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“What we really need are the Lost Prophecies.” Cassandra started pacing.
“Wouldn’t that make them the ‘Found’ Prophecies?” Matt quipped.
“Okay, I’ll bite,” Claire said, ignoring the bad pun. “What are the Lost Prophecies?”
“It’s a mystery,” Jason answered with a shake of his head. “They’re supposed to be a collection of the prophecies that Cassandra of Troy made right before and during the ten years of the Trojan War. But no one knows what’s in them.”
“That’s big. How’d they get lost?” Claire asked.
“Cassandra of Troy was cursed by Apollo to always prophesy with perfect clarity—not easy by the way—but to never be believed,” Cassandra said distractedly.
Helen remembered the story, even though it was just a small part of the Iliad. Apollo fell in love with Cassandra of Troy right before the war. When she told him that she wanted to remain a virgin and rejected his advances, he cursed her. A dickhead move if ever there was one.
“Apollo’s curse made everyone think Cassandra was crazy. The priests still kept records of what she foresaw during the war, but they didn’t think they were very important. Most of them got misplaced or only parts of them survived,” Ariadne said with downcast eyes as if her ancestors embarrassed her. “That’s why all the prophecies about the Tyrant are so spotty. No modern Scion has been able to find them all.”
“What a waste,” Matt said darkly. “I wonder how many times the gods have gotten away with something criminal like that, just because they could.”
Ariadne’s head snapped around at Matt’s sharp tone. She was surprised to hear him speak so passionately, but Helen had seen this side of Matt before. He had always hated bullies. He’d had a thing about tough guys throwing their weight around for as long as Helen could remember. It was one of the main reasons he wanted to be lawyer. Matt thought powerful people should protect the weak, not beat up on them, and Helen could see the same childhood anger against injustice seething in Matt again at the thought of Apollo cursing a young girl because she wouldn’t have sex with him.
Helen had to admit that Matt had a point. Most of the time, the gods seemed like big, supernatural bullies. Helen wondered why humans had ever worshiped them at all. As she puzzled over this, her phone buzzed again.
“Orion says he figured the diary was a long shot because it’s really stupid,” Helen read aloud. His next text made her burst out laughing. “He just called Marc Antony a flaming twit.”
“Aw, really? That’s too bad,” Ariadne said, flapping her incredibly long eyelashes in disappointment. “Antony always seemed so romantic on paper.”
“Shakespeare can make anyone look good,” Matt said, smiling to see that Ariadne’s budding crush on a dead guy had been quashed. He turned to Helen. “You know, it’s really nice to see you laugh, Lennie.”
“Well, it is Friday night. I figured, what the heck?” Helen joked, but no one laughed. Everyone but Cassandra was staring at her expectantly. “What?” she finally demanded when the silence dragged on too long.
“Nothing,” Claire answered, slightly annoyed. She stood and stretched, signaling that the night was over as far as she was concerned. Taking her cue, Cassandra left the room without even saying good-bye. Everyone else stood and started to gather their things.
“Do you want to stay and watch a movie?” Jason asked Claire hopefully. He looked around to include everyone in his invitation. “It is Friday.”
Matt glanced over at Ariadne. She smiled and encouraged him to stay, and then everyone looked at Helen. She didn’t want to go home alone, but she knew she couldn’t bear to sit in a dark room with two hormonally fraught not-quite couples.
“I’ll be asleep before the popcorn is out of the microwave,” Helen lied, and forced a laugh. “You guys have fun, but I think I should rest.”
No one argued with her or tried to convince her to stay. As Helen walked outside, she wondered if they didn’t put up a bigger fight because they knew she needed to sleep, or because they didn’t want her around. She couldn’t blame them if they wanted her gone—no one likes a fifth wheel, and a heartbroken fifth wheel is even worse.
Taking in a lungful of the crisp autumn air, she turned her face to the clear night sky with the intention of taking flight. Her eyes were drawn to the three bright stars of Orion’s Belt, and she smiled at the constellation, thinking, “Hey, dude” in her mind.
She had the sudden urge to walk home instead of fly. It was far, nearly the entire length of the island from ’Sconset to her house, but these days she was used to spending hours wandering around in the dark. Helen stuffed her fists into her pockets and started trudging down the road without a second thought. Glancing at the sky, she realized that what she really wanted was to be with Orion, even if this Orion was just a bunch of chilly stars. She missed him.
Helen was halfway down Milestone Road, wondering if anyone would think she was crazy if they caught her out walking clear across the dark interior of the island in the middle of the night, when her phone buzzed. The number was blocked. For a moment she wondered if it was Orion. She answered quickly, hoping it was him. When she heard Hector’s voice on the other end she was so startled that she could barely stammer out a greeting.
“Helen? Shut up and listen to me,” Hector interrupted with his usual directness. “Where are you?”
“Well, I’m walking home right now. Why, what’s up?” she asked, more curious than offended by his abrupt tone.
“Walking? From where?”
“Your house. I mean, your old house.” She bit her lower lip, hoping she hadn’t said something stupid.
“Why aren’t you flying?” He was practically shouting at her.
“Because I wanted to take a . . . Wait, what the hell is going on?”
Hector quickly explained that Daphne had confronted Tantalus and then been injured and lost at sea for over a day. He told her how it had taken Daphne three days to recover enough to be able to tell Hector about the Myrmidon parked outside Helen’s front door.
