I arrive at the Port on Mount Olympus moments later. Two dozen enormous, proud columns surround this expansive clearing, separating the Port from the forests and fields beyond. Transportation agents monitor the Port as hundreds of Olympians pop to and from their mortie jobs. Their clothes flash along with them, fashioning them in the style of immortals or mortals, depending on whether they’re coming or going.
One impatient goddess stands out among the throng: my gorgeous, overachieving friend Deya. She glares at me with deep brown eyes, arching her immaculate eyebrows dangerously.
“Kali, have you lost your cursing mind?”
I stuff down my resentment as my mortal appearance fades. In its place is the simple white chiton all students wear. And my immortal glory. “What do you know?”
She’s already striding away from the Port. “Everything. A high schooler? From North Dakota? What is wrong with you?”
“I didn’t know!” I say, catching up.
“Then you should have taken the time to find out!”
Deya is in my year, but over the last few months, she’s started acting like she’s my de facto supervisor. Which I don’t love. She worships my dad (figuratively, of course), and because she’s the best in our year, he’s given her unofficial license to watch over me. Considering that we’re practically sisters, I think she’s a little too eager to make her report.
Deya lectures me on every rule I once cared about, as if that will make me forget the Thunderclap. So as we walk from the Port to the Erote headquarters (where I’ll soon receive a much scarier lecture from an Old-World God—a Big G), I distract myself with . . . anything else. The cloudless sky, the perfect, eternally seventy-five-degree weather, the gorgeous emerald-green grass and forests, the breathtaking flower gardens, the stables, the centaurs hitting on satyrs. Anything but another lecture.
After several minutes and thousands of upset words, Deya pushes me toward a building that makes the Parthenon look like a crude little barn: the sprawling Erote headquarters. Like most of the buildings, our headquarters are open air. When the weather is utterly perfect at all times, what’s the point of blocking it out?
It takes a while to even get to the front steps of our building. There was a time when the marble and gold building with statues of famous, beautiful matches filled me with pride. Now the sight fills me with dread. Resentment.
But Deya isn’t marching me inside. Wait . . .
“Deya,” I say, “did my dad send you?” She doesn’t answer. “You Gorgon turd! You were with Cosmo when he was monitoring me, weren’t you? Has my match even been reported yet?”
“No, and you can thank me for that later.”
“Why would I thank you?”
“Because this is mismatch number four, Kal! You know what happens if you get five.”
I do know. I just don’t care as much as everyone thinks I should.
We’re coming up on our training grounds now, across from which stands the monolithic quartermaster vault, where our QM, Cosmo, is on duty, along with thousands of other QMs. Cosmo is Hephaestus’ grandson and utterly brilliant, just like the God of metallurgy, technology, and other genius stuff. Lucky for us, Cosmo has been assigned to the Erote department, something Deya happily takes advantage of.
We step up to the heavy, metal vault doors and Deya closes her eyes, a sure sign she’s communicating telepathically. Moments later, the two-foot-thick door glides open, and Cosmo limps up with an aqua screen, an arrow, and a besotted grin.
Cosmo’s adoration of Deya is an unfortunate birthright. His grandfather, Hephaestus, was once married to Deya’s mom, who shattered his heart. It’s sad, but no big surprise. Aphrodite leaves a trail of broken hearts wherever she goes.
The Goddess of beauty is kind of a jerk, even if she is Deya’s mother. I can say this because she’s also my grandmother. Like Aphrodite, Deya is the embodiment of beauty and desire. Her father is a gorgeous river god of the Amazon, and Deya shares his bronze coloring. Deya’s is a kind of perfection even immortals don’t see every day.
Meanwhile, Cosmo shares Hephaestus’ shocking strength, dark features, clubbed foot, incomprehensible genius, and unrequited devotion.
Poor Cosmo.
“Cos,” Deya says, “do you have the reversal arrow ready? I want to get Kali’s assignment fixed before the day’s reports are sent up.” Before Cos can answer, Deya looks at me. “You know if you ever get your wings, this won’t be an option, right? Reversals only work with training arrows.”
“Gee, Professor, thanks for the totally new information,” I say.
“Uh, Deya? The arrow’s ready when you are,” Cos interrupts. He’s wise not to address me, because he knows I don’t care. Just like I didn’t care the last three times I had a match reversed. “Deya, do you want me to go over how it works? You’ve never had a reversal,” he says, not quite fawning.
As much as I hate my job, watching Deya flirt with Cos for her benefit is even worse. I glance across the training grounds to one of the few things I truly love about being an Erote: the archery range. But what I see isn’t the orderly competitiveness of my typical training session; it’s chaos, like a scene from the Trojan War. Arrows literally fly everywhere. People scream and cry and run for their lives. But instead of hotties like Achilles and Paris shooting, it’s a bunch of puny first-years who don’t know which end of the arrow is up.
Rather than yelling at the first-years for their abysmal aim like she usually does, the archery coach looks distracted. I narrow my eyes. I’ve never seen Artemis look so . . . so lost.
“Hey,” a smooth, low voice says over my shoulder, and a swell of emotions rushes over me. I tamp them down and turn to see my best friend, Hector. He’s the kindest and best immortal I know, not to mention the hottest. As the son of Apollo and the muse Calliope, he has his mom’s black, wavy hair that reaches just below his ears, and his dad’s piercing green eyes. He’s also a muse, which just happens to be my dream job.
“Hey yourself,” I say, holding back a smile that would set the fields ablaze. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see my aunt.” He gestures to Artemis but keeps his eyes on me in a way that makes the task of not marrying him on the spot positively Herculean.
I train my eyes on the field. “What for?”
A kid just shot an arrow into another kid’s butt, and Artemis still hasn’t yelled at anyone. What is going on with her? The commotion pulls Hector’s attention, too. His eyes narrow. “I just need her help with one of my jobs. You know that reality TV producer I’m musing for?”
“Yeah, for the show where they hunt animals that terrorize villages and towns and stuff? What’s it called, Most Dangerous Game?” He nods. “Nice job on the title, by the way.”
“Thanks.” A hint of a smile forms on his lips, but the flush on his cheeks tells me how much the compliment means to him. I’m not the only one medaling in restraint these days. “Anyway, I feel like I’m stalling with him. The network is pressuring him to go into monster hunting, you know, like Sasquatch.”
“Why can’t they leave that poor creature alone? He has a family, for Gaia’s sake.”
“I know. It’s ridiculous. Anyway, the producer’s vision for the show is good, and if he just sticks with it, it’s going to be huge, even if he has to switch networks. But the ‘talent’ the network hired is this colossal tool, Stone Savage. He’s a good hunter—great with a bow and arrow—but he’s all about the monster crap. I just need a little advice on how to capitalize on the producer’s vision.”
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