DAWN CREPT INTO THE kitchen where Jon sat at his table, writing in his blue spiral notebook. He ripped a page out with a huff and crumpled it up, tossing it next to the other wadded papers strewed on the surface next to a plate of forgotten eggs.

He clicked the butt of his pen a few times before sticking the end in his mouth.

For a month, ever since he’d seen Josie again after moving back to New York, he’d been trying to write the letter, but he’d gotten nowhere. There was so much to say, too much. He could never get the words right, and he’d thrown a hundred letters away that were proof.

Leaving New York years before, leaving Josie, was the hardest thing he’d ever done. He’d spent three years in New Orleans, trying to move on, but he’d only discovered one thing—there was no getting over her.

They had only been dating for a few weeks when everything fell apart, but they’d been friends and colleagues for over a year before that. And when he’d left, he’d lost it all—her friendship, her love. He’d burned it to the ground the second he left town.

But he'd never stopped longing for the days long passed, moments and hours full of content sighs and smiles he’d felt in the depths of his heart. The time when he’d had her was the happiest of his life, as silly as it seemed. But he’d known from the first time he ever saw her that she was the end of the line, and no amount of time or distance could change that.

The day Tori, his ex, had told him she was pregnant, his life had been flung into an emotional washing machine and set to spin. Moving back to New Orleans had seemed like the only option. They’d needed help, needed to save money, and they couldn’t do that in New York.

Getting back together had never been on the table for either of them—they were better apart than together—and if they were ever going to make it on their own with a baby, Tori’d had to finish school and get a degree. She had to quit working, and Jon couldn’t support both of them on an unstable income, living in Manhattan. Her parents lived nearby in Hell’s Kitchen, but there wasn’t room for any of them there. Not to mention, her father flat-out hated Jon. So, they’d moved in with his parents where they could live rent-free and save, survive. Set themselves up for a real future.

Looking back, he knew he’d handled Josie all wrong, but at the time, he hadn’t known what else to do. Everything had been rocked and flipped upside down with the baby—he would be a father; he would have a child—and he’d panicked. He couldn’t have faced Josie to say goodbye, couldn’t have looked into those eyes of hers and told her he was leaving. That he was going to have a child with his ex-girlfriend.

But he had to take care of his family, and to do that, he’d had to leave New York. With two words—I’m pregnant—the future he’d sought had crumbled before his eyes, leaving him to navigate a future he couldn’t even imagine.

And the truth was, he had been afraid.

So, instead of sacking up and facing her, he’d poured his heart, soul, and guts into a letter to Josie. He’d told her everything. Given her the choice and left it in her hands. Told her he’d always be there if she could find a way to forgive him and if she still wanted him.

She’d never called.

For three years, he’d obsessed over her, plagued by imaginings of what she thought of him. He’d figured she despised him for leaving, for the baby, for being a coward. Deep down, he’d hoped that, somehow, he was wrong. Maybe she hadn’t called because she understood why he’d left and accepted it but didn’t want him and didn’t want to talk about it.

It hadn’t stopped him from wishing every day that his phone would ring, and she’d be on the other end, waiting for him.

Part of him had hoped they’d never come back to New York again. He’d hoped he could close the door on that chapter and find a way to start fresh. But New Orleans never grew on Tori, and really, he should have known she would always want to go back home.

The second Tori had gotten her accounting degree, she had been ready to move back. There’d been no talking her out of it, so they’d packed up a moving van like a macho version of Jenga, said goodbye to his family and home, and moved back to New York where all the things he couldn’t forget were waiting for him.

* * *

The first time he had seen Josie again was a few weeks after he made it back to Hell’s Kitchen. It was a blustery day in February, and Jon stopped into the Midtown South Precinct to check the bulletin board. The second he walked in the door, he saw Josie standing at the board with her back turned to him, her long red hair unmistakable.

He’d pictured the moment a thousand times and a hundred ways, but nothing compared to seeing her in the flesh, right there, close enough to speak her name and make her turn around so he could see her face.

For a long moment, he stood there, paralyzed, wondering where the roulette ball would land. The reality of his waiting was upon him, and his stomach ended up somewhere in his shoes as he walked toward her.

Jon stopped behind her and swallowed hard. “Hey, Jo.”

She spun around with disbelief written all over her face. “Jon?”

“Long time.” He smiled, hoping he looked cool as he watched her for a reaction with his heart clanging in his ears.

“Yes, long time,” she said softly, her doe eyes big and wide, like she was caught in a gun scope.

They stood in stunned silence. He didn’t know what to say, just looked over her for a moment before finally finding his wits.

“I—”

“What are you doing here?” It was more of an accusation than a question.

“We just moved back.” He shifted, feeling the anger roll off her.

Everything about her was wound tight—her voice, her face, her body.

“When?”

“Last week.”

“How’s Tori?” The words were bitter, her eyes taut in the corners and cheeks flushed.

“She’s fine,” he said quietly. He wondered if she could hear the apology underneath his words.

If she did, it didn’t seem to faze her.

“Well, that’s just swell.” Her voice climbed just a little, just enough. “And how about your kid? I hope you’re all happy. Super fucking happy.”

She brushed past him, and he stood there, shocked for a second, before trotting after her.

“Wait, Jo.” He caught up with her as she barreled away and almost reached out to touch her. He clenched his fist to stop himself. “Josie, wait.”

She never stopped walking and wouldn’t look at him as she wound her way through the station with him on her heels. Jon fought to keep up with her as she pushed open the station doors.

“Josie, talk to me, please.”

When she reached the bottom of the cement steps in front of the building, she spun around, her whole body tense. “Talk to you? And say what exactly?”

She laughed, though the sound held no joy, and when she put her hands on her hips, he knew he was in deep shit.

“I don’t owe you anything, not after what you did.”

And with that, he had his answer. She did hate him. It was the worst imagined outcome.

“I know you don’t owe me, Jo, but—”

“But what? Do you have any idea what I’ve been through over the last three years? Any idea? I mean, between you and me? Whatever. We dated for a few weeks, which apparently isn’t long enough for you to even break up with me. You just fucking left without a single word. Who does that?”

His brows dropped. “Wait, you didn’t get—”

“And not only did you dump me without having the decency to even tell me it was over, but then I also found out you’d left town with your ex. Your pregnant ex. Tell me, were you fucking her the entire time too?”

“I—”

She threw her hands up. “No, you know what? I don’t want to know. It was humiliating enough to find out from your fucking landlord, who told me the ‘cute couple’ in 4D was expecting and had moved to New Orleans. So, I swung by Tori’s parents’ place, and they confirmed that you had, in fact, knocked her up and split town.”

“Josie,” he said over her, brows drawn, “will you shut up for one second, please?”

Her eyes narrowed, and her cheeks flamed, her voice deadly soft when she said, “Oh, this better be good.”

“You really think I would have left without saying goodbye?” he asked with more bite than he’d meant, shocked and frustrated and confused. “I left you a letter—”

“I’m sorry. A what?” she asked through her teeth.

“A letter,” he huffed, “one that I figure you didn’t get.”

Her chest rose and fell as she stared at him. “A note?” It was almost a whisper. “You dumped me in a note?”

“Yeah, I left it on your—”

He was too shocked to react when she cocked her fist and hooked him in the jaw.

Jon’s ears rang, and he bent over and pressed a hand to his jaw. “Fuck, Josie!”

“Goddamn it, that hurt,” she growled as she shook her hand out. “You’re not even the worst thing to happen to me.” She dragged in a ragged breath. “Anne’s dead.”

He froze, and his hand dropped, the pain forgotten, his lungs empty. “What?” he whispered.

“No,” she said, pointing her finger at him. “That’s all I will say, so don’t even ask me because I will not relive that hell just to bring your sorry ass up to speed. Go read a fucking newspaper.”

His brows dropped even lower. “Now, wait a fucking second—”

“No, I won’t wait a fucking anything for you. Don’t come riding back into town, acting like you have any rights. You and I have nothing to say.”

He stood there stupidly, watching as she turned, her hair snapping around her like a whip, remembering himself just in time to reach out and grab her. She stopped and turned but jerked her arm from his grip.

“Hang on one goddamn minute, Josie. You don’t get to unload on me like that without letting me say my piece.”

Her jaw was set, her nostrils flaring as she sucked in a breath and blew it out through her nose. She didn’t speak, which he took as all the permission he’d get.

“First of all, if you had gotten that letter, you would know that Tori and I never got back together. I took her to New Orleans, so we could have a shot at saving money and so she could go to school. Second, when I was with you, it was only you.” I wanted forever, he thought, but he pressed on, knowing the clock was ticking. “And I have been waiting on an answer to that letter for the last three years. I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me because of Tori.”

“You’d have been right.”

“But not in the way I thought. And not for the reason you thought.” He searched her face as she staggered through the realization. “I’m not with her, and I haven’t been, not since before you and I were together. I wanted to work things out with you, but I thought…I thought when you didn’t answer, it meant you didn’t want me. I…I didn’t know what I was doing.”

“Clearly.”

They stared at each other for a moment, and he didn’t know what else he could say. He finally landed on the one thing he’d been waiting to tell her for three years. “Josie, I’m sorry.”

“That doesn’t change anything. None of this changes anything.” She said it like she was trying to convince herself, her eyes glistening as they welled with tears.

“That’s not true.”

“It is for me.”

His eyes were locked on hers, and he knew her words were a lie. She still cared, maybe just as much as he did.

“I don’t believe you.”

“Just who in the fuck do you think you are?” She backed away, her lip cranked up in disgust, her voice trembling. “Do me a favor, Jon. Stay away from me.”

He almost stopped her again when she spun around and took off. He had a hundred questions, a million things to say, but he just stood there like a fool on the sidewalk, rubbing his jaw as he watched her go.

All those years, she’d believed he was with Tori, that they were a happy little family. That she wasn’t important enough for him to even say goodbye when the truth was that it was the exact opposite. She hadn’t called because she didn’t know to, and that simple fact brought him enormous relief.

And with that relief was foolish hope that he could find a way to mend what he’d broken.

* * *

Jon’s eyes clicked back into focus when he blinked. He’d walked away that day reeling, trying to make sense of the truth, which had ended up being so far from what he’d thought for three full years. And it had all been a misunderstanding.

He couldn’t undo the damage, but he could try to win her back. All he had to do was give her time and space. All he had to do was be there, waiting.

He knew Josie well, knew how to handle her. She wasn’t one for grand gestures, especially not when she was pissed. Those chocolates would go straight down the garbage disposal, and the flowers would endure a full assault with a pair of scissors.

No, step one in winning Josie over was to leave her alone.

A month had gone by, and he’d run into her a handful of times. The first time he’d seen her after their fight, she’d apologized curtly for hitting him and shut him down hard when he attempted to talk about anything deeper than the weather. Every time they met, she would relax more and more until they were finally able to be civil, even joke around. When they’d been after Chester, he’d seen the silver lining. It was the friendliest she’d been.

But she had changed, closed herself off, and he didn’t believe it was just him she’d locked out. She had been hurt, and that hurt had hardened her to the point that the woman he had known was almost gone completely.

Almost, but not quite. He could still feel her, still see glimpses of who she had been. And he wanted to set that part of her free again. If it was in his power, he would.

It always took him a full twenty-four hours to get over seeing her. The cooling-off period was also accompanied by a deep-seated desire to get his feelings down on paper.

Seeing her was thrilling and heartbreaking, a war of emotions that blew through him and left him spinning. He’d throw on a smile and hide his pain behind his charm, hoping that, if he said the right thing, he could find a way back into her good graces, but she kept him just far enough away that he couldn’t get to her. He’d do what he could to make her laugh, but every moment would slip away too soon, and the hurt and disappointment in her bottomless brown eyes would cut through him again and again.

But it wasn’t Josie’s fault; it was his own. She’d been an innocent bystander who ended up with shrapnel through the heart, though he hadn’t fared much better.

Tori walked into the kitchen, yawning, and broke him from his thoughts. Her blond hair was in a knot, and he shook his head at her pajama pants that were covered in ponies and rainbows.

“Morning,” she said as she patted his shoulder.

“Mornin’.”

“I can’t believe Lola’s still asleep. What is it? Seven?” She shuffled across the room and reached for the coffee pot to pour a cup.

“You’d better knock on wood. The days when I wake up before her are a cherished thing. Two-year-olds are all fine and dandy as long as they’re not in your face at six in the morning.”

Tori stirred her coffee. “Yesterday, she got about an inch away from my nose and whispered, ‘Mommyyyy.’ I almost head-butted her when I jumped. Our kid can be a real creep.”

“Yeah, well, a couple of days ago, she managed to knee me in the balls when she was climbing into my bed at five thirty. That has to be the worst way to wake up, and it was an unfortunate first. Hopefully, the last.”

Tori leaned against the counter and laughed. “Oh, man. I would have loved to see that.”

“I bet you would have.”

She stretched her neck and sighed. “Sorry I was so late last night. This new job is killing me. Thank goodness the pay is amazing.”

“It was fine. Lola and I watched Cops.”

“You did not, Jon.” She looked about ninety percent convinced.

He leaned back in his seat and smiled sideways at her. “We watched Yo Gabba Gabba! It was like being on drugs.”

“Oh, come on. DJ Lance Rock is amazing. I think you should dress up as him for Halloween. We’ll get you an orange spandex jumpsuit and a giant fuzzy hat.”

“In your dreams.” He took a bite of his eggs and made a face when he remembered they were cold. “What’d they have you doing so late?” he asked as he put his fork down and pushed his plate away.

“It’s not easy being the low man on the totem pole at Prince and Smith CPAs,” she said with an eye roll. “I have the coffee order memorized for every lawyer in the office. I’m an expert paper shredder and bringer of bagels. I’m also learning quite a bit about auditing between my grunt duties.”

“Aren’t you glad you got your degree so you could haul coffee into a corporate skyscraper for a bunch of assholes?”

“In heels, mind you.”

“How long until you blow a gasket and pour coffee in someone’s file cabinet?”

“Never, I hope.” She sat across from him at the table. “I’m trying to keep my mouth shut.”

“You don’t keep your mouth shut about anything else, so I can see how this would be difficult. I can see you now, serving coffee to a guy named Eugene with that look you get when you’re trying not to cuss somebody out.”

“You’re so understanding.” Tori patted his hand. “The pay’s too good to screw it up. It’s just ironic that I quit waiting tables so that I could work in a real profession and ended up waiting offices in heels and a lady suit.” She took a sip of her coffee and flicked a wad of paper. “Looks like you’re going strong this morning.”

“Easy there. That happens to be my heart and soul you’re mocking.”

“You’ve been writing that letter for a month.”

He sighed and leaned on the table. “I can’t get it right, and I can’t give it to her until it’s perfect.”

“There’s no such thing as perfect. Just dump out your guts, sign your name, and give it to her,” she said simply.

Jon rolled his eyes. “I can’t just hand it to her. She’d probably light it on fire in front of me and blow the ashes in my eyes.”

“And then kick you in the nuts.”

“It’s like you can see into the future,” Jon fired back.

Tori shrugged. “Just go over to her house. She lives, like, a block away.”

“Yeah, thanks again for that. It’s hard enough to be back in New York, never mind sharing a parking garage with her.”

“What? I get to pick where my apartment will be. My parents live two blocks away, and I liked this place. Sorry.”

“Liar.”

Tori giggled. “No, you’re right. I’m not sorry.” She picked up her coffee and made the dopey face she always used to make fun of him. “Why not just call her and say something like, Hey there, Josie. My heart has a major boner for you that it can’t get over. I’m sorry I’m a stupid idiot and didn’t say goodbye when I ran away. Also, I love you. Does that help?” She took a sip of her coffee, looking over the rim at him with expectant eyes.

He snorted a laugh. “You make it sound so easy.”

“So, when did you see her?” Tori asked as she put her coffee down.

“How do you know I’ve seen her?”

She looked bored. “Jon, you get that same schmoopy look on your face every time you think about her, and this morning when I walked in, you had it on again. I know you too well for you to get anything past me.”

“You’re relentless. You know that?”

“You’re annoying. This”—Tori motioned to him—“is why we never worked out. You never could handle me.”

“Oh, I recall handling you just fine.”

“You ass.” She laughed and threw his abandoned cloth napkin at him.

He caught it and threw it directly back, hitting her in the face.

“Goddammit, you really are annoying,” she said.

“I learned from the best.”

Tori stuck out her tongue and took a sip of her coffee. “So, when did you see her?”

He sat back in his seat. “Yesterday.”

“Awkwardness abounded?”

“As usual, but she didn’t insult me, not directly anyway. So, that’s progress, I suppose.”

“You need to just send her flowers,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You think you have all the answers, don’t you?”

She nodded emphatically.

“Listen, all I can do is try to prove that she can trust me. I have to believe that if I’m there for her, she’ll see the truth and forgive me. Thing is, she keeps slamming the door in my face, so I’ve got to find a window to climb in.”

“Are you still looking for that guy who killed Anne?”

Jon folded his arms across his chest. “Haven’t stopped since I found out she died, but I’ve only got as much to go on as the newspapers did, which is jack shit. I’ve been trying to let it lie until Josie calms down. I’m worried that asking her about it will set her off.”

“Think you’ll be able to bring it up soon?”

He shook his head and let out a breath. “I don’t know honestly. I know she hasn’t given up—that woman is a dog with a bone—but I can’t push her. I want to help her, but I can’t force her to accept it.”

Tori sat back and crossed her legs. “Maybe it’s time to try to press her to accept. I know you could help, and I’m sure she could use a hand. She’s got to be so far up that case’s ass, she sneezes crime facts.”

“You should write poetry.”

“I really should.” She reached for her romance novel with a pirate and a woman clutching each other on the cover.

He tilted his head to read the title. “Hidden Treasures? I don’t know how you read that stuff.”

She didn’t look up. “I use the same part of my brain that you use when you watch Dog the Bounty Hunter.”

“Goo’ morning!” Lola padded her way into the kitchen in footie pajamas, dragging her stuffed dog, Ruby, after her. Her blue eyes were bright, and her dark hair curled in fine waves just past her shoulders.

“Hey, baby.” Jon turned and opened his arms, hauling the toddler into his lap as soon as she was within reach. “You want some eggs?”

“Gross, Jon. Those are cold.”

“She doesn’t care. Look.”

Lola’s face was lit up like a lightbulb. “Eggies!” she squealed as she grabbed his fork, though it ended up being more for show as she used her chubby little hands to stop the eggs from falling back onto the plate.

Tori laughed, and Jon looked over his family, marveling at life and what a messy, glorious affair it was. For every bit of misfortune he’d had and every loss he’d endured, there was something beautiful that balanced it.

He tried to find a way to be thankful for that at least.

Artemis hoisted herself out of the pond near her camp and walked, dripping and naked, to the massive rock at the edge of the water. The mountains of her realm in Olympus stretched up to the blue sky all around her, and tall pines rustled in the breeze, their needles whispering.

She had climbed the slate of the boulder—her favorite perch—millions of times in her life. If ever she wished for a throne, it would be a deerskin atop that stone, the place where she sought peace and solace. A place where she remembered and tried to forget.

Artemis found the familiar handholds without needing to look as she climbed nimbly to the top, stretching out on the warm stone when she reached it. The sounds of her Oceanids giggling and squealing in the pool below floated up to her as they splashed about, some braiding each other’s hair, threading flowers through their tresses. Even after thousands of years, her companions still acted like girls.

Artemis smiled at the notion as she folded her hands behind her head and breathed deep, listening to the rustle of the trees around her as the sun’s rays warmed her skin.

Her thoughts drifted toward the competition and Aphrodite, and her smile fell. Artemis always enjoyed games with her Oceanids, and most of the other gods proved to be formidable opponents. She knew what to expect with Ares, Athena, Hephaestus, but playing at love?

How drab.

At least she could meddle in Aphrodite’s plans. The thought brought a smile back to her face. Any time she could be the cause of Aphrodite’s discomfort was a happy time indeed.

But all amusement faded away as she recalled Josie’s meeting with Jon the day before. Aphrodite had had something to do with the encounter, she was sure. The likelihood of the two accidentally being at the same bar and going after the same bail-jumper was nearly impossible. The notion made Artemis uneasy, but she found comfort in the even smaller likelihood that the meeting would affect the outcome of the game.

Josie was an ideal choice. Her instincts were strong, and she was an excellent huntress. She was capable and confident, with little care for love. Josie’s hurt and loss hadn’t diminished her spirit; it’d spurred her to build up her armor, particularly against Jon. He had the tallest wall of all to climb.

After Anne had died, Josie had retreated into herself, into her work, keeping herself busy as she waited for the time when the pain was behind her.

It was a feeling Artemis knew all too well.

Orion’s face filled her mind, but she took a breath and turned her attention to the things she could control.

Past the camaraderie she felt with Josie, Artemis knew the human would not be quick or open with her heart. Jon had hurt her so deeply that, of all the possible choices Aphrodite might have made, he had to be the least likely to succeed.

Artemis was certain Josie would never forgive him, for who could forget such a betrayal? She found she couldn’t fathom the concept. Relationships were black and white. There were rules, and once a rule was broken, trust was broken along with it. The connection had to be severed for preservation, for protection against the offender.

Forgiveness and acceptance were not concepts Artemis had patience for.

She sensed movement and opened her eyes just as Eleni flew up to the top of the rock. Eleni was Artemis’s second-in-command and was as impertinent and brazen as she was capable and loyal. She was a cloud nymph, a Nephelai, with milky-white skin that glittered against the sun and wings the color of a rain cloud. When her feet touched the stone, she twisted her dripping black hair over her shoulder, extending her wings until they shuddered and trembled, shaking excess water off.

“Am I interrupting your solitude, mistress?” Eleni asked.

“No, although I am not certain how riveting my company will be. Are you sure you’d not be happier with everyone else?”

She settled in next to Artemis. “It was all fun and games until I was assaulted by a flying lily pad.”

“Ah, that is never agreeable.”

“No, it is cold and slimy and fills me with rage,” she said cheerily as she closed her eyes. “Well done on your choice of player. Josie is quite talented, if not a bit prickly.”

“I suspect I have a fair chance of winning. Josie plainly loathes Jon.”

Eleni scoffed. “Loathing is not the word I would choose to describe her feelings.”

“She does loathe him,” Artemis shot back. “He abandoned her for another woman, a woman who had his child. Three years have passed, all while Josie stewed over that singular fact, cursing his name. And when he returned, he dredged up emotions she would rather have forgotten. He is a constant reminder of her pain.”

“Jon is loyal and did what he believed was right. He left Josie because of Tori, not for her. Very different.”

“He left her all the same. The reason is irrelevant.”

Eleni cocked an eyebrow.

“Would you forgive him if you were her?”

Eleni pondered the question for a moment as they watched the clouds roll by. “I would likely consider it if he was persistent. He is very handsome.”

“That’s ridiculous,” Artemis said on a laugh. “How very human of you.”

“Groveling and gifts wouldn’t hurt either,” Eleni said with a shrug.

Artemis snorted.

The Nephelai sighed. “Humans are not all that bad, you know.”

“Not that bad?” Artemis propped herself on her elbow with her mouth agape. “Truly?”

Eleni rolled her eyes, and Artemis’s narrowed in answer.

“You impudent nymph. Fortunately, you have use to me, or I might have banished you a hundred times before today.”

Eleni laughed, the sound like tinkling bells, and Artemis fought the urge to throttle her.

“Oh, let’s not be silly, Artemis. You would never banish me.”

“I cannot say that I remember why at the moment.” She gave Eleni a look as she ticked off points on her fingers. “Humans have overpopulated the world and are thus destroying it. They’ve slaughtered animals and each other, consumed everything they’ve touched like fire and tinder—so much, in fact, that we have moved here to escape their destructiveness. They’re just as stupid as ever, and lastly, they ruin everything.”

“Personally, I find them fascinating.” Eleni gazed up at the sky.

Artemis glared. “You are vexing. Do you know that?”

“I do,” she sang.

Artemis lay back on the warm stone and closed her eyes.

They soaked up the sun for a few minutes in silence before Eleni spoke again, “Do you have any specific plans for the game? Anything waiting to rip the poor, unsuspecting humans apart?”

“Strategy has never been my strong suit. I much prefer a good chase to a chess game.” Artemis sighed. “I do so hate this game with Aphrodite.”

“Yes, but you do enjoy winning in general.”

“True,” Artemis said with a smile up to the sky. “I believe I might have a way to convince Josie to leave town for a while, which should put a damper on Aphrodite’s plans.”

“I am not convinced Aphrodite has many plans. She has endured quite a lot as of late.”

The crispness of the morning clung to the breeze that pushed past.

“Oh, I doubt she lacks in ideas, but she is distracted. If I find anything to stoke that flame, I’ll use it.”

“Well, what all is distracting her? Ares, but stoking that seems unnecessarily cruel.”

Artemis nodded. “I agree. I am uninterested in involving Ares in any plans of mine. Her other immediate distraction is her loss of Adonis. I cannot make that any worse than it is, not with him in the underworld and well beyond my reach.”

“Yes, he is about as unreachable as one can be, and even if he wasn’t, he has no memory of his human life.”

“The only thing she could ever do is watch him…gods, Eleni. What about Echo’s mirror?”

Eleni’s face quirked in confusion. “Why ever would Echo need a mirror? She’s an apparition. She has no face.”

Artemis propped herself on her elbow and looked down at Eleni. “No, no. The mirror isn’t only a looking glass. It was Aphrodite’s once, long ago. Echo told me the story. You remember how Pan used to chase her before she was bodiless?”

“Her and every other nymph,” Eleni said with a wry half-smile.

“Well, yes, but particularly her. She and Aphrodite were quite close then. Everyone loved her stories before Hera cursed her to only speak echoes.”

“Hera and her curses. She’s the most spiteful, horrid, vindictive—”

“Yes, yes, but not the point. Aphrodite gave her the mirror, so she could evade the Satyr, but that particular mirror was also enchanted to see into the underworld.”

The plan clicked together behind Eleni’s eyes as she looked up at Artemis. “Brilliant. But why would Aphrodite ever have such a device?”

“To watch Adonis when Persephone held him captive in the underworld.”

Eleni sat up with a smile. “And you are positive Echo still has it?”

“There is only one way to find out,” Artemis said as she stood. “I will go to her and ask her to return it to Aphrodite.”

“What do you think Aphrodite will do?”

“If fortune finds me, Aphrodite will watch Adonis and do nothing else, which will allow me to retain control over the players.”

Eleni shielded her eyes from the sun as she looked up at Artemis. “It just might work.”

“Of course it will,” Artemis said with a grin, giddy at having a plan. “Round up the nymphs, and prepare for our afternoon hunt. I have an old friend to visit.”

“Yes, mistress.”

She turned to the edge of the rock, and the nymphs below moved to the shore, tilting their faces up to her as she lifted her arms and sprang from the ledge, falling down, down, until she slipped into the water like an arrow.

Artemis swam into the emerald depths of the small pond, past the rock face covered with plants that waved in the slow currents. She pulled herself through the entrance of a small cave with a natural skylight and looked up to the sun. Strands of her midnight hair hung in the water around her, much like her thoughts, which found their way to Orion again.

He had been her companion for many years before she realized what was truly between them, only to have him ripped away from her. The giant was a hunter and her best friend, though she had missed him for thousands of years, mourning what might have been had he not been killed. It had taken so long to understand that she loved him, and the shock and confusion of the revelation never found an end.

There was no resolution and never would be.

* * *

The moon was high and bright that night, and Artemis crouched behind a wild basil bush to mask her scent as she watched a buck in a clearing before her. She counted his points.

Eighteen. Orion will never beat me.

The creature lowered his head and nibbled on a patch of spring grass. He never heard Artemis draw her bow.

The arrow flew straight into his heart, and he took off at a sprint, only making it about a dozen meters before he collapsed. She trotted over to him and knelt down, laying her hand around the base of the arrow.

“Peace, noble brother,” she whispered reverently as he slipped away.

Artemis made quick work of field dressing the buck, eager to return to camp and see who had won.

She and Orion would compete often to see who might bring back the most, the biggest, the best. It was usually a draw, which both impressed and annoyed her.

She thought of his face when he had lost to her, and her heart fluttered like bird’s wings in her chest.

They were together almost always, spending long hours doing what they both loved. Hunting was their foremost recreation, the thrill of the track and the chase, the anticipation of finding what you sought and taking it for your own.

But it was more than that common enjoyment. Orion could make her laugh, truly laugh from deep in her belly and until she had no breath, a feat which was a rarity. He understood her and accepted her, never questioning, never expecting anything more than what she gave. He was her favorite companion, always there when she needed him and armed with the exact right thing to say. But it was more than that too, though she couldn’t be sure what more was, only that the prospect excited and disquieted her.

Artemis dragged the buck around the rock face to the clearing where their camp bustled in the dark. She easily spotted Orion, the giant, where he sat near the fire. His height was double hers, and she never liked being so much smaller than him, so when they were together, she would take on a larger form, though she never cared to hunt at that size. So ungainly, too difficult to stay silent. As soon as she saw him, she shifted to her giant form and looked across the camp with a smile.

Sirius, Orion’s dog, stood tall and lean and trotted over to her, snuffing her hand with her long nose. Artemis scratched the dog’s ear and looked back to Orion.

He sat with his back against a massive olive tree and his feet up near the fire. His hands were folded behind his blond head, and his smile was brighter than the stars, the type of smile that told her she’d likely lost. She felt herself flush and was unsure if it was due to the loss of their game or her nearness to him.

“What a sweet little buck, Artemis. Noble effort.”

She raised an eyebrow. “And where is your prize, Orion, King of Hubris?”

Orion jerked his chin toward a rack where his buck hung, and she held her breath as she counted the points with haste.

“Twenty? By the gods.” Exasperation was thick in her voice, and the buck was forgotten behind her.

Eleni approached. “Shall I finish cleaning this for you?”

“Yes, thank you.” Artemis took a seat next to Orion, and Sirius followed, curling up next to him with her eyes on the fire.

“You may tell me how superior I am now, Artemis.” The firelight cast shadows under his jaw and the slope of his lips as he taunted her.

“Oh, may I?” She crossed her ankles in front of her. “You are fortunate that I am exhausted and in no mood to smite you.”

“You would never smite me.”

She smiled at his certainty. “Would I not?”

“No,” he said with a chuckle as he shook his head. “I do not believe you would.”

“I have smote so many. You would just be one in a very long line.”

He leaned toward her, a smile playing on his wide mouth, his deep eyes twinkling. “You would never smite me, as you know what lies in my heart.”

He was so close, she could see his every eyelash. Even in the dark, she knew his eyes—blue with flecks of green and gold that shone in the firelight. Her breath quickened, and she wondered what was happening as she leaned into him, drawn to him like a siren call.

Eleni cleared her throat, and Artemis blinked a few times with a laugh as she turned away and dusted off her boots, the sound far less awkward than she felt as she tried to find her footing again.

“Well, nicely done on your buck. You won today, friend, but tomorrow, you will not be so fortunate.”

Orion leaned back with a strange look on his face. “Yes, Artemis, there is always tomorrow.”

Confusion wriggled through her as she realized that she had almost kissed him.

Is that so hard to believe?

Orion was everything she wished for in a companion, and she wanted to be with him always.

And it was then that she wondered…could she feel love?

But it was impossible. She could never take a lover.

Artemis was a virgin goddess, the maiden. It was a title she had requested from her father, Zeus, wishing to escape the prison of marriage and duty that women were bound to, preferring to retain her freedom. But Orion already held power over her, power she didn’t understand and hadn’t knowingly given, and for a fleeting moment, she understood what love was, saw it laid out before her like an ocean.

Artemis pushed the thought away and cleared her mind. She had no care for love, or so she told herself, but still considered speaking to Aphrodite. The goddess of love would understand the makings of her heart better than she and perhaps would give her guidance.

But she balked at the ludicrous notion. Artemis, in love? Pure fantasy.

* * *

Artemis looked up at the sun pouring into the skylight, the rays cutting through the dark water in wedges, as she floated in her reverie. Looking back never brought peace, only pain.

In that way lies madness.

She knew all too well that was truth. She had tortured herself with the past for so long that she was a shell, so constricted at her core that she was calcified, a hardened version of who she had once been.

Orion was the closest she had ever come to love, but he had been stolen from her, gone forever, and she could not heal. The wound only festered, and the sadness and unfairness of it all twisted around her heart, poisoning her.

Artemis swam through the open crag, looking up at her nymphs as she made her way back to the present, leaving her memories in the black below. They watched her as she swam away with longing.

The sun was barely up when Josie rolled over in bed, and her mind switched on like a lightbulb as she ticked through her schedule for the day. It would start like it always did—with a run, then shower, breakfast, and work. Her day was planned out, every minute filled with something productive. She hated the feeling of having nothing to do, mostly because, when she was idle, she couldn’t help but think about all the things she’d lost.

She saw Jon’s face behind her closed lids and opened her eyes to banish him. She stretched for her phone, sighing when she noted that her alarm wasn’t set to go off for another fifteen minutes.

Jon. His name rang clear in her mind, unbidden and unwelcome.

She hated seeing him, hated how she felt after, like someone had cut her kite string and she was left untethered, whipping around in the wind.

Josie slung her legs out of bed and forced lingering thoughts of Jon from her mind, wishing there were a way to permanently eject him from her head and life. Her temporary fix was yoga, which was equal parts therapy and exercise, a way for her to control her body and find focus. It was the emotional equivalent of a reset button.

She lifted her arms up in a sun salutation, breathing deep and exhaling before she bent over, hanging her arms, her knuckles grazing the rug, breathing in time as she pushed out to downward dog.

Exhale the bullshit.

Her smoky-gray cat, Ricochet, strutted into her eyeline and flicked his tail in her face.

“You’re crushing my Zen, Rick.”

He meowed back.

She sighed and stood, scooping up her cat to kiss him on the head. “I’m sorry. You hungry, kitty boy?”

He looked up at her with yellow eyes, and she walked into the kitchen where she deposited him on the counter.

She held up two cans of Fancy Feast. “Chicken Florentine or Salmon Tuscany?”

He tilted his head.

“I know. It’s ridiculous. You eat better than I do.”

Josie popped open the Florentine and dumped it into Ricochet’s dish, hit the button on her coffeemaker, which was already prepped and ready, and made her way back into her room to throw on running shorts and a sports bra. She grabbed her fat rubber watch off the counter and put it on, giving Rick a pat on the head before pulling on her running shoes in the almost silent apartment.

It was the one thing she could never get used to—the quiet. She almost always had music going to fill the silence that had once been occupied by Anne, and she missed that feeling, that presence of another person. Sensing them in the other room, knowing they were there. Josie shook her head as she closed her door and descended the stairs, trying to stop her memories as they crawled through her mind.

She glanced at her watch. It was almost seven, and the sun was golden, full of promise, the first days of spring. It was one of those days that was a glimpse past the cold winter and into the future, though it was fleeting; the chill would swing back in and wipe away the traces of warmth. But she reveled in the moment as she took off running toward the Hudson.

Leave the past where it is.

Josie’s arms pumped harder as she picked up her pace.

Josie had met Anne her junior year of high school. Anne had been sitting at a lunch table alone, glossy, thick auburn hair tumbling over her shoulder, reading manga and wearing a T-shirt with a K-Pop star on it. Her purple cat-eye glasses had slipped down her nose as she polished off a Rice Krispies Treat, and her fingers had stuck to her comic when she tried to turn the page.

Josie had never seen her before and was curious about the quirky girl engaged in a sticky-fingered ninja fight with a comic book, so she’d joined Anne. The minute Anne had made a joke that relied heavily on a Star Trek reference, Josie had known they were meant to be.

They’d become instant friends and were inseparable through high school, but Josie hadn’t fully understood how much she needed Anne until she was rejected from the police academy. When the X-rays from her physical had shown the slightest of abnormal curves in her spine, it had been enough to have her permanently disqualified. It had been her darkest time—to realize she could never have her dream, never have what she’d wanted ever since she was a little girl.

But then Anne had swooped in with the brilliant idea to become PIs. Investigating was the next best thing, if not better. Josie was independent, with avenues and resources the police didn’t have, and she and Anne had both been good at their job. Very good.

So, at eighteen, the girls had moved into their apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, one of a few properties that had been in Josie’s family for decades. They had taken their classes and put in apprentice hours, which was made easy by Josie’s dad’s connections. Before long at all, they’d had steady work, doing something they both loved and excelled at. Anne had been the researcher, the coordinator, and Josie was the face, the muscle.

They’d worked that way for ten years until the day that Hannah Mills’s parents asked them to find their daughter, and everything had changed.

* * *

Josie and Anne had been sitting at their desks for hours, all day and into the night. The room was dark, though their faces were illuminated by their laptop screens as they searched the internet in tank tops and panties, neither willing to break away long enough to get dressed. Chinese take-out boxes littered their desks that stood facing each other in the living room.

Josie’s eyes never left the screen as she typed in another search term, fished around in the lo mein with her chopsticks, and brought a bite to her lips.

Hannah Mills, a sixteen-year-old cheerleader from just across the river in Weehawken, New Jersey, had gone missing two weeks before, and her tearful parents had come to Josie and Anne when the police hit a dead end. Hannah never made it home from cheerleading practice, and there had been no sign of her since she walked out of the school doors. The Mills only wanted to know what had happened to their child and said they understood the chances of finding her alive were slim.

Josie wondered if anyone could really understand something so grim.

She’d been working with the detective on Hannah’s case, her father’s friend from the academy. She and Dennis had been sharing information from the start, though neither of them had much to go on.

In the first few days after they had been hired, Josie had canvassed the Mills’ neighborhood via the pathway that Hannah had walked home. It was October, and the days were getting shorter, so by the time Hannah had passed through the neighborhood, it would have been dark outside. No one had seen anything.

There was one resident though, Corey Rhodes, who had thrown her red flags. Josie couldn’t put her finger on why—he’d seemed perfectly normal. He was in his mid-forties, built in that bulldoggish, barrel-chested way, and was charming but with an air of superiority. Really, there was just something in his mannerisms, in his choice of words, something in his smile that had set off alarms.

That was two days before, and she and Anne had been researching him ever since.

His criminal history was nonexistent. The man didn’t even have so much as a parking ticket, never mind something they could connect to Hannah. He had grown up in Deer Lodge, Montana, but went to college in Boston before moving to the city where he’d been working in advertising for the last twenty-some-odd years. His credit was in the seven hundreds. He’d never been married. On paper, nothing stood out about him at all, but her gut had never steered her wrong, so they were still digging.

Josie shoveled more noodles into her mouth and set her dinner down, drumming her fingers on the desk before typing in another search term.

She’d chased the Google rabbit through the internet, looking for anything on Rhodes, but she’d come up empty. There were a few articles from his college days playing football in Boston, but before and after that, she couldn’t find a thing. She wondered if she could learn anything through his hometown—figuring that, like most small towns, half of the news was about high school sports—but the newspaper was so small that their website had nothing more than a few days old. She checked out the Helena Independent Reviewer, hoping that Montana’s capital city would at least have archives back through the ’80s, but she hit a dead end there, too.

Josie sighed and sat back in her chair.

Anne extended her orange chicken, and Josie accepted, trading her lo mein.

“Anything?” Anne leaned over the box and scooped noodles into her mouth.

“Nothing. I’m pretty sure I’ve read every article on him twice.”

Anne pushed her glasses up her nose. “Me too. I can’t find much on his parents either. His father died when he was fourteen, and after he moved to Jersey, his mom relocated. She died of cancer a few years ago.”

Josie looked through her computer, unable to focus her eyes. “I think I’m going to have to order copies of the newspapers from the library in his hometown, but I don’t know how long that will take. I feel like there’s got to be something there. If he played college football, he would have played in high school, so someone would have to know him and remember him. I just wonder what’s hiding in that little town.”

Anne chewed with one eye on Josie. “How sure are you of this hunch?”

“It’s called a hunch for a reason, and there’s no being sure of one. There’s no reason for me to be suspicious, but I am.”

Anne ate in silence for a beat. “Something bad happened to Hannah. I know that in my own gut, especially after talking to her friends and her boyfriend. She didn’t run away, and she wasn’t into anything that would have gotten her in trouble. Something happened to her on the way home, and I don’t think it was random. She’s too old to be hopping into windowless vans. So, if you say Rhodes has something to do with it, I’m gonna take your word for it.”

Josie heard the opening and took it. “You think I should fly to Montana?”

Anne nodded. “Otherwise, we’ll be sitting on our asses for weeks, waiting on newspapers. Plus, we all know that you talking to the people of that town in person will get you further than over the phone. If nothing else, we can rule out our only suspect.” Anne lifted noodles out of the paper carton and shoved them into her mouth, saying around them, “While you’re gone, I’ll tail Rhodes and see what I can dig up.”

“You sure about this?”

“As sure as you are. Can’t hurt to try, right?” Anne shrugged.

“All right. Don’t forget to put on pants and a bra before you go chasing the potential kidnapper.” Josie motioned to Anne’s naked legs.

“You can’t tell me what to do. Plus, if he caught me, he’d never remember what my face looked like,” she said as she shimmied her shoulders, which incidentally made her boobs knock into each other.

“I’ve always said you should have done burlesque with those puppies. Now, find me a flight.”

“Yes, sir,” Anne said with a salute.

The following afternoon, Josie found herself walking up the stone steps of the library in Deer Lodge, Montana, and was charmed by the old building as she passed between stone columns to the deep mahogany door. An elderly woman sat behind the desk with her gray hair in a tight bun and her rosy cheeks a companion to her smile. The nameplate on the counter said Mrs. Herold.

“Well, hello, dear. What can I do for you?”

“Hello, Mrs. Herold. I was hoping to look back through some of your old newspapers.”

“Of course,” she said with twinkling eyes. She adjusted her shawl around her shoulders. “We have every issue of the Silver State Post since its first publication in 1887. What are you looking for? Perhaps I could help you. I’ve lived my whole life in this town, seventy-two years,” she added with pride.

“Thank you. Actually, I could use your help.” Josie leaned on the counter. “Do you know the name Corey Rhodes?”

A shadow moved behind her eyes. “Yes, I do know that name. He was one of our star football players some years ago.”

“What can you tell me about him?”

“May I ask who you are?”

“Yes, ma’am. I’m an investigator in the New York metropolitan area, and Mr. Rhodes lives near where a girl went missing a few weeks ago.”

“Oh my,” she breathed as the color rose in her cheeks. “Is he a suspect?”

“No, not officially.”

Mrs. Herold nodded. “Well, his mother and I were very close when he was young, and our husbands worked together at the prison before hers passed away. Diane did the best she could with him, but something was always just a bit…”

“Off?”

“Yes, I suppose you could say that.” She shifted on her stool. “He went steady with Jane Bernard, and when she turned up dead after a storm, he was the only suspect.”

Josie’s thoughts flew into overdrive. She’d known she’d find something, but she was entirely unprepared for the reality.

Mrs. Herold continued, “She was found in the woods by some hunters several days after she went missing. They said she’d been strangled to death, the poor girl.”

“When did this happen?”

“Well, let me think…” The lines at the corners of her eyes deepened as she recollected. “I believe that was in the fall of 1984. Corey was never arrested. The town rallied behind him and his story—that he had dropped her off at the Dairy Queen after they got in a fight. It snowed after she went missing, but half of the town went out looking for Jane.” Her eyes were sad, her brows heavy. “So much promise. She was so young, the head of the cheerleading squad, if I remember right. My own son went to school with them at the time, though he was a few years younger.”

Cold understanding slid down her spine. “Thank you, Mrs. Herold. This is all very helpful.”

“You’re welcome, dear. You just let me know if you have any other questions you can think of. And you should call on Sheriff Jackson. He pressed for that boy to be arrested, but nothing ever came of it. I’m sure he would have some insight, if that’s the type of information you’re looking for.”

“Maybe I’ll head over there after I have a look at the newspapers from that fall. Do you have a photocopier?”

“Yes, back by the office. I’ll show you the way, but first, let me have Troy get those papers for you.”

She slipped off the stool and made her way to the corner but jumped when she almost ran into a lanky man who stood just on the other side.

“Troy!” Her hand flew to her chest. “For goodness’ sake, you about scared the life out of me. Would you be so kind as to pull the newspapers from September to November of 1984 for this young woman?”

He eyed Josie but nodded. “Sure thing, Mrs. H.”

She turned back to Josie and smiled kindly again. “Have a seat, and Troy will be back with those papers for you in a snap.”

Josie spent the rest of the afternoon reading through the old papers and photocopying articles, all while a tall, skinny, middle-aged Troy stared her down from various points around the small building.

Once she gathered her things and thanked Mrs. Herold, she made her way across town to the home of Sheriff Jackson.

She stood on the porch of his craftsman home and knocked, and when the door opened, it was to a man in a cardigan and button-down with salt-and-pepper hair to match his push-broom mustache, which quirked when he smiled.

“Sheriff Jackson?” she asked.

“I haven’t been Sheriff Jackson in fifteen years. Saul’s the name. And you are?”

“Josie Campbell. Nice to meet you, sir. I have some questions for you, if the name Corey Rhodes rings a bell?”

Surprise registered on his face. “It rings more than a bell, more like a firing squad. Are you a reporter?”

“An investigator.”

“Ah,” he said with a smile. “That would have been my next guess. Come on in.” He moved aside and pulled the door open wide.

She stepped into the foyer, and he closed the door behind him.

“Coffee?” he asked over his shoulder as he headed for the kitchen.

“Please. Just sugar.”

“My kinda girl.”

He nodded to a barstool at the island, and Josie took a seat.

“What can I do for you, Josie?”

“I’ve just come from the library, and I read through the newspaper accounts of Jane Bernard’s case.”

“And what had you digging around that old story?” His voice held a hint of challenge as he poured her a cup of coffee.

“A young girl, a cheerleader, went missing a few weeks ago in New Jersey. Her body hasn’t been found, and Rhodes happens to live on her path home from school.”

“That doesn’t sound like much of a reason to fly all the way out here to read some dusty old newspapers.”

He handed her the mug, and she accepted, meeting his eyes that held more knowledge than he was giving up.

“Call it a hunch.”

Saul sat down across from her, amused. “I know the feeling.” He took a sip of his coffee and nodded. “What do you want to know?”

“Do you think Rhodes killed Jane Bernard?”

He looked at her for a long moment before answering, “I do.”

“But you could never prove it.”

Saul shook his head and let out a resigned sigh. “I couldn’t. There was no DNA then. Hell, we’d barely heard of it in ’84, and it wasn’t until almost ten years later that we had resources for DNA testing in Helena. Unfortunately, those hunches that we’re so fond of don’t hold up all too well as evidence in the judicial system, and I didn’t have anything else to go on.”

“From what I know of him, I’m not surprised he didn’t give anything up.”

“Never. The kid was stone cold, and the town wanted to hear none of my babbling about it. You have to understand that Rhodes was a star player on the football team. He seemed normal, whatever that is, but a few of us picked up on there being something more to his story. No one seemed to care though. I had no evidence either way, only his word against my suspicion, and that was enough for the town.”

“I wasn’t able to find record of this in any of the databases I have access to.”

“No, I suppose you wouldn’t have. We didn’t get a full-on database system until the mid-nineties. Up to that point, all our records were paper copies, and in 1992, there was a fire in the courthouse. The records room was destroyed along with all the case files.”

Josie set her coffee down and ran a hand over her mouth. “Shit.”

“Well,” he said with a spark in his eyes, “I might have a bright spot on your horizon. I’ve got something you’ll want to see.”

Saul stood and motioned for her to follow him, which she did. In his office, he opened the closet and knelt down to pull out a small storage box with the name Bernard written on it.

He set the box down on his desk and pulled off the lid. Inside was a mass of information—crime scene photos, case files, interview cassette tapes. She shuffled them around and saw the edge of a copy of the suspect’s fingerprints. Her fingers went numb as she lifted them out of the box. She looked up at Saul.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Now, don’t gimme that look. None of this is admissible, you know. I’m fairly certain that a box in the bottom of my closet will somehow not stand up against chain-of-custody requirements. All of these are copies or duplicates of the originals, but you’re welcome to them if they’ll help you. They’re not doing anybody any good here, collecting dust, not when this case has been dead as a doornail for thirty years.”

“Saul, this means the world to me and maybe to the parents of Hannah Mills.”

“That’s her name?”

“It is.”

“Well, I’ll be sure to light a candle for the girl. And I hope you find the bastard who took her.”

On the flight back to New York, Josie read through Jane Bernard’s case and autopsy report.

Jane had been raped and strangled, but no other evidence had been found, not after she was left in the elements for days. Josie spent a long while looking at a photo of Jane, a blond-haired, blue-eyed girl with an air of confidence about her though not quite innocent.

Her physical features were close enough to Hannah’s that Josie found herself unnerved.

By the time she trudged up the stairs with the box of clues and stacks of articles, she was exhausted. The look on Anne’s face when she saw what Josie had found was priceless, and Josie wondered how close it was to the look she had worn when Saul gave the box to her. Her mouth hung open, her eyes big, like they’d discovered the holy grail of evidence, though it was all still a stretch.

It was then that Josie’s phone rang, and her exhaustion instantly left her when she saw that it was Dennis, the lead detective on Hannah’s case.

Josie hit Accept. “Dennis, I have news.”

“Me too, but…it’s not good, Josie.” He paused for a second, and she held her breath. “We found Hannah’s body.”

“Oh my God.” Josie sat down on the couch. She realized then that she’d been holding out some small hope that Hannah was still alive, hope that left her in a rush. “Where?”

“Delaware Water Gap, in the national park. She was found by some hikers, washed up on the riverbank. We just got a positive ID.” He waited through a stretch of silence. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m okay.” She took a deep breath. “I just got back from Montana with a boxful of case files on the murder of a sixteen-year-old cheerleader, the girlfriend of Corey Rhodes in 1984.”

“Oh, shit,” he breathed. “What did you find out?”

“The old sheriff believes he did it. I have fingerprints, Dennis.”

“Willing to share?”

“Of course. But I want to see her body.” She leaned forward and rested her elbows on her knees.

“Josie…”

She laid her forehead in her palm. “I know. I just want to see her.”

He paused, and when he spoke again, he was resigned. “All right. They took her body to the Sussex County Coroner. I’m here waiting for her family. Meet me in an hour.”

She looked at her watch. It was seven, plenty of time with no traffic. “Okay. Anne will get everything scanned, and I’ll bring you copies tomorrow.”

“Okay. I’ll see you.”

“Good luck with the Mills, Dennis.”

“I tried to convince them not to come, that they don’t want to see her like this, but they wouldn’t hear it. They never do.”

“I know. I’m sorry for all of it.”

“Thanks, kid. I’ll see you in a bit.”

She hung up and turned to Anne, who had paused to listen to Josie’s half of the conversation with her lip between her teeth.

Josie nodded, and Anne hung her head.

“I’ve got to get going if I’m going to get to the coroner’s in time.”

Anne looked solemnly down into the box. “I’ll get all of this scanned, and we can start the real dig tomorrow.”

Josie peeled herself off the couch, her body heavy from exhaustion and the weight of knowing that Hannah was dead. She wanted to see Hannah with her own eyes, to have her own perspective to compare the case files to in the hopes that she could find some connection, some parallel.

“I’ll be back,” Josie said as she grabbed her keys.

“I’ll be here.” Anne gave her a sympathetic smile and ran a hand down Josie’s arm. “Good luck.”

“You too.”

Josie hit no traffic, and the city fell behind her as she drove through rural New Jersey with her windows down and radio blaring, her hair whipping around her face, her mind rolling over and over everything she’d learned.

When she reached the coroner’s office, she hauled herself inside and found Dennis in the waiting room, looking rumpled. He sat low in his chair, his tie was a little loose, his coat hanging on his sloped shoulders. He looked tired, his mocha skin ashen, with dark circles under his eyes.

He looked up at her and raised an eyebrow, shifting to sit up straighter. “I cannot believe I’m about to let you in there.”

“You said that last time.” She sat down in a chair next to him. “How did it go?”

He leaned forward, shaking his head as he looked down at the linoleum between his feet. “It never gets easier, and when they’re so young…”

She laid a hand on his shoulder. “I know.”

Dennis glanced at her. “You ready for this?”

“Can anyone be ready for what I’m about to see?”

“Not a single person in the world,” he said as he stood.

They walked down the long hallway and through a set of double doors to the morgue. Metal walls lined one side of the room, marked by a grid of compartments with handles on each. The only sounds were their footfalls, underlined by the hum from the refrigerated wall and the buzzing from the fluorescent lights. Goosebumps broke out up and down her arms when they came to a stop in front of a metal door, and Dennis laid his hand on the handle.

He gave her an apologetic look before he slid the compartment out.

The musty smell of damp leaves hit her nose, and Josie took a step back when she saw the girl on the slab. Her skin was dark and tight, pulled over her bones and cracking like leather, a shocking contrast to the life in her crimson cheerleading uniform. Her hair, which was once blond and bright, was now dull and yellow, thin and sparse.

Dennis handed her a file. “It seems she was in the water for about thirty-six hours before she washed up. We didn’t have much rain after she was exposed, and the dry conditions combined with the plastic she was wrapped in did this to her. The coroner’s report says she died of asphyxiation, determined by a crushed hyoid bone.”

Josie went numb. “Strangled?”

He nodded. “There was nothing to suggest a garrote was used. She was likely strangled by hand.”

Her hands were cold as it clicked together. “Dennis, Rhodes’s high school girlfriend was killed the same way. Raped and strangled with a broken hyoid.”

Dennis stood still. “We believe Hannah was raped.”

“Oh my God,” she whispered with her eyes on the girl.

Dennis hung his hands on his hips. “I need those files, Josie. Can you bring them to me first thing? It’s circumstantial, but it’s a lead.”

“Absolutely. I’ll even bring them to you tonight.”

“Tomorrow’s fine. You look like you could use some rest.”

Josie couldn’t take her eyes off Hannah. “I have a feeling I won’t sleep much tonight.”

“I know what you mean,” he said as he looked down at the girl’s body.

Josie read through the autopsy file and looked over Hannah, feeling the gravity of it all, shrugging off her anger and focusing on what she could change. She could help find who had killed Hannah Mills.

It was almost eleven by the time Josie trudged up the stairs of her apartment, wanting nothing more than a long, hot bath and a tall, stiff drink. She unlocked the door and opened it, freezing in the doorframe when she saw what waited inside.

Her eyes caught every detail.

A lamp lay on the ground, shining light at wrong angles, casting long, odd shadows against the wall. Josie scanned the room, noting that Anne’s laptop wasn’t on her desk and neither was the case file box.

She pulled her gun and silently made her way through the living room with her heart thumping in her chest. She spotted a small pool of blood on the floor and stared at it for a moment with her mind charging through scenarios (maybe she’d cut her hand, maybe the cat was hurt, maybe, maybe, maybe).

It was then that she heard the shower running and moved toward the bathroom.

The sound was so familiar, it convinced some corner of her brain that the common noise meant everything had to be fine. She walked toward the door, a slit of light from the crack stretching toward her like a pathway, drawing her forward. When she reached the door, she pushed it open with her foot, and her arms fell, her gun clattering to the wet tiled floor.

Anne was lying in the claw-foot tub with one arm draped over the side and her face turned to Josie, her blue eyes sightless and dim and empty. Water spilled over the brim of the bathtub, running down Anne’s auburn hair and to the ground, dripping on the tiles, as the shower endlessly streamed down.

“Annie,” Josie whispered, rushing to her side. She touched Anne’s cold, wet face, desperate and disbelieving. “Annie, wake up,” she begged uselessly, the words like fire in her throat.

She laid her trembling fingers at Anne’s bruised, purple neck but could find no pulse. Anne’s shirt was torn, her bra exposed. Her panties were gone, her leggings shredded and hanging off her ankles.

And Josie climbed into the tub with her, the cold water spilling out, seeping into her bones. Her tears mingled with the water raining down on her as she pumped Anne’s chest, knowing it was futile but trying to save her all the same.

* * *

Josie’s legs and lungs burned as she stood in front of the river with her hands on her hips, her chest heaving as she tried to catch her breath. Tears rolled down her sweaty cheeks, but she didn’t even bother to wipe them away, just turned and sprinted back toward her apartment.

There hadn’t been a single official lead on who had killed Anne. No fingerprints. No DNA. But Josie knew who had done it. She just couldn’t prove it, and that was the worst kind of hell she could live through.

By the time she reached her place, she was spent, her legs numb and lungs on fire. She unlocked her door and closed it behind her before lying out flat on her living room floor, panting and aching. Ricochet slinked up and climbed onto her chest, purring like a little motor.

“I know, Ricky. I still have you, right?”

He just looked at her with wide eyes.

Her heart was in a vise, the screws so tight, she couldn’t breathe. “I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”

He kneaded his paws on her chest, and she ran her hand down his neck and back, but even as exhausted as she was, she couldn’t be still. She grabbed her cat under his arms and stood, cradling him to her chest as she made her way into her bedroom, dumping him onto the bed. Then, she peeled off her sweaty clothes and discarded them in the hamper in her bathroom.

She’d almost moved, even stayed with her parents for some time, but in the end, she’d decided to come back. Her older brother, Paul, had offered to let her have his place since it was also a family property, and their place was bigger, but with Gia pregnant, she couldn’t agree. Instead, she’d renovated. The once cheery yellow walls had been painted gray, and the claw-foot had been replaced with a standing shower. It still smelled of paint and new construction, the scent lingering along with her memories.

Josie turned on the water and stepped into the stream. A shiver ran through her, subsiding as the water warmed, then steamed. She turned it as hot as she could stand it and ran her hands over her hair, lifting her face to the water as she wished she could wash everything away, scrub and clean her heart until she was new again.

The skin on her shoulders and chest were bright pink when she finally turned the shower off and stepped out. She dried off and dressed, feeling a little more grounded after the hot water burned down her memories until they were quiet again. She twisted up the damp copper mess as she walked into the kitchen to grab a Pop-Tart, not even bothering to put it in the toaster.

Josie stopped in front of Anne’s door and laid her hand on the wooden doorframe. Maybe she was ready. She’d eventually have to go inside, but she hadn’t been able to enter the room, not after the first time.

It had only been a few weeks after Anne died, and Josie had been armed with boxes and resolve. But one look in that room had been enough, and Josie had closed the door. She hadn’t opened it again.

Her hand slipped away, and she turned for her living room, glancing at the breakfast pastry. It looked like cardboard all of a sudden, and she dropped it in her desk trash can, no longer hungry.

Instead, Josie lay down on the couch to face the long wall where her crime shrine hung.

Stretched across the length of the wall were columns of articles and photographs of the girls Rhodes had killed, papers and newspaper clippings, all connected by a web of red string with Rhodes in the center. They were divided by year, starting with when Jane Bernard had been killed, running all the way through Anne, with every murder in between, every kill she thought he might be connected with. Using the details of how Hannah and Jane had been killed, Josie had found dozens of unsolved murders that fit, mostly of prostitutes who had been found in the Hudson.

It had started off innocently enough for Josie, just looking for any connection, anywhere. But, before long, she had obsessively scoured the daily papers and the old archived databases, looking for any murders that fit the bill. Strangulation. Women wrapped in plastic, dumped in a waterway. When there was an ID, the family members and friends had claimed jewelry was missing.

Josie had searched for the keys to Rhodes’s MO and found dozens of cases starting in the late ’80s that she believed he was responsible for. She’d weeded through them at lightning speed, quickly assembling the wall of connections. Saul had recounted all the lost evidence by memory and sent photocopies of the old newspaper articles on Jane Bernard’s death. Josie had had access to all the evidence on Hannah and Anne already, and from there, it had been filling in the gap between Jane and Hannah.

Hannah looked so much like Jane, even down to the bright red cheerleading uniform, and Josie knew Hannah must have triggered him. And Anne…the only thing that made sense was that Rhodes had somehow known they had information, and Anne had surprised him when he came to steal it. All the girls in between Hannah and Jane had been clean kills with no connections, missing for days and days before they were even reported.

Josie had enlisted the reluctant help of her father, who was the captain of the station handling Anne’s murder. Their agreement was that she would pass off anything she found to him, though she suspected he’d only consented so that he could keep an eye on her, knowing she would never give it up. Hank had agreed on Rhodes’s pattern and the connections Josie had made, but without DNA, evidence, or witnesses, they had nothing.

That was when the real search had begun. Josie had pounded more pavement, talking to detectives, hookers, and families and friends of the dead girls, trying to find out as much as she could with the hope that something would lead her back to Rhodes. Some detectives had been forthcoming. Some wouldn’t give her the time. A few had been convinced she’d uncovered a serial killer while others just called her crazy.

But Josie never stopped looking.

She spent much of her free time on her most dangerous hobby—tailing Rhodes. She knew him, knew his daily routine. She knew his favorite coffee shop and what time he worked out. If she watched him, she could catch him. If she followed him, she could stop him from hurting anyone again.

But he never put a toe out of line, and on her worst days, she’d wonder if she’d stretched the whole thing together, patched it up with duct tape and bubblegum, and convinced herself he was a killer. It was all she had to hold on to, and she felt it was right, but how could she even be sure?

Most days, she wouldn’t think about it, but the ones when she did were dark.

No one knew how much of her time and energy she put into Rhodes. They couldn’t understand. They’d think she’d lost it, and maybe they’d be right, but chasing Rhodes was the only thing in her life that made sense, and she couldn’t let it go. Not as long as he was walking free.

The wind whipped Artemis’s robes against her legs as she clung to the side of a high rock face with her eyes on a cave opening above her. Her legs strained as she hung on the cliff and pushed off, swinging to another hold, easily finding footholds as she leveraged her way up with grace and ease. She hoisted herself onto the ledge, pausing for a moment to catch her breath at the entrance to Echo’s cave.

Echo was a tree nymph who had been known for telling beautiful tales of love and adventure and would often entertain the gods and nymphs alike. On the day she had been cursed, she’d distracted Hera with one of her stories as Zeus escaped a tryst with one of her nymph sisters, and when Hera had realized what had happened, she’d cursed Echo. From that moment on, she was only able to speak the last words she’d heard. Years later, Echo had fallen in love with Narcissus, a beautiful man who could only love himself, and she’d wasted away, pining after him until nothing was left but her voice.

Artemis was the goddess of all nymphs, the caregiver to all creatures of the wild, and when they’d fled Earth to make their home in the new Olympus, Echo had followed. Preferring solitude, she had made her home high in a mountain cave.

Artemis’s hands were on her hips as she breathed deep, looking out over her realm as the wind swept across her body. Mountains stretched out into the distance, green and lush, and rolling hills and meadows dotted with trees filled the valley below. A waterfall roared from the top of the cliff, misting her with water, and she was thankful for its chill after the climb.

She walked into the cool stone passage, laying her palm against the slate, hearing water rush somewhere above her. When she stepped out on the other side, she was in Echo’s cave.

Water poured in from the skylight of the domed cave, collecting in a topaz pool ringed with myrtles and laurels standing in spring grass peppered with flowers. Near the opening where the sunshine poured in, small birds flitted, tweeting and chirping merrily.

At the far end of the cave were shelves made of stone, filled with Echo’s things. There were pots and paintings, scrolls and wildflowers. The light caught on the mirror, and Artemis was relieved it was still in the nymph’s possession.

“Echo?” Artemis called.

But there was no echo of the sound, an eerie sensation in the open rock where the sound should have bounced back to her. She looked around for the nymph, usually able to see her by the soft sheen of her spirit, but Artemis found her nowhere.

An entrance to another passage lay just beyond Echo’s shelves, and Artemis made her way through it. The path grew blacker with every step she took, and the sound of her footsteps reverberated off the walls.

“Echo?”

The word was absorbed into the blackness.

Goosebumps prickled Artemis’s skin as she followed the trickling sound of water, and the passage opened up again into a smaller chamber, dark and heavy.

“Echo? It is I, Artemis.”

Echo was a wisp, a shimmering apparition. With no light to interfere, Artemis could see the nymph who once was. Echo was looking down into a small pool of water in the rock floor. Her hair hung in loose waves, and her face was like a sprite with wide lips and a dainty nose.

She turned her sad eyes to Artemis and smiled. “Artemis,” she said, her voice hollow.

“Hello, friend.” Artemis took a seat next to her on the cold stone, watching as she shimmered and shone in blues and whites and purples; her soul was the only source of light in the room.

“Hello, friend.” The nymph folded her hands in her lap.

“I hope that you are well. It has been too long.”

Echo nodded, though her face held curiosity.

“I’m sure you must be wondering the purpose of my visit.”

The nymph nodded again.

“I came to petition you on behalf of Aphrodite.”

Echo raised an eyebrow. “Aphrodite?”

Artemis smiled. “Yes, Aphrodite. She has lost Adonis.”

“Lost Adonis?” Her brows knit together.

“She left him, and he drank Lethe.”

“Lethe…” she breathed, her hand covering her mouth.

“Yes. He has forgotten everything.” Artemis glanced into the black pool of water. “You still have Aphrodite’s mirror. May I ask if you still watch Narcissus in Asphodel?”

Echo bit her lip and nodded.

“Often?”

She shook her head.

Artemis felt the weight of Echo’s curse, mourned the life the nymph could have had, felt the grief over all she’d lost, but she pushed the thought away, finding resolve. Echo had loved so much that she lost everything, which was exactly the reason Artemis was convinced that love was more cruel than kind.

“Aphrodite has only just lost her love. I thought that perhaps you might give the mirror back.”

“Give the mirror back?” There was fear in her words, and Artemis wished she could offer the comfort of touch.

Instead, she trailed her fingers in the water of the pool. “Aphrodite has given you Narcissus for all these years. I only ask that you consider returning the favor.”

Echo looked back to the pool for a long moment, finally nodding with her eyes on her reflection. She rose and floated back through to the main chamber, and Artemis followed. When they reached her shelves, Echo stopped in front of the mirror. Artemis could barely see her in the brightness of the main cave, only a shimmer, the occasional ripple that revealed the features of her face as it bent in sadness.

The nymph picked up the gilded hand mirror, and the glass glimmered in a wave. Narcissus was there, walking through Asphodel in the sunshine. He bent and picked a poppy, smiling brilliantly.

Echo laid the mirror to her chest and turned to face Artemis, dropping into a small bow.

Bisoux’s leg thumped when Dita dragged the brush over his rump, wondering what she was going to do next.

She’d painted her nails, organized her underwear drawer, rearranged her living room, and put on makeup, which was something she only did for occasions. She’d been alone all morning, and she was bordering on stir-crazy.

Dita considered napping but ultimately decided against it. Her sleep the night before had been restless, empty and vague, and she was tired, but she’d take tired over fitful sleep that left her hollow when she woke.

Elysium had been her home in her dreams for thousands of years, and Adonis, her confidant, her love. But that was all gone, and she could never have it back. The loss left her feeling abandoned and exposed, and loneliness plagued her. She missed the solace in his touch, his arms around her, his lips against hers.

But she would never have that again.

The bad had been all but forgotten, and in her mourning, she found herself only thinking of the good.

Dita knew her craving for touch would get to the point that it was undeniable, and she contemplated finding a human lover—or better, a string of lovers. The idea was infinitely appealing. She wanted something easy, something that didn’t require thought, just to be held for a moment.

But that had always been her solution. Something had to change, and that something was her. To ever heal, truly heal, she needed solitude.

Her chest ached, and she turned her wandering thoughts to Jon and Josie. Their first meeting hadn’t been terrible, but there was nothing on the horizon until they ran into each other again. She’d gotten Jon to The Duke and fudged the books at Jerry J’s, so they’d call both bounty hunters in, but she wasn’t sure what was next or what Artemis had in store for the humans.

What Dita needed was a plan.

She bit her lip as she put Bisoux’s brush down and ran her hand down his silky back. Josie wasn’t over Jon, not even close, but she was as stubborn and solitary as Artemis. No one got in, not after everything she had been through. Bisoux hopped off her lap and trotted to his red velvet floor pillow to pick up a squeaky toy in the shape of a Fury. He gnawed on its wings as Dita looked around the room for something to do, but her meandering thoughts drifted back to Adonis.

His smile was clear in the picture of her mind, and she could hear his laugh, thinking of the long hours they’d lazed in the meadow under the olive tree, and her heart ached and thumped and pumped and bled.

But she drew in a breath and stopped herself.

She needed a distraction and decided it had been long enough that she could bother Perry again. The day before had been filled with the two goddesses consuming all the movies and pizza they could handle on top of a stupid amount of cupcakes and all the avoidance she could muster. They had gotten rolling the minute the competition started, and she’d kept Dita distracted to the point that she was so exhausted, she fell into bed and slept like she was dead.

Guilt chewed at her heart when she considered how much of Perry’s time she’d been occupying for the last two weeks—meaning all her time—but she needed that distraction so badly. She wasn’t sure if she could function without it, not without losing her mind. And she didn’t feel right leaning on anyone else in the way she leaned on Perry. Dita had other friends, of course, but there was no one else she’d burden with her bullshit.

The only other person who she could seriously consider was Heff. He would be there for her, but she couldn’t talk to him about Ares or Adonis. It hurt too badly to see the pain behind his bright eyes, and she didn’t want to be the cause of it. She had Apollo too, but they weren’t at the level where she could really bare her heart and soul.

She wouldn’t trust anyone like that besides her best friend.

And so, she picked up her dog and headed to the elevator, hoping that Perry was fresh enough to handle her for just a little longer. Surely, she’d be right again soon.

When she reached the underworld, she set Bisoux down, and he ran straight for Cerberus. Watching them play was highly entertaining since the three-headed hellhound was about eight hundred times the size of the mini Pom.

“In here.” Perry waved a hand over the back of the couch.

“I come bearing gifts.” With the snap of Dita’s fingers, several bars of Toblerone and a stack of movies appeared on the coffee table, but she paused when she rounded the couch and found Perry lying in the arms of Hades.

The couple lay lazily in each other’s arms—Perry small and slender, Hades long and lean. He looked as comfortable in tailored slacks and a button-down as most people would in pajamas with his sleeves rolled up and his tie loosened, the top button of his shirt undone. Perry’s fingers had slipped into the space between buttons to rest on his chest.

“Oh,” Dita said, flushing, embarrassed for assuming her friend would be alone. “I’m sorry. Perry, want to just come up later? I mean, if you have time?”

Hades smiled and kissed the top of his wife’s head. “Don’t leave on account of me. I have some paperwork that needs my attention anyway.”

Perry pouted a little as he slipped out from under her and left the room.

Guilt, guilt, and more guilt. But at least there was chocolate, too.

Perry sighed and reached for a bar of chocolate. “Come to mama.” She licked her lips as she opened the triangular box.

Dita sat at the other end of the couch and propped her feet on the table, trying not to feel like a worm for being relieved that Hades had gone.

“Wassup?” Perry asked with her mouth full of chocolate and nougat.

“Well, I just dicked with about a million things at my place, so I came down to see if you were ready to go for movie madness, part deux.”

“Mmm.” It was a noncommittal sound. “We barely even talked about the competition yesterday.”

Dita wiggled her toes on the coffee table, her arches warming up from the fire in the black marble fireplace. “We were too distracted by teenage John Cusack. Who can resist Lloyd Dobler in a trench coat with a boom box?”

Perry laughed. “The same percentage of people who can resist Paul Varjak from Breakfast at Tiffany’s. Zero.”

“Oh, or Gene Kelly from Singing in the Rain. I miss old Hollywood. Movies had a feeling to them that is just lost now. Where are the Kubricks and Hitchcocks?” Dita asked.

“Now, Hitchcock knew suspense. He was next-level, climb-into-your-head-and-make-a-nest-out-of-human-hair dark and creepy. Not like the cheap tricks they use now. Like The Human Centipede. I mean, I’ll give points for creativity, but come on.”

“So fucking gross. It’s not even scary, just disgusting,” Dita said with her nose wrinkled.

“Speaking of hot asses…” Perry waggled her eyebrows.

“Ew. You’re never allowed to make hot ass references in conjunction with The Human Centipede.” Dita gave her the stankiest face she could manage.

Perry giggled. “Jon’s way prettier than German dungeon horror.”

“That is true,” Dita said with a nod.

“And a smartass. Always a plus.”

“It really is so hot. I know I can get him and Josie together—if she doesn’t kill him first.”

“I can see how murder would put a damper on things.”

Dita snorted and held out her hand for a piece of chocolate. “I’m sure Artemis would do a freaking jig.”

“What kind of plays do you think she’ll make?” Perry laid a piece in her waiting palm.

Dita popped it in her mouth and thought about Artemis as she sucked on a triangle of milky chocolate. “It’s hard to say. She’s sort of immune to love. I mean, not totally immune, but she definitely doesn’t get it. She always picks some kind of huntress. Remember when she picked that gold digger in Victorian London?”

“Oh gods, that was so great. I about died when you matched her with a penniless actor. Such scandal.”

“That prat needed to be brought down a peg. And anyway, she ended up happy. That’s what counts. Well, that and the fact that I won.”

Perry shook her head. “Of all the gods, I can’t see how Artemis could ever win against you. She constantly underestimates the power of love.”

Dita rolled her eyes. “Great. Thanks. Now I have Huey Lewis stuck in my head.”

“He is a legend. Anyway, she really has to suck at this as a result of her very nature. She doesn’t get it.”

Dita crossed her arms and stared at the fire in the massive fireplace. It burned always—day, night, summer, winter. “How could she get it? She can’t stand humans, which automatically puts her at a disadvantage, and she doesn’t understand love, which dooms her when she competes with me.”

“It’s kind of sad. Can you imagine living your whole life without love?”

Dita’s lips slipped into a frown. “Maybe she’s the smart one after all.”

Perry nudged Dita with her foot. “Don’t talk crazy.”

Dita’s eyes never left the flames licking at the logs. “She does have love in her life, but it’s all platonic. And she’s had love, love, but that ended in tragedy. It’s been three thousand years, and she still hasn’t recovered.”

“Orion.” Perry’s voice was sad and soft.

“Instead of building a bridge across her hurt to get over it, she’s standing on one side, screaming about the unfairness of it all. She blames me, you know.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“We’ve argued about it plenty of times.” Dita glanced at Perry with a smirk. “You have the worst memory.”

Perry shrugged. “I need CliffsNotes.”

“Her logic is that she loved Orion, and I’m the goddess of love; therefore, I’m to blame for her feelings for him.”

“So, it’s your fault that she fell in love?”

“Apparently. I swear, I didn’t have a direct hand in it. My charms do not work on Artemis. She and Orion did that all on their own.”

“She’s so out of touch,” Perry said as she broke off another piece of chocolate.

“She’s cloistered with her Oceanids and spends all her time policing mythical creatures. You’d be out of touch, too.”

“Josie’s a lot like her.”

Dita sighed. “I know. Poor Jo. Anne’s been gone six months, but Josie’s been alone and lonely for far longer than that. Losing Anne just pushed her into the spiral that she’s in now, but she was already broken. She thought Jon was it, the end of the road, and when she lost him…well, there just wasn’t any getting over it. She’s been on a handful of dates, and they were all disasters. She’s a lot of woman; most guys can’t handle her, but Jon gets her on the molecular level.”

“Really? Because he can be a real idiot when it comes to her.”

“I didn’t say he was perfect. But he gets her. The difference between Josie and Artemis is that there’s hope deep down inside of Josie. Artemis has no hope, only the bitter aftertaste of her heartache.”

“Do you think she’ll ever get over it? Artemis, I mean?” Perry asked.

“She’s the only one who can make that decision. If she accepts her feelings and lets Orion go, it would heal her, but she’d rather seethe and blame me than deal with her own issues.”

“Mmm,” Perry said vaguely as she looked down at her fingers fiddling with the Toblerone box.

Dita narrowed her eyes at Perry. “You keep doing that.”

“What?” Her brows rose innocently.

“Giving me responses that don’t mean anything.”

Perry looked back down and dismissed her. “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Want to talk about you?”

“Nope,” Dita said, popping the P as she turned back to the fire.

“You’re going to have to at some point.”

“When that time comes, I will.”

Perry gave her a look.

“I wake up every day and don’t know how I’m going to feel. So, I’m taking it minute by minute, hour by hour, day by day. Please, don’t pressure me,” Dita begged.

“All right. I’m here though when you need me.”

“I know. And in the meantime, can you please help me avoid my feelings by watching a skinny, young Patrick Dempsey deliver pizzas with extra anchovies?”

Perry nibbled her lip. “Rain check?”

Dita’s cheeks heated up. “Oh, um, of course. I’m sorry. No pressure, right? Just save me from all my sadness real quick in your spare time.”

Perry laughed. “Let’s watch one tonight. It’s just…I’ve barely seen Hades since we came back from Greece.”

Dita held out a hand to stop her and gave her the most comforting smile she could muster. “Don’t, please. It’s fine. Let’s just plan on some point tomorrow. I really am sorry for monopolizing your time. I couldn’t have gotten this far without you and your love.”

“Or chocolate. Or bad jokes.”

Dita hoisted herself off the couch. “Okay. I’m gonna go and get out of your hair so it can get pulled by your husband.”

“You are such a creep.”

“Said the Queen of the Underworld.”

“Bye, Dita.”

“Bye.” Dita patted Perry’s foot and called for her dog, who followed her into the elevator.

She took a heavy breath on her way up to her apartment as panic crept in at the prospect of being alone for a minimum of twenty-four hours.

She stepped into her foyer, feeling her pulse in her neck as her eyes scanned her apartment. Going upstairs wasn’t an option, not with the gossiping gods milling about and Ares potentially around every corner. It would be fine. She could stay in her apartment and read or watch a movie by herself. She didn’t need someone to distract her. She’d be fine. She was capable of being alone with her thoughts.

Get it together, Dita.

She clearly wasn’t fine, but another day wouldn’t kill her. Plus, she could always go to Heff’s. Maybe he would play backgammon with her. Dita perked up a bit. The thought of his smile made her feel better, and she turned for the elevator once again.

Dita was halfway across the room when the elevator opened. It was empty, and her brow quirked as she came to a stop in the entryway. She felt a warm breeze and noticed a bend in the light, and when she dimmed the lights, she found Echo before her.

“Echo,” Dita said with a smile. She hadn’t seen the nymph in a very long while. “I am so glad to have you. Whatever can I do for you?”

Echo shimmered as she moved, her head down. When she lifted her eyes, Dita saw the sadness even though a smile graced her lips.

“For you.”

Echo’s hands moved into her robes, and she pulled out the gilded mirror Dita had given her ages before. Heff had forged and enchanted it for her, and her breath caught when she saw it.

“I…I haven’t seen this in so long. I’d forgotten all about it. But why…”

The nymph looked at the mirror, which rippled and shone. When it came to rest, she saw Adonis through the looking glass.

“Gods,” Dita breathed, her fingers to her lips, her eyes locked on the mirror.

Echo extended it, and Dita took a step, outstretching a trembling hand to take it.

Adonis ran through the brush of Elysium with his bow drawn, and when he loosed, the arrow flew straight into the heart of a doe as she cut in front of him. He let out a whoop, and his smile was brighter than the sun as he chased the beautiful creature.

Dita’s breath hitched, and she clutched the mirror to her chest. “How can I ever thank you?”

Echo held out a hand to stay her, the pain on her face lessened by a degree at the sight of Dita’s relief.

“Thank you.” Dita bit her lip to stop herself from crying.

The nymph glimmered as she bowed, her eyes lingering for a moment longer on the mirror before she smiled graciously and turned to leave.

Dita walked to her couch and sank down, her hands tingling and her eyes never leaving the mirror. There he was, right there in her hand, as real as he had ever been. He wouldn’t remember her, but she knew everything about him, knew every plane and angle of his face, every curve of every muscle, knew the depth of his eyes and the feel of his hands on her.

He was there, right there.

She could feel his presence, could feel his soul as he opened the deer and worked on cleaning it, but the gore of it all didn’t even faze her. She couldn’t look away.