I blink at the device in his hand. It’s a testament to how fucked up I am that I didn’t register what it means. “Get rid of that. Right now.”
He blinks. “Excuse me?”
“Circe is hunting the Thirteen and the legacy families. You think she won’t have hacked into the necessary systems to track their—your—phones?” I’m so tired. I just want to close my eyes for a little while. “It’s too late to toss it, at least here. You have to lead themaway, pull out the SIM card, and circle back.” Even that might not be enough, not when we’ve lingered in one place for a little while.
Hermes curses. “She’s right.”
“Darling, I’m wounded that you think I would wander about with my main phone when members of the Thirteen are being executed.” He rises and walks to the door. “This is one of several burner phones. I left my main one at the penthouse.”
The doctor who walks through the door is a short white person with a shaved head, tattoos up their thick neck, and a barrel body that looks like they could bench-press a car. They barely glance at Dionysus before setting down their bag by the bed I’m currently trapped on. “Well, the good news is that if the knife hit something vital, you’d already be dead.”
“Great, they can state the obvious,” Hermes mutters. “And have a shitty bedside manner, too.”
“I don’t get paid for smiles and sweet words.” They glance at Hermes. “You’re hovering. Back off.”
I don’t see if she obeys because they slap on a pair of gloves, pull a few more things from their bag, and then tug the knife from my body. I don’t make a sound. There’s no air for screaming, just blinding, white-hot pain flashing a panicked rhythm against the backs of my eyes.
Iaso peers down at the wound. “Lucky.”
“I hate you,” I wheeze.
“I get that a lot.” They pull out a set of bandages and take my hand to press them to the wound. “Hold this. We’re going to stitch you up, get some clean bandages on you, and then you’re going to ignore all my advice about resting and taking it easy untilthis heals.” They start laying out the stuff to put me back together. They’re quick and capable as they begin to stitch my wound.
This isn’t the first time I’ve been stabbed. Not by a long shot. I suppose, on the bright side, at least this injury won’t fuck up my face even more. Not that my facial scars are something I think about overmuch. I’ve had them for so long—since I was sixteen and still charging into fights I knew I couldn’t win because at least I’d feel something. They’re a sign of strength, of what I’ve survived and overcome.
So, yeah, they don’t bother me much, but I can’t get Circe’s freakish perfection out of my head. I knew she was beautiful, of course. Even without a digital footprint to speak of, Hermes has let comments slip over the years. But seeing the delicate features, the big green eyes, the cruel tilt of her lips… And she can fight, too. I didn’t expect that, though I should have.
It’s all making me feel extremely inadequate.
Iaso finishes their stitches and wraps my shoulder in a bandage. “The longer you can go without doing something dangerous and athletic, the better. I can see you’re ignoring me, so I’ll lay it out like this. You lost a lot of blood, almost enough to need a transfusion. Reopen this wound and you’ll probably end up unconscious and as a burden to whoever you’re fighting with.”
I blink. “Noted.”
“Thank you, Iaso. I’ll arrange your payment…” Dionysus hustles Iaso out of the room, shooting a worried look at Hermes as he does.
And then we’re alone. Me, lying here helpless and vulnerable. Hermes, staring down at me with her heart in her eyes. A heart that I’ll never have, not in full.
She sinks down next to the bed and takes one of my hands inboth of hers. “I can take it from here.”
“What?”
“You have to go to the lower city. Athena won’t want to lose you, and she’ll ensure you’re on light duty until you heal. This will be over by then.” So reasonable. So damned stubborn.
I give her the look that goofy-ass statement deserves. “Because you’ve been handling it so well for the last day? Because things are going so well for all of us?”
She flinches and looks away. “When we set this plan in motion and I successfully became Hermes, I didn’t think it would be so difficult to keep from caring about…all of them. The Thirteen. The legacy families. I didn’t expect to make friends.” She takes a deep breath. “Eros was my friend, Atalanta. He might have hated me at the end, but he was my friend.”
And now he’s dead.
I sit up, ignoring her protests, and pull her down on my uninjured side so I can wrap my arm around her. Hermes is larger than life in all aspects; I forget she’s such a tiny thing, so easy to tuck against my body. Or maybe I never knew. We haven’t exactly sat like this before.
She relaxes by increments until she slumps against me. “He’s really gone.”
“I’m sorry.” Those words are so damned inadequate. Meaningless, even. I can’t rip apart the fabric of time and go back to save him and spare her this pain. I can’t do anything but put one foot in front of the other.
“Me too.” She shudders out a sigh. “It’s not going to stop. Hades won’t back down. I was a fool to think that could even be a possibility. And now that his wife and child are on the line, anychance of Zeus listening is gone too, which means Ares will go down with him.” She presses the heels of her hands to her eyes. “If we could have convinced them to step down…”
“It doesn’t matter.” She tenses, but I keep speaking before she can rip my head off. “Circe was always going to come. We didn’t know that when we put this whole thing into motion, but itisfact. Our plans were never going to go off without a hitch.” Though Circe is one bitch of a hitch.
