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    Starcrossed

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      from the sheets and roll out of bed without attracting too much

      attention. Cassandra spun on her heel and stomped out of the

      room.

      “Ari, help Helen,” Noel said gently as she saw Helen’s difficulty.

      Then she turned and bellowed angrily down the hall. “Hector! Get

      in here and help your cousin!”

      “I’m okay,” Helen protested as she stood up on tender legs, only

      using Ariadne’s helping hand to maintain her balance. She realized

      she was wearing that ridiculous scrap of silk Ariadne had the nerve

      to call a nightgown, although that detail had escaped her notice the

      night before when she decided to take her little stroll.

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      “Whoa! That’s . . . interesting,” said Hector as he arrived and saw

      Helen.

      “What’s interesting?” Jason asked as he passed in the hallway.

      He poked his head in the door and saw what his brother was looking

      at. “Aw, damn!”

      They both stared at Helen, half naked and totally busted as she

      got out of Lucas’s bed. Then they looked at each other, threw back

      their heads in unison and laughed.

      “Okay, okay. Enough,” Lucas said defensively. “She was worried

      and came to check on me, but by the time she made it here she was

      practically falling over. I didn’t want to wake Cassandra to carry

      her back to the guest room, so I had her lay down with me. Obviously,

      we just slept. Now, can everyone but Hector or Jase get out

      of my room, please? That includes you, Mom. I need a shower.”

      Helen made it back to the guest room without accepting any

      more help than she had to. She was so embarrassed all she wanted

      to do was run screaming out of the house, and to do that she was

      going to have to prove she was healthy.

      “No thanks, I got it now,” she said to Ariadne when asked if she

      needed help bathing.

      “Okay. Just shout if you need me,” Ariadne replied with narrowed

      eyes.

      Twice Helen had to sit down on the shower floor to rest, but she

      eventually managed to clean all the itchy sand out of her hair and

      towel off without calling for Ariadne. It took her ten minutes to

      struggle into her own freshly laundered clothes alone, but it was

      worth it. All she wanted do was say thank you and slip out without

      drawing too much attention to herself.

      When she got downstairs the whole family was in the kitchen, including

      Lucas. His face lit up like Vegas when he saw her. She

      automatically went straight to him and sat down, her hopes of a

      quiet escape ruined by what felt like a knee-jerk reaction. She

      111/395

      hadn’t intended to stay for breakfast, but it was almost as if she

      needed to be near him.

      “We were just about to send someone up to make sure you hadn’t

      washed down the drain,” joked Noel.

      “Helen’s modest. She wanted to dress herself,” Ariadne said,

      drizzling honey over a bowl of oatmeal and putting it down in front

      of Helen.

      “Modest? Sure she is,” Hector said sarcastically as he passed Lucas

      the bacon.

      “That was your sister’s nightgown, wasn’t it?” Lucas asked

      without skipping a beat as he served Helen and himself. Hector

      wisely shut his mouth.

      “Yeah,” Ariadne replied for him, not getting it. “So comfortable!

      What? What are you all laughing at?”

      “Nothing, Ari. Just drop it,” Jason said in a pained voice, a hand

      over his eyes. Everyone was cracking up, including Castor and

      Noel.

      Helen was torn. She didn’t want to laugh at the joke because it

      was partly on her, but she couldn’t entirely stop herself. She stifled

      a giggle and looked down at her full plate. It was the kind of breakfast

      that was almost always followed by a nap, and Helen was dying

      to go somewhere and hide. She thought about skipping it so she

      could get away sooner.

      “I know you’re hungry,” Lucas said so quietly that Helen alone

      could hear him. “What’s the matter?”

      “I feel like I should go home. I’ve imposed long enough. . . .” She

      trailed off as Lucas started shaking his head.

      “That’s not the reason,” he said positively. “What is it?”

      “I feel like a jackass! Waking up practically naked in your bed

      with half your family standing over us? Not okay,” she said through

      clenched teeth as a hot blush burned her cheeks. He smiled slowly

      as he watched her cheeks stain red.

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      “If that hadn’t happened, would you want to stay?” he asked, suddenly

      serious, his eyes focused on hers. She looked down and nodded,

      still blushing. “Why?” he persisted.

      “For one thing, I have questions,” she said, hazarding a glance up

      at him. He was staring at her with an unreadable look on his face.

      “Is that the only thing?” he whispered.

      “Enough chat, you two. You both need to eat,” Noel called across

      the table, making Helen jump, which in turn made Lucas chuckle.

      She and Lucas dug in with all the ferocity of two people who were

      literally rebuilding their bodies cell by cell. When Helen finally

      looked up after a solid hour of determined chewing, everyone else

      was done eating but still sitting around drinking coffee and passing

      around sections of the paper. It was as if they always spent half of

      Sunday sharing an enormous brunch, then the other half hanging

      out around the kitchen waiting for dinner to start. Lost in the

      shuffle, Helen was surprised to find herself having a good time.

      Lucas was still bent over his plate, so Helen took the sports section

      when Hector put it down, and read up on her beloved Red

      Sox, who were battling their way through September. She must

      have been muttering to herself out loud because when she finally

      put down the stats sheet she had the attention of all the men at the

      table.

      “‘Pitching wins pennants,’ huh?” Castor asked with a delighted

      smile.

      “‘We’ve got too many injuries and no closer,’ do we?” Jason repeated

      back to Helen, then looked at Lucas. “Okay, you win,” he

      said cryptically.

      “Thank you,” Lucas said through a shaky grin. He leaned back

      and closed his eyes, and Helen saw a sweat break out on his forehead.

      She touched his head to see if he had a fever, but Jason was

      already standing up.

      “I got him, Helen,” he said as he came around the table. Jason

      went to pick Lucas up, but Lucas wouldn’t let him. Instead, he

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      threw his arm over his cousin’s shoulder and allowed Jason to prop

      him up.

      “Just to the stairs, okay?” Lucas asked, and Jason nodded back,

      the bond between them so strong they didn’t seem to need words

      to communicate. Helen saw Noel throw up her hands in frustrated

      helplessness.

      “Let him find his own pace,” Castor said gently to his wife. She

      nodded, like it was something they had been over a million times.

      Then she turned her attention back to the brunch leftovers.

      “Hector! It’s your turn to clear the table!”

      Helen noticed Noel had a tendency to parse out her anger as judiciously


      as she possibly could. She needed a good yell, but she

      couldn’t scream at Lucas because he was hurt, and she couldn’t yell

      at Jason because he was helping Lucas, so she picked the next boy

      she could find. It was the same thing Noel had done when Helen

      was just waking up, speaking softly to Helen and then yelling for

      Hector. Poor Hector seemed to get the brunt of her frustration, and

      from the way he slunk into the kitchen shaking his head, Helen

      had the feeling he’d been Noel’s favorite whipping boy since Lucas

      got hurt. For a moment she almost felt bad for him, but when she

      saw the way Noel stared worriedly after Lucas as he winced his way

      out of the kitchen, she couldn’t blame her.

      Lucas paused before he left the room.

      “Dad?” he called back without fully turning around. “Helen has

      questions.”

      Still seated at the head of the table, Castor nodded, deep in

      thought for a moment, and then stood up. “I thought she might,”

      he said, smiling kindly at Helen. “Would you like to join me in my

      study?”

      Castor took her to a quiet end of the sprawling house and into a

      half-unpacked study with a spectacular view of the ocean. Leather

      chairs and boxes of books in a dozen different languages fought for

      floor space with rolled-up carpets and un-hung paintings. Two

      114/395

      large desks stood on opposite sides of the room. The tops of each

      were already covered in various papers, envelopes, and parcels.

      Along the back wall was a row of French doors that opened up to

      a patio bordering the beach. In front of the doors were two sofas

      and a big armchair, all three set up facing each other.

      Cassandra sat in the oversized armchair reading a book, which

      she put aside when Helen and Castor entered. Helen expected her

      to leave, or at least be asked to leave, but after a few moments it

      was clear that Cassandra had been waiting here for Helen and

      Castor to come to her and have this conversation. How Cassandra

      knew there would be a conversation at all was beyond Helen, but

      Castor didn’t seem surprised.

      Castor offered Helen a seat on one sofa and then sat down on the

      other. He glanced at Cassandra, dwarfed by her giant chair, and

      then began.

      “How much do you know about Greek mythology?” he asked.

      “You mean, like the Trojan War? Homer and all that?” she asked

      in return. When Castor nodded, she shrugged. “I know bits of it. I

      was supposed to read the Iliad but there was this chemistry exam

      . . .” Her excuses were interrupted by Cassandra passing Helen

      the book she was reading. It was an anthology containing both the

      Iliad and the Odyssey.

      “Keep it. We’ve got plenty of extras,” she said with a wry smile.

      It was the first attempt at a joke Helen had ever seen Cassandra

      make, so she forced a smile in response.

      “I’m pretty sure my son has already told you that we are descendants

      of what are known as the Greek gods,” Castor began. When

      Helen grimaced uncomfortably, he nodded with good humor. “I

      imagine it’s hard to grasp, but you have to understand that Homer

      was a historian, and the Iliad and the Odyssey were accounts of a

      real war that took place thousands of years ago. Most of the ancient

      myths and great dramas are based on real people. Hercules

      115/395

      and Perseus, Oedipus and Medea. They all existed, and we are

      their descendents. Their Scions.”

      “Okay,” Helen said, hearing how frustrated her laugh sounded.

      “Say I believe you, and all this did happen. Gods had babies with

      humans? Fine. But wouldn’t all that magic, or the god-ness or

      whatever, been bred out of us by now? That was a really long time

      ago.”

      “The gifts don’t dilute,” Cassandra responded. “Some Scions are

      stronger than others, and some have a broader range of powers,

      but the strength of those powers isn’t dependent on how strong

      their parents were.”

      Castor nodded and took over to clarify.

      “For example, my wife is entirely mortal, but both of our children

      are stronger than I am. And I am very strong,” he said without

      boasting. “We think it has something to do with the fact that the

      gods are immortal. They never fade, so neither do the talents

      they’ve given us, no matter how many generations pass. In fact—”

      he started, but broke off, looking at Cassandra.

      “We are getting stronger, and each successive generation of

      Scions are being gifted with more and more talents than their parents

      were. But there is still some argument as to why this is so,”

      Cassandra finished.

      “Okay,” Helen said mostly to herself. “I knew I had to be

      something not entirely human, but can I ask another question?

      What are the Furies? And why aren’t they bothering us anymore?”

      This question earned a long pause. Cassandra and Castor made

      eye contact as if they were trying to read each other’s minds before

      Cassandra began to speak.

      “We aren’t completely sure why they went away. In the past,

      there have been rumors about pairs of Scions, usually a man and a

      woman, who have found a way to be together and not see the Furies,

      but it’s never been proven. As far as we know for sure, you and

      Lucas are the first to manage it. I think it might have something to

      116/395

      do with saving a life. I think somehow you managed to save each

      other, and this freed you from the cycle of vengeance, but I can’t be

      certain about that,” she said.

      Helen had a fleeting thought about Lucas in the dry lands—blind

      and lost and unable to get off his knees. She pushed the horrible

      image aside.

      “Vengeance?” Helen questioned. Castor saw her confusion.

      “The Trojan War was very long with many casualties. It was the

      worst the world had ever seen at that point. A blood feud started. It

      began as a punishment for one single family who returned from

      the war, but as the years passed it spread to all of the Four Great

      Houses and set them against one another.”

      “‘Houses’ are what we call the four different bloodlines of

      Scions,” Cassandra interjected when she saw Helen frown at the

      term. “They were royalty in ancient Greece.”

      “The Furies are our curse, our punishment,” Castor said quietly.

      “They compel members of opposing Houses to kill each other to

      pay a blood debt we owe our ancestors. It’s a vicious cycle. Blood

      for blood for more blood,” Cassandra whispered, and Helen

      shivered at the empty gleam in her eyes.

      “I know that part. Orestes had to kill his mother because she

      killed his father because he killed their daughter,” Helen said. “But

      I read those plays and they had happy endings. Apollo talked the

      Furies into forgiving Orestes.”

      “That part was pure fiction,” Castor said, shaking his head. “The

      Furies never forgive, and they never forget.”

      “So basically, our families have been murdering each other since

      the Trojan War?” Helen asked. “There can’t be many of us left.”

      “There are
    n’t. The House that our family belongs to is called the

      House of Thebes. It was thought to be the only House left—until

      the Furies led us to you, of course,” Castor responded.

      “What House am I from?”

      117/395

      “We won’t know that until we know who your mother was,” Cassandra

      said.

      “Her name was Beth Smith,” Helen said, hoping Lucas was

      wrong and that his father would remember her somehow. But

      Castor shook his head kindly.

      “Whoever she was, she obviously told you and your father a fake

      name to protect you. You certainly look like someone I used to

      know, but Scions don’t always hand down physical traits the same

      way mortals do,” Castor spoke haltingly as he shifted in his chair.

      “For instance, Lucas looks nothing like me—he doesn’t even look

      like a typical Son of Apollo, like my brother or me. We Scions are

      half human, half archetype, and every now and again the way one

      of us looks has more to do with the historical figure the Fates

      destined that Scion to model his or her life after than who the parents

      were.”

      “So who do I look like? ” Helen asked.

      “We don’t want to jump to conclusions. Maybe you have some

      pictures, or some video of your mother? Then we might be able to

      confirm who she was,” Castor said eagerly, like they were close to

      figuring out a huge puzzle that had been troubling them.

      “I have nothing. No pictures,” Helen replied in a flat voice. Cassandra

      exhaled sharply and nodded her head at some internal

      thought.

      “To protect you, probably. If she severed all ties with you and

      made sure you grew up on a small island with a limited group of

      friends it was less likely that a rival House would discover you,”

      Cassandra observed as if she was a detective gathering together all

      the clues.

      “Apparently, that didn’t work,” Helen scoffed.

      “It did for a long while, but the Furies would not allow it forever,”

      Castor said quietly.

      Helen ran the charm of her necklace along its chain, and held it

      out for Castor and Cassandra to look at. “This is all I got from her.

      118/395

      A piece of jewelry. Does it mean anything to you?” she asked

      intensely.

      A part of her had always hoped that her necklace was important—

      that maybe someday it would answer all her questions. In her

      wildest daydreams she imagined it being the talisman that would

      someday guide her to her mother. Cassandra and Castor studied

     


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