Page 36 of Wildfire

Wilder wasn’t willing to admit it aloud, but he understood the awe in her voice.

He leaned against the back wall of the room, watching the dean for a moment—letting the students finish leaving—before he spoke up. “Protégé?”

She scoffed. “Really, Wilder, isn’t it obvious?”

“Because horrors have escaped hell, and—”

She lifted an imperious hand to stop him, and if it had been anyone else, he’d have been irritated. Then she flicked her fingers, as though shooing something away. “It was always you. I didn’t ask you to stay at Banneker because you seemed like you would enjoy guiding the magical youth into their ideal career path.”

“That’s what you hired Ward for,” he agreed. That made perfect sense. If he’d had to hire someone to coddle the students, he’d have hired Ward, too. His soft voice, determination to see the best in everyone, and warm smile, freely given to even Wilder.

Whom he might not even like...

She gave a sharp nod. “Ward was made for that soft-touch kind of teaching. All that power, and humble about it. You weren’t. You’re passable at it, but it’s not what you were made for.” She stepped in close to him. “That’s what you’ve been missing. What you’re still missing.”

“That I shouldn’t be teaching?”

Her eyes narrowed, but she didn’t respond immediately, just stared at him.

Finally, she gave a sharp shake of her head. “No. You have to be wise enough to figure this out for yourself, or you’re not the man I think you are. The man I need you to be.” She glanced back over her shoulder toward the door, then to him again. “Hermes will be back in a moment with your food. You will keep up on that—three meals a day, every day. I can’t have you running out of energy.”

And without another word, she marched out.

Wilder was still staring at the empty doorway when Hermes zipped in, bag from a local sandwich shop in one hand, more water clutched in the other. “You okay? She didn’t go all militant or some shit, did she? Liberty or death, or something like that?”

Wilder shook his head. “No. I’m not sure what she was talking about, and she said I have to understand it for myself.”

Hermes groaned—the sound of a man who’d heard the very same demand from his sister in the past. Quickly, though, he dismissed it with a shake of his head. “All we’re figuring out right now is lunch. You want the ham and cheese or the Italian?”

Before he could stop it, laughter bubbled up in Wilder’s throat.

“What?” Hermes demanded, annoyed.

“You really think I’m going to fight you for it? We both know who’s the ham around here.” Wilder held out his hand expectantly, half expecting Hermes to give him the ham sandwich out of annoyance. Instead, he gave that bright smile of his, and handed over the Italian.

“Darn right. And proud of it, too.”

No Sugar

After lunch the students came back. Somehow, there were even more in the afternoon than there had been that morning. Hermes was beginning to think the threat of death banded mortals together more than anything else.

Of course, while it was a kill-or-be-killed world out there, it was way more complicated than that. Wilder had asked him if he thought they had a chance at defeating Typhon, but Hermes hadn’t known how to answer. Sure, if Heracles could kick ass and take names with his muscles alone, Hermes thought a bunch of super-charged mages had a decent shot at it. But it wasn’t cut and dry.

It was also a kill-and-never-die situation. Some mortals had learned the hard way that to take the life of an immortal meant becoming one yourself. Hell, some people liked the idea of that; it was why they’d had all that trouble on Santorini earlier that spring—why Charles Paget had wanted Cronus free to begin with. But for more people, immortality was a big sacrifice. It meant watching friends and family age and die, struggling to keep up with ever changing trends and technologies, having to keep secrets from everyone around you.

And as much as Hermes wanted to tell Wilder and his students to sit back and let the gods handle this, it’d been millennia since the Olympians had a reputation for handling anything. Banneker’s own were getting murdered for nothing more than the power of their magic. If Hermes weren’t a selfish coward, he’d have wanted to fight too.

Throughout the afternoon, he didn’t tire out, exactly, but he got sick of having to pat out his clothes before they caught on fire. Still, there was nothing for it—he’d rather let the mortals land a couple hits than convince them that even trying was pointless. Still, he was glad to see the students go while he, Wilder, and the other professors cleaned up the range.

“Hermes,” Athena called. His head popped up. “Do a sweep of the grounds, would you?”

He shrugged, dropping a ball weight on the rack. “If you want.”

Athena had instituted a curfew on campus, and it was about damn time. Once Hermes was well convinced everyone but those with a death wish were tucked into their cozy beds, or dorm rooms, or... generally elsewhere, he returned to the range. It was empty and dark, the many overhead lights shut off. He took off again and found Wilder in Ward’s office with Lysandros and Athena—everyone in the know.

“Mom and Dad are on the lookout for Cronus. Sure, Typhon in DC is a big deal, but not exactly a world-ending kind of thing. On his own, without a leader, he’ll be easier for us to handle. But that means we won’t have much backup here,” Lysandros said, perched on the corner of Theo’s desk.

He was back to his all-black regalia, complete with boots and a leather jacket. He looked very much like he was going to punch someone in the back alley behind a nightclub—that would’ve fit far better with his modern dress than the short sword, a xiphos, laid across Ward’s desk.

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