Page 146 of A Touch of Chaos

“Please be safe,” she said, and he heard what she was really saying—please don’t leave me.

He tilted her head back. “If you are here waiting for me, I will always come back.”

He kissed her again, harder this time, ignoring how it felt less like saying goodbye and more like the end.

Dionysus had temples all over New Greece, but the one he found himself standing before was located within the citadel of Perperikon in Thrace. Like the little city it overlooked, the temple was carved into the mountainside. Twenty-five steps led to a covered porch that was supported by a set of identical columns crowned with scroll-like patterns. The pediment was carved with an image of him surrounded by his frenzied followers, and it mimicked the merriment taking place in real time.

The porch was crowded with people, their bodies bathed in firelight as they danced, drank, and fucked, caught in the throes of holy ecstasy. The smell made him dizzy. It was a vibrant blend of perfumes, both musky and powdery, and the putrid mix of alcohol and drugs, particularly Evangeline, which had the distinct, pungent odor of ammonia.

It was a far cry from other places of worship, where devotees would come in quiet peace to pray, leave offerings, and hear the word of the reigning oracle. Perhaps the hardest part for Dionysus was that this particular brand of worship was a result of Hera’s madness, and despite being “cured,” his body still trembled at the sight.

He hated that he held on to the memory of that volatile time, hated that he felt dread at the doors of his own temple where the priestesses within worshipped him. In truth, he feared slipping back into the chaos, losing control, and never surfacing again, and it made him feel as though he would never truly know freedom from the horror of Hera’s magic.

He was not sure how long he waited at the base of those steps, but eventually he felt stable enough to make his way inside. Unfortunately, there was no relief from the jostling crowd, which spilled out of the temple doors. His frustration mounted. He considered transforming into a jaguar or a lion and leaping over their heads, but he would likely only cause a fatal stampede.

Finally, he came to the altar where a statue of his likeness was raised, and it was there beneath its shadow that he found his oracle.

She was a beautiful woman. Tall and willowy, she rose to stand from where she had been reclined at his feet, surrounded by attendants who fed her grapes and offered wine.

“Erigone,” he said in acknowledgment.

She tilted her head, her arms braced behind her. It was a stance that pushed her chest forward, and because she was draped in sheer, shimmering robes, he could see every part of her.

He remained intently focused on her dark eyes, which were bright with amusement.

“Dionysus,” she said. “It has been a long time.”

“I fear I have not required your talents.”

“Or desired my counsel,” she said, accepting a goldenchalice from one of the attendants. “Until now, it seems. You must be desperate.”

There was a beat of silence following her comment, and it was filled with fury.

“I am,” he said. He knew humility would go a long way with his oracle, especially since he usually avoided her, even if it was hard to say aloud.

She sighed. “What do you want, Dionysus?”

She sipped her wine, which had already stained her lips a deep burgundy.

“I require assistance locating a woman,” he said.

“Does she wish to be found?”

“She likely didn’t,” he said. “But she has since been kidnapped by pirates. Now they are holding her for ransom.”

Erigone studied him for a moment, her gaze hard and unwavering. Despite their history, she would not deny a woman in danger.

She handed off her cup and then gathered her shimmering robes into her hands.

“Come,” she said, and he followed her into the darkness of an adjoining room.

A few torches burned low, illuminating piles of glittering gold and shining silver, offerings brought by worshippers across lifetimes. She wound her way through the treasure until they came to the center of the room where there was a small table and a tray of incense.

“This woman,” said Erigone, lighting one of the slender sticks in the torchlight. “Is she a lover?”

“Would that matter?” Dionysus asked.

“No,” she said, turning back to him. “But she must be important to bring you here.”

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