*
“The ladder in Cassandra’s room,” Andie whispered. His parents had a fire ladder installed outside Cassandra’s window when they were children. Who knew if it still worked? But Henry didn’t intend to check. Achilles was in his house, and that filled him with rage as well as fear. He regretted that he’d let Athena hold on to the shield.
How he ached to face Achilles with that. And beat him with it.
Henry edged into the hallway and felt his dog quick by his side. A low growl rumbled through Lux’s body even as his tail tucked between his legs. Henry put a hand on his head and scratched.
“Andie,” he said, and nodded to the dog.
“Henry,” she hissed back, but she understood. Take care of Lux.
Every time his foot hit a creak on the stairs, his heart stopped.
It doesn’t matter. He knows where you are anyway. And he’s too much of a dick to sneak an attack from behind.
“Hec-tor,” Achilles sang out, and the light turned on in the den.
“My name is Henry.”
“No it isn’t. Not down deep. Down deep you’re him as much as I’m me.”
“I’m pretty sure Achilles never had an Australian accent.”
Achilles laughed, and the sound made Henry grind his teeth hard enough to taste dust. He wasn’t Hector, but he still hated Achilles. How much must they have hated each other back then, for it to carry through their blood for so many thousand years?
He took the last step and walked down the hall to the den. Andie came behind him with her hand on Lux’s collar. When she saw inside the room, she gasped.
Achilles had taken two chairs from the kitchen and set them with their backs to the TV. Then he’d strapped Henry’s parents to them and gagged them with cloth. His dad’s nose was broken. His mom wept.
“I’ll kill you,” Henry growled.
Achilles laughed, free and easy until the smile that went along with it slid off his face.
“That’s the spirit, mate.” He reached into his back pocket and drew out a long, silver knife. To demonstrate its sharpness, he cut off some of Henry’s mom’s hair.
“You fucking prick!” Andie shouted.
Achilles paid no attention. He jerked Henry’s mom’s head back and slid the knife down her temple. He seemed worse, somehow. More unhinged. More wrathful. Perhaps it was something the Moirae had done. Perhaps they’d been infusing him with hate on his way to godhood.
“Doesn’t even know who you are, does she?” Achilles asked. “Her own son.”
“Let them go.”
“Before I tell them?” he grinned. “Before I make you pick one?”
Henry looked to each. Even though his brain screamed that he could never choose, he knew he would.
“Eye for an eye, as they say.”
“Hector killed Patroclus,” Henry said. His parents looked so confused, and helpless. “And you killed Hector. You killed Hector, and so many more.”
“Yeah, well. Some people are worth more eyes than others.” Achilles spun his knife, twisted, and, before Henry could move, carved a scar to match Henry’s into his father’s cheek. It bled horribly. The sight of so much red, so much of his father’s blood, made Henry dizzy. Behind him, Andie quietly began to cry.
“You killed Patroclus,” Achilles said. “And you stole my shield. As if you were worthy of it.” He bared his teeth. “I’ll be having it back now. Is it here?”
“I can take you to it,” Henry said. “You can have it. I know it’s yours.”
Lux whined and squirmed in Andie’s grip, maybe smelling the blood.
Achilles sighed.