The minions tonight were a sure sign I’d failed.

Apparently the witch was right.

Dub was the first to move. He sat down on the stairs. “Wow.” His skin had gone a little pale. He rubbed his face as though he knew it, as though trying to stir his blood and bring himself back to normal—well, as normal as Dub could be.

I didn’t need to look in the mirror to know I looked just as frazzled. I felt it in the shaky muscles, in the numbness and the chill in my skin. I straightened, pulling my blade from the dead creature at my feet.

Deep, even breaths. That’s what Bran would say after one of our grueling training sessions at Presby. Slow and easy. My gaze stuck on Sebastian as he bent down and picked up Violet’s mask, which had come off during the fight. He handed it to her and then faced me.

Nice of him to finally show up.

Ever since he’d become a full-fledged vamp, I’d expected Sebastian to go through some rough spots. Yet he hardly acknowledged he’d changed, even though the stress was written plainly on his face. It was in the haunted shadows lurking in his eyes, the tight set of his jaw, and the tension that radiated all around him. He was becoming more and more reclusive, withdrawing from me and the kids. Avoiding. I wished to God he’d lean on me, let me in, let me help in some way.

Footsteps echoed from the porch outside, drawing my thoughts away from Sebastian. As a group, we straightened, ready for the next onslaught.

Brown suede boots stepped over the corpse blocking the threshold. The boots went all the way up to the knees. Bare thighs. Leather skirt. Bow and arrows peeked over her shoulders. I blew a strand of hair from my eyes, relieved it wasn’t another attack and yet wary as to what drama would unfold next.

Menai, daughter of Artemis, stood in the foyer. The tall, red-haired, sarcastic demigod—or god, depending on who her father was—surveyed the scene. She lifted an arched eyebrow as her earthy green gaze settled on me. Full lips quirked into a smile. “Still kicking ass and taking names, I see.”

I wiped the bloody blade on the back of one of the minions and then slid it into its sheath. “The only name I care about is your aunt’s.”

Another figure, dressed in a tight black tank and black stretch pants paired with tall combat boots, stepped over the corpse. I recognized Melinoe immediately. It was hard not to; the daughter of Hades definitely left an impression. Melinoe’s skin was two different colors. Her left side was coal black and her right side was a ghostly white. She parted her hair in the middle, and it followed the same colors as her body. She looked split in two. Black and white. Her eyes, though, were both an eerie, light bluish gray.

Violet walked right up to Melinoe and regarded her like an interesting specimen she’d found in the swamp. “You’re two different colors.”

Melinoe looked down slowly. Even the way she moved was eerie. “And you are but one.”

Violet nodded thoughtfully and tested the name on her tongue. “Meh-lin-oh-way. You were at the temple.”

“I was.”

“You’re Death’s daughter.”

“I am.” Melinoe lifted her white arm. “With this hand I can rip your soul from your body and send it to the Underworld, leaving you but a shell, a ghost of your former self. With this hand”—she lifted the black one—“I can destroy that soul.” Her fist closed. “Crush it until it’s nothing but ash. No Underworld. No afterlife. Nothing.”

Violet cocked her head and stared at her for a long moment. “Cool.”

And then she skipped back into the kitchen, leaving us all a little dumbfounded. Typical Violet. Melinoe’s lips twisted into a shadow of a smile as she watched Violet disappear.

“Were you shittin’ her?” Dub asked. “Can you really do that?”

Melinoe’s eyes went narrow and shrewd. She lifted her white hand and took a step toward him. “Want to find out, human?”

Dub ran.

Melinoe’s smile broadened.

Menai elbowed her in the ribs. “Knock it off, Mel.”

Death’s daughter shrugged.

Menai stepped farther into the room and surveyed the damage. “Sorry about the mess. Our τέρας tend to get a little carried away.”

“I’m sure you told them to be on their best behavior,” Henri said with a frown.

“Where would the fun be in that? It’s not like I told them to attack.” Of course she hadn’t. She’d said nothing, knowing they’d be true to their nature and hunt. Menai did Athena’s bidding, but she didn’t like it or chose it, and she probably figured seven less minions around the better.

My fists clenched with the desire to hit her smirking face. Playing with the lives of my friends wasn’t something I appreciated. I was quickly learning that the gods, even the benevolent ones, had very little understanding of how short and precious and fragile human life really was. Easy to forget when you’re immortal.

My ribs ached, and pain pulsed through the bite on my shoulder and along my back where I’d slammed against the wall. I went to the stairs and sat down, feeling pretty damn disappointed that I hadn’t destroyed Athena.

Menai being here now meant she’d been sent. And I was pretty sure I knew what came next. “So what’s she want?” I asked tiredly, flexing my sore wrist.

Menai’s gaze lingered on Sebastian. “Last time I saw you, vampire, you were”—she grinned—“hard as a rock.”

One of Sebastian’s eyebrows arched with amusement. Whatever. I bet she’d been waiting days just to say that.

It was true, though; he had been stone. . . .

“Unfortunately, Auntie Athena is not dead,” Menai went on. “She’s in a world of hurt, which is nice for a change. But she has those who are loyal to her, and she is fighting your curse, Ari, and slowly winning.”

I rubbed my neck. “And . . . ?”

“Recall your power from her body. Once the Hands are found, she wants you to resurrect her child. In return she will untangle the curse placed upon you.”

I let out a laugh. And there it was. In the span of a few hours, two offers to lift my curse where before that notion had seemed like an impossibility.

“There is no one more able to set you free than the one who cursed you in the first place,” Melinoe added.

I shared a glance with Sebastian. Anger swirled in his eyes. We both wanted Athena to pay for her crimes. She’d not only hurt us both, but she had also killed so many of her own monstrous creations, turning on them, using them, torturing them. . . . We had a better understanding of why she’d gone nuts and killed or imprisoned most of the Greek pantheon, including her own father and several brothers and sisters, and then going on to wage war on other pantheons. Her father had attempted to murder Athena’s infant child. But none of that knowledge diminished what she had done. None of it.

It killed me that I’d stood right in front of that broken statue known as the Hands of Zeus. I’d looked upon those strong marble hands holding a basket with an infant child, and had never known the significance. Never known those hands were the actual hands of Zeus holding Athena’s infant child, frozen in stone by one of my ancestors, and then broken off from the rest of Zeus’s body and hidden inside Anesidora’s Jar.

Athena wanted the Hands because she thought I could bring her child back to life. And she might be right. I had all the power of a gorgon, but I could also bring back to flesh that which had been turned to stone. I’d only done it once, and the result of that effort was standing by me with a frown on his handsome face.

“And once I’m fully human and she’s healed, I’ll be dead with the flick of her wrist. No thanks.”

“She said you’d say that,” Menai responded. “Athena is willing to offer blood-bound vows to leave you and anyone you name unharmed. I would suggest thinking long and hard about that, for your wording must be perfect. But she will make the vow, Ari. If you’re the one to find the Hands, you’ll have something she’d die for, has started wars for, killed her own father for. You will hold power over the Goddess of War. Think about that. As a gesture, she gave this to me to give to you.” Menai handed me a glass vial filled with Athena’s blood. “When you have the Hands, use her blood to open a gateway to her temple. Or send an emissary to set terms for a meeting. You might not want to visit our neck of the woods, given what happened last time. If the Hands are found without your help, she will send me to escort you to her temple for the resurrection.”

I took the vial. “What do you know about the Hands?”

“I was born last century, so not much.”

“And you, Melinoe?”

“I am much older. But I am forbidden to speak of it.”

Sebastian crossed his arms over his chest. “Forbidden or don’t want to?”

“I speak of it and I am no more,” she said simply. “That was the vow I was forced to make to the goddess, like everyone who survived her war and ended up at her mercy.”

“Are you forbidden to talk about who Athena was involved with before the war?” I asked. “Romantically, I mean.”

Traditionally, Athena was a virgin goddess. But that was in ancient times, over two thousand years ago. And maybe back then she was, but so much of what happened between then and now was mostly unknown. One of a few things we did know was that she had given birth to a child.

“I should not speak of it,” Melinoe said slowly, as though considering the repercussions.

Figured. I stared at the vial in my hand, feeling the warmth of the blood through the glass, even though it should have been cold by now.

“So?” Menai prompted. “What should I tell her?”

I was tired, tired of all the fighting and drama. I just wanted it to be over with. Maybe the best answer was to give Athena what she wanted, so all this would just go away. “Tell her I’ll think about it. Tell her to leave us alone, and I’ll look for the Hands.”

“Good enough,” Menai said. “See you around, god-killer.”