Page 12 of Wildfire

“The police?” Ward asked, lips pursed in a scowl that was entirely out of character. “What’s he done now?”

Wilder blinked at him for a moment, his mind blank. Theo Ward didn’t like someone, and it was Hermes. Not that he could blame him; the man was insufferable, even if he was also good looking. And fast. And clever. It was just that Ward didn’t ever dislike people.

“You remember Matthew?”

He winced and nodded, then froze, sighed, and wiped a hand down his face. “He was at the scene of someone’s death.”

Wilder didn’t bother asking about the exasperated response, too tired from the afternoon teaching, and went over to plant himself in one of the chairs across from his enormous mahogany desk. “Yes. And then again that night with Rebekah Perry.”

Lysandros turned his whole body toward Wilder, mouth open and eyes wide. “He wasseen? Twice? In one day?” As though the being seen was the shocking part, and not the showing up at the location of multiple deaths.

Still, it sounded like he doubted Wilder, and that got his back up. “Yes. By me, in fact. And then he abandoned me to call in both deaths on my own, so I keep having to talk to the police about it, like I’m some kind of criminal. LikeIkilled students from the school.”

His voice was whiny to his own ears, but dammit, they suspected him of hurting two near strangers for no apparent reason. If Wilder was going to get in trouble for killing someone, they ought to at least have died by fire, damn it.

Ward’s eyes narrowed, and he turned to his boyfriend, who put up a hand, pulling his phone out of his pocket. “I’ll take care of it.” He stood up and headed for the door, and when he reached it, he glanced back at both Theo and Wilder, brows drawn in confusion. “But when did he stop being a pain in the ass?”

He was clearly talking about Wilder, which... fair enough, he supposed. Ward was less impressed, eyes narrowed at his boyfriend. “Wilder is my colleague. You deal with your cousin.” He said cousin like he meant chlamydia, and Lysandros threw up a hand in defense—or possibly supplication—as he headed out into the hallway.

“Sorry,” Ward said after the door closed. “Lysandros’s family are assholes.”

Hottie with a Body

Hermes was pacing alone in his apartment, sulking, when he felt his phone buzzing in his pocket, so he pulled it out, hoping for news or some direction to chase. He’d come up on dead end after dead end. Minos hadn’t seen the souls, had no records of them. And even though it’d been days since the last dead body had shown up, Hermes didn’t think this was over.

When his phone kept buzzing, he sighed. Someone wascallinghim. In this day and age? What a nightmare.

He’d hoped for a text from Hebe—some important tidbit gleaned from hours on TikTok. Barring that, maybe a call from the medical examiner. Hermes had bribed her for any information about the mysteriously dead students, but she hadn’t gotten back to him yet, and he was beginning to worry that he’d dropped a godly favor in her lap for nothing. Damn mortals and their ethical bullshit.

Instead, it was Lysandros. Hermes’s lips screwed to the side for a second and he hesitated to pick up. Things with the prince of the underworld were... complex. By and large, Hermes found it best to avoid him as much as possible. He preferred dealing with people who clearly liked him or clearly did not. Even though Lysandros had decked him last Halloween, Hermes couldn’t read him entirely, and that made him squirmy.

But something was up, and Lysandros wouldn’t call him for nothing. Hermes clicked the answer button and lifted the phone to his ear.

“Well, if it isn’t my favorite goth-clad sugar daddy. How’s topside treating you? Ward giving it up on the regular?”

“Hermes—”

With a sharp laugh, Hermes cut him off. “I just want to make sure your needs are met, mon ami. I know how hard it is for you to beup here, especially with Mommy back down in the—”

The sound Lysandros made on the other end of the line was like nothing so much as a feral snarl. Hermes’s lips snapped shut. He’d learned the hard way there was only so far he could push.

“Why are you showing up at crime scenes? Theo’s colleague saw youtwicestanding over dead bodies.”

Admittedly, that was weird. When souls lingered, he was quick about whisking them to the underworld. He wasn’t often caught by mortal spectators.

“You mean why am I doing my job?” Hermes asked, dropping his shoulders against the wall. A second later, his head fell back with a thump. “I’m supposed to escort souls, Lysandros.”

“And that’s what you were doing?” His voice was temperate now, like his father’s. Perhaps reentering the world had done him some good. He wasn’t the nervous, scared boy he’d been when Hermes had known him better.

With a heavy sigh, Hermes shrugged. “Not really. I mean, the souls are missing. I just—the boy in the hall, I felt. The next was a surprise. I mean, who murders a girl on her way to take a piss? That’s pretty fucking low.”

Lysandros only hummed, waiting for Hermes to elaborate. But he had no intention of dragging the younger god into this. If he got involved, it wouldn’t be on Hermes’s head.

And there was something far more compelling than Lysandros’s concern for mortals. “So Ward works with Professor Hot Stuff?”

Lysandros heaved a sigh. “Wilder Pratt.”

A laugh escaped Hermes before he could stop it. “Ho-ly shit. Is that really his name? Fuck, no wonder he didn’t introduce himself while that hot little hand of his was wrapped around my—”

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