Page 83 of Edge of Stars

I twist my lips and triple the force of my hold on Maximus’s hand. “Wish I could say the same.” I gulp hard, battling not to expose the surge of my dread and the nausea through my belly. Nikoleta already isn’t fond of the bile, or so I conclude from her flurry of painful jabs. I’m so busy attempting to regulate it all back to normal that I’m too late with a cautionary arm as Kell steps up to our line.

“Wow. I’ve seen some desperate moves for attention in my time, but this has to be a new record. You’re freaky and fast, girl.”

Hecate doesn’t react. Every prism in her gaze remains on me, unaffected and unfaltering.

“Perhaps we should talk.”

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

MAXIMUS

Only a lifetime of holding down a long list of emotions saves me from running forward with my hands aimed for the witch’s neck. That I keep things curbed to a vehement jerk and a vicious snarl is still a shock, for which I reward myself with the words that spew past my jammed teeth.

“Talking was an idea for yesterday. You chose to turn our friends and family into sludge statues instead!”

“I believe the sludge was your part of the party, demigod. Just so we’re correct on the credits scroll.”

When Hecate dots that by pulling her posture higher, looking like she’s somehow still worthy of the opulent green dress and all her magic symbol pendants, I think of yanking my eyes out for relief from the sight. But that’d make it impossible to jolt my scrutiny to the black-suited prick next to her.

“Nephew,” he acknowledges, tilting his head like a Ninth Circle Ken doll. The comparison fits, since his lacquered-back hair doesn’t budge by an inch. “Nice evening for a family reunion, hmmm? But where’s everyone else?”

“Fuck you.” I soak my glare in as much disgust as I can. “Who am I kidding? Damn it. Fuck us all.”

Hades swings his black brows so high, they resemble the beginnings of question marks. There’s definitely no replacing the metaphor, since a thousand of them are barraging the chaos in my brain.

“All right, then,” he murmurs smoothly. “If you insist…”

If his remark didn’t crank up Kara’s anxiety by several noticeable notches, I’d really be screwing the self-control for a go at his throat. But again, I dig deeper than I ever thought conceivable, scooping at stores of composure that I didn’t know existed. They’re helpful for tightening the seams on the outside—but inwardly I’m a mess of frayed edges and burnt seams.

We thought we were resetting the stakes. Loading the fates in our favor. Bringing the witch here so we could control the plot twists. Change the narrative.

Has she stolen the script? Reconfigured our rewrite?

She’s fought side-by-side with Zeus. Few Olympians, if any, know his thoughts and quirks better than she does—which means she also knows a billion moves that might throw him off.

Like letting us think she’s swimming in for our lure but arriving at the pond with a housebroken Hades in tow. Why? How?

More hideously: for how much?

Deep in my gut, the answer already rises on well-sharpened blades. Knives dunked in acid. The stuff taints every syllable I openly spit at my uncle.

“You. Disgust. Me.”

Hades leans back on one heel, barely an alteration in his expression. He’s equally as stiff down to his toes, like Hecate’s dipped him in some of her wicked paralysis juice, keeping only his head free of the elixir. All of that is still very much him, including the savoring simmer of his gaze and the cultured coil of his lips.

“I. Don’t. Care,” those lips drawl at me now, bringing sickeningly clear delight to his new gal-pal. By maddening degrees, Hecate is increasingly in her element on this dark stretch of rocks and sand—a nauseating view but an equally troubling observation.

What the hell is happening here?

What aren’t we seeing yet?

Or even worse: what’s the witch queen still hiding from us?

We’re not going to get that answer if I stand here rocking and seething like some video game beast. Words, asshole. You remember those? And how to use them for more than insults and shit talk? Expletives that your daughter is likely taking notes on?

“But you’re obviously caring about some new things now,” I push out, but only by zeroing sights on the asshole’s bloodred tie. “Things you didn’t split a fingernail about after you tore open LA that night. You remember that, right? When you told her to basically go suck eggs?”

Hades is as wooden as before, hardly acknowledging my brutal thumb toward Hecate. “Times change, nephew. Sometimes faster than one expects. And closing oneself off to advantageous alliances just because the gears of history are spinning instead of turning, is like, well, reading a book that’s no longer relevant.”