“Instinct. You know. Fear of the unknown. Of the strange.”

“If we had fangs and claws, they’d scream soon enough. But we don’t. We walk on two. Like them.” They emerged from the trees and were greeted by a grizzled black and gray dog, who thumped her tail and snuffled their pants pockets. One of the children raised an arm and said something too fast for Odysseus to make out, but Hermes said it right back.

“A greeting,” he explained, as the children surrounded them.

Curious hands tugged at Odysseus’ sleeves and tried to get into his rucksack. Two of the children ran for the center of the village. “Should we go? Are they—?”

“Relax, will you? Look around.” Hermes gestured toward the huts and their wide open doorways. “Do you see any bones? Any trophies? Look at their clothing. As much woven from plants and bartered cloth as leather. These people hunt for sustenance. It’s not like we’ve stumbled into an Aztec city. Believe me, I could tell you stories.”

The two children were on their way back, with several equally curious adults. A woman with long black hair and rosy cheeks came up close and pushed a green, rounded fruit into Odysseus’ palm.

“Smile. Show your appreciation. If we play our cards right we can get a cooked meal and a cozy straw bed.”

Odysseus did as he was told; the woman blushed and grinned behind her hand. It was a sweet and bashful gesture, and his stomach started to relax.

Beside him, Hermes nodded at the people and spoke in their language.

“You speak this? What’d you say?”

“Always ask for the oldest woman. If she likes you, you’re golden.”

They were herded through the village, past curious faces sitting in huts or beside fires.

The oldest woman in the village had to be the oldest by about fifty years. She wore a shift beaded with blue and yellow, and her hair flowed around her rickety shoulders in a peppered curtain. But the hand that held her machete had an iron grip.

Hermes said the greeting and waited. The old woman was slower to smile than the others, and when she spoke her voice was cautious.

“We can rest here,” Hermes said when she was through. “And eat. They’re roasting a monkey.”

“I don’t know about that,” Odysseus said. He looked up into the canopy, at the slanting light. “But the resting part sounds fantastic.”

*   *   *

They ate communally, sharing between fires. And even though he doubted Cassandra would approve, Odysseus ate plenty of the monkey. The villagers glazed the meat with some kind of fruit juice, and it tasted a little like rich pork. Beside him, Hermes tried to show restraint, but the village children kept bringing him bits of roasted yam and nuts, amazed at how much he could put away.

“How do you know this language?” Odysseus asked. He dragged a woven straw mat beneath the shelter of a lean-to, a short distance from the main fire.

“I don’t know all of it. Their dialect is a little different. But I’ve been to this part of the world before. And I’m good with languages.” Hermes crunched through some kind of root, sitting on his own mat. “She said she dreamed of me.” He gestured toward the old woman, who sat watching and not watching them from across the flames. “She said she dreamed of me long ago, and today, and tomorrow.”

“What does that mean?”

Hermes shrugged. “I don’t know. She’s the tribe’s shaman. Maybe nothing. But it was nice. And she said something else.”

“What?”

“She said she heard the ravening beasts. Not long ago. That way.” He pointed across the village, to the east.

“The ravening beasts? You mean—?”

Hermes nodded. “Artemis. We’re close.”

7

RUNNING RED

The carpeted stairs that curled around from the library were just far enough from the clanging of plastic trays in the cafeteria to feel private and separate, though it was anything but. Voices echoed down the hall like it was a megaphone, unless you were the ones tucked farthest back into the stairs. That honor went to Andie and Sam, who sat sharing a pair of earbuds.

“Cassandra, you want some of my chips?” Megan asked, holding out a plastic baggie. “Dill pickle.”

“Sure.”

Megan plopped down beside her and stretched her striped stocking–clad legs. Underneath a few shades of blue eye shadow and thick black liner, her eyes were tired.

“You look rough,” Cassandra said, and crunched a chip.

“I got zero sleep last night.” Megan jerked her head up toward a boy in a too-tight Abercrombie t-shirt. “Jeremy kept me on the phone until three.”