Honduras, Mali, Georgia, Burundi, Kashmir. Mali. Back to Georgia. By Saturday evening, I could barely keep my timezones straight. The days were punctuated by my visits back home, back to Emma's soft, warm curves in our bed beside me, but even those fell away once my hands were so full that I couldn't attend personally to every war effort and I had to send various minor gods in my place.

But I had to keep track of time. I couldn't let Saturday and Sunday slip by me. Emma had said that it would be okay if I was too busy, she didn't mind, it was only twenty-seven after all — and I was well aware that all of that was only a front for her real feelings. She would be devastated if I somehow managed to miss her birthday.

Plus, it would be a waste of the plans I'd made.

With a weary smile I hoisted my rifle higher on my shoulder. The sun had dipped below the horizon some time ago, and this farming village was crawling with soldiers setting up camp for the night. I ambled along the street, watching a few of them pile enemies' bodies onto a truck bed.

The atmosphere was industrious and energetic, yet in a way also nearly… tranquil. Relieved. These soldiers had been through hell and back in the past days and they were gladly looking forward to sleeping under a proper roof rather than in a foxhole. On my left, a medic rebandaged a crying man's stomach. On my right, a group of privates smoked cigarettes and played cards. One of them brought a steel flask to his mouth and tipped his head back.

Time to liven things up.

I pulled the brim of my helmet down a bit and walked on, towards the makeshift command post in an old farmhouse. No one paid me any attention; I had disguised myself as an unremarkable soldier of average size and build. I never felt quite like myself when I did that — if only for the terrible vantage point it gave me from this ridiculously short height — but the chaos I was looking for was not the kind that would result from a few platoons witnessing me in full armor.

When I arrived at the farmhouse, a sergeant was just entering the building with a folder tucked under his arm. I followed him inside, tasted the atmosphere — ah, good, there was some agitation already — and leaned my back against the hallway wall, propping one foot up. In the living room, the captain and his officers were discussing how many soldiers to post as defense for the night; one officer had been alerted to potential enemy presence in the vicinity.

"...west by southwest. Between these two villages," he was saying.

I breathed out and let some reluctance and skepticism hang in the air. This camp wasn't meant to last through the night — the soldiers' fate threads were at their fraying ends — and if their demise came about through internal conflict… all the more fun for me. As long as I could make it happen by midnight.

"That's farmland, Donashvili," another officer said. "There isn't any cover. Where would they hide?" The other officers murmured in agreement.

Come on. Let loose a little.

"Are you doubting my men, lieutenant?" Donashvili's voice held a bit more animosity now.

"Certainly not," the second officer said. Oh, I could feel the cynically raised eyebrow. That never got old. "I am doubting you."

There you go.

One corner of my mouth went up in a half smile. I was about to feed them more resentment when a screech sounded outside, and I frowned, set my foot on the floor, and walked outside. One of my birds was perched on a nearby roof. When I was close enough to receive its message, an image formed in my mind.

An open fridge, fresh perishables abandoned on the kitchen island, Emma's burgundy peacoat and blue woolen scarf thrown carelessly on a chair the way she always did. But no sign of her.

I felt my heart beat a little faster, and I clasped my rifle a little tighter, but tried to reason with myself. It didn't have to mean anything. Emma had probably moved out of the paranoid bird's sight while going to the bathroom, or she had received an urgent call from a friend, or...

Then again, they had never been wrong. They had helped me protect Emma more times than I cared to count and much more often than she even knew.

The bird spread its wings, landed on my shoulder and gave me another image: the exact same scene but hours later, the fridge light illuminating the dusk-darkened windows.

One second passed, and then I bellowed, "ENYO!" A crack formed in the pavement beneath my feet — now back to their regular size — in reaction to the volume of my voice. Now people were looking up.

The war goddess appeared at my side, sword in hand and with her flaming red hair flowing out from underneath her helmet. Her gleaming silver armor — the little she usually wore of it anyway — peeked out from underneath heavy layers of gray animal pelts, and on her thick dark eyelashes a few snowflakes rapidly melted away.

"Yes?" she said testily, not paying the gawking soldiers around us any mind.

I jerked my chin out impatiently, indicating the farmhouse. "Cover for me, will you?"

She let out an exasperated sigh. "Can this wait? I was just finishing up for the day in Ind—"

"I don't have time for arguments!" I fumed. The crack in the road lengthened. "Do your fucking job!"

Enyo looked at the ground, then lifted her gaze, irritable but deferential, to meet mine. "Fine. Up in flames?"

"I don't care. Whatever you want."

The last thing I saw before leaving was the medic, all but forgotten in my concern for Emma. He still held a piece of crimson bandage in his hand as he sat on a low wall with his elbows resting on his knees and his face buried in his lap. He had done all that he could.

My kitchen looked exactly as it had in the bird's image. I yanked off my pointless kevlar helmet, flicked my hand once — the groceries flew into the fridge, its door closing behind them — and turned to run breathlessly up the stairs three steps at a time, letting the rifle fade into thin air and back to its place in my palace armory.

"Emma? Emma!"

I waited at the top of the stairs, listening, but heard nothing but the sounds of light traffic outside and my pounding heart. There was no one in the house. Bounding into the master bedroom, I found the bed unmade, the door to the walk-in closet open and black tights and a pair of leather boots lying on the floor.

Going to her apartment was futile, I realized while I was doing it. Emma hadn't planned or wanted to leave, she had been taken. That much was clear. I called; her phone went straight to voicemail. I tried again, and again, despite knowing rationally that it wouldn't work, and eventually sent a text message, then another and another and another, my thumb racing over the touch screen more and more frantically.

Swearing under my breath, I sank down on her couch, never mind my dirty fatigues, and stared at the gallery wall. Months ago, she had made room near the center for a photo of the two of us smiling gleefully into the camera at a Finnish reindeer farm. Somewhat to the side was a photo Gabrielle had surreptitiously taken of us, me sinking my lips into Emma's hair while we watched a musician's performance. I remembered that moment, Emma leaning into me, my arms around her shoulders and our hands meeting against her abdomen.

With my thumb pressing on one temple and my middle finger on the other, I closed my eyes. Think, think. Where can she be? My eyes opened — damn, her apartment was tiny — the walls were closing in… I stood, swayed, stretched out a hand to right myself and pulled a bookcase down from the wall. Its contents rained onto the floor.

"Shit," I muttered, and regained my balance, but not a clear mind; I forgot to have the bookcase right itself and tidy up the mess before traveling to Olympus.

"Is Emma here?" I asked Phile, my voice catching, the moment I found her standing by a high table in the armory, even though I already knew the answer.

Phile's brows knitted together. "No, why would she be?" She lowered the spearhead that she'd been cleaning.

"Because she — she's gone." I rubbed my bloodied fingertips across my forehead. "She's gone, Phile, and I don't know where to look."

"Have you checked her friends' houses? From what I gathered this week she seems to spend a lot of t—"

"No, not yet," I interrupted anxiously, "and I will, I will, but she's gone and someone took her. The birds lost her."

Phile's knuckles went white around the blunt end of the spearhead. "Take me with you," she said in a taut voice — then, quieter and with the slightest incline of her head, "My lord."

I paced back and forth between the floor-to-ceiling shelves full of spears, javelins and scythes and ran a distraught hand through my hair. "No, Phile, no — I can't — I don't even know where I'm going."

I wanted to think clearly, to draw logical conclusions about who might have taken Emma, but my mind wasn't cooperating — wasn't that damned mind supposed to be divine? — and every rational thought was driven out by images of Emma being snatched away, Emma tied up somewhere, Emma maybe not tied up but being mind-controlled, Emma… Oh, what if it was worse, what if she had been w—

"Ares." Phile reached up to snap her fingers brazenly in front of my face, before I would turn to pace away from her again. "You can't rescue Emma if you're stressing yourself out."

"Right. You're right." I splayed my fingers out on the table and leaned into them a moment, drawing in a deep breath. I could do better, I had to do better than this… this fear. I had to find whoever took Emma and tear them limb from limb until all that was left of them would be their blood on the dull edge of my sword.

I knew though, realistically, it had to have been a god. Mortals couldn't have entered my house that easily and they certainly couldn't have evaded my birds. All the more satisfying to rip apart an immortal, I thought grimly.

I pushed myself away from the table and into action, grinding the wood beneath my fingertips into sawdust. "I want you to gather my children and have them help me look for Emma. But only the — the good ones… She's scared enough as it is."

Phile nodded and carefully set the spearhead on the table, back with the rest of the grimy pieces she'd been working on. "Of course. Right away. What will you do?"

I felt my jaw set and my eyes burn with surging wrath. "I'm going to find and kill the bastard that dared cross the god of war."

"Where is Hermes?" I barked at the first servant I saw in his palace.

He shrank back. It had been a long time since Hermes's servants had seen me this filthy — I hadn't had time to bathe for days.

"He's…" The servant stared at my blood-coated clothing. "He's on his soul rounds, your gr—"

His response faded as the palace dematerialized and the entrance to the Underworld took shape around me, or rather, the cave that led to the entrance. I wasn't about to go through the effort of crossing the rivers and convincing my uncle to let me in, if Hermes would eventually come back from Hades anyway.

Not that waiting came easy to me. I wanted to spring into action, scour the earth for Emma if I had to and take my revenge on her kidnapper, not sit here twiddling my thumbs until my brother finished his underworldly tour guide shift. But if any Olympian could find her, it would be Hermes.

I sat down on a low ledge. Stood up. Walked in circles. Kicked a pebble. Sat down. Cleaned the dirt from my fingernails with the tip of a knife. Stood up. Went deeper into the cave to see if Hermes was coming yet. Came back, grunted loudly with impatience, sat down again. And repeated that for hours until finally Hermes came walking leisurely in my direction, whistling as he did, the galling little happy-go-lucky imp.

I jumped to my feet. "Hermes! What the hell took you so long?"

Hermes stopped whistling when he came into my view. "Oh, hi, Ares. Are you here for your visit to Elisabetta?" His glance drifted from my bloodsoaked shirt to the mud on my cheeks and my darkened hair. "You might want to clean up a bit first."

"No, of course not," I said irritably. Elisabetta's knowledge of my divine status notwithstanding, she had never even seen me in armor, let alone dripping with blood. "I need you to find Emma."

He frowned. "What happened?"

"I don't know. If I did, I wouldn't need you to find her, would I?"

"Did you try calling her?"

"What a novel idea," I grumbled, very nearly rolling my eyes. "Thank you, god of communication! Of course I did."

"She's probably fine, Ares," Hermes said in an annoyingly calm tone. "Wouldn't she have summoned you if she was in danger?"

"Maybe she never got the chance!" I thrust my phone into his hand. "Here."

Hermes looked at it quizzically. "What do you want me to do with this?"

Since when was Hermes so slow on the uptake? "The signal!" I exclaimed. "You can trace the signal, can't you?"

He shook his head and gave the phone back. "Not if she didn't pick up. And not here, anyway." He lifted a hand to indicate the cave around us.

"Alright, let's go," I snapped. "My house."

The next moment, we were both standing in my hallway — and then a text message came in. How could I have been so stupid to sit and wait at Hades's entrance without reception for hours? Maybe Emma had tried calling me back. Although, now that I read her message…

I'm fine. Away for the weekend with friends.

"Look, Hermes," I said, and held the screen up for him to see.

"What?" he said with a shrug of his shoulder. "She says she's fine."

I strode into the kitchen, spun back to face Hermes, who had followed me, and gesticulated frantically. "Does this look like she's fine to you?"

Hermes looked around. "All I see is a coat. Will you stop panicking and just relax? You've spent too much time with your son lately. Emma is fine."

I started pacing again. "No, Hermes, I will not relax until you tell me where she is and I can punish whoever did this so hard that they will wish they were born mortal—"

"Um, Dad?"

I looked up to see Eros standing in the doorway. "What are you doing here?" I asked, too distressed to keep the acidity out of my voice.

He ran his long fingers through his golden hair. "I, uh, I heard from Harmonia that Emma's missing." He didn't show a single hint of his usual easy, sunny demeanor — instead, he looked guilty and helpless, and small, even though he was taller than Hermes despite having never grown past his teenage years. His wings were folded stiffly behind his back.

"And?" I demanded.

Hermes, meanwhile, reached for my phone. I gave it to him and resumed pacing, restless as I was.

"I think I might…" Eros looked away. "I have an idea of where she might be."

I halted abruptly and stared at him. "Go on, tell me," I snapped, when he didn't elaborate within a second.

"I… took her…" he started hesitantly.

"You what?" The words came out in a low growl.

"Mom told me to! You know how it is! I can't say no to her commands."

I instinctively balled my hands into fists. If Aphrodite had Emma… I could imagine a thousand ways in which she might have hurt her, and I didn't want to think about a single one of them. Damn it, I should have realized that she would find a way around the protections I'd put in place against her.

Eros's wings flinched at the sight of my clenched hands and he took a step back — then Hermes stepped between us, tossing a quick look over his shoulder at me before turning to my son.

"Eros, where did you take Emma?" he asked quietly.

"To the castle. But then I left and I don't know if they stayed there or not... Please, Dad, let me help." Eros's ringing voice sounded like he was close to crying. If only I had raised him… He would have been brave and dauntless and he would have stood up to — "I didn't want to do it! How can I help?"

"You've done enough," I bit off.

Hermes ignored me, the traitor. "You'd best go home, Eros," he said gently. "I'll let you know once we find out where Emma is."

Eros nodded, looking more crushed than ever. "I'm so sorry, Dad, I really am," he mumbled before spreading his wings and disappearing.

Hermes watched Eros go, then tossed my phone back at me. I caught it, sank down on one of the stools at the kitchen island and dropped my forehead onto my open palms. "How did I let this happen, Hermes?"

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself and go save your girl." He pointed at the phone. "I got the signal. She's at the Spanish villa."

I lifted my head to look at him. "The small one?"

"Yes. Go, Ares." He was already halfway gone. "I'll take care of your son."

The moment I hit Spanish ground a little after midnight and kicked in the large wooden doors to Aphrodite's villa (which was really only small by her standards), I sensed a belligerence. Good. Of course Emma would be furious, having been abducted for crying out loud — I could let it fuel me as I took my sweet revenge. Oh, where to start… I allowed myself to envision the exact way I would do so while I moved through the villa, following the heat.

But at least Emma was still alive, I realized, or I wouldn't have sensed her mortal anger. I could still save her, I could get her out of here and — there she was.

Kneeling next to a crystal coffee table, carefully plucking burned candles out of a white birthday cake.

The sight was so far removed from my expectations that I pulled up short a moment. And then I was next to her, hauling her to her feet and pulling her into my arms, and cradled her head against my chest with the greatest relief I had felt in all my years coursing through my veins.

"Oh, stellina, you're okay," I breathed, savoring the reassuring warmth of her skin against mine. So Hermes had been right after all. "You're okay, you're okay. Hell, Emma, I've never been this worried… Wait… Are you okay?"

Her fingertips were pressing into my forearm as if she were trying to tug it down. I pulled away a little, looked down at her averted face, and a chilling understanding came to me — her warmth wasn't body heat. It wasn't even really physical warmth. It was anger, and it wasn't receding, it was only getting worse as I held her — it was directed at me.

"Emma... " I pleaded softly. "Is it because I wasn't there?"

"Let go of me, Noah," she muttered, struggling against my arms.

Noah?

My arms dropped instantly and I stepped back. "Emma?" I whispered. Why was she calling me Noah? Why was she angry with me? And why would she not even look at me?

"Noah's here?" a voice sounded from behind me. Emma's voice.

I spun, bewildered, and saw feet coming down a staircase — Emma's feet, Emma's legs, Emma's hips, I would recognize her anywhere — and looked behind me, at the other Emma's face, still turned away, then back to the stairs, which Emma most definitely was descending.

"You… what? Emms?" What the hell was happening? Why, no, how were there two of them?

And then she came racing down the last few steps. "You — fucking — asshole!" she yelled, raising her fists up high to hammer me on the chest with more force than she had ever displayed in our sparring sessions. "What the fuck are you doing here? What are you even wearing?"

I grasped her wrists to stop her, still perplexed as I looked back and forth between the two Emmas. "Wh-what did I do?" I managed to sputter.

And who was she? She wasn't Emma, I realized now that she was watching me with a fiery expression I had never seen on my girlfriend — and neither was the other one, the one that had called me Noah and had crossed her arms uneasily, still refusing to look at me.

"You know what you did," the girl in front of me said accusingly. She tried hard to wrestle her wrists free from my grasp and — Oh. I knew who they were. I had come to know Emma's friends well enough over the past year. The moment the realization hit me, they became their own selves again.

I dropped my hands. Gabrielle rubbed her wrists, glaring at me with such ferocity I would've been impressed, had I not been so thoroughly baffled by the situation. "I don't… I don't know," I said.

Was this… Aphrodite's doing? But why? If she was jealous, why had she involved Emma's friends? Why disguise them as her? What were they accusing me of?

Most importantly, where the hell was the real Emma?

Then I saw a figure in my peripheral vision, someone watching the scene from the adjoining room. I dashed towards her.

And staggered to a halt when I got close enough to see that it wasn't her.

She looked like Emma, standing there in front of the enormous fireplace. But her face was gaunt, her hair was dull, and there were dark shadows under her eyes. The fire behind her flickered and rendered her cheekbones even sharper against those hollow cheeks.

Impossible.

"Ginny?" I gasped, faltering backwards.

Her dry lips twitched. She said nothing.

"But she's dead... You're dead." I cast my hands about for purchase, found nothing and nearly lost my footing, but steadied myself just in time.

Virginia just watched me stumble, bearing a rancorous expression that wasn't like her at all. It wasn't like her — because it wasn't her.

Of course she's dead.

"Em?" I croaked.

Her lips parted, as if she were going to speak, but still she stayed quiet, still she looked at me with those agonized eyes even as her face became her own again.

I couldn't blame her. I had called her by a name that wasn't hers. But as hurt and bitter as she looked, she didn't seem confused or surprised…

I had never told Emma anything about Virginia, or about London, or even about the war. And yet — she knew. She didn't have to say a word to tell me she knew.

A voice cut through the silence — "Ah, but this is her, Aphrodite! Emma is my eternity!" the love goddess parroted mockingly. I turned to see her getting up from a piano bench, and she added in a sneering voice, "And yet you couldn't recognize her if your life depended on it."

I could only stare at her in disbelief.

"You always used to like my illusions, Ares," Aphrodite said. She smiled smugly. "Remember when we were in that rose garden and I—"

"Shut up," I muttered. "Shut up or I'll rip out your vocal cords."

"Oh, Ares. You and your threats." She shuddered delicately. "You never can get yourself to hurt me, though."

"There's a first time for everything."

I looked over my shoulder at Emma and took a protective step back towards her. She only moved away, closer to… to Aphrodite. As if she was trusting the goddess who had taken her.

"She got to you," I said, my voice sounding strangled to my own ears.

Aphrodite spoke before Emma even had the chance to react. "I didn't have to get to her, Ares. I didn't tell her a single lie."

"Why?" I choked out, turning back to Aphrodite. "Are you that jealous? Still?"

Even indignation looked exquisite on her. "You self-centered, disrespectful, pathetic excuse for a god," she spat. "You think you know everything about love, don't you? You think that all of this is an expression of my love for you. You love chaos and conflict, so mine must be about you. But you know nothing. You have never truly loved."

"That's not tr—"

"And now you have deluded yourself into thinking you love Emma — no, you have deluded her into thinking that, but you, with all your arrogance, haven't deluded yourself. You have always known that she is an artifice. And still you believe yourself above me, above true love. Entitled sack of shit."

Seconds passed. The crackle of the fire and the thumping of my heart were the only sounds as Aphrodite stared icily at me and — I looked over my shoulder again — Emma watched the two of us, her slightly trembling lower lip caught between her teeth.

I wanted to throttle Aphrodite. I wanted to keep my promise to myself to take my revenge on Emma's abductor and rain down violence on her. I wanted to adorn the walls of her excessive villa with her golden blood as my sword slashed into her impeccable body. I wanted her to beg for my mercy, a thousand times over, and I wanted to withhold it from her every single time.

My heart beat faster and faster, but I was nailed to the ground. Emma was there. I had to keep her and her friends safe — safe from me.

Aphrodite would have to wait. I had eternity to torture her. I seized Emma and left.

Emma backed away, her gaze withering, the moment we materialized in the townhouse living room. The look of pure hatred on her face was the same one that my own family had given me for thousands of years. Her voice, when she finally spoke, was soft as a whisper but hit me with the force of a cannonball —

"Fuck you."