Page 60 of Apollo

“Because she knows too much by now.” The new epiphany, hitting with as much force as its predecessor, nevertheless brought a lower mutter of acceptance. “well, damn. Though the woman made her own bed, it’ll be quite a mess to lie in.”

A moody hmmph from Apollo. “As long as she doesn’t dirty the sheets with my lyre string in her hand, I don’t care if Ito puts her in a baby crib with a hundred yellow scorpions.”

A rhythmic avian laugh had them both looking back to Kaw. At least that would make a colorful corpse.

“Or material for a hit single.”

Wen didn’t hesitate about backhanding the man’s chest. If he insisted on staying close, he could get used to the toll price too.

“I’m all for morbid takes when the occasion calls for it, but right now can we focus on my sister not becoming a corpse?”

Kaw swiftly settled his laughter. She’s right. Let’s do this.

The god turned in and dipped his head low toward her. Then in a murmur just as intimate, “Just not here.”

Also very right, Kaw interjected. So, I’m meeting you two at Yamaterasu, then?

Apollo nodded. “Affirmative.”

“Yamater . . . what?” wen asked. “What are you talking a—”

Also at the same time, the sun god snapped his fingers. At once, the sky ignited from his obedient sky star. The verb fit. Like a newly combusted rocket, the atmosphere was black then white, dark then dazzling, causing everyone on the road to gasp and shield their eyes. Drivers braked. Women shrieked. Children yelled. A lot more people cussed.

Until they didn’t.

Wen jolted, more stunned than before, wondering how and why she’d suddenly lost her hearing—only to realize that wasn’t reality either.

Her ears hadn’t changed. The whole world had.

The first sounds she identified were the music of a small waterfall and the Zen rhythm of commiserating crickets. But she recognized her mistake about the latter once she raised her head all the way. The “cricket wing” tinkles actually emanated from blown-glass orbs rigged with delicate clappers, hanging from dark wood eaves over a polished engawa veranda. The long polished wood platforms framed two sides of a breathtaking garden. The lush half-acre looked like something out of a stylized movie. A red Guzei bridge with a Torii gate arched over a koi pond with picturesque lily pads, leading to a small island with black pine trees and camellia bushes. Closer to the patio, more of the pines overlooked a rustic seating area next to a traditional Zen garden resembling a river with its artistically raked gravel.

She looked up to acknowledge Apollo was still right next to her, still roping one arm around her waist like they prepared to jump into a barrel and go over Niagara Falls. Damn it if the exact idea didn’t appeal right now, especially with his thigh between her legs and his neck smelling like mist and minerals and musk.

What would that be like, really? An adventure for just the two of them, pursued for the sheer thrill of it? Nothing to stress or care about, except maybe adrenaline overload and screaming herself hoarse?

Well, and dying.

Yeah, there was that.

She’d leave and Genny would be all alone. Open game for any other crime bosses needing a convenient captive—and then yet another target for a cretchity dickhead guard to move in and sneak her off to the middle of nowhere. And there’d be no hope for her. No sister on the way with meds and rescue crows for her.

The motivation made it no easier to push back from the big Glow Worm, especially since his cement-grade pecs had to serve as her launch blocks. Coping with the commensurate blush got a little help from her sarcasm storeroom, vastly underused since they’d departed from his foyer.

“Well, that was an easier flight than the tornado flume express, so thank you, Captain.”

Major toss-up about whether the guy tossed his wry glance as comfort or torment. “No realm hop this time, so the fire flume wasn’t necessary,” he explained with the same cryptic charm.

“Oh.” She felt more comfortable about taking a longer look around. “So we’re still on mortal soil?”

“Less than a hundred meters from where we just stood. Welcome to Yamaterasu.”

“Which means . . . ?”

“Two things,” he supplied. “Yama means mountain. And Amaterasu is the Japanese goddess of the sun.”

“Who’s a close buddy, I gather?”

“To be honest, Ama prefers her place in Takachiho most times. The humans keep the grounds nice, and she can play JPop as loud as she wishes in the inner sanctum of the mountain. But when she ventures this direction for shopping sprees, she uses the guest room.” His smile twisted as if he’d just smelled stale fish. “But don’t go in there unless you like being assaulted by walls full of pretty boy idols making finger hearts and teasing chiseled chest shots with open shirts.”