The town house burned to black around her and the Frick returned, dull and flat compared to the vividness of the hallucination.

“Tell me,” the Reveler began. “How much green velvet is in that town house? He always had the worst taste.”

Lore pressed a hand to her mouth.

“All I wanted to tell him was why Wrath wanted the aegis, but he must have already known, otherwise why the hell would he bother to protect you?” the Reveler said. “I thought he might have brought the shield here—not for me to give to Wrath, but to destroy it. I don’t understand why the idiot didn’t just destroy it and be done with it and you!”

“Because I don’t have it,” Lore told him again. “None of this makes sense!”

“No, you little shit,” he snarled quietly. “What makes no sense is why you’ve—”

A spray of blood slapped across Lore’s face as the Reveler lurched forward, falling into the fountain. The stone darkened as it drank the fresh gore. Lore watched, stunned, as the arrow that had passed through the new god’s throat rose to the surface of the water.

A heavy body fell over Lore’s, knocking her to the ground as glass from the roof rained down over them. Castor was breathing heavily, each release of air stirring the loose strands of hair on her face. His hands felt her head, her neck, her chest for a wound.

“I’m okay—Cas, I’m—”

Another arrow ripped through the air, embedding in the tile beside her head.

Castor dragged them back through the columns surrounding the fountain, until they were out of the line of sight of whoever was firing through the domed roof. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Miles run for the museum’s entrance.

“Is it Artemis?” Lore gasped out, craning her neck up.

“Lionesses!” Athena shouted, flinging one of her knives from where she had taken shelter behind a column. The hunter shifted, avoiding the blade—but not the dory Athena threw. Her body fell into the museum, her serpent’s mask cracking as she struck the marble.

Lore ignored the grip Castor had on her shoulder and leaned forward, just enough to see where one of the dome’s larger panes had shattered. Two more figures in black emerged—one pointing to Athena. The other raised her bow again, this time toward Castor.

Castor threw up a blast of energy, crumbling the roof beneath the hunters’ feet. The two lionesses fell, trained too well to scream, even as their bones broke over the debris.

A look of crushing guilt crossed his face, and he made as if to rush toward them. Lore pulled him back.

“I need to heal them,” he said, yanking his arm free.

“They don’t deserve that,” Lore said, a terrible rage blooming in the words. “Let them die.”

Castor stared at her, and she resented his shock. What did he expect?

“Guys,” Miles shouted. “We need to go!”

With one last look at her, Castor extracted himself from her grip and shot across the courtyard toward the two lionesses. Lore would have gone after him if not for the low moan of agony that reached her first.

She spun around to find the Reveler’s feet struggling for purchase against the slick tile as he tried in vain to pull himself out of the fountain.

They weren’t trying to kill him. The thought electrified her. These were lionesses. They needed to incapacitate him, but keep him alive long enough for Wrath to finish him off.

Lore rushed toward him, calling out, “Castor!”

The new god turned at the sound of his name, releasing his hold on one of the lionesses. The glow around her faded.

“Fool!” Athena shouted to Lore. “Stop!”

“He’s alive!” Lore said, gripping the Reveler by the shoulders and yanking him back onto the ground.

The Reveler’s eyes were wild as his hand flopped against his blood-soaked skin, trying to press against the wound in his throat. Somehow, the arrow had missed the carotid artery. Lore covered his hand with her own, pressing harder to try to stanch the flow.

“Try to relax,” Lore told him.

He shook his head, wild with pain. “It . . . must be . . . given . . . must give . . . it . . .”

“What are you trying to say?” Lore asked.

Athena pried Lore’s hand away and replaced it with her own. The new god’s skin had turned gray and clammy. All Lore now saw in his face was fear. Athena stared down at the Reveler, her expression remote.

“Cas!” Lore called again. The new god was within feet of them, but seemed to be moving in slow motion. She focused on the Reveler again, saying, “Hold on—just—”

A crack echoed through the stone columns as Athena clenched her hand and snapped his neck.

“Why did you do that?” Lore asked, choking on her shock.

The goddess rose, wiping her bloodied hand against the Reveler’s sky-blue tunic. “He was beyond saving. Would you have the killer gain his power? Would you have taken it yourself?”

No, she wouldn’t have.

“I could have saved him!” Castor said, furious.

“That fool was never going to help us,” Athena said. “Better him dead by my merciful hand than by his enemy’s.”

“He didn’t have to die at all!”

Footsteps pounded on the roof overhead. Lore spun, tracking them as they raced toward the corner of the building.

“There’s another one?” Miles asked.

Lore’s mind blazed with possibility. Maybe the lionesses hadn’t been the ones to fire on the Reveler after all.

Maybe it had been Wrath himself.

Lore bolted for the entrance, ignoring Miles’s startled cry as she knocked the baton out from the door handles.

She burst outside, her feet skidding against the sidewalk. A dark figure scaled down the wall from the roof. He dropped the last five feet of distance, landing hard on the patch of grass nearby.

It wasn’t Wrath. The hunter turned, his serpent mask gleaming in the moonlight. He scaled up the construction fence and dropped down onto Seventieth Street.

She followed.

“Lore!” Castor called. “Wait!”

She couldn’t. Not anymore.

The hunter was a shadow against the darkness of early morning as he headed west, crossing Fifth Avenue and jumping the low stone fence that marked the boundary of Central Park.

Lore’s hands scraped against the wall as she slid over it. The park was closed this late at night, but its streetlamps were still on. If the hunter thought he was going to lose her here, in her park of all places, he was about to be extremely disappointed.