A last water lily, striated pink and purple, floated in the fountain pool of the Conservatory Garden in Central Park. It lay with its petals unfurled, each a tapered ladle to scoop up the last rays of the setting sun. When darkness fell, the petals would close, only to open again with the dawn. A symbol of rebirth and renewal, of secrets concealed and revealed, of color too bright and form too beautiful for the mortal world. A lotus.
Soon after exiting the Underworld, Selene severed the flower’s stem with a single slice of her pocketknife and lifted it from the water.
At New York-Presbyterian, Selene woke the frail woman in the hospital bed with a gentle kiss.
“Mother,” whispered Leticia, staring at her daughter with cloudy eyes.
Selene could barely remember her grandmother Phoibe, Titan goddess of the moon, but she knew of her black hair and pale skin.
“No, I’m your daughter,” she said gently.
“Phoebe?”
When she’d inherited dominion over the moon from her grandmother, the Huntress had taken the name “Phoebe,” meaning “Bright One,” just as her twin was called Phoebus for his association with the sun. But she hadn’t gone by the name since a brief stint as Phoebe Hautman in New Amsterdam nearly four hundred years before.
“I’m not Phoebe or Phoibe, Mother.”
“But I thought, for a second, you brought the moonlight in with you.”
“I’m Selene now. Not Selene the Moon. Just Selene DiSilva.” She wasn’t surprised her mother could see a glimpse of her divine aura, just as the child at the movie theater had, but it saddened her. It meant Leto was approaching the border between worlds.
Her brow furrowed in confusion. “Artemis?”
Selene swallowed. “Yes, it’s me.” When they approached the end, the gods relinquished the mortal monikers they’d assumed and reverted to their true selves. For Leto, Selene had ceased to exist. Only her divine daughter remained.
“See what I’ve brought you,” said Selene, pulling a length of dark purple linen from her bag. “I know it’s not perfect, but it’s the best I could do on short notice.” Carefully, she helped her mother sit up and draped the fabric around her face so it covered her short gray hair.
Leto’s eyes seemed a little less cloudy next to the jewel-toned cloth, and Selene could almost imagine that she still had long, chestnut hair underneath. “You see, Mother, it’s a veil for Leto, Goddess of Modesty. And here…” Selene drew forth a small palm frond and wrapped Leto’s hands around it. “For the Mother of Twins, who stood beneath the Sacred Palm on Delos in her travail and birthed the Bright Ones into the world.” Next she pulled a box of dates from her bag. She ate half of one, gluey and oversweet, and fed the other half to her mother. “The date sustained you then, let it sustain you now.”
Leto chewed slowly, painfully. “Why, Artemis? Why do you remind me of a past I cannot have again?” she asked.
“Because you can. I think I’ve figured it out, Mother,” Selene explained, unable to keep the excitement from her voice. “There’s a cult. A new one. It’s using my attributes in its rituals, and it’s bringing me power. I’m growing stronger, not weaker. I feel almost like myself again.”
“Like yourself?” her mother asked wearily. “You’ve had so many names over the centuries… do you even know who you are anymore?”
“I know I’m your daughter,” Selene said, her throat tight.
Leto stroked Selene’s cheek, her fingers dry and cracked. “They called you She Who Helps One Climb Out. Do you remember?”
“Of course. Not my most melodic epithet.”
“You’ve always lifted me from hardship. Just by your presence. Just by your love. You don’t have to rescue me from death.”
“But I will, Mother,” Selene insisted. “If it can be done. I swear it by Gaia below and Ouranos above and by the dropping water of the River Styx. I swear it with the strongest and most awful oath of the blessed gods.”
Leto gave a resigned sigh. “I’ve never stopped you from doing what you wanted.”
“Then don’t start now. You can see my radiance; you know it’s working. Tonight, we’re going to create our own rite, using your attributes. Then maybe I can bring you back to health, as well.”
“I’m long past saving, Deer Heart.”
Selene refused to listen. She took the last sacred object from her bag. The lotus flower. She laid it carefully on her mother’s torso, where it dwarfed Leto’s narrow rib cage with its outspread petals.
Leto touched a velvet petal hesitantly. “So beautiful,” she whispered. “But not mine. Hera holds the lotus staff.”
“But there were some vase paintings that showed you with it, remember? The lotus is the royal symbol, and in my eyes, you are always a queen.” She kissed her mother on the forehead. “Now come, there’s one more step in the ritual.”
Selene lifted her mother out of the bed and set her on her feet. Leto stood on trembling legs, one clawlike hand clutching her daughter’s arm, the other holding on to her IV pole. Selene was shocked to see how short her mother had become. Her head barely reached Selene’s shoulder. Selene placed the lotus flower atop the pole, and draped the hospital blanket over Leto’s thin frame like a cloak. Together, they left the room, taking one excruciating step at a time.
It took nearly twenty minutes to walk down the hall, into the elevator, and out onto the floor above. Long before they arrived at their destination, Selene regretted what she’d done. Leto could barely stand, and each step only weakened her further. “Almost there,” she murmured encouragingly, taking more and more of her mother’s weight until she was nearly carrying her.
They came to a large window that overlooked an interior room. “Do you see?” said Selene. “I’ve brought you to your temple.”
Leto rested a hand upon the glass, staring fixedly at the infants within.
Selene looked over her mother’s shoulder at the nursery, waiting for the babies to show some recognition that the Goddess of Motherhood stood before them. Surely, they would turn toward her, or cry with joy, or at least wriggle a little more. But they merely lay there, fast asleep, their pruney faces scrunched with annoyance at being thrust into the world. Selene found them completely unappealing. Yet when she looked at Leto, a new glow illuminated her mother’s features.
“It’s working,” Selene whispered. “You look stronger already.”
Leto turned to her daughter, her eyes clear. “Not stronger, my child. But content. Thank you for bringing me here. I can go happily now, remembering that mothers still labor and children still arrive without me.”
“Happily? Knowing you’re not needed?”
“Is that not what all mothers want?” Leto asked softly. “For their children to grow up and live their own lives?”
Selene couldn’t respond to that, only clutch her mother’s arm a little tighter.
Leto gazed at her daughter, a silent entreaty in her eyes. “Your brother was here earlier,” she said finally.
“Oh?” Selene tried not to sound suspicious.
“He brought some other boys with him. They played a song for me.”
“That’s nice,” Selene said carefully. “Did he mention anything about… trying to make you stronger?”
“I think he finally understands that he can’t. But he hoped the music would bring me peace. And it did.”
That sounded innocuous. But then again, would Paul really tell his mother if he were killing innocent women? Leto would never condone such barbarity.
“He also said he missed you,” Leto went on.
“I’m sure.”
“He’s only ever tried to protect you. You know he would do anything to keep you safe.”
That’s what I’m afraid of, Selene thought with a shudder.
“When I’m gone, you’re going to have to let him back into your heart.”
Selene said nothing. She wouldn’t make promises she couldn’t keep.
“Now take me back,” Leto commanded, her voice stern even as she slumped weakly against her daughter. “I’ve heard of those two women who were killed. One a child—a sick child. The nurses talk of nothing else. I know what you carry in that pack of yours, Huntress, and I know you have work to do tonight.”
“But Mother—”
“Now, Artemis,” she whispered. “I can barely stand.”
Her eyes brimming, the Protector swept the Gentle Goddess into her arms and carried her back to the hospital bed.