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“What’s going on?” Helen said to Orion, as memories of cooking with her father, turning pumpkins into pancakes, pie, and Popsicles crowded into her mind.
“It’s one of her symbols. Hecate’s power covers a lot of different things,” he whispered in answer to her half-formed question. “Portals, crossroads, boundaries, trade, and bargains are the big ones, which is why she officiates over duels, which are sort of a bargain if you think about it. But she’s also the witch goddess. Something about Macbeth and bargaining your soul. The pumpkin is one of her symbols because she’s the first witch.”
Helen stared at that silly pumpkin, quite certain that the Fates were laughing their heads off at her. She loved pumpkins. Of all the many-life memories that Helen had recently been subjected to, the memories that she made on Nantucket were her favorites. Jerry had given her the best life she’d had in all of her many existences. Daphne had been right when she’d said Helen should thank her for making her think that Jerry was her father.
One look at that blasted pumpkin, and she knew that she’d trade all this Scion nonsense, all of her wondrous powers, for one more night of baseball and ice cream with her dad. Just one night where Lucas could come over for some pasta, eat awkwardly in front of her overprotective father, and then they could all watch sports and argue about politics like everyone else in Massachusetts. But that perfect night would never happen.
Helen would never be a normal high school kid again.
A bright flash, and a strange orange fire erupted around the boundaries of the arena. Hecate didn’t reappear, but her presence was manifest in the hum of power that encircled the ring. The pumpkin disappeared. The fire went out. The challenge was set.
The crowd behind Helen whispered frantically to one another. Thunderclouds rolled in off the water, and lightning flashed in the distance. Zeus and the Olympians arranged themselves to have the best view. They were enjoying this.
Helen tried to step into the arena and found that she couldn’t. Orange fire flashed. A regular person would have been burned by it, but it only threw Helen back a few paces. Matt walked easily into his spot, ten feet away from the line in the sand at the middle of the cleared oval. He unsheathed his sword, a thick, wicked-looking thing that made Helen’s breathing pick up. She tried again to enter the circle, only to find an invisible barrier stopping her. Helen tried to use her talent to create a portal to get inside the ring, but nothing happened. Hecate could even bar a Worldbuilder from crossing a boundary if she wanted to. Helen paused to mull this over.
“What are you doing, dummy?” Hector asked her, half a laugh in his voice. As she had been reminiscing about pumpkin pancakes and contemplating the power of Hecate, Lucas, Jason, and Orion had been busy strapping armor onto Hector piece by piece in what looked to her like a ritual.
“What do you mean, what am I doing?” Helen asked—irked as usual when Hector made fun of her. “He doesn’t want to fight you, he said he only wants me.”
Hector only laughed harder at her melodramatic tone. “You’re not about to steal my glory, Princess.”
She really hated it when he called her that.
“Don’t call me . . .”
“He’s your champion, Helen!” Lucas snapped, and his tone was not playful like Hector’s.
Helen looked at Lucas. The fear and frustration in his eyes silenced her immediately. She knew Lucas was upset with her for not handing over Everyland when Zeus asked for it. She wanted to scream at him that she had a plan, damn it, but of course, she didn’t dare do that.
“You took an oath, and for us, those aren’t just words,” Lucas continued. “You cannot walk into that arena. Only Hector can meet your challenger now.”
“W-wait,” Helen said stumblingly, her tongue growing heavy in her mouth with fear as the first part of her plan came undone. “Matt said he doesn’t want Hector, he only wants me. So this is my fight.”
“No it isn’t,” Hector said seriously. All his lighthearted joking vanished, and Helen could hear the voice of an ancient hero in him.
For a moment she saw Hector standing on a great wall, watching Achilles half insane with grief over the death of Patroclus, beating the horses of his chariot raw while calling out Hector’s name to meet him in single combat. Matt didn’t look like Achilles, but he had the same presence, the same power. She didn’t know how it had happened, but somehow, Matt had become Achilles, the Warrior.
“This has always been my fight,” Hector said gently.
“Don’t do it,” she whispered, her voice failing as she remembered what happened the last time.
“Don’t do it!” echoed another, much more strident voice.
Helen turned and saw Andy pushing her way through the disturbed crowd. Her face was shocked, like she couldn’t believe what she was saying and doing, but couldn’t seem to stop herself.
Andy made her way through the commotion and stood inches away from Hector, begging him with her eyes. “Don’t fight him.”
“Tempting,” he said, smiling down on her lovely and totally confused face. “But who would I be if I didn’t? Not myself, that’s for sure. You know I have to do this, Andy.”
“I love you,” she blurted out, completely horrified that she was saying something so sappy in front of a huge crowd like this.
“Well, it’s about time,” Hector replied sarcastically.
For a second, it looked like Andy was going to punch him, so Hector did the wise thing and kissed her. When he finally pulled away he did so reluctantly.
“Hold that thought?” he asked her, his eyes vulnerable. Andy nodded slowly and released him.
Hector turned to Lucas, Jason, and Orion, holding out his hand for his sword. Lucas handed it to him, his face darkened with frustration. Embracing his brothers one by one, Hector walked into the ring alone.
