Goddess (10 page)

“You’ll see,” was all he’d say, shaking his head.

Orion directed her to land them just outside the circle of light cast around the one semi-large picture window on the ground floor.

Careful to remain in the shadows, Helen glanced inside. The first thing she saw was a big man sitting in an armchair, reading a book. He wore faded jeans, a tight black T-shirt, and he had black hair that was shot through with premature silver at the temples. He was older, maybe mid-forties, but still very handsome and incredibly fit. The sharp, aquiline angles of his face and the golden tan that warmed his olive skin reminded her of Lucas. Even the shape of his hand as it gripped the spine of the book was hauntingly familiar. It disturbed Helen to see this other, older man with Lucas’s hands.

Helen had heard it mentioned several times by the family that Lucas looked like a son of Poseidon. Based on the striking resemblance, Helen knew she had to be looking at Daedalus, Head of the House of Athens, the direct descendant of Poseidon, and Orion’s father.

The second thing Helen saw was her own mother, Daphne, fast asleep on the couch across from him.

SIX

H
elen backed away from the window. There was a squeezing feeling in her throat, and her feet were bumbling over the uneven ground with shock. Orion reached out for her, but she threw his hands off blindly. Undeterred, Orion reached for her again and clamped a hand over her mouth when he’d captured her.

“Take it easy! It’s not what you think,” he hissed in her ear.

He led them both away from the house, and as far back across the top of the promontory as he dared without shoving them both off the cliff before he continued.

“Daphne helps my father handle my mother when she has one of her spells. She must have had one tonight, probably because my dad has to go to the meeting of the Houses. My mom hates all the Houses, even her own.” He paused in the middle of his rushed explanation, looking to see if Helen was keeping up. “There was a Scion war before we were born,” he said.

Still muffled behind Orion’s hand, Helen relaxed her muscles and nodded, both in answer to his tacit question about the war and to let him know that she wasn’t going to barge into the house or start yelling. He relaxed his grip on her mouth but kept her close to him. Helen had known that there had been some sort of final confrontation between the Scion Houses about twenty years ago, and that it had been a bloodbath—the End Times—or so it had seemed to them.

“My mom was Head of the House of Rome, and she killed a lot of people. The war really messed her up. And now my mother doesn’t deal well with any mention of the Houses,” he tried to continue but had to stop there, gritting his teeth to control his voice. “She doesn’t deal well with anything, actually. She’s
sick
, Helen.”

Helen knew that Scions only get sick in one way. Orion was trying to tell her as gently as he could that his mother, Leda, was insane.

Based on the fact that Daedalus needed Daphne to help him control Leda, Helen knew Leda was not only strong, but that she had to be the kind of insane that was truly dangerous to be around. The house they lived in was miles away from anyone, as far away from civilization as they could get without tipping into the sea. Helen could only imagine the amount of screaming that must accompany the “spells” as Orion had called them. She wondered what it was like for him to have grown up with all that as a small boy.

Orion released Helen gently and turned away from her as he swiped the back of his hand across his face. Helen reached forward and took his other hand, cradling it close to her chest as he collected himself. She studied him carefully, waiting until he turned back to her and nodded, letting her know that he had it together again, and then he led her back toward the house.

“You said she was dead,” Helen whispered. Orion shook his head.

“You assumed she was dead when I told you I was the Head of the House of Rome, but death isn’t the only way a House gets a new Head,” he looked away. “I didn’t know you well enough then. I was too ashamed to tell you. . . .”

Helen nodded, stopping him. He didn’t need to explain himself to her. “It’s okay,” she said quietly.

Another light switched on inside the house, and both Helen and Orion turned their heads sharply to look in the window.

Helen saw a frantic woman with long chestnut hair descend the stairs in a nightgown. Barefoot and mussed from sleep, her disheveled state only added to her appeal. She was older, in her forties, but still shaped like a pinup girl. Her light reddish-brown hair danced around her in a cloud of fat, silky curls that take most women hours with a blow-dryer and a curling iron to achieve. They were Orion’s curls, and the long, shapely arc of her muscled limbs had the same balance, the same perfect proportions as his did.

Half bursting out of her nightgown in all the right ways even though she was obviously oblivious to this fact, Helen guessed that this woman would probably still look seductive even if she’d fallen ass over teakettle down the steps. She was a smaller, female version of Orion, and as such she was the perfect temptation for the opposite sex. Everything about her screamed that this woman was Leda, a daughter of Aphrodite, and Orion’s mother.

“He’s here!” she rasped, running to the widow. Orion pulled Helen away from the circle of light just as Daedalus jumped up from his seat and pulled Leda back before she could get a good look outside. Even from a distance, Helen could see the feral look on her face. Her eyes were opened so wide they were showing the whites, and they were rolling around like a spooked horse’s. Helen shuddered involuntarily.

“There’s no one here, love,” Daedalus said in a weary voice, taking Leda’s shoulders and turning her away from the window.

“Adonis! I can
smell
you out there!” the hysterical woman shrieked, viciously fighting her husband to get away. “I won’t let you kill my baby!”

Daphne was up now and grabbing Daedalus by the shoulders so they formed a cage around Leda with their bodies. They pressed into her from opposite sides, using their weight to restrain her arms and keep her from tearing at her hair and face. Helen could tell by the gentle, but almost clinical way they went about this, that Daedalus and Daphne had done it many times before.

“I’ll kill you if you try to hurt my baby!” Leda howled, sobbing now, her voice shredding with pure crazy. “I’ll kill you myself!”

“Adonis is dead, Leda! Your brother is dead!” Daphne shouted over Leda until the distraught woman stopped bucking and started to relax.

“My baby brother,” Leda said, calmed momentarily by her confusion. “My baby. My baby brother. But which is which? I know I killed one of them. Who did I choose?”

Leda started rocking back and forth, quietly chanting the words, “My baby. My baby brother,” over and over as Daedalus and Daphne tried to soothe her. Each time she repeated this pitiful mantra, her volume raised another notch until she was screaming.

“Get me out of here, Helen,” Orion said in a shaky whisper. Helen looked at him and saw tears streaming silently down his face.

She immediately wrapped her arms around him and they shot into the air, leaving behind the sound of Leda’s inconsolable wailing. Orion buried his face in Helen’s neck. She could feel his hot tears streaming across her skin and quickly turning cold in the thinning air as they gained altitude.

Shivering, they hovered high over the ocean, clinging to each other. Orion didn’t make any noise. After what Helen guessed was years of practice, he’d gotten good at silencing the sound of his own crying until there was nothing—not even the flutter of his diaphragm—just the fast and deep throbbing of his heartbeat. Helen pulled him closer and flew him away from this nightmare, even though she knew she’d never get him far enough away to make it any better.

Heading south along the coast, she brought them to a pretty little beach somewhere around Cape Ann in Massachusetts and lowered them to the ground. They sat next to each other on the sand, him staring out at the water and her staring at his profile.

“They were close. Adonis and my mother,” he said finally. “They loved each other very much—until she fell in love with my father. All the Houses, but especially the House of Rome, don’t allow for Scions from different Houses to have children together out of fear that it will create the Tyrant.” Orion paused here and gestured to himself ruefully. “When my mom got pregnant with me, Adonis came to kill me—and her, I guess, since she was still carrying me. But my mother killed him instead.”

Helen leaned against Orion’s shoulder and looked out at the dark waves crashing on the beach. She’d figured it was something like that, but sensed there was more to the story. The dull colors crawling out of Orion’s chest were heavy and leaden with guilt and regret.

“The worst part came later,” Orion continued in a strained voice. “You know how the members in each House have certain physical characteristics? There’s always some variation, like Lucas, Jason, and Ariadne who don’t look like the other members of their House. But in general, Thebans are blond and look like Lucas’s dad.” Helen nodded. “Did you also know that every generation has a handful of
specific
characters who get repeated over and over? They are almost exact replicas of the main characters who fought at Troy. As soon as one of these main characters die, another is born to take his or her place.”

“No, I didn’t know that.” Helen bit her lip, processing this. “I don’t think the Delos family knows this, either, or they would have explained it to me.”

“The House of Athens figured this out a long time ago, but the House of Thebes may not have. The Thebans have always had a lot of variation in their line, and probably haven’t been able to spot the pattern yet. Your House, the House of Atreus is the only exception. You hand down the Helen archetype mother to daughter, but for the rest of us, an exact look-alike can only happen if a main character dies first.”

“Like the Fates have to recast the play with a baby when one of the lead characters dies,” Helen said musingly. “You look exactly like Aeneas, you know.”

“Yeah, I remember Automedon calling me ‘General Aeneas’ right after you electrocuted him,” he said, smiling a little at the memory. His face scrunched up momentarily. “Wait. How could you know what Aeneas looked like?”

“Long story,” Helen said, waving a dismissive hand. “Keep going with yours first.”

“Well, apart from Aeneas, there’s someone else I look like exactly.”

“Your uncle Adonis.” Helen didn’t even have to mull that one over. She knew how cruel the Fates were, and for some reason they seemed to be particularly cruel to Orion. Like they had it out for him.

As soon as she thought this, she made a guess at the reason why. Aeneas was one of the only male survivors of Troy. He’d
escaped
fate. Somehow, this one character had gotten away from his destiny. Helen wondered how in the world anyone could do that, but she put that thought on the back burner as Orion continued.

“It was fine while I was still a baby, but as soon as I got a little older, my mother started confusing me with her brother.” He stopped and swallowed. “She started to see me as an enemy. I haven’t been able to go anywhere near her since I was eight. And my dad couldn’t leave her alone for long. So he left me to fend for myself most of the time.”

Helen could hear the bitterness in his voice, even though he tried to tone it down. A thought occurred to her. She felt all the hairs on the back of her neck stand up and anger flushed hot under her skin. Her voice shook when she spoke. “Did your mother give you those scars, Orion?”

“No,” he said sharply. “My mother’s cousin, Corvus. He didn’t want me to succeed my mother when it became clear she was too far gone to lead anymore. I was claimed by the House of Athens, and a lot of my cousins still don’t think I should lead the House of Rome. Corvus came after me when I was eleven. He lost.”

Helen saw a dark fire burning inside Orion’s chest. Black flames licked at his heart.
He killed his cousin
, she thought. Orion had only been eleven years old when he’d killed a man. Helen shook her head and decided to stick with a topic she could actually fathom at this point—his mother.

“Did your mom ever try to . . . you know . . . kill you?” Helen asked carefully. Orion only nodded, his eyes glued to the waves. Helen turned her head and looked back at the water with him.

“It was the scariest thing that’s ever happened to me,” he admitted in a dead tone.

Helen wanted to ask him more about his scars and his cousin Corvus, but she knew from the numb look on his face that Orion had dug up enough painful memories for one night. Besides, she didn’t know if she could bear to hear any more just then.

“You know what scares me?” she asked after a long silence. “The ocean.”

Orion laughed softly. “Not Tartarus?”

“Tartarus blows,” Helen agreed with a definite nod. “But the ocean truly terrifies me.”

“And what about everything you just learned about me?” he asked quietly. “Does that terrify you, too?”

“No,” she replied. She thought about how Orion’s father had left him to fend for himself. How this Corvus guy hunted him when he was just a kid, and how pretty much every second of his life he’d known that he would never get anything that resembled love from the people who were supposed to take care of him. “It
really
pisses me off, though.”

They shared a comfortable silence, each of them thinking their own thoughts.

“Thank you,” Orion said after a long pause. He began untying his boots.

“What’re you doing?” she asked, puzzled, as he kicked them off.

“First, I think it’s pathetic that you grew up on an island and you’re scared of the water,” he said, standing up and taking off his jacket. “Second, I think it’s time for both of us to stop being afraid.” He reached down to help her up off the sand. “I’m going to teach you to swim.”

“Now? Wait,” she quibbled, tugging on his arm. “I don’t think I can do this.”

“Sure you can.” He grinned at her—back to his sweet, playful self again. “Now take off your clothes.”

Helen laughed, but when he took off his shirt and she saw the scars on his chest, her laughter died away. After a brief moment she made up her mind and jumped to her feet. “Why not?” she said, kicking off her shoes and pulling her shirt over her head. “I killed a freaking Myrmidon. How bad can a shark be?”

“That’s ma girl,” he said, shucking off his jeans. Helen did the same and immediately started shivering in the cold air.

“Am I going to die of hypothermia in there?”

“Not with me. That water will feel like a warm bath,” he promised, taking her hand. “Ready?”

“I can’t believe I’m doing this!” Helen screamed joyfully, and they ran toward the dark ocean. Right before Helen met the first wave she stopped dead, nearly yanking Orion’s arm out of its socket. She danced up and down on her tiptoes. “Nope. I can’t do this!” she screamed.

The wave parted and went around her and Orion, like Moses and the Red Sea.

“Thanks,” she said, smiling at him with relief. “I totally chickened out.” She noticed that his face was frozen and his eyes were wide.