Enkidu pursed his lips, and I waited very, very quietly, because he looked like someone who wanted to talk.

“Do you know who Dux Bellorum is?” he asked finally.

I furrowed my brow, confused at the question. “He’s a vampire, old. From ancient Rome. Calls himself Roman. What do you mean, who is he?”

“Where did he come from? What’s his origin?”

I shook my head.

He leaned in, his voice hushed to a paranoid whisper. “Kumarbis made Dux Bellorum. He’s the vampire who turned Gaius Albinus, two thousand years ago.”

A long, stretched silence followed this declaration. I turned the words around, not sure I made sense of them. It all started here. All my questions about Roman, Dux Bellorum, answered at last. The mystery, solved. Roman was so old I hadn’t considered that the question of where he came from—how he was made a vampire—might even be relevant. Apparently it was, and I couldn’t help but think this was all Kumarbis’s fault. All of it. Antony died because of him.

“How?” I asked, full of disbelief, maybe even horror. “What happened?”

“We don’t know all of the story,” Sakhmet said softly. As if we had to keep our voices from echoing. “But Dux Bellorum—before he became Dux Bellorum—betrayed Kumarbis. He, Roman, has done terrible things. Kumarbis feels responsible.”

“I can see why he might,” I murmured. “A few days ago, right before you … brought me here, I got word that a friend of mine died fighting Roman. Antony went after him, and Roman killed him.”

“That is what the battle has been for you, hasn’t it?” she said, her rich gaze full of sadness and understanding. “Like throwing yourself against a wall and never breaking through.”

Something in me deflated. My shoulders slumped; I rubbed my eyes, keeping back tears. My whole body felt like grit. If she’d offered to give me a hug then, I might have fallen into her arms.

“More like trying to beat up a storm cloud,” I said, and she smiled.

“Right here, we can finish Roman once and for all,” she said, and this time, the light gleaming in her eyes belonged to a warrior. To a goddess of war, a lion in battle. “You can avenge your friend. You can avenge everyone who Roman has hurt.”

What a tantalizing possibility.

We all looked over just before we heard the footsteps pad through the doorway, when we smelled Zora enter the tunnel. Like everyone else here, she smelled ripe; she hadn’t showered in days. But she also smelled of herbs, candle wax, and chalk. The tools of her trade. She appeared in the tunnel, holding up a battery-powered lantern, which gave her the appearance of a ghost in shadows.

“What are you doing? You shouldn’t be here!” Holding her cloak around her, she glared at us with wide, indignant eyes.

“We’re making sure our plans don’t fall apart,” Enkidu said.

“But—you know what he said. You’ll ruin everything! You don’t trust him, you never trusted him!”

Sakhmet spoke soothingly. “No, Zora, it isn’t like that. Please, calm down.”

“Then what are you telling her?”

Enkidu glared. “We are ensuring that your ritual will go smoothly.”

“That isn’t your place. She is like you, an avatar and a conduit, you don’t understand anything beyond that, and you cannot make her understand. That’s for me and Kumarbis. You should wait, that is your part in this.”

“We’ve been waiting too long already,” he muttered.

Zora demanded of them, “What did you tell her? How much damage have you done?”

“You know,” I drawled. “You could talk to me. Direct, like. ’Cause I can hear you and all.”

She looked at me, about as startled as if I had just slapped her with a wet fish. I wasn’t a being to her but a tool, and tools weren’t supposed to talk. What did you do when your tools weren’t particularly happy about being used? She was probably having a bad week, wasn’t she? Not as bad as mine …

In a hurried, flustered movement, she shook herself out and looked at Sakhmet and Enkidu. “We’ll discuss this outside. Come.”

She marched to the end of the tunnel, stopped at the doorway, turned to glare. Enkidu bristled, his werewolf’s gaze returning the challenge, but Zora didn’t seem to notice. These people were all dominant in their own ways, trying to tread lightly, and not particularly succeeding. The cracks showed.

Enkidu finally sighed. “Fine.”

Sakhmet took his hand and squeezed; the gesture seemed to soothe him. To me she said, “We’ll calm Zora down. You should rest, to prepare for tonight. Drink more water.” She was trying to be comforting. Trying to help, I could see that.

Hand in hand, Sakhmet and Enkidu joined Zora, and the argument picked up as they went through the doorway. Zora ranted. “She must stay open to be a true avatar, you don’t understand, you haven’t truly understood, not ever, you’re both mercenary—”

“Zora, will you please calm down,” Sakhmet said in a long-suffering tone.

Their voices traveled down the outside tunnel, echoing until I couldn’t hear them anymore. They were carrying the argument elsewhere, far enough away that I couldn’t eavesdrop. Too bad for me.

I stared after them for a long time, and at the door at the end of the tunnel. My sleepy, angry, anxious brain felt slow, and had to churn through the realization before it clicked. When it did, my heart pounded so hard I went dizzy for a moment.

They’d left the door at the end of the tunnel unlocked.

Chapter 13

THEY SHUT the door, but I didn’t hear the bolt slide into place. Oh, please …

Oh so quietly, I pulled on the slab of wood—and it opened. Wincing, I froze. Waited, listened. But no one was coming, they hadn’t heard it. I had to hope that Enkidu and Sakhmet were arguing with Zora so loudly they wouldn’t hear the door scraping on the stone. Inch by inch, I eased the door open, just enough for me to be able to slip through the opening without scraping any skin on the silver-tainted mine wall.

And just like that I was outside.

More of the battery powered camp lanterns sat on the floor of the tunnel at intervals, spaced far apart. They gave off tiny auras of muted white light, so the space was still dim, the far walls and ceiling lost in darkness. But I could make my way well enough. The tunnel beyond the door was exactly like the ones I’d seen so far, nothing holding up the mountain over us but arcing granite, parallel rusted steel tracks curving along the floor, leading away. A historical curiosity. Any ore carts, spikes and hammers, drills, whatever other tools would have been used to dig out the mine and carry out ore had been cleared out long ago. A coating of white and red minerals splotched the walls in places. The place felt like a tomb.