Electric Idol (Dark Olympus 2)

“Maybe I just showed up to chat.”

I don’t let out a sigh of relief. Not when she’s got that mischievous look in her dark eyes. “Did you?”

“Nope.” She grins at the look on my face. “Okay, yes, fine, you caught me. It’s official business. I have a message for you.”

Damn it, that’s what I’m afraid of. “A message that couldn’t wait until I’m dressed.”

She shrugs. “Sorry, love. It’s marked urgent. You know how these things are.”

I do, but mostly in theory. I’ve very intentionally dodged the worst pitfalls the upper crust of Olympia has to offer. In theory, I possess a fraction of power since my mother is Demeter, but the truth is far more complicated. Even within the Thirteen, there are hierarchies. The legacy titles—Zeus, Hades, and Poseidon—stand apart. The status of the rest fluctuates depending on the year, the season, sometimes even the week. Seniority counts for something, as do the responsibilities of certain titles—Ares with Olympus’s personal army, for example. Add in alliances and feuds and petty grievances, and one wrong move can have half of Olympus turning on you.

We all watched it happen with Hercules. As a member of Zeus’s family, he should have been nearly untouchable, but he pushed too hard to reveal the seedy underbelly of the shining upper city’s politics. Every single one of them turned on him as a result. The official story is that he left Olympus of his own power, but since everyone’s afraid to even mention his name now, the message is crystal clear.

Cross the Thirteen and they will wipe you from existence.

I bite back a sigh. “Okay, let’s hear the message.”

Hermes straightens and clears her throat. When she speaks, a man’s voice emerges from her lips. “This mess isn’t going to blow over anytime soon. There’s only one way to keep our mothers from feuding. Meet me tonight at Erebus. Come alone.”

I know that voice. “Eros.” What is he thinking? The last thing we can do is risk being seen together. The paparazzi that fuel MuseWatch are too savvy to miss an opportunity like this, even if we meet somewhere neither of us normally frequent. Being caught in one chance encounter is one thing, but two? It will incite an inferno of gossip.

“Why wouldn’t he just call me if he wants to talk?”

Hermes raises her brows. “And risk you deciding to record the conversation and use it against him?”

She has a point, but still… “There’s nothing stopping me from doing that anyway.”

“Maybe he’ll pat you down—in a very sexy manner.” Hermes bounces on her toes. “You know, I have to ask. Were you banging in the bathroom at the party two weeks ago?”

“No.” My mind offers up the image of Eros with blood on his shirt, his low voice saying, It’s the blood of the last pretty girl who asked too many questions. He’s Aphrodite’s fixer. Has Aphrodite decided I’m a problem in need of fixing?

No, that doesn’t make sense. There are a thousand ways to bury someone in Olympus without ever having to physically harm their body or put yourself in direct contact with them. Even as Demeter’s daughter, I’m hardly untouchable, but if Eros wanted to fix me, he could do it. He certainly could do it without potentially implicating himself by meeting me in person.

I go through the motions of trying on the next dress. It’s just as bad as the first. Gods, I hate it when designers are lazy. Focusing on that small irritation clears my head enough that by the time I turn to face Hermes again, I’m no longer in danger of losing control. “I assume he needs no reply.”

“Nope. Your reply is showing up tonight—or not, as the case may be.”

I have to show up. I don’t have a choice. He’s right about us needing to talk about the picture and a plan going forward. If Aphrodite is as furious about it as my mother is, it makes sense to ensure the gossip sites have something else to focus on so that they forget all about us and our so-called forbidden romance.

Still… We can’t afford a second picture of us. The location Eros gave is in the upper warehouse district, a neighborhood most of the Thirteen avoid, which means most of the paparazzi avoid it as well. We should be okay, but that doesn’t mean I’m about to take that for granted.

I consider Hermes. Using her services is a risk. She’s loyal to no one but herself—and maybe Dionysus—and that means I can’t take the secrecy of any message for granted. There’s nothing stopping her from standing on some karaoke stage and singing out the dirty laundry of all the people in the room, which is something I heard she did about a year after she took over as Hermes. No one took her seriously up to that point, but that event ensured everyone saw her for the threat she is.