Page 28 of Wildfire

He brushed his fingers through Wilder’s hair where pieces hung loose from the tie at the nape of his neck. He couldn’t tell if they were sweat damp, or damp from the sink.

“I think I know why the first ones... why the first ones didn’t have any markings on their bodies,” Hermes whispered. “I don’t know why it’s changed now, but—but Typhon?”

Wilder flinched, lifting his head to scowl down at him again. “Excuse me?”

“He’s a monster. Ancient. Terrible. His skin, it’s poison. Might show up in a toxicology report, maybe a rash, but not like—” He shivered when he thought about the body in the classroom. He’d needed to see it—see how different the murders could be—before he’d realized what sort of creature could be capable of both that much violence, and deaths that looked like there were no cause at all. “I don’t know why it’s different now. I don’t know what changed.”

Wilder shook his head. Maybe he was in shock, or maybe he just didn’t want anything to do with Hermes. Whatever the case, Hermes had promised to protect him.

“I’ll keep you safe,” Hermes swore.

Wilder scoffed. “Let him come!”

There was madness in his eyes then. All Hermes could do was grimace. He dropped his hands from around Wilder’s middle. “You don’t mean that. He escaped from Tartarus—from hell. And there are others. This is too big for Banneker.”

“Don’t underestimate me,” Wilder snapped.

Hermes smiled wryly. “I’d never dream of it, hot stuff. But unless you want to spend the night down at the precinct, we’d better get you home. Dean Woods is gonna take care of—”

“Of Marco,” Wilder finished.

Swallowing hard, Hermes nodded. “Yeah.”

He wanted to comfort Wilder, but he had nothing to offer. At least, nothing that he needed in that moment.

“And who’s going to take care of the rest?”

Survivor

“He was a fighter,” Wilder whispered. He didn’t know why he needed to say it, but he had to say something. Something about the arrogant, flawed, intelligent, talented young man he’d known for almost four years.

Hermes winced and lowered his head. “Yeah, fighting Typhon wouldn’t go well for a mortal.”

A mortal.

Dean Woods had said the same thing when she’d told them someone was hunting elementalists. Mortal mages. Powerful mortals.

Hermes had called her Athena.

Theo Ward burst into the bathroom, panic on his face until he laid eyes on Wilder and Hermes, and he deflated like a popped balloon. “Oh thank goodness. Lysandros said someone else on campus had been killed, and I—”

“It was Marco,” Wilder managed to get out.

Hermes, meanwhile, was sighing. “Seriously? I told Athena she needed to take care of this, not to text your boyfriend vaguely terrifying crap.”

“Apparently she had to go see your father,” Ward whispered, like there was power in the words, then glanced up like a pious man who’d taken his god’s name in vain. “So she asked Lysandros to come see what he could do.”

Hermes scowled despite the perfectly reasonable explanation, as though maybe he was offended on Wilder’s behalf. That was silly, right?

“Zeus,” he suggested, pretending it was information he’d already been offered. “She had to go see Zeus.”

Ward looked mildly surprised but nodded. “Lysandros said there’s been a, um, a problem.”

From the way Hermes tensed around him, Wilder suspected he wanted to throw up his hands and rant, but it was possible he was projecting. If he had more energy, he would most definitely be ranting and pacing.

Athena, Hermes, Zeus, Hebe... “Who is Typhon, and why is he doing this?”

Ward choked.

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