Page 49

We arrive within seconds of each other, three separate pillars of fire depositing us in the courtyard in quick succession.

Lenore leads us to the study in the back of the house without a word, a room I remember from childhood visits as the place where the Aldridges brought their most important clients. Now I’m sitting in one of the leather chairs with my crossguard dagger balanced on my knee and a demigod leaning against the bookcase to the right, his rising thermal signature pressing against the side of my face.

Focus, I tell myself. This is getting pathetic. Focus on anything other than Kieran’s heat and the memories of the first night we spent together here.

At the reminder, my hand goes to my stomach, where the skin is still pink from the burns.

Kieran’s gaze goes there too, and he glares at it—actually glares. Then he turns his focus back to Lenore, who’s opening the folio and spreading its contents out on the desk.

I move my hand from my stomach and place it on the armrest as she begins to speak.

“The Temple of Artemis at Ephesus is one of the Seven Wonders of the Ancient World,” she says, her fingers resting on one of the illustrations. “The Amazons founded the original temple. Artemis was their patron goddess, and they built the shrine as their personal gateway between the mortal realm and the mystical realm. Now, all that remains is a single column reconstructed from ruins. But the foundation is original, and the magical infrastructure the Amazons wove into the stone is intact beneath the surface.”

Kieran shifts next to me. The bookcase creaks under his weight, the thermal press against my face intensifying by a degree.

Ignore him, ignore him, ignore him…

I study the map harder, even though there isn’t much to see other than the single column. “What do we need to do when we get there?” I ask, forcing myself to stay focused on Lenore and to not look at Kieran.

She pulls another sheet of parchment from the folio and sets it in front of me. The text is handwritten in ancient Greek.

“You need to light a flame at the base of the column and speak this invocation to Artemis,” she says. “The exact words, in the original Greek. The magic is in the language itself.”

I study the parchment. My ancient Greek is solid, since Eleanor started tutoring me when I was eleven. By fourteen, I was reading Homeric texts in their original language. The invocation in front of me is twelve lines, structured in couplets, and the grammar is archaic but recognizable.

“I can read this,” I tell her.

“That’s why you’re the one who needs to say it.” Lenore meets my eyes. “Kieran Cross is many things, but a scholar isn’t one of them.”

Kieran’s thermal signature flares by two degrees, and he inhales through his nose in a way I’ve catalogued as grudging acknowledgment of a valid point.

Lenore closes the folio.

“Once the flame is lit and the invocation is spoken, the gateway should open,” she continues. “From there, you’re on your own.”

I fold the parchment and tuck it into the inner pocket of my jacket, the ancient Greek letters mapping themselves in my memory.

Kieran pushes off the bookcase, and we both stand to leave.

We don’t make it two steps before Lenore clears her throat.

“One more thing,” she says, and I still, waiting for her to continue.

She removes a letter from the desk’s center drawer, sealed with crimson wax. The wax is glowing faintly, and the edges of the seal are charred in a way that tells me this isn’t a standard wax stamp. This is a fire-forged seal, bonded to her personal magical signature. I’ve seen letters like this when I’ve visited here before.

“This is for the Amazon queen.” She holds it out, her eyes serious in a way that makes the hairs on my arms lift.

I reach for the letter, and her grip tightens on it for a moment before she releases it.

“The seal is bound to my fire,” she warns. “If it’s broken by anyone other than the intended recipient, the Thornes will have made an enemy of the Aldridges.”

The temperature in the room drops, the warmth that’s been present in every interaction I’ve ever had with Lenore replaced by the flat, businesslike tone of a woman who trades in information and knows what her leverage is worth.

“I understand.” I take the letter and hold it carefully. “I’ll deliver it to the Amazon queen sealed and unread.”

“Thank you, Evelyn.” The warmth in her voice returns, and she gives me a small smile. “Your mother always said you were the most loyal.”

Next to me, Kieran’s thermal output shifts into the pattern I’ve catalogued as alert assessment—a redistribution of heat toward his core and extremities, his body preparing to move quickly if it needs to.