Henry ran through the house as fast as he could, back to the foyer where they’d started. He had to start at the beginning, or he’d lose his way. But he had to go fast, or he’d never beat Achilles to the fourth level. And if they both started climbing girders at the same time, he knew which way it would go.
He retraced their steps through two rooms and hallways, turning right at a vase painted with Chinese shar-peis, bred to be protectors of the Chinese royal family, Hephaestus said. He ran fast through a study with a bust of Homer, and took one quick left and another right down the hall. Sweat stood out on his forehead, but his legs felt fresh, springy and steady as a rubber tire. Remembering the way was easier than he’d thought. He’d paid attention to Hephaestus during the tour. In each room, he’d singled out a piece of art or furniture. The stories played out in Henry’s head as he went, laying an invisible thread through the house.
“Faster,” he said, and willed his legs to run.
*
Henry burst through the fourth-floor door before Andie had a chance to try out her lamp-spear on the Moirae. Hermes watched him start to climb, and almost whooped, but the weight of Atropos’ will sat on his shoulders like a stone, pressing him to his knees. Her words in his mind were law.
Andie shouted to Henry and switched her target. She launched the lamp at Achilles’ back and struck a clean blow, knocking him off the railing to land face down on the third-floor carpet.
“Hermes, get up!”
Andie grabbed books off the shelves and began to lob them at Achilles as hard as she could. He batted them away and screamed in fury as he watched Henry climb closer and closer to the shield.
“I can’t,” Hermes whispered. Was she mad? It was the Moirae that held him. His own gods who held him down.
“Yes you can! They’re dying. They’re nothing. Now get up and help me!”
Hermes shook his head. He didn’t know what was greater, the fear of them or the weight, but he couldn’t move. The thought of their eyes on him made him want to weep. Andie was wrong. In the face of the Moirae, all any god could do was obey.
Hephaestus knew it. He knew it, and I can’t blame him for that.
Something flew past Hermes’ ear. A book. Flung end over end like the blade of a hatchet. It struck the Moirae with a heavy thud and a flutter of paper.
“Look at that!” Andie hissed. “Look at them! They’re nothing now, Hermes! They’re monsters.” Her voice went low, menacing, and full of hate. “And they’re afraid. They’re more fucking afraid than all of us put together.”
He listened to her voice. Saw another book fly and heard it hit. Andie. Andromache. Her name meant “man of war,” and she earned every letter.
She fights my gods for me.
“They can’t hold you down anymore, Hermes,” she said. “They’re nothing.”
Hermes swallowed hard. Sweat ran down his nose and he hadn’t even started trying to rise yet. He breathed deep, and felt Andie’s strength in his own guts. He raised his head and looked into Atropos’ eyes. He saw the way they blazed at Andie’s words.
It’s true. They’re less. They’re not our gods anymore.
He clenched his teeth and pushed hard against the weight on his shoulders.
(STAY DOWN.)
“No.” It might have been easier if he still had muscle in his legs, but cartilage and bone would have to do. He pushed and kept pushing, and the longer he did, the lighter he felt. He rose, hunched over, and inched his feet forward.
“Go, Henry!” he shouted. “Climb!” The elation at getting his feet under him was so great that he laughed, even though just inching forward felt like walking on Jupiter. The Moirae were less, but they were still the Moirae. Atropos still held him down.
But not on his knees.
“Not like that, Achilles!” Hephaestus called up toward the third level. “You’ll never get to it that way. You have to go through the house!”
Hermes looked up and saw Achilles dart through the doors on the third floor.
“Hephaestus, you shit!” he shouted, and glared at his friend. Hephaestus said nothing, but winked slowly with his right eye. A real wink. Impossible to miss.