Trees flashed by in the Mustang’s headlights. The road was still damp, but the sleet had stopped. If Cassandra strained her eyes against the interstate floodlights, she could see stars in the sky.

“Where are we going exactly?” Henry asked.

“I don’t know,” Aidan replied. “Away. Just away.” His foot pressed down on the accelerator, taking them south.

* * *

Hera had never been known for her subtlety. When she made announcements, she liked them to be loud and shiny, taking up all the air in the room. This time was no different. She leveled two buildings in Philadelphia: one an office building on Market Street and another along the western edge of Logan Square. Both were skyscrapers, stretched buildings of steel and windows that shone like crystal as the sun moved over the city. She seemed to choose them completely at random, though both did have a relatively high composition of glass. Athena supposed she wanted to watch it fly, glittering prettily in the light before it embedded itself into other buildings and the soft flesh of people passing by.

The news, of course, leapt all over it. Death tolls were estimated to be in the thousands. Various terrorist groups cropped up to claim responsibility, and they were already linking it to the Chicago attack. But Athena knew a diversion when she saw one. Resources from the surrounding states would be drained, called in to deal with the carnage. The stables would be left empty and the drawbridge unguarded. Hera could slink into Kincade casually, wreak her havoc, and leave their stinking carcasses far behind long before any human authorities came around to gawk.

In the room at the Kincade Motel 6, two gods and a reincarnated mortal watched the TV, barely breathing. Images of smoke and flashing emergency lights played across their irises. None of them needed to say anything. They sat on the garish bedspreads and Athena clicked through channels, searching for new information, looking for the whole story. The humans weren’t getting it.

Buried within the emergency news broadcasts, almost as a footnote, were reports of a storm rapidly approaching the East Coast. They were calling it a nor’easter, covering it only because of the problems it could cause regarding the search and rescue efforts in Philadelphia. Meteorologists were optimistic. They expected the storm to swing farther north, making land closer to Connecticut before swinging back out to sea. Idiots. The storm had come out of nowhere, the ocean a fury of waves and wind. It wasn’t a f**king nor’easter. It was Poseidon, come to drag the lot of them down into the deep until they churned in the sandy bottom. Hidden inside the waves would be creatures they hadn’t known existed: dark, scaled things with fins and claws, piranha’s teeth and lidless eyes. It was happening. Their time was up.

“We need Apollo,” Athena said without taking her eyes from the screen. “We need all of them here, quickly.”

Hermes stood shakily. Sweat stood out on his forehead. He’d been running a low fever on and off for the last few hours. “I can’t believe she’s really coming. That we’re really going to face her.” But he took a breath and headed for the door. His courage wouldn’t fail. She wouldn’t doubt him.

“Hermes,” Athena said, and he turned back with a jump, as though she’d shouted. “Don’t bother trying to blend in.”

He nodded and left. Odysseus touched Athena’s arm, and when she turned she was surprised by the fear bleached across his face.

“She’s showing us what she can do. Showing us she’s on her way. And she’s not one bit frightened.”

Comforting words rose up in her mouth, but she swallowed them down. They were lies. He would’ve seen right through them, anyway. The images on the screen were screams in Hera’s voice. She had nothing to fear. She could run at them brazenly, without armor or subterfuge. She was stronger. She would win.

“I don’t want to split up.” Athena looked down at the bedspread, mauve splashed through with green and gold. “I don’t think you’d be any safer if we did. But I’ll do everything I can to keep them off you.”

“Who’s going to keep them off you?” His hand slid across the blanket and covered hers. “I didn’t want to say anything. I guess I’ve had a case of, what you call it, denial. But there’s no time for that anymore. Athena—” She felt the mattress shift as he moved closer. “You’re strong. Stronger than Hermes and stronger than Apollo, but—”

“But not stronger than her.” She kept her eyes low. It wounded her pride that he had said it, and that it was true.

“When Apollo bashed your head in, I thought—” He shook his head. “But this is Hera, pissed off beyond reason and desperate. She’s not playing around. That stone fist—”