Steel lifted.
Fluffy Jr. shook his head, wings raised, as he turned to face the gate.
Right eye throbbing, I raised my staff up higher and waited.
Let them come.
Two shadowy figures stalked out of the dark, heat forming a mirage of waves at their feet.
They headed toward me with their hands in chains.
Lowering my arm, I pointed the sharp end of the rod at the approaching monsters, ready to kill.
With my powers, I was a murderous healer—the duality of a woman.
The monsters approached, wavering in and out of focus, and I squinted, trying to see them better.
A gasp shredded my throat.
No.
Silver cuffs restrained their hands; bright sunlight created a haze around each of them.
Twenty-five-year-old Mary Shelley opened her desk, revealing a beating heart.
Everything blurred.
Augustus and Kharon stalked toward me.
I blinked—their shadows blocked out the punishing sun—they loomed above me, an arm’s length away, scowling.
Up close, they were covered in bruises.
Kharon swayed slightly and Augustus stumbled, like they’d been drugged. They righted themselves, clearly fighting off the effects of whatever the Olympians had given them.
They glanced down at the staff in my hands, recognition flickering.
This can’t be happening.
A booming vibration rattled as the stadium stomped, a chant starting up, “Angelus Romae … half Olympian, she wields the fated staff … Angelus Romae … half Olympian, she wields the fated staff.”
Twelve House flags waved in the stands.
Olympians screamed at me to finish the men, as if they’d reclaimed Persephone, as if I was now one of them.
The ancient coliseum spun.
Kharon cleared his throat.
I looked away.
You just have to defeat them and render them unconscious.
I couldn’t do it.
Memories played:We held each other as we slept. Kissing. In the shower. On my knees. Them between my legs while I sat on an altar. “I love you,” they whispered, and I breathed back, “I love you.”
“My carus,” Augustus said.
