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8

Fortune’s Fools

I’m dead. I’m dead. I am so very, very dead.

“Don’t do this,” I whisper, ducking my head and hoping no one can read my lips or hear me as I essentially beg Hades to let me go. We’re still standing in front of the masses, waiting for I don’t know what.

“It’s done.” There’s no give. No pity.

He’s finally getting around to punishing me for earlier. That’s what this has to be. I have the worst luck with petty gods and this damned temple.

“Smile, my star,” Hades commands, soft but still compelling. “All the world is getting a good look at you before I take you away.”

In a disorienting flash followed by an immediate thunderclap that sends my ears ringing, someone else is standing with us.

Zeus.

Current power-hungry King of the Gods. I like to think of him as a narcissistic toddler.

Like Hades, this god is impossible to mistake, with pale curls that look like they’ve been shocked white forming a halo over his forehead, which strangely doesn’t make his fair skin look washed out. He doesn’t even look thirty…and Hades looks even younger, despite being the older of the two. I guess it’s true what they say about good genes and exercise. Zeus, though, is too pretty for my taste, although it is said his skin bears the scars of the Anaxian Wars. Something about Hephaestus and a volcano.

He’s dressed in an impeccable three-piece suit, though it is all white with a green tie that looks like he’s oozing algae from the neck.

Arrogant eyes so blue they almost hurt to gaze upon rake Hades from head to toe.

If I wasn’t so busy trying not to lose my shit over my own situation, I might’ve been amused by the comical mix of frustration and fury contorting Zeus’ otherwise angelic features. Turns out beauty, even godlike beauty, turns ugly with nasty thoughts.

The crowds trailing down the mountain, across the bridge, and into the city erupt at his appearance.

“The Crucible is of no interest to you, brother,” Zeus says with a smile, his voice booming across the headlands as he turns to play to his audience.

“And yet we both know you can’t stop me,” Hades muses casually for only us to hear. Then, in a voice that also rolls across the hillside, he says, “My brother wouldn’t be afraid of a little competition, would he?”

The responding cheers bring a scowl to Zeus’ angelic face, and electricity sparks over his head in tiny, popping bursts of light.

I lean in Hades’ direction. “Are you actively trying to get electrocuted?”

He’s watching Zeus, and I’m not sure if the sneer on his lips is for his brother or me. “I didn’t know you cared.”

For me, I guess. I give an inelegant snort. “I don’t. But I’m in striking range of where you stand, and I, unlike you, happen to be mortal.”

He still doesn’t look at me. “That instinct to save yourself first is going to serve you well.”

What in the Underworld is that supposed to mean? I might be cursed to never be loved, but that doesn’t mean I don’t care about others. In fact, in a lot of ways, it makes me care too much, putting everyone else’s happiness before my own. But that’s not my biggest problem right now…

I open my mouth to tell him that if he thinks I’m going to participate in this farce of the gods’ one-upmanship, or whatever is going on here, he’s mistaken.

But before I can reply, before even Zeus can, Hades says above the roar of the crowd, “Let the games begin!”

Then there’s a flash of lightning the exact moment I do that blinking-disappearing thing again, this time without the smoke effects. The blinking thing lasts a little longer this time, and I swear I feel a steadying touch at the small of my back.

When my vision blinks back in, Hades and I are no longer standing before the temple in San Francisco at night. We’re on a wide, semicircular platform that protrudes from a mountainside and appears to hover over a sheer drop into clouds with the sun shining above.

We’re alone, but probably not for long.

I need to talk my way out of this. Fast. I look around for any ideas and freeze. All thoughts of escape move to the back burner as I gape at a sight mortals have only dreamed of witnessing.

Olympus—the home of the gods.

Built among and on top of towering mountain spires, the pristine white buildings seem to be part of the very rocks themselves. Of easily identifiable ancient Grecian origin, they show perfect symmetry and, of course, the distinctive tall columns from various eras.

I can’t see any signs or lingering scars from the Anaxian Wars.

“Stop staring,” Hades says.

“I’ve never seen anything like it,” I breathe, forgetting for a microsecond who I’m with.

“It’s not that impressive.”

I shoot him a sidelong glance. He is the only god who doesn’t make a home here. Ever. “You sound bitter. Sour grapes?”

Is it possible for silvery eyes to turn pitch-black? He smiles in the way a shark does, showing you the teeth he’s about to eat you with. “Not at all.” He looks away, gaze skating over the vista before us. “I’ve seen better. Trust me.”

Better than this? I’m not sure that’s possible. “I’ll believe it when I see it.”

“I can make that happen.”

Was that a threat?

I pretend I didn’t hear him, looking up and up and up to the single massive temple sitting atop the tallest peak. Just below that, three faces are carved into the mountain side by side. Zeus, Poseidon, and Hades—the three brothers who defeated and imprisoned the Titans who ruled the world before them. From each of the open carved mouths pours a waterfall.

The water pouring from Zeus’ mouth is an almost iridescent white that turns into misty clouds that swirl their way down to the mountain below, shrouding Olympus from the eyes of the Overworld. The waters from Poseidon are turquoise, like pictures I’ve seen of the Caribbean Sea, so clear that even from here I can make out details of the rock face beneath.

And the one from Hades is…

I lean over. “Does your waterfall feed the River Styx?”

“Yes.”

“The water is black.” I can tell by the way his lips twist that I don’t have to point out what I’m getting at.

“It’s not black in the Underworld.”

“Really? What color is it? Please tell me it’s pink.”

He bends closer, intent on me. “You’ll find out soon enough if you’re not careful.”

I hide my wince by looking away.

Hades’ waterfall doesn’t fall far, turning into a river that seems to disappear into the bowels of the mountain, but Poseidon’s river winds its way along the surface, splitting to follow each peak. It flows under beautiful, curved bridges, feeding the lush greenery that covers the mountains, and disappears in places to come out of carved statues farther down.

And everything here sort of…glows. I’m surprised I don’t hear heavenly choirs. Olympus is overwhelmingly perfect. I suddenly feel small. Insignificant.

I shouldn’t be here.

I am the last person who should be here. There must be a way out of this.

“I’m…” I’m what? Sorry? Terrified? Suffer from wrong-place-wrong-time syndrome?

Before I can pick the right words, Hades blocks my view and says, “We don’t have long. I need you to listen.”

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