Page 39 of Edge of Stars

“Yes and yes,” the sea king responds with swift ease. “But also no.” His hand is already up, knowing neither of us will settle for the ambiguity. “Unlike this realm’s militaries, or even Hecate and her magic machinations, the refuge you have here is as good as nonexistent.”

“Do you mean it’s a pocket dimension?” I ask.

“Yes…and no,” Poseidon has the grace to add a self-deprecating chuckle. “But your theory is headed in the right direction. This gorge…it actually exists, in the here and now, on Crete. But to the senses of all visitors to it or spies on it, the lagoon and villa are nothing but cliffs full of sagebrush and a stream at which to enjoy a picnic. To them, we’re nothing but vapor. Maybe vague spirits that they sense for a moment on the wind. We stay that way because every inch of Velo was constructed in harmony with the water. It’s remained so through the vigor of the seven seas themselves.”

I roll my head to the other side, hoping it might help for new perspective. The explanation is impressive and grand but thin on practicality, even to my science-compromised brain. Luckily, Maximus has used the time to come around and fully face his uncle with me. By now, his nod is as declarative as his stance.

“The commercial is impressive so far. So you’re talking preternaturally powered hydroelectricity? Let me guess. Yes and no?”

The god offers a quick but appeasing bow. “It’s not on purpose, I promise. I swear, I’m going to write God Realms for Dummies someday. Unfortunately, it’s not today. Yet you’ve already been to Labyrinth and Oread, which means accepting that walls aren’t always simple boundaries on a blueprint. But if you look deeper, much deeper, you’ll know why the inclusion came so easily. Maximus…you’ll know exactly why you endorsed all of it as fact.”

My husband rocks back by half an inch, though his brows are still hunched. The ends of his fingers work nervously against the back of my hand. He’s so baffled and frustrated, I can peer up at him and imagine I’m staring down instead. Feeling deeply for the little boy inside him, still struggling with his heritage. The boy who followed his mother out of the only home he’d ever known…to be brought to the shore to travel a huge sea. But not atop it. His uncle protected him, putting him in a strange shell to speed through it. Then that same boy, still so unsure when Uncle Po ensured it was okay to get out of the bubble and step out on the waiting pier. To keep going, toward the veranda at the end…

This veranda.

Oh my God.

There’s no time to relish how right I am about it. Or even for Maximus to work out why his uncle is grimacing as if some pissed-off skunks have piled onto the lawn. But as suddenly as Poseidon has twisted out that new look, it changes again. The god jogs his head back with a new scrutiny at his lieutenant.

“Proteus?” he demands. “What is it?”

“We have to go,” the aqua shifter barks, wheeling on one heel. “Now.”

Poseidon doesn’t move. Whether it’s a good or bad sign, I’m clueless.

Maximus belies his own confusion with more rapid-fire squeezes around my hand.

“Where?” the god calls out. “And why are you clouting me with it only now?”

Proteus doesn’t break an inch. “The future isn’t finite, majesty. You of all beings should know that, especially after today.”

“Shit.” Maximus’s hold turns into a tense clinch. “Does that mean—”

“You’re going back to California.” It’s not a question for me. I fasten my attention on the lieutenant, already feeling his wave of terse confirmation about it. “You’re headed back to the church itself.”

CHAPTER TWELVE

MAXIMUS

Poseidon’s answer doesn’t lend me a shred of comfort. Maybe it’s because I already detect the sham, needing only my wife’s strain for affirmation.

My wife.

A phrase I should be embracing with thorough—and carnal—joy by now. Instead, it’s turning me into a protective ogre, charging my uncle like he’s all three of the billy goats trip-trip-trapping across my bridge.

I don’t care.

This Gruff owes me—Kara too—an explanation of why the grooves at the corners of his eyes are still deeper than this canyon. Why his posture is stiffer than a general strategizing a major battle.

Is that what he is right now?

What the hell has Hecate pulled in the fifteen minutes since we’ve been gone? Or has my mind completely lost its shit too, and has it been longer than that? I’m stunned that Kara and I even know which way is up anymore…

“No.” I have to let go of her in order to clamp my uncle by the shoulder. We both skid along the pier from my contact, but we work together to stay passably upright. Still, I snarl, “You don’t get to be Aqua-Lancelot here. Stow the sword, screw your noble ride into the sun, and talk to me.”

My uncle rotates back as if the blade wasn’t figurative. His ferocious expression imparts as much.

“You want conversation or action, nephew?” he grits, the volume modulated for my ears alone. “Why, of course Proteus and I can stay and make sure you two are feeling completely cozy and at home. Would you like a full tour of the villa while he recounts every detail of his new vision? Sound good? Or”—the top of his head is a sharp indication back toward the water bubble car—“maybe you’re more interested in letting us get out of here to help your mother. Your friends. Kara’s too.”