“Just close enough to the lagoon that the wounded could get a good rest. The dryads just took it back to their grove.”

  “I’m not wounded,” Helen said through her teeth. “You are.”

  “I had to take notes for you. And you needed sleep in order to be at your best, find those unholy children of Set, and rip them to pieces.” She growled, her claws digging into the grass like plows.

  Helen breathed through her anger again. The Sphinx had wronged her for the right reason; she could forgive that in the face of everything else. “Anyway, I’m glad you won’t argue against me facing these monsters.”

  “I only wish I could go with you. You’ll probably have lots of volunteers.”

  “Well, I won’t argue for going alone.”

  The Sphinx flashed a fanged smile. “I like Chloe, by the way. She speaks like one of the Furies. Some of us have decided to just not think of her as human.”

  “You spoke to her?” The idea sent a swarm of bees loose inside her, though she couldn’t say why.

  “A little, over the walkie, after you were under the poppy’s spell. And Damian has been a great comfort. I never really considered that a sex demon could give great massages, but I suppose it makes sense. Very good for pain and bruised muscles. Someone said that if he stays on this plane, he should consider a career in physical therapy. I bet he’d make a mint.”

  Helen barked a laugh, then another, and couldn’t stop, struck by the absurdity. The Sphinx joined in, and they put their hands and paws over their mouths to keep the sound down. Like a crack in a dam, Helen’s control threatened to give way to other emotions. She forced herself to stop before her laughter became sobs. The dead were seemingly piled in the Lamia’s crypt. The injured still lay around the copse, and many of the sanctuary’s buildings had been burned, the sense of safety stolen from them. “What are we going to do?”

  “Rebuild. On another island if we have to. Or somewhere even harder to find.”

  “Like the center of the Earth.”

  “The fire salamanders would be happy.”

  With another shaky laugh, Helen rested her forehead against the Sphinx’s fuzzy shoulder. “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here.”

  “Don’t you dare apologize. I have no qualms about biting a goddess. Now, go change into your best vengeance gear, and leave the island to me. When I see Damian again, I’ll tell him to meet you back here with the walkie.”

  “I love you, Sphinx.”

  “Love you, too. Now run along.”

  Too much sentiment always made her edgy. Helen gave her a flick on the nose before setting off for the house. She forced down grief and fear and all worries about the future. She only had room for revenge now.

  * * *

  Helen looked like every Lara Croft fantasy Chloe had ever had. Black boots, cargo pants, and T-shirt; the little sword she always carried at her hip. The only things missing were the shoulder holsters, but Helen never seemed to use real guns. Instead, she had an intriguing leather pouch strapped to one thigh. She seemed born to kick ass as she waited on the shore, her hair in a crown of braids and Maurice perching on one shoulder.

  Someone else stood beside her, their much shorter form shrouded in a threadbare brown cloak with the hood up, but there was no missing the giant ax clutched in one gloved hand.

  Chloe had never felt so normal in jeans and a blue T-shirt she’d borrowed from Fatma. Lil’ Devil was written across the front in silver letters. Damian had been tickled pink by it when he’d returned to the boat and had called dibs on borrowing it next. David had opened his big mouth and suggested Damian just manifest the same shirt with his power, but Chloe had put her foot down.

  “Don’t you dare,” she’d said. “We’ll look like a friggin’ dance team.”

  Looking at Helen now, she was so glad she’d shot that idea down. Chloe’s side of this particular Dungeons & Dragons party already looked like amateur hour by comparison. They did not need to provide the comic relief, too.

  After a tense night spent patrolling around the island and avoiding her mom, Chloe was more than ready to go to the beach with Ramses and Damian. When they arrived, Helen gestured to another yacht that had docked in the night, more survivors who’d been able to flee the violence. “We’ll be taking that.”

  “Oh,” Chloe said, hoping she didn’t sound as clueless as she felt. “I see.”

  “Is there a problem?” Stone had replaced any earlier softness in Helen’s features.

  Chloe still didn’t sense any menace toward her personally and tried to control her nerves at the thought of being in unknown territory again. “I just thought…”

  “It will get us away from your mother and Jillian,” Ramses said.

  “That’s a great idea.” Chloe smiled.

  “Do you have everything you need with you?” Helen asked.

  Chloe patted her bag that now also contained the recharged nail gun. “And Ramses is ready, too.”

  Damian spread his arms as if to say he only needed himself. Chloe hoped for his sake that he wouldn’t throw any random flirting Helen’s way, and he seemed to have enough sense of self-preservation to hold back.

  Helen handed over the walkie. “You’d better inform them of the change in plans.”

  Not ask. Chloe liked the sound of that but doubted her mom would. She nodded and hung back a few steps as they started walking down the beach before making the call. “Fatma, are you there?”

  “Go ahead.”

  “We’re going on Helen’s boat. Can you tell my mom?”

  “Coward,” Fatma said, a smile in her voice. “Do you want us to follow?”

  Helen looked over her shoulder. “No matter what they’re using for speed, the magic of the nereids is faster.”

  “Sounds like you can’t keep up,” Chloe said, her mouth going dry in the face of Helen’s badassedness.

  Fatma was silent for a moment. “Do you have room for one more?”

  Chloe looked to Helen, who paused, eyes on the sky. Chloe was about to point out that more allies could only be a good thing when Helen said, “One. And quickly.”

  After some shuffling of the Zodiac, Fatma arrived at Helen’s boat bristling with so many weapons, she looked like a hedgehog with the NRA. Once Helen’s boat was under way, Chloe asked, “What did the others say?”

  “I sent most of them downstairs to work on an imaginary problem and only told Ali where I was going.” She smiled sweetly. “I left it to him to explain later.”

  Chloe poked her in the arm. “Coward.”

  “Hush, Lil’ Devil.”

  Her cheeks warming, Chloe frowned. “It’s your damn shirt.”

  “A gift from my mother. She has an odd sense of humor.”

  “Lots of demons do,” Damian said.

  Fatma went stiff as a ruler.

  Chloe’s mind raced. “Wait, what?”

  Damian blinked. “She and her brother are part demon, like half or something. Didn’t you know?” He looked between them. “Is it supposed to be a secret?”

  “A quarter demon,” Fatma snapped in a low voice. “My father is half.” She rolled her eyes as if the information was being dragged from her. “And for full disclosure, my mother’s side is descended from one of el naddaha, a fresh-water sprite.” She looked down. “Who may or may not have killed people occasionally,” she mumbled.

  “Why didn’t you say?” Chloe asked. When Fatma gave her a look, she shrugged. “Okay, I see why you might have left out that last part, but what about the rest of it?”

  “To a group like your mother and her friends?”

  Fair point. “And it’s probably not easy to slip that into the conversation.”

  “Like having the blood of Isis,” Fatma said with another pointed look.

  So she’d been talking to people, too. Or listening in. “Yeah, yeah, touché.” She waved at the boat. “But you can probably admit it on this boat all you want.”

  A handful of nereids swarmed over everything, all exceptionally strong and exceptionally lovely in their swimwear; all the colors of the sea were in their hair, eyes, and skin. Helen stood talking to a large creature that seemed made of stone and muscle, a troll, if memory served, though Chloe had only seen one in pictures.

  Ramses stood behind Helen, eavesdropping, though Chloe didn’t see the need. The individual in the brown cloak had stayed covered, and Maurice perched on their head looking glum. Chloe gave him a wave that he hesitantly returned, but the person he sat on started a bit, then gave an enthusiastic wave in response. Cute.

  They approached and took their hood down, and Chloe nearly screamed.

  A friendly brown face, cheerfully marked by laugh lines, smiled through streaks of blood. It ran down their face in rivulets over dark, older stains. It matted the tufts of hair sticking out from beneath a sodden red hat and streamed over their shoulders, leaving patches that seemed to soak in and become part of their rust-colored clothing.

  Before Chloe could ask if they were all right, the hat gave her a clue as to who this might be: a red cap, a goblin who was rumored to either kill everyone they met or act more like a cheery, helpful gnome, all depending on which folklore one consulted. The blood and ax seemed to point to the former, and the face belonged to the latter. And the hat might have been bloody, but it was also made of wool with a little bobble on top.

  Fatma made a strangled noise, and Damian whispered, “Oh my gosh.”

  Chloe hurried over their words and noises with, “Hi, I’m Chloe,” way too loudly and with a heap of fake cheer. “This is Fatma and Damian.” She held out her hand before regretting it, but it was too late to draw it back.

  “Robin,” they said, red eyes shining as they blinked blood out of the way. They left a sticky red print on her palm that dissolved as she watched. “I’m so happy you waved. Not many people want to talk to me, put off by the mysterious cloak or…” They gestured up and down their face.

  Maurice resettled on their shoulder. “Chloe,” he said with a nod. “Welcome aboard.”

  “Thanks.”

  “You hang out with a lot of extraordinary beings for someone in your line of work,” he said, a calculating look in his eye. Fatma and Damian were glancing around, no doubt seeking the source of his voice.

  Chloe smiled, so not wanting to jump back into any debates. “As I’m finding out, we’re all extraordinary here.”

  He smirked.

  Robin tsked. “Leave her alone, Maurice. We don’t get to meet many friendly new people. Or new people at all, and those from yesterday were most certainly unfriendly.” They snorted with an incredulous expression, as if talking about someone who’d cut in line at the supermarket instead of trained killers. “I had to kill as many as I could and hope we never could have been friends. And they didn’t even taste good.” Their jaw dropped in exaggerated disbelief. “I fed lots of them to Cristos, he’s a griffin, and the triplets of Wadjet, whom I can never tell apart.”

  Chloe didn’t even know where to start. “Bummer?”

  “I know!” They giggled. “Don’t worry, even though you’re mostly human, I won’t try to eat you.” They winked. “Or will I? Nom, nom, nom.” They made as if to grab her arm while chewing air, then laughed. “Just kidding.”

  Chloe could barely stop herself from jumping overboard.

  “Robin, can I see you for a moment?” Helen called.

  “Sure thing.” They turned back to Chloe. “So nice meeting you.” With a cheery wave, they departed, Maurice chuckling on their shoulder as they went.

  “I try not to judge,” Fatma whispered, “but what the fuck?”

  “We are so not in Kansas anymore,” Damian said.

  Chloe nodded. What in the hell had she gotten herself into? Her new pledge to spare intelligent paranormal beings shriveled a bit after meeting that particular one.

  But something much more cheerful stuck in her brain, thank goodness. “Did you say, ‘oh my gosh’?” she asked Damian.

  He frowned defensively. “I can’t really say the other G-word, now, can I?” He glanced around. “And I suggest you keep any holy symbols tucked away in the interim. Some of these people may not be as affected as I am, but I’m guessing many have a very problematic history with some symbology in particular.”

  Well, shit, she couldn’t tease him after that.

  Fatma grinned and said, “It’s gonna be hard to remember to say gosh-damn,” with seemingly no qualms at all.

  “And gosh-awful,” Chloe said, warming to it. “Thank gosh.”

  “OMG…OSH.”

  Damian stabbed a finger at each of them. “This is why no one likes you.” He pointed at himself. “Beloved by everyone, MVP of every situation, voted most popular.” He pointed at them again. “Back of the yearbook with no signatures.”

  Fatma burst out laughing, and Chloe had a brief thought that she could have fallen for that smile once upon a time.

  If Helen hadn’t gotten there first.

  From her place near a set of stairs that led up to the bridge, Helen turned and caught Chloe staring. Her head tilted, and whatever she saw in Chloe’s face seemed to bring out a smile. Just a small one, but it glowed with affection.

  Helen said a few more words to her companions, then started toward Chloe.

  “We should make ourselves scarce in case they want to make out,” Damian mock-whispered.

  “I dunno, that might be worth a look,” Fatma said.

  “Don’t be creepy, Lil’ Devil.” He took her arm and led her away.

  Chloe wished a steamy make-out session was on the agenda, both for its own sake and because it would have been nice to forget about their current troubles for a bit.

  But Ramses’s presence at Helen’s side reminded her about appropriate times and places again, as much as she wanted to tell that whole concept to go to hell.

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  Part of Helen lamented having Chloe aboard. Yes, she was a comfort, and she looked positively edible in her tight jeans and devil T-shirt, and every time Helen looked at her, she wanted to forget the last several days in her arms.

  Which was precisely the problem. Helen could not afford to stop being the spirit of vengeance. The sanctuary needed a sword, not a mourner wilting in her lover’s arms.

  She never should have entertained the idea of being with Chloe in the first place, should have turned on her heel the moment Chloe had arrived at Remora Island and left Ramses in his prison. She looked at Chloe now and told herself to feel nothing but regret. She would be steel.

  Oh, bullshit.

  She sighed. Being a demigod would have been so much easier without all the damned feelings. Some sword of vengeance she was.

  Chloe’s eyes shone with sympathy and kindness and not an ounce of guile. “I can guess at the answer,” she said, “but the southerner in me would be appalled if I didn’t ask how you are.”

  “Better now that I’m doing something.” And now that you’re here. But she was already smiling, damn her, when she should have been as cold as stone.

  “We’ll sort it all out.” Chloe bit her lip adorably. “And I do mean we. I’ll help from now on, Helen, leading creatures and paranormal folks to the sanctuary.” She smiled hesitantly. “Though we might disagree on what to do with some of them, I hope we can work together.”

  Calm, cool, collected, Helen prepared herself to say something like, we’ll be fine on our own, thank you. But her body disobeyed by taking Chloe’s hand. “Thank you.”

  No, no, no. Too little, too late, she could have said. Or, generations of your kind led to the attack yesterday, and you can’t make up for that. Or…

  Helen told the sword of vengeance to shut the hell up already. She could not cease being herself, even for revenge. Chloe didn’t deserve her vitriol, and they were stronger together.

  Her inner voice grumbled but went silent.

  Chloe was looking at her expectantly. “Do you have your own pet ghost you’re talking to in your head that—” She looked to the side abruptly. “I didn’t mean it like that, Ramses, I was just…okay, fine…Fine!” With an epic sigh, she looked back at Helen. “What I meant to say was, is there a guardian spirit accompanying you of their own free will that you were having a private conversation with?” She fluttered her lashes sweetly.

  Helen grinned, wishing she could hear Ramses, too. A bolt of regret flashed through her. She never should have offered to help him separate from Chloe. Had he told her about that? Had he given it any thought at all? By the gods, what if he took her up on it?

  She shook her head, telling herself those were all worries for another time. “No, just my inner monologue. It sounds like the Sphinx warning me about getting involved with humans.”

  Chloe’s cheeks went pink. “Is that what we are? Involved?”

  “You know we are.” She stepped closer and hoped her expression showed her affection, her desire.

  Straining on tiptoe, Chloe bit her lip again.

  “If you keep doing that, I’m going to kiss you,” Helen said. “Fair warning.”

  “Consider me warned.” She slowly took her lip between her teeth again.

  With another grin, Helen leaned forward.

  “Oh my fucking gosh, Ramses,” Chloe said, nearly leaping back. “I know, okay? We were just…” Her lips thinned into a white line, and she shook her head. “Unbelievable.”

  Helen could guess. “Not the right time?”

  “Or the right place, apparently.”

  “Well, thanks for not shocking me again, Pharaoh.”

  “He says you’re welcome,” Chloe mumbled.

  Helen cleared her throat. “Well, since the kissing portion of our trip is canceled, I think it’s time for all of us to discuss exactly where we’re going and what might happen when we get there.” She turned toward the bridge and gestured to Fatma and Damian to go ahead.