Page 40 of Edge of Stars

If he thinks that’s the key to relenting my grip, the poor guy is dreaming. But I can’t pretend his words don’t dent me. There’s a dull burn behind the stressed scrutiny I slam back at his.

“Is that what’s going on, then?” I dig in harder with my hold, barely suppressing the urge to fully shake him. “Is that bitch hurting them even more?”

Though he still doesn’t give me quarter, there’s a new element across his face—the silent acceptance and understanding of every part of my seethe—that makes it easier to get some air again. Some. But not enough.

Not a sufficient amount to call my breaths easy again.

Not nearly enough to let him go yet.

“I don’t think it’s clear yet,” he finally discloses. “That caged bull look on Proteus’s face? It’s not a show. Something new has hit him. An unexpected alteration. Since Hecate’s been the sneaky little mamba pulling so many of those lately, including the derailment of your wedding, then our jump to the blame is logically sound.”

Here’s the appropriate part to let my arm fall. I tack on a self-deprecating wince. “She wasn’t the first one with the idea. About using the wedding for secondary purposes.”

Poseidon rolls his shoulder. “Oh, I’m aware.”

I bunch my brows. “You—”

“Were only paralyzed,” he fills on. “Not unconscious.”

I rock back my head. “So everything we were saying, after Hecate and the boy toys showed up…”

“Was probably quite the enlightenment for everyone in the room,” he clarifies, back to the James Bond-meets-Big Kahuna drollness, despite the circumstances. I’d ask him to lend a little of the martini-soaked surf wax if there was time.

“Enlightenment,” I repeat, as if it’s a new dirty word. In my personal dictionary, it is. But there’s not a second to spare for explanations. I know that with piercing urgency now. The same tip of the knife that edges every syllable. “Damn it. So every ear in that room, god and mortal, knows about Hecate’s plans.”

And now a crack in the Bond veneer. “And that Hecate even is Hecate.”

“And that she’s from…where she’s from.”

I go vague about it because I have to. If I’m more specific about the queen of witches, I’ll have to be more exact about my own heritage. Kara’s too. The secrets of our blood, painstakingly hidden from the world. Not just the very-very VIPs from Hollywood and Alameda.

That crowd included a lot of everyday people as well. Our friends, who thought themselves trustworthy with us. Then there were the lesser gods and industry assistants, forced to be at the wedding because of duty or a paycheck. Measly compensation for nearly dying as supersized freezer pops.

Damn it, damn it, damn it.

“Yes. All of that,” my uncle mutters. “Or worse.”

“No. Worse is what we hope for,” I growl. “But we expect chaos. Rapid and global.”

“Unless Hecate’s already dammed up the river.”

I don’t want to pivot completely toward the water, letting Kara interpret what she will from my hunched back, but I force my feet into motion anyway. She’ll extract less from my posture than whatever feral forces are tromping across my face right now.

“So you mean sealed up the tomb?” I grit out, enduring my uncle’s fast inhalation.

“Not the metaphor I wanted to slap you with, but now you know why Proteus and I are rushing things now. We’ll make it,” he vows. His grip on my deltoid is tight and damn near punishing, but I let him continue with the assurance I didn’t even know I needed. “And when we do, if Hecate can’t be…persuaded…to work with us on reversing the whole mess—”

“Jerry time?” I quip, imposing another deflection on my brain. Nothing in my imagination wants to start pondering what he means by persuading the goddess.

“Regrettably, Jerry’s booked. Two bar mitzvahs and a fantasy cosplay convention. But we lucked out. Hypnos is free and says he’ll do it for free pizza.”

“I like Hypnos already.” I almost send it out on a chuckle, but there’s no time to waste. “And I’m grateful for you, Uncle. Honestly.”

I break in on myself as if my cell’s gone off on urgent reminder mode. It hasn’t—no surprise, since I set it for seven days of honeymoon DND mode as of an hour ago—but I’m surprised it’s still alive as I pull it from my front pocket. Guess the guy in the phone store meant it when he said fully waterproof.

“How do I keep in touch? Do you have phone digits? Or even an email?” I ask while opening my contacts list.

He narrows his gaze. “Living in the sea doesn’t make me a rusty bucket, kiddo.” After deftly thumbing numbers onto my screen, he hands back the device without breaking pace. “But you remember the part about velo being a literal cloak, right?”