Sons of Zeus (The Warrior Trilogy #1)

“And risk everything?” Sera countered. “Throw everything off balance? Create a new Great Break?”


Dak boiled inside. “How can stopping the murder of our greatest president be a Break? It’ll only help the world get better!”

“It’s not about what events are good or bad,” Riq said, “and you know it. It’s about a pattern, and that pattern being broken. Making reality unstable. The Hystorians didn’t say that Lincoln dying was a Break, therefore him not dying might very well be a Break.”

“It could unravel everything,” Sera added.

Dak sighed. They’d just saved the Louvre in France from being sabotaged by Marie Antoinette. Surely Abraham Lincoln was just as important as a dusty old museum?

“So, it’s two against one?” he asked timidly, all his bravado gone. He heard horses clomping out on the main street, and it made him picture the president coming along in his own carriage soon.

“Two against one,” Sera agreed. “Good thing we’re an odd number so we can’t get tied up on decisions. Right?”

“Right,” Dak repeated. Then he turned and ran, sprinting down a connecting alley toward the sounds of the horses. Forget democracy this time. He’d talk to Lincoln if it was the last thing he ever did.

Sera shouted his name from behind, and the sound of their footsteps followed. Dak knew he couldn’t outrun them, so he had to get a little reckless. He burst out into the main street, where throngs of people and horses and carriages and carts were all in motion. Shouts and curses rang out as he bumped and jostled his way across the road, almost getting clomped by a big black horse whose eyes seemed to say, “Hey, idiot, quit messing with history.”

Dak swung around the other side of the horse and rider, and scooted his way down the wooden sidewalk, running past shops and tanneries, a post office. He saw a break in the crowd and sprinted back across the street, toward the entrance of Ford’s Theatre, where the nasty deed was going to go down in a few hours. He went for the door, hoping it was open, not caring who was behind it. No one played hide-and-seek like Dak “the Ghost” Smyth.

The door opened beautifully.

One minute later, Dak was nestled behind a curtain in the back of the theater, sucking in breaths like a hungry hippo.



After an hour of searching, Sera gave up.

“What a goon,” Riq said, leaning back against the wooden siding of a cooper’s shop. “It annoys the heck out of me that I’ve actually started to like that doofus.”

“No one says doofus anymore,” Sera answered absently.

“In 1865? Actually, they haven’t started saying it yet. Not until around 1960.” Riq smiled. “But it’s a good word. We should say doofus more often. Especially when talking about Dak.”

Sera sighed, almost felt tears emerge. Come on, Dak, she thought. Please, please don’t mess everything up.

A beautiful two-horse carriage made its way down the street toward them, and people along the wooden walkways on both sides of the street were pointing and gawking, whispering to one another furiously. Sera knew who was inside even before the horses stopped right in front of the entrance to Ford’s Theatre.

Despite everything, she stared in wonder as the man Dak had described so reverently — beard, top hat, lankiness, and all — stepped out of the carriage. Abraham Lincoln had arrived.





ONCE DAK had known he was safe from Riq and Sera, he’d slowly and stealthily made his way through the rows of seats, out a door, up a flight of stairs, and onto the balcony where he knew President Lincoln and his wife would be seated. They should be there any minute now.

He heard the voice before he saw the man.

Dak had assumed the greatest leader the world had ever known would have a deep, resounding, booming voice, a voice that could be heard across the entire country every time he so much as said “Excuse me.” But that wasn’t true. Lincoln actually spoke with a somewhat high-pitched, squeaky sound. Dak decided that just made him all the more likable.

“Our seats are right up here, Mary,” the man said. “The good people here at Ford’s were so nice to arrange this. A great way to celebrate the Confederacy’s surrender, don’t you think?”

“Why, yes, my dear. So very nice of them.” Dak could hardly contain himself. He wanted nothing more at that moment than to give First Lady Mary Todd Lincoln a big hug.