Lore

by Alexandra Bracken

  “Not all of it,” Miles said. “I always knew her family had died, but none of the details about how, or what happened to her in the years after. It took a long time for her to open up to me at all. Like . . . months after Gil let me rent the spare room. I had to dig little by little, and it was worth it, because I love the soft heart I found under the somewhat surly surface. That part was never a lie. It’s really rare to find someone who accepts you completely, and I try to give that back to her.”

  “So you do understand,” Van said quietly.

  Miles nodded. “I know you think I’m being a reckless idiot—”

  “I don’t think you’re—”

  Miles didn’t let him finish. “And maybe I am. But I’m in this for her.”

  Lore leaned back against the wall, closing her eyes.

  “That was a good speech,” Van said, a smile in his voice.

  “Thank you,” Miles said, sipping his tea. “I thought you might like it. Everything is life and death and epic stakes with you people. I need to get on your level.”

  “It would be a far better world,” Van said, “if we all got on yours.”

  The sounds from the TV changed, becoming louder and more pronounced as it trumpeted out the breaking-news-alert tone. A moment later, Miles’s and Van’s phones vibrated and chimed.

  Lore went straight for the living room, scooping the television remote off the coffee table. There were footsteps on the stairs—Castor coming down, and Athena coming up from the basement.

  The local news channel flickered on. This time, instead of being posted at the security perimeter around Rockefeller Center, a familiar-looking reporter—this one a middle-aged white man—stood in front of a gorgeous stone building. People milled around him, crying or visibly stunned. Their faces flashed red-blue-red-blue with the lights of a nearby police car. Smoke wove out through the dark air like silver snakes.

  Lore leaned closer. The chyron streamed with words that stopped the blood in her veins.

  The bodies of two children discovered inside vandalized Charging Bull statue . . .

  Miles sank onto the couch slowly, his hand pressed against his mouth as the newscaster spoke, clearly distraught, “Police made the gruesome discovery when witnesses called nine-one-one after noticing first smoke and then fire beneath the statue. It—it appears that the statue, which is hollow, had a panel cut out of it so that the bodies could be sealed inside. There are several unconfirmed reports by other eye-witnesses that they heard screaming once the fires began, but the NYPD has not yet determined if these children were alive or dead when they were placed in the statue.”

  Castor hung back, his face turned so he wouldn’t have to watch. But Lore refused to look away. She already knew that, whoever the children were—Blooded or Unblooded—they were two little girls.

  “Oh God,” Miles said. “They’re just . . . they’re just kids.”

  Lore had known Wrath would retaliate for what she did to Belen, but she had made the mistake of assuming he would strike back at her physically. Directly. Not emotionally. Not like this.

  She wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

  Athena moved closer to the television, studying the images flashing across the screen. The sight of her blurred in Lore’s vision, and the newscaster’s voice disappeared beneath the pounding in her ears. Her whole body flamed with rage.

  Miles might not have recognized it, but every other living soul in that room knew that Wrath and the Kadmides had turned the famous statue near Wall Street into a brazen bull—an unspeakably evil torture device from the old country that roasted its victims alive in the belly of a bronze bull.

  “Police have erected tents around the crime scene, but an eyewitness gave us this exclusive photo taken moments before they arrived,” the newscaster said. “Please be advised that this image will be upsetting, and that the NYPD has asked us to blur a message left by the perpetrator until they’ve gathered more information.”

  The screen shifted, showing the statue surrounded by embers and smoke. There were several people rushing around with fire extinguishers, but one woman had stopped to read something written on the wall closest to the bull.

  Lore turned to ask Van if he could tap into a camera, only to find him one step ahead, passing a fresh mug of warm milk to Miles with one hand, and his laptop balanced, program searching, in the other.

  Miles looked up in surprise, taking the mug from him.

  “It’ll help,” Van said. His hand touched Miles’s shoulder, but he moved away quickly, before Miles seemed to notice the touch.

  “I know it’s not a game,” Miles said. “I know that. But why would they do . . . this?”

  Lore bit the inside of her mouth hard enough to taste blood.

  Van’s fingers trailed over the trackpad, rewinding whatever footage he’d just seen.

  “What?” Lore asked. “What is it?”

  Van turned the screen around and pressed Play. The night-vision footage was grainy and shot from a high angle. Its green tint gave an eerie feeling to the scene below. Six hunters stood around the bull, their serpent masks partially obscured by the hoods of their black robes. One knelt to light the fire, which caught and flared quickly. Another stood near the wall closest to the bull, using a brush and a small bucket to paint words onto the pale surface. The crimson letters dripped, as if weeping.

  BRING IT BACK

  A message meant for only one person. Her.

  “We need to take this monster out,” Lore heard herself say. “Now.”

  “Wait a second,” Castor said. “That’s exactly what he’s hoping for—an emotional reaction. What does that message even mean?”

  Athena looked to Lore, waiting.

  Don’t do it, her mind whispered. Don’t tell them. . . .

  But what choice did she have now? She had to tell them something—if not the truth, then a version of it they could believe. One that wouldn’t stoke Athena’s suspicions or put Lore in the position of doing something she swore she never would.

  “The Reveler . . . he told me that Wrath is searching for me because he believes I have the aegis,” Lore said, her pulse thundering until her body nearly shook with the force of it. The static was growing in her ears again, but she pushed through it, trying to keep her voice as even as possible. “The Reveler’s job was to try to track me—and it—down.”

  Van blinked. “And just to clarify—”

  “I don’t have it,” Lore said firmly, avoiding Castor’s concerned gaze as it fell on her. “No one in my family has since the Kadmides purged our bloodline. The Reveler said it went missing at the end of the last hunt. My guess is that it was an inside job.”

  “I see the logic in the false Ares’s assumption,” Athena said.

  “I was ten years old during the last Agon,” Lore reminded her.

  “He could think one of your parents took it,” Castor said, his brow creased with worry, “and that they told you where they had hidden it. Damn—no wonder he’s obsessed with finding you.”

  “Good,” Lore said. “He’s more than welcome to find me. We’ll be waiting for him.”

  “We need a different strategy,” Castor said, shaking his head. “One that doesn’t put you directly in the path of his blade.”

  “Yes,” Miles said quickly, pointing to him. “That option, please.”

  “What are you thinking?” Van asked.

  “We need to find Artemis,” Castor said. “And convince her to ally with us.”

  Athena scoffed at the idea.

  Even though Lore knew the other reason why he wanted to find the goddess, she was still startled at the thought of searching for a being who so badly wanted to kill him.

  “I can try searching again,” Van offered. “I haven’t spotted her since she left Thetis House. . . . Are you sure you actually want to find her, Cas? I can’t imagine she’s going to be a happy recruit.”

  “I am well aware of the fact that she wants to rip my heart out and eat it,” Castor sa
id. “She’s the best tracker in the hunt. Better than any computer program—no offense.”

  Van waved his hand.

  “If anyone can find Wrath and figure out whatever his bigger plans are without being detected, it’s her,” Castor said. “And, frankly, we could use more power to push back against him when the time comes.”

  “If she doesn’t kill you first,” Lore reminded him.

  “I agree. That is an absurd idea,” Athena insisted. “Set aside that distraction and focus your efforts on the matter at hand. We do not need Artemis to kill the imposter, nor do we need her help to find the aegis and the poem inscribed on it.”

  Lore drew in a sharp breath, better understanding the goddess’s reluctance now.

  “I didn’t bring up the aegis at all,” Castor told her, “or the poem. But it’s good to have confirmation you’d rather see your sister dead than risk her getting to them first. Are you really that scared there can only be one victor, daughter of Zeus?”

  “Artemis will never consent to working alongside the slayer of Apollo,” Athena said, ignoring the bait in his words. “And as she wounded me to save herself, I feel no urge to come to her assistance. However, I concur that a new strategy is necessary to disrupt our enemy’s plans and his search for Melora.” She turned to Van. “Do you possess further knowledge of his holdings and property? Perhaps there are vulnerabilities there.”

  “Of course I do,” Van said. “I have files on all the leaders and elders of the bloodlines. Believe it or not, I was once naïve enough to believe I could neutralize the bloodlines by releasing all of their shady dealings and having their assets seized and their leaders arrested.”

  “Why didn’t you, then?” Lore asked.

  “Because the Agon is a hydra,” Van said. “It doesn’t matter if I cut off the heads of the bloodlines. There are always more hunters to replace them, and even if I had exposed the Agon to the wider world, some of them would have still found a way to continue the hunt.”

  It struck her then, in a way it hadn’t before, that all of them truly wanted the Agon to end—just for different reasons, and by different means.

  “I get what you’re saying,” Castor said. “But is there anything that could be released to the press to draw unwanted attention onto Wrath? He might have some city and police officials in his pocket, but he can’t own all of them—”

  “Do you know where their weapons stocks are?” Athena interrupted. There was a frightening look of concentration on her face. “Where their vaults are hidden?”

  “A few of them,” Van said. “I have no doubt they have more than I know about here in the city and abroad.”

  “A few would suffice,” Athena said.

  “Where are you going with this?” Lore asked.

  “There is more than one way to kill a king,” Athena said. “You can bleed the life from him, or you can sap his men’s confidence in him.”

  Van caught on to her meaning. “Hitting his weapon stocks might shake his hold on the hunters who flocked to him thinking he was the more powerful leader and protector.”

  “As he has dedicated so many hunters to searching for Melora and his rival gods, these vaults and weapons stores may not be as well-guarded as in the past,” Athena said.

  “The remaining Achillides still loyal to Castor are in desperate need of weapons,” Van said. “And I have to imagine it’s the same for Iro and her hunters. The locations all observe the same shift-change hours. We could strike as early as tomorrow morning.”

  “We can find other weapons,” Castor said stubbornly. “A raid isn’t going to do anything but make him double his efforts to find Lore and speed up his plans. We need help. We need someone with Artemis’s skills—”

  “We are not going to waste time looking for Artemis right now,” Lore cut in sharply.

  Castor tried to seek out her gaze, his brows drawn in surprise. A lance of guilt shot through her, but Lore pushed it away. Athena was right. Artemis was nothing more than a distraction at this point.

  “Guys,” Van said. “It’s not an either-or. We can do both at once. I’ll run a continuous search for Artemis in Argos—”

  “You just said a minute ago you haven’t been able to find her,” Castor said. “We need to go out and look ourselves.”

  “You keep forgetting that you’re a target, too,” Lore said, “and that there are still hunters looking for a shot at godhood.”

  Castor’s jaw set.

  “We’ll look for her after the weapons raids, all right?” Lore said, softening her stance. “The Kadmides will be distracted and trying to regroup. It’ll be safer for you to be out in the open.”

  “I don’t care about being safe,” he told her.

  Her nostrils flared as she drew in another long breath. “Well, sorry. I do.” She turned to Van. “Tell the Achillides which weapons stores to raid and give me one or two locations and a time I can text to Iro.”

  He looked to Castor. The new god nodded.

  “I’ll run the search,” he promised Castor. “And I’ll put out more feelers through my sources, too—”

  Van’s phone vibrated on the table. He scooped it up, the screen flashing against his dark skin as he scanned the new message there. “The Kadmides contact says he has something on Wrath’s next moves we may be interested in.”

  Lore’s heart leapt. “But?”

  “I don’t think it’s a good idea anymore,” Van said. “Not after what happened with Belen and now this—something about it doesn’t feel right. He’s insisting he’ll only meet with Miles.”

  “Because he hates you,” Miles reminded him. “I can do it.”

  “You can, but it doesn’t mean you should,” Van said.

  “How many times do I have to prove you wrong?” Miles demanded. “I can—”

  “No,” Van snapped, rounding on him. “You’re not one of us, and you don’t get a say, all right?”

  Miles rose, confusion twisting into anger at the ice in Van’s expression. “And you don’t get to tell me what to do. Do I really have to keep reminding you that you wouldn’t have gotten this far without me?”

  “Wrath just had two innocent children killed,” Castor reminded him. “If this is some kind of trap, I can only imagine what he’ll do to you.”

  Miles moved closer to Lore’s side until he was on the opposite side of the room from the others. “Good thing he won’t catch me, then.”

  “We’re doing this for those little girls,” Lore insisted.

  Castor leveled her with a piercing look. “Which ones?”

  Lore’s body went cold. She drew in a deep breath, holding it until her chest began to ache.

  “I’ll go with Miles,” Castor said. “I’d feel better knowing he has someone there to protect him.”

  “Because I can’t?” Lore shot back. “If anyone is going, it’s me.”

  “No,” Miles said. “I mean, thank you both, but no one is coming with me. The guy is super tetchy and won’t go through with the meeting if he suspects I brought someone with me. And he might have something we really need, or at least a lead on Wrath’s current location.”

  Van kept his eyes on Castor, gauging his response. “He wants to meet tomorrow morning. It would be around the time we’d need to launch the weapons hits, when there’s a shift change on the hunters guarding them.”

  “If clever Miles believes he will be successful,” Athena said, “there is no reason for you to stand in his path and deny him.”

  Lore felt Castor’s eyes on her again. Her heart began to riot in her chest, even before she heard Miles’s faint “Lore?”

  Maybe . . . maybe it was too much of a risk to do the meet right now, given Wrath’s anger. If he did somehow get his hands on Miles, Lore would never forgive herself.

  The more she thought about it, the more Lore wondered if Castor didn’t have the right idea about laying low and focusing on searching for Artemis now, instead of carrying out the weapons hit. If they could convince the goddess to
ally with them—and that was a big, deadly if—they might not need to rely on the asset’s information or risk the meets. Artemis could track anyone or anything, gathering information as needed.

  As if sensing the storm in her mind, Athena drew closer. Calm certainty radiated from the goddess, and, somehow, just being near it was clarifying. It gave courage to the need inside Lore—it gave strength to what Lore knew to be right and necessary.

  For the girls, she thought. What Wrath had done deserved a retaliation.

  “Miles will do the meet,” Lore said at last. “We’ll carry out the weapons hit in the morning, at the shift change. And if the asset doesn’t have information on Wrath’s location, we’ll start looking for Artemis in the afternoon. All right?”

  But even as she said it, Lore knew Athena was right. Artemis would never agree to work with them, and she would never give Castor the information he wanted on Apollo’s death—if she even had it at all. Maybe by then, though, Wrath would have emerged from whatever hole he was hiding in, and they wouldn’t need to risk Castor’s life trying to persuade a goddess whose will was as unyielding as steel.

  Van nodded, his face betraying none of his emotions. “I’ll text you the information for Iro, then.”

  Lore barely heard the others as they climbed the stairs, no doubt to crash for the rest of the night. Only Castor lingered, one hand on the bannister as he watched Lore pull out her phone. She typed out a message to Iro with trembling hands.

  I need your help.

  The rage building inside her rose like the smoke from the body of the bronze bull, until she could taste ash in her mouth and her mind blazed with the bloodred words that had been left for her on the wall.

  By the time she looked up again, Castor was already gone.

  THE LATE-AFTERNOON AIR was heavy with moisture, but it was nothing compared to the oppressive atmosphere that had taken hold of the town house.

  After they’d had word from the Achillides that the raids had gone off without any problems or casualties on their part, Lore had gone back to sleep for a few more hours. She hadn’t heard back from Iro yet beyond the girl’s single-word response to Lore’s text with instructions for the weapons hit: Confirmed.