Blackhearted Betrayal by Kasey Mackenzie Read Free Book Online

ONLY INTENSIFIED OVER THE next hour as the Megaera—at some point I
really
needed to find out her actual name—helped us fumble through rituals we’d never heard of, much less needed to learn. We also had to bathe in magically cleansed water that seemed to sear away all signs of inner exhaustion along with outer grime. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d felt so refreshed, especially considering I’d been pulling bone-draining shifts for a month on that serial-killer case. My skin continued tingling even after I stepped out of the water and slipped into the snow-white toga the Megaera handed me.
    She smiled at the dubious look I gave it, gesturing to the matching garment she wore. “That old saying
when in Rome
had its origins even earlier than most etymologists would believe. Many of the Deities adopted theRoman gods’ style of dress for formal ceremony. So do we when meeting with them.”
     
    Mom gave me another
mom
look as she finished draping her toga with expert tucks and folds. My brow furrowed. Where the heck had she learned to wear a
toga
? Granted, she was around a century and a half old, but
still
…She opened her mouth to speak—more like nag—but I rolled my eyes and allowed the Megaera to start wrapping the white fabric around me in an even more expert manner than my mother’s. Once
that
was done with, we slipped on flimsy gold sandals with straps that wound halfway up our legs. Good thing there were no mirrors nearby because I didn’t want to see how ridiculous I must have looked decked out
à la Caesar
. I’d made it through college without ever once getting roped into a toga party for more than one good reason.
Not
a good look for me.
     
    I had to admit, though, that both Mom and the Megaera looked regal in their Roman getup. They’d also refreshed their hairstyles. The Megaera’s braided buns had been jazzed up with colorful beads, and Mom had shifted her hair from its typical simple style into an updo that would have done any Greek goddess proud. My fingers touched my own charcoal locks hanging loose in humidity-inspired waves, but I straightened my spine in sheer stubbornness. The Deities could damned well take me the way
they
created me, or not at all. I’d jumped through more than enough hoops for one day.
     
    Not that I would ever be stupid enough to say that out loud.
     
    My au naturel hairdo—or lack thereof—must have passed muster because the Megaera guided us from the bathing chamber, down an empty hallway, and into aroom that could have been copied directly from the Palladium’s Conclave, the imposing chamber that hosted the meetings for the Sisterhood’s voting council of the same name. Of course, this was a
much
smaller version, but all the elements were there: ornate marble floor and walls as white as our togas, a solid mahogany table in the center of the room, and the same overwhelming sense of grandeur that grabbed you by the throat and made you feel about six inches tall.
     
    One unexpected element caught my attention: a golden chalice resting atop the table on the end nearest to us. It was to that spot the Megaera led us. She took the chalice into her hands and held it toward us.
     
    “The ancients spoke of ambrosia, the nectar of the gods that granted them their immortality. This is the ambrosia they spoke of, though our forebears were only partially correct. Ambrosia is the drink of the gods only in that it contains the essence of true immortality—or rather, a portion of it—and comes from the Deities themselves. For three days you will become as true demigoddesses with the senses the immortals possess. You will feel, hear, and most importantly,
see
the world as they do, allowing you to commune with them as you would not otherwise be able to do.”
     
    My breath hitched at the enormity of her words. Furies were called demigoddesses by many—even ourselves—but it was more a figurative title than literal, seeing as how we could be killed like any other