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by Unknown

  “Do you want me to stay away from you for the rest of the day?”

  he asked in a carefully controlled voice.

  No, she thought. And yes. Both answers were completely true.

  She couldn’t lie to him, but the truth had suddenly become very

  slippery.

  “I think that would be best,” she mumbled.

  He didn’t say anything. He just turned on his heel and left her.

  “Hi, Luke . . . bye, Luke,” Claire said as she joined them. She

  looked back and forth at the two of them. “Fight?”

  Helen shrugged and took Claire’s hand, leading her into the locker

  room. “I don’t really care,” was all she had the energy to say.

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  As they ran the trail she asked about Claire’s day. She let Claire in

  on the auditorium secret, and told her to tell Matt about it, too, in

  order to avoid a friendship meltdown. Claire looked at her funny,

  but she didn’t ask any questions.

  Helen felt as if the whole world had turned into some gigantic

  punch line that she had waited patiently for, and then when she

  heard it she found it insulting. If she had been in a comedy club

  she would have gotten up and walked out, but instead she had to

  go to the comedian’s house after school and let his cousin beat the

  crap out of her.

  When track was over, Helen dutifully rode her bike to the Delos

  compound, arriving before Lucas, Jason, and Hector did. She went

  down to the tennis courts, which were in the process of being converted

  into a proper fighting arena with a sandy bottom, and

  looked around. There was a sword on the ground. She picked it up

  and gave it a swing to see how it felt.

  It felt goofy as hell. Helen supposed she wasn’t a swordswoman.

  “I think Hector wants you to learn the spear first. It’s considered

  traditional,” Cassandra said behind her.

  “Wouldn’t want to mess with tradition,” Helen said sarcastically

  as she threw the sword down, point first, into the sand so that the

  hilt made a cross above the ground.

  “Yes, you would. In fact, I think that’s what your mother had in

  mind for you all along,” Cassandra said in that spooky, faraway

  voice she had a tendency to slip into at crucial moments. “But

  naming you is something your mother did in the past, and I can

  only see the future.”

  “You’re an oracle!” Helen said, astonished. She should have

  known all along.

  Suddenly, she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be alone with Cassandra.

  There was something wrong about her eyes. Helen started

  to circle around her, always keeping an equal distance between

  them, but subtly closing the gap between herself and the exit.

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  “Delphi, Delos. And the Oracle at Delphi was always one of

  Apollo’s chosen priests,” Helen said as evenly as she could, trying

  to keep Cassandra distracted.

  “Close. The Oracle was always one of Apollo’s Scions, and always

  a priestess. A girl,” Cassandra said bitterly. “The Oracle of Delphi is

  the female offspring of Apollo and the Three Fates.”

  “I’m pretty sure that wasn’t in the book you gave me,” Helen said

  uncertainly as Cassandra pulled the sword out of the ground, hefted

  it in her hand thoughtfully, and took a few steps toward her.

  “It wasn’t made known to any of the ancient historians, but they

  did know that Apollo is the son of Zeus, and not one of the original

  gods. He was second generation, a kind of glorified Scion, and, like

  us, he was going to die eventually.” Cassandra came closer to

  Helen, still holding the sword.

  “Then why didn’t he?” Helen asked cautiously, trying to stay calm

  so as not to provoke her. She circled back the other way, never taking

  her eyes off the bright bronze blade that Cassandra alternately

  lifted and let fall, as if she couldn’t entirely bring herself to raise it.

  “Apollo made a deal with the Three Fates,” she said, half distracted

  by some darker thought. “He offered them something they

  couldn’t have without him. A baby girl. He swore on the River Styx

  to give them offspring, and in return they swore never to cut his

  string of life. From that day on, Apollo got his immortality, and

  every generation one girl who is descended from him belongs to

  the Fates. She’s their spiritual daughter, and occasionally she can

  see what her mothers have in store for the world.”

  Cassandra was stalling, Helen realized. Whatever she was planning

  to do unsettled her, but even though she seemed uncertain,

  she continued to close in. As she did, light started to dance backward

  into her skin, and her eyes and teeth glowed with the vaguely

  purple hue of black light. Helen knew that she was older, larger,

  and stronger than Cassandra, but she also knew she was still the

  one in danger. Cassandra was not the only being inside that tiny

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  body. She was being visited and maybe even partially controlled by

  the Three Fates.

  Helen watched as Cassandra cut off her exit. Helen could always

  fly away, now that she knew how to get airborne, but she wasn’t

  sure if she could control her flight once she was aloft. She also

  didn’t know how to land without Lucas holding her hand. But right

  now she was more afraid of the Oracle with the sword than she was

  of falling out of the sky. Helen was about to take her chances with

  flight when Cassandra’s demeanor suddenly changed. She went

  from being the dark, fiery messenger of the Fates to being a very

  vulnerable young girl.

  “I saw something, Helen,” she said desperately. “Then I saw it

  again, and again. I’ve been so ashamed and frightened that I

  haven’t told anyone else what I saw. And I am so sorry if I’m

  wrong—for all of our sakes. But I have to do this . . . because . . .

  this is what comes next.”

  Her eyes were filling up with tears. She looked so tormented

  Helen would have done anything to make her feel better. She

  smiled understandingly at Cassandra, who tried to control her

  hitching breath as she nodded in return and wrapped both hands

  around the hilt of her sword. She swung it over her shoulder and

  paused, waiting for Helen to be ready.

  Helen choked back the scream that was trying to climb out of her

  mouth.

  If Cassandra, the Oracle of Delphi, had foreseen her death, was

  there any sense in fighting it? Did Helen really have a choice?

  The thought of not being in control of her own destiny made her

  angry. Angry enough to hold her head up and make the only decision

  that she could, even if it was potentially the last decision she

  would ever make.

  “I could try to fly away, but what’s that saying from Oedipus Rex?

  ‘You meet your fate on the road you take to escape it,’ right? So go

  ahead and do what you have to do. I’m choosing to get this over

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  with right now,” Helen responded as evenly as she could while her

  whole body shook with fear.

  Cassandra swung her sword. In that millisecond Helen knew

  she’d had a good life, because she suddenly loved it so much that


  she could have wept with gratitude. She’d had amazing friends, the

  best dad in the world, and a strong, healthy body. She’d even experienced

  the joy of flight. And once, just once, in the middle of the

  night, she’d almost kissed the only boy she ever wanted. . . .

  Helen felt a strange, vibrating tickle, like someone had pressed a

  gigantic kazoo against the side of her throat and blown on it. She

  saw Cassandra’s eyes widen as she pulled the blade back from the

  side of Helen’s neck and looked at it.

  The sword was totally mangled in the middle section, all

  crunched up on itself like a squeezed piece of tinfoil. Cassandra

  stared at Helen in shock for a moment. Relieved tears spilled down

  her cheeks.

  “I was right.” She dropped the sword and grabbed Helen in a

  hug. Then she started jumping up and down, making Helen jump

  with her. “You’re not dead! This is . . . You have no idea how happy

  I am I didn’t just kill you!” she squealed.

  “Ditto,” Helen said in a daze. She was alive.

  “Hang on. We still have to test this,” Cassandra said excitedly as

  she ran over to a chest of weapons in the corner of the fenced off

  court. She threw open the lid and grabbed a bow and arrow. Grinning,

  she shot Helen in the chest.

  Helen heard Ariadne scream something behind her, and

  someone running at demigod speed to overtake the arrow, but it

  was too late. The arrow struck her and bounced off her chest, making

  a faint twanging sound as it did so. Too late to change course,

  Jason plowed into her from behind and knocked her to the ground.

  They rolled over together until he was propped up on his elbows

  above her, staring at her chest with disbelief.

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  “I saw that arrow strike you,” he said vehemently as if he were

  swearing in front of a grand jury.

  “It did,” said Cassandra from the other end of the tennis court,

  beaming with pleasure.

  “I think Cassie’s finally lost it,” Hector whispered sadly, but

  without surprise, to Ariadne.

  “No, I haven’t lost it, Hector. I saw it,” Cassandra said, still smiling

  from ear to ear. “Helen can’t be hurt by any weapon. Try it

  yourself.” She pulled a sword out of the box, offering it to him.

  “Cass, just put the sword down,” Ariadne said with a hand raised

  in an appeasing gesture. “We can talk about this.”

  “I’m not crazy!” Cassandra screamed, suddenly livid.

  “She isn’t crazy,” Helen said with conviction. She untangled herself

  from Jason and stood. “Go ahead, Cass. Shoot me.”

  Cassandra locked another arrow in her bow and shot Helen—in

  the head this time. Ariadne screamed again, but the scream trailed

  off lamely when they all saw the arrow bounce right off. Everyone

  was silent for a moment.

  “No frigging way!” Hector shouted, a touch of envy making him

  sound almost angry.

  “Did that hurt?” Jason asked as he turned to Helen, a look of disbelief

  on his face.

  “Maybe a tiny bit,” Helen said, but Jason was too excited to really

  listen. He ran over to the box, pulled out a javelin, and chucked it

  at Helen. It bounced right off.

  “Okay, that stung,” Helen said, smiling and raising her hands to

  signal in a friendly way that she’d had enough, but Hector had

  already picked up a sword and was stalking toward her.

  “I’ll stop as soon as you start bleeding, okay?” he said casually before

  he started hacking away at her. Four strokes in, and the blade

  was ruined.

  Helen stumbled back with raised arms and fell down. She wasn’t

  wounded, but the instinct to protect herself was still there, and

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  Hector was absolutely terrifying when he attacked. The rain of

  blows ended abruptly when the sword fell apart. She tried to stand

  back up, but as soon as she did she was thrown down again as

  something fell from the sky and landed violently on top of Hector.

  Lucas had rammed into Hector from above, driving his cousin two

  feet into the dirt before he reared back on his knees to hit him.

  “Lucas, stop!” Helen screamed in concert with Cassandra and

  Ariadne.

  Jason didn’t yell, but as usual, he dove on top of the other two to

  put himself between them. In his rage, Lucas hit Jason accidentally,

  and that misguided blow made him stop and look at his cousins

  more clearly. Hector lay at the bottom of the pile, covered in

  layers of dirt, his hands held up in a surrendering gesture. Jason

  lay across his brother’s body, bleeding from the mouth and pushing

  on Lucas’s shoulders to keep him back. Lucas blinked and

  looked up at Helen.

  “He was trying to kill you.” Lucas lowered his raised fist. He

  forced his eyes to focus on Hector and his voice frayed at the edges,

  like he was a young boy. “I saw it. You had a sword.”

  “I’m okay. Look at me, Lucas. No blood. I’m fine,” Helen said

  gently as she moved to the side of the trench. She put her hands on

  his shoulders and tried to coax him off his frightened, panting

  cousins. Lucas allowed himself to be led up out of the trench, docile

  with regret and confusion.

  Cassandra briefly explained Helen’s imperviousness to her brother

  as Helen, Ariadne, and Jason pulled Hector up out of the collapsing

  ditch. He was injured—not too seriously, but badly enough

  that he couldn’t walk on his own. Ariadne and Jason took Hector

  into the house, having to hold him up as he walked. Lucas watched

  his cousin half limp, half drag himself across the yard. He had to

  sit down in the sand at the sight.

  Three fast-moving shapes came rushing out of the house to see

  what was wrong. Pallas helped his children the rest of the way into

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  the house while Castor and Pandora briefly conferred with Ariadne

  and then moved toward the tennis court.

  “Why didn’t you warn me, Cassie?” Lucas pleaded quietly while

  Castor shouted questions as he and Pandora entered the tennis

  court. Cassandra shrugged, avoiding everyone’s eyes.

  “She was afraid,” Helen answered defensively, cutting off Castor’s

  questions. She took Cassandra’s hand and pulled her close, a little

  angry that they would try to blame Cassandra for Lucas’s actions.

  “She had a vision of herself swinging a sword at me and she

  thought she was going to kill me. She thought she had to kill me.

  Would you have told anyone if you were in her shoes?”

  Pandora looked at Helen questioningly as if to ask if she was

  okay. Helen gave her an uncertain smile in response, relieved that

  Pandora had been sensitive enough to keep this exchange silent.

  Then they both turned their attention back to Lucas, who was still

  shell-shocked.

  “If you were scared, why didn’t you tell me, Cassie? You know

  you can always come to me,” Lucas said firmly, but she shook her

  head.

  “None of you are qualified to be my confidants anymore. I’m the

  only one who can decide what to reveal or keep hidden,” she said

  gently. Cassandra stepped away from Hel
en’s side and stood up

  straighter. It was as if she was throwing off her childhood with one

  painful gesture. She took a wistful breath and turned back to

  Helen.

  “Standing there, waiting for me to cut your head off?” said the

  newer, older, and slightly more melancholic Cassandra. “That was

  the bravest thing I’ve ever seen.”

  That’s because you couldn’t see yourself, Helen thought.

  Cassandra looked down at Lucas who was still in shock over what

  he’d done. She put a hand on his shoulder and shook it until he

  looked up at her.

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  “Let’s go inside and check on Hector,” she said as she helped her

  brother off his knees.

  Helen still felt shaky with adrenaline. Walking back to the house

  next to Lucas, she wished he would take her hand like he used to,

  but then scolded herself for even thinking that. She sped up and

  walked in front of him so she wouldn’t be tempted to feel sorry for

  herself.

  All of them sat down at the kitchen table to hash out the new discovery,

  but no one had any answers. They asked Helen if she could

  ever remember a time when she had been wounded by a knife, but

  Helen’s childhood was remarkably violence free, especially for a

  Scion. She couldn’t remember ever getting anything bigger than a

  paper cut. That sparked a philosophical debate on what qualified

  as a weapon—if paper could cut her but a spear couldn’t, could you

  make a spear out of paper and kill her?

  “Is a fork a weapon?” Jason asked, gesturing to one sitting on the

  counter. Ariadne shrugged and stabbed Helen in the shoulder with

  it, and it squished up like a soggy ice-cream cone on contact.

  “Guess so,” said Ariadne. “Maybe a spoon?” She turned to find

  one.

  “Could you stop that, please?” Lucas said with a wince. “Eventually,

  we’re going to find something that actually can hurt her.

  Maybe even kill her. I think we should hold off on the experiments

  until we figure out why she’s like this.”

  “I agree with Lucas,” Castor said carefully. “And the sooner we

  find out how she got like this, the better.”

  “It can’t be something she inherited or we would have seen it in

  another Scion before,” Pallas said, staring at Helen like she was a

  fancy, new bug he’d found under a log. “Dipped in the River Styx?”

  He threw it out there, like it was the most logical explanation. “She

  doesn’t seem like a zombie, but maybe Achilles didn’t, either.”