5. Artemis
5 ARTEMIS
Reese Avery is a ghost. I spend the rest of the day trying to track him down and come up painfully empty.
I don’t hear from Malik or the sheriff.
Or Wolfe, Jace, or Apollo.
Or Antonio . But then the sun sets, and I am due at the fights, so I head back to my empty condo to get dressed.
I arrive at Olympus on time—as in, with everyone else.
The hired hands are wearing their raven masks.
They haven’t worn those in a while, as Apollo likes to have them rotate in new ones.
But I like them best of all, with their sharp beaks and blue-black, glistening feathers.
The man at the door waves me in without hesitation.
And without payment.
I adjust my mask. It’s made of bone, although there isn’t really an animalistic shape to it.
Not like Apollo’s intricate deer skull mask.
My gold dress swishes around my thighs, and I slip easily through the crowded atrium.
There’s no end to the luxury of Olympus on a fight night, although at once I long for the emptiness of it during the day.
I find a spot at the back and lean against the vegetation-covered wall.
It’s practically alive with blooms and vines and moss.
It’s meant to represent Persephone.
It was a gift for her when they took Olympus back from the Hell Hounds.
Raven-masked employees weave through the room, dressed all in black, holding trays of champagne.
I resist the urge to snatch one off and chug it.
Eventually, the huge doors boom shut.
The chatter rises sharply, anticipation clawing at the room, until Apollo appears.
Like usual, he wears only brown leather pants.
The gold deer skull mask obscures his whole face.
There are beaded leather cords that hang down, brushing the tops of his shoulders, and golden antlers protrude from the top of the mask.
He carries a staff that he uses on the marble floor like a gavel.
Boom, boom, boom .
“Welcome to Olympus,” he calls to the hushed crowd.
I can’t help the prickle of excitement that travels through me.
“I’m your host for the evening, Apollo.” The mask can’t obscure the edges of his wide smile.
“We have some great fights planned for you tonight. Winners will walk away with not only their dignity… but glory.”
The crowd cheers.
“Who will have to be scraped off the floor? Who will persevere?” He raises his arms. “Only time will tell. Enjoy yourselves, gods and goddesses. The doors are now open.”
Because I’m looking for it, I see his foot twitch on the marble.
There’s a sharp pop , and smoke bursts up from the floor.
People gasp and cry out, and when the smoke clears, he’s gone.
Some go upstairs, to where there are better views down to the fighting ring.
Others flood around the wide center staircase, preferring to be up close to the action.
I wait.
I don’t know why I linger in the atrium, hanging back until the room is empty.
Almost empty.
Someone’s on the steps, near where Apollo stood.
A man in a black dress shirt and pants.
From the back, his dark hair is close-cropped on the sides and a longer on top.
He’s scuffing his foot across the step.
To figure out how Apollo disappeared?
“Some tricks should be left a mystery,” I call.
He straightens and pivots.
His mask is inky black.
It’s surprising how much depth it has, and from here, I can’t tell if it’s fabric or something else.
And for a moment, I’m stumped on who he represents.
“I like figuring out how the world works,” the man says.
His mask comes all the way down to his jaw on his right side.
On the left, his high cheekbone and sharp jawline are visible.
His lips quirk. “Don’t you?”
“I know how it works,” I say.
I climb the steps slowly, until I’m even with him.
And it’s startling how much taller he is than me.
“Olympus tells me its secrets.”
Not as much as it speaks to its hosts.
“Hmm.” His eyes are nearly as black as his mask.
“Artemis?”
I almost flinch.
“There are tiny arrows in your mask. Like the bone’s been chiseled.”
Oh .
“I… yes.”
“The gold is a giveaway, as well. You matched your brother.”
I tell myself that he’s speaking of the gods.
“You’re going to miss the first fight,” I say.
The half-smile never leaves his lips.
“They can’t start without me.”
I tilt my head.
“Is that so?”
“That’s what they tell me.”
“Who are you fighting?”
He eyes me and doesn’t answer.
My throat tightens, and when he remains silent, I turn on my heel and leave him to figure out his mystery.
Fighters generally stay in their area until it’s time—it’s rare for one to go wandering.
I work my way through the crowd on the first floor, ducking and weaving and somehow avoiding getting elbowed or drinks spilled, and finally make it to the front.
Nyx and I used to stand here to watch.
Not exactly front and center , but close enough.
If neither of us were fighting.
She was a better fighter than me.
The thought knocks the wind out of me.
My muscles lock up, refusing to bend in front of so many people.
Apollo’s on the platform, and I feel his gaze linger on me for a moment.
Vaguely, I realize he’s introduced Wolfe and Jace—Ares and Hades.
And Persephone. They’re up on the second level, on a balcony all their own.
My heart gives a weird extra-hard thump.
And then the first pair of fighters are emerging.
I recognize the man.
He goes by Minos here, and he’s a regular like me.
He gets up next to Apollo and flexes, and the audience eats that shit up.
And then another guy I haven’t seen before steps onto the platform.
“Hypnos,” Apollo introduces.
“Perhaps he’ll put Minos to sleep?”
That gets a laugh.
Apollo asks them to bump fists, and then he hops off the platform.
He lands beside me and glances down.
“You don’t look great.”
I scoff.
“Why does everyone keep saying that?”
He hums.
It’s only a matter of time until he asks if I’ve been sleeping, eating enough, whatever .
He’s always cared, and I love that about my brother.
But sometimes it can be suffocating.
Minos gets the first hit.
Hypnos’s head whips to the side, and he staggers.
Minos goes for him again, not one to give an opponent a moment to breathe.
But it seems almost like Hypnos is ready for it, because in a split second, they’re grappling and twisting, and then Minos is crashing like a felled tree to the platform.
Hypnos stands still and waits.
It seems to take ages for the other fighter to drag himself up, clearly shaken at having lost the upper hand.
In comparison to Minos, Hypnos is small.
Probably still taller than me by a few inches, but lean.
Nearly slender but for the cords of muscles packed on his thin frame.
Deceptive if Minos is only comparing sheer size.
“You can talk to me,” Apollo says under his breath.
I elbow him.
Five minutes later, Minos falls for the last time.
Apollo taps the bottom of his staff against my leg and hops up.
He declares Hypnos the winner, lifting his arm over their heads.
Hypnos looks at me. Through the black fabric mask that cuts across the upper portion of his face, his eyes…
I suck in a sharp breath.
His gaze moves on, coasting across the crowd, then higher.
To the second floor.
He pauses on Ares and Hades.
The three will convene with the winners after the last fight, but for now, there’s only the thunderous applause.
And then it’s over, and he’s being ushered out by a raven-masked man while two more struggle to pick Minos up off the floor.
“Well,” Apollo calls in the following hush.
“That was a thrilling opening. Did anyone see that coming?” He laughs.
“Next up are two new fighters. Although if you’re a regular, you might recognize one as an occasional host…”
Saint .
I ball my fists.
“Please welcome out our first fighter, Hermes!”
The doors open, and a path is created.
Saint strolls down with his arms loose at his sides, and he hops up onto the platform.
His fabric mask is white, shot through with gold threads.
I find myself leaning forward, analyzing how he moves.
He’s shirtless. Of course he’s shirtless, most of the guys who fight are.
He’s somewhere between Hypnos and Minos in terms of stature.
Packed with muscle but not overdone with it.
He touches the galaxy tattoo over his heart and glances to the ceiling.
My jaw clenches.
“And a visitor to Sterling Falls,” Apollo’s voice booms. “Atlas!”
The titan who held the world on his shoulders in some myths.
He was charged with keeping the heavens from crashing to earth in others, a punishment after losing a war against Zeus.
I just don’t expect the man I met in the atrium to come out of the fighters’ quarters.
I should. He practically admitted to fighting?—
When he finds me in the crowd, he smirks.
I frown in response, ignoring the flush that creeps up the back of my neck.
Atlas. A heavily burdened titan for the mystery guest.
He is shirtless, as well.
The black mask he wore outside has been replaced with a softer one that molds to his face.
His body ripples with muscles, although there’s not a speck of ink on him.
When he gets up close to Apollo and Saint, he’s taller than both.
My body goes cold when Apollo hops down from the platform.
He comes to stand beside me, and I grip his wrist. I’m practically vibrating with the urge to shut this down.
Not tonight, not even the fighting—just this fight.
“This is wrong,” I whisper urgently.
“Stop them.”
Apollo scowls.
“Artemis.”
“ Apollo .”
He shakes me off, never taking his eyes away from the circling men.
“Saint is a grown up. He can make his own decisions.”
“Clearly not, if he can’t be trusted to live by himself.”
Apollo sighs.
“He’s not going to die here.”
Something in me isn’t too sure.
I don’t want to name this fear that’s crawling higher and higher up my throat.
And it isn’t just Saint.
It’s all of it. The past twenty-four hours, or maybe longer.
Maybe since Nyx…
I force myself to stand and watch.
Saint— Hermes —makes the first move.
His jaw is set, his expression burning hot.
Atlas, on the other hand, is frigid.
They meet each other blow for blow, not bothering to duck or defend themselves.
There’s something feral about it, more so than any of the other pairings.
Often, a person finds themselves reduced to some sort of primal, survival instinct.
The kill-or-be-killed feeling can take over.
But this is worse. There’s no slow easing into it.
The way they attack each other would make me think it’s personal.
Saint’s eyes gleam, and every hit seems to create waves of fury inside him.
While Atlas takes and receives just as brutally, there’s only cold…
Relief? Joy ?
And when Atlas puts Saint flat on his back, I close my eyes.