Page 19 of Invoking Ruin

“I can make all of this go away, if you just let me though. I’m a famous reporter, you see. I can talk to anyone.”

He blinks as the hooks of my power sink in. His desires and his faults are laid out before me as clearly as a well-drawn map inside my mind. Gods are harder to read, harder to convince. Mortals are like molding clay.

This man so badly wants to get promoted and prove himself.

There’s a reason I’m known as a walking fatal flaw.

“I’ll be sure to give you the credit.” I keep my voice low, a silky rasp. “Your bosses will applaud you for letting me save the day.”

That’s all it takes to convince him, all it ever takes to convince anyone. Letting a random woman into an active hostage situation is a bad idea, but it plants a seed in fertile soil, full of potential. Too bad the apples are all poisoned.

He nods and steps aside. “Make sure you tell them I solved it. Don’t take the credit for yourself.”

“I promise,” I tell him in a voice like honey before continuing on my way.

I pass another two cops with the same sort of tricks. This is a task perfectly suited to my power. There aren’t many worse ideas than what I’m compelling them to do.

The back door is locked. Not a surprise, but not a problem. I crush the knob in my fist and let myself in, creeping past the wine storage room and the kitchen on my way to the front of the house.

It’s more abattoir than restaurant, now. The mortals are all dead, sprawled out where they fell, over tables and chairs. Some are tangled up in each other in a frozen struggle. It looks like they tore each other apart. Knives protrude from chests, broken wine stems turned weapons, wine bottles shattered over heads.

Breathtaking and horrific. It makes no sense from a mortal’s perspective. The violence is too random, too encompassing.

But it has all the hallmarks of the influence of a god.

A chill runs up my spine even before I hear his voice, low and amused from behind me.

“Darling niece. I thought you’d never get here.”

“Momus.” I know who it is even before I turn. He sits on top of a table, like a deranged king atop a throne of skulls. The god of blame and of criticism smiles at me with amused glee.

And then I spot Sandro in a heap at his feet, golden hair clotted with a mix of blood and ichor. He's unconscious. Not worse, thankfully. His body would not be intact like this if it were worse. He’d be gone, a pile of ash.

I learned that the hard way three centuries ago when I got in a fight with Megaera. I’d assumed others would come after me then, like some alarm had been set off, but no one ever had. Alecto and Tisiphone are now dead—thanks to my mother's handiwork—so no one is looking to exact vengeance for her.

No more god-killing. My list of crimes is long enough.

None of this brings me much comfort, but it does keep me from killing Momus on the spot.

Nyx had mentioned allies, but Momus’ name hadn’t been on my suspect list. It’s surprising he’s still alive. I hadn’t kept very good track of my fellow gods, but I can’t remember a single time he so much as came up in the whole Decay fiasco.

Then again, Momus might be the only god less popular than I am. It’s an impressive distinction.

“You’ve been a very naughty girl, little niece.”

My lips peel back in a sneer before I can master myself. “You’re one to talk. I’m pretty sure we aren’t supposed to murder mortals, anymore.”

“Murder?” My uncle tsks. “This was… mutually-agreed-upon destruction.”

Everyone in my family thinks they’re very funny. Especially my aunts and uncles.

“Will Nemesis agree with that assessment when she arrives?” I ask. She’ll be here very soon. The entire Olympian cohort will see this, know that gods played a part in it, and swarm like flies on a carcass.

I, and Sandro, need to be far away from my uncle’s massacre by the time my personal hunting party catches on.

“Perhaps Nemesis won’t, but then, this looks far more like your work than mine. So sloppy. So many bad decisions.”

Bastard.

---