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  “And then the human world grew up around it.” She makes a sweeping gesture, meant to encompass this room, this building, this neighborhood, and even the entire city. “The landscape changed. The land itself changed. Even those who knew what the location once looked like would not recognize the spot now.”

  “I don’t get—”

  “Oh, for heaven’s sake, Gretchen,” Greer snaps. “Does it really matter why or how? The bottom line is the same: we don’t know where the door is. No one does. We have to find it before we can open it.”

  “Fine!” I glare at my sister. She certainly has a feisty streak. If we weren’t in the middle of a mythological crisis—with her sitting dead center—I might compliment her fire. Right now, I just want answers. I ask the gorgons, “Tell me what you remember about it.”

  They both shrug.

  “It was so very long ago,” Sthenno says.

  Ursula adds, “And so very much has changed.”

  “I get that,” I say, trying not to roll my eyes. I could really use some of Ursula’s patience right now. “But you must remember something? Anything, even the tiniest detail, might help. Was it big or small? Red or black?”

  Sthenno laughs, almost a snort. “The door is not, in fact, a door,” she says. “It is more of a location.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “It is not a physical portal,” Sthenno says.

  “It is just a place where the realms connect,” Ursula explains. “It could be anywhere—in a park, a building, or the middle of a street.”

  Greer rubs her forehead. She must be as confused as I am.

  “There must be some way to identify it,” I say. “We can’t just wander around the streets of San Francisco hoping to stumble onto it.”

  “No, of course not,” Ursula replies. “There are ways.”

  “We just don’t know what those ways are,” Sthenno adds. “When we guarded the door, it was defined by stone markers.”

  I perk up. That’s something.

  “Sadly,” Ursula says, “those markers are long gone.”

  Damn it. Just once in this mess I’d like to catch a break.

  “What about our mother?” Greer asks, dropping her hand from her temple. “Whoever put you in the dungeons thinks she can find it.”

  “Why would the godly faction think that?” Ursula replies.

  “I had a vision of you being tortured,” Greer explains, taking Thane’s hand like she needs the support. “The man wielding the lash asked you where she was, said that she would know how to find the door.”

  “And our friends in the abyss said Olympus was looking for our mother,” I add. “That’s why Grace came back to search for her.”

  Ursula looks confused, but Sthenno just shakes her head.

  “It is not your mother who Olympus seeks,” she says.

  “It’s not?” I ask.

  “No.” Sthenno crosses her legs. “It is the oracle.”

  “The oracle?” I echo. “As in my oracle? The one who told my fortune four years ago and told me where to find you last week? That oracle?”

  Sthenno nods.

  “Yes,” Ursula replies. “The very same.”

  I ask, “Why?”

  “Because,” Ursula explains, “she has powers that will render this entire war obsolete.”

  This seems like information I should have known before now.

  I cross my arms over my chest. “What does that mean? I thought she only told futures.”

  “An oracle is so much more,” Sthenno replies.

  “At our invitation, she was there at the original sealing,” Ursula explains. “She witnessed the ritual and contributed words of her own to the ceremony.”

  “She is responsible for the prophecy about the Key Generation,” Sthenno adds. “She wove in the threads that led to you.”

  The door was sealed centuries ago—millennia ago. I try to imagine the oracle, the little old woman with the flowing robes and the dusty old storefront, being alive and well and participating in the sealing ritual. I knew she was old, but I didn’t know she was ancient.

  “An oracle with enough power can create futures,” Ursula says.

  “Or if not create them, at least direct them.” Sthenno rolls her shoulders like she’s trying to loosen a tight muscle. “This oracle is one of the most powerful who ever lived.”

  “Because her magic is entwined in the very fabric of the prophecy,” Ursula says with a grave tone, “it can also be used to unravel it all. She is the only one who can alter the prophecy.”

  “If the monster faction wants her,” Sthenno says, “they believe they can use her to reverse the seal without the Key Generation.”

  “Can they?” Greer asks.

  “They have tried for millennia,” Sthenno replies.

  “Until recently, I would have said no,” Ursula says, “but the magic is weakening in preparation for the fulfillment of the prophecy. Perhaps now they might actually succeed.”

  To think the oracle could—with a snap of her gnarled fingers—undo this whole mess. . . . It might have been nice if she’d mentioned that. And it’s not like she’s around to tell me now.

  “I don’t think she can help us,” I say. “She’s been missing for weeks. We searched the entire city and didn’t turn up a clue.”

  The two gorgons exchange a worried glance.

  “She must be found,” Sthenno says.

  “There were signs of foul play at her storefront.” I picture the destruction Nick and I found at her place. “Her furniture was busted up, and there were drag marks on the floor. What if she was taken?”

  They could already be using her, torturing her into changing the prophecy.

  “She left her pendant,” Sthenno argues.

  Ursula nods. “She has gone into hiding.”

  “I can look for her,” Greer says. “Now that I know how to control my power, maybe I can find her in a vision.”

  “No!” the gorgons shout at once.

  Greer jerks back, stunned by their vehement response.

  “What?” I ask, confused. They should be happy that my sister is honing her second sight. “Why not?”

  Ursula lays a hand over Greer’s on the table. “With the connection to Apollo in place,” she explains, “any attempt to seek out a vision allows the full breadth of his power into your mind.”

  Yeah, that doesn’t sound good. The last thing I would want is some god peeking around in my thoughts. I don’t know how Greer stands it.

  “Human brains were not meant to contain the powers of a god.” Sthenno crosses her arms over her chest. “There is a reason so few have been elevated to that status.”

  “So . . . what?” Greer asks, her cheeks pale. “I can’t use my powers or I’ll . . .”

  “You’ve already been in an astral lock once,” Ursula says, “for a short time. Each further attempt will only result in a longer and longer lock, until . . .”

  “Until what?” I demand.

  “Until her consciousness gets frozen there,” Sthenno answers. “Permanently.”

  I suck in a tight breath and huff it out. Greer looks just as terrified as I feel.

  “Permanently?” Thane growls.

  “Not even Apollo could free her,” Ursula answers.

  “Some things are beyond the powers of the gods,” Sthenno says. “The astral plane—the source of all magic, power, and prophecy—is not theirs to control.”

  The thought of Greer with her consciousness trapped in some bizarro place and her unconscious body stuck here is awful. I will do whatever it takes to keep her from that.

  “Fine,” I say, shaking away the image of my sister in permanent astral lock. “No more seeking visions—not while Apollo has full access to your brain.”

  “No.” Greer’s voice is barely a whisper. “No more visions.”

  Thane laces their fingers together and squeezes tight.

  “It is, however, imperative that we locate the oracle,” Sthenno says. “She
wrote the prophecy. She created the idea of the Key Generation.”

  “It is the oracle they wish to kill.” Ursula clasps her hands together. “Destroying her could unravel everything, from the sealing ritual to . . .”

  She trails off, and my gut tightens.

  “Let me guess,” I say, already sure I know the answer. “To the Key Generation.”

  “What?” Greer asks. “What does that mean?”

  I look my sister in the eye as I say, “It means it could unmake us.”

  Her jaw drops in a look of unprecedented shock.

  “Well, we won’t let that happen,” I insist. “There must be another way to find her.”

  “I know some places she might have gone,” Sthenno says. “Havens for those seeking a break from their magical lives. I will seek her out there.”

  I could use one of those havens myself sometimes—like right now. Maybe, when this war is all over and things have settled down, my sisters and I can visit one for a while.

  Ursula smiles at Sthenno, her eyes shining with pride and joy. I’m sure she is happy to see her sister after their long separation, after they kept out of touch in order to keep me and my sisters safe. They have made a lot of sacrifices to keep us safe.

  Generations of our ancestors have made sacrifices to make fulfilling the prophecy possible. There is no way we’re going to let them down.

  “I, too, must leave. I have other assistance to convene,” Ursula says, pushing back from the table. “As the time of prophecy draws near, our allies need to rally to the cause.”

  I just got Ursula back. The last thing I want is for her to leave again. Sthenno is going off to find the oracle. Even if I decide to trust Thane, he has no powers beyond killer fighting skills. I can’t leave my sisters alone in the city without supernatural protection, which means I can’t go with Ursula to protect her. “Can’t you call them or something?”

  She shakes her head. “Such methods of communication are too vulnerable. I must collect them in person.”

  “As the appointed time approaches,” Sthenno says, already heading for the door, “it becomes more critical that our forces be united.”

  Ursula smiles at me. “We must go. But we shall return.”

  “With help,” Sthenno adds.

  I have a little mental chat with myself. It’s selfish to care more about keeping Ursula close by than about succeeding when we open the door. If the gorgons think we need the oracle and those other allies in order to win—to live and to save the lives of those in the abyss—then we must need them. They haven’t been wrong yet.

  “Fine—while you two go after the oracle and our allies,” I say, checking my phone to make sure I haven’t missed a call or message from my other sister (nope), “I’m going to find Grace.”

  If it’s the oracle the monster faction is after, there’s no point in Grace continuing this wild goose chase for our mother. And there are only three people who are absolutely necessary when the time comes to open the door: me, Greer, and Grace. She needs to be back at our side. We are stronger together.

  Greer stands like she’s going to come with me.

  “No,” I tell her. “You need to stay here.”

  “I want to help.”

  “You coming with me won’t help.”

  Her face pulls into a scowl that probably makes normal people cower. I just give her a think-about-it look. It only takes a second for her to understand.

  “Oh, right,” she says quietly, tapping her temple. “Beacon of Apollo.”

  I nod. “Sillus, with me.” Then, looking at Thane, I ask, “You’ll protect her?”

  He replies with one curt nod, and then Sillus and I are out the door, following the gorgons down to the street below. While they go off hunting for friends, allies, and an oracle in hiding, I’m going to find my missing sister and bring her back to safety.

  My first thought is to look for Grace at her apartment. If she hasn’t found our mother yet, maybe she’s back home researching. I’m halfway there from the safe house when my phone rings.

  I check the caller ID.

  “Grace.” I click to answer the call. “Where the hell have you been?” I demand. “I’ve been trying to call—”

  “Gretchen,” she says, her voice equal parts excitement and fear, “I found her.”

  “What?”

  “I found our mother!”

  “Where are you?” I demand. She tells me the address. “I’ll be right there.”

  I floor the gas and head for our mom’s house. Our mother. Guess it wasn’t such a wild goose chase after all. I hope this doesn’t complicate an already crazy situation.

  CHAPTER 18

  GREER

  The safe house is one of the most disgusting spaces I’ve ever inhabited. Every object and surface in the tiny apartment is worn, rotten, or stained. Some are all of the above. The plastic chair from the too-vintage-to-be-cool dining set looked like the safest place to sit.

  It’s not comfortable, but it’s probably not harboring bedbugs or bacteria.

  I glance down and see a small puddle of dark brown liquid seeping out of one of the legs. Perhaps I was wrong.

  Pushing to my feet, I cross to the lace-covered window and pull the brittle curtain to the side. The sun outside is bright, and even though my head still hurts, it feels good to stare out into the light.

  It is an odd feeling, knowing that my brain is somehow connected to a god. On the one hand, it makes me feel powerful. How many people can claim to have ever been telepathically joined to an Olympian? But on the other hand . . . it’s terrifying. My brain—always a source of pride and power, the means to all of my success—is suddenly my enemy. It is bringing my enemies to my side, to my sisters’ sides. And I hate it.

  The thought of being in any way the cause of harm to Grace or Gretchen makes me nauseous. I turn away from the window.

  “You know,” I say to Thane as I try to shake off my morbid thoughts, “I’m still waiting for those answers of yours.”

  “Answers?” he asks, as if he doesn’t know what I’m talking about.

  “Do not play games with me, Thane Whitfield.” I cross the small apartment, careful to not trip over the frayed carpet. “You will not like the results.”

  Arms folded over my chest, I am so not going to let him get away with not filling in some of his blanks. The world around me is going to Hades and back, but I can still hold my own in a one-on-one with a cute boy.

  All right, perhaps cute isn’t the right adjective. Hot, handsome, ruggedly sexy—all of the above apply.

  But I will not be swayed by a hot, handsome, ruggedly sexy boy, either.

  His stormy gray eyes darken with longing and shadows . . . and fear.

  Thane is so strong and tough; seeing him suffer is like a jolt of electricity. He lifts his hand like he wants to reach out and touch me—my face, perhaps, or my hair. Then he lets his hand fall away.

  My approach is all wrong.

  I am more than willing to take the gentle initiative. Slowly, I trace my fingertips over his furrowed brow, smoothing out the tense muscles of his forehead. His eyes drift shut.

  I resist the urge to lean up and press my lips to his.

  “I don’t know what kind of girl you’re used to dealing with,” I whisper as my fingers flutter down over his cheeks, “but the strong and silent thing doesn’t really work for me. I like a guy who can communicate. You don’t need to confess your feelings, but you do have to be able to answer seemingly simple questions.” My touch drifts along his jaw, temptingly close to his mouth. “If you can’t do that, then let’s just agree right now that this thing between us goes no further.”

  His eyes blink open and he stares at me for several long moments. I can’t get a read on his thoughts—can’t determine if I’ve used the right tactic. Maybe he likes the pushy, aggressive Greer. Maybe I need to bring the diva attitude back out.

  Finally, he says, “None.”

  “Excuse me?”

  �
��None,” he repeats.

  “What does that mean?” I frown. “None what?”

  “Girls,” he answers. “The kind I’m used to dealing with is none.”

  I’m stunned, and it takes me a few seconds to comprehend what he means.

  “Are you saying . . . ?”

  “There have been no other girls, Greer,” he says quietly. “Ever.”

  “Thane . . . why?”

  I’m not sure what I’m asking—whether I mean why no other girls, or why now, or why me.

  On any given day, I’m quite aware of how exceptional I am. Both socially and academically, I am at the top of the food chain at Immaculate Heart. When I graduate next year, I will have my pick of Ivy League universities, and I already have my pick of wealthy, powerful friends and boyfriends.

  This, however—right here, right now, with this boy—is almost enough to floor me. I think I’m close to tears, and for once I don’t know if I want to hold them in.

  “My life is complicated. My future is . . .” He rubs a hand over his short hair. “Uncertain.”

  I take his hand in mine. “Whose isn’t?”

  He shakes his head with a sad half smile.

  “I’m not good with words, Greer,” he says. “I like you, more than I should, and I want to be at your side for as long as I can.”

  “Why?” I repeat.

  “Does there have to be a reason?”

  “Yes,” I say. “No. I don’t know. But there must be. We’re so different.”

  “I can’t explain it.” He tilts his head slightly to one side. “I look in your eyes and I . . . belong.”

  I blink.

  “I love my family, and they love me,” he says, although he flinches when he says the second part, “but I’ve never really fit.”

  He may not be good with words, and he may not use them a lot, but when he does . . . they work.

  I stare into his eyes, enchanted, because when I do, I feel the same way. I belong—in a way I never have with my friends or parents, and in a different way than I belong with my sisters. He supports and understands me. And, for the first time in my experience, he makes me the priority. Not what I can do for him—me.