Calypso frowned.

“You made me twenty-seven.”

David shrugged. “The photos you sent looked twenty-seven. It’s a good age. You want them to last, don’t you?”

Calypso passed Cassandra hers.

“He made you twenty-one.”

“And that was a stretch.” David took a drink. “You look all of about fifteen.”

All of about fifteen. But she was almost seventeen. And could have killed him by caressing his cheek. She tucked the IDs into her pocket and looked David over, noting the faint lines around his mouth and the looseness of his skin. A burly patch of chest hair was visible at his collar, shot through with gray. Cassandra scrutinized his head. That black hair of his wasn’t quite so naturally black anymore. Poor David. He would be sleeping with and not calling fewer and fewer girls in the coming months.

“So. Ladies. Is that it? Because not that it isn’t a kick to see you, Cally, but…”

“No, that’s not it.” Cassandra interjected. “What have you heard of the other gods? And—don’t lie. And don’t make me ‘bad cop’ you either. I’d feel ridiculous.”

David paused. He looked sort of amused, but no less nervous.

“I’m just a satyr,” he said. “A lower being. Why would I know anything?”

Cassandra glanced at Calypso. As a nymph, she was half a lower being herself. And the farther down you were on the godly ladder, the closer you paid attention. Lowers minded the uppers, in case the uppers decided to cause trouble.

“What have you heard?” Cassandra asked again.

“What have I heard?” David snorted. “What have you heard?”

“I’ve heard that Artemis is dead,” Cassandra said. “Not by my hand. And Poseidon is dead. Not mine either. Aidan—” she swallowed. “Apollo is dead. Hera is dead. She was mine. Athena’s probably dead, too.” She couldn’t tell if any of it surprised or saddened David. He wore his masks well.

“Who do you want?” he asked.

“I want Aphrodite. And Ares, since he’ll probably be there anyway.”

David shook his head. “Not a chance. Those two took off so fast they left behind a dust trail. Nobody’s heard a thing from them. Besides, by all accounts, Aphrodite’s in pretty bad shape. She’ll probably die on her own. Save you the trouble.”

No. Aphrodite would die screaming at her hands, and it wouldn’t be any trouble at all. Cassandra’s palms burned quietly, and she brushed them against the cool fabric of her jeans.

“He’s not lying,” Calypso said after a few seconds.

“I know,” Cassandra replied.

He was too afraid to lie. Nothing he would protect could hurt him worse than she could. Still, the idea that Aphrodite had gone to ground, out of her reach, made her stomach twist.

We’ll find them, someday. They can’t hide forever. Someone will have seen them.

“What about Hades?” she asked. God of the underworld. God of death. When she’d gone to the underworld looking for Aidan, Persephone said that Hades’ death would be a blight on the world. That he would die in a blast of virus and disease. An entire city would fall around him to some unspeakable plague. One last tribute, she’d called it. But not if Cassandra could help it. If she couldn’t have Aphrodite, then she’d settle for him.

Calypso and David stared.

“Hades?”

Cassandra nodded. The idea of him walking in a city somewhere, ticking down like a biological weapon, had been in the back of her mind since she’d returned from the underworld. More than once she’d dreamed of a man clothed in black, surrounded by thousands of corpses, blackened and bleeding from the eyes. The first time she woke in a panic, and flipped through every news channel she could find. But it hadn’t been a vision. Only a nightmare. It was harder and harder to tell the difference.

David laughed and drew his hand roughly over his chin.

“Cally, your friend has big balls for such a little girl.”

Calypso made a face. “Don’t be gross, David. Have you heard anything about Hades, or not?”

He sighed. “He’s not on this continent. He doesn’t like it. Except for Mexico, when the Aztecs were there, and then he came north for the frontier. That’s the last I heard of him here.”

Cassandra rolled her eyes. It didn’t matter if Hades wasn’t in the United States when David had just supplied them with passports.

“I can’t get you to Hades,” he said finally. “But if you’re after the god of death, why not try the real thing?”