Athan studied the gems running in veins in the black rock of the Underworld. Red, green, blue, and white streaked the dark walls, glimmering in the light. Something deep within told him to watch his manners, but this was ridiculous. He narrowed his eyes and wondered what Hecate could want with him and his companions. “Where are Xan and Dahlia?”

A crease formed between the goddess’s eyes, and she frowned. “How are you feeling? All better?”

Now that she mentioned it, he was feeling better, except for the irritation with her inane questions. The despair he’d swallowed from the river was gone, and the bite on his leg no longer ached. He leaned away from her. Why would she have healed him?

“Do you think your father would like it that you’re healed?”

Was this about his father? He scrubbed his hand over his face. Of course it was.

“I’m sure he would be pleased, yes?” She stood. Reaching out, she grabbed the arm of the young man closest to her. With her thumb, she smeared the design covering his bicep. “Savon, Henri, you will stay here.” Her gaze landed on the priestess who’d escorted Athan. “Evelyn.”

The girl blushed and averted her gaze. Had she been staring at the boys?

“You are dismissed.” Hecate shooed the girl away as if swatting a fly. Then the goddess turned her attention back to Athan. “Good help is so hard to come by.”

Was she baiting him? He shrugged.

“You smell like death. Were you bathing in the Acheron?” She didn’t wait for his answer but continued talking as she led him from the dais. “Those other two that were with you are from War and Chaos, correct? Are they smart? I wouldn’t imagine they could be too smart to have followed you here.”

They entered a small chamber outside the auditorium.

“You may get dressed there.” She pointed to a screen inside the doorway, the same black fabric and gold rods as the cot in the room.

He stepped behind it to find his pack sitting on a stone bench, as well as the clothes he’d been wearing when the Skia attacked. His immortal blades were in their sheaths next to his boots. Everything was clean, as if the fight had never happened. As if the dust, dirt, and grime of their travel had never existed. As if Hecate hadn’t blasted him in the stomach and burned a hole in his shirt. As if.

He stepped out from behind the screen.

The goddess bit the side of her mouth as she studied him. “Thanatos is behind the Skia who attacked you. Both here and in the mortal realm.”

His stomach churned. “Why?”

She shrugged, and the strap of her chiton slid off her freckled shoulder. She grabbed the golden clasp and pulled it back up as she led him back to the larger room. “He’s a god. You’re threatening what he wants.”

What would the god of death want with Hope?

Athan followed the goddess of crossroads and magic.

“Get the hell off me!” Xan burst into the room, shirtless, his wrists and ankles in manacles. He stumbled to the floor. With a deep breath, he pulled himself up, flinching as he stood on the uneven ground in bare feet. One of the girls reached for him, but he shifted out of her reach and glared at her. “Don’t touch me.”

Flanking him were two young women dressed in fitted black clothes, their hair pulled back in sleek braids. Their faces were free of makeup, but their expressions were bold and fearless.

“The son of Ares,” one intoned.

These women wore utility belts with bulging pockets, and blades of various lengths were attached. Several more weapons were strapped to their thighs.

Hecate disappeared and reappeared in front of Xan. She clenched his chin and pulled his face down close to hers, her painted nails digging into his skin. “You bring no value to me, so watch your manners.”

Xan clenched his teeth.

“What do you want with us?” Athan ground out.

Hecate released Xan’s jaw, leaving nail marks on his chin. She faced Athan with a gleam in her eyes. “Not both of you.” She sauntered over to Athan and rested her finger on his chest. “Just you.”

She walked around Athan, her finger trailing over his chest around to the back and returning to his chest. “Do you have your phone?”

Athan nodded. He knew this was about Hermes as soon as the goddess had asked if his father would be pleased.

“Call him.”

He reached into his pocket, wishing his phone would be like most cell phones. Mortal phones wouldn’t work in the Underworld. But of course, his screen lit up. He sent a text.

Athan hadn’t even exhaled his breath and his father was standing beside him.

Hermes’s tousled hair was the exact same shade of bronze as his son’s. The two were the same height, with the same runner’s build. But Hermes’s hazel eyes blazed with anger, and he towered over the goddess. “Hecate.”

The redheaded goddess smirked up at the god of travelers. “I’m so glad you came. I wasn’t sure you would, really. Do you care for this one?” She tapped Athan on the chest again.

Hermes pulled the goddess’s hand away from his son and pushed her back several feet. “Do you care for any of your daughters?”

Hecate’s eyes hardened. “It’s not the same.”

Athan looked around the room. The two girls in black still stood on either side of Xan, their bodies tense, hands on their weapons. The other young women continued to mill around the room in their flowing chitons, oblivious to the tension simmering inside the door.

“No, I suppose not.” Hermes blocked Athan from Hecate but also obstructed his view of the goddess. “Do you have anyone here you care for?” The god waved his arms to encompass the room. “Anyone?”

Hecate brushed past them and sauntered back to her dais. She sunk into the cushioned seat and threw her leg over the arm of her chair. The fabric fell away from her pale skin, revealing more golden freckles on her lower extremity.

“I’m willing to bargain with you, Hermes. Since you care for your boy, I’m willing to strike a deal.” Her fingers played with the edges of the sheer fabric.

Athan’s heart grew heavy in his chest. What had he done?