Shattered Gods (Dark Olympus, #10)(48)

“I am nothing like you.”

“Ah, but you don’t quite believe that, do you? Our plans may be different, but you intended the downfall of Olympus, the same as I do. Your hands are no freer of blood than mine.”

I close my eyes and strive not to think of all the people I’ve killed over the years. Most of the time, I keep that part of me locked away in a neat little box that only rattles about on the nights when sleep eludes me. I hate how neatly Circe cuts to the heart. “Do you have a reason for calling me?”

“How’s the shoulder? I’m assuming I didn’t hit anything particularly vital since you managed to abscond with my girlfriend and escape before my people could find you.”

She’s not your girlfriend. I bite down the words before they fly free. She’s clearly looking to provoke me. The question is why? “What do you want?”

“Olympus. Hecate.” She pauses long enough for my skin to prickle. “Maybe even you.”

I blink. “I’m not an option—and neither is the city.” I wish I could say Hermes isn’t, either, but I’m not sure it would be the truth.

“Aren’t you?” She lowers her voice, a friend telling secrets meant only for me. “I know what she did hurt you terribly. I’m sorry for my part in it. If you’re looking for revenge…”

“Revenge.” I bark out a laugh. “For someone who’s managed to keep us on our toes for months, you’re not nearly as good at reading people as you think you are. I would never hurt her, and you might be as beautiful as a perfectly balanced weapon, but I’m not interested.”

“You think I’m beautiful.” She laughs when I sputter. “Oh, relax. There are easier ways to draw Hecate out than seducing you. She still has friends among the elite in Olympus. I only need to point a gun at one of them, and she’ll come running like the little hero she claims she isn’t.”

She’s right. I hate that she’s right. “I’m hanging up now.”

“Atalanta.” Suddenly, Circe sounds all too serious. “You’ve been a pawn to those in power for far too long. If you don’t get out, you’ll go down with the very people you’ve spent all these years trying to remove.”

I don’t know what she’s playing at, but the longer I’m on the phone with her, the stranger I feel. “Next time I see you, you’ll be the one bleeding out on the floor—and I won’t be fool enough to walk away before ensuring you’re dead.”

She laughs again as if I’ve delighted her. “It’s a date.” Circe hangs up before I can respond, which is just as well because I don’t have a response. I’m certainly not going to acknowledge the bolt of heat that went through me at the insinuation of a date.

No, not going to acknowledge that at all…





19

Hecate




By the time Demeter puts the finishing touches on the pie, we have something resembling a plan. I don’t know if it’s a good plan, but I’m past the point of being picky. If we succeed, the mob turns on Circe and the rest of the Thirteen. It’s a scary prospect, but if they—we—are smart, they’ll flee the city limits and take the massive amount of resources they have access to and start a new life literally anywhere else in the world.

If they’re smart, they’ll never try to return to Olympus.

Demeter carefully places the apple pie in the oven and turns to me. “I don’t trust you.”

Where is she going with this? “You’d be a fool to.”

“With that said, you’ve been a friend to my girls more than a few times over the years, so I’m going to show you something and trust that you won’t use it against me.”

Curiosity sinks its claws into me, sharp and prickling. I’ve always loved a good mystery, and she’s being particularly mysterious right now. “Okay,” I say slowly.

“This way.” She slips off her apron and hangs it on a hook by the doorway. Then she leads the way deeper into the house.

It’s strangely quiet, the faint sound of the central air and our footsteps on the hardwood floor the only things breaking the tense silence. We bypass a living room and a study, both decorated in a cozy, cluttered kind of way that makes my heart ache a little. No matter what else is true about Demeter, her love for her daughters is in every inch of this place, in how lived in it still feels even though the family hasn’t used it as their primary residence in years. There are pictures on the walls, too, a collage of the Dimitriou daughters in their various stages of growth, from chubby babies to beaming toddlers to awkward preteens. Most of them are clearly candid pictures, too, not the perfectly poised ones that professionals tend to favor.

We take the stairs up, and she stops in front of the second door down the hallway. There’s the barest hesitation as she palms the doorknob, but once Demeter makes a decision, she’s not one to falter. This instance is just as true; she pushes open the door and steps back to allow me to precede her.

It feels a bit like a trap, but if she wanted me dead, there has been plenty of opportunity to attempt it during the last hour. I’m still so tense I’m practically vibrating as I step into the dim bedroom. At least until I see the figure laid out on the bed. A very familiar figure with a head of blond curls and a devastatingly beautiful face. A person who is most certainly dead. Why the fuck is Eros’s body here? “What the—”