Perhaps the worst part of the whole ordeal is spotting Delia among them. She’s dressed for her job and directing the bomb planters. She’s a vital part of their operation. How can she love all this so much yet be so willing to destroy it? Sarah tugs at my sleeve, and we quickly move into the shadow of the olive tree on the west side. The Porch of the Maidens is on the slope above us. The north side is to our right. We lean back against the wall and listen.

  A familiar voice says, “This is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard of,” and both our mouths fall open at the same time. It’s Joshua.

  Then Ying Yue’s voice joins his. “If you let us go, you might actually survive this.”

  By the look on her face, I can tell Sarah has come to the same conclusion I have. Their performances as tourists must have been more convincing than I thought. They’ve been taken as hostages.

  One of the cultists shouts, “Shut up!”

  “Why?” Joshua says. “You’re going to kill us either way. May as well annoy the hell out of you while I can.”

  Sarah rolls her eyes, but I can tell she’s worried. Ying Yue and Joshua getting taken as hostages was not part of the plan. I wonder whether it was improvised or accidental. It doesn’t matter in the end. Sarah reaches into her jacket and pulls out her gun. I shake my head at her. Her eyes narrow. I draw my finger across my own throat and shake my head again. Going in guns blazing won’t end without losses.

  Sarah mouths a curse and pulls out her phone. After she silences it, she gestures for me to do the same. Then she sends me several texts.

  Sarah: Get out your weapon.

  Sarah: This is a hostage situation.

  Sarah: The HOD does not negotiate in hostage situations.

  I clench my teeth and type back.

  Me: Not worth the risk. People could die. There has to be another way.

  Sarah: The bombs are disabled. Ying Yue and I have the Finger of God. You and Joshua have Kevlar suits. We’re unlikely to lose people in this situation, especially considering the inexperience of our enemy. Ying Yue and Joshua probably already realized this and got themselves into the best position to strike. They have the element of surprise. Don’t take that from them.

  I don’t want to tell her it isn’t our people I’m worried about. It’s not even the hostages. I’m worried about these poor kids who think they’re saving the world and have no idea they’ve been manipulated. They don’t deserve to die for this. I doubt they’ll even follow through with harming hostages. The fact that Joshua is still alive is evidence of that. I gather my courage. Sarah stares up at me and types.

  Sarah: Rion… Follow. Protocol.

  Sarah: We already war gamed this exact situation. It goes down as planned.

  I shake my head, and she looks like she’s ready to smash her phone into my face.

  Me: What if I can get the guards away from the hostages?

  Sarah: You can’t.

  Me: Bet I can.

  Sarah: ORION!

  Her cheeks are turning red, and it’s frankly shocking. Sarah does not lose her temper. Ever. But she’s coming very close to blowing our cover just so she can teach me a lesson.

  Me: It would give us a tactical advantage, wouldn’t it?

  She’s speechless, and I’ve decided I don’t care. They can fire me later. Obviously, I’m no good for the organization. Eden was wrong. I can’t follow protocol. I can’t kill people just to make things easier. I reach under my jacket and pull my gun from its holster. Sarah breathes a shallow sigh of relief, but she shouldn’t, because, next, I reach into my pocket and withdraw the reproduction aegis Delia gave me. I’ve been carrying it for luck and to remind me these are human beings we’re dealing with. Real lives are at stake. Everything is going to come down to Delia. I hope she knows that.

  I start toward the north side. Sarah grabs the back of my jacket to stop me, but I quickly throw her off. Now is not the time to worry about whether she’ll be offended. I’ve made a decision. I know who I am.

  I hold the aegis up so the cultists can see me approach with it. It takes them too long to notice me standing among the twenty-foot columns, so I clear my throat. They whirl around and point their guns at me. “Stop!” I shout. “I need to talk to you. I’m not who you think I am.”

  At the back of the group, Delia gasps.

  “I work for an organization called the House of David,” I say, knowing Sarah is fuming under the olive tree. “Maybe you’ve heard of it. We collect artifacts like this one. We came to Greece to find it, and we did—at the Temple of Athena in Syracuse. You’ve all been lied to. You’re being used as a diversion. You took your marching orders from Whiteface, didn’t you? He belongs to a counter organization called Seditio. They were never going to let you walk away with the aegis. They just wanted you to distract us from looking in the right place.”

  My heart pounds and my palms sweat. The fact that this all hinges on the decision of one woman… All she has to do is tell them she gave this reproduction to me, and I’m finished. Every second that passes brings me closer to learning whether she’s willing to go against her cult, her new family, and everything she’s come to believe in.

  “Liar!” one of the cultists shouts. It’s not Delia. “You’re just trying to save the building. It’s a meaningless piece of rock! The gods don’t live in stone!”

  I struggle to keep my cool. “I’m not lying. We’ve already disabled your bombs. I’m only here for the hostages. Go ahead. Try to contact your boys in the van. They’re out like lights. All I want is to get out of this with no lives lost, okay? I don’t care about this stupid thing.” I wave the aegis to remind them I have it. Really, it’s a marvelous piece. I hope Delia knows how talented she is. This would never work unless the piece was flawless.

  One of the cultists frantically shouts into a handheld transceiver. After several tries, the parts of his face I can see go from bright red to ghostly white. “He’s telling the truth,” he says. “They’re offline. I can’t get a hold of them.”

  “Why would you give the aegis to us?” one of them asks me.

  “Because I don’t believe in its power. I think it’s valuable as an artifact but not as valuable as human life.” Much of what I’m saying is true, and I hope that comes across. “I don’t want anyone to die here. Let the hostages walk away, and this is yours.”

  They lower their guns a touch, and one of them starts to hyperventilate. “Oh god, oh god, oh god. We’re dead meat.” He tugs his scarf from his mouth. He’s so damn young. I hate Whiteface for recruiting babies for this. I really, really do.

  Another cultist comforts him. “Not if we have the aegis. Remember? We’re untouchable if we have it.”

  “Unless it’s a fake,” a woman’s voice chimes in.

  “See it for yourself,” I tell her. “Just call your guards off, and I’ll hand it over. Do you really think the House of David would come all the way to Greece for a fake aegis? It’s worth millions.” Of course, I know the House would absolutely come all the way to Greece for a fake aegis if it was inspiring a cult, but I’m pretty sure they don’t.

  One of the cultists lets the barrel of his gun fall. “It doesn’t matter what it’s worth,” he says. “Our bombs are disabled. The aegis is the only chance we have.”

  I suppress the smile creeping onto my face. This is working. I can hardly believe it. The cultists are dejected—terrified, if I’m reading them right. One of them crosses through the main building to tell the guards to surrender, and I study Delia for any sign she might ruin this. It doesn’t look like she will, but there’s something about her expression I still don’t like. She isn’t scared or excited like the others. Tears stream down her face. She’s sobbing silently, but she’s fighting it, too. She looks frightened but resigned.

  I wish I could tell her it’s going to be okay. She can walk away from all this when it’s over. She can keep making her amazing reproductions. People will buy them up so quickly. She has a good life ahead of her, full of her passions and successes. I can see it, but she can’t.

  There’s tension as the guards are brought from the south porch and hostages begin to flee. One cultist approaches me and reaches out for the aegis. For effect, I hesitate and hand it over.

  Now that the hostages are free and the fake aegis is in the cultist’s hands, now that their bombs are disabled and their trust in their source disabused, I know the House of David has won. And not a single life was lost. I want to feel triumphant, but the look on Delia’s face prevents me. She looks like she’s already dead.

  A second before she starts to crumble, the truth dawns on me. This is Whiteface. I’m looking at him right now, at his work, his art. Every single college kid he put up to this bullshit falls before me like they’re about to pray. Their knees hit the ground, but they just keep falling. Blood pours down their shirts from under their scarves.

  Delia falls too. Instinctively, I rush to catch her. I’m seconds too late. She hits the ground, and I drop down beside her. Has she been shot? Have they all been taken out by snipers waiting on the rooftops of Athens? No. Whiteface doesn’t depend on anyone—not really. With a rush of horror, I realize what he’s done. From some distant place, with the push of a button, he’s pierced the jugulars of every kid who trusted him. The serpent chokers had teeth, and they’ve struck with deadly precision.

  I pull Delia’s head into my lap and try to stop her bleeding, but any jostling of that damn choker only makes things worse. This was why she looked the way she did. “You knew, didn’t you?” I don’t realize I’m crying until I see my tears drip onto her face. “You knew, but you went along anyway. Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell them I was full of shit?”

  She can’t speak. Her eyes dart toward the south porch and back again, and I understand. She knew she wouldn’t survive this. As soon as I intervened, it was over for her. I haven’t saved anyone. Delia did. She went along with my game, knowing it would kill her, just to save the hostages from her own people. This is not the reward she deserves. Mine is not the last face she should see.

  “You did the right thing,” I whisper. She has to know it before she dies. “You saved them. I’ll tell everyone what you did for them. You deserve to be remembered.” But I have no way of knowing whether she can hear me anymore. Her eyes have gone empty, her body unresponsive. She can’t say a word, and her breaths are shallow and shuddering. I hug her to my chest and murmur, “You didn’t deserve this.”

  Time passes—I don’t know how much—but soon, I feel Joshua’s hand on my shoulder. Ying Yue’s voice is in my ear, calling me away. All I can do is allow myself to be led. The authorities are coming, and we have to be gone before they get here. We may be sanctioned by government higher-ups, but secrecy is imperative.

  The streets look different to me now. Athens looks twisted somehow. Right and wrong are tangled together, and I can’t seem to make either of them out. I didn’t save anyone. I didn’t save a single fucking person.

  Sarah takes me to my hotel room and makes me get out of my bloody clothes. She was the Judge who chose me, so I must be her responsibility. She waits while I shower and change. When I emerge from the bathroom, she’s sitting on the couch.

  “Throw your clothes away,” she says. “Washing them won’t do any good. You’ll still remember this every time you wear them.”

  I sit beside her wordlessly.

  “Do you need someone to stay the night?” she asks. “I can send Joshua in. He won’t be a great comfort, but he’ll be a huge distraction if you need one.”

  “No, thank you.” I bow my head, and my hair drips onto my lap. Suddenly, I’m flashing back to my own tears dripping onto Delia’s face. My throat closes up as I fight back a fresh wave of grief. “I’m sorry,” I mutter. “I was stupid, and I’m sorry.”

  “You weren’t stupid,” Sarah says. “You didn’t want anyone to die, so you did your best to make sure they didn’t. There’s no way you could have predicted how psychotic Whiteface’s plan would be.”

  Her words are meant to comfort me, but they aren’t quite reaching their mark. “I know Eden would have done it differently.”

  “Correct,” she says. “As would most of the rest of us. But that’s why he wanted you to be his Acolyte. He wants to see change in the House. He’s not wrong. We need to start thinking differently. Our values aren’t rooted in life. Yours are.”

  She watches me a moment and frowns. “Listen, Rion. I heard what you said to that girl, and I think maybe you need to hear it too. Okay? You did the right thing. Eden’s going to pitch a fit but only because he worries about you. Sometimes, no matter how hard we fight, destiny’s locked. It can’t be changed. But you tried. You gave it your all. No one can ask for more than that. Whiteface would have killed those poor kids regardless. But you gave one girl a moment of redemption before she died. She went out knowing she was a hero. Not all of us will be that lucky.”

  She stands and looks down at me like there’s something more she wants to say, but she changes her mind and shakes her head. “Get some sleep, Rion. Have at the minibar. It’s on the House. No one will fault you for it. Sometimes, all you can do is numb the pain until you’re ready to deal with it.”

  Before I realize she’s leaving, I hear the door click closed, and I’m left alone again.

  7: enough

  Eden

  Self-healing MMA mats line the floors and walls of the Gate’s sparring room. I have so many memories of training in this room, of Cain standing opposite me, urging me on. Now, I stand opposite my brother, but I don’t mean for this to be like ordinary training. I need him to strike. When I heard the blow-by-blow of Orion’s first mission, I knew we still had work to do. After weeks of failure, this is my last-ditch effort. I don’t need him to be a killer per se, but I need him to value his own life over those of his enemies.

  He stands with his feet shoulder-width apart, holding a borrowed sword in one hand. He thinks this is going to be fun. He really needs to check himself. “Where’s your sword?” he asks, smiling.

  Without a word, I pull True Winter from its sheath. I extend it, lock it, and ready myself.

  “You’re not gonna fight me with that, are you?”

  “No,” I answer. “I’m not going to fight you with it. This isn’t a sparring weapon. When I pull this out, it means execution. Now, what do you plan to do about it?”

  Orion lowers his sword. He doesn’t believe me. Before he can speak, I lunge at him, and he blocks my attack. “Okay, okay.” He laughs. “I get it. You don’t have to prove it to me. I’ll take you seriously.”

  But he isn’t taking me seriously. He never takes anything seriously because he’s never had to. I plant one foot behind him and sweep him off his feet. As he falls, I elbow him in the gut. He hits the ground hard. For effect, I swing the scythe just over his head. “There!” I snap. “You’re dead. I’ll give you one more chance. The third strike is for real. If you can’t follow through, you’re useless to the House of David anyway.”

  Orion pushes himself to stand and picks up his sword. His smile is all but gone. Does he finally believe me? “What do you expect me to do here?” he asks breathlessly. “Stab you?”

  “Yes.” I shift my weight back, readying myself for another lunge. “Try to kill me.”

  “What?” He leaps away as I swing at him again. “No!”

  “I won’t die, genius. I still have the Finger of God. But I want your blade to cut me before this bout is over. Deep, you hear? A killing blow.” I swing again, and he blocks it. If he keeps on the defense, he’ll be backed into the wall in no time. I step aside to give him more room. I don’t want him to lose—this time. I want him to win. I want him to feel the bloodlust he’ll need to succeed in this line of work. “Tell me, Orion, what do you know about Joan of Arc?”

  He pants and circles me. “What’s this? Some kind of pop quiz?”

  “Sure. Pop quiz.” I lunge, and he darts to the left. I whirl behind him and hit him in the back with the handle of my scythe. “Strike two. Now focus. How much do you know about the Maid of Orléans?”

  “Um…” He clutches his weapon with two hands. “She was young, a virgin, and she heard voices.” He dodges another strike. “She led France to victory against the English and was burned at the stake.”

  I draw my scythe back, ready to strike again. “But how did she win, Rion? Who cares about the rest? What did she offer the French army that they didn’t have before?”

  “Uh…” He dodges again. His cheeks are cherry red now. I’m wearing him down in more ways than one. “Inspiration?”

  “Wrong!” I swing over his head, but he ducks in time. His sword finally finds my blade and knocks it back. But he’s still playing defense, and at this rate, he’s going to lose. “She gave them aggression. They wanted to hold off, and she told them to strike. Over and over again. Strike!” Does he even realize I’m talking to him? “Never hesitate. Your enemy won’t honor a time-out so you can make up your mind. Understand? Find your aggression! Never relent! Fight to kill! Crush me! Now!”

  Orion breathes deep and gathers his strength. Then he steps in, swinging his weapon wildly. His goal is intimidation. He’s still not willing to strike. He raises his borrowed sword high. I grab his wrist and yank him down. He tries to punch me in the gut with his other hand, but I duck and strike his ribcage, knocking the wind out of him. He gasps for air and drops his weapon. To his credit, he doesn’t quit. He lunges and wraps his arms around my torso. He means to throw me off balance. He’s fallen back on his old wrestling moves—the strategies he’s most comfortable with, the safe sport he knows.