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“Demeter,” he says. “We’ve met before.”
She makes ahurry-upgesture at him.
“I told you. I went into her nightmare. Daisy and I went through the gates to get Conor and her kitten, and then I pushed her back out so I could stay in her place.”
Demeter mumbles a sentence that sounds likeI will never understand men.
“And what did you do there?”
“Stood around. Talked to my mom. Saw—”
“Did you have something of Daisy’s?”
“Her necklace.”
“Whatnecklace?” I’m interrupting, but even as I’m asking, the details start to bubble up disconnected and dream-like, as though I’d been looking at things from high up. “Oh! I don’t have that necklacehere, but...”
“You did when you were on the other side of the gates. It was a black diamond with a silver chain, and the chain had leaves all over it.”
“Did you keep it?” Demeter demands.
“Did I keep a dream-necklace? No. How would I have done that?”
“In the other place. Through the gates.”
“I gave it to my mother for safekeeping.”
Demeter breaks into a wide, pleased grin and reaches out to tousle Hercules’s hair. “Good foryou. You should be proud of yourself.”
“Why?”
“It’s complicated, sweetheart.” She pats his cheek like he might not understand even if she told him everything. “Put it out of your mind.”
“Um. I don’t think—”
Demeter straightens. “The regular painkillers will continue to work. I’ll stay for a few days to make sure none of you are…” Her eyes travel over the room again. “Off the deep end.”
Poseidon snorts.
“In the meantime.” Demeter smooths her top. “We should go downstairs.”
Zeus puts his arms around Brigit, who hugs him back. “Why?”
“There’s a young man down there who tried to light your house on fire.”
“Demeter.” Poseidon gapes at her. “What the fuck?”
“He was unsuccessful, obviously. Gio’s with him downstairs.”
“Your husband brought himinside?”
“Yes? Where else would he have brought him? The mountain? Come on.” She gestures to the door.
No one moves.
Demeter lets out an even louder sigh. “I didn’t want to have to say this, but this is embarrassing for Hades. You don’t have to stand around like emotional voyeurs.”
“I’m not embarrassed,” my dad mumbles into Eleanor’s shirt. She’s smiling, her hand still moving through his hair.
