Carrie Vaughn - Discord's Apple

“You are a mad blasphemer,” Arthur said.

“Thank you, my lord.”

Evie kept petting Mab’s head. The dog was breathing deeply, sleeping. “Hera lived,” she said. “And magic is coming back into the world. What do we do?”

Merlin turned from the window. “Miss Walker, do you believe that Hera will start a war if she gets what she wants?”

The apple still nested in her pocket, pressed against her hip. Long ago, Discord created the apple for the express purpose of sowing strife. Its power had not diminished. Hera would know how to use that power. Such a little thing, rolled onto the floor of the U.N. General Assembly. Metaphorically, of course. She would offer one or another country weapons, money, political dominance—and see them fight for the prize. She could offer one supremacy in space, another free trade, a third a telecommunications empire. Watch them take her bribes and do her bidding.

“She can manipulate the one that’s already starting,” she said, not certain how she knew, or where her growing confidence came from. Except that her father was dying. He succumbed, and she knew more than she should.

“Then we take our stand against her. Someone must oppose her.”

Arthur gazed at Merlin with a shadowed look in his eyes. Past battles, lost wars—who knew what memories played in his mind’s eye?

“Is that why we’re here, Merlin? To build a new kingdom from the ashes, as we did before?”

“You are here because someone must oppose her. Who better than you?”

Alex crossed his arms. “How? Oppose her how? Do you know where she is? What her next plan is?”

Merlin scowled. “She’ll come here, of course. We’ll wait for her.”

“We’d be fighting a purely defensive battle if we stay here. We can’t win.”

Arthur sided with Merlin. “I’d like nothing better than to take the fight to her, but I have no forces and no knowledge of her position. Here, our position is at least mildly defensible.”

“The house is protected,” Evie said. “No one gets in unless invited. No one gets into the Storeroom except the guardian and his heir.”

The men looked at her, but her gaze was distant. She couldn’t pay attention to them. She recognized the Storeroom, the power it had carried for centuries, as her family immigrated from place to place, carrying its contents with them—somehow they carried everything as they traveled. The knowledge of how they did it eluded her still. She could ask her father. He’d know.

“Then we’re safe for now,” Alex said. His brow was creased, watching her with uncertainty. Like he didn’t know her. “Perhaps we should get some rest. So that we’re ready when she comes back. She will come back.”

Evie closed her eyes, wanting to forget. Give the knowledge back to her father. “Yes.”

Arthur glanced out the window, his gaze searching the distant horizon. “We’ll keep a watch in shifts. Sinon’s right. You should try to sleep.”

That was astute, the try to sleep. Evie felt exhausted to her very bones, but she hated the idea of falling asleep. Even with Arthur standing watch.

“Feel like taking a walk?” Arthur said to Merlin.

“Another scouting mission?” the old man grumbled.

Arthur grinned. “I thought we’d make sure there aren’t any more of those dogs prowling around.”

Merlin made a distracted motion of assent, and the two strode to the kitchen door.

Before they went outside, Evie hurriedly stood and called to him. “Arthur. Thank you. Thank you for staying.”

He nodded and gave her a smile—a vivid smile that would inspire his people to follow him into battle. They couldn’t lose, not with Arthur leading them.

Then he and Merlin were gone, the door closed.

Alex unbuttoned and peeled off his shirt, stuffing it into the trash under the sink. He washed his hands and arms to the elbows. The water ran pink off him. Evie’d guessed right, he was well built under his coat. He had sculpted muscles on his arms, shoulders, and chest, flexing with his movements. They weren’t excessive, but they promised an efficient strength.

“You’re falling in love with him,” he said, his tone too flat to be mocking, as he stared at the running water.

She started to be angry. She wanted to be angry at his presumption. But the emotion faded.

Instead she made half a laugh and shook her head. “Of course I am. Aren’t you? But no, not really, I think. He’s too heroic. Larger than life, untouchable. Like Superman. He scares the shit out of me. I’m not good enough to fall in love with that. Not brave enough. Or beautiful enough.”

“Don’t sell yourself short.” He stalked over the chair at the kitchen table and pulled on the clean T-shirt.

She should say something here, she thought. If this were a story she was writing, the character would have to say something. She didn’t know what, so if it were a story, she’d have to walk away from it or put in some little stars to remind her to go back to it and fill it in. She liked writing because she could always go back and change things, or think of something better to say. Wittier. She had no wit.

She looked away, to the table where her work was still scattered. Uselessly, now. The comics, her laptop, the stories they contained, seemed so far away. Her phone lay on the table among the debris. The screen showed a missed message. She picked up the phone—she had reception again—played back the lone message, and listened. It was Bruce, who didn’t leave messages, but always waited for her to call back.

“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.” The when sounded despairing.

Useless. It had all been useless.

She played the message again. Bruce sounded tired. She wondered how much work he’d been able to finish before fleeing. She hoped he and Callie and the others had made it out of the city.

“Evie, you’ve gone white.”

Shaking her head, she set down the phone. Sleep, rest—wasn’t that what she was supposed to be doing? She sank into the armchair, pulled up her knees. Her stomach was in knots. She’d never rest again.

“Evie?” Alex moved closer. He looked like he might be about to hover. She didn’t want him any closer. He might try to comfort her, and she might start crying.

She said, “How did you know to come here? How did you find this place?”

He set his hand on the back of the sofa. “I tracked you down.”

“But how?”

Shrugging, he glanced away. “Old-fashioned detective work. I knew your family at the beginning. When you were first given stewardship of the artifacts.”

The mind boggled. “When was that?”

“Three thousand years or so. I lost track of the family for a while. They migrated a lot. Every time there was a war, one of them took the Storeroom and left. To protect it, probably. Some of the leads were almost impossible to trace. But I had plenty of time.”

That was what she should do: collect the Storeroom and run to escape the war. But when war was everywhere, where could she go?

She admired his dedication in spite of herself. “You must be disappointed. You did all that work for nothing.”

“On the contrary,” he said, his smile softening. “I got to meet you.”

She blushed and didn’t know what to say. Witless, again.