Carrie Vaughn - Discord's Apple

She touched his shirt, saw the rip. Pulled it open and tentatively touched the healed, unblemished skin underneath. His hand closed over hers before she could pull away.

“There, you see?” he said, smiling. “I’d die for you. If I could.”

She pulled away, lost her balance, and fell on her backside.

“Who are you?” Arthur said.

Still looking at Evie, he answered, “Sinon of Ithaca. Also Alex of nowhere. You know, I really thought Excalibur might kill me.”

“You are one of the immortal gods,” Merlin said, suspicion darkening his expression.

“No.” He started to climb to his feet, Arthur helping him. “That implies I have some power to go along with this. I don’t.”

Merlin looked unconvinced. “What is your concern with the Walker household? I’ve seen you with the lady twice now.”

“I had hoped to find something there that could break my curse. Failing that—I only want to help the lady.”

Merlin and Arthur had placed themselves between Evie and Alex. The pool of blood was growing sticky on the ground at her feet. Arthur still held his sword ready, though Evie didn’t know what good he thought it would do. He said, “You aren’t handing her over to Hera, then?”

That made sense only if Alex’s pleas for her to stay away from Hera were some kind of reverse psychology. He seemed far too desperate for that.

Alex looked stricken. “No, I’m not.” His tone was flat, as if he knew he wouldn’t be believed.

Merlin said, “Hera is holding her father. We were coming to tell you.” He gave Evie a nod.

“Is he all right?” she said.

“Yes, for now. They’re at the cemetery.”

“I have to get him back—”

“Not by yourself,” Merlin said. “You should return home. It isn’t your place to face the likes of her.”

“Then what am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait?”

That was what she’d been doing for the last week—waiting for her father’s health to fail, waiting for the world to end in a rain of bombs. Waiting to give up.

Arthur said, “My lady, he’s right. You’d be safer.”

He was talking to her like she was some character in an epic. Some wilting lady in a tower. “Why do any of you care what happens to me?”

Merlin huffed like it was obvious. “You need help. Also, you are the heir to the Keeper of the Storeroom. Your place is there. It’s your destiny.”

She didn’t want a destiny. Not like that. She only wanted daydreams, tucked safely in the pages of her writing. She looked beseechingly at Alex, like she thought he would know better—he’d read Eagle Eyes; he knew the extent of her destiny.

“I have to get my father back,” she said firmly. It was his destiny they wanted to protect.

Arthur drew a handkerchief from his pocket and cleaned the blood off Excalibur’s blade. “And you will. With our help.”

“We were just talking about that,” Alex said. “We need to distract Hera, get her away from Frank. I can go to her and find out who she has guarding your father, and what we need to do to free him.”

He must have had his own agenda, his own reasons for wanting to keep the apple from Hera. Which returned Evie to the same question: Could she trust him?

Arthur sheathed the sword in the scabbard on his belt. “I think Merlin and I can overcome them now. There were only three of them in the car.”

“Easy odds, I think,” the old man said, cracking his knuckles.

“Just like the old days.”

“Hold on a minute,” Alex said. “You don’t know who these people are, what they can do. This is Hera, the goddess.”

Merlin regarded him. “Sinon of Ithaca. Hellenikouei? ”

Alex looked startled. “Yes.”

“Then you’re from a land that worshipped her.”

“ I don’t worship her. Give me half an hour. I can find out what’s happening—I can spy for you.”

“And if you betray us, we can kill you?” Arthur said, indicating Alex’s stomach, amused.

Alex smirked. “Evie, I only want to help you.”

He looked as earnest as Mab would, sitting on the front porch watching her leave for the grocery store: large brown eyes, hopeful and shining. All she knew of him—besides what she’d seen, which she had to admit was just as earnest, just as loyal—was what she’d read in Virgil. That told the story of how he was the consummate actor. He could make anyone believe anything. He convinced the Trojans to break their own walls, to bring in the treacherous horse.

He was either lying or he wasn’t.

“She said for me to come alone.”

“And you can’t let her have the apple.”

“All right,” she said finally. “Half an hour. But then I’m giving her the apple.”

Slowly, he nodded. “Where will you be in the meantime?”

Evie said, “Behind the office at the northwest corner of the cemetery.”

“I’ll see you soon, then.”

“Um—don’t you think you should change your shirt?” She pointed at him, where drying blood covered his front.

He looked at himself, shrugged. “I’d forgotten. Never mind.” He made a loose-handed salute to Evie, nodded briefly at the others, and ran down the side street along the trailer park.

Staring after him, Arthur crossed his arms. “What a strange man.”

Bruce had ten minutes to pack everything he thought he’d need for the foreseeable future—surely only a week or two—into a couple of bags. Some clothes, a first-aid kit, matches, food and bottled water, sleeping bag, winter coat. A desert island book. Or five. He spent a full minute standing in front of the bookshelves, trying to pick. He had a bunch of files on his laptop, but the battery would last only so long.

It was only for a few weeks.

Then why was his stomach in knots, and why did this feel like it was going to be forever?

Callie, her auburn hair tied up in a disheveled knot, looking domestic in a sweatshirt and jeans, stood by the door, a duffel bag slung over her shoulder. She was tapping her foot, fidgeting, wanting to leave and trying to be patient, for him. Her face was pale. She kept glancing out the open door, to where James’s SUV waited at the curb, its motor running. Bruce almost dropped his bags and ran to hug her right then, if for no other reason than to make her smile.

She was his desert-island book.

He had one more thing to do. He dialed the number for Evie’s cell phone. The phone rang and rang, his stomach clenched tighter and tighter, until her voice mail clicked on.

He didn’t have time to wait for her to call back, so he left a message.

“Evie. Some of us—me and Callie, James, his roommates—are leaving the city. James has a place in Napa. It’s not safe here anymore. So we’re running. I don’t know when we’ll be able to come back. I don’t know when I’ll be able to get back to work. I just wanted you to know, Evie, working with you on Eagle Eyes was great. The best work I’ve ever done. You helped me do better than I ever thought I could. Thanks. Maybe we can do it again sometime. I’ll see you. When this all blows over.”

Sighing, he turned off his phone.

Comics took up no space at all. They were flat and inconsequential. He grabbed a few copies of Eagle Eye Commandos sitting next to his worktable and shoved them into his bag.

Three hours later, they were speeding north on 1-5. Behind them, smoke towered above the burning city.

______

Hera asked the Wanderer to walk with her along one of the paths in the cemetery. They left the car parked in the middle of the grounds. Robin was in the backseat watching Frank, who’d sat stiff and silent for the last hour. They all watched for the daughter. One way or another, she would come.