Page 61 of Apollo

“Noted.”

Her cheeks tingled from a little grin of her own, gloating guilt-free over the resentful twinges in his statement. Like this male, the muse for several gloriously naked statues around the globe, had to fret over some pop idols with a few loose shirt buttons? He was also a famous lover for Carnus, Hippolytus, and Adonis, among other gods. Most obviously, she’d probably never get near the guest room, even if it had a name plaque on the door.

By the time she finished the pondering, Kaw arrived and alighted on a perch near the Zen garden arrangement. Ahhh. Much better acoustics, Anax. No offense against Kampachi-dori Avenue . . .

“I’m sure it’s taking none.” Apollo slipped off his house slippers and walked barefoot to Kaw’s perch on the veranda. Wen knew she needed to follow but was clutched short by the sight of his steps, so regal yet stiff. Not even twenty-four hours had passed since she last watched him move that way, from where she’d lain in bloody pieces on a frigid marble floor, but it seemed like an entire decade ago. Long enough, at least, that she forgot the slicing pain of that moment . . . and only remembered the aches.

Pain from deeper inside.

The lock of her attention on him. The draw of her senses to him. The bizarre, building need . . .

Which then, just like now, was an illusion.

A trick of her psyche, turning her dread and stress into something more tangible. Primal. Reachable . . .

Another mirage.

Reaching for Apollo of Olympus was as realistic as envisioning a lightning bolt through Noa Ito’s heart.

Focus up, damn it. Lock in on the mission you can achieve. Get your ass out to that engawa and gived Kaw the intel he needs.

Now.

“Hey,” she greeted to the crow. “How are you holding up? Have you rested? Eaten?”

Awww, shucks. The bird canted its head and seemed to wink. You do care, Little Monster.

“Shut up,” Apollo growled. “She just wants to make sure you don’t plummet like a burned-out drone before you find her sister.”

Since fate seemed determined she give the god a few lasting bruises, Wen rapped knuckles against his upper chest again. “Be nice, damn it.”

Kaw chuckled. Apollo grumbled beneath his breath but quickly groused aloud, “I’ll go get you some fresh food and water while Irowen briefs you about Genny.” He turned and headed for the main hub of the house, denoted by its fancier door and shiny blue tile roof, but halted to whip a glower over his shoulder. “And Captain Kleos? She’s only Irowen to you. Understood?”

Kaw bowed his head and tucked his wings. Yes, Anax. Understood.

He didn’t move or speak again, until Apollo stepped inside and closed the big carved door. But once he relaxed and shook his wings, a corvid version of a grouse made its rasping climb up his throat.

This isn’t me being a kóta. It’s him being a malákas.

“I hate to agree, especially because of everything he’s doing for me, but I do.”

Wen tsked and stared at the big door under the blue tile overhang. The wood, carved in a traditional Japanese art style, depicted a benevolent sun shining into a peaceful valley with deer and foxes. She hoped Apollo had admired the art before stomping through the portal; they needed more of those enervating vibes right now instead of—well, whatever that weirdness just was.

“But hey, for the record, ignore him, right? You can call me whatever you want. Around here, being equated to a kaiju might even help my cause, right?”

Wise words from a wise human came the bird’s encouraging murmur. But right now, better use of our time is, indeed, talking about your sister.

“Also wise words,” she offered, stiffening her stance. “And I’ve got some concrete theories, though they’ll need some help from local experts.”

Already on it. A member of Quil’s recon squad is apparently very popular with a flock of nearby Chidori. He’s organizing them now.

“Oh.” Why that came as such a surprise, she didn’t know. “All right. Good. Because if this rogue shatei is actually wooing Genny, as you’ve implied, he’ll want to make her comfortable and peaceful . . . ”

So we can rule out cities and popular villages?

“Not necessarily,” she countered. “The comfort and peace of a person like my sister . . . well, it’s not the same definition you or I might assign the words. You’d probably enjoy a pine tree in the woods, outside a cabin resort where everyone forgets to lock up their leftovers, and my idea of peace is a place with crap internet and a rose garden to putter in.”

He quirked his head again. A garden? How very Biollante of you. Do not tell Anax I just said that.