The Poet’s companion began whipping his head back in violent jerks, trying to strike Ander’s face.
Claire tugged on the sleeve of Dad’s jean jacket. “Should I spear that boy?”
Dad locked eyes with Eureka. Both of them had noticed the orichalcum sheath in Claire’s hand. Dad lifted it from one daughter and passed it to the other. Eureka slipped it through the belt loop of her jeans as Dad tucked the orichalcum chest inside his jacket.
A series of thumps drew Eureka’s attention to Ander and the boys. The sharp point of Ander’s elbow snapped into the back of the bearded boy’s head, over and over, until the boy grunted and finally went limp.
Dad tried to shield the twins from the violent sight, and Eureka was surprised she hadn’t thought to do the same. It hadn’t shocked her the way it would have once. Now violence was ordinary, like the ache of hunger and the dull edge of regret.
Dad moved the twins toward the staircase. Something in Eureka lightened as they slipped away. The sensation came and went quickly, and she couldn’t put it into words, but it made her wonder whether she would rather be like Cat, with no knowledge of her family, with no special responsibility to protect them.
A crash below made Dad jump away from the head of the stairs. There was nowhere safe to go.
“Stay up here!” Eureka called.
Behind her, the Poet was on his knees, lightly slapping the unconscious boy’s cheeks, murmuring something in their language.
“Take this to your family,” Cat said, her crossed arms full of cherries. The Poet gave her a grateful nod and a shy smile that belonged on the outskirts of a high school football game—not over an unconscious body somewhere near the end of the world.
“We have more food,” Eureka heard herself say.
Ander moved next to her. She felt his heat pulse near her body. He was bleeding above his eyebrow where the boy’s head had struck him.
“If we feed them,” Ander said to the Poet, “do you swear they’ll leave her alone?”
Another crash sounded below. Eureka heard Solon wheeze: “I said hit me, you pathetic weaklings!”
“Solon, you idiot,” she muttered as she rushed for the stairs.
Dad’s arm shot out, trying to block her. “This isn’t your fight, Reka.”
“It’s only my fight,” she said. “Don’t go down there.”
Dad started to argue, then realized he couldn’t stop her, or change her mind, or change the person she’d become. He kissed her forehead lightly, between her eyes, the way he used to after her nightmares. You’re awake now, his soft voice once reassured her. Nothing’s gonna get you.
She was awake now, to a nightmare never more real or more dangerous. She thundered down the stairs. “Solon!”
The cave was unrecognizable. A giant crack split the overturned dining table. The fire pit had been crushed, the tile mosaic on the floor melted by a burning log. Eureka slipped behind a rough-hewn pine bookcase and watched as a dozen gaunt and haggard men prowled through Solon’s things. She felt the spear’s hilt against her hip. Maybe it was precious and magical, but it must also be deadly. She would use it if she had to.
A dark-haired boy about her age ran his hands along Solon’s mural-painted walls. His eyes were closed. He paused at a portion of the mural that depicted a snake belching a fireball. He leaned against the wall and sniffed. Then he raised a crowbar and struck the mural. Shards of rock flew aside, revealing a closet stocked with canned goods.
A heightened sense of smell must have been his quirk. Eureka looked around to see how the other raiders were using theirs.