For the first time in his entire life, Flynn entered Atlantis by way of a ship. To be fair, it was the first time he’d ever actually entered Atlantis. He’d been born there, he’d grown up, and then he’d left and never returned. Now, he had to come by ship. The portal hadn’t answered his call, not that he’d been all that surprised. He was sure High Priest Alaric the Holy Board Stuck Up His Ass-ness had tuned the portal’s magic to keep riff raff like him out. So here he was, the prodigal child, coming home by boat. To Atlantis, now proudly in the world again; on the surface of the ocean instead of beneath it.

It was a spectacular sight.

The marble and crystal spires of the palace rose high over the magnificent structure, and the human tourists beside him on the deck oohed and aahed in appreciation. He ignored snatches of chatter about the handsome king and the American queen and focused on his home, suddenly feeling a sharp ache of homesickness that surprised him. He hadn’t expected to miss Atlantis as much as he had, and by now he thought he’d gotten past it.

But she was beautiful. Even an Atlantean who’d run away from home had to admit that.

From this approach, the palace was the centerpiece of it all. He knew from playing there as a child that the palace was surrounded by magnificent gardens, filled with flowers that smelled like the inside of a dream. Nowhere else in the world had he encountered flowers with such sweet scents.

After the flowers, the garden’s second set of jewels was its fountains, with sculptures that put anything Rome had to offer to shame. Atlanteans had always created art on a much grander scale than elsewhere in the world, perhaps because Atlantis had never had rivals to fear for thousands of years. His ancestors been advanced in every way—in technology and the arts, in learning and scholarship. Atlantis had been a paradise for men and women of learning and culture until, as always happened to paradise, someone stronger grew greedy enough to want to possess it and strong enough to try.

They’d tried to fight, those early Atlanteans, but Atlantis had always prized learning over warfare and art over battle. Her trained soldiers had been laughably few and, when they’d been in immediate danger of being overrun by the soldiers packed onto the ships bearing down on them, the high priest at the time and all of his acolytes had worked the greatest magic in the history of the world.

They’d enclosed the entire continent and all her people in a magical dome and taken her down—far, far down—beneath the sea.

Only a few years ago, after eleven thousand years of being lost to the annals of time, then-prince Conlan and his brother, Lord Vengeance, had worked with Alaric to find a way to bring Atlantis back into the world. It had been almost too late, though. The dome’s magic had been failing, or so Flynn had heard.

But here it was again. Atlantis. Unimaginable beauty. The white sand beaches where he’d played with his friends, spending hours watching the sea creatures outside the dome. Sometimes the sea creatures had looked back at him. The gloriously green trees that even now, in January, would be heavy with fresh fruit. The soldiers . . .

The soldiers?

He looked again. Yes. The soldiers. They were checking people in through some kind of bureaucratic process. My, how things had changed. He shrugged. He was an Atlantean citizen, after all. There wouldn’t be any problem.

* * *

There was a problem.

Nobody knew who he was.

He leaned against the damn sign, where they’d told him to stand, and scowled.

non-Atlantean visitors please wait here

What a joke.

“Look. It’s easy enough for me to prove it. Find one of my brothers. I hear Liam is one of Poseidon’s Warriors now, and Dare might be in port with the Luna.” He glared at the sign and considered shaping water into a club and bashing the damn thing into little sign-shaped pieces.

Instead, he blew out a long-suffering sigh and tried again. “Flynn. I’m Flynn. Somebody must remember me. It’s only been ten years or so.”

“Maybe Marcus?” one of the guards said, scratching his head and then putting his hat back on. The blue and gold braid on the new Atlantean guard uniform was a bit much, if anybody asked Flynn, but sadly, so far nobody had.

The head-scratching guard pointed. “There he is now.”

An older man who looked familiar to Flynn was headed down the path from the direction of the palace. The man walked in that ground-eating pace of an old soldier. He’d probably been one of Poseidon’s Warriors for a long time. Yes. It was definitely Marcus. He’d had little patience for Flynn and Dare’s pranks back when they were kids. Suddenly Flynn wasn’t all that sure he wanted to be recognized, at least not by Marcus, who was clearly still the captain of the guard.

Marcus’s sharp gaze studied Flynn as he reached him, and a hint of recognition crossed his face. Surprise was there, judging by the way the man’s eyes widened.

But recognition, too.

He stopped in front of Flynn. "I'll be damned. Dare and Liam's brother. Flynn. We thought you were dead."

Flynn, who’d been about to say something, he didn’t know what, just stood there with his mouth hanging open. “Dead? You thought I was dead?”

Marcus shrugged. “You’ve been gone with no word for a long time.”

"I saw Dare just five or six years ago,” Flynn began, hotly, but then realized it was the height of stupidity to argue with the captain of the guard about whether or not he was dead, when he was clearly standing right there. Instead, he’d get some useful information. “Are either of my brothers around?"

Marcus’s eyes widened again, just that slight fraction. "Right. Of course, you wouldn't know. Your brother Dare and his wife Lyric are off on another sea voyage, and Liam's on a mission. His wife Jaime – I guess that's your other sister-in-law – is probably in the palace. She's the queen’s official event planner now or some such thing.”

The crowd was building up behind them, though, so Marcus waved him through without any further bombshells, and Flynn walked off toward . . . what?

Where?

Did he even have a family home any longer?

Sister-in-law. Sisters-in-law, plural. He hadn’t thought –hadn’t realized – but of course his brothers would have moved on without him. And they thought he was dead? True, it had been years since he'd tried to contact them. At least five or six years since he’d run into Dare, back in Dare’s pirate days. He heard things about him, though. He and Luna were visible, especially since he carried a sea spirit on board with him. And now, evidently, a wife.

He’d always thought, somewhere in the back of his mind, that he and his brothers would be reunited one day. He’d known that his parents had died years before, both from complications stemming from their love of drink. But he’d wanted to come back and be part of his brothers’ family, again.

We thought you were dead.

Either they’d forgotten about him or didn’t care. It would have been easy enough to track him down. Not a lot of men travelling the world called themselves Flynn, of Atlantis, after all. You’d think that when a man got married he would have at least tried to track down his brother.

Maybe not so much when the brother had abandoned both of them to the caring attentions of a violent father and useless mother.

He shoved the thought away. No use to speculate now. Probably at least one of the happily married couples was living in the old house, so he sure as the nine hells wasn't going to visit there. What did that leave him?

A pub.

Seems like nobody knew who he was anymore, so he could catch up on some news or gossip or sailor talk—sailors loved to talk--about what exactly had been going on since Atlantis joined the world again without having to answer difficult questions about his own whereabouts. Sounded just about perfect, and a beer wouldn’t hurt, either.

Mind made up, he decided on the Sea Shanty. It had always been one of his favorite hangouts and had the added advantage that his old man, the ever-so-particular drunk that he’d been, had refused to ever enter it over some perceived slight from the owner. Flynn had far too many memories of dragging his unconscious father home from far too many pubs to want to revisit any of them and take a bad trip down memory lane, as the humans liked to say.

His mother, at least, had been courteous enough to get drunk at home.

From out of nowhere, a wave of remembered rage and shame slammed through him so powerfully that he could taste the rusty metal edges of it in his mouth. Suddenly, he fiercely wanted to go back to the dock and tell some of those starry-eyed tourists that Atlantis might look like a pretty tale from one of their bedtime storybooks, but he’d be happy to take them to see her seedy underbelly.

Right. Enough of that.

He turned abruptly to take the left-hand path toward the Sea Shanty, only to run right into someone who’d been coming from the opposite direction.

"Watch where you're going," Flynn snarled, still sunk in angry memories.

The other man, who’d merely grunted at the encounter and kept walking, stopped dead and swung slowly back around. "What did you say to me?"

Flynn groaned mentally. No wonder it had felt like he’d run into the side of a building. If he had to run into somebody, it couldn't have been any ordinary Atlantean citizen out for a walk. Oh, no. Not with the shit luck he’d been having lately.

No, he’d had to run into one of the king’s elite warriors.

And then mouth off about it.

Flynn had been in Atlantis for just over thirty minutes, and he was already ass deep in alligators. And the alligator in front of him looked like he’d be happy to teach Flynn a very painful lesson.

In the mood he was in, Flynn was almost tempted to try to teach a lesson of his own.

But, no. Denal was a member of the king’s most-trusted Seven. And Flynn had better things to do than spend the night in jail, even Atlantean jail, which would seem like heaven to human prisoners but which, in the end, was still captivity.

No more captivity. He couldn’t take it. So instead of mouthing off again, he tried diplomacy. He bowed slightly, a perfectly correct Atlantean court gesture that he performed exquisitely, even after so many years of not doing it, except in Japan that one long, drunken week. “I’m sorry. It was my fault.”

Denal said nothing, but his eyes narrowed and a muscle in his jaw started to jump. Time to get moving. Fast. Flynn stepped carefully off the path and around Denal at a safe distance and started to head toward the Sea Shanty, because now he needed that beer more than ever.

An arm shot out to bar his way.

"I asked you. What you said. To me," Denal said, biting off each word. "I'm not in the mood to be ignored. And maybe you’d better think before you speak, because it's been a very bad day."

Flynn’s blood started to boil in his veins. He actually thought he could see smoke rising from the surface of his skin, he was so angry. There was respect, and then there was acting like a scared jellyfish. He was not about to put up with any crap from the man, Poseidon's Warrior or not.

He shoved Denal’s arm out of his way, becoming aware, even as he did it, that a few people had started to gather near them and were staring at them. Probably placing bets on any possible fight. He’d lay odds they were betting against him. Most did.

Most were surprised.

He took a deep breath of the sweetly scented Atlantean air so near the gardens and tried to calm down.

It didn’t work.

"I haven't had a great day myself, friend,” he told Denal. “Why don't we just call it even and move on?"

Unbelievably, Denal smiled. It was the kind of smile that would frighten small children and drive grown men to drink. It was a smile filled with unholy glee and the certain knowledge of someone's –Flynn was pretty sure it was his – imminent injury.

"Did you just challenge me?” Denal rolled up his sleeves and took a step forward. "That sounded like a challenge to me. Hey, I almost want to thank you. This is going to be a pleasure."

Fighting his own instincts as hard as he could, in spite of the ugly realization that he’d look like a fool and a coward to the gathering crowd, Flynn held up his hands in a conciliatory gesture. "Look. I said I'm sorry. Why don't –"

He never even had time to duck before the fist hit him right in the jaw.

When his head quit ringing, he launched himself at Denal.

"You slimy pile of whale shit,” he roared. “I don't care who you are. I'm gonna crush you."

Before he could lay a finger on the warrior, though, Denal’s flying kick smashed into the side of his head and knocked the words out of Flynn’s mouth.

He considered it a personal triumph that he didn’t hit the ground, but it was a close call. He lashed out blindly, but missed by an Earth mile.

Denal circled him, fists up, with that horrible smile still on his face. "Bring it already. What happened? Did you turn into a frightened little boy when you were playing with dragons, Flynn?"

Flynn.

Denal knew his name. Knew who he was. Knew where he’d been. The realization sharpened Flynn’s addled thinking.

“Just keep thinking that,” he advised, and followed up with a roundhouse punch that caught Denal on the chin and knocked him back a pace.

Denal wanted trash talk? Okay. Flynn would be happy to oblige.

"Sure you don't want run to the palace and hide behind the queen’s skirts? I’d be surprised if you even remember how to fight by yourself, without Conlan and Alaric and the rest of the Seven to wipe your nose when you cry," he taunted.

Denal bellowed something unintelligible and faked a punch, followed by a lightning fast kick. Flynn saw the kick coming in his peripheral vision, though, so he managed to block it, and then he countered with a spinning kick of his own to Denal’s head.

This one connected.

Denal’s head snapped back but then, bizarrely, he laughed. "Nice one,” he sneered. “Try that again, I'm begging you. I'm gonna break your leg. I’m gonna break both of your legs."

Flynn wasn't sure if one or both of them would be lying dead on the ground within the next five minutes, but he found he didn't care. Beating the shit out of one of Poseidon's finest seem like a fine way to burn off some of the frustration that he’d been feeling ever since Kyla died. “Let’s go.”

Before either of them took a single step forward, though, a woman walked right up to them and said hello.

“Hello,” she repeated to the stunned men, when neither answered her. "Excuse me. Have either of you seen my book?"

The lilting feminine voice was like ice water poured on the rage that had been flooding through Flynn's body only seconds before. He and Denal both stopped, inches from each other, fists still raised, and turned to look at the woman who’d spoken.

Flynn had never seen her before, but he knew at once that she wasn't Atlantean. She was human, and she was very pretty in a beachy kind of way. She had long white-blonde hair, cornflower blue eyes, and a friendly smile. She actually had flowers – Atlantean daylilies –braided into her hair, and she wore a white dress with a belt of multicolored ribbons.

When you put it all together, she looked like she'd stepped out of a painting by some obscure French artist.

And she was still standing there, smiling at them. He abruptly felt ridiculous, fighting like a child over a toy, and he lowered his hands and backed away from Denal. He also suddenly realized that he wanted, desperately, to make sure that she found anything she needed, and that he could help her in any way possible, because she made him… Happy.

What in the nine hells was going on?

He couldn’t help it, though. He had to smile at her. “I haven't seen a book, but I'd be glad to help you look,” he said stupidly, grinning like a fool. What was happening to him?

"Oh, that would be wonderful if you could. I'm Sunny," she said, in that silvery voice that he wanted to wrap around himself and roll around in.

Really, this was getting ridiculous. Was it a spell?

Somehow, even though he knew that something was wrong, she still made him feel dazed and incredibly happy. She had an indefinable quality of joy that made him happy just from looking at her. No, that wasn’t it. Just from being in her presence.

She had a . . . peaceful effect on him, and that it worked on this day, of all days, meant that she was probably playing with some serious magic or else she was a succubus? Maybe? A Fae princess?

No. Definitely human.

He shook his head to try to shake off whatever altered mental state she’d sent him into and started looking around for the book. Probably better not to look directly at her, anyway. Belatedly, he realized two things: first, a crowd of children was following her, smiling and giggling and chattering; and, second, whatever effect she clearly had on everyone else there wasn’t working on Denal at all.

The warrior was scowling at Sunny even more fiercely than he’d glared at Flynn, and that was saying something. Apparently, whatever peaceful happiness Sunny spread to everyone around her hadn’t affected stone-faced Denal in the slightest.

Suddenly Sunny made a delightful little cry and clapped her hands. "Oh, I see it. There it is, on the bench. Thanks, though!” With a parting smile, she retrieved her book and headed off toward the palace, still followed by the children.

"Well, now I feel too stupid to live for getting involved with this fight," Flynn told Denal, when he could wrench his gaze from the woman and her flock of children. "But I'm no coward, either. If you still want to go through with this idiocy, we should move it to a more secluded location."

Denal’s gaze whipped back to him, and the warrior smiled again. This smile, though, held no glee, evil or otherwise. Instead, it was one of the most bitter expressions Flynn had ever seen on an Atlantean face.

"I have a better idea,” Denal said. “You're coming with me. We've got a mission."

Flynn blinked, wondering when he’d fallen down a hole out of Atlantis into The World Is Insane land. "You are very mistaken. I'm not one of Poseidon's warriors. That's my brother Liam. And, from what I hear, maybe my brother Dare now as well. I'm just –"

Denal threw his head back and laughed. "Boy, are you wrong. I just drafted you. Welcome to Denal’s Doomed Dozen. Man, were you in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

Flynn had absolutely no idea what was going on, and so he guessed his best idea was to follow Denal and keep quiet until he could figure it out. Ten minutes, two KEEP OUT signs, and a guardhouse later, they arrived at the warrior training grounds.

Flynn had been there before, of course. All young men of a certain age wound up there as teenagers, eager to prove their mettle and beat each other into pulp for fun.

It was a guy thing.

But he’d never once gone there with any real idea of becoming one of Poseidon's Warriors. He wasn't the law and order kind. He wasn't a rule follower. He definitely wasn't a person to take orders or commands, even from kings or princes.

Or so he’d told himself. But long years away from home had led him to perhaps a slight recognition of a few painful truths. Just the smallest bit of self-awareness.

It hadn't been that he wasn't interested – he’d been sure he wasn’t good enough.

Why wait for someone else to tell you that you don’t measure up, when you can take yourself out of the running? He’d managed to figure out a way to slip through the enchanted portal that used to be Atlantis’s only connection with the world above the ocean. He’d been barely twenty, but he’d figured things out. He’d learned about Earth, and humans, and jobs, and money. He’d learned about girls.

He’d learned about crime and getting caught. He’d learned about jails, when he came very close to being put in one. He’d come into his powers of transforming to mist much earlier than most, maybe as a way to avoid his father's fists, and he’d used that magic to escape what had been very well-deserved punishment for a stupid, petty crime.

He’d escaped the town, the country, and that entire side of the world. A few months later, in a dockside town in Europe, he’d met another wandering soul. Someone as lost as Flynn had been. Kian had become closer to him than the brothers Flynn had left behind.

But it didn't matter now. Kian would never forgive him for leaving, especially the way he’d done it. Kian would never forgive him for Kyla.

Flynn would never forgive himself.

He suddenly realized Denal had stopped and managed to drag himself out of his mental ramblings before he stumbled into the warrior again and caused another brawl. One unplanned beating in a day was really his limit. His head was still ringing from that kick.

"Why are we here?" He looked around and saw that the place was mostly empty. "And where is everybody?"

Denal swept an arm out, indicating the large empty space. "We have it all to ourselves for the moment. Aren't you special?" Then he stalked off toward the armory, which had always held real as well as training weapons back when Flynn was a kid, shoved open the door, and vanished inside.

Flynn decided he'd had enough of blindly following Denal around, Poseidon's Warrior or not. He walked over to a wooden bench on the perimeter of the square marked off for sword bouts and sat down. He turned his face up to the sun shining down on Atlantis, which he hadn’t felt on his skin in more than a decade, closed his eyes, and decided to wait and see what happened next.

When he heard footsteps approaching from the opposite direction in which Denal had gone, he opened one eye and glanced up.

The newcomer was tall and lean, with the sun-streaked hair and lanky build of a surfer.

"Hey man. Do you know what we're here for? Poseidon told me –"

"Wait." Flynn opened his other eye. "Poseidon told you. Are you telling me the actual sea god is talking to you? Man. You may need some kind of mental help or a brain transplant or something."

Instead of taking offense, though, the man threw his head back and laughed. It was an easy, open laugh. The laugh of someone who had nothing to hide and no dark places in his background. Flynn decided he hated him.

Unfortunately, Laugh Boy wasn’t picking up Flynn's Stay Away From Me vibes, because he sat down on the bench next to Flynn and stretched out his long legs

"I'm Jake. I spent several years exploring the real world outside of this bubble – although, I guess it's not a bubble anymore – and was doing a stint on a deep-sea fishing boat off the coast of New Zealand when we caught a mermaid in our nets. I got her untangled and let her go, in spite of some fairly intense opposition to that plan from the other guys on the boat, and Poseidon showed up and thanked me. Then whoosh."

Flynn turned his head to look at the teller of this preposterous tale. "Whoosh?"

"Whoosh. It was just like going through the portal, but without the portal. Next thing I know, Bam. Here I am."

Whoosh and Bam. The guy was clearly an idiot. Also…"You do understand there's no such thing as mermaids, right?"

"Yeah, yeah. They were water Fae. I know that, and you know that. But the idiots on the boat with me didn't know that, and they were planning to sell her to the highest bidder."

Flynn shook his head. "Humans. They never learn."

“And yet we keep protecting them. Which of us, then, are the fools?" The voice came from behind them, and both Flynn and the mermaid-rescuer jumped up off the bench and whirled around to meet whoever it was who’d managed to sneak up on them with such stealth. Flynn was disgusted with himself. After several years of living with dragon shifters, he knew better than to let his guard down. Even, apparently, on Atlantis.

The newcomer bowed slightly, but had a look of such disdain on his aristocratic features that Flynn didn’t make the mistake of taking the bow as any sign of respect. He wasn’t quite as tall as Flynn, but he held himself ramrod straight. He also had long hair that was as white as the snow on the top of Mt. Everest, although he looked no older than Flynn, and eyes that were silver rather than blue or gray. He was Atlantean, but there was definitely Fae somewhere in his genealogy.

"I'm Griffin. I was ordered to be here. I have no idea why. I intensely dislike not knowing the reasons behind actions I'm commanded to perform." The man narrowed his startlingly silver eyes, gaze weighing and measuring both Flynn and the mermaid-rescuer and clearly finding them both wanting.

Beside him, the friendly guy waved. "I'm Jake. Poseidon told me to be here after I rescued a mermaid. Cool hair, man."

Flynn groaned.

Griffin’s assessing gaze turned sardonic. "Of course you rescued a . . . mermaid. However, the temple of healing is on the other side of the palace. I believe you'll be looking for the brain injury rooms."

Instead of shaking Jake's hand, Griffin turned to Flynn. "And you?”

“Flynn. I have no idea why I’m here, either.”

“No? Not another rescuer of mermaids? Released any Krakens lately?"

Before Flynn could think up a withering response to the arrogant ass, Denal came striding back out of the building. He had a sword sheathed at one hip, a dagger at the other, and a bow slung over one shoulder. Whatever was going on, Flynn was convinced by Denal’s expression of one thing: this was no training exercise.

Denal stopped when he was four or five paces away and nodded at them. "Good. You've all met. It's like a party, but without the drinks or food. Or fun, for that matter," he said grimly. "Here's the deal. The king has made an alliance with certain human organizations. As part of this alliance, I'm going to send some of you off on missions to help local law enforcement, infiltrate groups of really bad actors, and, generally, save the day."

With that, Denal closed his eyes, grimaced, and then shook his head before opening his eyes and continuing. "And for that, according to the mental bombardment Alaric has been dumping on me ever since I left the war room, I get a dozen of the most useless misfits ever to grace Atlantean shores. Everybody with any talent, ability, sense of responsibility, or ability to function in a team is already busy. Lucky me. But Poseidon and King Conlan evidently think you're good for something, or at least you're so useless you make good cannon fodder. Either way, I don't really give a damn. All I'm asking is that you don't embarrass me, yourselves, or Atlantis."

When Denal was done with his speech, nobody said anything for a few long beats. After that, all three of them started talking at the same time, and for a minute or two it was conversational chaos while Denal just stood there, clutching his bow, looking like he wanted nothing more than to shoot them all.

Flynn finally held up a hand and whistled, a sharp, piercing noise that brought everyone's verbal outrage and confusion to a halt. "Look. I don't know what the hells you’re talking about, but I'm not interested. Thanks for the offer, especially as you phrased it so sweetly – how could anyone refuse that? But I have things to do, people to see, etc., etc., you know the drill."

With that, he turned to leave, only to be slammed in the shoulder with a searing pain that drove him to his knees. Beside him, Griffin and Jake landed on the ground next to him, quite clearly in the same predicament,. When Flynn could breathe again, which took a lot longer than he felt good about, he yanked the neck of his shirt to the side and discovered that one of his worst fears had come true: He’d been branded.

"How dare you –" Griffin snarled, pulling himself up to his feet and aiming a death glare at Denal.

Jake did the opposite and just flopped down on his back on the ground, panting. "I did not expect that."

"What in the nine hells did you do to me?" Flynn dragged himself to his feet and started toward Denal. At this point, he didn't give a damn if he got beat up again, because he really, really wanted to see his fist smash into Denal’s smirking mouth.

Before he could carry out his plan, Poseidon appeared—or, to be precise, a giant image of Poseidon’s head appeared—in the sky above them.

I did this to you. it is nothing of the nine Hells. You are my warriors now, and you will bring honor to my name and to that of Atlantis, or you'll regret the day you were born.

Jake, still lying on the ground, started laughing. "Here we go again. Hello, your sea godliness."

Flynn, still gaping up at the sky, was completely speechless. During all his years in Atlantis, he’d never once seen Poseidon manifest himself. Now, when he’d been back for maybe two hours?

Poseidon.

The answer was simple. None of this was happening. Denal had actually kicked him in the head so hard he was in the temple being treated for a brain injury of his own.

The brand aching on his shoulder was a pretty big clue otherwise, but he decided to ignore it.

The sea god ignored them all and pointed one enormous finger at Denal.

Make this work or you'll be sorry.

With that, he vanished with a clap of thunder.

Flynn whistled. “Bit overdramatic, don’t you think?”

"What makes him think I'm not already sorry?" Denal asked, rolling his eyes. Then he turned his attention to the three newest of Poseidon's warriors. “I’m not going to make you swear the oath yet. Complete this mission, decide who you want to be when you grow up, and get back to me. You at least know what the mark means, right?”

Jake, who was rubbing his shoulder and wincing, raised his hand.

Denal muttered something that sounded like “Why me?” and then pointed at Jake. “You don’t have to raise your hand, you moron. This isn’t a youngling training school.”

Jake lowered his hand, looking sheepish but determined. “I know what it means. The circle representing all the peoples of the world, intersected by the pyramid of knowledge deeded to them by the ancients. The silhouette of Poseidon's Trident bisecting them both, to show your—our—vow to protect humanity.”

By the end of his recitation, Jake’s face had hardened, his voice had turned serious, and Flynn caught a glimpse of what might be the real Jake beneath the laid-back exterior.

“I’ll take the vow now or then,” Jake continued, shooting a hard gaze at Denal. “But we’re each Poseidon’s Warriors now. Remember that.”

Denal said nothing for a minute, but then he nodded. "Fine. Get your gear. For this first mission, you're working with the U.S. FBI's Paranormal Operations division to infiltrate and undermine – if not destroy – a chapter of a group that calls itself Hell’s Dark Angels."

"I know the Dark Angels. They are seriously bad dudes. Rumor is that their overall leader is a demon. An actual Lord Marquis and general of hell demon." Flynn brushed the dirt off his pants in one quick motion and then aimed his own flat stare at their fearless leader. "I didn't know Poseidon's Warriors were drafting people now. I thought it was a strictly volunteer thing."

Denal shook his head. "By all means, chase the sea god down and lodge a complaint. In the meantime, the three of you are going to a town named Early, in the state of Nevada, to find the monsters who are kidnapping teenaged human girls and using them for blood sacrifices."

An icy wave of intense rage flooded through Flynn, sweeping away every objection he’d thought he had. "If I'm going to be one of Poseidon's Warriors, this is certainly a job worth doing. I'm in. Give us the intel."

Well, that had done it. He'd surprised Denal, whose eyes widened. Denal gave him a slight nod and then jerked his head toward the armory building. “I've got anything you might need or want for this job in there. Let’s go in for a quick briefing while I tell you the details. You’ll see why the need for fast action is crucial, and then you can be on your way within a couple of hours. Is everybody in?"

Flynn glanced at Griffin, who stood next to him, as still as a statue. Only the blaze of anger in those odd silver eyes gave away any emotion that he might be feeling. Griffin snapped his hand open and pointed at a stone bench some thirty feet away from them across the training grounds.

A second later, the bench exploded with a booming sound and a flash of silver-blue light. When the dust settled, only a large hole in the ground, twice the length and width of the bench, remained.

"I'm in," Griffin—mage, Flynn’s brain shouted at him--said calmly. "At least for this mission. And then we'll talk."

Denal glanced at the smoking hole in the ground where the stone bench been and then shook his head. "I might be impressed, Mage, if I hadn't spent years working with Alaric."

"Just what I was hoping for," Griffin drawled. "Yet another unsolicited comparison to the mighty Alaric: the greatest high priest Atlantis has ever known, ruler of magic, lord of little bunny rabbits, etcetera, etcetera."

"Ex-priest," Denal told him. “And I’d almost pay money to hear you call him the lord of little bunny rabbits to his face.”

Griffin said nothing, but Flynn could almost see the layer of frost rolling over his expression.

Mages. Better altogether to stay away from them, so that’s what Flynn would try to do on this mission. And afterward? As Griffin said, then they’d talk.

Jake finally rolled over and stood, bouncing up off the ground like a puppy. "Here we go. I'm not about to let the Dark Angels get away with this. I’ve run into them before, too, and Flynn’s right. They’re very bad guys. The upper echelon of the club are all actual demons, or so the rumor goes."

"Out of the dragon cave and into the demon fire," Flynn muttered. "What could go wrong?"