It was Poppy who kept her cover with the Phantoms, not meeting back up with us, so she could go back to Tartarus.
And then it was Poppy who went back for my brother’s soul.
Two days ago, the afternoon after we accidentally brought Hades back from the Dead, Adam Waring showed up at CJ’s apartment to hire me to steal back and destroy the grimoire. Negotiations went swiftly. Waring may be a politician, but apparently, I was his first and only choice for the job.
“Why me?” I asked once we had decided on terms.
Waring looked back toward the living room, as is if his gaze could see past the floral wallpaper and cursed dolls of CJ’s guest room. “Was that an undead crow I saw in the living room?”
“Yeah. She’s my familiar.” I crossed my arms defensively.
Waring shook his head. “That’s not your familiar.”
“Screw you,” I snapped back.
He gave me a patronizing look. “Don’t you find it strange that the only magic you’ve ever done is create a familiar?”
“I’ve done two spells now,” I mumbled.
“Exactly. And what do they have in common?” he prompted.
I wanted to tell him they had nothing in common. One of them didn’t even go right. I went out to get a living familiar and came back with a dead crow.
“Oh,” I whispered.
Waring did his best to cross his legs, sitting on the edge of CJ’s guest bed. “When you resurrected Hades, you had a spell book and all the right materials and conditions. But before that, you were just acting on instinct. The magic worked through you, even if you didn’t understand at the time what you did to that crow.”
“I resurrected her,” I breathed.
“Not very well. I mean, look at her.”
I felt itchy. Like my skin didn’t quite fit over my bones. Like this whole time, I’d been wearing someone else’s skin suit.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
The fake smile was back. “There are some things you have to discover for yourself.”
“That’s such a bullshit answer, and you know it.”
“Well,” Waring said, shrugging, “I’m a politician.”
He got up to leave. He’d almost reached the door when something dawned on me.
“You’re really Thanatos, aren’t you?”
He was still for a moment, then turned. “Unlike my counterparts, I like to…reinvent myself every few hundred years.”
Knowing it might be my only chance, I asked, “What’s the truth? Are you really the god of death? Or did you just name yourself after him?”
He cocked his head. “I’m not sure. All the stories seem to blur together after a while.”
I scoffed. “You don’t know?”
“Would you remember something that happened to you thousands of years ago?”
“No, but I’m not a god.”
Waring—Thanatos—raised his eyebrows, then turned to go.
