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Busty pinched the bridge of his sharp nose. You have to go back.
Don't.
Alright, he agreed. Then Cronus wins.
Rage flickered through me at that name, visible as veins of red lightning in my hands, but I couldn't remember why I was so furious at hearing it.
Better. Think of Cronus and how you're going to make him pay for hurting your mates. Remember them, Halwen. You need to remember them. They're your tether to life.
I rolled my eyes. I'm staying with you. I like it here; it's calm. Quiet.
Busty laughed, which wasn't a good omen. I slanted a suspicious look his way just before I was dumped off my inflatable. I yelped when water rushed over my head, except the water wasn't wet, it was a cloud of shadows and darkness and—
It spat me out in the middle of a chaotic crossroads. Inky traffic roared around me, chugging along every road and leaving dark trails of smoke so thick that I coughed.
Still peaceful? Erebus asked, materialising beside me. Still want to stay?
I glared at the tall bastard. Give me back my pool.
It was never yours and never a pool. It's merely your soul's impression on my darkness.
Yeah, well, give me my soul impression thing back, I huffed, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring when my bikini changed to leathers and heavy boots, twin daggers hanging at my hips. My eyes snagged on them, the wavy edges, the inscription down the centre of each blade, the hilts that were wrapped in grey fabric I somehow knew was baby pink. I blinked, and they were singed, blackened by—Cronus.
That bastard burned my knives, I hissed.
That bastard, Busty replied with thinly veiled rage, stole one of your knives and now possesses a weapon never intended for him. One capable of slaying any god and dangerously wounding even a titan. He glanced at me and waited until I met his eyes before he added, You dangerously wounded him, even if he healed the cuts. The damage runs deep. There's an advantage you can press—his physical weakness—even if his power is vast enough to swallow the entire world.
You're cheery, I said, deadpan, watching a glossy double decker careen past us with a screech and up a curving grey road lined with elegant buildings and strung with flags. Where are we?
Piccadilly circus, he replied, but before they put up those gods forsaken screens.
I gave him a strange look.
He tilted his face up, his nose wrinkled in a sneer. This place was sacred before it was ruined.
Weren't most places? I joked, and set off walking up the strange, crescent moon street.
Busty followed, seeming sulky about it. Olympus is sacred too, he said, always nudging me back to talking about what happened before he brought me here. Even if it was built on the site of the Titanomachy and all its bloodshed.
I gave him a blank look.
The war of the titans, he tried, waiting for some spark of recognition. The battle of the gods? He sighed. I can't tell if you never knew, you can't remember if you knew, or you're just being contrary.
Probably all three, I quipped. What's your point?
Stop avoiding the matter at hand.
The matter at hand, I parroted. You're so serious.
I'm watching a war unfold in another dimension. Of course I'm serious. You might like it here in the darkness, but you can't stay. Besides, do you realise why these shadows are so reassuring to you?
Nope, I replied, following the curving road—and letting out a throaty sound when the road unmade itself around me, replaced with a forest wrapped around a big, rustic house.
Unmade… Why was that word familiar? Why did it fill me with grief and dread and endless, shattering pain?
I am Erebus—
I sighed, rolling my eyes. Erebus had a damn complex; he was obsessed with his titles.
