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  “You want me to get her, boss?” the charcoal guy asks.

  While the boss watches us through squinting eyes, Nick pulls me closer against his chest. His heart is racing almost as fast as mine.

  “Nah,” the boss finally says. “Let ’em go.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah.” He looks away, dismissing us. “Better not risk it. We need the Keys intact.”

  I feel Nick release a breath behind me.

  “You go out first,” Nick says, nodding at the door. “Make sure none of your goons get the wrong idea about the situation. We’ll follow you.”

  The boss smacks his gums. “Whatever you say, Niko.” He grunts at the charcoal guy, who starts for the door. “I’ll enjoy making you pay for this later.”

  “I’m sure you will,” Nick replies. Then, too quiet for anyone else to hear, he whispers, “If they try to pull something, run.”

  Although my heart is still thumping up into my throat, relief washes through me. I wasn’t wrong about Nick—Gretchen wasn’t wrong. He’s on our side. And by threatening to take my life, I think he just saved it.

  There are two more bad guys waiting in the hall outside my apartment. The boss waves them off, and they warily move to the side and let us pass.

  “Head for the elevator,” Nick says, nudging me forward toward the bronze door at the far end of the hall.

  For the first time since my near-death experience in the rickety old elevator, I’m looking forward to stepping into the cage of doom. It’s actually the lesser of two evils here.

  “Push the down button,” Nick tells the boss.

  When he can only smack at the button plate, he shrugs. “Can’t. That’s the trouble with flippers, you know.”

  “Grace,” Nick says, ignoring the boss’s attempt at humor, “push the button.”

  I reach out, hand shaking, and call the elevator.

  I’m not scared that Nick will kill me, not anymore—I’m pretty sure he wouldn’t anyway, but the thought of what Gretchen would do to him if he did would probably give him second thoughts in any case.

  Everyone is very tense: the boss, even though he’s acting unconcerned, the uneasy goons watching the boss escort us to the lift, and Nick behind me.

  No one wants me dead here, least of all me, but tension can make people do things they otherwise wouldn’t.

  As we stand there waiting for the elevator to arrive, I study the people around us, or rather the monsters—the creatures who appear human to the ordinary people in my building. These beastly bodyguards could crush me with their bare hands, never mind the various weapons each one is carrying. Our only protection is my value as part of the Key Generation.

  My palms are itching to get us out of this situation.

  The elevator arrives with a creak and a sad ding. As the bronze door jerks open, I feel Nick tense up behind me. We’re almost home free—why is he getting more nervous? Something is about to happen, but I’m not sure what.

  “Nick, what—”

  He releases me, shoves me into the elevator car, and lunges for the boss.

  “Get out of here,” he shouts. “Autoport as soon as the doors close. Find your mother and get safe.”

  “No,” I scream as I stumble to the back of the car and brace myself against my crash into the mirrored wall. “Nick, wait!”

  But as I dive back for the door, it slides closed. I try to shove my hands into its path, to find the sensor that will reverse the motion, but I can’t. It crashes shut, and suddenly I’m in the elevator, alone and afraid.

  Before I can push a button—before my brain stops freaking out long enough to tell me to push the button for the floor we’re on so I can go back and help Nick—the car starts moving. Up.

  “Shoot.”

  I stare at the button panel. There are eight floors, with no way of knowing where the elevator will stop. Maybe it’s just another resident in the building. People must call the death trap all the time, right?

  But as the elevator slows to a stop on the floor above mine, I have a bad feeling in the pit of my stomach. The door starts lurching open, revealing a tiny sliver of the hallway beyond—just enough for me to see the gang of thugs waiting with their weapons drawn.

  Without thinking, I shut my eyes and blink myself out of there.

  My thoughts are muddled by the fear and confusion. I’m not thinking clearly as I autoport myself out of the elevator. There isn’t a thought in my brain except for escape. Get away, get somewhere safe. That’s the only explanation I can think of for my popping onto the soccer field at Milo’s school.

  Milo is doing ball drills a few feet away.

  “Grace?” he asks, blinking as he lets the ball hit the ground.

  Shoot, shoot, shoot.

  “M-Milo—” Looking around, I’m relieved—beyond relieved—to see no other soccer players on the field. This is bad, but it could have been really bad. “What are you doing here?”

  He gives me a look that implies that’s not the most relevant question at the moment. But he answers it anyway.

  “Coach wants me to improve my footwork.” He crosses the short distance between us. “What the heck just happened?”

  Yep, there’s the relevant question. The one I don’t want to answer.

  I shake my head. The reality of the situation rushes in. I don’t have time for this. I can’t afford to have this discussion with Milo right now. I have to get back to the apartment to help Nick.

  He just saved my life, and I have to return the favor.

  I’ll have to use my hypno-eyes on Milo. It won’t wipe his memory altogether, but it’ll give me a chance to get out of here without answering questions. It’ll give me time to go save Nick.

  Maybe when the gorgons are back, one of them can make him forget he ever saw me today. Either that or he’ll act like he never saw me ever. Who wants to date the freak girl with magical powers?

  “Did you just materialize on the field?” he asks.

  “Milo, I—” This is so hard. “I can’t explain right now. My friend is in danger, and I have to find him fast.”

  He studies me for a second.

  “Okay,” he says, grabbing the soccer ball off the ground and tucking it under his arm. “I’ll help. I have my dad’s car.”

  “You—you’ll what?”

  “I’ll help.” He nods toward the street. “Whatever you need.”

  I can’t help grinning. “Seriously?”

  “Just promise me answers later,” he says.

  I can’t believe he’s being so understanding. Maybe he’s in shock. He did just see his—what am I exactly? A girlfriend? A friend? A friend’s sister? Whatever I am—appear out of thin air on a soccer field. He’s entitled to some post-traumatic recovery time.

  I follow him to his dad’s car, a little brown thing covered in dirt and rust. He walks around to the passenger side, unlocks the door, and holds it open for me. As I start to move past him to get in, he blocks my path with his forearm.

  “But I will want answers, Grace,” he says. “Eventually.”

  His dark curls are damp with sweat and his cheeks are flushed pink from his workout. He’s cute and tall and he smells good, even now. He almost makes me wish I were still a normal, ordinary girl.

  I duck under his arm and climb into the car without replying.

  Either I’ll be able to give him answers or I won’t. As I sink into the ripped plastic seat, I wonder what he would do if I blurted out the truth, right here, right now, every last detail. Probably run as fast as he could in the opposite direction. He’s an amazing athlete—he can run pretty fast. He’d dismiss me as the crazy girl who believes in ancient mythology, and he’d be out of my life. Forever.

  That thought makes me ridiculously sad. We barely know each other, but I’ve learned enough to really like him. He’s sweet and kind and—apparently—not entirely freaked out by something completely insane. Maybe there’s hope. Maybe I won’t have to get someone with stronger powers to wash
the memory right out of his brain.

  Maybe I can have the best of both worlds—for once.

  He drops into the driver’s seat next to me, jams the key in the ignition, and asks, “Where to?”

  Right. Girl on a mission, not girl on a date.

  “My apartment,” I say, refocusing my thoughts on Nick and my biological mother. Time is precious. “As fast as you can.”

  He shifts into gear, pulls out of his parking spot, and floors the accelerator. I wonder what I’ll find when we get there.

  “Can I borrow your phone?” I ask.

  He grabs it from the dash console and hands it to me.

  I left mine at home when we went into the abyss—no signal in the monster realm—but I need to check on Mom and Dad. I try home first, and I’m not sure if I should be relieved or afraid when there’s no answer.

  I hang up and dial my mom’s cell. She picks up on the first ring.

  “Hey, Mom.”

  “Grace?” she gasps. “Gracie, are you okay?”

  “Are you with Dad?” I ask.

  “Yes, he’s right here.”

  My entire body sighs in relief. They’re safe. For now.

  There are sounds, and then my dad is asking, “Grace, where are you?”

  “I’m fine, Dad,” I say.

  “Are you—” He hesitates, trying to find the words. “Are you back?”

  “No, it’s not over yet,” I say, avoiding the direct question.

  Silence. “But you’re okay?” he asks.

  “Yeah, Dad,” I say. “I’m okay.”

  “And your brother?”

  I glance at Milo, as if he’d have the answer. “He’s fine, too.” As far as I know. Nick, on the other hand . . . “Look, Dad, you guys can’t go home.”

  “What happened?”

  How can I tell them without freaking them out? I can’t tell them the truth. “They know where we live,” I say simply, hoping they won’t ask too many questions. “Just find a hotel and wait for my call.”

  “Gracie, this is—”

  “Dad, please!” I shout, my fear making me more assertive than usual. “Please,” I say again, softer. “I need to know you’re safe. Promise me you won’t go home until I call.”

  He hesitates, and I can practically hear him thinking. In the end, though, he trusts me.

  “Okay,” he says. “We promise.”

  “Promise what?” Mom asks in the background, and I can hear the worry in her voice. I don’t have time to reassure them.

  “Thanks, Dad.”

  “You take care of yourselves,” he says.

  “I love you, Grace,” Mom shouts, almost desperate. “Come home soon.”

  I bite my lip as I hang up.

  They’re safe, and I feel some of the fear leave my body. With a sigh, I drop Milo’s phone back into place. He doesn’t say a word. His hand is on the gearshift between the seats, and I have the almost irresistible urge to lay my hand over his. Almost irresistible.

  Until Nick and my biological mother are safe, my sisters are back with the gorgons, and the looming war is over, I have to stay focused on the mission. Lives are at stake. My love life can come later.

  CHAPTER 9

  GRETCHEN

  The dungeons of Olympus are a harsh contrast to the shiny white marble world above. Those halls—all sparkle and gemstones—are what I imagined Mount Olympus would be like. This is like a slumlord’s boiler room compared to the high-rent high-rise above. The gods are sending a clear message that if you end up in their basement, you’re in big trouble. It doesn’t look that different from the abyss—dark, wet, never-ending, and foul-smelling.

  The main hallway at the base of the staircase branches off in several directions. I stop to listen. The place is eerily silent. It’s starting to make me nervous. The sooner we get out of here, the better.

  With no standout reason to choose one branch over the others, I lead us down the left-hand corridor, mostly because it’s the biggest and there are torches lighting the way. It seems the most likely to lead somewhere important.

  Or it could be a trap.

  “Stay close to the wall,” I instruct, “and right on my heels.”

  We follow the corridor around corner after corner, with nothing but stone walls to guide us. There isn’t even a rat or a medieval torture device to break up the monotony. It reminds me of King Minos’s labyrinth. If a minotaur is the biggest bad we run into down here, we’ll be in great shape.

  Then we round one last corner, and it all changes.

  I hold up my hand, and everyone behind me stops.

  The hallway spills into a vast open space. Encircling the outer wall of the chamber is a row of cells, cages closed in by iron bars. The rough stone floor stretches a few feet beyond the cell walls and then drops away. Smoke rises in its place, like a moat of fire. Across the gap, on a stone island floating amid the smoke, are more cages—dozens of cages with thick steel bars that overlook the flames.

  Every cage I can see is occupied. The dungeons of Olympus are overflowing.

  Somewhere in here, Ursula is suffering.

  “Then she took off her dress and she had eight legs,” a booming male voice bellows.

  Another male voice cackles with laughter.

  Swinging my backpack off my shoulders and dropping it on the ground, I wave everyone back and press myself against the edge of the wall. Looking toward the sound of their voices, I spot two guards tromping around the walkway.

  “I’m like, what are you, a spider?” the first voice says. “And she says, no, I’m a daughter of Arachne!”

  That sends the other guard into a fit of laughter.

  I turn to the group and gesture at them to move up against the wall. We wait, unmoving, as the guards draw closer. Bending at the waist, I reach down and pull out a handful of zip ties from a cargo pocket.

  I hope they’re continuing their perimeter walks, and not heading for our hallway.

  They reach the juncture and—I hold my breath—keep walking. After a quick glare at my companions to keep them in place, I take off at a run. The guards turn at the sound of my footsteps, but I launch into a flying kick, nailing the talkative one in the gut and knocking him into his laughing friend. I land on my feet between them, quickly dropping to my knees and yanking zip ties around their wrists.

  “You stupid bi—”

  The talker doesn’t have a chance to finish his insult before I knock his head into the ground and render him unconscious. His buddy silently shakes his head, but I can’t risk it. An instant later he’s just as unconscious as his friend.

  I resist the urge to push them into the moat—I don’t know what’s down there, and the two morons aren’t necessarily bad guys—so I just drag them out of the way.

  With the guards dispatched, my focus shifts to finding Ursula. Running along the walkway, I twist my head left and right to check the cages on both sides of the moat, scanning for any sight of her and her silver hair.

  I’m almost back around to the start when I finally see her.

  “Ursula!” I shout. Then, using her true name, “Euryale!”

  Through the haze of smoke and brimstone, I can see her in a cage on the far side of the moat, hanging limp from her shackles. She is chained to the wall, and her body is too weak to provide any support at all.

  She doesn’t move when I call her name.

  “Ursula!” I scream again.

  Thane appears at my side. “It’s soundproof.”

  He reaches forward. Even though there seems to be nothing but air in front of us, his hand connects with something, sending a shimmering ripple through the empty space, like touching the surface of a pond, only without the water.

  “What is this?” I demand.

  “A shield,” he says, “raised up by Nemesis.”

  I bang at the air, and my hand hits something soft but unyielding. Wave after wave ripples out in every direction from where my fist connects with the shield.

  “How do you
know that?”

  He doesn’t respond.

  I fight the urge to punch him in the face. We don’t have time for games and secrecy. As much as I want to pound the whole truth out of him, that’s not the highest priority at the moment.

  “Then how do we get across?” I ask.

  He shrugs. “No clue.”

  I turn my attention to the little monkey. “Sillus?”

  “Sillus no see,” he says, his big brown eyes sad. “Never before.”

  I look at the golden maiden, who slowly shakes her head.

  “There must be a way.” Someone has to be able to get across the moat to feed the prisoners. Or beat them.

  Leaving the group, I circle the perimeter again, this time more slowly, more observantly. I walk the full length of one side, then turn and walk another, and another, and finally the last. Half of the prisoners call out to me as I pass by—some in English, some in other languages, some in nonhuman speech. The others are too weak to speak.

  My inspection turns up no clues. No bridges, no paths, no sign that anyone has ever made it across to reach the prisoners within.

  Even if we figure out how to get the shield down, there’s still the matter of the moat—twenty feet of open space with the gods know what down below.

  I turn my attention back to this side of the moat. If there’s nothing directly over it, maybe there’s something else around here that will give me a hint at how to gain access. A lever, a ladder, anything. I circle the moat a third time, now facing the outer ring of cells. They are spartan—each containing nothing but a stone bench, rusty shackles, and a disgusting bowl. And a downtrodden prisoner.

  Men, covered in dirt and wearing nothing more than loincloths that look like they’ve been doing overtime as baby diapers. Pathetic, skinny beasts that look like they’re being slowly starved to death. Their empty eyes glance up and follow me as I walk by. Even though I know some of them are bloodthirsty monsters, it’s horrible to see them in such terrible conditions.

  “What are you?” a hoarse voice whispers as I pass a cell.