31
ENRIQUE
Enrique had always imagined what it would feel like to be a hero.
This was not how he imagined it.
He thought that, atleast, he would have a flaming sword. Instead of a stick. That emitted light. But as he whirled onto the members of the Fallen House surrounding them, at least he could rely on one thing: Heroes always made do.
He swung the light baton against the members nearest him. For now, there were nearly twenty people, but the gash in the Tezcat door remained open, and though it was empty now, there was no way of knowing whether it would stay that way. Chaos broke around him. Séverin wrestled away one of the cloaked members, shoving them backward. He swiped something from his shoe, a thin thread of silver that Laila caught. Together, they circled five of the hooded figures. Tristan spat out a billow of black ink and whooped happily.
“Now, Zofia!” screamed Séverin.
Zofia lunged forward with the lightning rod. The silver light turned her hair and skin incandescent. She thrust out the rod, anda current of electricity coursed down the silver thread, crackling and snapping. Cloaked figures screamed, then slumped over, unconscious.
But not everyone fought. The doctor. Roux-Joubert sat on the floor beside him, blank-eyed and dazed, lips blue and mumbling as he rocked back and forth and held his mangled arm to his chest.
Every chance they got, they dug into the ground, trying to free up the exact space where the Horus Eye might fit… but the Fallen House was relentless.
“They should be here soon,” said Hypnos, wild-eyed, glancing constantly up at the rafters.
He’d left half of his House-marked possessions up there, a ripe scent the Sphinxes had to follow. But the Order hadn’t arrived. No help was coming.
Laila collapsed in the dirt beside him, her face haggard. In her hands was the Horus Eye. Before them, the ground had almost nearly cleared when a handful of Forged knives launched into the air, a blade poised at each of their throats.
“I think this has gone on long enough, don’t you?” asked the doctor mildly.
Enrique could not see his eyes, but he could feel the man’s gaze on him and Hypnos.
“Your friends will die. And then you will die. But you can avoid this… This can be a new world. For all of us. I see your heart, young Patriarch. I see how you struggle… how you do not know which world you belong to, how you feel as though the color of your skin will determine the color of your future. It does not have to be that way. Join us.” The doctor paused, and Enrique imagined that behind his pale mask, he was smiling. “Save yourself… save yourfriends. She won’t put down the Horus Eye until she knows that she’s lost. All you have to do is give me your Ring.”
Enrique watched as Hypnos struggled to stand. He looked behind him, gaze resting on Tristan, Séverin, Laila, Zofia, and finally… Enrique. Hypnos’s shoulders dropped, his mouth flattening to a taut line. He paled, but then managed a nod. He reached into his jacket, wincing with effort as he drew out his true Ring.
“Ah, I see the young patriarch has seen reason,” said the doctor.
Séverin’s face shuttered, but he held still. Shock rippled across Zofia’s face. How could he? They’d beenfriends,hadn’t they? Hadn’t they spent hours in the stargazing room? Had he imagined everything?
Enrique dropped his gaze to the dirt floor, the smoothed surface where the perfect mold of a Horus Eye was now partially exposed. The knife pointed at his throat dragged up his skin, as if sensing what he wished to do. Laila met his gaze over the blade, her dark eyes wild.
Hypnos kept his back to them as he stepped forward.
“I shall give it to you,” said Hypnos.
Laila screamed, “What are you doing?”
Hypnos neither turned nor answered. He was nothing more than a rigid shadow. Roux-Joubert wept at the doctor’s feet.
“It’s happening… I shall be a god,” he whispered.
Slowly, the knives dropped from their throats. Enrique breathed deep, something in his chest finally loosening. When he looked up, he saw a small smile flicker on Laila’s face as she looked at Hypnos. Enrique frowned, then his eyes darted to Hypnos. He was still standing, still speaking with the doctor.
“I want assurances that nothing will happen to them.”
“Very well,” said the doctor. “Now give me your Ring.”
Behind his back, Hypnos held out three fingers.
Three.
