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    Starcrossed

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      doubtfully.

      “Why, do you want to—” she began, but she was interrupted by

      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.

      163/395

      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.

      166/395

      “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 a
    t 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.”

      168/395

      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

      169/395

      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 sh
    ow. She realized she had seen

      him do this before in the locker room at his house, but she had

      taken so many knocks to the head at the time she thought it was

      just her vision that was off.

      170/395

      “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.

      171/395

      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

     


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