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I would say something like people can’t feel magnetic storms, but I know better than that. It’s very possible Hades is making a joke.
It’s also very possible that he can feel magnetic storms, and they don’t feel good. I’ve never seen Persephone sit next to him outside and grow flowers before. The flowers themselves are beautiful. That doesn’t mean nothing’s wrong.
There are more than a few things to worry about today. All my thoughts are at full volume again.
“Dad,” I call, the word almost sticking in my mouth. Horrible, hot shame turns into a fist in my throat. “Can I talk to you for a minute?”
My dad throws his knife into the target and smiles at me, big and bright and happy, and a second wave of shame tastes like bile. My son, he used to say at all those events, his voice sunny with pride. My son, he still says, because he doesn’t know that everything pretty and good about me is only skin deep.
He abandons Poseidon at the target, patting Hades on the head as he goes past. Hades accepts this with an irritated sigh. My dad ruffles Hercules’s hair and pulls me into a quick, back-slapping hug.
“Can you throw two knives at once?” Hercules asks Poseidon as my dad and I move away.
“Poorly,” Hades answers.
“Flawlessly,” Poseidon corrects. “Where’d the rest of the knives go?”
We stroll around the pool. The water is clean and fresh and heated, ready for anyone who wants to swim before summer comes. My dad rests his hand on my shoulder.
My dad. Zeus. My dad.
“Everything okay?” he asks.
“I wanted to…” I don’t know what I wanted. It seemed clear on the way over, and now it’s a mystery. “Talk to you.”
“Apollo, I wanted to say…” My dad’s tone is light, like this is just occurring to him. “You have my blessing.”
“Oh.” I just barely manage not to choke. Zeus—my dad—has seemed quietly amused in the few minutes we’ve spent together since the engagement debacle, like he and everyone else thought it was inevitable and not the shock of the century. After Hercules and Daisy, it’s not as if I thought there would be an explosion or a disowning or anything like that, but the awkwardness I feel is crushing nonetheless. “I—thank you. I didn’t want you to think?—”
“Please don’t worry about what I think, Apollo. You and Artemis are in love. You should do what makes you happy.”
“Thanks? Thank you.” It’s completely inadequate. What I should be saying is I know I owe you my life. I should be weeping and hugging Zeus and saying that he didn’t have to do any of this for me and doesn’t have to pretend to be happy about this. I should be telling him that he can be honest and open if adopting us was a mistake that he would rather undo.
“You’re welcome. You probably know this already, too, but there’s no rush on any kind of wedding planning. I know people have been making jokes about a double wedding?—”
“What?” I choke.
He rubs my back. “But those are only jokes. You and Artemis should make the plans you want to make, when you want to make them. You have our full support.”
“Perfect,” I manage. “I’m—really—” Zeus thumps me harder on the back. “I’m glad to hear that. But, actually, I didn’t come to talk to you about—there was something else.”
“Anything,” Zeus says. He stops at the side of the pool and waits for me to collect myself. I can feel the depth of his patience and care down to my bones. Sometimes—right now—I wish I couldn’t.
“Okay.” I square my shoulders and look him in the eye. “What do you know about human trafficking in Europe?”
9
ARTEMIS
I was six when Calliope was born, so I’ve seen her upset about a lot of different things.
I’ve never seen her upset like this.
She lets Daisy and I into her bedroom with tears running down her cheeks, then closes and locks the door behind us as if anyone in this house would barge in on her and demand answers.
“It’s this,” she says, her voice shaking, and thrusts her phone into my hand. “Look what they said.”
It’s some second-rate gossip website with comment threads and minimal photos—basically a water cooler for assholes. I scroll through the thread. Daisy leans over my shoulder to see.
