Chapter 7
Home’s A Lie
LYRA
My father steps out of the shadows, nearing one of the sconces that light the halls. Blue flame—a gift from Hermes of undying flames to light all his thieves’ homes. It casts more of that pink haze over his features.
I was definitely seeing things, because Dad’s eyes aren’t blank sockets. They’re normal. He’s even grinning, making them crinkle at the corners, which makes my own eyes ache.
“You ready to go home?” he asks.
Home.
The finally of this moment settles into my heart, into my soul, wrapping around me like the softest, warmest blanket. I take a deep breath. “I am.”
I grab one of the flashlights and lead my parents through several more twists and turns in the dark until we get to a solid-looking cement wall.
“Did you ever meet Hermes in person?” my mother asks curiously as we pass through the hidden door into the human tunnels where his image is painted.
“No—”
A sharp sting of pain in my skull comes just before a vague image, one that feels like a memory but couldn’t possibly be. Because in it, I’m standing on some kind of platform surrounded by mountains and white temples. Lots of them.
And standing in front of me isn’t Hermes but Hades, wearing jeans, a blue button-down shirt rolled up at the sleeves, and work boots.
Hades.
This feels like a memory, but I’m certain I’ve never met the god.
I close my eyes, applying pressure to my temples as I try to force other images into some kind of order. Try to force them past the growing ache. There’s a vague feeling that the place I was standing in was Olympus. Which doesn’t make a lick of sense. Humans don’t go to Olympus.
The harder I try to remember it, the worse the pain gets, building and building and making my stomach roll, and so do the images until I’m left feeling like I’m drifting in a sea of confusion.
“We’ve kept your bedroom exactly the way it was when you left us,” Dad interrupts my thoughts to tell me.
I drop my hands, letting the images go, and immediately the pain fades. It’s probably better that I stop trying to force memories that aren’t there. I’m sure it was just a dream anyway.
I swing the flashlight my dad’s way.
Only to pause.
Teeth.
I saw jagged, inhuman teeth in the dark a flash before the full beam of light hit his face. What is happening? Trying not to be obvious, I peer closer. But the details of his face stay the same, if slightly fuzzy around the edges in the darkness.
“We hoped you would come home sooner,” he continues. “But since we weren’t able to get enough money until now, we thought it might be nice if you chose all new things.” I blink at the lopsided, slightly sheepish smile he gives me. No jagged teeth.
Terrific. Now I’m seeing things.
It has to be the shock of all this happening so quickly. I’ll settle in soon enough. In the meantime, I won’t say anything to my parents. They’d only worry.
Dad takes me by the hand and tugs me along. “I’m pretty sure you’re not going to fit in the bed we had for you when you were three.”
I chuckle. “Probably not.”
Then we’re standing in a hallway in a home. My previous home. For a disorienting second, if feels as though I closed my eyes and when I opened them, we’d moved, but the longer I think about it, the more I remember walking out of the tunnels, then hailing a cab home, the drive, all of it.
Gods. I guess excitement is making me lose it a bit.
I follow my parents down the length of the narrow space but pause to stare at the pictures on the wall. I don’t remember what used to be here, but now there is image after framed image of…me. All from far away, all different ages.
Me growing up.
I reach out to run my finger over the smooth glass, biting down hard on my lip. They’ve always been watching?
Mom rubs my back, and I have to keep myself from flinching away, not used to touch. “We knew we weren’t supposed to, but…”
I swallow hard and nod.
Then I let them lead me to the room at the end of the hall and pause in the doorway.
“There’s enough room for a king-size bed in here,” Dad says, looking over my shoulder from where he’s standing behind me.
Mom slips her hand into mine and gives it a squeeze. “I only caught a glimpse of your room in the…errr…den, but it looked like a smaller bed. Maybe you’d like a little extra space to start with.”
With another zap of a headache, a crystal-clear image flashes through my mind. This one of a king-size bed in a masculine room, floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of San Francisco, gray silk sheets. Did I do a job in some rich asshole’s penthouse? I don’t remember it.
“Lyra?” Mom asks.
Her voice clears away the pain like it never happened, and I shoot her a smile. “A king seems awfully large for one person. Maybe a queen would be better.”
Queen.
That word means something else to me, doesn’t it? Something new?
As Mom exchanges a glance with Dad, her shoulders drop slightly, like my answer was…a relief.
The size of my bed is a relief?
Maybe they can’t afford a king and are just trying to make up for all the years we’ve lost.
“Now that I think about it, a double would be better,” I say. “After so many years in a small bed, I think I’d feel lost in a bigger one.”
The lines around her eyes ease. “Anything you want, honey.” Mom inhales and lets it go. “Is spaghetti still your favorite?”
Anything that doesn’t taste like sawdust is my favorite. The Order is cheap when it comes to feeding their pledges. I don’t tell her that. “Absolutely.”
Her eyes light up. “I’ll go get that started.” And she hurries down the hall.
Dad watches her go with a smile tinted with sadness.
“What’s my real name?” I ask. The question comes so out of nowhere, even I tense a little.
Dad frowns. “You don’t remember?”
I shake my head slowly. “I was too young, and I’ve been Lyra ever since.”
“Right. Of course,” he mumbles to himself, casting his gaze around in darting little moves.
Does he not remember? How could that be—
“Alani.”
I straighten. “Alani?” I try out the sound of it, strange in my mouth, but sweet, like a song.
He nods, watching me closely. “Your mother’s idea.”
“I like it.”
That earns me a new grin. Did my parents always smile this much?
They just got you home. Of course they are extra smiley.
What is wrong with me? I’ve been in the Order too long, had things like faith and trust trained out of me. That’s what it is. I’m the problem here.
“Do you want us to call you that?” The hopeful note in his voice is unmistakable, but…
“I don’t think so,” I say slowly. “I’m used to Lyra now.”
“Of course.” He holds his hands up. “Anything you want.”
“Brad?” my mom calls from the kitchen.
“Coming,” he calls back. Then Dad gives me an awkward little wave and leaves me there.
I turn around and wander my room. They really did leave it the same.
The small twin bed that is more toddler size than a full twin.
I squat down, picking up a dark-haired doll that I remember.
Three-year-old me always thought she was so beautiful, with curling locks and big brown eyes and grown-up clothes.
Current me sees the tatters. She was second- or third-hand.
I still don’t care. She was my favorite.
“Nice to see you again,” I whisper, then smooth her hair and set her back down beside her faded plastic house.
Getting up, I turn around in a slow circle, hands on my hips. What changes do I want to make?
Nothing too expensive, but maybe paint the walls a simple white. Blue has always been my favorite color, so a bed with blue sheets and maybe a white or darker blue bedspread would be nice. Or maybe…gray silk.
Another lightning strike of pain zings my brain, and I can picture that bed again, even more clearly now. Visceral details come with the image. The silky feel of them against my skin, the smell of lying in them—fresh linen, chocolate, and…smoke? Like a campfire. Why smoke?
More details come at me fast, so real that I start breathing harder—a strong arm stealing around my middle, pulling me back against a solid chest. The low rumble of a voice in my ear that makes me both shiver and sigh at the same time.
But I can’t make out what he says.
Just that I…am happy.
Who? There is no one. I’ve never had anything like that with anyone. Ever.
I press my palms into my throbbing temples and squeeze my eyes shut.
“You couldn’t even wait until morning?” I murmur in the memory and can hear the smile in my own sleepy voice.
Then I roll over and freeze.