Not a second later they kicked in the door without giving us the chance to open it. Before I even knew what was happening, two men had me by the arms.
My father shoved back his chair and stood. "Keep your hands off her!"
A third man moved to push him aside, but his barrier flared and the shove didn't move him at all.
Then the Archon stepped through the doorway. His eyes locked on me. "You will pay for what you did!"
My mother rose slowly. "You kick in my door and lay hands on my daughter?"
"She killed Menandros," the Archon spat.
"I don't care what she did," she said. Her gaze never left the men holding me. "Anyone still touching her three seconds from now will join your filthy mongrel in the dirt."
Mongrel. My mother never used words like that. Not in public, not in private, not ever. Hearing it made the hair on my arms stand on end. If she was using language like that, calm as she sounded, then she was furious.
"Don't you dare let her go!" the Archon barked.
The men's grips tightened, but I could see the fear in their eyes. They knew her. Everyone knew her.
For a second I thought they might actually let go, but they didn't. Their faces twisted with doubt, with panic. In the end, they didn't release me. Which meant they feared the Archon more than my mother.
"Three," she said.
The men flinched, but held on.
"Two."
They squeezed my arms so hard their knuckles turned white and my barrier shattered with a sharp crack. Sweat ran down their temples, but they didn't let go.
"One."
"[Líthi]."
The word slipped from her lips like an echo in an empty hall, soft and final it rippled through the air. The men stiffened as it reached them, eyes rolling back. One by one they fell, dead before their bodies struck the floor.
The Archon stumbled back.
I just stood there, staring. My mother had killed them. Two of the Archon's men, erased with a single whispered word. She hadn't even thought about it. No hesitation, no argument, no weighing of what it might cost. He had accused me of killing his son, and she hadn't cared. She had killed them anyway, simply for touching me.
And the part that made my stomach twist was that she did it without a second thought. Like it wasn't even a choice. Like she had always known what she would do if someone laid hands on me.
I couldn't process it. I'd spent my whole life believing she barely tolerated me, that she saw me as a failure waiting to happen. That I was nothing but a disappointment beside her shadow. And yet here she was, standing between me and the Archon, the bodies at my feet telling a different story.
It didn't make sense. It terrified me. And it left me with this awful, aching thought I couldn't shake: maybe she did care. Maybe she always had.
"Take her," the Archon snapped at the man who'd tried to shove my father earlier, pointing at me.
The man froze. I saw it plain on his face—the same fear as the others. He'd just watched two men die, and he knew what my mother could do.
My father's hand shot up and clamped over his face, big enough to cover it entirely. The man barely had time to scream. The sound curdled into something worse as his skin blackened and bubbled away under my father's grip. The stench of burning hair and meat hit first, then the body hit the floor.
"Anyone who tries will die." My father growled.
The stench filled the room, and I gagged. My father stood over the body, smoke curling off his hand, voice still ringing in my ears.
And all I could think was: what have I done?
My mother just killed two men with a word. My father with a touch. Both of them were now killers because of me, and both of them did it without a blink of hesitation. Or had they always been this way? Was this who they truly were when I was not around?
I thought I knew them. Thought I knew what they were capable of. But the speed, the ease, with which they'd done it left me reeling.
Was this love? Was it that strong, that unconditional, that they didn't care what it cost? That they didn't care that the Archon himself was standing in their house, watching his men die in front of him?
I couldn't tell if I was more terrified of my parents, or terrified of the fact that they would burn the whole world down before they let anyone take me.
And worst of all, this was all because of me. Maybe I hadn't just ruined my own life, maybe I'd ruined all of ours.
My mother nodded to my father, then turned to the Archon, her presence filling the room like a storm held barely in check. Her voice was calm, but I could feel her anger.
"If you lay a finger on my daughter, not even the grave will keep me from you. Now take your mangy dogs out of my house," her eyes flicked to the bodies still slumped on the floor, "and pray your other sons learn to keep their hands to themselves. Lest they meet the same fate as that half-wit Menandros."
How did she know? Or maybe she didn't, maybe she just assumed Menandros had tried to force himself on me, and that was why I killed him. That would make sense. My mother would never believe I'd kill someone without a reason, not even Menandros.
For a second Archon Menekrates looked like a man trying to swallow his own fury and his own fear. His men shifted behind him, nervous, waiting for orders.
"Take the bodies," he snapped.
They obeyed, dragging the corpses out of the house.
The Archon took a few steps, then turned back, scowling. "You will hang for this. All of you."
My mother stared him down. "We will see about that. If she dies, so will you. This I promise you."
The Archon left, his men dragging the bodies behind him.
I stood there, shaking, staring at the door. My parents had just killed for me. The Archon had just promised to kill all of us. All because of me.
My father sighed, lifted the door back into place, wiggled it on its hinges a bit, then rapped his knuckles against it. "There. Good as new."
My mother turned to me. "Sit. Talk."
So I did. I told her everything. How Perry and I had been sitting on the hill, talking about my class. How Menandros and three of his goons showed up. How he tried to paw at me again, mocked me, called Perry my servant, then started beating him bloody. How I tried to pull him off, how my fists didn't matter against his barrier. How Perry was choking in the dirt and Menandros was about to kill him.
How I drew my revolver, fired, and it did nothing. How Menandros laughed at me and told me to shoot him again—in the head this time—and if I didn't he'd kill Perry.
So I did, and then his head was gone, and he was dead.
I told her all of it, straight. My father had stopped messing with the door and sat down across from me, silently listening.
For a moment I waited for my mother to react. Anger, disappointment, anything. But her face didn't change. She just sat there, unreadable. Then she turned to my father. "Kleon."
He raised his brows. "Hmm?"
"What enchantments did you put on that pistol you gave her?"
He frowned. "None. Didn't know what she'd want on it. Figured I'd let her decide before I etched anything permanent."
Her gaze snapped back to me. "Hecate."
Uh oh. Busted. Didn't even last half a day. World's worst secret-keeper, that's me.
For a second I actually thought about lying, about telling her something, anything, that would explain why my revolver suddenly managed to decapitate someone far stronger than me. But then I remembered the Archon's men. My parents had killed for me. Without hesitation. Without even knowing the whole truth.
And now I was going to lie to them? Pretend it wasn't what it was?
Maybe this was the part where she'd change her mind about protecting me. Maybe this was the part where she decided I wasn't worth saving after all. But I'd already dragged them into this. The least I could do was be honest.
There wasn't any clever way to say it, no way to soften the truth. Either I told them now or I never would.
I took in a deep breath, then slowly exhaled. "Mama. Baba. I have to tell you something."