Kato. Me.
“Beware Atalanta’s bow. Find the lyre before the three-headed beast. Heed the Goddess’s needs.”
Well, that’s not vague at all!“Why only us? What’s the treasure?”
“Athena has spoken.”
“Wait!” I cry. “Where do we find the Ipotane?”
The wizard just stares, his gaze whirling and vacant again.
I look at the owl, my eyes pleading. “Athena? Please.”
The owl cocks its head and looks at me like I’m a rodent it might eat for dinner. Round, amber eyes pulse with an inner light. It’s perfectly still. Not even its feathers ruffle in the wind. Its sharply curved beak snaps once, the menacing click loud in my ears. Goose bumps spill down my arms. I keep looking at the bird, but for all I know, I’m being a fool, and it’s just an owl.
Nothing happens. Frustrated, I pocket the thread, wondering what to do next. After a while, the wizard turns and shuffles into his house. The weathered door swings shut behind him, the snick of the latch hitting me like a sucker punch to the gut.
I glare at the closed door in disbelief and then mutter a curse that probably makes Flynn want to wash out his ears. “Everything he said is completely useless without the actual location of the Ipotane! Bloody useless, crazy, swirly-eyed son of a—”
Griffin’s hand lands on my shoulder, and I whirl.
“That didn’t help us at all!”
“It did.” His voice is calm and reasonable. I hate calm and reasonable.
“A few fuzzy suggestions and a ball of string?” I fume, outraged.
“A ball of string that will keep you from getting lost in a labyrinth. I hold one end. You hold the other. It will not end. It will not tangle.” He takes both my shoulders and squeezes. “With this, you can find your way back out.”
“That’s if we avoid Atalanta’s bow, find a lyre before some three-headed beast, and heed an unknown Goddess’s needs.” Scoffing, I step back from him. “No problem at all!”
“It’s better than nothing,” Griffin argues.
“No.Nothingwould have sent us home.” The wordhomesparks an unexpected ache in my chest. I meant Sinta, but having my feet on my own soil again must be doing strange things to my head because a sea of nameless Fisan faces with fierce eyes and olive skin butts into my thoughts, their expressions full of accusation, and worse—hope.
I quell what’s only my imagination. And guilt for abandoning them. “This,” I say, disgusted with everything, especially myself, “gives us just enough to keep going and get ourselves killed.”
I glance around me. Carver, Flynn, Kato. Griffin. I can’t risk their safety—theirlives—with only this to go on.
“Who’s Atalanta?” Carver asks. Dark hair, dark clothes, all lean muscle and deadly grace, he’s one with the night. It strikes me suddenly how little I’ve seen him smile lately, as if the darkness he wears so naturally is shadowing him on the inside as well as out.
I shake my head. “I have no idea.”
He huffs quietly. “That’s never good.”
No. My lips thin. Another epic failure. First Mother finding us. Now this. “Yes, well, I’m only mostly all-knowing.”
No one laughs, which is fine. It wasn’t really a joke.
The Chaos Wizard’s door creaks open again, and the five of us turn as one. Adrenaline surges through my veins, sudden hope leading the charge. My eyes widen as the strange, powerful man steps back out onto his porch, something flame-licked and glowing floating out after him. It’s a long, sweeping garment of some sort.A cloak?Four others follow, their flickering light softly illuminating the night.
I watch in utter fascination.Cloaks made of fire?Then my breath catches.Cloaks made of fire!
Darkness swallows the insides of the garments, making them just deeper shadows in the heart of the night, but the outsides… The outsides are spectacular. Undulating softly in the frost-scented breeze, the flowing folds race with the swift, scintillating currents of thousands upon thousands of thin, delicate threads enrobed entirely in flame. Mesmerizing like the glowing embers of a dying fire, the cloaks give off a steady pulse of red, gold, and heat.
No matter past encounters, there’s no denying the savage beauty in the element of fire. The white heart. The twist of yellow. The sudden surge of orange, and the occasional snap of blue. Exquisite. Treacherous. Flames make you want to wrap your hand around them, only to come away with nothing but a burn.
Even from a distance, the smoldering cloaks warm my night-chilled skin with a subtle heat that smells faintly of wood smoke, incense, and burning herbs. Is that what the Underworld smells like? I open my mouth to tell Beta Team where I think these gifts came from, but no sound comes out. I’m amazed beyond words—and it’s hard to stun me speechless.
