Page 10 of Hercules

A new nod. “My security team thinks it was a demigod named Rizon, currently going by the human name of Reks Byrd. Little shit’s been desiring full god status for centuries now and thinks that if enough mortals are worshiping him, he won’t be refused the request again.”

“Shit.” Herc straightened a little. “Even as little as I enjoy interacting with the humans, I know that name. Byrd’s popularity is soaring. They’re calling him the new Bowie.”

“Well, he’s doing it with my powers, which isn’t just insulting. It’s fucking dangerous. For him and all of us.”

Herc shifted his weight. “The mortals say one of his concerts is like visiting another dimension.”

“Exactly.” The god jolted to his feet, clearly unable to check his furious energy anymore. “And what happens when that idiot amasses enough power to actually let them see it?”

“Fuck.” Herc vented a little himself with the word, dragging out the vowel. “And I’m not supposed to be grabbing my weapons to go after him…why?”

“Because we don’t think he’s keeping the string on him.” Apollo paused for a moment to acknowledge Herc’s gawk. “I said he was a shitbag, not an idiot. From what we can tell, he’s learned how to stockpile the musical magic from the string so he doesn’t need it nearby all the time.”

“So even if you did give me leave to tackle and hogtie him in front of thirty thousand fans, it’d do no good?”

“Tempting,” Apollo muttered, “but precisely.”

“So what do you want me to do?”

His stepbrother finally made it over to the larger chair behind the desk. But he didn’t settle into it. Instead, he looked down at the twin cages he’d made of his spread fingers atop two piles of papers in the center of the mess. He only looked up right before speaking again.

“There’s a good chance Byrd left the string here in LA.”

Herc let his brows reach for his hairline. “Which contains twenty mountain ranges, thirty-plus beaches, a hundred train stations, a hundred and fifteen bus routes, and three-point-eight million people, of which a third are rock music groupies who’d shiv someone for the chance to help with hiding their idol’s special musical string.”

Apollo unsteepled his fingers and drew them back as if Herc was about to wield a shiv himself. “You know you scare me sometimes without your gear and arrows?”

“And your point is?”

“Right.” His stepbrother pulled back upright. “This subject can’t wait. But be assured, I’m not sending you after a diamond in a bowl of glass. We’re very close to pinpointing Byrd’s hidey hole.”

“Éxochos,” Herc said. Excellent. “Text me coordinates, and I’ll jump in on things at once.”

“Uh-uh.” Apollo stop-signed a hand on the air. “What I need from you doesn’t involve jumping.”

“Ah. Okay.” Herc proved the full understanding by sliding smoothly to his feet. “So, stealth.”

Apollo kept his hand up. But that wasn’t the tell that shoved the lump in Herc’s throat all the way to his gut. It was the way he notched his chin just an inch higher, firming his approach, before replying, “Something like that.”

“Something like…what?” The syllable emerged from him with matching determination. Who was he shitting? It was straight-up suspicion. “What’re you asking of me, brother? Does this involve black cats? Broken mirrors? Purposely stomping on sidewalk cracks?”All the symbols of bad luck and curses were engraved on his brain by now. Nothing left to chance.

“No,” Apollo stated right away. “None of the above. I promise.”

That did nothing for the tight balls of Herc’s hands. “Then why do you still look like someone sewed your sphincter shut?”

Apollo drew in a long breath. “Because we suspect that Reks Byrd’s girlfriend might be the key to finding him and the string. And to get close to her, you’re going to need a new suit by eight tonight.”

Keeping his fists tight was a wise choice. Secretly he turned both of them in and slugged them into his chest. But the lack of wind in his system didn’t prevent the glare on his face or the snarled words in his throat, flung out directly at the god who was really going to make him do this fancy-pants fluff in a few hours.

“Damn it, Polo Pony. Couldn’t you have just asked me to take a stroll under a mile of ladders instead?”

CHAPTER 4

Lo’s whole face ached.

Why didn’t any of the gyms in the city do conditioning workouts for smiling, smooching, waving, and schmoozing for sixty nonstop minutes?

Regardless, she should have built up the stamina by now. While donning her wig and contouring her face, she’d realized she was nearly on autopilot. How many times had she played this game on Natasha’s behalf?