Discord's Apple

“Slow down, one at a time.”

She swallowed and tried to keep her mind from tumbling. “I’ve been looking for you.”

He glanced at her. “You have?”

“You seem to know what’s going on. My father won’t tell me anything. I want to know what all that stuff is doing in my dad’s house. And why does everyone want it?” And why do I feel like this? Why is it speaking to me?

“It’s not that simple.”

“Who was that woman who came to the door yesterday? And who was that guy in the parking lot?”

“I’m not sure you would believe me—”

She slammed the brakes, cranking the wheel to skid to the side of the road. The tires complained, and belatedly she looked in the rearview mirror to see if anyone was about to plow into her. But this was Hopes Fort, and she was out of town already, surrounded by barren winter fields. Hers was the only car on the road.

“Who are you? Why did you save me? What did you save me from?”

Alex had one hand on the dash, the other on the back of his seat, and he pushed himself against the door, away from her. His brow was lined and anxious; his lips frowned.

“I think he’s working for Hera. He probably thought he could use you to get into the Storeroom. Here.” He reached his closed hand over to her. Tentative, she held her palm open, and he dropped a twig, a few inches long with rows of serrated oval leaves, bright green, into her hand. “You should keep it, in case he comes back.”

She rubbed the leaves between her thumb and finger. The stranger’s touch had been like a cord wrapping around her body. She would have followed him anywhere. Taken him into the house, anything. And how could a twig stop that?

“Hera? That woman? The one you talked to yesterday?”

“Hera, Queen of Olympus. Yes.”

“That’s crazy.”

He shrugged, unconcerned.

“So which god are you? Apollo?”

Laughing, he said, “I’m not nearly golden enough.”

She’d meant the question as a joke. “Then who are you?”

“Nothing. No one.” He looked away.

“But you understand. You know everything.”

His lips parted in a silent chuckle. “I ought to, after all this time. But I don’t.”

This was a very elaborate prank. What would any god—or goddess—be doing in Hopes Fort, of all places? Why would any basement in Hopes Fort serve as a Storeroom for ancient lyres and golden fleece? It didn’t make any sense. An old woman coming to her house looking for glass slippers didn’t make any sense.

The car had stalled. Evie shoved the sprig of rowan in her coat pocket, started the car again, and put her hands on the steering wheel. She wondered how she was going to kick Alex out of her car. But she couldn’t just leave him, after he’d saved her from . . . whatever he’d saved her from. And what god had that been? That was twice, now.

He seemed harmless enough. Or rather, he seemed harmless enough toward her. For the moment. But there was no mistaking, he was stalking her, following her.

Protecting her?

He finally broke the silence. “She’s looking for something in the Storeroom. That’s why she came to the house yesterday, that’s why she came after you today. You should try to find out what. If you want to know why she’s here, why these things are happening, that’s the key.”

“I don’t even know what all’s down there.”

“You could look.”

“It’s just a basement full of junk.”