Chloe shrugs. “It’s why I didn’t die. I needed to do this. It’s why Thanatos didn’t take me.”
She says the name Thanatos, assuming I know who she’s talking about. I do. He’s the winged man who collects souls and brings them to the banks of the River Acheron. But I pretend I don’t know. “Who?”
“Death. I saw him there. That day by the creek. But he left me, and I knew there was a reason. And killing Randy’s father was the reason. Don’t you see that, Piper? God, it makes such sense now.”
She saw Death, but she acted like she didn’t? Or did she only remember him afterward?
“I think you need some sleep, Chloe.”
Chloe sets down her coffee cup, now halfway empty and still steaming. “Yeah. You’re right.” She stands up and heads for the stairs, leaving me there at the table. “But I just thought you’d want to know.”
I watch her leave. I do want to know. And I don’t want to know. And I know whatever else I do in life, I cannot let Chloe end up with an eternity in Tartarus because of my selfishness. No matter what.
Chapter 38
Choices
The more I think about Chloe, the more certain I am she didn’t do it. She did not kill Randy Conner’s father. He may be an abusive monster, and he may deserve to die a slow, painful death and suffer an eternity in Tartarus, but Chloe did not kill him.
It turns out I am wrong—partly. When I get to school Monday morning, the word is out. Randy’s father is dead. One of the terrorist groups made good on its threat. They planted a bomb under the steel struts of a downtown dome and then blew it up. Hundreds of people had died in the explosion and in the fires that came afterward, and Randy’s father had been one of them. And now they’re threatening to blow up more if the city doesn’t dismantle all the disperser missiles.
It was a terrorist casualty. Chloe could not have been responsible. She didn’t do it.
The humidity from the day before has doubled, and smoke from the fires mixes with it. It feels like we’re living in a giant brick oven. It feels like every bit of rain that poured down during the hurricane has lifted into the air and hangs there smothering the city of Austin. Normally, I’d text my mom to see what the city council plans to do in response to the terrorist threat, but today is not a normal day, and my life is far from normal.
I head to first period, trying to do the things I’m expected to do, but how can I when everything has changed? I’m not even the person I thought I was. My life to this point has been some kind of fabrication.
The tube is already on when I get to class. That kid from our school is being interviewed, the sophomore who claimed he could predict when the next heat bubble was coming. He’s sitting by a table with a giant piece of equipment on it that looks like some kind of satellite dish connected to a coffee maker. I have to wonder where he got the materials to make it.
The camera zooms out, and I recognize the city council chambers. It’s a full room except for my mom and, of course, Councilman Rendon. Wherever my mom is, she’s even missing the council meeting.
“So what you’re saying is that you were approached by one of these terrorist organizations?” the acting councilman asks the kid. My mom had mentioned Councilman Morse taking over in the interim until elections were complete, but this seems way early for her to be having news conferences. Is she power hungry just like Rendon was?
The kid, whose name—Toby Garcia—flashes below him on the screen, nods. “That’s right. They came to my house Friday night when everyone was sleeping. They grabbed me from my bed and started asking me all sorts of questions.”
“What kind of questions?” Morse asks.
Toby pats the equipment beside him. “Well, they wanted to know all about the HB Predictor.”
The words Heat Bubble Predictor flash on the screen.
Morse nods to encourage him to continue.
“So I told them about it. Told them how it can predict the bubbles.”
“But it didn’t work this week, did it?” Morse asks, and the way she annunciates it, it’s like she’s almost happy the HB predictor is flawed.
“Something else happened,” Toby says. “Something happened to change the weather. Because a bubble was coming; I guarantee it.”
Morse looks down at her notes and nods. “Yes. Fine. So tell us, after that what happened?”
“They told me they wanted me to work for them. They wanted me to predict the bubbles so they could cause extra destruction when the bubbles were coming.”
This just feels off. Terrorist groups normally do the things they do because they think it will help their cause, even if it normally ends up happening in a destructive sort of way. I glance around the council chamber again and wonder where my mom is. Why isn’t she watching this, too?
“What did you tell them?” Morse says.
Toby Garcia looks directly in the cameras, and not an inch of fear shows in his eyes. “I told them to get screwed. That I’d never help their psycho organization.”
When the show cuts to commercial, I get a bathroom pass and leave. I can’t take it anymore. All people are going to do is talk about the terrorist attack anyway. I need answers. My mom’s not home, but I don’t want to hear her lies anyway. Our relationship is built on lies. My blood boils when I think of her. What I need is to find my dad.
I walk out to the breezeway, and when the heat and smoke hit me, I embrace them, letting them soak into me. The heat of the earth is not enough to bother me. I’ve dared the fires of the River Phlegethon and the torments of Tartarus. But it’s still laughable. I don’t know who I am. How can Piper be Persephone?
I head to the concrete bleachers around the soccer field, and even though there’s plenty of shade covering them, I find a spot out in the sun. It burns my legs when I sit, but I force myself to tolerate it. Down below, there’s a man in a baseball cap spreading chalk on the fake grass. Mr. Kaiser’s talked about how fields used to be made from real grass before the Global Heating Crisis, but now they’d never waste water for such an unnecessary purpose.
The man moves in a line, heading away from me. He reaches the end, then turns around, and heads back, a few yards over. When he’s almost done with the line, he looks up at me as if he knows I’ve been watching. And then he waves.
My father. He’s heard me asking for him even though I haven’t uttered a word. I wave back, unsure if I should go meet him.
But he puts up his hand. “I’ll be right up. Just give me a second to finish this line.” His words find their way to me even though he’s far away.
I’ve given him eighteen years; another minute or two shouldn’t matter. So I nod in acknowledgement, and rest my elbows on my knees to wait.
Zeus finishes the line, and then the chalk canister disappears into thin air. He looks at me and smiles and then climbs the bleachers to sit by me.
“Talk about humidity…”
It’s the second time we’ve spoken, and again he starts the conversation by talking about the weather. I want to start it by talking about me. “Who am I, Dad?”
He smiles. “You’re my daughter Persephone.” He grins at me, and it’s so infectious, I want to join in with him. But I resist the urge, instead holding my face as impassive as I possibly can.
I smirk. “Yes, I’ve managed to figure out that much on my own.”
“So what do you need me for?”
“To tell me the rest. To tell me what I don’t know.”
“Like…?”
“Like who is Piper?” It’s an obvious question, but there’s been no obvious answer I can figure out.