“What if we threatened his daughter?”
He shrugged. “I don’t think you could threaten them both and expect them both to give in. They’ll think you’re lying to both of them. You need at least one of them to get the prize.”
“You can bluff only one player at time?”
“Something like that.” He tapped off the ashes. “I think you’re better off threatening the daughter. She’s younger, more emotional. The older one—he’s bound to the Storeroom. He’s tied up in the same magic guarding that place. I don’t think he could sell out to us even if he wanted to.”
Robin—curse him—jumped out from behind a nearby headstone like some kind of carnival prop. He turned to lean against it, as if he’d been there for hours, hinting that he’d heard every word they’d said, whether he did or not. Bluffing with the best of them.
Hera regarded him coolly, without the least bit of surprise. “Aren’t you supposed to be guarding our pawn?”
“I can see him from here. I can be at his side in a moment if he tries anything. I thought you should know, the Greek slave is coming.”
“Should I leave?” the Wanderer said.
“No.” She’d need him to help read the newcomer.
“Should I leave?” said Robin from his gravestone.
Her voice honey-sweet, she said, “Would you even if I asked?”
Grinning, Robin didn’t move.
The Greek came up the drive that cut down the middle of the cemetery. He looked wretched. Blood covered the lower half of his shirt and most of his lap, as if he’d been stabbed and bled all over himself. He didn’t seem hurt.
He glanced at the car parked halfway up the drive, but continued toward her. She waited, dropping the cigarette and stepping it flat. Hands shoved in his coat pockets, he stopped a good distance away, eight or ten feet, not displaying excessive familiarity. Watching his step. He was wary. She wished she could read mortals as well as she could in the old days. Something else, something besides her, was worrying him.
“What happened to you?” she said, regarding his gory clothing with a grimace of distaste.
“I fell.”
“Ah. So, are you here because you have information for me? Is Evie Walker on her way?”
His expression was calm, revealing nothing. “What are you going to do to them? When you have the apple, what happens to the Walkers?”
“Why are you concerned with them?”
Here he winced, as if uncertain, and didn’t answer. Anyone could see what it meant, even without divine powers.
From his perch on the headstone, Robin said, “The Walkers have many allies. Tell her, Greek.”
The Greek gave nothing away—he’d had lots of practice hiding things. One wondered that he ever talked at all.
Robin shrugged off the silence and spoke, grinning. “I saw Merlin at the house. Arthur can’t be far behind. That Merlin. That Arthur.”
Hera didn’t bother asking why Robin hadn’t seen fit to tell her this earlier. The edge in his tone bothered her—the Greek had offended Robin, who of course had taken it personally and would goad him when he could. Hera would have to watch the hobgoblin carefully.
The news he delivered was disconcerting—what did it mean, that more magic than hers was at work here? Britain’s greatest heroes—she’d heard rumors of Merlin’s power, and if even half of them were true, he’d be an opponent of consequence. Or an ally of great worth. If she could have a word with them, show them that her plan had the greatest chance of restoring order to the world, the influence of her pantheon would increase.
By the gods, as the mortals said, what an exciting time to work, with so much magic returning to the world.
Hera stepped up beside the Greek and wrapped her arm round his, pulling him so that they strolled together down the walk, past rows of weathered granite stone decorated with plastic flowers.
“You were a spy for the Greeks, weren’t you?” she said to him. “I trust you haven’t lost your touch. Where is the girl now?”
“Maybe I could take you to her. She wouldn’t expect that.”
“Can’t you simply tell me if she’s coming?”