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“This is a mindset issue,” Zeus announces. “There is a solution to this, and we’re going to find it. Shut your obstinate mouth.”
“Who did you mean?” My dad asks. “Who else has seen one of your dreams?”
“That guy who—who—” It feels gross to talk about him. So gross that I start to fall asleep in the middle. “The guy Hercules beat up at the charity thing.”
My mom gasps. “How wouldhehave—”
“His sister. Not him. His sister was in class with me at school. I was tired one day, and I fell asleep. Woke up to her screaming her head off about how I was a freak, a witch who put visions in her head.”
“In aCatholicschool,” my dad practically spits. “Give me a fucking break.”
“She said I wanted to kill her parents. Obviously, I didn’t. I don’t. But she dreamed it.”
“Maybe it wasn’t you, sweetheart.” My mom pats my knee.
“Well, given what’s happened with Hercules and Dad, I have to assume—”
“Why didn’t you say?” My dad whispers. It’s not a question he’s really asking, and the answer doesn’t matter. It can’t help us now. Besides, I’d heard thatshedied last year.
“Itcouldbe the brother,” Poseidon says, thoughtful, from the floor.
“Or it could be some other unhinged motherfucker attacking the house,” my dad counters. “It could be anyone, and I can’t go looking.”
“Why not?” I ask.
He laughs, soft, more of a breath than anything, and—oh. It’s because of me. He might leave the room, but he won’t leave the house until he’s sure I’ll be okay.
And…I won’t, if somebody blows up the house because of my dreams.
Except we’re not sure if itisbecause of my dreams, or if it’s because of my dad, or if it’s because some people are evil at the core and there’s nothing we can do about that.
Eventually, my dad hands me off to Hercules without saying anything. I’d be mad about it if I wasn’t half-asleep.
“Where are we going?” I say into his neck.
“Don’t open your eyes.”
“Did you turnlightson?”
“No. They’re on the emergency setting. Whatever you call it. It’s barely a glow.Don’topen your eyes.”
I make an annoyed sound into his skin. Hercules goes up a flight of stairs.
“Baby,” he says, and it heats me up from the inside. “Don’t open your eyes.”
I don’t, because part of me knows what’ll happen if I do. It doesn’t matter that the minimal glow of the lights is meant for a true emergency, like seizure sensitivity or a complete failure of the painkillers. It’ll hurt me anyway.
“How many shots did you have to give me?”
Hercules’s body moves like he’s kicking at something. Athudproves it. “Zeus gave you one. I gave you two.”
“What are you not saying?”
He cradles me in one arm and reaches with the other. A pile of cloth lands on me. Towels. Hercules reaches again. Water runs.
“You don’t have to do anything,” he comments. “Just sit there while I wash your hair and get you cleaned up. I have clothes in here already.”
My skin tingles, the heat from his voice dissipating. “I asked you a question.”
