Page 94 of Icarus

He had to.

He could come back. After Helios turned eighteen, they could come back.

Maybe he could introduce Helios to his friends. They would like him and he would like them. More than Sorrel did at any rate.

Celestina would be mad at him for leaving, though. Maybe she would turn her back on him for the first time. Maybe she would hit him.

Icarus squatted down on the ground, forehead against the fence, and breathed slowly, willed his heart to stop racing before he slipped into a panic attack.

Breathed slowly.

Breathed slowly.

“Young man, are you all right?”

Icarus stood up fast and started walking. “I’m fine,” he called over his shoulder, not looking back.

Tithe

When he got home, the chili was finished and the corn bread was already made, sitting on the counter. A slice had been taken from it.

A single bowl, spoon, and plate lay waiting for him on the table.

Icarus looked down the hall at the closed workshop door and grew even more suspicious. He ate his dinner quickly and put away his dishes.

The workshop light was off and the house was quiet, but there was no note. Angus never left without leaving a note.

Icarus opened the workshop door and slipped inside.

“Dad?” he called. His eyes slowly adjusted to the black of the room. When he could finally see, Icarus stumbled back, knocking into the door hard.

In the center of the table, with tools beside it and a soft cloth for cleaning, was the disc from Mr. Black’s house.

Orpheus Losing Eurydice, staring back at him, dangerous and inexplicable. The empty space in the foyer haunted him, the scratches on the table and the mess.

There was a reason Angus no longer went to the Black house himself. His hands . . . their hands.

Angus was where Icarus thought he would be, curled up on the futon beneath a quilt, asleep. One of his arms was out and dragging against the floor, his wrist in a brace.

A wave of panic swept Icarus across the room, and before rationality could stop him, he found himself shaking his father awake.

“What is it?” Angus griped blearily.

“Why did you take that?” Icarus demanded.

“What?”

“Orpheus,” Icarus said, louder. “It’s bait. If I could tell it was bait, you could tell it was bait. Why did you fucking steal that?!”

Angus startled and sat up, pushing Icarus’s hand away. He ran his fingers through his gray hair and then steepled his hands beneath his chin.

“I don’t know what you were thinking!” Icarus hissed, starting to pace. “You put me at risk, you put everything at risk. Over that? It’s not even famous or rare, it’s just a random antiquity!”

Angus didn’t speak.

“What, does it belong to a museum? Was it illegally smuggled? What was worth breaking into that man’s house after five years of forcing me to do it for you?”

“I never forced—” Angus started.