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  her father’s voice from downstairs.

  “Lennie?” Jerry called from the hallway in front of Helen’s bedroom.

  She had been so distracted by Hector she had forgotten to

  listen for her dad.

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  “Yeah!” Helen called down, motioning desperately for Hector to

  get away from the door. She changed places with him and made it

  inside just in time.

  “Are you sleeping up there again?” Jerry asked when he saw

  Helen shutting the door to the roof and coming down the steps.

  “It’s way too cold out, Helen.”

  “Do you have any idea how late it is? Go to sleep,” she scolded as

  she hurried past him.

  “I know, I’m going to bed right now . . . Hey! You go to sleep,”

  Jerry scolded back, belatedly remembering that he was the parent.

  As Helen jumped into bed and burrowed into her comforter, she

  could have sworn she heard Hector chuckling softly to himself up

  on the widow’s walk.

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  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

  .....................................................................

  Chapter Ten

  MAJORCA, SPAIN Creon watched the reporter for five minutes before he decided

  to uncloak himself from the shadows. He appeared

  out of the darkness behind her, barely a step away. She

  spun around and inhaled a startled breath so quickly it almost

  sounded like a sob. There was something exhilarating

  about seeing a woman afraid, Creon thought, especially when

  that woman was a pushy bitch like this one. A little fear is good; it

  reminded non-Scion mortals of their place, and Creon wanted this

  mortal in particular to remember that she might be able to force

  this meeting by threatening to have to police investigate his family,

  but she wasn’t in control.

  That’s why he picked the docks at night. He wanted to see how

  committed she truly was to writing a story on his family. The fact

  that she met him there proved she had a spine, if not a brain, and

  because of that Creon decided she deserved a moment of his time.

  Besides, she made such a pleasant sound when she was startled.

  Maybe he would hear it again.

  He smiled down at her innocently, as if to let her know that he

  was just playing a little trick. She met his eye, but she also took a

  step back—which meant she was brave but scared. Creon liked to

  see those two emotions together; it made him feel like he had won

  something.

  “Again, I ask for the father but instead I get the son,” she said in

  accented English.

  “I speak perfect Spanish,” Creon replied in her native language,

  still smiling at her. “And you know my father doesn’t meet

  reporters.”

  “Your father doesn’t meet anyone. That’s why I’m here,” she continued

  stubbornly in English. He shrugged impassively, refusing to

  take the bait. She crossed her arms and studied him. “Tantalus

  Delos hasn’t let anyone see him in almost twenty years now.

  Strange, no?”

  “He likes his privacy,” Creon said through a grin that had grown

  tight.

  “Privacy is the one luxury a billionaire aristocrat can’t buy.

  You’ve heard the stories about your father, yes?”

  “They’re all lies,” Creon said as smoothly as he could, but her

  eyes were so doubtful he nearly faltered. How dare she?

  Over the years there had been many stories floating around the

  tabloids about his father—that he had been maimed, that he had

  lost his mind to an obsessive-compulsive disorder like Howard

  Hughes, that he was dead. Creon knew at least that his father was

  alive, and he had vehemently denied all of the other accusations

  time and time again. But the truth was, Creon hadn’t seen or

  spoken to his father in nineteen years. No one had seen Tantalus

  except Creon’s mother, Mildred Delos.

  His mother insisted that Tantalus was in hiding in order to protect

  himself and the House of Thebes, but she never could explain

  to Creon why his father wouldn’t call him on the phone, not even

  once. It seemed like such a little thing to ask.

  “All lies? You know this for certain?” the reporter pressed as soon

  as she saw Creon fall into his own conflicted thoughts. Creon noticed

  that she kept speaking in English, almost as if she was taunting

  him. “For years now, you, your mother, your whole family, say

  all these things are lies, but how do you know for true? Tell me,

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  Creon, when is the last time you saw your father? I know he was

  not at your graduation from university.”

  Creon gritted his teeth. “My father is a very private man. He . . .”

  “Pssh!” she exclaimed derisively, cutting Creon off with an imperious

  wave of her hand. She shouldn’t have done that. “This is

  not privacy, this is lunacy! Can any man’s privacy mean so much

  that he would abandon his only son simply to stay out of the

  papers?”

  Creon’s hand shot out and he had her by the throat before she

  could even raise an arm in protest. She had such a tiny throat, so

  slender and fragile. Creon thought it was like holding a thin kitten

  in his hand. Her eyes blossomed with fear. The pupils opened up

  and reflex tears beaded on their dark surface like dew. She was

  lovely in terror—a perfect, pleading mask of alabaster white skin,

  wide eyes, and, best of all, her mouth, an open oval of red surprise

  like she was waiting to be kissed. Creon wanted to hold her like

  that for days, but a split second of enjoyment later and he heard a

  snap.

  Like a switched-off TV, the light in her eyes contracted to pinpricks,

  and then went completely dark.

  Creon dumped her body in the water and ran back to the citadel

  so quickly no normal person could see him pass, even if they were

  standing inches away.

  Still shaking with a half-sickening thrill, he went straight up to

  his room, and froze when he opened the door. His mother was

  waiting for him. She was sitting next to his packed suitcase with

  her narrow, manicured hands folded neatly in her lap, holding

  something. Her head fell to the side as she stared at him. His

  mother only needed to look at him to know that the meeting that

  she had arranged, the meeting that was supposed to be nothing

  more than a polite gesture, had ended violently.

  “Did you have to kill her?” she asked seriously and without reproach.

  Mildred was nothing if not practical.

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  “She provoked me,” Creon said as he moved past his mother and

  grabbed the handle of his suitcase. “Besides, it’s better this way

  and you know it.”

  Mildred dropped her eyes and nodded, accepting that her son

  was right. More than one reporter had “disappeared” over the

  years.

  “Given the situation, I approve of you leaving the country for a

  while.” She held up the plane ticket she had taken from the front

  pocket of his suitcase and waved it at him before he could bolt out

  of the room. He stopped dead, realizing that he had been caught.


  “What I don’t approve of is your choice of destination. What do you

  think you’re going to accomplish by going there? Your father forbade

  the Hundred to go anywhere near Nantucket.”

  He took a breath to calm himself down. It didn’t work. “It’s their

  fault we don’t have what is rightfully ours, it has to be, because all

  the other Houses are gone! I have to know how they can live with

  themselves when they’ve sentenced the rest of their family to inevitable

  death. Immortality is my birthright, and regardless of what

  my father allows or forbids, I will not sit back while they deny me

  that!”

  Creon shouldered his carry-on, wheedled the ticket out of his

  mother’s reluctant hands, and moved past her. He hurried down

  the ancient stone steps at the back of the citadel, his heart still

  pumping with excitement.

  Outside, there was a nondescript black sedan waiting. His mother’s

  driver was behind the wheel, ready to take him to the airport.

  Creon realized that Mildred had known all along that he would kill

  that girl. She had probably known he would do it the moment she

  arranged for Creon to meet her.

  “Son?” she called out to him from under the arched gate. “Did

  you kill her just to have a reason to leave?”

  He turned and faced her, forcing patience. “Did you send me

  there to kill her?”

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  His mother smiled at him, but her eyes were far away and out of

  focus—thinking many thoughts at once. She walked toward him

  slowly, making him wait for her even though she had to know that

  he was vibrating with adrenaline. She stepped close to him and

  looked up into his face. Her elegantly sculpted lips were pulled

  tight in a thin line of warning.

  “Stay away from Hector.”

  Tuesday morning, Helen ran out of the house and toward Lucas’s

  waiting car before Jerry could get it into his head to come out and

  “have a talk with that young man,” as he had been threatening.

  Helen wasn’t entirely sure if her dad was serious or if he was just

  trying to get a rise out of her, but she wasn’t about to take any

  chances. It wouldn’t be fair to put Lucas through the traditional

  parental screening when they weren’t even officially dating.

  “Ready?” she asked quickly, trying to distract Lucas.

  “Should we wait?” Lucas asked when he saw Jerry standing in the

  front door.

  “No, just drive. Quick! I don’t know if he’s really going to do it or

  not,” Helen responded desperately as she waved good-bye to her

  father.

  “Do what?” he asked. He put the car in gear and drove out.

  “Try and talk to you, man-to-man,” Helen said, relieved.

  “Well, in that case,” Lucas said. He hit the brakes and shifted into

  reverse.

  “What are you doing?” Helen put her hand over his to stop him

  from shifting.

  “I’m going to go inside and talk to your dad. I don’t want him to

  feel like he can’t trust me with his daughter.”

  “Lucas, I swear to whatever god you think is holy that I will get

  out of this car and walk to school if you go inside and talk to my

  dad.”

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  Lucas smiled and shifted back into first, driving away from her

  house. “Who told you the gods were holy?” he asked with a sinister

  glint in his eyes. Helen punched him on the arm.

  “You just did that to see me freak out, didn’t you?” she asked

  indignantly.

  “Hey, you’re the one embarrassed by her own father. You’re

  pretty cute when you panic,” he said with a huge smile.

  Helen tried to smile back at him, but it came out all mangled on

  her lips. She had no idea what to think. The use of the word cute

  could either encourage her hopes, or eulogize them.

  Every person who recognized them honked and waved with big

  smiles on their faces. Honking at passing friends was customary on

  the island, and it was something that Helen had grown up with,

  but it seemed to her as if everyone was leaning on their horns for

  an extra-long time this morning.

  “So, listen,” Lucas said, changing the tone from playful to

  something a little more serious. “Hector told me you found him on

  your roof.”

  “Yeah,” Helen replied, trying to scrunch down in her seat so no

  one could see her. “About that . . .”

  “I wanted to explain why we didn’t tell you before. I asked to be

  the one to tell you, and I meant to,” he said. He glanced over at her

  as if to check how Helen felt about what he was saying. “I just

  didn’t figure out how to tell you in time. I didn’t want you to think

  I was some shady stalker hiding out on your roof.”

  “I’m not going to lie—well, I can’t lie to you, can I?” Helen said

  with a grin. “I was a little upset, but I’m fine about it now. If your

  family is willing to protect mine, I guess I can put up with a little

  shadiness.”

  Helen was forced to stop talking because someone was honking

  out “Shave and a Haircut” in the most intrusive way possible. She

  wanted to tell whomever it was to kiss off, but she couldn’t. These

  were her neighbors and she had to be polite. She wasn’t cramping

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  up, but she suspected that she might start to. She stuck a fist into

  her stomach.

  “What’s going on?” Lucas asked intently. “I’ve seen you do that

  before. Are you in pain?”

  “No, but I think I might be soon. Don’t worry about it, there’s

  nothing you can do. Well, I guess you could go away and never

  hang out with me again,” Helen answered.

  “That’s not going to happen,” he said with raised eyebrows. “But

  what are you talking about? Are you allergic to me or something?”

  “No.” Helen laughed. “I think I’m allergic to attention. And we

  tend to draw a lot of it when we’re together.”

  “But it’s not just me, right? You feel those pains even when I’m

  not around?”

  “Yes. I’ve had this all my life. I don’t know exactly what causes it,

  I just know that sometimes when people stare at me I get a terrible

  pain in my stomach.”

  “Allergic to attention,” Lucas said to himself, absentmindedly

  taking Helen’s hand while he thought. He had to let it go to shift as

  he parked at school, but as soon as they were out of the car he

  claimed her hand again and rolled her fingers around in his.

  Helen watched Lucas as they stood at her locker together. He

  seemed distracted. His brow was furrowed and his gaze tuned in,

  but most disturbingly he seemed to be all blurry.

  “What is that you’re doing? It’s giving me a headache,” Helen

  said quietly while she turned the combination on her lock.

  “Sorry,” he said as he snapped back into focus. “I’m bending the

  light. It happens sometimes when I’m concentrating.”

  Helen remembered from her reading that Apollo was the god of

  Light, and at that moment Lucas was doing things with light that

  were impossible outside of a magic show. She realized she had seen

  him do this before in the locker room at his house, but she hadr />
  taken so many knocks to the head at the time she thought it was

  just her vision that was off.

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  “Aren’t you worried someone will notice?”

  “Actually, sometimes I do this to make people stop noticing me

  when I want some privacy to think. People have a hard time forcing

  themselves to look at things that they can’t see clearly, or

  things that shouldn’t be possible.”

  “Because their eyes slide right off,” Helen interjected, remembering

  how her gaze was diverted from Lucas’s face in the locker room

  even though she had really tried to focus on him.

  “Exactly. If I look far away or too hard to see, most people just

  block me out,” he said, and then he gave her a knowing smile. “You

  slouch to get people to stop staring at you. I blur. It’s useful in a

  fight, too, only it’s nearly impossible to do when you’re moving

  fast.”

  “Are you giving me all your fight secrets?” Helen said cheekily as

  she put her books in her bag and shut her locker. “Not so smart,

  Houdini.”

  “Really? Well, come and get me, Sparky,” he said with a grin as

  he backed away.

  Sparky? Helen thought, puzzled. But he was already through the

  double doors at the end of the hall and she had to go to class.

  When the bell for first lunch rang she rushed as fast as she could,

  intending to get some answers, but by the time she made it to the

  cafeteria, Ariadne was already seated at the geek table, surrounded

  by admirers.

  Helen shouldn’t have been surprised that Ariadne would join

  their table, considering she was in all the AP classes. Unfortunately

  for Matt, Ariadne’s presence usually attracted an entourage of

  boys—the little lambs to her Mary. Helen tried to fight her way into

  the circle, and nearly gave up before she was spotted by Ariadne.

  “Zach? Can you make a little room for Helen, please?” Ariadne

  asked as she flashed a dazzling smile.

  “Don’t worry about it, Zach. She can have my seat,” Claire said in

  a caustically cheerful voice, vacating the place next to Ariadne.

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  Claire brushed close to Helen as she passed, whispering

  something about the “old friends” not being cool enough to sit at

  the same lunch table when someone suddenly has a popular boyfriend.

  Before Helen could get into a well-deserved fight with

  Claire, Ariadne pulled Helen down next to her to stop one of the