“There’s five of them now,” Herald said, nudging his shoulder into mine, indicating the group that the Lorica was speaking to. “Check it out.”
They were representatives from what I had first assumed was the French version of the Lorica, until Herald had quickly corrected me. He pointed out that it was, in fact, a number of high-ranking sorcerers from the Hooded Council. That wasn’t local at all. It was the Lorica’s equivalent that governed magic across the entirety of Europe.
“The big boys,” Herald whispered. “Well, and girls.”
The Hooded Council’s people had appeared on the hill shortly after we fled town, demanding to speak to the Scions in our group. How the Council knew that we were American – and how they even knew that we had members of the Lorica among us, for that matter – was something I didn’t stay to question.
I only caught the name of one of them as I very quickly separated from the pack, the stern one with silver hair in a bun so tight that I was convinced it was the only thing keeping the skin clinging to her skull. Frau Helena dressed and behaved like a schoolmarm, wearing the terrifying aura of a woman three times her age, but her appearance was youthful, almost preternaturally so. It was like looking at the German version of the Lorica’s very own Odessa, only somehow more intimidating.
She barked her name in introduction as I walked away from the huddle of magical supremacy and governance, both out of an instinctive dislike of authority and the shock of seeing five people materialize just feet away from me. But even now, with me and Herald sitting so far from their group, Frau Helena’s eyes kept coming back to me, boring into me with hardness and curiosity. She knew exactly who I was. I was sure of it.
“I don’t think we’re in any kind of trouble,” Herald said. “Funny how it’s the humans who are more reasonable about all this Eldest business. But to be fair, the Lorica sent out warnings about Agatha Black’s return weeks ago. The Hooded Council knows we’re clean.”
I raised a finger. “As long as they don’t know the whole business about Durandal.”
“Correct,” Herald said. He nodded at the group again, and I turned to look just as Frau Helena and her four cohorts vanished in brief flashes of white light. “The Council took a while grilling Royce, but it looks like Bastion gave them the answers they wanted. Either two Scions are better than one, or Bastion really is more charming and talented than I ever guessed.”
I scratched the back of my neck. “I mean, I don’t know. I guess he’s okay.”
Herald’s silence had me curious. I turned to look him in the face, wondering why he’d gone so quiet. Herald stared blankly back.
“It’s okay to have a crush on him, you know.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stood on end, and my blood shot straight up to my face. All the stammering and shaking of my limbs and general head and face area made it impossible for me to blubber up a passable excuse. Instead, a kind of nervous, stuttering cackle erupted from my throat, a more incriminating sound than any series of words I could have possibly strung together.
Herald tilted his head, the light striking his glasses in an infuriating sort of way, concealing the exact expression in his eyes from me. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s nothing,” I half-said, half-giggled. “Just, you know, you’re being silly and everything. Why would I have a crush on him? That’s silly, and gross, and you and I are together, and – ”
“Dust,” Herald said. “Stop. I wear glasses, sure, but I can see. Bastion’s got a weird thing for you. I know that he’s hot.” He adjusted his glasses just then, looking pointedly across the grass at Bastion. “Very hot.”
My mouth hung half-open as my mind whirled for a thousand thousand possible things to say. “What does that even mean?”
Herald cleared his throat, nudging his glasses back up his face. “It means that it’s okay for you to look. Maybe flirt, a little. I don’t mind.” He cleared his throat again, and I wasn’t really sure if I could tell because of the dimness, but I thought I caught him blushing a little. “Maybe I find it a little exciting, even.”
All the breath left my body right then. “You what?” I didn’t deserve Herald. I didn’t deserve him at all. It was one thing for him to be such a supportive partner, but this was him basically telling me that he trusted me implicitly – that he had always trusted me. My heart bloomed right then, as if I needed reason to love him even more. But as I opened my mouth to say something, the night went blinding white.
I blinked hard, twice, thrice, just as the tremble of thunder rattled my bones. My fingers dug into the earth, each hand already hungry to conjure either flame or darkness, my eyes on the lookout for any sign of Agatha Black’s return. But as I scanned the hill, I recalled that saying, about how criminals would be stupid to ever return to the scene of the crime. Lightning, in that sense, didn’t strike twice.
But this was a different kind of lightning. On the peak of the hill were two men, each tall and muscular, their powerful builds, deep skin, and majestic beards so similar and familiar that they could have been brothers.
That’s because they were. One wielded a trident, and the other clasped a crackling bolt of lightning.
“Dustin Graves,” said Zeus, father of the ancient Greek pantheon. “We need to talk.”
Chapter 18
The thing about gods – about entities, in general – was that I was sick of them. But there was a second prejudice I held about the Greek gods, the male ones, specifically, and it felt vindicating to learn that I was entirely correct. They really did have very little interest in covering up their damn bodies.
Apollo and Dionysus wore button-down shirts, but didn’t seem to know how to work the buttons in the first place, constantly exposing their chests and stomachs. Zeus, it seemed, spent most of his time away from modern mankind, and opted for a simple white loincloth that somehow hovered protectively over his dangly bits, like a sentient white cloud. Poseidon, on the other hand, presumably spent all his time in the water, and therefore had no use for full coverage. He stood there, one hand on his hip, the other on his trident, the very picture of a Greek statue, with all his Grecian goodies fully on display.
I frowned at the two of them, deciding to address Poseidon first. “That thing with Belphegor,” I said, referring to how she’d boiled the damn ocean. “You look perfectly fine. Um. Down there, that is.”
Poseidon straightened his back, then sniffed. “I got better.”
“Sure did,” Herald said, whistling. Unlike me, he was staring pointedly at the parts of Poseidon that generally remained underwater.
I stepped forward, sucking air into my lungs, the way a blowfish would do to look bigger, stronger, more threatening. I even walked with my feet splayed apart, my arms spread out wider than normal. I had to hope it would work.