index

by Unknown

  from Lucas? She didn’t think she could make herself do that any

  sooner than she could make one of her hands shrivel up and fall

  off.

  “Castor and I tried to choose differently,” Noel said sadly. “We

  tried to run away just before Lucas was born. We wanted a fresh

  start so badly that we didn’t even give him a traditional name.”

  “So what happened?” Helen asked, desperate to keep Noel talking

  and maybe learn something that might give her a reason to

  hope.

  “What always happens,” Noel said with a knowing smile.

  “Family.”

  Helen sat still for a moment, unwilling to stand up for fear that it

  would end the interview and therefore end her welcome in this

  house. She knew from witnessing everyone else’s obedient reaction

  that what Noel said in her kitchen was law for the entire family.

  Helen had always thought that Noel was the weak one, the one who

  needed protecting, but she was beginning to realize that Noel had a

  299/395

  power all her own. When it came down to the matter of who was to

  be accepted into the family and who was denied hospitality, Noel

  had the final say for everyone that lived under her roof. Not even

  Lucas would be able to break away from that without being forced

  to leave his entire family behind. Helen had been denied Noel’s

  blessing, and that was the end of it.

  Helen managed to stand up and make her way to the door but

  when she got there she paused. “May I ask you one more question?”

  Helen said, following an impulse. She waited politely for

  Noel to nod before continuing. “What would you have named

  Lucas?”

  “Tradition would have led us to name him after Castor’s father.”

  Noel’s face was closed.

  “And what was that?” Helen asked, already half knowing what

  Lucas’s name would have been, what it should have been if his

  mother and father had followed the rules.

  “Paris,” Noel replied, unable to look Helen in the eye.

  300/395

  UNCORRECTED E-PROOF—NOT FOR SALE

  HarperCollins Publishers

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

  Chapter Fifteen

  The meadow went on and on and on—endlessly. There

  was only one type of flower that grew here—a small

  blossom so pale it was nearly transparent. No bees

  buzzed around these flowers and none of them altered

  from their precise alignment unless Helen brushed

  against them. They were infertile things that had no scent, sustained

  no life with their nectar. They were never going to bear

  fruit.

  The terrain she plodded through was no longer hilly nor toilsome,

  the temperature was neither hot nor cold, and no sharp

  stones or thorny bushes cut her feet, but still, the place was intolerable.

  Helen may as well have stood in one spot for weeks, staring

  at the same uninspiring flower and breathing the same stale

  air, as walk. The land she had entered was unchanging, repetitive,

  pointless, and the longer she stayed there the more numb she

  became.

  It was a meadow of misery.

  Helen woke up and couldn’t remember what day it was. Did it matter?

  she wondered, but then she remembered that if it was

  Saturday she wouldn’t have to go to school. That meant she

  wouldn’t have to put up with any more of the random awkward

  questions she kept getting from eager girls trying to determine

  whether she and Lucas were still dating. The vultures were circling,

  painting their lips or flexing their muscles, all of them hoping to be

  the first to land on one or the other of the carcasses.

  If it was Saturday, Helen wouldn’t run the risk of seeing Lucas

  from afar as he went from class to class. She wouldn’t have to recognize

  the graceful curve of his shoulder or the curious tilt of his

  head rising over the throngs of nondescript shapes that made up

  the rest of the population. If it was Saturday, she could go to the

  Delos house knowing that he wouldn’t be there while she trained.

  But if it was Saturday, that only left her with a different pile of crap

  to shovel for the next sixteen or seventeen hours—all day she’d

  have to be where he wasn’t.

  Helen rolled over on the air mattress, looked at the clock, and

  saw that it was indeed Saturday. Nine and a half days had passed

  since Noel had banned her from Lucas’s presence, and Helen was

  still waiting to feel something—but all she felt was numb. She

  heard Ariadne stir and then scoot over to the edge of the bed to

  look down at her where she lay on the air mattress.

  “Morning,” Ariadne said with a wan smile. “How’d you sleep?”

  Helen answered by throwing the covers off to reveal the untouched

  jingle bells still wrapped around her ankles. They were exactly

  as they’d been when the two girls went to bed, but under the

  bells, Helen’s feet were dirty, swollen, and red from what looked

  like weeks of walking.

  “Again?” Ariadne asked, dismayed. “You have to be floating out

  of the window, because I swear I didn’t hear a thing, and I barely

  shut my eyes last night!”

  “It’s not your fault,” Helen said, shaking her head and unstrapping

  the useless bells. For a moment, Helen considered telling Ariadne

  about her vivid nightmares. They all knew she had them, but

  Helen hadn’t shared what her dreams were about with anyone

  since she’d told them to Kate. Helen took a breath, intending to

  confide in Ariadne, and then stopped herself. Would Ari think she

  was going crazy like Cassandra? Helen decided she should keep

  302/395

  her mouth shut. “You know, I really don’t see the point in you

  spending every night here if I’m wafting out the window as soon as

  you nod off.”

  “Don’t even start with that, because it isn’t going to happen,” Ariadne

  said peevishly. She threw her covers off and stood. “Lucas is

  probably gonna kill me dead enough as it is,” she mumbled nonsensically

  as she headed to the bathroom.

  “Oh, hey! Sorry!” Jerry said with surprise as he ran into a scantily

  clad Ariadne in the hallway.

  “Hi,” Ariadne growled at Jerry as she slammed the bathroom

  door.

  Helen tossed the silly bells under the bed and looked up at her

  dad who was peeking timidly around her door.

  “I didn’t know Ariadne was here. Again,” he said.

  “Yup,” Helen replied, like it was obvious.

  “Okay,” he said wavering in and out of the doorway. “And you’ll

  be at her house all day, I suppose? Working on that project for

  school still?”

  “Yup.”

  “Okay,” he said, confusion scrunching his brow. “Uh . . . Happy

  birthday?”

  “Thanks,” Helen replied with a nod. Then she stared at him until

  he went away.

  “Did I hear your dad say it was your birthday?” Ariadne asked

  with wide eyes as she came back into the room.

  “Uh-huh,” Helen said. “Not a word to anyone. I just want to practice

  and then come home and go to back to bed.”

  “No!
We should do something!” Ariadne protested. “We should

  take the day off and go shopping, then maybe go out for dinner!”

  “I’m sorry, Ari, but I can’t. I just woke up and I’m already exhausted,”

  Helen replied, hearing her voice sound low. “Practice,

  then back to bed. That’s all I want for my birthday.”

  303/395

  Ariadne shook her head sadly and stared at Helen while she

  made up the inflatable bed she insisted on sleeping in every night.

  Helen could see that Ariadne wanted to argue, wanted to insist that

  Helen at least try to enjoy herself on her birthday, but thankfully,

  she gave in.

  Helen could barely keep her eyes open, and she was starving. She

  wondered again if she actually had walked for days, like she did in

  her dream, or if there was something wrong with her mentally.

  Noel’s words about love being able to drive a person mad came

  back to haunt Helen. Were her all-too-vivid nightmares what Noel

  had meant? And then she had to consider if, at that point, it might

  not be a comfort to go stark, raving mad.

  Creon stepped onto the dock from the private yacht his father had

  supplied for him and his team. The trip across the Atlantic from

  Spain to Nantucket had been long and tedious, but necessary. They

  required tools that would never make it through customs, even on

  a privately owned plane, and what was more, they could never fly

  their quarry back, anyway. That would be foolish. She needed to be

  properly secured no matter how much the preparation inconvenienced

  Creon and his team.

  His father had explained it all to him—how years ago he’d had

  the chance to kill her, but that he had fallen under the spell of her

  face—the Face. Creon was surprised that his father had been weaker

  than him, but that, too, was a sign of the coming of Atlantis. The

  Scion generations were fated to get stronger and stronger, to be

  born with more and more talents until finally, a generation was to

  come that could defeat the gods. His father’s moment of weakness,

  as unfortunate as it was, had its benefits. In that moment, Tantalus

  had learned of her phobia for the water. Creon’s quarry feared and

  hated the ocean, and that was an advantage for the Hundred Cousins.

  By using a boat to transport her, she would be virtually imprisoned

  by an element she could not control, and considering how

  304/395

  powerful she was, they needed to give her prison as many layers of

  walls as they could find.

  As he disembarked, Creon turned to tell his crew to stay on the

  yacht and wait for his return. He wanted to make that it clear to

  them that he was in charge by keeping them as far away from the

  action as possible. Any one of his dear cousins might be tempted to

  take whatever opportunity they could to insert themselves into the

  annals of Scion history by stealing his Triumph. Creon couldn’t allow

  that to happen, not even by accident. After all of the risks he’d

  taken, after all of his patience, he would finally be the one to bring

  his House the glory that it deserved. He was destined to be equal to

  the heroes of old, like Hercules or Perseus. Maybe even better, because

  Creon would do more than kill a hydra or a gorgon. Much

  more. He would be the giver of immortality to his family, and to his

  father.

  Only one life stood in his way, and that life would be delivered to

  Tantalus, Head of the House of Thebes and future ruler of Atlantis,

  by Creon, his son and Heir, who would receive the honor for the

  capture. And maybe he would also be given the hauntingly beautiful

  prize that he deserved—his quarry’s daughter.

  Ariadne and Helen drove to the compound in total silence. When

  they stopped behind Matt at a light in town Ariadne waved. They

  could both see his eyes and forehead pinched up with worry as he

  stared at Helen in his rearview mirror.

  “I know you’re sad, but you shouldn’t ignore Matt like that,” Ariadne

  said with a little heat. “He’s one of the best people I’ve ever

  met, and you’re hurting him.”

  “You’re right. I’m being selfish,” Helen said. She felt blank inside.

  Empty. “I know it, and I hate it, but I just can’t seem to stop.”

  “That’s not what I meant,” Ariadne stammered apologetically,

  her eyes on the road. “I know what you’re sacrificing, and I know

  305/395

  why. But you know what? I think you need to cry, even just once.

  Maybe then you could let it out and feel a little better.”

  Helen had tried to cry, but no tears came. Instead, all that she felt

  was this creeping nothing inside her. She knew she should care

  about how Matt felt, but she didn’t even care how she felt, not even

  when she was fighting for her life against Hector on the mat. Their

  workouts had become brief and brutal. Now that Helen no longer

  had an emotional block against using her bolts she was learning

  how to control them and let them out bit by bit. Only someone who

  didn’t mind getting fried could fight her hand to hand. Now,

  coupled with the power of the cestus, which made her impervious

  to any weapon, Helen had become nearly undefeatable.

  Toward the end of their session that day Hector tried to put her

  in a Kimura and she electrocuted him for the third time. He

  dropped unconscious to the mat. After a moment, she approached

  him and nudged him with her toe.

  “Are we done here?” she asked him with raised eyebrows when

  he came around.

  “You still don’t know how to fight,” he mumbled as he wiped

  blood off of his lips.

  “You bit through your tongue,” Helen said flatly. “You should

  probably take a break.”

  Helen went to her corner to drink some water. She saw Claire,

  Jason, Cassandra, and Ariadne all staring at her from outside the

  fight cage. Jason was the first to move. He took two long strides,

  jumped fluidly over the metal fence, and landed next to his shaking

  brother.

  “I think that’s enough, Hector,” Jason said. “She doesn’t need any

  more training.”

  “She can’t even throw a punch!” Hector protested, slurring his

  words.

  “She doesn’t need to,” Cassandra said with finality. “She doesn’t

  need to learn to punch or hold a sword or shoot an arrow to defend

  306/395

  herself. She’s already ten times more lethal than you are, Hector,

  and if you keep trying to find a way to beat her you’re going to end

  up brain dead. These sessions are over.”

  Cassandra stood up and walked out of the dojo.

  “She’s still vulnerable!” Hector shouted after Cassandra’s retreating

  figure. “There are a million ways to subdue her once you find a

  way to get around her bolts!”

  “Enough, Hector,” Jason said gently. “Cassandra’s right. Figure

  out her vulnerabilities and train her to deal with them, but the dojo

  work is done. Hand-to-hand combat is not something she ever has

  to fear.”

  “So no more chaperone?” Helen asked, raising her eyes from her

  empty water bottle. The Delos kids looked at each oth
er,

  shrugging.

  “I guess not,” Hector finally concluded. “At least not until Cassandra

  foresees a threat. Then, I don’t care how lethal you are, one

  of us will be with you at all times again.”

  “May I go until then?” Helen asked, looking at Hector and waiting

  politely for permission. He nodded. She bowed to him and then

  jumped into the air.

  “Wait, Lennie!” Claire shouted up at her. “We were going to

  throw you a party. Kate made you a cake!”

  Helen saw Claire, saw how worried she was, but she couldn’t do

  what Claire wanted. She couldn’t pretend to be cheerful. Not for a

  few hours while everyone threw her a party, not for half an hour to

  let them at least sing “Happy Birthday” and scarf down some cake,

  and not even for the five minutes it would take to explain to Claire

  why she couldn’t do any of those things.

  “Love you,” she called out to her best friend before she flew away.

  She thought she heard Jason say something like “Lucas is the

  same” while she pulled open the door and soared out, but she

  might have imagined it.

  307/395

  She didn’t have a destination or a time limit—she only knew that

  she wasn’t allowed off island. She’d given Lucas her word, and she

  wasn’t about to break it now. Helen needed so desperately for their

  promises to be true, she wasn’t willing to break any of them—not

  even the one that might bring her some comfort. She might never

  get to go to Patagonia with Lucas, but the least she could do to

  keep faith between them was to not fly over the ocean until he told

  her it was okay.

  She could, however, go right to the edge. She’d avoided Great

  Point for the past week—not because she was worried she’d break

  down and cry if she went there, but because she was worried she

  wouldn’t. She was starting to get frightened that she would never

  going to feel anything again. That she would become as sterile and

  lifeless as one of those pale flowers she saw in her nighttime wandering.

  She had enough sense to ask herself why she was reacting

  the way she was, but not enough clarity to discover the answer.

  Until she saw Lucas sitting on top of the lighthouse.

  He was perched right on the edge of the catwalk that wrapped

  around the glass dome at the top of the lighthouse, watching the

  last bit of the day drag itself down behind the horizon. A storm was

  gathering over the water, and the fruit-punch colors of the sunset