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“How could you have enemies?” Poseidon huffs. “You’re a recluse whether you live on a mountain or not.”
“I have friends,” my dad says, indignant.
“You have friends who have enemies,” Zeus puts in. “How youhaveso many powerful friends when Poseidon is, in fact, correct is a matter of—”
“I haven’t gotten into it with anyone since that Coleman motherfucker. That was years ago, and he’s dead.” My dad’s voice is cold and quiet, with only a hint of anger. I probably shouldn’t find it so comforting, but I do. “That bastard is dead.”
“A member of his family, then?” My mom asks. She kisses my temple one more time and leans back. I think she’s sitting by my dad’s knee.
“There’s only the son left,” Zeus says. “And he seemed pretty spineless back then.”
“No. No. Go back to the dream thing first.” Metalclinks like Poseidon’s uncovering a tray. “We need to do this in order.”
“The first dream that she seized in the middle of was the night we came home. There was a stone room, and these enormous stone gates—”
Poseidon shudders audibly. “Black, right? Fucking huge?”
My dad turns his head, though I know he can’t actually see Poseidon. “How doyouknow what he’s talking about?”
“I saw them once.”
There’s rustling. I bet Ashley’s sitting on Poseidon’s lap.
“When?” My dad asks flatly.
“That day on the beach.”
Zeus makes a sound like he’s in pain.
“Jesus.” It doesn’t matter if I want a burrito or a sandwich. All I can do is lie here. “Whatday on the beach?”
“When you were a little baby,” Poseidon answers. “We went to France.”
“Where your mom lived?”
“Yeah. I thought she was dead. Then there was a headstone for her at the church, so I—”
“So you tried to drown yourself in the ocean.” I can’t describe my dad’s tone now. “There were no gates.”
“There were no gates thatyousaw. But I did.”
“Big, black gates in the water?” I can’t tell if my dad’s skeptical or afraid. Could be both, or neither, or a third option.
“Yes?”
“They’re not in the water in Daisy’s dream,” Hercules says. “But they’re unmistakably huge, black gates. And death is through them.”
“Thankyou.” Poseidon’s hand slaps something, probably his thigh. “It looks peaceful through there.”
“It’s not peace through the gates. It’s death. I saw—” Hercules cuts himself off. “I came into it sideways.”
“Sideways?” Brigit. “What does that mean?”
“It was my dream first.” Hercules is holding my hand tighter, but I don’t think he notices. “I was dreaming about my mother. I was dreaming about the night she died. It was a nightmare, and then it wasn’t mine anymore.”
“What the fuck,” Poseidon says, under his breath.
“Then, two days ago, it was a dream about being in the field with—” Hercules takes a deep breath, his grip so tight on my fingers that it hurts. I don’t want him to let go. Not for anything. “With Ollie. About the night he died. And then it wasn’t my dream anymore. We were in that stone room. The difference was—”
