“The real thing?”

Cassandra searched the whole of her mind all the way to Troy and back but couldn’t discern who he referenced.

“Thanatos?” Calypso asked, and David nodded.

“Thanatos. Death embodied. If you want Hades, he’ll know where to find him.”

“And?” Cassandra snapped. “Where is this … Thanatos?”

David finished his beer and stood. “You’re in luck. He loves Los Angeles.”

*   *   *

“Don’t you know how to do your hair? I thought all girls today would know at least how to do a fancy ponytail.”

Cassandra stared at her reflection in the hotel mirror. The girl who stared back had a face clean of makeup and slightly tanned shoulders from time spent under unfamiliar sun. Brown hair hung down to her elbows. It hadn’t been cut in months.

“I don’t want to do my hair. And I don’t want to wear this.” The dress Calypso had put her in stuck to her in every place that would make her self-conscious. It was black, but a shadow of gray patterning across her chest and down her hip suggested a leopard’s spots. They might have stripped it off of any wasted Hollywood socialite.

“We won’t get in if you don’t wear that.” Calypso stepped behind her and swept her hair back over her shoulders. Four quick twists and what felt like a dozen bobby pins threaded through Cassandra’s scalp made it almost presentable.

“I don’t like the idea of that, either.” She squirmed as Calypso applied makeup to her eyes and lips. “I don’t need this. You’d be enough. I could sneak by in your shadow.” Calypso wore light blue silk. Somehow it made her eyes greener and her skin more honeyed. She patted Cassandra’s cheek.

“This is the price to meet the god of death.”

Cassandra frowned. The price to meet the god of death was animal print. But she would bear it to get close to him, so he might get her closer to the other gods. Her heart hammered at the thought, and her hands hadn’t stopped itching all day. She’d had to watch herself to make certain she didn’t touch Calypso and accidentally add another line to her face.

“Come on. The cab will be here in a few minutes.” Calypso’s warm smile was almost infectious. But not quite. Not so very long ago, a night like this would have been thrilling. To hit the clubs in a strange town. Not so long ago, it would’ve been Cassandra in the mirror, trying to get Andie to put on at least a little eyeliner.

But I still wouldn’t have worn this stupid dress.

She glanced down at her chest.

Might’ve been fun to get Andie to wear it.

The name of the club was Haze Park. On the drive from the hotel, Cassandra tried to track the streets, but lost the thread after four turns. Every inch of Los Angeles looked the same to her, especially at night. It was all so dry and spare compared with back home. She never thought she would miss the mud and gray slop of a Kincade spring. By now the whole yard would be wet. Lux would roll around in the melt puddles and come out smelling awful. Their mom would shriek and chase him off of the furniture until Henry caught him and threw him into the tub.

The cab pulled up to the curb, past a long line of people waiting behind ropes. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Calypso they could just wait with everyone else, that they’d never cut to the front of the line. That it only happened in movies. But the second Calypso stuck a leg out the door, the bouncer motioned with his fingers for them to come ahead.

“How do people not hate you?” Cassandra asked, careful to avoid eye contact with anyone waiting.

Calypso shrugged.

“Some do,” she said. “Athena did.”

“Well, you hated her, too.”

Calypso stopped short inside the door, and Cassandra surveyed the interior: blues and blacks and silvers. Loud music and gyrating bodies. All very good-looking gyrating bodies.

“I didn’t hate her,” Calypso said. “I don’t hate anyone.”

“Not even Achilles?”

Calypso looked at her carefully. “I’m not made for vengeance. Not everyone is like you and Athena.”

Hearing their names grouped together made Cassandra’s hackles rise, but she swallowed and turned away. Calypso hadn’t meant anything by it, and besides, they had work to do. Thanatos, god of death, was there somewhere. According to Satyr David, he’d been at Haze Park every Saturday night for the last two months. Satyr David also said they’d know him when they saw him.

Cassandra squinted, barely able to see a thing around the obstruction of so many already tall girls stacked up by four-inch heels. The blue lighting didn’t help much, either.