

She turns to her son. "Of all the girls you could find, it had to be a Corinthian?"

"Okay, mother-son moment is over," the Jacobson interrupts, pulling Mrs. Late out of the car and leading us into a small bungalow in an estate.

"You! You seem to be in charge here. What is it that you want?" she demands, shouting at Iris who's ahead.

"To legally conduct marriages otherwise deemed illegal on matters of tribe, status, caste and gender," Iris replies lowly, keeping her eyes forward.

Agitated, Mrs Late bawls, "My son is not marrying that girl. Is that what this is? No!"

"Calm down, being. If you really are Medea, you are impressively committed to this role," Jacobson acknowledges, huffing in exhaustion.

"Don't worry. He wasn't raised well enough to be husband material," I mutter, excusing myself and heading around back as they enter the house. The backyard overlooks the city skyline, placed at a distance with a forest and the River Thames. I pick up a random twig from the ground to twiddle with as I try to make sense of everything.

Part of me thinks that I joined The Order purely for the adventure of it. I missed a lot of my youth chasing after my father, and I'd like to relive that part of me that was buried. But another part of me thinks it's to get closer to my father. Maybe if I finished this task for him, it could bring us even closer, albeit, that's just it. We are already close. I forgave him, moved on, and accepted him. We, however, never got to know how he began drinking.

And then it all comes back again. "You'd think this is a dream...your father's choice of drinking was not his own...you'll join a regiment, confused the fuck out of your mind why...you will gradually be connected to your heritage but it will be too late when you find out. You'd think this is a dream...but you'd have helped your father a lot. End what your father never started. It is a trap. What do you see beyond the reflection, darling?"

Is that why I joined The Order? From a dream, or rather not, that I couldn't remember? Did my subconscious lead me to it? My father's drinking was not his choice, that at least gives me a sense of peace in my chest, but what did they mean by heritage? A trap? A reflection?

"Why are you all the way out here?"

I turn slightly to see Jacobson approaching.

"I just needed to process some stuff."

"Don't tell me she got to you? Is she that good?" Jacobson steps into stride beside me.

I chuckle. "Apparently."

"Did it help?"

I half shake my head, staring off into the distance. "I just have more questions." I inhale. "What do you know about The Order? Why did Iris suddenly need a group of people to help her with Valentine?"

"I don't know much, human, but this much I know. I don't trust her motives one bit. Maybe retrieving Valentine is just a ruse for her real plan."

"What makes you say that?"

"We let the sleeping dogs lie for a reason, and she's stirring up waters for what, in the name of love?" He sounds mad.

"Have you ever loved someone that much?"

He inhales deeply before exhaling exasperatedly. "No, to cut my story short. Have you?"

"This much? I don't think so. Enough to be jealous, sure, but I don't think I'd go to the ends of the earth to resurrect them."

"I hear you, human. I just hope that all this is worth it."

"Why are you helping her then? You also did it as a favour to her."

With a low sigh, he answers, "Before she was punished to be a maid in her own castle by her own father, Iris loved helping people. That's how she fell in love with Valentine. His love for helping others, otherwise cast and ashamed by society, drew her to him. And they became a pact, a strong bond. Everyone knew that. Until Stamatios found out about the union. He didn't like Valentine purely because he was mortal and, well, united marriages society didn't approve of. He wasn't the perfect fit for his daughter, to say the least."

"So, what happened? Iris said that he was accused of aiding and abetting Medea?" I look up at the figure of the beast towering beside me.

"I prefer the company of men more than I do women and Iris and Valentine helped me get together with a particular guard in the royal army." A small, genuine smile graces his lips at the slight reminder. "He was the King's personal guard, and when Stamatios found out, he threw him and Valentine in jail. Iris helped me get the guard out of jail to go into hiding with me, but her father somehow found out and he was killed during the escape."

"Let me guess, Iris was found breaking him out of prison?"

"Yes, that's when she was stripped of her title of princess to a maiden. A princess goddess reduced to washing chamber pots for her father. She was also banished from visiting Valentine and we'd planned to rescue James first before we did Valentine." The smile fades, his eyes growing sad as he stares ahead.

"So, the aiding Medea was a setup?" I ask, understanding where he's going with the story.

"Yes. We proved that he was stealing money from the castle, but since he was king, it would be an easier path to tread. So we added a little salt into the tea and landed him in the same cell as Valentine. I wonder how that went."

I looked up at him, puzzled.

"All the cells were full or invaded by termites and mould," he answers my bewilderment.

"It was revenge? Why does everyone seem to owe Iris?"

"Because she can do a lot to help without having to ask anything in return. It builds up guilt. So when she asks for your help..."

"It's going to be hard to refuse."

"Exactly." He pulls his focus back and looks at me. "I bet everyone isn't getting anything tangible out of this. Or, it is something mental, just enough manipulation on the goddess' side to get their appeal."

"Then what else could be her motive if not only love?"

"Ask your colleagues. They should know enough to piece it all together. And you, what's your story?"

"I don't know. That's what I am trying to process."

"Right, because you joined The Order before you knew you were to have access to the underworld."

"Yes. There must be a reason at the back of my head. I just can't seem to place my finger on it."

He wraps his arm around my shoulder. "You will, eventually. Why don't we now go inside and get that key to the underworld, yeah?"

"If she really is Medea."

"Hey, are you doubting my expertise?" He scrunches his eyebrows playfully.

"How about that? What if you are wrong?"

"I'll sulk," he says honestly. "I'll be of no use for quite a bit, and no soirees until I've recovered. And if that's what this is, I'll be devastated. But tell you what, if you are right, that I could be wrong, I will come stay with you instead, give each other company for a waste of time this was."

"And how's that going to help?"

He shrugs. "Makes us do less stupid things. Come on, we've got a sorceress to apprehend."

Gently, he turns me around and we head back to the house. An agonised scream greets us at the door, and Jacobson rushes in before me to see what's just happened. I hurry my feet after, only to find Cain tied to a chair next to his mother. Mrs. Late is bleeding from her lip, weary and almost unconscious. Cain, on the other hand, looks exhausted and scared to a shiver.

"Iris," Jacobson scolds, his voice raspy and stern like a principal's, fed up with recurrent indiscipline cases. "This is not how to do it."

Iris spits at Mrs. Late's feet. "She won't speak!"

"I'll take it from here," Jacobson counters. "And untie the Athenian, for fuck's sake."

"No! He's my leverage. We continue like this and I just slice open his throat."

"Yet he's barely bruised, whereas the mother..."

"You did your part, Jac, let me have this," Iris refuses.

"I'll do it," I interject, crossing my arms and slowly rocking my body from side to side. "I'll fucking get you what you want."

The two deities turn their heads to look at me, a shared surprise mirroring their features.

I unfold my arms, the memory of me in an arena, brief as it was, enjoys a little swing in the hazy cloud that has gathered in my mind. I'm breathing heavily, staring Cain in the eye as I resist the urge to bite my tongue. That conclave, however fleeting, gave me a new sense of being. There's a fire inside me that needs to be ignited. With my father leaving for rehab, me slipping into depression, and my Mum barely coping, I had to step up. My brother needed me. My mum needed me. My Dad certainly depended on me. Meeting Iris and participating in the conclave reminded me there's resolve in me, as well as some unhealthy pent-up anger.

How long will I bury my neck to my chest? How long will I hide behind oversized clothing and long dreadlocks? How long will I walk on eggshells, kissing arse, and being the damsel? Maybe this is why I joined the Order. To find myself. The real me.

"Are you sure about this?" Jacobson asks while I roll up my sleeves and nod.

"I'm part of The Order, aren't I?

"Impress me, Kendi," Iris says, her tone a cocktail of honey and spice. "Prove to me I recruited you for your resolve, that your father's incompetence didn't go unrefunded."

I take a step forward, still keeping my eyes locked on Cain's. There's a slight tremble behind them, a plea, a red light. But all I can think of is if he sees the fire in mine, the rage, the emotionless void that only seems too deep to crawl out from.

"Don't do this, Kendi! Whatever it is."

I take another step, moving to the centre so that both are looking up at me. Mrs. Late has grown tired of struggling, her constant eye rolls and heaving chest the only signs of resistance. I see the hatred in them, a hatred I can exploit to manipulate her into admitting she is a sorceress, when it hits me.

I straighten up and turn to Iris. "Why was Cain recruited in The Order, again?"

Iris aggressively drops her staff to the wooden floor and advances towards me. "I don't have time for this, Kendi."

"We are already wasting time." I try my best not to raise my voice. Iris' bad side is like an area exposed to radiation: toxic, painful and deadly. "Cain is an Athenian."

She pauses for a moment just as she is about to speak, contemplating my remark. Jacobson grunts and exits the house, leaving us in heavy silence. My revelation has brought us back to square one. After all the trouble we've gone through, we still don't know where to find Medea.

"Occam's Razor," Mrs. Late interjects, her voice dripping with disdain. "You jumped to conclusions based on limited evidence and assumptions without exploring alternative explanations. Wait till my lawyer hears of this—kidnapping, assault, stealing, false accusations..."

"False accusations are God's not the police's," Cain corrects, his tone weary.

"Oh, shut up. You've done nothing to help in this situation. And what is this Order? Are you now joining cults?" She sighs heavily. "I shouldn't have taken you to boarding school. Rich kids are like a spoiled potato in a bag full of fresh ones, tsk."

I quirk my eyebrow. "Well?"

Iris turns her back on me, her hand on her forehead, the other on her waist. "Fuck, Kendi. We are running out of time," she mumbles to herself.

"Why is Cain in the Order, Iris?" I demand.

Before she can answer, Jacobson bursts right in, pointing his finger at Mrs. Late. "How'd you do it? How did you fool me?"

Now relaxed and composed, Mrs. Late shifts in her chair, her usual angry expression masking her earlier terror. "I don't know what you mean."

"You smell like her. You almost resemble her. Your attitude, your anger! You smell like her!"

Uncomfortable, Mrs. Late looks at each of us, silently pleading for this to stop.

"Tell me. How'd you do it?" he bellows. "I've never once got it wrong before."

A satisfied look peels anew as she looks up at the beast and she leans back on her chair. I'm not sure whether it is her cynical personality enjoying the torment she has incurred on someone or whether she is seeing her fantasy.

"Answer me, goddamnit!"

She smiles coyly, crossing her legs. "Maybe the reason you picked her distinctive scent on me is because you're drawn to..."

"I've got no time for this," both Jacobson and Iris say simultaneously, prompting shared curious glances from all of us for a minute before the Jacobson adds, directing to Mrs. Late, "Do you wear jasmine perfume?"

"No."

"Deodorant?"

"No. One more guess, handsome." She bites her lip.

"Ew, Mum!" Cain exclaims.

Definitely a fantasy. Neither Cain nor I can see it, which means Jacobson is doing it intentionally.

"Shower gel? Soap? Shampoo? Hairspray?"

"You don't seem too good at your job," Mrs. Late taunts, her tone dripping with lust.

Jacobson releases a defeated sigh, taking a step back. "If you're not Medea, how come your natural scent is masked by," he sniffs, "all those scents, yet jasmine seems to overpower them all. Coconut, wax, rosemary, mint, a faint taste of dew and dirt at the back of the throat—and then jasmine. How'd you fool me, mortal?"

Mrs. Late leans in, a smug smile playing on her lips. "Maybe what or who you are seeking doesn't want to be found." She motions for her hands to be untied, but Jacobson is relentless. 

"How sure am I that you're not her masquerading as an Athenian and adopted an Athenian boy just to play out your tricks, huh?" he asks, agitated.

He walks closer and bends to her eye level.

"I would have gone to great lengths to hide the identity of who you claim me to be, wouldn't I?"

Are they flirting? I wonder what her desire is.

"You wouldn't want to be found, that's the point." His voice has dropped, his anger dissipating, replaced by a sultry tone.

Mrs. Late motions for him to untie her again, and the Jacobson obliges. Once free, she unbuttons her shirt halfway, exposing a brand of an owl in the middle of her bosom. "I presume you know. It's a rite of passage like circumcision in certain countries and you are branded immediately after you turn twenty-eight."

Cain's jaw clenches. "How did I not know of this, mother?"

"Shh, you are still not that close to the date. I'd have told you then. Now let the grownups talk."

Couldn't be more drunk on desire.

The Jacobson unbuttons his own shirt, relishing her craving for unfulfilled desires that drive her mad and deep.

"How can I be sure you didn't just do that yourself? A simple magic trick, you know—a snap of your fingers, and once you button up, hiding your gorgeous breasts, it disappears with the visual."

"Enough!" I yell.

Jacobson throws me a hand, gesturing me to wait.

"We don't have time!"

"One second more."

"Medea is from Colchis."

"I know. I could use her withdrawal. One second more, my friend."

He leans even closer.

"Cain's father was a Corinthian. Well, a half-caste, same as Cain. My parents disapproved, so I raised him as an Athenian, as is my tribal blood." She gets up and coddles the beast, her right hand's index finger tracing circles around the Jacobson's chest. "You look so much alike. I didn't know he had a brother."

Jacobson smiles, and for a moment, forgetting the turmoil we are in, pulls her into him, coaxing, cuddling, nursing and coddling her desire. "He didn't!"

He then, abruptly, lets go of her and exits the house again. Mrs. Late falls to her knees before curling into a ball, cold turkey. Cain is restless, unaware of where to look or what to do. I step in front of Iris and demand my answer.

"I need to know!"

She looks distant, worried.

"Iris!" I shake her shoulders. "Why is Cain in The Order, and the rest of them?"

She sits down on the chair Mrs. Late was tied to earlier, lost in thought and contemplation.

"Mum!" Cain calls, concerned.

The poor woman is sweating, recovering from the sweet rushes of desire she had succumbed to, almost losing her mind. A psychiatrist. But my focus remains on Iris.

"Kendi, please, untie me. You can't leave my mother like that."

"Yes! Yes! Quiet. Just a sec," I dismiss. "Iris?"

"I was to marry you off to Cain, I mean Valentine was to do it."

"Excuse me."

Unfazed, her gaze falls to the floor. "I needed to remind Valentine what our connection was based on. What drew meaning to us, our relationship, him and his personality. I wanted to know if he missed this and what we were doing together, what brought us together. But now, it's all over. We can't find Medea." She trails off as she succumbs to her thoughts.

I fall back. "You wanted to marry me to him?" The disbelief in my tone is heavy, omniscient, omnipotent. "Go through all this trouble, come to earth, recruit us to your Order for Valentine, but why involve us? Him? How did you even know where to look? How did you know about us?"

Iris stands. "This plan has been in the works for decades, remember? And after my grief led me to your father, I did my background checks and I have been keeping tabs ever since."

That explains Vianney's sudden familiarity with my vertigo.

"He, your father, was the only human I knew then, other than Valentine. I was desperate, desolate, and in need of my Valentine. I wanted to tell him how much I love him and I'd do whatever it takes to keep us together."

I squint my eyes, wondering where this is going.

"At first, anointing Navy as a whisperer of the gods and the orchestrator of fate, I thought he would give me just the perfect amount of insight on how to accommodate a mortal. I didn't think it through, I didn't even know what he was supposed to do. He gave me all talk about bending fate, and in the excitement of the moment, I thought he could help me bend my fate. So, I gave him access to Dry Bones and he never took it."

The skin on my forehead creases as I fold my arms. Mrs. Late has quieted down now, and Cain is struggling to break free, scraping the chair against the floor, but that's my least concern. I have an insatiable desire to know everything.

"You could have picked anyone in your realm to marry off when getting Valentine. If he was a mortal in Dry Bones, they should be others, no?"

Iris nods. "Right you are. There are several couples I could have used, but my encounter with fate, a ghastly beast you don't want to mess with, led me to you."

I shake my head. "No. That's not the answer I'm looking for. Why did you choose my father as head of The Order? Why is Cain a member of The Order, Iris?"

She retakes her seat, then looks up at me with eyes that shout, 'how do I tell you this?' And I know I'll keep pushing. I want everything to fall right in place. I want to understand what intrigued me enough to join this Order and possibly figure out who it was in that memory telling me all this would happen.

Just before her lips can move to form words, the rest of The Order rushes in through the open door. Their breathing is rugged, they are most certainly covered in mud and dirt and uncertain, a red blotch stains Echo's green dress, just slightly above her waist on the left side. The Erotes look as if they have been shocked by an electric current, their loose hair and sudden involuntary twitches as testament. Echo's threads have come undone a little, and blood drips from her mouth.

Vianney stands stoic, every bit of clothing clinging to his frame even tighter than before. He is a turn-on, looking very dangerous and beastly, despite the unkempt look he seems to pull off effortlessly. His glasses have no lens on one side, and the other side barely hangs onto his ear.

Iris remains still, watching them almost as if she already knows what they are about to say.

"How bad?" she asks.

Before he can answer, Vianney is distracted by the woman on the floor and the micro-aggressive human tied to a chair. His hardened features soften once he realises why and how it came to be, then turns back to Iris.

"The frat is on guard. We managed to get past them, but before we could rescue Emfri, he was already gone. They took him to the private chambers and had already started extracting the magic."

Iris stands abruptly. "That's impossible. They can't do that yet. They need a catalyst. It had to be something else."

"Well, whatever it may be, we've lost our plan B. How's the hunt going?

"Look around and let it speak for itself."

For a moment there, our eyes lock. Vianney's relentless, exhausted and frustrated. He seems to want this done once and for all, just like the rest of us. Which makes me think that everyone is fed up trying to help Iris with her problem.

"Medea has come to be stubborn and elusive. She is merely impossible to locate, but we can try again. We can try to rescue Emfri," Vianney pushes.

There is something we don't know.

"Emfri is not a complete end. We just need to convince Navy, use him as a bargaining chip, then..."

"Enough, Pander! It's done. We are done. I officially disband The Order. Everyone is released from their duties."

"What? You can't just give up," I counter.

"Vianney, untie the bastard and everyone leave."

"I'm not going anywhere," I say defiantly.

"I'll leave you to it," Vianney offers once he finishes untying Cain, then picks the mother from the floor, guiding everyone outside and closing the door behind him.

"What is that you are not saying Iris?"

I'm positive she is hiding something. The real reason she wants to go to the underworld.

"Stethno could tell that I was at their frat house before because I was. Initially, I went there for sanctuary. With my father's disgrace and the prison collapsing, Corinthians drawing straws for who would acquire what from my family's illegal inheritance and the ruins, I needed a place to stay." She leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees.

"I had just met your father, and an excitement brewed inside as if..."

"You acquired a sense of wonder and purpose, imbued with newfound strength and resolve," I finish.

"Yes, exactly, like I was meant to do that, to be there. But during my time in the frat house, I discovered a secret that tied me to fate and to your father."

I furrow my eyebrows. "What do you mean?"

"After knowing that, I forgot what made me love Valentine. I forgot the sudden overwhelm that made me anoint your father, and I dedicated my time to plan the perfect sequence."

"What sequence? What did you find out?"

"I trained with Mu Xi Nu, I played hands with the rich, I found my way out of a web of secrets, I took gossip to heart, debunking it the best I could. I followed your father from tooth to nail, plotting, conniving, planning, and executing."

My heart thumps in my chest.

"I learned everything during those twenty-one years with the fraternity. I was ambitious. It wasn't about love anymore. It was about revenge and sacrifice and time and wounds cursed to never heal."

"What are you saying, Iris?"

"I did bend my fate." She gets up again, facing me eye to eye. "I've not been privileged enough to exact my revenge, to bend my fate just a little further to get Valentine, but I have enough to orchestrate all this. Your father, you, The Order—you've all helped me orchestrate fate. But without bloody Medea or Emfri, I don't get anything satisfactory out of this. In essence, it is just below average."

I inhale. "Why did you choose my father as head of The Order, Iris?"

Iris' eyes narrow, and for a moment, I see a flicker of something—fear, maybe regret.

"I didn't. Fate did. And since then, I have learned who your father's parents are."