Discord's Apple

“Because it needs to be someone here, and I’m not staying.”

“Why not just destroy them all?”

“And release all that power back into the world? No. It needs to be tucked away, safe and inert, to leave men in peace.”

“Don’t you think that family has had enough trouble from the gods?”

Prometheus grinned. “Families like that can’t avoid trouble from the gods. So—would you like to come with me when I travel to Ithaca?”

That was an idea. Perhaps he should try going home.

15

Robin made every indication of being able to take Evie. Somehow, he clamped her arms to her side, immobilizing her, yet could still pat her down, searching her pockets for the apple. He did more than search: he groped, stroked, tucked his hand down the waistband of her jeans, and his fingers suddenly seemed longer, reaching for her, brushing the skin of her hips.

She could barely suck breath through her nose. His grip suffocated her, but she drew as much air as she could, arced her head back, and screamed. Her throat tore with the noise that came out muffed, like distant thunder.

He moved his hand, pressed his mouth over hers, and laughed as he kissed her, swallowing her scream. “Hush, my dear, and you’ll learn what the love of an immortal is.”

She bit him.

She didn’t think she succeeded in catching anything between her teeth; she could only snap, like a dog behind a fence. Nevertheless, he hissed and drew back, only for a second, and she had just enough air left to cry out. When he leaned his forearm against her throat, pressing down, she choked against the pressure as loudly as she could, hoping that someone in the house heard.

Even though Robin was killing her, she felt a great sense of relief when a pounding started on the bedroom door, punctuated by barking from the living room. Robin looked back at the door, pointed, and something happened—the pounding faded, becoming muffled as if the door were barred now.

She turned her head to slither out from under him, writhing, trying to escape.

When the thumping against the door stopped, so did she. Too tired, too out of breath, her muscles failed. She lay half on her side, her back twisted painfully.

And Robin was still there, his mouth against her neck. “Now, where was I? Ah, I was searching for rare fruit. Let’s find out what that Greek bloke sees in you.”

When one of her characters found themselves in an impossible situation, Evie had time to think of clever ways for them to escape. Her characters were always so clever, instantly clever, without even thinking about it, because their author had the luxury of revision. Now, in an impossible situation, Evie couldn’t make her brain work to be clever. No time for revisions if she failed here.

“If you don’t have it here, I’ll just have to look for it when I’m finished,” he said. “If you had listened to me the first time we met, we could have had such a lovely time together. We could have been friends.”

She’d left her jacket hanging on the doorknob of the bedroom. If she told him it was there, maybe he’d leave her alone.

Evie and Robin flinched together as the bedroom door splintered inward. Like a cat, Robin sprang away, his back to the wall, facing the door. A second blow tore through the plywood, then a third, then Alex, gripping an axe, pushed through, murder in his eyes. He cut himself, climbing through the broken plywood of the door, and held the axe ready.

His gaze scanned the room and focused on Robin. Alex swung the axe over his head and charged. Wide-eyed, Robin backed away on tense limbs. He appeared to be terrified, but at the moment Alex brought the weapon down to strike, Robin disappeared. Alex slammed the axe into the top of an antique dresser, wedging it half into the wood.

A wisp of smoke and rush of wind whipped through the broken door, to the main part of the house.

Snarling, Alex needed several attempts, jerking back with his whole body, to rip the axe out of the dresser. He paused only a moment before storming after Robin.

“Are you all right?”

She nodded, quickly and birdlike. He leaped through the chopped-up door.

My hero, she thought vaguely before scrambling off he bed and following.

Alex stalked to the kitchen, hefting the axe and looking like something out of a horror film. Robin wasn’t there. Alex searched the room, every corner in which the imp could hide.

Near the sofa, Mab half sat, half sprawled, and barked to wake the dead. Frank was on the floor with her, arms around her body, holding her back. Some of her stitched cuts had started bleeding again. His arms were shaking. The only reason Mab didn’t break free was because the dog was weak

as well.

And there Robin appeared, behind Alex, holding a butcher knife from the Walkers’ own supply.