As I spoke, a sense of importance illuminated Alec’s face, but it soon dimmed. “What happens when this is over?”

  “Hermes will release you.”

  During our meeting, I’d made Hermes repeat the promise. Once his work was done, he assured me that he would have me open the box that safeguarded his tablet. The act would erase him from our existence and free Alec. “It’s more important to preserve humankind,” he’d claimed, “than myself.”

  When Alec spoke again, I expected him to ask whether I trusted Hermes, but he went in another direction. “I’ll lose my abilities.”

  “But not your native magic. It’s in your blood, a part of you.”

  “Minor runic magic,” he said gloomily. “I won’t be able to transport here anymore.” He became momentarily distracted by Tabitha, who remained propped stiffly on her side, before refocusing on me. “To this version of the city, I mean.” But he dropped his gaze from mine too quickly.

  I’d been considering that, as well. The end of Hermes would mean not being able to see Alec anymore.

  I took the seat beside him on the couch. “Bonding with a powerful being like Hermes, even if he’s benign… It’s not healthy. Our bodies weren’t built to channel forces like that. It’s better this way.”

  “Being stuck over there?”

  “Your mother needs you.”

  “Yeah, but who’ll teach me?”

  Now it was my turn to glance down.

  “You said it yourself,” he pressed. “There are no magic-users over there, no one left of the Order.”

  “That I know of,” I amended.

  “And what about the Street Keepers? If they’re hunting you because you’re a magic-user, then I’m fair game too, right?”

  “I’m working on that.”

  Seeming to realize his voice had been escalating, Alec paused to take a breath. “I’m sorry,” he said. “You’ve got a lot going on, and my drama isn’t helping.”

  From the start, that had been his concern about revealing his identity to me. He hadn’t wanted to intrude on my life, become an encumbrance. I squeezed the back of his neck, then pulled him into a side hug.

  “We’ll figure it out, buddy.”

  When he hugged me back, I could feel the weight of his fatigue. I was going to miss this kid. Man, was I going to miss him. But I didn’t want him bearing the trickster god’s burden anymore.

  After a moment, Alec said, “This could be nothing, but there’s probably something else I should tell you.”

  I clapped his shoulder and released him. “What’s that?”

  He regarded me with his dark, serious eyes. But as he opened his mouth, green light glimmered from the depths of his pupils. His face morphed, setting in a way that heralded the arrival of Hermes.

  The god grinned. “Have you come to a decision?”

  10

  I drew back slightly, bothered by the god’s arrival. Had he wanted to keep Alec from revealing whatever he’d been about to say? Or was the timing purely coincidental? I searched his still-illuminating eyes, but they were hard to read.

  “Well?” he pressed.

  Something told me to keep a poker face. “Yes. I got the go ahead.”

  “Excellent,” he whispered. “Shall we, then?” He gestured to my nightshirt.

  I drew it up as he unshouldered the pack and swung it around to his front. From the small compartment, he produced Alec’s silver-flecked grease pencil. Tongue tucked in the corner of his mouth, he began rendering a design on my stomach. We’d discussed this earlier, but the timing of his arrival continued to bug me. I watched the design take form—an elegant circle for concentrating energy.

  Is this smart? I wondered. Is there even an alternative?

  “There,” Hermes said, sitting back to examine his work. “And now…”

  He touched the tip of a finger to the design. I jerked as though I’d brushed a hot stove. The design glowed briefly before fading to a color a shade lighter than my skin tone. I already carried Hermes’s energy inside me, but it was diluted. Good for staying under Persephone’s radar, but bad when I needed to call on it, which was going to be crucial to the mission’s success. The temporary tattoo would fix that.

  Hermes nodded. “Go on, give it a try.”

  I concentrated into the symbol, restoring it to glowing life. A low hum took up. The dusting of Hermes magic inside me drew toward my core. I felt the crackling potential of new spells and invocations.

  “It works,” I said, releasing the energy and lowering my shirt.

  “I’ve also collected the ingredients for your potions,” Hermes said.

  From the backpack’s main compartment, he pulled out a plastic bag. As he handed it to me, my gaze lingered on the pillowcase in the bottom of his pack. The pillowcase held a box. Crafted by the ancient thieves guild who’d worshipped him, the box preserved the Tablet of Hermes, the impetus for everything.

  Attracting ancient objects to the shadow realm, including Persephone’s scepter… Compelling Alec to steal the tablet, which bound him to Hermes… Enabling Alec, and Hermes, to find me…

  “By this time tomorrow, my friend,” he said, “we’ll be feasting.”

  “Thanks, but I think I’ll forgo the celebration. We’ll have a box to open.”

  He chuckled. “I’m starting to get the feeling I’ve outstayed my welcome here.”

  How perceptive, I thought. “It’s nothing personal. I just don’t want any loose ends.”

  “That’s what I admire about you.” His gaze turned keen with knowing. “This concern for your son. He’ll be fine, I’ve told you this.”

  “Then how about offering something more than lip service?”

  Hermes squinted as though trying to decide whether I’d insulted him. “What do you mean?”

  “Yesterday you made a binding deal with your supernatural draftees. Let’s make a similar deal. Let’s formalize what you’re promising. If I destroy Persephone’s scepter, you agree to release him.”

  “Very well. And if you don’t destroy the scepter?”

  I hesitated. “Then we have bigger problems, right?”

  “But what are you offering?

  “Isn’t going after the scepter enough?”

  “No, no, no, that’s not how these agreements work. It must be something unfavorable to yourself that you give freely. Yesterday, for example, my draftees lost the contest and so pledged themselves to my cause. But had I lost, I would have released them from my service. Poof. All my reserve forces gone like that. Now, what are you willing to risk that is worth your son’s freedom?”

  I knew how binding deals worked, but I’d been hoping he’d just say yes and we’d move on.

  “Of course, you needn’t offer anything,” Hermes continued. “You can choose to take me at my ‘lip service,’ as you call it.”

  “But if you’re so trustworthy, why not make it binding?”

  “I could ask the same of you. You’re saying you’ll recover Persephone’s scepter, but how do I know you won’t get cold feet at the last moment? Or, Father forbid, strike a bargain with her? They’ve already appealed to you once to go after my tablet. The answer is I don’t know. I’m choosing to trust you.”

  I massaged the corners of my eyes. Did I really want to enter into a bargain with Olympus’s craftiest god?

  He scooted closer. “Everson, I’ve told you, I’ve no desire to remain here beyond undoing what’s been done, what my box has brought about. The ones who worshipped me are gone. The magic of the box sustains me, yes, but that too will fade. By having you open the box, I’ll become absorbed in my greater identity. My archetype, according to you scholarly sorts. I’ll join my family on Olympus… along with Persephone.” His eyes went hazy. “From there, we’ll gaze from our cosmic perch on a world we once lorded over. Too distant now to interfere in, too abstract for us to care. I don’t know how else to convince you that I want this, Everson.”

  Would a cultural hero say that, or just a trickster pretending to be one?

  “But once again,” he said, showing his hands, “the choice regarding an agreement is entirely yours.”

  After a moment, I stood and lifted the shopping bag of ingredients.

  “I should get started on the potions.”

  11

  From the driver’s seat, Ricki looked over my shopping bag and the loaded pockets of my trench coat.

  “I took inventory five times before leaving and twice since we pulled out,” I assured her while gesturing to suggest she might want to keep her eyes on the road. “I have everything I need. I promise.”

  “How are you feeling?”

  “Anxious, but it’s the good kind of anxiousness. Stimulating. Like my neurons are in the team huddle and can’t wait to run out onto the field.”

  She frowned at my clumsy analogy. “You barely slept.”

  “True, but I added an invigoration potion to my coffee”—I held up my New York Mets travel mug—“and it’s working.”

  Though her face remained troubled, she laced her fingers through mine above the emergency brake.

  It was the following morning, not quite eight, and she was driving me to the rendezvous point with Hermes. While I’d spent the rest of the night preparing potions and rehearsing the plan, Hermes had left to make final preparations. Our jumping-off point would be downtown near the government buildings. In the shadow realm that area was cordoned off with barricades and official checkpoints. No such obstructions here. When Ricki shot past Canal Street, I began tracking street signs. I released her hand and pointed.

  “It’s over there.”

  She rolled to a stop in front of a building covered in scaffolding, her tires grinding against the curb. I leaned over to kiss her, but she kept it to a peck. “This isn’t goodbye yet. I’m going in with you.”

  I thought I knew why. “You sure?”

  She answered by cutting off the engine. I finished the rest of my coffee in one tilt, then hustled around to open her door and help her from the low seat.

  “Thanks,” she said, leaning back to accommodate our child.

  The building was in the throes of a massive renovation. At the third rolldown steel door, I grabbed the handle and raised it enough for Ricki and me to duck under. Morning light streamed through gated windows. Amid the building materials, I spotted Hermes sitting cross-legged atop a stack of pallets.

  “Ahh, the missus came to see you off?” He jumped down. “How lovely.”

  “Yes, and to give you a parting warning,” she said. “Anything happens to him, and I’ll personally kick your ass.”

  And there it was.

  Hermes’s eyes twinkled as they shifted to me. “You married well, my friend.”

  “Yes, I did.” I turned to Ricki. “I’ll be alright.” I kissed her frown, which soon molded to my mouth in a firm plea: be safe.

  I caressed her cheek as we parted and turned to Hermes. “Ready?”

  The sooner we did this, the sooner I could return home to my family.

  Seeing my resolve, perhaps, Hermes spared me any more commentary as we gripped one another’s arms. Construction dust kicked up around us. Then, in a stomach-dipping flash, we were crossing over.

  With my next breath, it felt as though I were inhaling a gray grit that stuck to the soul. It cast everything in a shade of hopelessness—smell, taste, the very urge to live. I was definitely back in the shadow present. I found some consolation in knowing this would be my last visit, but then I thought of Alec having to live out his life here.

  “Here we are,” Hermes said almost cheerily as he released my arms.

  He cast up a ball of green-tinged light, illuminating a space similar to the one we’d just left. An unfinished street-level business, though this project appeared to have been abandoned years before. I turned to where Ricki had been standing in the actual present. In her place was a shadowy emptiness.

  I sighed and shook out my arms.

  “Do you have everything?” Hermes asked.

  “Here,” I said, handing him the shopping bag, which contained what we would need to destroy the scepter. “You’re absolutely sure we’re safe here?”

  “Not only straight to the point,” Hermes said as though making a note to himself about the human species, “but incurable worriers. Yes, yes, I told you. The moment we arrived, I created a negative space to hide me from Persephone. That said, she’ll eventually sense the void and send her goons to investigate, so enough talk.” He produced a duffel bag from behind the pallets. “Go on, start changing. Chop, chop.”

  “Wait, first things first.”

  I drew a potion from a trench coat pocket and activated it. Designed to conceal me from the energy I’d extracted from the whip, the potion was a feat of advanced potion-making, one I was rather proud of. I drank it down hot, and braced myself as pinpricks spread throughout my system before nodding.

  Hermes handed me the duffel bag, and I probed its contents. Gray military pants, an armored vest, a helmet, and what looked like a tactical rod. He’d also included a hand mirror, something I hadn’t considered.

  “How are we doing for time?” I asked.

  “Plenty, plenty. You have about ten minutes.”

  “Ten minutes?” A charge went off in my chest. “You call that plenty?”

  “Forgive me, I’m a poor judge of mortal time. I am a god of speed, after all.”

  With fresh urgency, I shucked my coat and stripped down to my boxers. The rune Hermes had drawn the night before showed pale on my stomach. I strained to pull on the tight-fitting military pants. Same with the armored vest. I had to suck in my stomach while Hermes fastened it.

  Though both articles smelled like a musty locker room, I was more bothered by the lack of footwear. But that was the official uniform. At my hung coat, I transferred my potions to my pants pockets.

  “Three minutes,” Hermes said.

  Nodding quickly, I produced and activated another potion. With the tube bubbling near my lips, I hesitated. “You’re sure I can get there inside of twenty minutes? Because that’s all the potion’s going to give me.”

  “Follow the plan, and you’ll be fine.”

  “You did just say you’re a poor judge of time.”

  He smiled in concession. “Yes, well, if I’m estimating off the cuff. In this case, I’ve calibrated everything down to the seconds. Just remember the prompts, and all will go splendidly.”

  I rehearsed the prompts in my head, then tipped back the copycat potion. The last potion had gone down easily. This one was like trying to swallow liquid clay. I’d only managed to stop gagging when Hermes spoke again.

  “You’ll need to leave that.”

  I followed his nod to a construction pillar and swore. I’d meant to leave my cane in the car for Ricki to take home, but I’d slipped it through my belt without thinking, not even noticing it was there when we transported to the shadow realm. Just as automatically, I’d leaned the cane against the pillar before changing. I could have blamed it on my lack of sleep, but the cane had become such an integral part of me, I did that a lot. Just last week, I’d taken it with me into the shower.

  Hermes opened a hand now and held out the tactical rod, as if offering a trade. I passed my cane to him reluctantly and accepted the rod.

  “I’ll take good care of it,” he promised.

  “Please do. It’s irreplaceable.” Besides being the most powerful item I owned, the cane was comprised of a staff that had belonged to my grandfather, while the sword it concealed was a very special gift from my late father. But as with my ring and amulet, which I’d left at home, the cane was too conspicuous to carry with me.

  “The changes are starting,” Hermes said.

  The words were barely out of his mouth when I grunted. My flesh was compacting in on itself, hardening around my bones. I winced as a sudden pressure seized my head. Like being squeezed in a vice, it felt as though my skull was narrowing vertically. I focused past the pain, fixating on my feet as my toes turned square and rock-like.

  Before long, the throbbing eased and the fossilization process ceased. I grabbed the mirror from the bag with a gray hand, nearly fumbling it before correcting my grip. A stone golem stared back at me.

  Thanks to the biological material Hermes had scored—and I’d cooked into my copycat potion—I was now a soldier of the Iron Guard, Persephone’s soulless force. The only difference was my eyes. While theirs swirled with underworld magic, the eyes that peered back from beneath a deep shelf of brow were my own.

  “One minute to go,” Hermes said.

  I swapped the mirror for the helmet and secured it over my head. Its thick visor dimmed my view to near darkness, but it would hide my eyes. Hermes took my arm and guided me toward the door.

  “Are you certain you’re ready?” he asked.

  “Are you certain you’ll be at the meeting spot?”

  “I promise it.”

  “Then I’m ready.”

  His eyes cut to the side and he thrust a finger against my lips. Outside, the engine of a large vehicle was approaching. Heavy tires rolled over glass and chewed-up asphalt. A second vehicle was followed by a synchronic pattern of footfalls. Persephone’s force coming to investigate, or a routine patrol?

  When they passed, my nerves let out slightly before tightening again. The passing patrol was my first prompt to act. Hermes raised the steel door.

  “Go,” he whispered, and shoved me outside.

  12

  Rain streaked my visor as I stumbled into the street.

  “I believe in you,” Hermes whispered before the door banged closed.

  Disoriented, I looked for the sentry that had just passed. Beyond the gray slant of rain, I spotted them: two armored vehicles and a short column of Iron Guard soldiers, already a block south on Church Street.

  Swinging my stone-like limbs, I broke into a clumsy run after them.

  The Iron Guard operated as a hive mind, according to Hermes. It was a two-tiered hierarchy: Persephone at the top and the Iron Guard underneath. “This is to our advantage,” he’d said. “No supervisors or busybodies among the rank and file. They’re little more than automatons that follow orders and alert the rest of their hive mind to anomalies. Do as they do, and they’ll never notice you.”