C1 Chapter 1

"What you leave behind is not what is engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others." ~Pericles

Red eyes glowing in the crisp fall night.

Terror pulsing through my veins.

My breath comes in short gasps

as panic clutches my gut.

And then...the screams.

I wake with a start, my heart beating with such force I fear my ribs will crack. A sheen of sweat soaks my clothes, making my skin itch, and my head feels crushed in a vice. My eyelids peel open, but the light is too bright, and I squeeze them shut against the glare. Every part of my body aches, and a dread I can't define has me in its grip.

A nightmare. I must have been having a nightmare...but why do I feel as if I've been hit by a truck?

Through my anxious haze, music floats to me as if in a dream. Something stringed— a harp, perhaps—plays a calming melody that dances in my mind. I try to move, to sit up, to see where the music is coming from, but my body feels tethered to some dark place, and I moan, finally giving up, still keeping my eyes tightly shut.

The music pauses.

"Easy now," a deep voice soothes. "You will feel a bit discombobulated for a time. That's perfectly normal."

My pulse quickens. Someone's in my room. Someone definitely not my roommate, who 1: isn't a dude, and 2: would never use the word 'discombobulated,' and 3: doesn't have an unusual accent. Mediterranean, maybe?

I force my eyes open once again, blinking rapidly to ease the strain of the bright golden light saturating the room. Our dorm only has one tiny window that’s directly in front of a tree, and the only source of light we have is a half-busted bulb so old it makes the space feel like a cave most of the time.

So where is this blinding brightness coming from?

I peek through my eyelashes as my vision gradually focuses.

Standing over me, I see a beautiful man. His short golden hair curls around a face so chiseled he could be carved of marble. Thick lashes frame his large, blue eyes and his lips are full, sensuous. But his attire is distinctly odd. A white tunic made from obviously expensive fabric stretches across his defined chest, and over his broad, muscled shoulders he wears a luxurious gold cape with matching trim around the hem. A gold sash, gauntlets, and an oak leaf headpiece—that I’d swear is made of real gold—accent his attire.

This is no cheap Halloween costume, and we’re still a few months from that holiday, anyway.

I blink once, then twice. "Who... who are you?" My voice sounds strange, unfamiliar.

The man leans down and slides a bare arm behind my back, his muscles flexing as he helps me sit.

The room spins, and I clutch my head to ease my dizziness. "Am I sick?"

He sits in a chair next to my bed and presents me with a golden, emerald encrusted goblet. "Drink," he says. "You have been through an ordeal."

I have so many questions, but my thirst stills them all. I accept the ornate cup and take a test sip. The amber liquid is sweet with hints of honey and cinnamon, so I drink more deeply, delighting in the flavors playing over my tongue. When I drain the cup, he lifts a matching pitcher from the side table and refills it. By the time I've emptied the goblet a second time, my head is clearer, and my vision sharpens.

I look around. I’m definitely not in my dorm room. I'm propped on a canopied bed made of olive wood, and on each post, deep green vines crawl with glowing crystals that hang where flowers might normally bloom. The walls are painted with intricate murals of fae dancing under moonlight, the forests glittering with magic. At one side, a fireplace blazes with warmth, and on a stand nearby rests an ancient lyre with tortoise shell adorning its silver inlaid cross bar. Was that the source of the music?

"Where am I?" I ask the beautiful man.

"What do you remember, Lily?"

My eyebrows shoot up. "How do you know my name?"

"I know much about you," he says, his carved lips curving into a secret smile. "But first, it is important you remember what brought you here. I've found, over time, it makes the transition much more seamless if you arrive at the answers on your own."

What do I remember? I search my mind, but my memories are out of focus shadows I can’t quite grasp. My pulse races and my breath hitches, but the man puts a hand on mine that both soothes me and ignites a spark of electricity between us, all at once.

"Breathe slowly.” His voice is calm and comforting. “Temporary memory loss is perfectly normal. It will come back."

"Perfectly normal for what?" I search his face for answers, but none present themselves.

"What can you recall of yourself?" he asks instead.

I close my eyes and inhale, breathing in through my nose and out through my mouth. And as I relax, I scan my thoughts for clues of my arrival in this strange place.

* * *

My name. I still know that at least. My name is Lily Lemon, and my life has always come in threes. I remember my sisters first. I was born the third of three girls to a middle-class family whose only remarkable quality lay in how exceptionally unremarkable we actually were. We even looked alike, dark hair, green eyes with the same dusting of freckles over the same pert nose and lips a shade too wide. As the most academically driven of the three of us, I graduated high school in three years, then spent the following three years working three jobs to save up for college.

I was headed out of state. Out of town. Much like my father. When I was six, I followed him outside one morning, the pavement cold on my bare feet, the exhaust-fumes and cigarette smoke at my throat. He spared me one glance, hopped into his Dodge Viper and drove away. He never looked back. Neither did we. My mom remarried three years later, to a wonderful man we call Dad, and my biological father became known as simply Michael, or him, or sperm donor.

While he’d been running away from something, I liked to imagine I was running toward something. In hindsight, I was naive. My eagerness for the world was driven by stories more than experience. Nourished by hundreds of books and movies, I had high hopes for university life. I’d develop everlasting friendships, acquire a reluctant—but devoted—mentor who would see my hidden genius and mold me into a work of intellectual art, and I’d come into my own as I mastered the subjects that spoke so deeply to my soul.

This was my frame of mind when my parents and sisters loaded into our mini-van and drove me across three states to Bard University.

Along the way, we played silly road-trip games, just as we had when we were children, and when we stopped for the night at the cheapest motel we could find, my sisters and I squeezed together into a bed too-small with me sandwiched in the middle.

Sarah—the mischievous middle child—held one hand and Melanie—the most beautiful of us—held the other. We were each born a year apart, and though I was the youngest, I was the first to leave home for college.

"It's not going to be the same without you, Lil." Sarah's voice wavered in the darkness.

"I'll be back for Thanksgiving," I promised, my own throat tightening.

Melanie squeezed my hand. "You're going to do great things," she said. "Museums around the globe will fight over you after you get all your degrees."

"Or you'll travel and collect stories and become a world-famous anthropologist," said Sarah, who fancied traveling above all else.

"Or I'll end up teaching community college while struggling to pay basic expenses," I said, voicing my greatest fear. "No one touts Classical Studies as a must-have career path."

"Nonsense." Melanie snorted. "There will be plenty of great jobs open to you. You could be a professor, a lawyer, a museum researcher... "

"I definitely do not want to be a lawyer." I rolled my eyes.

"But you're so good at arguing," Sarah said with a giggle. "Mom and Dad think you'd be great at that."

I nudged her with my shoulder but smiled, nonetheless. The fact that I tended to win the debates in our house no doubt had a part in why my parents were willing to sacrifice so much for my higher education. Out-of-state tuition wasn’t cheap. But still, I didn't see law in my future. I’d always felt more drawn to the past. To myths and stories of old. To dead gods and even deader languages. Could I just get paid to study Greek Mythology? That would be the dream job.

"I'll miss you both so much," I said over the sounds of our dad's snoring filling the room.

When he snorted loudly and rolled over in bed, Sarah giggled. "At least you won't have to deal with that anymore. I'd give anything for a night of silence."

I didn't blame her. Every night, the terrifying snores of our father resonated throughout our small two-bedroom cottage. But I knew she was wrong. I’d miss even that.

The next day, my family joined me as I waited in the long registration lines, Sarah and Melanie taking turns pointing out every cute guy they saw. Then, they all helped carry boxes and suitcases up the three flights of stairs to my dorm room.

As I schlepped the last box through the long hall, soft music reached my ears, a tender melody played on a guitar. The Seikilos Song. The oldest known complete musical composition found engraved on a tombstone near Ephesus, an ancient Greek city. It was simple and elegant and—

My foot snagged on something, and I fell forward, spilling all my precious books onto the floor, smashing my wrist into the tile. The music stopped on a sharp, unharmonious chord.

"Are you okay? Let me help,” called a smooth voice.

I looked up and into the eyes of a guy who could pass for a Greek god. He practically glowed with gorgeousness. His dark hair heightened his pale blue eyes, and the sexy smirk playing over his lips would have made my knees weak if I'd been standing.

A guitar hung from his back. It was a reddish-brown timber and straight-grained. Mahogany, like the one my sperm donor owned and would never let me play. The one he took with him, instead of me.

Before I could respond, the man knelt down to quickly repack my books, then tucked the box under one arm while offering his other hand to help me up.

At his touch, my skin tingled, and my cheeks flushed hot. "Uh, thanks."

"You on this floor?" he asked as I righted myself and reluctantly let go of his hand.

"Yeah, room 306."

His smile widened. "We're neighbors then. I'm 308. Let me walk you back.” He winked as he added, “Wouldn't want you to trip again."

My faced burned with embarrassment, but I fell into step beside him until we reached my door. "I'm just there, if you need anything," he said, nodding his chin towards the room next to mine.

As he handed the box back, my door suddenly flew open to reveal Sarah, standing there and grinning. "Lil, I—" when she saw the boy next to me her eyes widened. "Hello, I didn't realize Lily brought a friend over."

"Oh, this isn't—"

But 308 beat me to it, holding out his hand to Sarah. "I'm Clay. Lily's neighbor."

Sarah blushed, her fair skin turning a pretty pink. "Sarah, Lily's sister."

"Well, Lily's sister, I'll let you get back to it then." He turned and bowed dramatically as he took my hand. "Lady Lily, we shall undoubtedly meet again soon."

Then he brought my hand to his lips and brushed a kiss against my skin. This time, my knees definitely did wobble.

He left, and my sisters pulled me inside, grilling me for the details on how I’d met the gorgeous Clay from Room 308.

After I told my short but definitely not sweet story, Sarah groaned. "Only you would meet the sexiest guy on campus by tripping over your own feet."

I wanted to argue, but she wasn't wrong. "Where are mom and dad?" I asked.

"They went to get you some snacks from the vending machine.” She laughed. “Mom was worried you'd starve to death before the cafeteria opened up tonight."

They arrived a few moments later, and my mother looked around the room, sniffing in distaste.

I couldn’t blame her.

The room itself was the size of a glorified shoebox, and to make matters worse, my roommate took up more than her share of space. Even though she couldn’t have been here for more than a few hours longer than I had, she’d left her dirty clothes littering every square inch of the floor.

"This place is a mess," Sarah said, wrinkling her nose.

Melanie guffawed. "Says the Lemon who has yet to learn how to put away any of her own laundry."

Sarah shrugged. "I'm not this bad."

Actually, she was worse, but none of us had the heart to tell her that. She was a whirlwind disaster who always left a mess in her wake. Of the three Lemon ladies, Melanie was the tidiest, and as the oldest, was always picking up after us both. I fell somewhere in between, the dreamer who left piles of books in odd places, but otherwise, I generally kept my belongings neatly put away.

My mother, a tall woman with an aristocratic face that often looked harder than she meant it to, dabbed her eyes as I finished unpacking the last box. "So, this is it," she said.

"Just for now," I said, letting her wrap me into a hug. She towered over my 4'9" frame, but then, so did everyone in my family. I was definitely the shrimp.

"Oh, my little Lemon." My dad sighed, pulling me into a bear hug. With a paunch for a belly and beefy arms from his years hauling garbage as a sanitation worker, the combination made his hugs a little dangerous—but always wonderful. "Be good and work hard," he said, releasing me.

"I will, I swear it. I won't let you down." They’d put everything on the line to help pay for my education. I’d worked and gotten scholarships but still hadn’t managed to cover everything. They didn't know I’d overheard them talking about getting a second mortgage on our house to cover the difference. It made my heart ache to think about the sacrifices they’d made for me.

Finally, it was time to say goodbye to my sisters. "Lemonade squeeze," Sarah said, recalling our childhood nickname for our group hugs. I embraced them tightly, the tears now flowing freely on all of our cheeks.

Melanie twirled her dark braid as she studied me. "Remember, Lily, when life gives you lemons..."

"Make lemonade of their heads," I finished. Another childhood saying we crafted in a fort one day. It didn't make a lot of sense on the surface, but for the three of us, it made all the sense in the world.

The moment they left, my world felt empty, and yet a new stirring rose in me, one of hope and excitement for what was to come.