Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83786 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 419(@200wpm)___ 335(@250wpm)___ 279(@300wpm)
“Breathe, Callisto.”
I glance over as Perseus laces his fingers with mine and squeezes my hand slowly, a silent command to match my breathing to the increasing and decreasing pressure of his palm against mine. Damn him, it helps. Within a few moments, the panic recedes enough for me to think clearly. Mostly.
“What if we don’t survive this?” The question slips out despite myself.
“We will.” He tugs me until I slide across the seat and tuck myself against the side of his body. If his holding my hand helped, the contact of his body against mine helps even more. His breathing is steady. I close my eyes and press my head to his chest, letting the slow beat of his heart soothe me even though I don’t deserve it.
“Circe is too good. She’s always ahead of us no matter what we do. I don’t see a way through.”
Perseus wraps a tentative arm around me and strokes his free hand through my hair. “We don’t have to see a way through as long as we keep moving. She hasn’t struck again, which means she’s waiting for something. We just have to figure out what it is and eliminate the threat—just like we did with the ships.”
As if it’s so easy. As if Hermes and Circe aren’t running laps around us no matter what we do. But I want to believe the lie, so I don’t point out that we’ve been several steps behind from the very beginning. Instead, I sit there as my eyes get heavier and heavier, until sleep takes me despite myself.
Sometime later, Zeus presses his lips to my forehead. “Wake up. We’re almost there.”
Embarrassment heats my cheeks. I can’t believe I fell asleep on him, in the middle of the day, no less. I keep my gaze down as I slide back over to my side of the bench seat and comb my fingers through my hair. To distract myself, I pull out my phone to see if I’ve missed any messages. There’s one from Persephone telling me that everything’s going to be okay, a false reassurance if I’ve ever read one. But what stops my breath in my lungs is the text from an unknown number.
Unknown: Clock’s ticking, Hera. You’re working too slow. Seems like someone has to offer you a little incentive to pick up the pace.
I read the message again and again, but the text doesn’t change. A clear threat if I’ve ever seen one. But from who? I would assume Circe, but there’s no denying Hermes is a major player at this point as well. It could be either of them.
I look up as the car pulls through the dirt road passing through all the tents. It appears exactly like it did yesterday, but everything seems leached of color. Fear is a live thing inside me. I’ve never failed so spectacularly as I have in the last few days. I can’t convince my brother-in-law to step down. I can’t convince my sister there’s a real threat despite her being shot yesterday. I can’t even convince the husband I’m starting to believe might actually be falling in love with me.
How the fuck am I going to convince my mother?
25
Zeus
Stepping out of the vehicle is like entering a new and mostly unfamiliar world. This city of tents is filled with my people, yes, but there’s nothing normal about any of this. People move about, intent on one job or another, not paying the slightest bit of attention to me. Back in the city, before Circe became such a threat, I couldn’t walk down the street without people stopping me to ask to take pictures or to sign something of theirs. Even before I inherited the Zeus title that was true. Because I was always going to claim it.
That title Hermes wants me to relinquish. Hera, too.
My wife follows me out of the car, and I can’t stop myself from placing my hand on the small of her back as we walk together toward the particularly large tent that must house her mother. This, at least, is expected. Demeter does nothing halfway.
Two armed guards—both women—stand one on either side of the entranceway, but they nod us through without hesitation. I catch a slight furrow in Callisto’s brow. “Were they here last time you came out?”
“No.” She frowns harder. “Something must have happened in the last twenty-four hours.”
I wait for her to crack a smile or draw the obvious conclusion, but she just keeps looking around as if she’s never seen this place before. “You and Persephone were shot yesterday. That’s more than enough motivation to add some security measures to protect your mother and Psyche.” And Eros, I suppose. But he’s never had a problem with taking care of himself—and Psyche as well, for that matter.
My life would’ve been significantly simpler if I had married Psyche instead of Callisto. She’s just as cunning as their mother, but Psyche is invested in playing the game. Callisto only touches on the game in order to break the entire system.