“Horus sent her back to her family.”
“Did he say anything about Athena, or the child?”
“Not really.”
“Okay . . . Well, we should stick to our plan,” I said, conviction settling over me. “Horus isn’t just going up against Athena. Artemis and Apollo are there too. If something goes wrong, we still need the Hands. I’m not losing my father or this city. The journals should be just inside the door. I’ll get them.”
“You don’t need to. I know where Josephine hid the Hands.”
I stopped, stunned. Sounds echoed nearby. Quickly we moved into the tunnel of the courtyard, snuffing out the gas flame.
“The last things she said to me,” Sebastian said, “were all about attending mass, making sure I kept with tradition and sat in the front pew. She never cared before whether I went to mass or not. It was her thing, not mine. It was a message. ‘Sit in the front row, like all the Arnauds, in front of the floor crypt of Andres Almonester y Roxas.’?”
“I know that grave,” I said. “It’s marked by a flat stone in the floor of the church.”
“I know it too,” Kieran added. “Only problem is Athena’s there, in the cathedral.”
And that was the rub. We could waltz right in, go through the blood-bound vows she’d offered to make me, and then hope the Hands were really there in the cathedral. If they were, I wouldn’t be able to turn back. I’d have to resurrect her child. And she would have to leave the city.
Unless Athena was dead by the time I got there.
“Come on,” I said. “Either way, we’re going to the cathedral.” We began the short hike toward the square, keeping to the shadows and ducking out of trouble when we needed to.
TWENTY-TWO
THE FIRE THAT HAD ENGULFED Presby was out, but flames raged through the Pontalba Apartments along St. Ann. The inferno lit up the square and the battle. It looked as though some of the Novem had pulled together, presenting a united front against Athena’s minions. We paused at the corner of the Cabildo, gazing through the wrought-iron gate that ran from arch to arch along the building’s ground-floor gallery. Spikes topped those fences and had been put to gory use by minion and Novem alike.
“We’re going to have to run for it,” Sebastian said. “Ready?”
We ended up fighting our way toward the steps of the cathedral. Bran was on the corner of St. Ann, cutting through minions. Kieran let out a sound of alarm, wanting desperately to leap to his defense. But she stayed by my side, knowing he didn’t want her in the fight—and knowing her presence might distract him. Michel was in front of Presby, battling three hideous crones. Sebastian started for his father, then stopped. “Go,” I said. “We’ll be fine. I’m the safest one here.” And that was the truth. I was Athena’s hope, after all. Every minion I’d taken down, every creature that had come at me had orders not to kill—I was sure about that.
“No, I’m not leaving you. Just hold on one second,” he said, gathering power to him, building it and building it, then letting it fly at the crones. They were struck hard, the force lifting them off their feet and sending them smashing through Presby’s broken ground-floor windows. Michel swung around, his gaze finding Sebastian’s. With a curt nod, he was off to help Bran.
As we hurried to the cathedral steps, a dark-haired figure sauntered out and stopped with a carnal smile on her face. Her gaze skipped over me with a slight roll of insignificance and then zeroed in on Sebastian. “Bastian. Finally we have a chance to . . . reconnect. I so enjoyed our time together the other night. I’ve missed you.”
Hate burned through my chest. My power uncoiled, making my pulse leap. Zaria was a user and a liar and a malicious soul. Sebastian’s hand on my arm distracted the serpent inside me. It calmed, grudgingly. He glared at her, his profile cold and dark. The spark in the air, the heavy weight of energy, was coming from him.
“Oh, come now.” Zaria pouted. “I’d hate to have to kill you.”
He looked at me. “This won’t take long. I’ll see you inside.”
I continued to stare daggers at her. “Make her pay, Sebastian,” I said in a tight voice. “And make it last.”
Zaria snorted and braced for attack. They advanced. Kieran and I ducked as they slammed into each other, grappling and shooting straight into the air. It was hard to pull myself away, but this was his battle and his right to deal justice to one who unequivocally deserved it.
Three harpies swooped down from the church’s steeples to land in front of me. They were over six feet tall, with black eyes ringed in yellow, leathery skin, and wings tipped with razor-sharp claws.
“Move,” I told them.
“You may pass,” one of them hissed in a high-pitched voice. She peered at Kieran. “You, little girl, may not.”
Still hyped up from the fight moments ago, Kieran lifted her sword. “And how would you like my sword shoved up your—”
“Let her pass,” I cut in before things got serious, “or we can add three more statues to the square. Your choice.”
The harpies screeched at us, but they moved aside with threats to peck out our eyes, nibble on our entrails, and make coats out of our sweet young skins.
I walked into the vestibule. The gift shop to my left had been ransacked. The votive stand with its burning candles had been upended. The prayer room to the right was occupied by a huge, troll-like creature, sitting on the floor with its legs stuck through the busted-out entryway. It was crunching on something bloody. Kieran made a soft grunt of horror. My gag reflex kicked in. Quickly I put my hand on one of the nave doors and pushed.
The long, checkered aisle, flanked by columns and flags, and the balcony of the second-story gallery spread out before us, leading my gaze straight to the nave’s sanctuary and altar table. Athena sat on the table, swinging her feet, watching me as we approached. High behind her and the table, my father was bound to the massive sanctuary statue, each wrist tied to the columns that framed the statue. His feet were together and shot through with an arrow that pinned them to the stone beneath. Athena’s version of a crucifixion.
I gritted my teeth, forcing calm into the anger I had at seeing him like that. My dad’s head lifted, and he paled. If he had his way, I’d be fleeing past The Rim by now. But that wasn’t me. I’d always come for him.
Artemis and Apollo stood at the end of the aisle, one on either side, intimidating as hell in their battle regalia. There was no sign of Horus anywhere, and I had a feeling something had gone wrong, terribly wrong.
Athena gripped the edges of the altar table where she sat, her attention glued on me. There was no expression on her face, which surprised me because I expected her to be smiling in that arrogant, knowing way of hers. But there was nothing but intensity. She must believe she was close to being reunited with her child.
I passed Artemis and Apollo, Kieran sticking to my side. I’d been told that after the war between the gods, after Athena had gone nuts and killed her father and his supporters, the surviving gods had fallen into line, Athena too powerful with Zeus’s lightning bolt and his Aegis, a powerful breastplate and shield that made its wearer virtually indestructible. Eventually she’d lost the Aegis. And yet her brother and sister remained by her side. I knew from Menai that Athena had some hold over Artemis, but as for Apollo, I had no idea why he stayed with Athena.
Athena wore her awful bodysuit, made from the dark-olive skin of the Titan monster Typhon, sewn together, hugging her body from neck to wrist to ankle, sometimes shifting and moving, like a living thing on her body. Novem legend differed from what the rest of the world knew; the Aegis Athena had lost was actually made from the skin of the king of the Titans, Zeus’s own father, Cronos. When Zeus, and then Athena, wore it in battle, it made them invincible.
“You have the Hands, gorgon?” Athena asked in a neutral tone.
“I know where they are, yes.”
