Bright light cut through the darkness of the motel room. The space between the curtains glowed with the morning sun. Athan rolled over to get out of the blinding sliver and sunk into the middle of the bed. The white sheets smelled of bleach and fabric softener but couldn’t quite hide the mustiness of the old room. Grunting his frustration with the accommodations, he forced himself to sit up.

“Sleeping Beauty! You finally decide to join us, eh?” Xan sat at a cheap table surrounded by Styrofoam plates filled with motel breakfast foods. He picked up a plastic knife and fork and cut into a waffle the size of the plate.

Waffles sounded good. Athan stood and took a deep breath. But the stale air let him know the food wasn’t fresh. He frowned, but his stomach didn’t register the same disappointment. He was starving.

Crossing the room, he grabbed a banana and peeled it. The starchiness was slightly bitter, and the green tinge of the peel was confirmation the fruit was not quite ripe. Not that it really mattered. He needed to eat. He pulled the foil lid from a yogurt and grabbed a white plastic spoon.

“What’s the plan?” he asked between bites. “Any ideas where we need to be looking?”

Xan shook his head. “I saw the attorney yesterday. The one Priska used to work for.”

Athan set the spoon down and stared at Xan. “Yeah?”

Xan had tracked Priska to an office on Mercer Island back before he’d brought Hope into the conservatory. Back when he thought she was a demigod.

“He doesn’t know where they went. Said he hasn’t seen Hope for months. And the last time he saw Priska was the same day Hope ran off.” He ran his hand over his face and blew out a deep breath.

“So nothing?”

Xan grimaced. “Priska called him a couple of days ago. That’s the last he’s heard.”

Athan gave a derisive snort. “You weren’t kidding when you said you had nothing. Hades, Xan. What have you been doing, walking up and down the street with fliers? How could you have found nothing in a month?”

Xan’s eyes turned to ice. “Do you think you could do better?”

“Well, I don’t see how I could do worse. Where have you looked? Have you thought about calling for help?”

Xan clenched his jaw. “I scouted out the U-district, Madison Park, First Hill, Magnolia, West Seattle, Mercer Island, Bellevue, and the Eastside. I’ve driven up to Vancouver, BC, and down to Portland, as well as over to Yakima. No one seems to have seen or heard anything unusual, but I haven’t called out the big guns. Think, Athan.”

Xan didn’t need to say it. Athan understood. If they started asking specific questions, there would be no way to keep Hope’s identity a secret, and neither of them wanted a full-scale man, or rather monster , hunt.

“What’s your plan?”

“At this point, I’d love to hear your thoughts.” Xan sounded sincere. “This floundering thing has been pointless. I’m not sure if I should be worried sick or proud of her.”

“Proud of her?”

“Yeah.” Xan poured amber-colored syrup over the remains of the waffle. “She’s so incredibly unique she should stand out like a sore thumb, and yet she’s been able to blend seamlessly. How did you ever find her?”

Athan thought back to their time in Goldendale. “Actually, she kind of fell into my lap.”

Xan raised his eyebrows.

Athan chuckled. “Not like that, although, that would have been nice. I was looking for her, the Sphinx, but didn’t even know it was her. I spent countless hours in the mountains, searching for a monster.” He chuckled and touched his cheek. “I even found a few. Did you know there’s a Cyclopes in the Snoqualmie range?”

“You’re kidding.”

Athan tore the plastic wrap off a fruit pastry and took a bite. “Nope.” He swallowed and set the Danish aside. “I saw a herd of centaurs, too. I actually thought Hope was a demigod. Even tried to get her to a conservatory.” He still wondered what he could’ve done differently, both back in Goldendale and at the conservatory.

Xan snorted his disbelief.

“Skia attacked her in Oregon, and I happened to be driving by her house when I noticed her sitting in the car with the lights on. She was in shock. That was the turning point. She let me in after that. But I still didn’t know.”

“How did you find out?”

“The same Skia attacked us both. When she could see him, I knew she was a demigod. But we got in a fight, and she took off. I thought she’d come right back, that she needed to cool off. I saw a box with the name Leto on it, and I found a Book of the Fates inside. I was curious, and by morning, when she came back, I knew. It was fine. I didn’t care. But she overheard me and my father talking at Myrine’s house. Something he said must have freaked her out, and she took off. She’s really good at hiding.” Athan picked at the white frosting on the packaged Danish. He was still hungry, but the food was disgusting.

Xan sat up straight as if he’d been shocked. “Myrine.”

Athan looked at the door, willing Dahlia to come in. Then maybe they could go get some real food. “Myrine was living in Goldendale. She’s actually the one who alerted me to the Sphinx being in the area.” Of course, Myrine could have told him Hope was the Sphinx. Could have told him a million times. Who knows why she hadn’t? Oracles were so—

Xan leaned forward and smacked Athan upside the head. “Can you get ahold of Myrine? Can’t she tell you where Hope’s gone?”

Athan rubbed his temple. “Don’t hit me.”

Xan frowned. “Can you get in touch with Myrine?” He spoke each word as if talking to a child.

Athan hated to be patronized. “Maybe. But—”

Xan pulled his cell phone from his pocket and slid it across the table. “Call her then.”

Athan pulled his own thin black device from his pocket. “Even if I get ahold of her . . . she may not have anything helpful to say.”

A knock came at the door, and Xan stood to let Dahlia in.

The smell of bacon preceded the daughter of Eris into the room. Athan groaned as he tapped on the screen. He stood and reached for the bag Dahlia was carrying, but she refused to relinquish it.

“What is that?” she asked, pointing to the food still on the table. It was practically as full as when Athan had woken up.

Xan shrugged. “It was all they had in the lobby. I didn’t want to leave Sleeping Beauty unattended.”

Dahlia snorted. “You couldn’t pay me to eat that rubbish.”

Xan swept the plates of cold waffles, packaged pastries, and dry toast into the garbage. As soon as there was space on the table, Dahlia set the bag down.

Athan continued to tap on the screen. If anyone could locate Myrine, it was his father. As messenger to the gods, Hermes had access to some type of divine tracking that worked better than anything the mortals had ever invented. Hopefully, Hermes would be so busy he wouldn’t question why Athan was asking. And if he did, a text was probably the safest way to lie.

The food smelled amazing, and Athan’s stomach growled a demand for attention. But this was more important, and his father was responding.

“Got it,” Athan announced a few minutes later. He looked up to see both Xan and Dahlia chewing. Two black plastic containers, shiny with grease, were all that remained on the table. “Come on!” They had eaten everything. Only the scent of bacon remained. “Seriously?”

Athan collapsed in the chair and glared at the two demigods.

Xan smirked, and Dahlia’s lip curled.

“Don’t get your knickers twisted.” She reached into the bag on the floor and pulled out another plastic container, the clear lid revealing pancakes, bacon, and eggs all piled atop each other. “Here’s the syrup.”

She handed him a small plastic jar, as well as a knife and fork.

“Did you find her?” Xan asked.

Athan nodded but said nothing as he scarfed the food almost as fast as the other two demigods had. Only a few minutes later he sat back in his chair, still not full, but definitely feeling better.

“She’s in Olympia.”

Dahlia furrowed her brow. “Who’s in Olympia? Hope?”

“Nah. Myrine is.” Xan shifted in his seat, and the wood creaked with his bulk. “Hopefully, she can tell us where Hope is.”

“How do you know that?”

Athan pointed at his phone. “My dad found her.”

“Why not tell your dad to find Hope?”

If only it were that easy. “It only works on immortals that are registered.”

And there was no way Hermes would help Athan with anything that had to do with Hope.

Dahlia nodded.

Monsters would never register. Why would they want immortals, gods or demigods, to know their location? Athan wasn’t even sure Hope knew such a thing existed.

“Should I call her, or do you want to drive down for a visit?” It would only take a couple of hours from where they were on the northern side of the Olympic National Park. Of course, Xan and Athan had both agreed to drive close to Mount Olympus with the thought of hiding right under the noses of the gods. Not that the Mount Olympus in Washington State was the Mount Olympus, but there was a portal there to get to the residence of the gods.

“Let’s go for a drive. I want to see the whites of her eyes so I know she’s telling the truth.”

Athan rolled his eyes. “Oracles can’t lie.”

“Right.” Dahlia dragged the word out, laying it thick with sarcasm. She pursed her full lips as her face scrunched up in what could only be disgust. “They don’t lie, but they can be convincingly misleading. Not to mention vague and ambiguous.”

Athan wanted to defend Myrine, but Dahlia’s vehemence had him debating if it was worth engaging.

Before Athan could say anything, Xan put an end to the discussion. Tossing Athan’s empty container in the bag, the demigod son of Ares stood and said, “I want to make sure she’s clear. Whatever it takes to get answers. We need to get Hope back before a Skia, or something worse, finds her.”

Athan shuddered. There were far too many possibilities in that statement.

“Do you remember when we went to California?” Xan asked.

Athan shifted in the leather seat, pulling his gaze away from the window and the inadequate entertainment it provided. The sun was making a valiant effort to burn through the clouds, and as he stared at the back of Xan and Dahlia, the tall evergreens blurred in his peripheral vision.

Dahlia said nothing.

“Oh, right,” Xan said with a chuckle. “You were too piss-drunk to remember anything.”

There was a fair chance Xan was baiting him, or possibly Dahlia. But the last thirty minutes had dragged by mercilessly, so Athan bit. “You went to California? Was that recently?”

Xan raised his eyebrows as he glanced back in the rearview mirror at Athan. “Aye. Bit of a problem with the Mer. Again.”

Poseidon was a bit lax on keeping his realm separate from the mortals. Not that it usually caused serious problems.

“Why’d you get drunk?” Athan asked Dahlia.

She turned around in her seat to glare at him but said nothing. After a few awkward seconds, she faced forward and stared out the window.

There was nothing new out there. Not for the next hour. Just the same trees and Olympic Mountains on the horizon.

“We had to go to Half Moon Bay,” Xan answered.

Where Dahlia and Roan had been married. Ouch. Athan thought of all the times he’d wanted to escape reality after Isabel died. He’d avoided every single place they’d ever been, or at least as much as possible. It was what had eventually driven him to go to Africa.

“She was super fun,” Xan continued, pushing on regardless of his cousin’s discomfort. “Like that time you got drunk in Mexico.”

Athan choked and then chuckled. Vague memories of him and Xan drinking something foul in a dingy bar flitted through his mind. Xan had convinced him to sing karaoke. As the son of Hermes, Athan was quite capable of singing. But then Xan had sung an Irish song about lasses and ladies, and wasn’t there a ballad to Dionysus?

“You two were idiots,” Dahlia muttered. “I thought you were going to get yourselves killed.”

Not likely. The only occupants had been mortal, so they weren’t in any real danger. But now that she mentioned it, Athan did remember a brawl.

“You were a terrible fighter then,” Xan said with a low chuckle. “I had to pull that lumberjack off you.”

Athan struggled to remember, but time, and probably the liquor, had made the memories hazy. “There was a lumberjack?”

“And that girl making calf-eyes at you. I think she snuck you drink after drink in hopes that you would take her with you.”

He definitely didn’t remember a girl. “What girl?”

“Not surprised you don’t remember her. I don’t think you ever really saw her.” Xan smirked in the rearview mirror.

Dahlia’s throaty chuckle was filled with dark mirth. “You have a habit of not seeing people. That’s part of what gets you into trouble.”

The comment stung. Mostly because Athan could see the truth in it.

“But then Xan sees the people and still doesn’t care a whit, so there may be some hope for you.”

“That’s not true,” Xan protested. “I care . . .” He stopped as if considering his next words. He cleared his throat, and without any defensiveness admitted, “No. You’re right. I don’t. But that’s because people are idiots.”

Dahlia raised her hand in a palm-up acknowledgment. “Like I said.”

“Didn’t you have to bail him out?” Athan asked Dahlia. “That night in Mexico . . . ?”

Had it been three years ago? No, it was more than four years now. Right after that, Athan had left for Nairobi.

Xan laughed. “And she lectured me the entire way back to the conservatory.”

“Wanker,” Dahlia said, but her smile reflected in the mirror.

“Aye. A real tosser. Can’t be helped.” Xan winked at his cousin.

Three hours later, Xan pulled up to a small white house with beige shutters. After turning the car off, he faced Athan. “You’re sure this is it?”

Athan looked at the immaculate yard. Granted, it wasn’t much bigger than a postage stamp, but the grass was thick, green, and freshly cut. The walkway to the door was lined with vibrant shrubs trimmed into a knee-high hedge. The door was painted a robin’s-egg blue, and a rocking chair sat on the clean porch with a small end table in a matching dark stain.

Myrine wasn’t known for keeping house. Or yard. Unless she was getting ready to move. “Let’s hope she’s still here.”

Dahlia skirted around the boys and bounded up the steps. Without waiting for them to join her, she knocked on the door.

The recent rain made the air smell of dirt and pine. Athan stood next to Dahlia, and when he heard something scraping across the floor inside, he pushed her behind him.

“Don’t be a bloody idiot,” Dahlia said as she stepped around him. “I’m a way better fighter than you’ll ever be.” She pulled a silver dagger from its sheath, the fire opal in the hilt looking like the jeweled sea.

The lock clicked, and the door slid open an inch.

“Myrine?” Athan asked, peering into the darkness. His green eyes met her blue ones, and heavy fear settled in his chest.

“You should not be here.” Her gaze went to each one of them on the porch and then came back to Athan. “You . . . You’re still alive, right?”

“Can she see the dead?” Dahlia asked Athan.

Athan pointed at Myrine. “She’s right there. Why don’t you ask her?”

Dahlia narrowed her eyes and then sniffed. “Whatever. We’re here. Ask her where to find Hope so we can get out of here.”

Myrine yanked open the door.

“You should not be in such a hurry, Daughter of Eris. The discord you’ve sown still haunts you, yes?” Her white hair was pulled up into a bun, and gentle wisps framed Myrine’s unlined face. But her blue eyes, normally bright and vibrant, were hooded. Guarded. She leaned against the doorframe.

Dahlia looked like she was ready to throttle the petite oracle.

“Is it time already?” Myrine asked. Stepping out of the doorway, she looked up at the gray skies still heavy with unshed moisture.

Xan shrugged and stepped to the side, out of the path of the oracle, as if she were a leper.

Of course he did. Myrine was acting weird, even for her.

“We want to find Hope,” Athan said, drawing Myrine’s attention away from the sky. “Do you know where she is?”

“Kitty, kitty, kitty, kitty.” She shook her head as if trying to dislodge it from her neck.

Dahlia cleared her throat, and Athan shot her a warning look. They needed Myrine, and whatever she was doing might be part of getting into her spirit of prophecy.

“I’m going to sit in the bloody car,” the daughter of Eris announced, and then she stormed off the porch muttering, “Stupid witch.”

Athan glanced at Xan, who met his gaze with raised eyebrows.

Myrine sat in the rocking chair and started chanting to herself.

Athan strained to hear the words.

“Pussycat, where have you been? I’ve been to London to visit the—”

Xan crossed the porch in two strides and grabbed Myrine’s arm. “Tell me where she is,” he hissed. “Where can I find Hope?”

Her eyes rolled back into her head, and Myrine slumped in the chair, toppling forward.

Xan caught her before she fell to the ground. He scooped her up in his arms and looked at Athan. “Now what?”

Athan gritted his teeth. Xan certainly wasn’t helping get Myrine to talk. “Let’s take her inside.”

Athan opened the bright-blue door and stepped into an immaculate cottage. The dark-stained hardwood floors were covered with braided area rugs, and a quaint table in the entryway held bright-yellow daffodils. He led Xan back into the living space, and Xan laid Myrine down on the plush beige couch.

“What happened to her?” Xan asked, running his hands through his hair. “Why’d she drop like that?”

“I don’t—”

“She is not living,” Myrine rasped as if she’d aged a hundred years. She sat up, her eyes glazed over as she stared at the wall. “Nor is she dead, but she sleeps soundly in a white clad bed. For you to find what your heart most desires will require strength you don’t have, Son of the Liar. And not so fast, Son of Combat. You have no way to get to where she’s at. Take those that are willing, those that will soothe, but remember this: To win you must lose.” She dropped back onto the couch, and her eyes cleared. She met his eyes briefly and then turned away. “I’m so sorry, Athan. So, so sorry.”

Her eyelids drooped, and she whimpered as she curled up in the fetal position. “Sorry, sorry, sorry.”

Her body shivered and then relaxed into unconsciousness.

Athan stood rooted to the floor. His mouth gaped, and the panic that sped through his brain caused the words to crash into an incoherent mess.

“Is she for real?” Xan glared at the oracle and reached out as if to prod her.

“Stop.” Athan choked on the word.

Xan’s hand froze midair.

“She’s for real.” Athan’s stomach clenched. Dread warred with frustration. Not alive, but not dead. There was only one place she could be. “I know where she is.”

“Bloody Hades.” Xan rocked back on his heels as he pointed to Myrine. “If that’s true, then I know where she is, too.”

The silence was interrupted by Myrine’s soft snores. At some point, she’d told Athan that prophesying was exhausting. Something about the spiritual taxing the physical. Athan grabbed a blanket off the back of the couch and spread it over her small frame.

His mind reeled with the information. How could Hope have gotten to the Underworld alive? Only, somehow she wasn’t alive? How could that be? What did it mean?

“Well?” Xan asked as he crossed his arms over his chest. “How are we going to get there? Can you open a portal?”