by Wagner, Raye
Athan chuckled. “Dead. But seeing her made me realize . . . I’ve moved on. Not that I didn’t care for her.” To say that would’ve been a lie. “But my feelings for Hope run much deeper. I’ve healed from the pain of losing Isabel, and I’m at peace with it. But more importantly, Hope’s made it possible for me to have a real chance at love . . . with her.”
Hermes’s face darkened as Athan spoke. Rather than congratulating him or wishing him well, Hermes said he needed to have a word with Hope. He probably realized he would have to express his gratitude for saving Athan’s life, and Hermes, like all gods, didn’t like to swallow the bitter pill of humility.
Hermes’s reunion with Athan made Hope’s eyes sting and fill with tears. She’d had that briefly with her mom—that memory was solidly back in place.
She watched the father-and-son reunion with a sense of deep satisfaction and gratitude. Atropos had thrown her a bone and then backed her up. Perhaps not all the gods were selfish.
“I would have a word with her,” Hermes said, and then he stepped next to her. “May I?”
He led them away from Athan and Xan, just far enough that they were out of earshot.
Hope’s heart skipped and tripped in anticipation. Unease crawled over her skin, and she remembered when he’d dumped her in the Underworld as he took Priska to the Acheron for crossing.
“My son has become quite attached to you,” he said flatly. The god swallowed, and his gaze darted to Athan before returning to her. His eyes narrowed. “An attachment that appears to threaten his very existence.”
Hope wanted to protest. To tell him she’d actually saved his son. But there was truth in his words. Athan wouldn’t have ever been in danger if it weren’t for her. With slow, dawning horror, understanding washed over her. Every person she was close to suffered or died . . . because of her.
“I’m sorry,” she whispered. But the words were an empty shell. She couldn’t erase what had happened to Athan, and it would affect the rest of his now-mortal existence.
“Meaningless.” He waved away her apology and leaned toward her. “I want you to understand one thing, Sphinx.”
She waited for the threat she knew was coming.
“His infatuation will pass, and I can’t wait until it does. But in the meantime, I will not help you. You know how much I hate Apollo, but that is nothing compared to how I feel about you. You have taken my one remaining joy, risked it for your gain, and returned it broken and fragile.”
She opened her mouth to protest. She’d never asked Athan and Xan to come. She’d never wanted anyone to risk their life for her.
“Out of respect for my son, I won’t thwart your quest. And out of courtesy to him, I’m telling you: Don’t come to me for aid. If our paths cross, you’d better turn and run the other way.” He bent over her and stared into her eyes. “Am I clear?”
She stepped back. Pain, disappointment, and hurt buffeted her. Emotion burned her heart, and her eyes spilled the tears she couldn’t contain.
“I understand,” she choked.
“Good.” He patted her head. “Now be a good girl, and wipe away those tears. We both can agree he deserves better. You don’t need to give him anything else to worry about, right?” There was threat and condemnation in his words and tone, and then he sealed it with her own guilt.
She wiped her eyes and nodded. “Right.”
Athan stood staring at his father. Staring, but not really seeing. His mind stuttered and stumbled over the fact that he was no longer immortal, but his body didn’t really feel different. Was he supposed to feel different? Would he feel different once he was out of the Underworld?
Shocking realization washed over him. He’d no longer be psachno . He’d no longer live at the conservatory. He’d no longer have to fight Skia. What would he do? His gaze went from his father to Hope, and he pushed away the questions and uncertainty. He would deal with whatever his new life would mean after Hope was back from Olympus. Until then, he would do whatever he could to support her.
Xan tapped Athan’s shoulder with a fist. “Bloody hell.”
Athan’s focus snapped to the other demigod, and he pasted on a smile. “Can you believe it? We’re getting out of here. We made it out.”
Xan cleared his throat. “Aye. I’m surprised you’re so happy.”
Happy? Hardly. But there was a point, actually a couple of moments, there in the Underworld, when he’d thought none of them would make it out. Awkwardness gnawed at Athan, and he knew the only way to deal with it was to say it. “I’m so sorry about Dahlia. Have you told Hope?”
“No. And I won’t tell her until she’s recovered, right?” Xan grabbed Athan and pulled him closer. “She doesn’t need to be slapped with one more burden. Let her get her feet under her again.”
There was wisdom in letting her get a solid night’s sleep. She looked haggard, and it made Athan want to curse Hades for playing with Hope’s mind like he had.
“What will you do now?” Xan asked.
It wasn’t like there was even an option. “Help Hope get to Olympus. That’s what this is all about, right?” He’d help her, but how? They both knew he could climb the mountain, but that was as far as he could go. Mortals were not allowed within the city. “Will you . . . Will you go with her?”
Xan clenched his fist, and his jaw tightened. “I know you love her, but do you know if she feels the same about you?”
The pain couldn’t have been much worse if Xan had punched him. “We haven’t really talked about it.”
Xan leaned back as if absorbing his response. “Do that. Before we leave. Talk it over with her. If you’re together, I’ll respect that. But if not, I’m going to be upfront with you right now. I mean to make her love me.”
Athan flinched. That was worse. “At least I know where you stand.”
“As if there had been any question.”
Would asking her put undue pressure on her? Was she even thinking about who to date right now? The question sounded insane. If she was, she shouldn’t be. Athan shook his head. “Don’t be an ass. You’re asking her to pick? She needs to focus on breaking the curse. I won’t go there with her now. And you shouldn’t either. If she makes it back, I’ll fight you over the girl, but you’re being a complete tool right now.”
Xan snorted then laughed. “Fine. You’re right. Of course I’ll take her to Olympus.”
If there were anyone else that would fight for Hope, Athan would ask them to accompany her instead. But Xan gave her the best chance. And more than anything, Athan wanted her to be free from Apollo’s curse.
They looked back at Hope and Hermes. Hermes put his arm around Hope as if they were friends, but the incredulity painted across her face told Athan it wasn’t appreciated. She pulled his arm off and hissed something at the god, who in turn glared at her.
“Gods, you better go help.”
Athan frowned. “He wouldn’t hurt her.”
But something in his father’s eyes made him doubt the statement as soon as he’d said it. Why would his father be mad at Hope? She’d just saved Athan. Hermes should be grateful.
Xan snorted. “I wasn’t worried about Hope.”
“You have a natural ability to piss the gods off,” Xan said with a smirk. But the tightness around his eyes betrayed his concern. “All of them, it seems. It’s practically a talent.” He bit the side of his mouth before continuing. “We’ll have to be more careful on Olympus.”
Hope shook her head. “I’m going alone. I can’t . . . I can’t lose any more people I love to this.”
Xan snorted. “Did you fall on your head, too?”
“No,” she grumbled. “Why would you say that?”
He let out a low breath and pointed to Hermes and Athan. “I don’t know what he said, but I can imagine. Here’s the thing—you didn’t do anything wrong, and despite what Hermes said, Athan made his own choices that brought him here. You are responsible for your decisions only, and yes, they affect others, but me, Dahlia, an
d Athan are all adults. And the consequences of our decisions are ours.” He rubbed his forehead. “Come on,” he extended his arm.
It was a welcome invitation, but she hesitated. It wasn’t going to get easier to say . . . ever. But it needed to be said. She wouldn’t have him help with false expectations, and she cared too much to have him misunderstand. “You know I like you. Lots, in fact. You’re my best friend. But”—she took a deep breath and ripped the Band-Aid off—“but I don’t like you like I like him. You and I are just friends. That’s all I can offer.”
He didn’t look surprised. And he didn’t drop his arm. “All right.” He waved her forward. “Now come here and give your best friend a hug.”
She looked back at Athan talking with his father, and then she faced Xan again. With a huge smile, his dimple teased her, refusing to let her feel bad for what she’d done. She closed the distance and hugged him tight. “I’m glad you’re my friend.”
The demigod radiated warmth and strength. The enormity of her task suddenly didn’t feel so impossible.
“Aye, lass. Me, too.” He then shouted over his shoulder for directions.
Hermes passed them, grumbling under his breath.
Athan stepped up to Hope and took her hand. “Come on. Let’s go home.”
The air was sweet like fresh apples. It tasted of pine, rain, and a faint hint of exhaust that hadn’t yet been washed away. It was fresh, and it felt so good.
Hope stared up at the gray sky and had to close her eyes as the misty rain hit her again and again. It was the best feeling.
“As soon as you’re done, I think we should get Athan’s things,” Xan said beside her.
A warm calloused hand gripped hers, and Hope entwined her fingers with Athan’s. “I’m sorry to keep you waiting.”
He smiled at her, and his hazel gaze soaked her in. “I’m not in any rush.”
“Do you think your things will still be there?” Hope wasn’t sure how long they’d been gone, but if it had been more than a few months, would the other demigods clean out his room?
“Of course.” But he sounded nervous; the lilt of his voice going up at the end of his sentence, almost as if he were asking a question. He smiled, but his eyes shifted away from her before his smile could reach them.
Definitely nervous.
“Come on. They won’t keep you out.”
Hope crossed the driveway, noting the change in landscape. The last time she’d been at the conservatory, the walk had been lined with azaleas. Now, bright-orange day lilies were in full bloom, and the long grass swayed in the breeze. The tall pine trees seemed . . . taller. But that was probably just memory problems, maybe leftover from the Lethe.
Xan pulled his keychain from his pocket and slid the key into the lock. But it wouldn’t turn.
“They changed the locks?” Hope asked.
Athan said nothing, but his frown spoke volumes.
“They never change the locks,” Xan replied. “Never.” Curling his hand into a fist, he pounded on the heavy door. With each consecutive knock, his scowl deepened.
Athan shifted his weight from foot to foot.
“Why are you nervous?” Hope whispered. “You don’t think they’ll let you in? How could they refuse you? It’s not like you’re asking to live there.”
They had talked about it on the way to the conservatory, but Athan had refused to let Hope live alone. He said it would be pointless to have him and Xan at the conservatory. They’d have to find an apartment big enough for the three of them. Hope wasn’t sure such a thing existed, although they seemed to be getting along fine right now. The door opened, followed by a gasp.
“Oh. My. Gods!” Thenia’s voice built into a crescendo. “Kaia!”
She pulled Xan into a hug. “I thought you were . . .”
She didn’t finish the sentence, but she didn’t need to. Everyone understood her meaning.
“Nope,” Xan said with a chuckle.
“Xan? Athan?” Kaia came running down the hall but skidded to a stop when she saw Hope. Kaia’s eyes widened, and her jaw dropped.
“Hi, Kaia.” Hope gave the daughter of Demeter a small smile and waved with her free hand. Hope had always liked the somewhat spacey girl.
The demigod narrowed her gaze. “I can’t believe you would even show your face here again.”
The words stung worse than a physical slap, and Hope swallowed the pain. She probably deserved it.
“Kaia!” Thenia stared at the other demigod as if she could communicate with just her gaze. Maybe she could.
“Fine,” Kaia snapped. “Whatever. But don’t ask me to be excited.” She offered Xan and Athan a nod. “I’m glad you guys are back safe. The last couple of years here have been enough to drive me crazy. Maybe we can start going out again. Even if it’s just to go shopping.”
Wait. Did she say years ? Hope looked to Athan and then Xan, but both of them looked equally as confused.
“Oh, come on. As if you didn’t know. Where have you been? Under a rock?” Kaia snickered as she rolled her eyes.
Hope was having whiplash from the girl’s mood. Kaia had always been pleasant, easygoing, and nice. This person was anything but.
“We went to the Underworld,” Xan told her in a flat tone.
Kaia’s face blanched, and even Thenia looked pale.
“The Underworld?” Thenia swallowed. “It’s true? All of it? Oh, gods . . .”
Xan narrowed his eyes. “How long have we been gone?”
“Sixty-four months,” Thenia said.
Hope wanted to pinch herself. Five years? How could that even be?
“Shite,” Xan muttered.
Athan dropped Hope’s hand. “I need to get my stuff.”
He stepped up onto the porch, but Kaia moved to block his entrance. “If all that’s true . . . you’re not allowed in anymore. They told us. And it’s your fault Obelia died. You . . .”
Athan stopped, mid-step, and then slowly put his foot down. He crossed his arms over his chest as he drew himself up to his full height. “Excuse me?”
Kaia looked at Thenia, then to Xan, before her gaze hardened. Glaring at Athan, Kaia screamed, “You left. You left us to go after her .” She pointed at Hope. “Obelia ran off and died. And now you’re not a demigod anymore. You did this. It’s your fault. It’s all your fault!”
“Kaia, stop!” Thenia put her hand on Kaia’s shoulder and leaned into her as she whispered, “You need to stop.”
Kaia’s eyes filled with tears, and without another word, she turned and fled down the hall.
Thenia took a deep breath and faced them. “She took your disappearance hard. It’s been a rough . . . couple of years. Athena advised us to stay inside. All. The. Freaking. Time.” She took another deep breath. “Olympus is . . . The gods are going crazy.” Her gaze settled on Hope. “You need to be very careful.”
Athan cleared his throat. “I need to get my stuff.”
Thenia bit her lip and shook her head. “Athena said you’re not a demigod anymore.”
Xan snorted. “I don’t think you can change that. Hermes is still his father.”
Every single word made sense, but the sentences didn’t. How could this be happening? How could the demigods be turning on each other?
Athan stepped toe-to-toe with Thenia and, looking down on her, said, “It’s my stuff in there. And I have every intention of getting it. You can either—”
Thenia pressed a silver blade to Athan’s neck. “This conversation is over. You aren’t immortal. I’m just doing my job, and right now that means telling you to leave. Take Hope and leave, Athan. You’re not welcome here anymore.”
In the time it took Hope to clench her fists, Xan had pushed Athan away from Thenia, disarmed the daughter of Athena, and drawn his own immortal weapons. Brandishing a knife in each hand, he said, “Don’t start something you can’t finish.”
Thenia dropped her arm to her side, but Xan didn’t relax. “Are you going to let him in?”
She shook her head. “I can’t. She’ll kill me if I do.”
Hope gasped, and Athan sucked in a breath next to her.
“Athena?” Xan asked.
Her own mother would kill her if she let Athan in? What was wrong with the gods?
“Yes. So please don’t ask me again.”
Xan dropped his arms and put away his blades. “Fine. Am I allowed in still?”
“You’re still immortal, right?” When Xan nodded, she continued, “Then yes. No one said you couldn’t come in.”
Xan turned to Hope and Athan. “Tell me what you want, and I’ll go get it.”
Athan gave him a small list: a few pictures and an old journal. He waved away questions about clothes, shoes, and other normal things.
As he spoke, Hope tried to figure out why the gods would bar him entrance to the conservatory. Why would it matter if he got his pictures?
Xan brushed by Thenia, who continued standing in the doorway.
“Come on,” Hope said, and she pulled Athan toward the driveway. “Let’s wait in the car.”
She climbed into the back seat with him.
“I’m sorry.” It seemed so inadequate, but she still felt compelled to tell him. “You’ve done so much—”
He shook his head. “No. Please. You make it sound bad.”
Was it bad? Was he mad at her? Did he regret his choice to save her? Did he finally see the monster she was?
Athan cupped her face in his hands. “I can tell what you’re thinking, and you’re wrong. You’re amazing, Hope. And I’d do it again. All of it again, if I had to. I was so worried that when we came back up here I’d feel different. And I do.”
Her heart skipped a beat. She’d been so anxious about this, and he’d said nothing. But of course he felt different. He was mortal now, and she couldn’t help but feel like his new weakness was her fault. Her emotion expanded in her chest, a lump forming at the back of her throat, and she choked out, “I’m so, so sorry.”
“Stop. Please.” He brushed his lips over hers and then spoke without pulling away. “Do you remember, back in Goldendale, when I said you were barely alive when I found you?”
