Page 69 of Edge of Stars

Poseidon didn’t bring his brother beyond his private veil just to score some familial bonding time. And Zeus didn’t accept the invitation only to embellish Po’s recap of the Southern California news scene.

“Everything Po and I have said is correct,” he asserts. “Your wedding guests have been released and are safe.”

Before he’s finished, I’m clutching Kara harder. And don’t deny the dozen pressure points in my chest, bearing down equally as brutally.

Every one of them points me back to the same revelation. The same word that stands out as if my father bolded and underlined one word of his statement. A word that changes the whole meaning of the damn thing.

“Our wedding guests,” I reiterate. “But that’s not the whole barrel…is it? A wedding isn’t only the guests…”

Z’s jaw clenches like fairies have buzzed both sides of his face. Evil ones. A new breeze wafts across the lagoon’s waters, but he’s not buying into the gentle wind, even when it lifts his hair away from his rugged features.

“No, son,” he utters at last. “It’s not.”

My wife, already practically bursting with the stress my senses have handed her, lurches toward him by a handful of inches.

“Which means what? Zeus?”

He’s the king of the gods, but not every king is without certain defeats. I really hate that in this moment, I know—I know—this is one of those shitty humblings for my father.

But not just for him.

“Hecate held on to two members of your wedding party.”

Z stops, clearly not by his own choice. I don’t think the deep emotional sheen in his eyes and the stark claws of pain across his cheeks are his idea of a good time. But he swallows hard and pushes on.

“She’s kept Nancy and Veronica. Your mothers are her prisoners.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

KARA

Why can’t I say anything?

It’s not a question I ever fathomed having to answer, always being the one to draw Maximus out of his self-restraint instead of the other way around. But even as Zeus leads the way back up the pier, suggesting my husband follow him instead of trying to dent another piling with the punch-now-ask-later method, Maximus respects my right to pick my way back to words.

Or…not.

If I apply words to all of this, it’s a step closer to being real. But that’s not possible. Maximus and I have paid our dues already, five thousand times over, at the hideous reality game.

Even if not, this isn’t fucking fair. Things like this happen to families who travel around Chicago in big black cars with drivers named Guido who speak in code about breaking someone’s knees for the rent money.

And traveling around LA in big black cars is different? With servants who communicate in code you’ve never heard of, reporting your every move back to an underworld conglomerate that eats the knee breakers for breakfast?

I battle to leave that whole thought outside the door as we all walk inside and then down to the room with the aquarium-style wall. But my effort’s as useless as extending a dinner invitation to the fish outside the glass. Every moment I’ve ever stressed about that side of my heritage—the darkness, the violence, the fires, the fear—is rolled up into a disgusting glob and then dumped in the middle of my belly. And it’s absolutely refusing to budge.

The pain doesn’t get much better when Maximus, bringing up the rear, stalks across the room and then circles a flustered glare around at the others—including my sister and his best friend.

“No way,” he spits out. “No damn way is this right.” He ticks the rage over again, pinning it onto Zeus. Now looking like he wants to hammer it into the All-father. “I don’t bel—”

As soon as Zeus sweeps up his phone screen, showing an image of Mother and Nancy side-by-side in a cramped car trunk, he chokes to a stop.

“Regina sneaked the shot to me before they closed it up and left the church. It’s fuzzy because she was across the parking lot.” His expression compresses. “She’s still whipping herself for not figuring out how to follow or go with them.”

“Because she’s that solid,” I murmur. “Oh, Reg.”

If Maximus follows that part of the exchange, he doesn’t show it. He still covers ground between here and the patio door like a caged animal. His agitation climbs so high, I sway by a few inches from its cerebral punch.

“Why would Hecate even…?” he blurts frantically. “How would she…”