Page 93 of Ungodly Rich

Two figures emerged from the guardhouse beyond the entrance. They looked like burly, powerful men, their short-sleeved uniform shirts revealing matching tattoos that snaked down their arms. A human would have thought it was just a lot of ink, in a disorienting pattern that depicted dozens of hands—hands outstretched, hands in fists, hands pointing every direction. Hermes had never seen these tattoos come to life, and he didn’t care to.

These were the Hecatoncheires, the hundred-handed giants, creatures who were deathly loyal to Zeus.

They guarded the world’s greatest hoard of magical treasure.

Plenty of powerful items were stored in places other than the Vault. The Olympians all possessed artifacts of their own—Poseidon’s trident, Aphrodite’s girdle, Apollo’s staff. But most magical objects, especially the random ones that no one quite knew what to do with, lived here.

Hermes had never stolen anything from the Vault, though he’d been sorely tempted. Even he knew his limits. So he’d confined himself to stealing from the other Olympians, mostly to prove he could. Like the time he’d taken Dionysus’s goblet, which never ran out of wine, or Apollo’s harp, which played music that sounded different to every listener.

“You can wait in the car,” Hera commanded, once they were parked by the entrance.

Hermes nodded, inwardly seething. Why had he expected anything else? He was so sick of being sidelined, of doing Hera’s dirty work—driving her, spying for her, digging through the computer history of mortal prime ministers for her. All without a word of thanks.

She needed to stop underestimating him.

As he watched through the car’s tinted window, one of the Hecatoncheires turned the massive bronze wheel on the Vault’s front door. It looked like something out of a heist movie, except it was all too real. Opening such a door required immortal strength, and it would slam shut behind an intruder, sealing them inside.

But Hermes wasn’t just any intruder. He was the god of thieves.

Before he’d fully finished the thought, he’d opened the car door and begun running at top speed toward the Vault.

He slipped through the heavy door as silently as a shadow, a mere heartbeat before it sealed shut.

Hermes felt the little sizzle of magic that indicated he was crossing an enchanted ward. These protections were the strongest kind of all, made with blood and bone, sweat and salt—and created by the three strongest gods together, Hades, Poseidon, and Zeus, in a rare moment of collaboration.

Hera and the Hecatoncheires were several yards ahead, turning off a corridor. Hermes darted past them, so quickly he was nothing more than a blur at the edge of their vision, and entered the main room of the Vault. A quick scan of its contents revealed that the best hiding place was behind a shiny black Ferrari in the corner. Hades’s carriage, if he had to guess, in its modern mortal form. Hades rarely got to drive it anymore—mortals would keep trying to approach, mesmerized, and get trampled beneath its wheels.

Hermes peeked around the side of the sports car. The Vault was less organized than he’d expected, more like a wealthy and eccentric family’s storage unit than a security vault, but he supposed that there was no need to lock anything away. What was the point? Anyone who wasn’t supposed to enter this room should have already been dead.

He watched as Hera breezed past a stone wall hung with weapons: enchanted helmets, poisoned arrows, spears that never missed their target. Several golden apples were lined up on a shelf next to the Golden Fleece, which was looking quite dull. Hermes saw her pick up Amphitrite’s pearls, which could be worn as a necklace for protection or taken off one by one and thrown to the sea, where they would sprout into horses. It didn’t seem especially practical to make horses in the ocean, though perhaps you could throw the pearls into the damp sand of the beach?Sea magic,Hermes thought,always a bit rough around the edges.

Hanging from a hook was Zeus’s massive bronze shield, carved with dozens of small images—all of which, of course, depicted Zeus. The Aegis. Hermes was surprised to see a nick in its side, as if someone had chipped out a chunk of the immortal bronze. Really, who was curating all these items? Couldn’t they send the Aegis in for restoration or something?

Hermes should get back to the car before his absence was discovered. He slipped out, past a mirror that he’d heard of but never seen. It had been made as an ill-intentioned gift for Apollo by a man named Aeetes, back when humans were still capable of some magic. The mirror revealed the future, but only half the time. The other half of the time you looked into it, it showed you a false vision.

Apollo had nearly gone mad staring into this mirror, trying to distinguish true from false.

The mirror only showed the future, either true or false, if you stood directly before it. Hermes didn’t do that. He angled himself to the side, glancing at it from his peripheral vision.

Which was why he could see the reflection of Hera across the room, picking up a small clay object and tucking it into her Balenciaga tote.

What was she doing with Pandora’s Jar?

It was, in fact, a jar, though John Milton had written the wordsPandora’s boxinParadise Lostand forever confused mortals. It resembled any jar of old pottery, but Hermes wasn’t fooled by its humble appearance.

What was Hera planning?

Hermes didn’t waste any more time. He darted into the hallway, slipping outside and back into the car.

By the time she reached the Mercedes, Hermes was in the driver’s seat, scrolling Instagram on his phone with a bored expression. For once, he was glad Hera looked through him without really seeing him. She didn’t notice the sweat gathering at his armpits, the shallow rise and fall of his breath.

“Back to the city,” she said in a clipped tone. Hermes murmured his assent and started onto the main road.

Only after he’d dropped Hera at her building and returned her car to the garage did he pull out his phone and dial Julia’s number.

“Percy!” she answered, sounding pleased to hear from him.

“Whatever you’re doing this evening, cancel it,” he declared. “You and I are going to the Hamptons.”