The cave was unrecognizable. A giant crack split the overturned dining table. The fire pit had been crushed, the tile mosaic on the floor melted by a burning log. Eureka slipped behind a rough-hewn pine bookcase and watched as a dozen gaunt and haggard men prowled through Solon’s things. She felt the spear’s hilt against her hip. Maybe it was precious and magical, but it must also be deadly. She would use it if she had to.

A dark-haired boy about her age ran his hands along Solon’s mural-painted walls. His eyes were closed. He paused at a portion of the mural that depicted a snake belching a fireball. He leaned against the wall and sniffed. Then he raised a crowbar and struck the mural. Shards of rock flew aside, revealing a closet stocked with canned goods.

A heightened sense of smell must have been his quirk. Eureka looked around to see how the other raiders were using theirs.

A man rushed to the exposed closet, but instead of grabbing cans with his hands, he held up a burlap sack. The entire contents of the pantry glided swiftly into the sack. When it was filled, the little boy who’d tried to run off with William and Claire cinched the sack tightly in his fists. Eureka knew there would be no prying his small fingers free.

If she sang to him again, would he drop the food? Did she want him to? She didn’t want him to starve. She thought about William and Claire and Dad at the top of the stairs. She didn’t want them starving, either.

In the center of the room, a tall man brandishing a J-shaped knife circled Solon. Solon was swinging something long and white—a femur he had snatched from a wall. He wheezed as he swung the bone. He was trying to use his Zephyr to fend off the attacker, but it did nothing more than rustle the man’s hair. The cordon he’d made earlier must have exhausted his powers. He coughed and spat some phlegm in his opponent’s face.

“There are other ways to ask for a raise!” Solon yelled over his shoulder at Filiz.

“I’m sorry, Solon.” Filiz’s voice trembled. “I didn’t—”

Solon’s hacking cough cut his assistant off. He lunged and swung the femur at the intruder. He landed a blow to the side of the slower, malnourished man’s head. When the man fell to his knees, Solon stood over him, quizzically triumphant.

Eureka heard a cry behind her and turned to see William, Claire, and Dad at the bottom of the stairs. Her heart sank.

“I told you to stay on the veranda!”

One of the men held Claire by the arm. Dad’s fists were white-knuckled and clenched tight, ready to punch. Eureka reached for the handle of the spear. Then she heard a snap, then saw a burst of fire erupt behind Claire’s attacker.

The man dropped Claire and swatted at his smoking head.

“Do not touch the children,” Filiz commanded.

Solon’s assistant had ignited a fireball with a snap of her fingers. Herquirk.

“Thank you,” Eureka said.

But Filiz was tending to the man’s burns and wouldn’t meet Eureka’s eyes.

Someone had discovered Solon’s booze. Men yanked open the drawers of a chest disguised as a rock. Corks popped like it was New Year’s Eve. One man held up a bottle of deep green liquid.

“Not my Swiss absinthe!” Solon shouted. “That bottle is one hundred and fifty-four years old. It was a gift from Gauguin.”

The largest of the raiders launched an empty prosecco bottle at Solon’s ducking head. The tall man with the knife rose slowly to his knees. He said something to Filiz.

“They say they are starving,” Filiz translated. “They want to know why you feed the girl who made it so.”

“I planned to share all this with them as soon as the girl was gone,” Solon said. He grabbed a bottle from one of the raiders and took a liberal swig. When the man swung at him, Solon casually smashed the bottle over his opponent’s head. “But you must tell them if the girl starves to death before she fixes things, no one will ever eat again!”

Eureka imagined each of these raiders with a full belly and a long drink of water. The ferocity in their eyes would soften. Their voices would smooth out. These were good people, driven to violence because of hunger and thirst. Because of her. She wanted to share the food.

“Filiz,” Eureka said, “will you translate for me?”

The raiders crowded Eureka. They leered at her, studying her face. Their breath was sour, hot. One of them reached toward her eyes, then growled when she swatted him away. They all began to speak at once.

“They want to know if you’re the one!” Filiz called over the cacophony of voices.

The one the dead speak of in our dreams, the Poet had said.

Eureka was on trial, not just for her tears but for every mistake she’d ever made, every choice that had brought her to this moment.

A deep buzzing filled her good ear. She flinched as a swarm of insects spilled into the salon. A million butterflies, bees, moths, and baby hummingbirds swirled around in mad circles.

“They raided my butterfly room,” Solon said. “What next?” He thought of something, then froze. A look of panic washed over his face. “Ovid.” He shoved a raider aside and hurried down the spiral staircase to the lower level of his cave.

“Who’s Ovid?” Eureka asked, ducking under a cloud of wings.

“Don’t be a fool!” Filiz called after Solon. “No one cares about that.”

At the far end of the room, as hummingbirds whizzed and butterflies bumped against the ceiling, Dad snapped a sharp stalactite from the ceiling and followed a man carrying Solon’s last jugs of water toward the cave entrance.