Apollo. God of the sun, and of prophecy.
Cassandra lifted her eyes.
“And the girl? Your twin?” Andie asked. They were downstairs again, sitting at the kitchen table. Talking about it like it was normal. Andie and Henry looked like they expected to wake up at any minute.
“Artemis. Goddess of the moon and of the hunt.” Aidan squeezed Cassandra’s hand, folded in his. She hadn’t run or slapped him. She hadn’t even shouted. But her fingers were as cold as a corpse.
The way he talks, when he says those words. His voice isn’t even his voice.
“What was happening to her?” Cassandra asked.
“She’s dying,” he replied. “She’ll run until she can’t run anymore, or until whatever you heard behind her catches up.” He ran his hand across his face, over his eyes. “You said she’s almost laughing. Did she seem insane? Crazy?”
“I don’t know.”
But you hope so. You hope she’s so mad that she won’t understand it when the teeth tear into her skin. That she won’t feel it.
She wanted to reach out, hold him closer. It was strange to hurt so much for someone she wasn’t even sure she knew.
“I haven’t seen her in eight hundred years. My sister. She went deeper and deeper into the wild. Away from men and machines. And I never followed. She belonged there, I thought. Where no one could touch her.”
“I don’t understand.” Cassandra’s hand in his felt like stone. “What’s happening to her?”
“She’s dying. I think they’re all dying. In different ways.”
“I thought gods didn’t die,” Henry muttered. “That they were … immortal.”
“We are. I don’t know what’s happening to them. Something’s changing.”
“What about you? Is that what I saw? Those feathers?”
Aidan squeezed her hand. “No. I’m all right. I think those feathers belong to another sister.”
Another sister.
“Do we need to find her? Artemis?” Cassandra swallowed. The name felt clumsy coming out of her mouth. “Can we help her?”
“No.” Aidan shook his head. “No. If we go, they’ll find you. I think they’re looking for you already. And I don’t think she can be saved.”
“What do you mean, they’ll find her?” Andie asked. “Who’s looking?”
“I don’t know. Others who are dying. I think that’s what the dreams mean, and the visions. I think it means they’re coming for you.”
“Why?” Cassandra asked. But she knew. It was something about the visions, and the way she knew things. It was changing, and they could feel it, like a beacon. They’d use her however they could. They’d squeeze the contents of her head out into a glass.
“What are we going to do?” Henry asked. He hung back in the shadows, his broad shoulders slumped, arms crossed. The question sat awkwardly on him. Cassandra was surprised he hadn’t left. Henry was always so logical.
“Your hands are cold,” said Aidan, and Cassandra felt them start to warm, heat radiating from him into her fingers. It was sweet comfort. And it was an invasion.
“What are we going to do?” she asked.
“We’re going to do nothing,” said Aidan. “We’re going to hide, for as long as we can.”
* * *
“You’ve put too much phenolphthalein in it.”
“Huh?” asked Andie. Sam nudged her out of the way to examine the titration vials. Pink liquid danced inside the delicate clear tube. Dark pink liquid. He pushed his stocking cap farther back on his head like he could get a better view.
“You put in way too much,” said Sam.
Andie and Cassandra looked at each other vacantly. Poor Sam. Andie wasn’t much use as a lab partner on a good day. On a distracted day, she was a walking booby trap. Cassandra’s partner was luckier: Jeff Larson, a brainy kid who preferred she not do anything anyway. The pink in their liquid was barely visible, just a scant tint, like the rose coating on a pair of sunglasses Cassandra had owned as a child.
They were doing acid-base titration, ten lab teams of students neutralizing the pH of an unknown acid while Miss Mackay looked on, walking behind the stations in her rather unnecessary white lab coat. Cassandra sighed. She and Andie weren’t partners so much as assistants. They handed things to Sam and Jeff when asked, but mostly stayed out of the way. Cassandra kept her eyes on her station, trying to avoid eye contact with Andie. Whenever their eyes met it was there on the tips of their tongues; they had to clench their teeth to keep from screaming it. Aidan was a god.