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  The hair on the back of my neck stands up in warning, but I stop and look inside.

  “What are you?” I throw back.

  Inside the cell, a thin, haggard man lifts his head. He watches me with sagging, hollow eyes.

  His tongue darts out over his lips before he says, “Innocent.”

  I scowl. “Isn’t every convict?” I retort.

  “I have been convicted of no crime,” he says, his voice smoothing out as he uses it more. “I have been sentenced to a lifetime of chains and beatings without trial.”

  “For what?” I ask.

  “For daring to disagree.”

  That sounds like a bum deal. On any other day, I might be swayed by his sad story and inspired to do something to help—argue his case, maybe, or break him out of jail. But not today.

  “Sorry, bud,” I say, actually meaning it even though it comes across as sarcastic. “Can’t help you.”

  I don’t have time for this right now. I don’t have time for anything except saving Ursula from torture. But as I continue on my search, the image of his vacant eyes haunts me.

  By the time I circle back around to the group again, I’ve exhausted every last inch of the walkway around the moat. I’ve studied every block of stone, every line of mortar, every keyhole and footing and iron pipe. Finding nothing but cells and prisoners, I am no closer to getting through the shield and across to the other side. There’s no sign of a secret button, hidden lever, or magical key.

  “What the hell?” I shove my fingers into my braid.

  I pace back and forth, running over the space in my mind. There has to be a way across. How else would the prisoners get over there? How else would the torturers get to them?

  A tiny voice at the back of my mind suggests that maybe the only way across is a magic I don’t possess. I punch that tiny voice in the throat. That’ll shut it up. I don’t have time for negative thinking.

  “There has to be a way.” I face the golden maiden. “You seem to know everything. Didn’t your sister mention this?”

  She shakes her head. “I am sorry. Alaia would have no way to gain that knowledge.”

  Turning on Greer, I demand, “Tell me everything you saw. Every last detail of the vision.”

  Her eyes widen. “I did,” she insists. “I only saw the cell. Nothing beyond. I can’t even be certain it was one of these cells, or anything near this time. It could have taken place last week, or it might be going to happen tomorrow.”

  “What good are your stupid visions?” I fight the urge to slam my fist into the stone wall. “Why even have them if you can’t figure them out?”

  “I don’t know!” she shouts. “All right? I have no idea how these visions work or what they mean. I can’t even control them!”

  “Then keep trying!” I shout back.

  “What?!”

  “Keep trying,” I say. “Try again.”

  She blinks. “Try again?”

  “Try. Again.” I close the distance between us. “Have another vision.”

  “I—” She frowns and shakes her head. “I can’t.”

  “Of course you can.”

  She just blinks at me. “I never have.”

  It takes me a moment to realize we’re not shouting anymore. With a calmer head, I start to think my idea isn’t a bad one. I’ve honed my super strength with years of training. Grace has been practicing her autoporting. Greer needs to do the same.

  “Now’s a good time to start, don’t you think?” I place my hands on her shoulders. “Instead of waiting for a vision to come to you, go after it with a big stick.”

  “How?” she mouths.

  Thane steps closer to her side. “I think I can help.”

  We both turn to look at him in shock.

  He meets my gaze straight on. “Give us a few minutes,” he says. “I’ll teach her to draw down the vision.”

  “Draw down?” I question. He scolds me with a look. “Fine. Answers later. We’ll give you some space.”

  With Sillus hurrying to keep up, the golden maiden and I walk away from my sister and my other sister’s brother—my life has gotten too complicated by half—and back around the corner. If Thane thinks a few minutes alone with Greer will help us get to Ursula—Euryale—I’m willing to give it a shot. What other options do we have?

  CHAPTER 10

  GREER

  When Gretchen and the others round the corner, Thane lifts my backpack off my shoulder and drops it and his on the ground at our feet. He steps closer so there are only a couple of inches separating us. He seems so calm and certain, but I don’t know if I’ll be able to do this. I’m not used to feeling afraid of failure—I don’t generally fail, so what’s the point in fearing it?—but the pressure is overwhelming.

  So much is riding on my ability to produce this specific vision.

  “Thane, I’ve never—”

  “You will.”

  His eyes are so deadly serious that I have to believe him.

  I want to believe him, which makes him easier to trust.

  “Close your eyes,” he instructs.

  I take one last look at his eyes, at his strength, before I comply—before putting my faith in him, in his ability to banish the unfamiliar helplessness.

  “Imagine you’re in an empty room.” His voice drops to such a low whisper, I can barely hear him above the roar of the flames in the moat below. “A white room, with a white table and a white chair.”

  I smile. “I like white.”

  “Shhh.” He smoothes his fingertips over my forehead. “Just listen.”

  I nod, enjoying the feel of his hands on my face, erasing the dull ache at my temples.

  “You walk into the next room.” His fingertips dance across my skin, focusing on the spot right above my nose, between my eyes. “On the table there is a marble. It’s small and round, made of bright red glass.”

  I picture it down to every last detail: the smooth surface of the table, the brilliant shine of the marble—even the aura of red from the light that passes through it. My mind is so intent on the room that the sounds and smells of the dungeon around me drift away.

  “Walk over to the table.” He rubs a soft circle over my forehead. “Are you standing in front of it?”

  I nod, not because I remember I’m supposed to be silent but because I’m too relaxed to disturb the moment with speech.

  “Don’t do it yet,” he continues, “but when you reach down to pick up the marble, have the gorgons in your thoughts. When you squeeze the marble in your palm, you will have a vision that answers our questions.”

  Mentally, I stare down at that marble like it’s the last piece of fresh sourdough at Boudin’s. It’s the most desirable thing I’ve ever seen.

  “Are you ready for the vision?”

  His hands shift back down to my shoulders.

  “Now,” he says, gripping me tightly. “Grab the marble.”

  In my imagination, I reach out and snatch the red glass ball from the table.

  Immediately I’m slammed with the dizziness.

  “Hold on, Greer,” Thane soothes. “Keep it together, and the vision will come.”

  I force thoughts of the gorgons into my mind. I picture their faces, their elegance, their strength.

  Then it comes, like an old home movie—dark around the edges, with bright lens flares and burned-out spots in the middle.

  I see the dungeon—the moat and the cells and the shield keeping us from reaching the central island. I spin in the vision, searching for the answer. There must be an answer—otherwise, why have this vision? Movement catches my eye. Directly across the moat from Ursula’s cell, the little monkey creature has climbed up to the ceiling. He sticks his tiny hand into a nearly invisible hole between two of the ceiling stones.

  In a flash, a bridge shoots up from within the flames, and the shield, the very air around the moat, flickers like a bad hologram and then cuts away.

  I watch, thrilled, as the monkey drops gleefully back t
o the ground and Gretchen races across the bridge. It worked. I know how to get us across. I know how to save Ursula.

  Then, just as I’m about to shift my thoughts to Sthenno, my stomach swirls and my head explodes in pain. My vision goes black.

  You have seen enough, the male voice in my head says.

  “Leave her alone,” Thane growls. “Greer, get out now.”

  No. I need to find Sthenno, too. She’s in here somewhere.

  As I reach for her, the pain magnifies. I whimper, but I refuse to give up.

  Yes, the female voice says. Push harder.

  No! Thane’s voice says. Then he shouts, “Greer!”

  Through the searing pain, a vision begins to form. I struggle to focus. Just as I make out the space—a hallway lined with the same stone as the rest of this awful place—the vision jerks out of reach, like someone yanked it away before I could see the whole picture.

  The next thing I feel is Thane shaking me. I blink against the pain, relieved when I see Thane and the world as it is, not the imagined world of my vision.

  I draw in a shaky breath.

  “Are you okay?” he asks.

  I nod, even though I’m not really sure. I’ve never had that kind of feeling in a vision before. They’ve always come and gone without much fanfare, nothing more than an annoying dizziness before and a bit of fatigue afterward. The nausea and the headache aren’t exactly minor side effects. They’re not pleasant, but I’ve felt worse.

  That pain was something else.

  And the voices in my head—Thane’s and the other two—arguing over me . . . I don’t know if that was part of the vision or not.

  “Yes,” I say, taking a deep breath to calm my nerves and my stomach. “I’m fine.”

  “You saw how to get across.”

  It doesn’t sound like a question, but I smile and answer anyway. “What do you think?”

  Gretchen is back around the corner and at my side in an instant, an expectant look on her face.

  “What did you see?” she demands.

  As the monkey and the golden maiden join us, I tell Gretchen, and she takes off running for the spot I indicated.

  It’s only a matter of moments before she’s directing Sillus up the wall, his little furry fingers gripping spaces between stones like it’s his personal climbing wall. He finds the hole easily enough.

  I stand there, stunned. I can’t believe the vision was real. Other visions have come true, sure, but this is one I chose. I sought it out. I knew what I wanted to see, and then I saw it. And I was right.

  Now I’m eager to try again. I wonder if there’s an easier way to get there than to go through the whole white-room visualization. Maybe it’s just a matter of practice. Hopefully practice will lessen the pain.

  Knowing I can force visions of my choosing, I’m more than ready to try.

  You must strengthen your mind, the female voice says. You must control the power unleashed by the pendant.

  I blink and look around. No one else shows any indication of having heard the warning. But I heard her as if she were right here, speaking to me. Maybe I really am losing my mind.

  “Gots it!” The monkey hops back down to the ground.

  As he lands, a thunderous roar echoes throughout the dungeon. Stone screeches against stone and drowns out the sound of prisoners moaning.

  I push thoughts of my fracturing mental state aside. As long as the voices aren’t telling me to become a serial killer, dealing with what causes them can wait until later—until after the gorgons are rescued and the world is saved.

  I move to the edge of the moat to peer over, just in time to see the bridge from my vision lift up into view. Up, through the smoke, it glides until it’s level with the ground.

  Gretchen looks at me, her silver eyes full of appreciation and gratitude.

  That stuns me more than anything else. Gretchen isn’t one to give thanks easily. She’d rather do it all on her own and tell everyone else to go to Hades. That I could do something to make her grateful is kind of amazing.

  In this moment, I truly feel like her sister.

  I smile back.

  Then she’s running across the bridge, shouting her mentor’s name. Sillus and the golden maiden hurry after her, and I’m about to follow until I see Thane hanging back.

  “I’ll stay here,” he says. “In case there’s trouble.”

  “Thank you.” I slip my arms around his neck before he can protest. “I couldn’t have done that without your help.”

  He shrugs, like he’s uncomfortable with the compliment. But he hugs me back. He’s almost as closed off as Gretchen, so this is a major victory. It’s amazing how good that makes me feel.

  “You’re welcome.”

  “I—” I pull the image from the second part of my vision into my mind. “I couldn’t see Sthenno. I tried to go farther, to look for her, but it was too vague. Just a shadowy hallway.”

  “You went after a lot for one vision,” he says. “You’ll get better with practice.”

  I can only hope. If this is my power, my magical legacy from our ancient ancestor, I want to be able to use it to its full potential.

  “At least now I know how to practice. You knew just how to help me get the vision.” I shake my head. “How?”

  His entire body tenses. That small muscle along his jawline clenches and unclenches. Every last syllable of his body language says this is an off-limits topic of conversation.

  I don’t believe in limits. I’m getting tired of having these questions and getting no answers.

  “Are you even human?” I ask. A few weeks ago that would have been a sarcastic question. Now, I’m deadly serious.

  His gray eyes flash. “Yes.”

  “But you’re not just human,” I push. “You’re something more.”

  His jaw muscle tightens and doesn’t release.

  “You’d better go,” he says, not looking at me. “Gretchen will need your help.”

  I study him for a moment longer, trying to find some clue about what’s going on inside. He’s conflicted, and maybe scared. Whatever he’s hiding, now is not the time for me to dig it out.

  I’m not usually patient, but I am determined. Eventually, he will tell me his secrets.

  Without another word, I turn and follow my sister and our friends across the bridge.

  CHAPTER 11

  GRETCHEN

  The layout of cells on the other side of the bridge is a freaking maze—another labyrinth of stone and steel—and with the soundproof shields down, the groans and growls of the prisoners echo throughout the entire chamber. Euryale is being held in the outer ring, but we have to wind our way through all the others—past all the others—to reach her cage on the other side.

  Between these cells and those beyond the moat, there must be two hundred prisoners being chained and tortured. And from what the golden maiden says, there are other dungeons, other labyrinths of cells, just as full. It’s horrifying. Whether they are guilty of some crime against the gods or are political prisoners like Ursula, the treatment is inhumane.

  When I finally get to Euryale’s cell, I see her crumpled and beaten, hanging from her shackles like a piece of meat. My stomach lurches. If I’d had anything to eat in the past few hours, I’d be heaving.

  I step up to the door.

  “Ursula!”

  I can’t hide the pain in my voice, not even from myself.

  “We have to get her out,” I say without turning around. “Now.”

  I wrap both hands around a steel pipe in the door and yank. The door rattles but doesn’t budge. I yank again, pulling with every last ounce of my super strength. Two more pairs of hands appear alongside mine—pale ones and gleaming golden ones. Together, we grunt and pull, to no avail. The door stays solidly in place.

  “It’s no use,” Greer says.

  “Ursula,” I shout, louder. “Euryale!”

  She stirs, but only slightly. There’s the barest hint of movement beneath her flowing g
arments. My breath huffs out in a relieved sigh. She’s alive.

  That’s all the encouragement I need.

  “The steel is too strong,” the golden maiden says. “It will not yield.”

  “Then we do it the easy way.” I tap at the metal plate that shields the locking mechanism. It looks like a standard, old-style prison lock. It’s big, black, rusty, and—hopefully—vulnerable to picking.

  “How?” Greer asks.

  “Basic military strategy,” I explain. “Attack the most vulnerable spot. The lock.”

  I bend down, rip open the flap on one of my cargo pockets, and pull out a multitool—one that’s supposed to have a tool for every situation. I hope it lives up to the salesman’s promise.

  Flipping through the seven thousand accessories, I finally decide on the flathead screwdriver. I shove the point into the keyhole, wiggle it around, and pray something happens. I’ve never had to pick a lock before. Monsters aren’t usually hiding behind closed doors—I find them in the open, on crowded streets, or in back rooms and alleys, hunting somewhere with easy access.

  Now I wish I’d developed the skill.

  After several jerks and pulls and twists and curses, feeling nothing but the scrape of metal on immovable metal, I give the door a solid kick.

  “How are we supposed to get in?” I hate feeling helpless. “How are we supposed to get her out?”

  “We simply have to think this through,” Greer says. “There must be a solution—something obvious that we just aren’t seeing.”

  “Sillus help huntress.”

  I turn to see the little monkey emerging from the labyrinth, running toward me, his teeth bared in a huge grin.

  “How?” I ask.

  He jams his fist into the air.

  There, dangling from his little furry hand, is a set of thick black keys.

  “Where’d you get those?” I demand, snatching the keys from him.

  He shrugs. “Sillus find.”

  Right. The unconscious dungeon guards.

  “Nice thinking,” I tell him.

  His little monkey face beams.

  I choose one of the big metal keys, shove it into the lock, and turn. Nothing. I choose another. The third key finally works. With a heavy clank, I feel the lock mechanism roll over.