Page 21 of Gods and Graves

CHAPTER TWENTY

THEA

“ W hat the fuck is the Labyrinth, and why do you all look like you need to take a shit?” I demand, frowning.

Zaid ruffles his black hair. “Years ago, King Minos commissioned an architect named Daedalus to design a maze capable of keeping the Minotaur contained.”

“ The Minotaur?” I parrot, realizing that Zaid isn’t just talking about any old minotaur.

“The original monster,” Krystian supplies. “He was going on a killing spree, but no one knew how to stop him. This was before the gods intervened, by the way, so the humans and supernaturals were on their own.”

“The Labyrinth was the only thing that could contain the beast,” Everett takes over, his voice subdued. “Athena knew that, so she sent a vision to King Minos.”

“Years later, Theseus entered the Labyrinth and killed the monster,” adds Zaid. “The maze remained empty for years until the gods and goddesses came to earth.”

“Athena decided she was going to take over the Labyrinth herself,” Krystian explains.

“She wanted a way to test her devout followers and see if they really walk the path of wisdom. The entire Labyrinth is nothing but a series of tests, riddles, and traps, designed for only the brightest of minds to solve.”

“Well, we’re fucked,” I lament.

I normally consider myself a pretty optimistic person, but I know myself and the guys. We’re not exactly the top brass here, if you know what I mean. Except for maybe Zaid.

“I’ll do some research on it today,” Zaid says, proving my point that he’s our only hope.

“Can’t Rafe just portal us to the center of the Labyrinth?” I turn pleading eyes on the blood fae, who watches me impassively.

“No,” he answers simply.

“Magical wards surround the entire area,” Krystian explains.

“Of course they do,” I grumble.

Why can’t any of this be easy?

“And we’re sure that Athena is our only option?” Everett directs the question at Zaid, who considers it for a long moment.

The wraith nods. “Unfortunately.”

“Then I suppose we have no choice.” Everett pinches the bridge of his nose as if attempting to fend off an encroaching headache. “We’ll head to one of our safe houses and come up with a plan. We’ll leave first thing tomorrow.”

Panic prickles my skin, though I try to keep my expression clear.

I know we need time to dissect all of this new information and come up with a plan, but…tomorrow? We need to wait until tomorrow? A part of me fears I won’t have that long, that any second, that incessant tugging will erupt in my chest and transport me back into my prison cell.

I scratch at the inside of my wrist, tension flaring inside of me.

The others remain oblivious to my internal turmoil as they finalize the plan, and a second later, a portal appears.

This time, I don’t hesitate to walk through—especially now that I know my insides won’t be rearranged.

We materialize in a tiny bungalow.

Sunlight pours through wide-paned windows, casting golden lines across the polished hardwood floors.

The living room is cozy, anchored by a brick fireplace darkened with age, its mantel cluttered with framed photos of the sea. Built-in bookshelves flank the hearth, and I wonder how many of these books belong to Zaid. I imagine most of them.

An archway leads to a dining nook, where a modest oak table sits beneath a hanging light. Beyond that, I can make out a compact kitchen, designed for functionality over extravagance. The vintage countertops and cabinets are painted the color of early spring leaves, chipped slightly at the edges.

Down a short hallway in the living room, doors lead to five different rooms. Probably four bedrooms and a bathroom.

It’s cute and cozy and the exact opposite I would’ve expected from the guys.

“You live here?” I ask, gawking.

Krystian chuckles. “Only been here a few times in my life.” He studies the tiny house too, as if seeing it through fresh eyes. “We spend most of the time in the compound or on the road. But we wanted a few safe houses where we could get away from everything.”

“This place is safe, warded, and most importantly, hidden from Ares,” Everett says.

The guys’ suitcases—and my bag of supplies—are already here. Huh. I never even realized they were gone, though I suppose we didn’t travel with them to Aphrodite’s apartment.

“You guys are constantly busy, aren’t you?” I muse, moving my fingers over the mantel of the fireplace, surprised when they come back dust-free.

Either there’s a spell on the home keeping it clean or they hired someone to dust and vacuum while they’re away.

Krystian’s laugh is dark and humorless. “Our job is to take down monsters and wayward supes. We don’t get a lot of time off.”

“We don’t get any time off,” Rafe corrects, already stalking down the hallway towards one of the rooms.

“Why don’t the gods have more teams working at once?” I ask, the question nagging at me. “If they’re worried about saving human lives, then wouldn’t it make sense to have a bunch of teams?”

Everett snorts like he finds my question cute and heads towards the kitchen.

Zaid smiles sadly. “Centuries ago, that used to be the case. There were hundreds, if not thousands, of teams working.”

“Then the higher powers got competitive,” Krystian fills in, a tight smile on his handsome face. “It became less about protecting the humans and more about one-upping each other.”

A painful ache erupts in my chest. “And you have no say in the matter? You can’t refuse or ask for help?”

“It’s not so bad,” Krystian says, trying to remain positive, though I can see the tension in his neck and shoulders. “The pay’s good.”

“It’s just not fair,” I insist.

Why should their entire existence revolve around hunting monsters and defending humans? Why does that burden need to fall on them and them alone?

“Life isn’t fair,” Everett calls from the kitchen, where he’s poring over the contents of the fridge.

Someone must’ve filled it recently—or else the food was magicked to not go bad—because Everett grabs out a bag of tomatoes, some cheese, and a few other ingredients I can’t decipher.

“I’m making spaghetti with homemade meat sauce. ”

“Thank fuck. I’m starving.” Krystian dramatically grabs at his stomach, his tongue lolling.

Apparently, our conversation is over.

“Is there a bathroom I can use?” I question.

“Down the hall to the right,” Zaid says, pointing.

I thank him and then skip in the direction he indicated. Once I reach the door, I knock, just to make sure Rafe isn’t using it, before ducking inside.

It’s cute and tiny, everything colored in white and blue.

“Fuck, I have to pee,” I mutter, reaching for my jeans.

That’s one of the only things I hate about having a real body—excrements.

What’s the point of eating food if you're just going to get rid of it a few hours later?

My fingers snag on where I keep my dagger tucked snugly in the waistband of my pants. Only…I don’t feel the cool metal of the blade or the jewel-encrusted hilt.

Holy fuck.

Did I lose my dagger? Where is it?

I try to remember when I last had it, but I come up blank. I’m ninety percent certain I shoved it in my pants after threatening Aphrodite with it.

I pull my pants down the entire way and twist in the mirror.

“What the…?” My brows draw together, and I reach for the edge of my panties, pulling them down slightly to see better.

Tattooed onto my skin is the dagger.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

I run my fingers over the intricate design, but it feels like skin. Just skin.

“This isn’t good,” I whimper. “This isn’t good at all.”