Page 59 of Wildfire

When he’d first seen Wilder Pratt standing in that hallway, frowning over the dead body of his student, Hermes had thought he was prissy and pristine—strong, sure, and handsome, but nothing like the man who now stood before his students and offered them a chance to fight back.

“None of you are required to stay. Accommodations will be made for those graduating, and those returning for fall semester will have the opportunity to make up work,” Wilder announced, one hand gripping his wrist behind his back in a stance that was startlingly similar to Ares’s.

A few students bit their lips and glanced around nervously, but many didn’t, and in the end, none of them took the opportunity to leave when they had it. Maybe they’d change their minds before the big day, when they had to sit alone with their decision, but Hermes was surprised they didn’t all fold at once. These mortals had more steel in them than he’d realized. Or maybe he’d simply forgotten how adaptable they were.

“We’re going to set up for a graduation ceremony,” Wilder said. “The gathering of people, of mages, will, we hope, draw Typhon out into the open again.”

Typhon had been locked away in Tartarus for millennia—how much did he really know about mortal graduations? Athena had already built the stage on the National Mall, and the announcements of the date and time were papered everywhere. Banneker held graduation there every year. Chairs were being set out in preparation. It would look enough like the real thing that it should fool a monster hunting students before they scattered for the summer.

“So we’ll still be able to walk?” a young woman asked.

Wilder shook his head. “It’s in appearance only. I will give the keynote address. The creature we’re fighting is immortal, and Dean Woods believes I have the best shot at subduing the monster.”

“So what are we going to do?” another student asked—gods above, if Hermes was going to start hanging out at Banneker on the regular, he definitely needed to start committing their names to memory.

“We’re going to be bait,” Hermes cut in. “And we’ll serve as distractions. The attack Professor Pratt has to pull off will take time and concentration. Last time Typhon was overwhelmed by numbers, but he’ll know what he’s walking into now. If he’s smart, he’ll take out the strongest offensive mages first, so we need to give Wilder time.”

The guy crossed his arms. “And how are we going to do that? Throw ourselves between a guy with poison skin and our professor?”

Biting his lip, Hermes shook his head. “We’ll use the weapons from Dean Woods’s armory.”

“There aren’t enough for everyone,” a girl complained.

Hermes wasn’t sure quite what to do about that, but the door at the far end of the training room opened and Theo Ward walked in, Lysandros trailing him with an enormous bag slung over his shoulder. He set it on the ground and opened it up.

“I think we have you covered there,” Lysandros said, his voice carrying the way only a god’s could, even though his tone was soft and mild. “Gifts from Hephaestus.”

The students approached to pick out their weapons, and Lysandros picked up something round and stepped away from them. He came over to Hermes and shoved it right at him.

“Heph said this is for you?”

It was wrapped up in canvas, and Hermes pulled it into his chest and hugged it close.

“Yup. I mean, Iaskedfor a bazooka.”

“I’m glad he didn’t give it to you,” Lysandros said. For a second, he stood there, scowling around the room in the very imitation of his father. When his eyes finally settled back on Hermes, they narrowed slightly. “Why are you still here?”

After everything they’d been through the year before, it was a fair question. Hermes had worked with Hera to try and unseat Zeus. He’d been willing to drown the whole eastern seaboard with a magical storm. And he’d been there when Hera had murdered an innocent girl to further that cause, and he’d done nothing to stop it.

He took a slow, shaky breath. “I don’t know. There are more to mortals than I thought.”

Lysandros’s gaze drifted to Ward. For millennia, Hades’s son had hidden out from the world. Now, he had Theo and knew the world was worth protecting. Hermes sucked his cheeks between his molars and did his damnedest not to think of the man responsible for his change of heart.

Of course, it wasn’t just Wilder. It was watching Lysandros open up to the world, watching Prometheus fight for it, watching Thanatos struggle to preserve life even when he was a god of death.

Hermes sighed, and that drew Lysandros’s attention right back to him. “There is. I’m glad you see it now.”

With a scoff, Hermes shoved his arm. “You gonna stay for the showdown?”

Lysandros shrugged, his arms crossed. “Banneker means too much to these people to abandon it now.”

He looked past Hermes’s shoulder, but it took him a moment to realize it was because a student had approached—the girl who’d spoken first. Olivia? God, he hoped this place had a yearbook.

“You saved Ameshia,” she said, “out on the lawn. Can—” Her eyes flicked between Hermes and Lysandros before settling on Hermes. “Can you save all of us?”

For the first time since he’d puked his guts up in Typhon’s face, Hermes felt a warm spark in his chest—and not the kind of gooey feeling he got from Wilder. Sure, modern communication fed and sustained him, but it’d been a good long while before he felt the fragile thread of true faith weaving its way through his heart.

He gave her his best grin. “I’m sure gonna try, Olivia. And, you know, Iama badass god.”

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