The Goddess Twins Read online

  Praise for

  THE GODDESS TWINS

  “The Goddess Twins is a fantastic ride, viewed through the eyes of girls on the verge of adulthood … Twins Arden and Aurora are at once teenagers tackling contemporary issues and immortals in training, learning to harness their supernatural gifts in the face of adversity. I thoroughly enjoyed this novel, and can’t wait for it to reach its readers!”

  —DEVI S. LASKAR, award-winning author of The Atlas of Reds and Blues

  “If you are ready to claim the superpowers you know have always been within you, Arden and Aurora—The Goddess Twins—are here to light your way! … Don’t be scared if you experience some flashes of The Matrix subway scene; spaces in Sense8; channel a bit of Octavia Butler as well as Zadie Smith—maybe even Riot Baby, too.”

  —VALERIE HAYNES PERRY, author and motivational writing coach of valeriehaynesperry.com and motivationalwriting.com

  “The Goddess Twins is an addictive YA novel that will live on in the minds of readers long after the final page. Williams weaves characters so real they leap out of the story and into your imagination … A spellbinding tale rich with enchantment and lore. Girl-power meets modern magic. Unforgettable.”

  —ALEXIS MARIE CHUTE, award-winning author of The 8th Island Trilogy

  THE GODDESS TWINS

  Copyright © 2020 Yodassa Williams

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever.

  Published by SparkPress, a BookSparks imprint,

  A division of SparkPoint Studio, LLC

  Phoenix, Arizona, USA, 85007

  www.gosparkpress.com

  Published 2020

  Printed in the United States of America

  ISBN: 978-1-68463-032-5 (pbk)

  ISBN: 978-1-68463-033-2 (e-bk)

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2019954595

  Book design by Stacey Aaronson

  All company and/or product names may be trade names, logos, trademarks, and/or registered trademarks and are the property of their respective owners.

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  As a child, I knew that writers are magicians.

  I quietly craved but feared to believe that I—small, brown,

  awkward me—could harness the power to weave worlds

  and stir emotions from markings on a page.

  This novel is dedicated to her, my inner child, who knew

  this story needed to exist and always dreamed she would

  become an alchemist of words.

  Also: for Channelle.

  PROLOGUE

  As Ezekiel paces the length of the bare room, the eyes of his son and grandson remain fixed on him. He had barely aged over the centuries of his eternal life, but Ezekiel’s muscular frame and handsome features grew colder each year, sharpened by his dark thoughts for vengeance against The Fates and his goddess wife, Ghani. After wiping a band of sweat from his dusky brown forehead, he continues to tread the wooden floor of their rented farmhouse. It is nearly midnight on a balmy summer evening in Kingston, Jamaica; the year is 2020. In this year, Ezekiel’s granddaughters will turn eighteen. And Ezekiel’s seemingly endless decades of plotting will turn into action.

  As his long legs command the space like a panther in a cage, Ezekiel huffs dismissively at his weak son, Teresh. Also blessed with eternal life, Teresh resembles a young man in his thirties—but his slight physique and propensity for shortness of breath exasperates Ezekiel, reminding him all too much of past failures. Ezekiel smiles with pride as he passes the brawny form of his grandson, who has lived over a hundred human years but appears a decade younger than Teresh. His grandson is the key to his revenge, the solution to Ezekiel’s quest for power. The time has finally come to move him into position.

  That very morning, after their usual silent breakfast of cornmeal porridge and freshly picked fruit, Ezekiel told the two men he had an announcement to deliver after dinner. Ezekiel then spent most of the day in town, arranging for their international travel and lodging. Arranging for the abduction. Everything was going according to the plan he had begun to hatch exactly one hundred years ago. After hours of farm chores, physical training, and recitations of Ezekiel’s manifesto, the three men ate their typical end-of-day meal with heads lowered, and then gathered in the small living room of the farmhouse. As Ezekiel stands before his son and grandson now, still wearing one of his best suits from a busy day of taking action, he feels a moment of pride that he’s dressed so appropriately to deliver this historic announcement.

  “It is our duty to reclaim the world the goddesses have allowed destroyed, is it not?” He pauses and faces his kin, waiting for affirmation of their shared mission.

  “Yes, it is,” they reply, nodding in unison. Ezekiel gazes past them, then plows forward as if they had not spoken.

  “Since Ghani and her daughters received their powers two centuries ago, all we have seen is the destruction of our world and the subjugation of our people of color! Our men, our black kings, have no power in this world. The goddesses have squandered their power, using it for vanity in the face of the suffering. It is up to us to make things right, is it not?” Ezekiel’s voice booms, echoing on the tin roof.

  “Yes, it is!” the men reply, louder than the first time, with more urgency. Ezekiel continues his pacing, then stops abruptly.

  “For so long,” he hisses, “for an entire century, all we had was a plan. An idea of how to set the balance right. We have had to hide and lay in wait for the perfect time to seize the power we need to reshape the world in our image. Grandson—I have formed you into the perfect weapon and warrior against the goddesses. The time for action is upon us. Are you ready?”

  “Of course, Grandfather. You can trust that I am more than ready,” his grandson replies, standing taller in reaction to the announcement. Ezekiel had told him that since before his birth, he had been primed for a special purpose. Over the last century, one of Ezekiel’s main focuses was to show his grandson how the world really worked. How white supremacy controlled wealth, justice, health, opportunity, and every other aspect of society. How the constant corruption and suppression of the black man stemmed from racism, hatred, and fear. And how all the goddesses just stood by, hoarding their powers, doing nothing as the world fell apart.

  Ezekiel places his hand on his grandson’s shoulder and squeezes the hardened muscle. He could not be any more proud; his grandson had been a perfect student in every way. Out of the corner of his eye, Ezekiel catches Teresh tighten his jaw and swallow thickly. He can practically feel the bitterness radiating off of him and knows he is frustrated over his insignificant role in the master plan. But this is no time to address his son’s resentment. And Ezekiel knows that Teresh will remain loyal; he has nowhere else to go.

  Clearing his throat, Ezekiel resumes his heavy steps across the hardwood floor. He watches a pair of mosquitos fly in front of the light before speaking. “I have set into motion the events that will lead you to your ascension, Grandson,” Ezekiel proclaims. “Tonight we leave Jamaica to begin preparations in London. The power that is to be yours is ripe for taking. The twins will be eighteen in less than a week. Once you gain their powers of telepathy and telekinesis, there will be nothing and no one that can stop us from setting the Earth the way it should be.” Ezekiel feels his face slowly break into a smile as he considers the day’s events.

  “Today I made a phone call that will pull Selene away from her daughters. We will capture her, and once the twins rush to her aid, you, my grandson, will have the o
pportunity to take from them the powers they falsely inherited.”

  “But Father, wouldn’t it be easier to just kidnap the girls from wherever they are now?” Teresh interjects.

  Ezekiel stops his pacing, turns, and lays a heavy slap to his only son’s face. “Only an ignorant mind would suggest an option that does not take into account all the necessary variables,” Ezekiel rebukes. Teresh stays silent, visibly working out his jaw from his father’s hit. As Ezekiel looks away in disgust, he spies the pair of mosquitoes now caught in a spider’s web in the darkened upper corner of the room. He smiles darkly and turns to the two men.

  “Listen well. Neither Selene’s nor her daughters’ talents or will to survive should be underestimated. We must be like the cunning arachnid, crafting a trap, preying on their weaknesses to pull the enemy into our hands.” Ezekiel weaves his fingers together, locking his palms tightly, glancing at the mosquitoes again. “The twins were born in London on October 12. So it is there, at midnight, on their eighteenth birthday that you, my grandson, will have the chance to break the veil around their inheritance, to take advantage of the window of opportunity, and absorb their powers.”

  Ezekiel stands squarely in front of his grandson, the same rage fueling him radiating toward his kin. “Their power belongs to you. You are the first and only power conduit of our family. You are the beacon of truth that the men, gods, should rule over—not only this family, but the world. This is your birthright. I have done all I can to ensure your success in defeating the twins and taking your place as god and conqueror of all.”

  Ezekiel and his grandson nod at one another. Sacrifice and cunning had gotten them this far, and Ezekiel knew much more would be necessary to take them to glory.

  “We leave for London tonight,” Ezekiel continues. “I’ve found a warehouse for us. Once we land, we will begin fueling you up to your highest capacity. We’ll find a hundred girls for you to absorb, if that’s what it takes! You must be your strongest and fastest to take their powers. In the end, the twins will be dead, yes—but what can we do if it is for the greater good?” Ezekiel shrugs, then smiles broadly. “We will finally give white supremacy something to fear that cannot be defeated. Are you ready for your destiny, grandson?”

  “Yes. I am ready.”

  1

  Arden

  THE HARD WAY

  The biggest frustration of my life? Having someone who looks exactly like me running around doing things I would never ever do myself. Though I’ve not been invited, this house party is inescapable. Even my noise cancelling headphones are useless against the thumping bass pounding the walls like the big bad wolf trying to get into a piglet’s house. Glass shatters loudly, and I think, Great, that sounded like something expensive. The sound is followed by an eruption of people shouting, “Yeah! Turn it up!” and applauding as the music volume is hiked even higher. The bass pounds harder: Thump. Thump. Thumpidy.

  I close my eyes and imagine myself transported somewhere else—somewhere calm, quiet, another universe where I’m flying through the clouds with a flock of technicolored birds, or exploring a planet full of humming mountains. Or even a universe like this one, but where I’m an only child, able to finish writing my new fantasy story in peace, far away from the fevered party happening inside my home. I open my eyes as I hear a girl screech loudly in delight, probably at something stupid, like a keg stand contest. I hear the screech again and realize it’s my twin sister. I wonder what sound she’d make if I strangled her? Not that I ever would. It’s just a thought—a fleeting but frequent one.

  “Wow, you two are identical twins. That must be so exciting, right?”

  Rule number one of identical twinning: Strangers love to say this to you. In amazement they take in our matching dimpled cheeks, dark toffee skin, and wide brown eyes. I am an expert in blocking the urge to roll my eyes.

  Rule number two of identical twinning? Having a twin is so not the incredible delight people assume it to be. Just because we look alike doesn’t mean we think alike.

  People love pointing out our similarities, but if you take a real look, it’s totally easy to tell us apart. Aurora prefers her hair bone straight, while I leave my thick curls natural, like a halo around my face. She’s obsessed with fashion, mixing high and low with her own original designs. I’m more likely to be found at the library than the mall, wearing cardigans, tees, and skirts on the regular. Aurora calls it my “vintage schoolgirl thing,” usually in a loving, inside-joke kind of way. I say “usually” because when my sister goes all mean girl, she can turn anything into a dagger. Just this morning she looked at my outfit and asked if I was on my way to desegregate a school. I gave her the middle finger. But she’d turned her back to me, so I didn’t achieve the ideal effect.

  Ugh! I’ve been staring at the same unfinished sentence for nearly half an hour! I close my laptop and place my headphones on my desk in defeat. Was it really just a month ago that my sister and I were laughing together at the movies and talking about the colleges we’re applying to together? Sometimes I look at Aurora and feel so ridiculously lucky to be an identical twin. No one could ever understand me better than she does—like, all she has to do is look at my face and she knows where I’m at completely. There’s a kind of magic that flows between us sometimes that I can’t imagine surviving without. But other times? Other times I wish I could just crawl inside her mind and laser away the bits of her personality that make her the most irritating person I’ve ever known. Like this afternoon, when Aurora announced she’d posted online that she was throwing a massive house party.

  “What? No!” I shook my head frantically. “Just because we have the house alone, doesn’t mean you should invite everyone you know over tonight!”

  “Well, I know you, and you’re not invited. So there’s that,” she said with a smirk. “Plus, it’s only a good party if people you don’t know show up. I’m expecting this to be legendary.”

  There was no talking her out of it. Barely an hour later, the horde started to arrive. Thanks to the speed of teen word of mouth, hundreds of kids have congregated, intent on making the night “legendary,” trashing our home from front to back in the process. It feels like an earthquake is hitting a zoo downstairs. Earlier, I watched the back lawn get trashed during a spontaneous group mudwrestling contest where absolutely no one was the winner. Then someone set off fireworks in the front yard, catching the bushes on fire. Thankfully someone was sober enough to grab the extinguisher and put it out. It’s clear that Aurora has purposefully summoned madness to our door and I can do nothing to stop it.

  I keep waiting for the cops to arrive or for someone to need to go to the ER. Something supremely bad is going to happen tonight. I just know it. My body aches and I feel sick to my stomach. It’s been brewing all day, since the moment Mom left. Now I feel like I’m watching someone conjure the apocalypse. Aurora is pulling us both into a place from which we may never return. All because she’s hurt and mad at our Mom.

  SO, LET ME back up and give you the tea on our Mom, Selene Bryant. Rated by multiple magazines as one of the most beautiful women alive, our mother is a recently retired and sickeningly famous opera singer. Despite her supposed retirement, she left Ohio, and us, this afternoon to be an emergency replacement for the lead in Aida in London.

  So, that probably doesn’t sound like too big of a deal, and it wouldn’t be, if it weren’t for two major things. One, in three days, it’s our eighteenth birthday, and Mom’s going to miss it for a performance. And two, by going back to work, Mom’s breaking a promise she made to me and Aurora. An important one.

  Mom went into retirement two years ago because Aurora had begged her to let us all stay in one place, together, like a normal family for once in our lives. Mom promised we could. She swore that she was done with the shows and the travelling, that there would be no more performances while we were finishing high school here in Cincinnati. But this morning before school, we woke up to her cooking breakfast. This was the first sign that s
omething was off, because our mom never cooks. Over burned toast and runny eggs, she coughed nervously and said, “So, I may be gone before you get back from school for … a thing. And this thing might mean I’m away for a few days. And I want to be back before your birthday on Sunday, but I think I won’t be. But everything is fine—more than fine—okay, girls?”

  “What?” Aurora said, dropping her fork loudly onto her plate. “If you say it’s for a performance, I swear I’m going to lose it.”

  “No, honey. Well, actually, yes. I’m afraid it is, for Aida. They need me to fill in in London for a few days. See, Diana Guarardi, you remember her, right? The wonderful soprano? She was at your christening! Well, she’s come down with some type of swine bird flu or something, and wouldn’t you know, the understudy and two other performers have the same thing, and they’re just beside themselves trying to figure out how the show can go on, and they begged, darling, they literally begged, and can I say I do owe James, who is directing, like, three dozen favors, and of course he has called them in for this. He was absolutely begging. What was I to do?”

  “Not say yes,” Aurora whispered through grit teeth.

  “Well … I just had to. I had to say yes. I’ll be leaving this afternoon. Leo will come look in on you in the morning, but I’ll be gone before you’re back from school, I’m afraid.” Mom’s eyes darted to the dining room floor, and when I followed the look, I saw her bags, already packed. Aurora stared at the suitcases for a full minute, then got up from the table without a word. Mom looked so sad as her eyes followed Aurora up the stairs.

  So, the timing of this international gig is horrible, yes. But the only real option available was to be happy Mom was given a chance to return to her life’s passion. Our mother may be flighty in her relationships and passionate about her career, but just because she embraces opportunity, that doesn’t mean she hates her children.