About half an hour after Tantalus, Daedalus, and Pallas left his camp, Matt heard the alarm again. There was a commotion outside, the sound of struggling, and moments later Telamon was at the entrance of Matt’s tent with a report.
“A Scion was found sneaking around the beach and captured,” Telamon informed him. “I would have sent her back to her House, only . . . it’s her, Master.”
“It’s all right,” Matt said, nodding his head. “Bring her in.”
Ariadne was led into the tent, held on either side by a Myrmidon. Her hair was tangled, and her face was red with exertion. She’d obviously put up a fight, but she was no match for even one of Matt’s soldiers, let alone a full company of them.
“Let her go. Then leave us.” The guards obeyed silently. He turned to Ariadne. “How did you find us?”
“I followed my father. He was acting weird tonight,” she whispered. Ariadne stood as far away from Matt as she could and rubbed her arms where the guards had held her.
“Did they hurt you?” he asked quietly. She ignored his question.
“How can you be him? You’re not a Scion.”
“Neither was Achilles.”
She dropped her face into her palms and rubbed her eyes roughly. “No,” she said, lifting her head suddenly. “No, I don’t believe any of this. I can’t.”
She ran for the exit, but Matt moved faster than she ever could and was there before her. He caught her wrist to stop her from leaving. She stared at him in shock.
“Believe it.” Her skin felt soft and warm in his hand. He let her go and turned away. He knew it was better this way, even though it didn’t feel like it. “Go home. My men won’t stop you.”
She didn’t leave.
Matt heard her crossing the space to him and turned, already shaking his head. “Don’t.”
She kissed him, anyway. He knew he was supposed to stop this. She might know the story word for word, but she didn’t actually remember the ending the way he did. He was just about to pull away and send her home to her brothers when she pressed her thumb into that U-shaped hollow under his Adam’s apple while she kissed him. Just like she used to a hundred lifetimes ago.
As Matt picked her up and carried her over to his bed, he marveled at how simple a gesture it was. Really—it was a silly habit she had of touching his throat with her thumb. But once she did that, Matt didn’t care who he had to kill.
“Sing for me,” Helen pleaded. She lifted her head off Lucas’s chest and stared down at him.
“Right now? With no accompaniment?” Lucas asked. Lying on his back, he looked up at the ceiling of their little cabin in the woods and blushed a bit.
“Yes. Please? I really want to listen to music, but I want it to be something from you, not from my imagination.”
She rolled off of him. The stones in front of the fireplace were nice and toasty under their blanket, despite the snowstorm that swirled outside their cabin. Helen grabbed her mug of tea off the hot flagstones in front of the fire and offered it to Lucas.
“For your throat, if it’s hoarse and you think you might sing badly,” she said with a challenging grin.
“My throat’s fine,” he said, nudging her playfully with his foot. He sat up suddenly. “I’ll make you music. But I’m a much better guitar player than a singer.”
“Really?” Helen took his hands and held them up, looking at them. They were hardened, like a fighter’s, but still sensitive, like an artist’s. Just like everything else about him, his hands were the perfect blend of opposites. She ran her finger across the calluses on his finger pads, noticing them for the first time. “Why didn’t you ever play for me before?”
“Why haven’t I ever taken you on a date before?” he said through a bittersweet smile. “There are a lot of things I’ve meant to do with you that I haven’t.”
Helen swayed closer to him. Just to breathe his air, or feel his body heat . . . anything to get another dose of him without actually kissing him and breaking the gentle understanding they’d come to.
“How’d you learn?” she asked quietly, a little ashamed that she didn’t know this already.
“My dad taught me.” Lucas paused, a serene but sad look on his face. “He taught me classical Spanish guitar, because we lived in Spain for so long, and American finger picking. I actually haven’t played at all since we left Cádiz.” Again, that slightly sad look stole over his face. “He’s better than me . . . but I’m still pretty good.”
For a long time now, Helen had taken for granted that she and Lucas were as close as skin was to bones, that there was nothing about him that she didn’t know. But here she was, learning something new and important about who he was. His dad didn’t just teach him how to swing a sword. Helen could imagine the hours that the two of them had spent together, discussing the art that they loved so much and had so little chance to enjoy.
“I’ll bet.” Helen desperately wanted to hear him play now. She imagined him a guitar—the best guitar she think of. “Will this work?”
Lucas took the instrument and turned it over, frowning. “It’s all right.” He laughed at the wounded look Helen gave him. “I’m joking! It’s beautiful.”
Helen slapped him on the thigh. “Play for me!” she demanded.
Lucas cradled the guitar in his arms, preparing to play, and stopped. “You know what I keep wondering?”
“What?” Helen asked in a mock-frustrated tone, like she thought he was stalling on purpose.
“How you can do this?” he asked seriously. “How do you know how to make carousels and snowstorms and guitars?”
“I’ve had a lot of practice,” she said quietly. Helen leaned closer to Lucas and regarded him carefully. “In the Underworld. All that time I spent wandering around, well . . . I didn’t get it then, but Hades was actually teaching me to build worlds.”
“Really? And I suppose he did it out of the goodness of his heart?” Lucas asked doubtfully.
“Well, yeah. Actually, I think that has a lot to do with it,” she replied. “He’s a really compassionate guy. God. Whatever.”
“And how has Hades been teaching you, exactly?” Lucas continued, putting the guitar aside.
“The hard way,” Helen replied, rolling her eyes at the memory of all her trials in the Underworld, and all of the hellscapes she encountered. The tree that imprisoned her, the rusting city, the ledge of the mansion that she’d clung to—all of the places that Helen thought were cleverly designed by Hades to torture her had actually come out of her own mind. She’d created her own hell, and now that she had learned how to control her fear, she knew how to create her own paradise.
“What do you mean, the hard way?” he asked as he studied her pensive expression. His eyes were narrowed in anger.
“No, no, he didn’t do anything to me. I did it all to myself.” Lucas didn’t look pleased with that answer, either. “Let me start over. Descending isn’t really the right name for the talent I have. I’m a Worldbuilder, Lucas.” Helen spread her hands to gesture to the room around them. “Worldbuilding got confused with Descending because Hades has allowed all the Worldbuilders, not just me, to descend to his land in order to learn how to build for themselves.”
“Why would he do that?”
Helen paused, thinking about her quest to free the Furies and how much she’d learned in the process.
“I guess because he wants us to really consider what kind of world we want to live in—one based on justice and compassion for others, or one that only serves the whims of the builder. Wow. I just figured that out.” Helen looked at Lucas and smiled. “You always help me figure things out.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” he said, smiling back at her before growing serious again. “But you could have learned those lessons without having to go through hell. Helen, I remember how sick you got. How you would come back from the Underworld covered in mud and leaves and blood sometimes. Did he have to make everything so hard?”
“Yeah, he did,” Helen said, and then stopped again, wondering if she wanted Lucas to know the next bit that had just occurred to her.
“Helen?” he said, raising an eyebrow at her. “What aren’t you telling me?”
She knew she couldn’t hide it from him for long, and she hated keeping things from him, anyway, so she told him. “Hades had to make it hard so I would toughen up. Because once a Worldbuilder actually builds a world, she has to be strong enough to defend it.”
Helen saw Lucas’s face harden. “Defend it from whom?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous.
“The gods, I think. ‘Challengers’ was all Hades said, so I guess there have been more than one over the years. Look, I’m not going to lie to you. Morgan La Fey built Avalon, and it disappeared in the mists when she lost her fight. Atlantis sank into the sea when Atlanta lost hers. Those are the only two other Scions I know of who have been Worldbuilders, and they both lost. The odds are not in my favor.”
“Screw the odds,” Lucas said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “That’s not what bothers me.” His eyes skipped around as he thought. “What I want to know is who’s going to challenge you, and why is Hades taking the trouble to prepare you to fight back? What does he really want?”
Helen shrugged. “I don’t know. I could ask, but I doubt he’d tell me in a way I’d understand. Hades doesn’t do easy answers.”
“I’ll bet,” Lucas mumbled, still thinking.
Helen reached for the guitar and slowly nudged it into his hands. He was onto her, though.
“Is this a hint?”
“A big fat one.” Helen grinned at him.
Lucas plucked a few strings and grimaced, tightening and loosening knobs as he went. “Figures. You’re so tone-deaf even your perfectly constructed guitars are out of tune.” Helen’s body crumpled as she laughed at the pained look on Lucas’s face. “And this guitar is strung for a leftie. I’m not Matt, you know.”
“Here, let me fix it.” Helen concentrated, and all the strings rearranged themselves. Lucas strummed the guitar and rolled his eyes when it made a comical twanging sound.
“It’s out of tune again.”
“You did that on purpose,” she said, grabbing his toe and squeezing it. “Just play!”
“Yes, your goddess-ness.”
Lying on her side, the warm fire at her feet, Helen’s laughter died away as Lucas suddenly went from tuning to playing.
It was like an orchestra in an instrument.
He played with both hands—not one hand picking and the other holding down strings—but with both hands so that it sounded like more than one guitar was playing. Sometimes he hit the strings to make them hum like a harp, and sometimes he hit the body of the guitar like a drum to add bass and keep time. It was the most fascinating thing Helen had ever watched, like Lucas had a dozen voices in his head, all singing the same song, and he’d figured a way to make them come out of ten fingers.
Helen looked at his face and could tell why he loved it. It was like thinking for him, only this was a puzzle that he could share with her as he solved it.
He’d walked into her head when he’d come to her world. And she’d walked into his when she finally heard him play.
It was heaven.
“Where have you been?” Helen scolded.
“Waiting, forlorn and heartbroken, for your return,” Morpheus answered languidly, his silver eyes melting into hers.
She laughed and squeezed his hand. Helen and Lucas had fallen asleep in front of the fire, and she’d woken up in the shadow lands, lying on her back, shoulder to shoulder with the god of dreams. Their faces were turned to each other, and their hands tightly entwined.
“Little sneak. How did you know I needed your help?” she asked.
“You brought yourself here. I can’t make you come here, all I can do is leave the door open for you.”
“Is that what you did?” Helen said, thinking about the different borders that Hades had made for his world, and Morpheus had made for his. Hades left the door open for the dead, and Morpheus left the door open for dreaming minds.
Helen turned her head and looked up into the night sky of Morpheus’ Dream Palace. Her head was cradled in inky silk pillows, and the strange follow-me-lights that looked like a candle flame inside a soap bubble danced over her and her host like they wanted to play.
“Are the borders of our worlds separate from the world itself?”
“I suppose so. Minds come and go, ruffling my hair on the breeze as they let themselves into and out of my land, but they do not control my land once they are here. I make the dreams,” Morpheus replied.
“But in Hades it’s the opposite,” Helen remarked, on the edge of understanding. “The borders are hard to cross—you usually have to kill yourself to do it, but once inside his world, you make your own existence. Or at least I did when I was there.”
“I’ve never thought of it this way, but yes, I’d say the borders are separate from the world. They follow a different set of rules, but they are still controlled by the maker.” Then he regarded her with narrowed eyes. “What’s troubling my Beauty so much she must come to me to talk philosophy?”
“I need your help. Who is going to challenge me, now that I’ve built my world, Morpheus?”
“Olympus. Zeus, mostly. In the past, the small gods challenged some of the other Worldbuilders while the Olympians were trapped by Zeus’ oath.” Morpheus chuckled. “Odysseus really was a clever one.”
“But why do we have to fight at all? Why can’t Zeus keep Olympus, and I’ll keep Everyland and we can call it even?”
“The Great Cycle, of course.”
“Oh yeah. The Great Cycle.” Helen rolled her eyes and looked at him again. “What the heck is that?”
Morpheus laughed and sat up. “The children must overthrow their parents, like the gods did to the Titans, and the Titans did to their parents, Gaea and Uranus. The Fates will make it so again. It’s the Scions’ turn to overthrow the gods.”
“And Zeus wants to stop me from overthrowing him.”
“Of course. If the Scions defeat Olympus, the Twelve will spend eternity in Tartarus like the Titans. Not pleasant.”
“No. Not pleasant at all.” Helen agreed. “But why pick on me? What’s the big deal about me being a Worldbuilder?”
“Because you can take the Scions to your Everyland and make all of them immortal if you wish it. And, as a Worldbuilder, you are also the only one of your kind who can open the portals to Tartarus and send the Twelve there—but be warned, Helen. Zeus is a Worldbuilder as well. He can also send you to Tartarus, like he did the Titans.”
Helen paused to think about this. If Helen made all the Scions immortal and they faced off with Olympus, it’d be an army against a handful. There’s no way Olympus would win.
“So what about you and Hades? Either of you could challenge Zeus, but he’s left you both alone. How did you avoid a fight?”
“I never leave my land, and it would be suicide for Zeus to try to fight me here, where I alone am god.”
“And Hades?”
“Hades rarely leaves his land, either, and when he does, his Helm of Darkness makes him invisible to both humans and gods.” Helen remembered Eris walking right by her and Lucas when he had made them invisible in the hallway at school, just before the riots. Before she could think too deeply about that connection, Morpheus continued. “More important, Zeus needs his big brother Hades. The dead must have a land of their own, and the last thing Zeus wants is to have to deal with the dead.”
“So, what am I supposed to do?” Helen asked pleadingly.
“Fight. Or hide in your Everyland where Zeus cannot touch you.” Morpheus smiled at her warmly. “I suggest the latter, even though I know you won’t listen. You’re not the hiding type.”
“I can’t stay in Everyland. I can’t leave Earth to the gods. They’d totally ruin it. But maybe there’s a way to avoid a fight altogether?” Helen asked. She doubted it, but it didn’t hurt to at least try to stop a horrendous war that would probably kill a lot of people.
“Can you avoid your fate? Many have tried to dodge it, like Oedipus, but has anyone ever been able to escape it in the end?” Morpheus asked in return.
“Yes. Free will exists,” Helen replied, musing as an idea occurred to her. “All you need is a Shield.”
Morpheus looked at her questioningly, not understanding her. She shook her head and changed the subject.
“Why do you and Hades help me?” she asked softly.
“I am the god of dreams, but not even I would dream of speaking for Hades,” Morpheus replied with a mischievous look in his eyes. “But if I had to guess, I would say it’s because he knows how destructive his little brother is. Hades, unlike most of the other gods, cares for mortals and doesn’t want to see them at war. Probably because he has to tend their souls when they die. He has had to judge millions of souls and that has given him a strong sense of justice. Leaving you to fight Zeus with no training is something he would consider unjust.”
Helen frowned. She remembered asking Orion once what was more important to him than everlasting joy. He’d said justice. It was yet another trait Orion shared with Hades.
“And what about you?” Helen asked, brushing aside this thought.
“I have a much simpler, much more selfish motive. I help you because I love you and can’t bear to lose you. Didn’t you know that?”
“And?” she asked, raising a cynical eyebrow.
“And I don’t believe I have anything to fear from you. I don’t think you’d ever try to send me to Tartarus.”
“Never. I wouldn’t want to live in a world without dreams. Not even my own,” Helen said, reaching out to caress his shiny, black hair. “I’ve really missed you. Every time I close my eyes lately it seems like I’m too busy to dream.”
“But I’ve sent you dreams—mostly to inform you of the gods’ actions on Earth.”
“What do you mean?” Helen asked. She figured it out fast. “All those dreams of eagles carrying off women and dolphins and stallions attacking humans. That was awful, Morpheus.”
“I’m sorry, Beauty. I didn’t mean to frighten you. I just couldn’t allow that poor siren to get any more attention from that Apollo brat without trying to do something about it.” Morpheus fluffed a pillow, agitated. “I am most grateful that you went to get her. I hate sending nightmares to anyone, but sometimes I just have to in order to warn people. Do you forgive me?”
“Of course,” Helen replied, sitting up.
She remembered Orion telling her once that he’d been given a dream about a field full of Scion bones. He’d interpreted it as a warning of the Scions’ extinction. Apparently, he was right. A shudder ran through Helen, and Morpheus put an arm over her shoulder, concerned by her distress.
“You know, you really are a big softie,” she told him.
“I am. I should try being more terrible and garnering more respect and fear and trembling and all that. But I keep forgetting.” He pouted sweetly. Helen gave him a warm smile, then grew silent.
“What is it?” Morpheus asked.
“I need your help.” Helen looked at her friend, hoping he knew what to do. “I need to find a way to remove Aphrodite’s curse on my bloodline.”
“May I ask why?” Morpheus asked, his head tilting curiously.
Helen had a ready answer—because she wanted to be able to be with Lucas, even if he was her cousin. But before she could speak the words, she realized it was much more than that.
“I don’t want to owe her or anyone else a child,” she said. “If I ever have a baby, it will be by my choice, not someone else’s.”
“Ah.” Morpheus regarded her sadly. “There is no power I know of that can remove a goddess’s curse. But if you don’t want to have a child, don’t. All you need to do is live forever and the Face will always exist.” Morpheus chuckled softly. “I believe that was Aphrodite’s point to begin with, wasn’t it?”
Helen breathed a surprised sigh. “You’re right.” A slow grin spread across Morpheus’ face, and Helen’s matched it. “Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.”
“Eternity, though.” Helen frowned suddenly. “How is it, really?”
“I’ve been enjoying it,” Morpheus said with a shrug. He gestured to his big bed, the twinkling stars, and elfin people who danced and played in the outlying poppy fields. “It helps to spend it in your own world, doing what you love, and surrounded with the right people, of course. Or person.”
Morpheus changed his appearance into Lucas’s and crawled across the gigantic bed toward her.
“My offer still stands, you know,” he whispered in Lucas’s voice. “Stay here with me and be my queen. Or, we can trade off if you prefer. At night we can come here, and during the day we can live in your world.”
Helen scooted away from Morpheus-as-Lucas, groaning pitifully. “You’re totally cheating.”
He caught her and rolled her under him, his face just inches above hers. “Stay,” he pleaded. “Here with me, or in your Everyland with the real Lucas. Or any combination you like. We can all share. But whatever you decide, it’s better if you never go back to Earth. You’re going to be hurt terribly if you do.”
Helen’s throat went dry at the seriousness of his look. “I can’t avoid a fight with Zeus by hiding.”
“I wasn’t speaking of Zeus. I was speaking of those close to you. They are conspiring, even in their dreams, to betray you.”
Helen stiffened and pushed him back.
“What is my mother up to this time?” she asked, not a doubt in her mind about who in her inner circle would betray her. Morpheus shifted back to his own face, which looked confused.
“She’s been drugging your father, of course,” he said. “But that’s not . . .”
“What?” Helen trilled, cutting him off as she jumped out of bed, shaking with anger. “Daphne has been drugging my father?”
“Yes,” Morpheus replied in his gentle manner. “It’s not harming his body in any way. That’s why the pretty Healer twins can’t detect it.”
“What the hell?” Helen babbled, nearly hysterical at the thought. “Why is she drugging my dad?”
“To keep him asleep, of course. Don’t worry. I’ve made sure he’s having nothing but wonderful dreams.”
Helen clenched her fists to keep herself from screaming, and then leaned over to give Morpheus a quick kiss good-bye. “Thank you for taking care of my father, Morpheus. I owe you. And if you ever need anything from me, anything at all, just ask.”
“Wait, you’re in danger!” Morpheus began, but Helen knew that already. She couldn’t stay and listen to another one of Morpheus’ well-meaning pleas to stay away from Zeus. She needed to get back because her mother had some serious explaining to do.
And then Helen was going to kick that no-hearted bitch’s ass.
Helen appeared in the middle of the Delos living room, inches away from Claire who was sleeping in a chair. A gust of cold air washed over Claire, waking her.
“Helen!” Claire gasped, jumping up immediately.
“Sorry,” Helen said when she saw the terrified look on Claire’s face. “Where is everyone?”
“It’s the middle of the night, where do you think everyone is?”
Helen looked around the charred remains of the living room. The chair Claire had been sleeping in was the only piece of furniture in the room that hadn’t been burned, and Helen recognized it as a transplant from the study.
“What are you doing in here?” Helen asked, gesturing to the destroyed room. “Why aren’t you at your home or upstairs?”
“I’m waiting to see if either of you came back. I figured the spot you left was the best bet,” Claire answered. She looked behind Helen expectantly, and her face fell. “No Lucas?” she asked, her eyes widening with sadness and something else Helen couldn’t place. It almost looked like distrust.
“He’s fine,” Helen said quickly, ignoring the pinch of disappointment she felt. Claire was acting like she thought Helen was lying to her. “I left him in . . . Don’t worry about it. He’s completely healed and totally safe.”
“How?” Claire asked. She gestured to the room around her. “This is what you did. And Lucas was holding on to you. How could he possibly live through that?”
Helen shifted from foot to foot. She wasn’t really ready to tell Claire about the fact that she’d built a new world. It was one thing discussing it with Morpheus, who shared her ability, but standing here with Claire it no longer seemed like such a normal thing to create a world.
“Long story. But trust me, he’s perfect.” She needed to change the subject. “Do you know where my mother is?” Helen asked, listening to the breathing of all the house’s inhabitants. She didn’t hear her mother among them.
“No clue. Not that that’s anything new. She’s really good at vanishing.” Claire peered at Helen cautiously.
“Yeah. She really is,” Helen said distractedly, trying to think of where Daphne could be.
She had to admit to herself that she didn’t know her mother well enough to know where she’d be at any time of the day, let alone where she went to sleep at night. Going out to look for her would probably be a waste of time. Eventually, Daphne would have to return, and then Helen would confront her.
Helen smiled cheerfully at Claire, but Claire didn’t smile back. She was still looking at Helen strangely. Like she didn’t recognize her anymore.
“What?” Helen asked defensively.
“You look freaky. Kind of scary.” Claire quickly glanced at the floor, like she couldn’t look at Helen anymore.
“Jason’s upstairs?” Helen asked, changing the subject again. She already knew the answer. She could hear Jason breathing in his room.
“Why do you need him?”
“Because I need a Healer. Come on,” Helen said, turning her back on Claire and mounting the stairs. “I look freaky because I’m pissed. I just found out that my dad’s being drugged.”
“No way!” Claire said loudly, and then dropped her voice. “By who?” she whispered as they got to the top of the stairs.
“My wicked witch of a mother. Who else?” Helen replied. “I’m hoping the twins can help him.”
“Jason will. But Ari isn’t here, so he’ll have to work alone,” Claire said, chewing her lower lip as the two girls got to Jason’s door.
Helen could tell that Claire was also worried about Ariadne, and where she’d gone off to that night. It wasn’t like Ariadne to just disappear, and Helen sensed that Claire thought something fishy was happening.
“How long has Ari been gone?” Helen asked.
“I don’t know,” Claire replied, brushing off the question. “Wait here a sec.” Helen paused outside while Claire went into Jason’s room to get him.
As Claire touched Jason’s shoulder to wake him, Jason responded by reaching up out of his slumber to pull Claire down into bed with him. Claire resisted gently, and Helen looked away to allow them some privacy. She could see Jason’s need as a bright flash, and Claire’s reciprocation was immediate, even though she repressed it quickly. Helen could read emotions so clearly now it was embarrassing for her to be around couples. It was like walking in on naked people whenever she was around her old friends. Helen wondered how Orion dealt with it. Maybe he was more understanding about emotions because he had learned how to accept how vulnerable people are in general.
We’re all naked under a few millimeters of clothes, Helen reminded herself, recalling a wonderfully tense moment in her life when Lucas had stood just outside her shower door.
Helen heard Jason say, “Luke’s alive? You sure?” and then she moved down the hall. Claire joined Helen outside Jason’s bedroom while he threw on some clothes. Moments later, he met them in the hallway.
“Jerry’s condition has changed?” Jason asked Helen in an excited whisper.
“Well, no,” Helen said. They got to Jerry’s room and went in, closing the door behind them so they could speak more freely. “I just found out he’s being drugged.”
“Drugged?” Jason repeated in a disbelieving tone. “If it was a drug, I’d have been able to sense the damage it would do to his body.”
“That’s just it. Morpheus told me that the drug isn’t hurting him. It’s just keeping him asleep.”
“Morpheus. The god of dreams.” Jason stared at her blankly. “Do you two hang out now, or something?”
“Will you please just check?” Helen asked urgently, gesturing down to her father’s sleeping form.
“I’m sorry, Helen. My power doesn’t work like a blood test. I can’t detect chemicals, only damage to the body. I can’t remove chemicals, either, unless they are the pathogen that’s hurting the patient. My talent only allows me to fix what’s broken.”
“So what can we do to help him?” Claire asked.
“Nothing,” Jason responded. “All we can do is wait for the drug to wear off. And keep whoever’s drugging him away so they can’t administer more. Who’s doing this to him, anyway?”
Helen clenched her teeth, too ticked off to even say her mother’s name.
“Daphne,” Claire told him, when it became obvious that Helen couldn’t. Jason sighed and nodded.
“Looking back, Daphne always did seem to show up just as Jerry was waking. She’d stay to watch him, and a few minutes later he’d go under again.” He looked at Helen contritely. “I’m sorry, Helen. It never even crossed my mind that Daphne would do that to him.”
“It’s not your fault, Jason. It’s mine. I know what a nightmare she is, and I still let her be near him,” Helen said ruefully. “Any idea how long before he wakes up again?”
Jason held a glowing hand over Jerry’s head, his eyes closed in concentration.
“He’s completely out,” he said, opening his eyes. “He could be like this another twelve to sixteen hours, I’d say. That’s just a rough guess, though.”
“Thanks,” Helen replied.
“So. How’s Lucas?” Jason asked tentatively.
“He’s totally fine,” Helen said, smiling. “In fact, I gotta go get him.”
“Get him?” Jason asked, his relieved look fading. “Can’t he fly? Or is he still too injured to walk? We’ll all come help . . . Hector!” Jason turned and started calling loudly for his brother.
“Jason—wait. It’s not that at all,” Helen said, reaching out to stop him. But Hector had already come to his bedroom door. Behind him, Helen could see Orion getting out of the guest bed in Hector’s room.
“What?” Hector growled peevishly at his brother, and then noticed Helen. “Where have you been?” he asked her, coming out into the hallway.
“Helen?” Orion asked, following Hector.
“Oh, good. You’re here,” she said. “Don’t go anywhere.”
“Okay,” Orion said tentatively, not understanding her. “Where’s Lucas?”
Both he and Hector were looking up and down the hall for Lucas.
“Oh, for the love of Pete,” Helen mumbled to herself, running a hand over her face. “He’s fine! Would I be wandering around, not sobbing my brains out, if he were dead?”
By this point, Castor and Noel, Pallas, Cassandra, Kate, and Andy were all awake and looking out their bedroom doors at Helen. She held up her hands before everyone could start talking at once.
“Lucas is absolutely one hundred percent alive and healthy and waiting for me in a safe place,” she announced.
“Where?” Castor asked, his face both hopeful and confused.
“Ah . . . safe,” Helen said, unsure of how much she should share.
“Where did you take my son?” Noel demanded, striding angrily down the hallway toward Helen. Her face was swollen and her eyes were bright red from crying all night. Helen realized that Noel blamed her. She looked around at everyone’s faces. She saw doubt, distrust, and in the best cases, confusion. She was used to Pallas looking at her like he didn’t trust her any farther than he could throw her, but not Castor and Noel. Or Claire.
“Lucas and I call it Everyland.” Helen threw up her hands and just said it. “But you all know it as Atlantis.”
