“So you want to make the child swim down into Hell through the Sibyl’s lake, talk to the devil, and convince him to let the Dreamer and the others go?”
It was the way that Medea said it, the scoffing tone, that made it sound ridiculous.
“Yes,” Jessica said.
“Better to send one of the pretty boys, at least they might have something to offer the Morning Star,” the Witch-Queen stated, and Jessica sensed her sitting down, one knee drawn over the other.
“No smoking inside please, Miss Medea,” Amy’s young voice piped in. A crackle of power, a grumbled response, and the smell of smoke vanished.
“You do realize no mortal child has done this before,” Achilles pointed out as an aside from his conversation with Hector on the phone.
“It’s what she Saw,” Michael said.
“Why don’t you go? You’ve fought him before and won,” Medea pointed out, “if I recall the stories correctly, you’re the reason why he’s down there in the first place.”
Jessica felt Michael tense.
“My Father is not entirely…interested in these affairs. He sent the Arcs to Earth to be caretakers.”
“Typical, absentee parents, what more could you base religion on?” Medea sneered. Jessica could almost see her beautiful lips curving upwards in a sardonic smile.
“Better an absentee Father who loves than none at all,” Michael countered.
“Better a set of parents that can admit when they’ve blundered,” the Witch retorted.
“Will you two please grow the fuck up?” Achilles demanded, stepping back into the room again.
“You said a bad word, Mr. ‘chilles,” Amy chided softly.
“For which I apologize profusely, my dear,” he turned to the others in the room, “that was Hector. So unless someone comes up with another plan it’s wheel’s up in two hours. We’re goin’ swimming!”
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