Pollux seemed so tall, but Orestes was only a few inches shorter. They both had dark hair, but Orestes’ was longer, like he was due for a trim, and curled in gentle waves.
And his eyes. The golden brown that was so warm. Pollux, whose eyes were green, gave off the same warmth.
And they both gave a shit about me. Enough to keep me alive. Enough to stop Hector from forcing me to stay when I wanted to go.
Even though they believed the same thing he did.
Sitting on my bed, I pulled my bag into my lap. “Do you really believe that if I find those pieces of pottery, the world will end?”
The air in the room got thick, like a summer afternoon right before a storm.
“What would you think of us if we did?” Pollux asked quietly. “Would you think we’re crazy? That we’d lost our minds?”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t think you’re crazy. I don’t think people are crazy just because they believe different things than I do. As long as they don’t force their beliefs on me.”
Orestes chuckled, but crossed his arms like he was trying to protect himself. “But you don’t believe it’s possible.”
“Well…” I searched carefully for my words. I was at a disadvantage. I was in a place I didn’t know well, and I’d allowed myself to be driven here at night. Nothing I’d done so far would prove I had a doctorate. If I was a character in a book, people might call me too stupid to live. But I couldn’t help the draw I felt to these guys, just like I couldn’t help the draw I felt to the Trojan War, and that pottery shard sitting a hundred miles away in London.
There were times when things just happened, and you knuckled and buckled, and went for the ride.
“Based purely off of my studies, I would say, no. I don’t believe that finding pieces of pottery will cause the world to end. I think it’s far more likely I’ll cause it to end, because I drive when I should walk, or bike. And until recently, I bought one-use plastic bottles. According to climatologists, the earth is going to heat up more in the next fifty years than it has in two thousand, so…” I shrugged. “No. I don’t believe finding a piece of pottery will make it happen.”
They had both given little smiles as I spoke, but with my final statement, they were serious again. Pollux shoved his hands deep into his pants pocket, then, as if uncomfortable, took them out, pushed up his sleeves, and began to pace.
Before he could speak, there were pounding footsteps up the stairs. Hector rushed in, glanced at my bag, and then at the two men. “Someone has found another shard of the seal.”
“No.” It was impossible.
Pollux’s face went white, and he staggered, like the words took away his strength. He glanced at me, but I was as shocked as he was. Worse, I was hurt. If I chose to examine my feelings, I’d realize that it was ridiculous to feel a connection to an inanimate object. But there it was.
I had.
I had been drawn to the shard—drawn to Turkey. All of my studies, all my research, it fell into place. One clue led to another, and I ended up right where I should.
“How?” I asked.
Hector took his phone out of his pocket, holding it out to me, while glaring.
“What?” How?
The image held me in place. It pulled me into a world that existed so long ago, people weren’t sure it was real. But the image was. I read the ancient Greek, written beneath it.For Orestes, By the Hand of the Gods, Pursued by the Furies.It was on obsidian—at least, I thought it was. The writing in gold. The image—god. It was terrifying. Orestes’ expression was clear, the guilt, the shame. He ran, while over his head flew three women with large, extended wings, and serpents wrapped around their wrists like bracelets. The forked tongues of the serpents were out, tasting the air, and I could almost hear them.
Hiss.
Smooth scaled, flowing, twisting, squeezing…
“Leo.” Orestes gripped my shoulder.
“Sorry.” I expanded the article, squinting a little at the small font. “Who found it?” I asked the question out loud, but I didn’t expect an answer from them.
I scanned the article. “Found along the shore, deep in the waters to the east of Alexandria and among the ruins of one of the Seven Wonders of the World, the Lighthouse at Alexandria,” I read aloud.“No.”
All along I’d been drawn to the lighthouse, certain there was something there. I’d studied all the journals of people who may have seen it before it had tumbled into the ocean. And it was sitting there, beneath the silt and rocks, and pieces of once majestically carved Pharos.
“But who found it?” I asked under my breath, reading as fast as I could. The name stood out, like it was bolded and underlined, and I went dizzy as the blood drained from my face. “No.” The little bit of coffee I had turned my stomach. I was going to be sick.
It was the person I thought had set me up, put me in the path of these men, and created an elaborate scheme designed to make me feel crazy.