“That’s the idea,” I say with a cagey grin.
His expression sobers. “Who are you hiding from, Cat? Who are you?”
I clam up, humor draining from me like someone else’s magic. Aetos hasn’t looked at me like this in years. Not since he stopped asking where I ran from and why I scream at night.
I force a cocky smile. “I’m Cat the Magnificent. Soothsayer Extraordinaire.”
He doesn’t smile back, only letting me off the hook once he gives me a look that says he’s not done fishing. “Time to dazzle some Sintans, Cat the Magnificent. Soothsayer Extraordinaire.”
The tension I hate so much breaks when Desma pats my rump. “Either those pants shrank or you’re eating too many spice cakes again.”
I make a sound of disgust. “Why is everyone ganging up on me?”
She grins. “Because you’re weird, and nobody knows who you are.”
“My pants are fine.” Actually, they’re verging on truly uncomfortable, but I’m not about to admit it now.
Aetos crosses his arms, frowning. “They are too tight. If I see anyone looking at you for more than five seconds, I’ll tear his bloody head off his bloody body.”
My right eyebrow creeps up. “Then everything will be very bloody.”
“Laugh all you want,” he growls. “Just don’t get splashed.”
I make a sign to the Gods on Olympus. “Grant me patience.”
“Seriously, Cat.” Desma grabs my arm, unexpected urgency in her grip. “Those face paints and that outfit make you look a lot older and more experienced than you are. Tread carefully in the crowd tonight.”
I roll my eyes. “I have done this before.”
“I know.” She releases me as abruptly as she grabbed me. “But things are different in Sinta now, especially in the south. These people have realized that muscle can overcome magic. Hoi Polloi have been feeling feisty all spring and summer, and you wouldn’t want to kill anyone by accident.”
Everything in me stills. “What makes you think I can do that?”
Desma shrugs. Aetos looks way too interested, so I shift the focus to him.
“You can kill with fire.”
“I can kill with one finger,” he scoffs, snapping for good measure. “Fast, too.”
Desma’s small hands land on her narrow hips. “We’re talking about magic, not obscenely overmuscled Giants.”
“Who are you calling obscene, rainbow woman?” Aetos’s barrel chest heaves with indignation, thunderclouds gathering in his eyes.
“Stop!” I cut off their bickering before they have a chance to warm up. The Fates got everything backward with these two—a huge, tattooed southerner with fire and flight and a tiny Demigoddess with nothing to show for her Olympian heritage except rare beauty and a colorful glow. What a pair. I wish they would finally sleep together and get all the repressed emotion out in the open. “I have to go. My table’s up.”
Aetos winks. “Careful out there.”
I shove him. It’s like ramming my hand into a marble statue. “Why does everyone suddenly think I need protection? Didn’t you just decide I’m the menace who can kill by accident?”
“So you can?” Desma asks.
I shake my head. “Of course not.” I hate lying to my friends.
*
A boy with a berry ice in his hand and red dripping down his chin passes me three times before he finally stops.
I point to the chair across from me. “Sit.”
Looking skittish, he lands on the edge of the seat. “Can you see my future?” he asks.
“Maybe.” Never commit to something you probably can’t do. I can try to have tea with Zeus. That doesn’t mean I’ll succeed.
His expression turns belligerent. “Does that mean you can’t?”
“Let’s make a deal.” I lean forward, lowering my voice. “If you don’t think I do a good job, you don’t have to pay me.”
Hazel eyes sharpen, and he nods.
“Say it,” I prompt.
“It’s a deal.”
I sit back, satisfied. “What do you want to know?”
He shifts uncomfortably. His face, boyish and awkward now, but promising to break hearts in a few years, scrunches up. I wait, trying to look patient until his question finally pops out.
“Will I ever have magic?”
I stifle a sigh. You’re either born with magic or you aren’t. Magoi or Hoi Polloi. It seems cruel to dash his hopes too fast, though. “Give me your hand.”