“Let’s go through the depot so we can grab some water bottles from the kitchen on the way to Aphrodite’s room,” I told Stark when he automatically headed for the basement entrance to the tunnels. He changed direction, but still I explained (probably more to hear my calm-sounding voice than anything), “She’ll be thirsty. We’ll also need to grab some washcloths. I’ll soak them in water and put them over her eyes.”

“Do they always bleed like that?”

“Yeah, ever since she lost her Mark. Last time she had a vision she told me the pain and the blood keep getting worse and worse.” I glanced at Stark. “It looked bad, didn’t it?”

“She’ll be okay. Darius is with her. He won’t let anything happen to her.” He squeezed my hand before letting me climb down ahead of him through the old ticket booth entrance to the tunnels.

“I don’t think even her Warrior can protect her against this kind of stuff.”

He smiled at me. “I figured out a way to protect you in the Otherworld. I think Darius can handle some visions and a little blood.”

I didn’t say anything else as we hurried through the kitchen, grabbing water and washcloths.

I wanted Stark to be right. I really, really wanted Stark to be right, but I had a bad feeling, and I hated it when that happened. It always meant something was going to go horribly, awfully, terribly wrong.

“Hey.” Stark took my arm and gently tugged me to a halt just outside the glitzy gold curtain that was the latest door to Aphrodite’s room. “She needs you to be okay.”

“I know, you’re right. It’s just that the visions really hurt her, and that makes me worry.”

“But they’re also a gift from Nyx, and they’re information we need, right?”

“Right again,” I said.

His grin turned cocky. “I like it when you say I’m right.”

“Don’t get too used to it. You’re a guy. You have a limited number of ‘I’m rights’”—I air quoted—“allotted to you.”

“Hey, I’ll take what I can get,” he said. Then he went back to serious face. “Just remember, you need to be her High Priestess now, and not her friend.”

I nodded, drew a deep breath, and ducked under the gold curtain.

Okay, Aphrodite’s room kept changing and getting more and more like Kim Kardashian meets Conan the Barbarian every time I went in it. This time she’d added a gold chaise lounge. No, I had no clue where she got it or how she’d gotten it down here. On the rough cement tunnel wall behind the chaise she’d hung part of Darius’s throwing knife collection as decoration. She’d also hung gold beaded tassels from each of the knife hilts. Seriously. Her bed was big. Really big. Tonight the duvet was purple velvet with gold flowers stitched into it. She had millions of fluffy pillows. And her terrible Persian cat, Maleficent, had a matching cat bed that sat beside hers. Only at this moment Maleficent wasn’t in her bed. She was curled protectively on Aphrodite’s lap. Aphrodite was propped in the middle of her millions of pillows looking scarily pale. Darius had put a folded wet paper towel over her eyes, and it was already pink. I felt a little better when I saw that she was petting Maleficent, which meant she was conscious. But my better feeling went away as I approached the bed and the horrid cat started to yowl at me.

“Who is it?” Aphrodite’s voice sounded weak and uncharacteristically frightened.

Darius touched her face. “It’s Zoey and Stark, my beauty. You know I wouldn’t allow anyone else within.”

Stark squeezed my hand, then let go. I sent a quick, silent pray up to Nyx, please help me be the High Priestess Aphrodite needs, and then I stepped into the role that still felt too big a job for me to fill. “I brought some washcloths and cool water,” I said briskly, moving to the side of the bed and dampening one of the cloths. “Keep your eyes closed. I’m gonna change this paper towel.”

“Okay,” she said.

Her eyes did stay closed. But they were still weeping blood. The scent of it came to me, and for a moment I thought I was gonna have an ohmygod-yummy-I-want-to-eat-that reaction. I didn’t.

Aphrodite didn’t smell like a human. I tried to remember how her blood had smelled last time she’d had a vision, and I drew a blank—which meant it probably hadn’t been normal then, either.

I pushed that knowledge aside and sat on the bed next to her.

“I brought a bottle of water, too. Do you want a drink yet?”

“Yes. Wine. Red. Darius has it.”

“My beauty, please drink water first.”

“Darius, the wine helps the pain. And bring me a Xanax out of my purse while you’re at it. That helps, too.”

Darius didn’t move. He just looked at me.

“Uh, Aphrodite, how about you choose between the Xanax and wine? Both together just don’t seem healthy,” I said.

“My mom does them both all the time,” she snapped. Then her lips pressed into a line. Aphrodite drew a deep breath and said. “Point made. I’ll stick with wine. I. Am. Not. My. Mother.”

“You’re definitely not your mom,” I agreed. Darius looked relieved and began to open the wine. “Okay, so, while your man is letting your wine breathe I want you to drink some of this water.”

Her lips curled up in what was almost her familiar sneer. “What do you know about letting wine breathe? You don’t even drink.”

“I watch TV. Jeesh, everyone with half a brain knows wine needs to breathe,” I said, guiding her hands to the open bottle of water and helping her drink it. “How was it this time? As bad as the last?”

When it was obvious she wasn’t going to answer, Darius did for her. “Worse,” he said. “Maybe you should come back after she’s rested.”

The Zoey who was Aphrodite’s friend totally agreed with him. But the Zoey who was High Priestess in Training, knew better. “She’ll be drunk and exhausted for the rest of tonight and probably into tomorrow. I need to hear about this vision before she’s too out of it to talk.”

“Z’s right,” Aphrodite said before Darius could protest. “And anyway, this one was short.” I was glad to see she’d drained the water bottle, but she reached out a blind hand and said, “Water’s gone. Where’s my wine?”

Darius brought her a wineglass that looked super simple, just crystal and a pretty shape, but it had a little Riedel mark written on the bottom, so I knew it was nice stemware from Williams-Sonoma. I knew that because Aphrodite had lectured me when I’d almost broken one a few days ago. (Like I care?) Anyway, Darius helped Aphrodite take a very long drink from the crystal glass. Then she exhaled slowly. “Get another bottle ready. I’ll need more.” He didn’t even glance at me for confirmation; he just looked defeated. “And tell Stark to quit lusting after your knives. He’s bowboy, not knifeboy.”

“Are they super heroes now?” I asked, trying (probably unsuccessfully) to be funny.

Her lips turned up in satisfaction, and for a second she looked way too much like her cat for comfort. “Well, mine’s a super hero in lots of ways. You’ll have to decide about yours on your own.”

“Vision,” Stark mouthed to me from across the room where he was, indeed, checking out the ornamental knives.

“Okay, so tell me what it was about this time,” I said.

“It was one of those damn death visions again. One where I was inside the guy getting killed.”

“Guy?” I felt a little bubble of panic build. Was it Stark?

“Relax, it wasn’t your guy or mine. It was Rephaim. I was inside him when he was killed. And, by the way,” she hesitated, taking another long drink of wine. “Birdboy has some weird shit in his head.”

“Give me the basics now. We’ll talk about the gossipy part later,” I said.

“Well, as per usual when I’m inside the person who’s getting slaughtered, the vision was confusing,” she said, pressing her hand over the washcloth and grimacing with pain.

“Just tell me what you remember,” I prompted. “How did he die?”