“Regina.” I blurt it before thinking. “How’d you know?”
“I didn’t,” he admits. “Not for a little while, at least. I put it together eventually, and by the time I confronted her about it, I think she already counted me as an ally.” A corner of his mouth tilts up. “Never mind her ultimate intentions. With three kids so active all the time, it was comforting to have her around, helping out however she did. I was truly disheartened when Veronica let her go.” He shakes his head, refocusing on me once more. “So where is she now? She can’t have returned to Olympus so soon.”
“Eleven years isn’t exactly soon,” I say.
He shrugs. “Time is a unique construct for every realm.”
“Regardless, Olympus isn’t where we need to go right now,” I volley. “So Regina isn’t my hitching star either.”
“All right, then.” He stands once more, pulls out a journal from the chaos across his desk, and scribbles in it with stubborn deliberation. Across his hunched back, I trade another assessing look with Jesse. Are we being dismissed, or will Gio give us more? Anything that will bring us closer to finding Kara?
I’m ready to beg, when Gio finally straightens. In the same motion, he tears the page free from his journal. With sharper resolve, he thrusts the sheet at me.
“Take it before I convince myself how crazy this idea really is.”
I snatch the paper before he can consider second thoughts. On it, there’s an address not far from here. Five or six miles, straight up Sunset.
“Crazy idea how? What do you want me to do with—”
“Meet me there in an hour,” he grates. “You’ll have to change first. This isn’t a stroll through the farmer’s market. This is a journey into hell. You should dress for it. Leave any valuables behind. If we’re successful, you won’t need anything but your wit…and a strong stomach. No doubt the gifts you’ve inherited from your father might come in handy as well.”
Before I can fully process the importance of the words, Jesse rolls forward. “Ten-four,” he says. “He can leave it all with me.”
“No way,” I say. “You’re coming with us.”
“Come on, man.” With his elbows on his armrests, Jesse spreads out both palms. “I’m not going to do you any good on the flip side. For all we know, every concept of our viable physics are wrong there.”
As if nature wants to prove the point already, I can’t seem to get in a full breath. My lungs hurt. My heartbeat is a worse pang. “Goddammit, North.”
“I’m right and you know it. Besides, you need a wingman up top, yeah?”
“Right,” I mutter. “Yeah.”
No sooner do I finish processing the bad news than Gio is on the move again, rushing out of the room. By the time Jesse and I get to the bungalow’s hallway, Kara’s grandfather is already in the bedroom, flinging clothes out of the closet like a teenager on a hunt for perfect date attire.
Only this excursion sure won’t be date night. I have no idea what it will be, but in the end, the reward outweighs the peril. Any of it. All of it.
Whatever it takes to have the woman of my heart back in my excruciatingly empty arms.
Chapter Five
Maximus
I’m parked down the street from the address Gio gave me on Sunset, which in theory puts me one step closer to Kara. But right now, I’m doubting everything about the quest I initiated in the first place.
By Kara’s own admission, during one of the most memorable moments I’ve shared with her, Gio is the closest person in the world to her. But at this point, we’re no longer talking about anything involving this world. And this latest development has me questioning not just Gio’s ability to help us, but the possibility of his senility.
The faded red lettering plastered on the iconic building facing us couldn’t be more appropriate—or mocking. Of course, Crossroads of the World, the faded and nearly forgotten Hollywood landmark, would be a perfectly themed spot for a dive into Dis if it weren’t such a ridiculous notion.
“This has got to be a joke.”
“I don’t think it is, man.” Jesse nudges the straw of his fast food drink toward the facade of the church next door. Its ornate arched window is flanked by narrow stone alcoves that house equally slender statues. Those stone representatives don’t look like tea companions for Hades. That quickly, Gio’s meeting point makes a lot more sense, even if it’s doubling my anxiety. Suddenly a stroll around an abandoned outdoor mall sounds a lot better than a trip to church on a Sunday night.
“Why is this idea already giving me hives?”
“Huh?” Jesse swings his stare around.
I punch the button to drop the truck’s back gate. “You know what places like this do to me.”
“Because of ancient history?” he shouts as I pull his wheelchair out.
“It wasn’t that long ago.”
“It was eleventh grade youth group, as I recall.”
I set up the chair next to his open passenger side door. “And you weren’t the one being called Satan’s freakboy after saving the pastor’s kid from being crushed by the altar cross.”
My mumble is mostly swallowed by the roar of passing traffic as Jesse descends into his chair, and maybe that’s for the better. If I’ve learned anything over the last ten days, it’s that I’m a different person than I ever thought I was, including the warped perceptions handed down by close-minded individuals. Maybe it’s time to put that recognition to a solid test.
The reflection, though brief, is a nugget of well-timed fortification as I wheel Jesse across the street. We’re nearly to the entrance when I hear a definitive creak from the church’s wide doorway. There, a figure appears. He’s dressed nearly identically to me, in a long-sleeved hiking shirt, khaki cargos, and thick-soled boots. But unlike me, he’s pressing one hand to a leather messenger bag that rests against his left side. The bag isn’t big but bulges enough that I give it more than a passing glance.
“Told you he was serious,” Jesse drawls as we navigate the tight turn onto the wheelchair ramp.
“Guess so,” I bite back, more curious than ever about why we’re here. In a few seconds, I’ll get the information I need from the source who’ll be able to explain it best.
The man who holds the door open as Jesse and I pass through.
Inside, the air is quiet and cool. It smells like old wood, floor wax, and candle smoke. We’re in the main sanctuary, where more tall archways face each other from the sides and lead our gazes up to numerous stained-glass windows and the Renaissance-inspired ceiling. At the end, seemingly miles away, a larger archway frames a circular nave housing a polished marble altar.
“Yep. Hives,” I mutter. “What are we doing here?”
And why right now?
Keeping that part to myself doesn’t negate its relevance. It’s early on a Sunday night, and we’re in a place that was clearly built for a thousand. How the Valari elder pulled enough strings to totally empty the place… Does “knowing a guy who knows a guy” apply when said “guy” is the patriarch of a half-demon dynasty?