Ride the Storm (Cassandra Palmer 8)

And just like before, Apollo forgot the snack I represented, in the face of the banquet on the horizon. I blinked, and the next time I looked, the real battle was raging, this time between two gods. One who had thought he was about to win, and one who knew he was about to die, unless he drained his foe quick enough to make it a fair contest.

Neither of them thought about us.

Neither of them cared about us.

Just as they never had.

But oh, we cared about them. As demonstrated when, far in the distance, there appeared a shimmer of blue. And was answered, on the other side of the battlefield, by a brief, blinding flash of light. And then, closer in, close enough to flash me a smile, a shining demigod held out a hand.

And a black, burnt, pathetic-looking stick came tumbling through the smoke and fire, straight into it.

No, I corrected myself.

Not a stick.

A staff.

I huddled over Pritkin, looking at the reflection of the battle in a nearby puddle, as three beams of pure elemental magic hit the thrashing duo in the sky. Apollo never even seemed to notice, too focused on draining Ares to pay attention to anything else. And maybe still too ghostly to feel all that much.

But someone else did.

It wasn’t a roar this time, but a scream: of pain, of outrage, but mostly, of incredulity. That such paltry creatures could hurt him, that they would think to turn his own gifts against him, that they would dare. And that they were winning.

Because Ares was powerful, yes, almost beyond belief. But he was also currently besieged on all sides: by the ropes and snares of Pythian power, by the great maw of the storm behind him, by Apollo’s hungry ghost. And now by three god-forged weapons, wielded by masters of the elements.

But underestimating the god of war was never a good idea. A second later, the blue dot of the shield winked out, going dark and dim. I didn’t know why until a beam of pure energy boiled through the air and hit the staff in Caedmon’s hand, shattering it into a hundred pieces. He staggered back and went down, hurt, but I wasn’t sure how badly. But that was two prongs of the attack gone, and only one remained.

And as luck would have it, it was another of us paltry humans who stood alone.

And maybe that was what did it, made Ares look away before his next blast landed. Made him turn toward his other tormentor. Made him careless.

I only know what I saw. In the middle of a great battlefield, a tiny figure on a spotted gray horse faced a towering god. And lifted his miniscule sword high, straight into the line of fire. Where the reflection of his blade, god-wrought and mirror bright, sent Ares’ own power hurtling back at him, completely overwhelming and utterly unexpected.

And tore the battling gods to shreds.

Chapter Sixty-one

I awoke dry-mouthed and disoriented, and with a vague sense of panic. So, just like normal. Until I started to get up.

And felt something brush against my arm.

My nerves were so raw I would have screamed, but my teeth were still firmly clamped on my bottom lip. So I jumped instead, and rolled off the bed, and whirled and saw—

Absolutely nothing.

For a moment, I just stared about in confusion at the empty, darkened room, pulse pounding madly. And then I felt it again. A soft, barely there touch against my hand, like the brush of a feather.

Or like the brush of silken curls on a little girl’s head, I realized, finally looking down. At the two- or maybe three-year-old child standing in the spill of light from the bathroom. And wearing a little white nightgown that made her look like an escaped cherub.

I sat back on the bed, weak-kneed and shaking, and she crawled into my lap.

And promptly fell asleep.

“I’m sorry,” Tami said from the doorway, her gaze on my face. “But she said you needed her, and she wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

“She’s three,” I said unsteadily, hugging the warm little body. Which snuggled closer and muttered something indistinct.

“And I thought she might have a point,” Tami added dryly. “Those vamps always say the same thing: she’s fine. She’s good. She’s strong. You could be bleeding out and I think they’d still say that.”