Or so I thought.
Cassandra examines her long red fingernails. “Will Hermes be at the party?”
“I don’t know.” The guest list is another thing that’s been kept under wraps. Minos hasn’t kept a convenient list to peruse, at least not digitally.
“Poor Apollo,” she murmurs. Her eyes are alight with amusement. “It must be aggravating to have run into so many dead ends. So we need to map the house as quickly as possible, find out where Minos keeps the keys to the kingdom, and use them to unlock his mysteries.”
“Nice metaphor.”
“I try.”
We share a grin that quickly becomes…something else. It’s my fault. My gaze falls to her lips, and despite my best efforts, I can’t help thinking about that kiss the other night again. She’d tasted of wine and had practically melted when I deepened the contact.
Not even cold showers were enough to combat that memory over the weekend. I haven’t had my body take over so intensely since I was a teenager, but back then, I was jacking myself to whatever I could find on the internet that suited my tastes.
These days, my fantasies all revolve around one woman.
Cassandra frowns. “I don’t understand why this is all necessary, though. If Minos bargained for information in exchange for his citizenship, why hasn’t he given that information?”
“He has.” I shrug. “Or so he says. He was recruited to a militant group fifteen years ago, but according to him, he was part of a cell that was only informed about the Ares tournament. Which we already knew, since he showed up here for that event. We don’t know anything about their leader, their motivations, or their plans.”
“You think he’s still working for them?”
“That’s what I am to find out. He says he defected. We’re not naive enough to believe it. I need evidence of correspondence or a money trail or something to prove he’s still answering to the enemy.”
“Okay. That makes sense. We need to get you access to Minos’s personal computer, since I doubt he’s got paper files just hanging out with incriminating evidence.” Cassandra licks her lips. “I, uh, suppose we’ll be doing more kissing this week.”
“Yes.” The word is low. A command I’m practically daring her to challenge. If she did…
Well, it doesn’t matter, because she just gives a jerky nod. “All for the cause, right? I’ve kissed worse people for shittier reasons.”
I don’t like to think about her kissing worse people for shittier reasons. I have very intentionally not looked into Cassandra’s private life. Oh, everyone in the city is aware her parents were killed in a car crash after displeasing Zeus—and I know the truth behind that public lie—and that she and her sister were publicly shunned afterward.
That’s one thing. Her personal life is something else.
I don’t pry. I don’t check up on her. I don’t ask her who she’s dating or why she’s changed her perfume and started wearing redder lipstick about a year into working for me. I had thought she might be seeing someone, but she wouldn’t have agreed to Zeus’s bargain if she was. She wouldn’t be leaving her partner behind when she walks out of Olympus for good.
Except all that’s an excuse, isn’t it?
I don’t care if she is seeing someone. I will keep my priorities in order and find the answers Minos wants to keep hidden, but I won’t lie; I am greedy for every minute with Cassandra. After this week, all I’ll be left with are my memories of her. I only have seven days to shore up a lifetime’s worth of them.
I don’t know if it’s going to be enough.
9
Cassandra
By the time we reach the house, I’m about ready to throw myself from the car. It’s not that things got awkward with Apollo. He keeps looking at me with that strange expression on his face, but he’s maintained a steady flow of easy conversation.
Still, I can tell it bothers him that he doesn’t have all the information. Not on Minos. Not even on the house we’re going to be spending seven days in. It makes me feel the irrational urge to comfort him. What a laughable impulse. Apollo doesn’t need my comfort. No matter the setbacks, he’ll get to the bottom of this and find answers. It’s what he does. He might even end up enjoying the challenge.
The house is, of course, sprawling and beautiful. It creates an upside-down U shape that frames the circular drive. We’re not the only car pulling up, and I catch sight of Hermes herself bouncing from the car in front of us, followed by an exhausted-looking Dionysus. They make quite the pair. She’s a short Black woman with dark-brown skin and tight dark curls wearing bright-pink pants that sparkle in the sunlight and a teal graphic T-shirt that I can’t read from here. Dionysus, on the other hand, is a white man with mussed dark hair, a truly outstanding mustache, and a penchant for dressing like he stepped out of another time. Today it’s slacks, suspenders, and a dark printed button-down shirt beneath a vest.
I still like Hermes. First because she’s one of the few people in the upper city who know what my parents did and didn’t treat me like I’m carrying around a knife and just waiting to finish the job they started, and second because I truly enjoy being around her. Our relationship flared bright and hot, but we quickly realized it wasn’t meant to be. I’ll never willingly tie myself to a member of the Thirteen, and I highly suspect Hermes gave her heart to someone a long time ago and no one else can compare. These days, we’re friends and that suits us both.
Apollo waits until Hermes loops an arm through Dionysus’s and tows him into the house before he opens the door and steps out of the car. He catches my questioning look. “We have to deal with her eventually, but there’s no reason to rush it.”
I should probably tell Apollo that she’s my ex, but the words keep sticking in my throat. Surely it doesn’t matter? I accept his hand even though I’m more than capable of climbing out of the car without help. For the act, of course. Not because I like the way his fingers curl around mine. To distract myself, I say, “You really don’t like Hermes, do you?”
“She’s fine.”
His clipped tone gives him away. I frown at him. “Is it you don’t like her? Or that you’re quietly furious that she’s dodged any of your attempts to get more information on her?”
Apollo shoots me a sharp look. “I don’t like mysteries.”
I bet. “Has she broken into your house?”
His jaw goes tight. “Several times. I still can’t figure out how she gets in.”
That must irritate him to no end. He really does hate mysteries. Without thinking, I pat his chest. “Poor Apollo. That must bother you so much.”
He glances down to where my fingers still rest lightly against his chest. When he speaks again, his voice has deepened. “I’ll get over it.”
“Welcome!”
I drop my hand guiltily and spin to face the woman approaching us. She’s about my age, I think. About my size, too, and wearing a perfectly tailored blouse and shorts. She moves with an easy grace that reeks of some kind of expensive finishing school; no one moves like they’re floating naturally.