Page 12 of Flame and Fury

“What outfit?” I groan. “Please tell me it’s not leather.”

Estella chuckles and points to something hanging in the corner that reminds me of a fluffy sheep.

I tilt my head, as if that will help me figure out what I’m looking at. “What is that?”

“You should know better by now.” Estella grins, though still not looking like her normal cheerful self as she plugs in the curling iron. “You have to trust the process.”

Estella carefully curls small strips of my hair, working her way from one section to the next with unusual concentration. Normally she chatters about everything from what she had for breakfast to the hot guy who moved into her apartment building. Last time she talked about her favorite kind of cereal for twenty-five minutes, but today she’s barely said a word.

“I heard you disappeared yesterday.”

Estella’s been quiet for so long, I jerk and nearly get a burn on my neck from the curling iron when she speaks.

“Really? You heard that? That doesn’t seem very newsworthy.”

“Are you kidding? Two champions disappearing together. Were you and Atlas sneaking off to get to know each other better?” Estella giggles, but it’s more nervous than bubbly.

I know Atlas and I need to make allies. And it can’t just be me testing the waters with Ares or Hades. We’re going to need some of the champions on board with us, if we expect to throw over the gods. Maybe someone like Estella could help. She has access to a lot of people and places thanks to her job. She could pass along information or simply spread the word that change is coming.

What the fuck am I thinking? Are we really going to put the gods back to sleep? I know that’s what Kat and Atlas and the entire Underground wants, but I don’t even know how that’s possible. I’m just one person. Yeah, sure, I’m a Fury, but that doesn’t mean I’m endlessly powerful and all knowing.

I breathe out slowly and calm my racing thoughts. No matter what, panicking isn’t going to help a damn thing. What I can control is who we bring into the fold.

I don’t say anything, though. My Fury is fluttering uneasily in my chest. Is it resisting doing what the Underground wants? I’m still pretty fucking pissed at being kidnapped and lowkey threatened to have my Fury status outed. At the same time, I know the Underground has the right idea. That we all need change. We can’t keep living under the thumb of the clerics or at the capricious whims of gods like Zeus or fucking Aphrodite. But something is holding me back. I’m not ready to tell Estella the truth.

“I got turned around in all the confusion of the riot. Atlas found me. He had a car on standby, which is apparently what happens when you have money out the asshole. I got a ride with him back to the Olympus House. Sorry to say there was no fun stuff happening.”

That’s mostly the truth. There was a kiss in the back of the car before Atlas lied to me again and tossed me at the Underground as a sacrificial lamb. All in all, the day was mostly horrible.

“Well, that’s disappointing,” Estella says, but she sounds strangely relieved. “Let’s finish getting you ready.”

CHAPTER8

WREN

The saying is “no rest for the wicked,” but it really should be no rest for champions in the Olympus Games. Ever since we returned to the training compound the night before, my brain has not stopped churning. I blame that for not recognizing that Estella was getting me ready for another challenge.

As soon as Estella finishes dressing me, I’m pushed out into the main gym. The guard that transports the champions everywhere is waiting and we’re whisked off before I can ask where the hell we’re going now.

Turns out we’ve been taken to another theater. I’m beginning to recognize the rigging and dark curtains of a backstage. The assistant who keeps popping up at our challenges, with the dark-rimmed glasses, is waiting for us. He ushers me and the other champions into a large room with the focus of a preschool teacher wrangling a bunch of three-year-olds. Preston is essentially a giant toddler.

The room is a mix of storage and waiting space. There are costumes overflowing from boxes in one corner. Old playbills hang on the walls, so yellowed with age that they must be from before the gods woke. There are two couches and a collection of chairs available for seating, along with three make-up stations with tall mirrors surrounded in lights. The faint smell of stale smoke and spilled drinks tells a story of hours passed in this room.

I don’t know what they have planned for us, but as a group, we look outrageous. Estella put me in a crazy get up. I look like I took a psychedelic drug and then decided to go hiking through the frozen wilderness. My pants are a shiny metallic material that swishes when I walk. They’re suctioned to my legs and are water repellent. I know because our transport guard spilled coffee on my lap, and it rolled off the cloth like water over glass. My boots are heavy and lace up to the knee. The insides are lined in soft wool. That, combined with the thick socks I’m wearing, has me sweating like a pig.

My top matches the pants and is made of the same waterproof fabric. The only difference is the shirt is black instead of silver. It’s covered by a thin zip up hoodie, and the wooly coat that was hanging in the corner of Estella’s room finishes the ensemble.

The rest of the champions are in some variation of winter gear, although most aren’t as outlandish as mine. The majority of the outfits look like the cold weather version of our tactical gear. Nico has been transformed into a lumberjack, complete with a plaid trapper hat, and Jade is in an unfortunate shiny white unitard that’s giving her camel toe.

“You’re to wait in here until we come and get you.” Nervous glasses guy tells us as he hovers by the door. I don’t know if this guy is Thaddeus’s assistant or a general fixer for the games. He’s been at our interviews and arranged things during challenges as well.

“Rupert. We need you on stage,” a woman says behind the man, and he scrambles out of the room.Rupert, huh? He doesn’t look like a Rupert. At least now I finally have a name for the bespectacled face.

I’ve barely sat my ass down in one of the leather club chairs when Rupert is back in the room. “Zeus’s champion. You’re needed on stage.”

I barely restrain my eye roll. We don’t have names here, just assignments to our gods.

Atlas is still standing. His gaze drifts over me, taking in my abominable snowman outfit with a slightly raised brow. There’s a twinkle in his eyes, and I glare back at him. I shrug off my fuzzy coat and shift in my seat. I don’t do well with waiting. The room isn’t too hot, but the static in the air makes me think we’re somewhere very cold. Is that why we’re all in this winter gear? Not that it's practical. Half of us look like a fashion magazine’s version of explorers going to Antarctica.

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