“J— Pritkin, can you give us a minute?” I asked. Because I wasn’t going to get anywhere this way.
I expected an argument, but didn’t get one. “Come outside when you’re through,” was all he said, and he slammed out.
“Typical of the breed,” Roger said, looking after him. “Well, except for the demon part.”
“He’s not so typical, once you get to know him.”
“I don’t want to get to know him,” Roger said, and then he looked down, at the hand I’d put on his sleeve. “But then, I don’t suppose I will . . . will I?”
I met his eyes, and he looked . . . well, he looked like a man who was truly seeing his child for the first time. And the last. “It was the price,” I said. “She wouldn’t help me unless I promised not to come back.”
He shook his head. “She would have, you know. That is, I’m almost sure. She was quite . . . It hurt her, that we didn’t get more time with you in London. She said, of all the things life had stolen from her, that was the worst. I didn’t understand what she meant, not until . . .”
He looked up, at the second story, where baby me was sleeping. “I suppose that’s why I’m not supposed to ask the obvious. Why you’re here. Why you couldn’t just ask us whatever you wanted in your own time.”
I swallowed. Because yeah. It was kind of obvious, wasn’t it?
“It’s all right,” he said softly, his hand tightening on mine. “Considering what we’re up against . . . well. We knew how things might have to go.”
“But it doesn’t have to,” I said tentatively. “I could help. . . .”
A blond eyebrow went north. “And did you ask her about that?”
“No.”
He smirked. “What would this be, then? Mother is sure to refuse, so you ask Dad?”
“This isn’t funny. You don’t know what’s coming—”
“And I don’t want to.”
“Why?” I demanded. “You were involved in a group whose whole purpose was to change time!”
“Yes. And I’ve learned a few things since then.”
“Such as?”
He leaned back against the desk, the wavering light sending ripples over the surface of his glasses. He must have seen that it was bothering me, because he took them off and wearily rubbed his eyes. They were the same color as mine, I realized. Mother had blue, too, but hers were a rich almost-violet. But his were the same plain shade as mine.
Human blue.
“It seems like it should be the answer to all our dreams, doesn’t it?” he asked, smiling. “If you control time, you control everything. When I was your age, I believed that with absolute certainty. I could do it; I could change the world.” He looked heavenward, or maybe just upstairs. “But I think it ended up more the other way around.”
I didn’t say anything for a moment. I was struggling with whether or not to tell him what was coming. It was the last thing I was supposed to do, but how else could I make him understand? And we needed their help.
“Roger—”
“No.”
“You won’t even listen to what I have to say?” I demanded, confusion, fear, and anger mixing into a familiar acid burn in my stomach. “I could help—”
“Cassie—”
“I could!
“No. Not even the Pythia has power over death.”
It was quiet, but it stopped me cold. “What?”
“Your mother is dying,” he told me gently. “Whether by the Spartoi’s hand or not, nothing can stop that now.”
“But . . . she’s immortal—”
“Which does not guard against illness or injury.”
“She’s been hurt?”
“She’s been starved. For more than three thousand years. And as with humans who go without sustenance long enough, it takes a toll.”
“But . . . I have the Pythian power. If it’s energy she needs—”
“It’s gone beyond that. She discovered that when she went to court. She could still manipulate the power, still use it, but it didn’t repair the damage. I am afraid there is nothing on earth that can.”
“But there has to be a way—”
He shook his head. “Do you think she didn’t look?”
“There has to be!”
“Listen to me.” He dropped his tools so he could take me by the shoulders. “You have your mother’s gifts, as well as mine. There’s no knowing what you’ll someday be able to do—what you can do now, if you only knew. No Pythia has ever held that diversity of talents—”
“Then let me use them to help you!”
“You would try, but you would fail. No,” he said, shushing me. “Not for lack of ability. But for lack of understanding.”
“Understanding what?”
The blond head tilted. “That, sometimes, the only way to win is to lose.”
Chapter Forty-five
I found Jonas around the side of the house, standing by what looked like a Dumpster. Well, sort of. A few random sparks flew up as I approached, and made pinging noises against the lid, which was half up and reflecting a bunch of moving colors beneath.
“Stay back,” Jonas said grimly.
I started to ask why, but then another spark flew out and landed on a paver. Which shimmied and shook—and disappeared. Or so I thought, until I ran into it a second later.
“What?” I asked, standing like a stork so I could examine my possibly broken toe.
Jonas shielded his hand and plucked something disgusting from inside the Dumpster. It was iridescent purple and quivering, like a large piece of fresh liver. It didn’t smell like one, though.
“That doesn’t help,” I said, now torn between holding my nose and my foot.
“Concealment charm. Or it was. You press into it things you wish to hide—jewelry, keys—and it conceals them from detection spells.” He glanced at my foot. “And most people’s vision.”
Great. Like I needed help killing myself. I edged around the sparks. “What else is in there?”
“Junk,” he said, dropping the lid with a clatter. “The magical variety: old wards, potions, and amulets. They’re at the dangerous stage, with too little magic to properly hold the spell, but too much to be thrown away. The lot needs to be disenchanted, to release the remaining magic, but instead . . .”
“Somebody threw them in a Dumpster.”
“Your father.” Jonas glowered at the house. “He enchanted the inside of the receptacle, but it remains a serious risk. Collectively, there’s a good deal of magic in there, most of it unstable. I can’t imagine what he wanted with it.”
“The same thing he wanted from the Black Circle,” I said, sitting on a nearby bench.
“He told you?”
“Enough.”
Jonas sat down beside me.
“It’s a long story,” I said, “but I’ll try to condense it. The Spartoi weren’t affected by my mother’s eviction spell, because they were demigods. That gave them a tether to this world, allowing them to hunt her. Her spirit is an essential part of the barrier spell, so they hoped killing her would bring it down and reunite them with their father.”
“I know that,” Jonas said, sounding impatient.
I ignored him.