Midlife Olympians

Some people get Green Eggs and Ham as a bedtime story, I got tales of gods and Titans, nymphs, demigods, and Oracles. My Greek grandparents not only told me stories. They were so proud of their culture and heritage, making sure I was fluent in both reading and writing the language.

When I quit my job as a fake fortuneteller to become Oracle, of course the job came with strings attached. Olympic-sized strings. I’m adjusting to my life as Oracle with new friends, a pet monster, and a smoking hot god at my side. Things are looking up and I’m learning the ropes. Mostly.

Just when I thought I had it all, something foul is afoot in Milagro Bay. On our morning run, Cerberus retrieved the unlikeliest of gifts—a foot with a limited-edition sneaker that could belong to none other than Lucky Joey, one of Carlo’s crew. Worse than the murder of my ex’s erstwhile friend, Luke is missing.

When I quit my gig as a fortune teller to become Oracle, I should've known there'd be strings attached. Olympic-sized strings. After Apollo freed the Titans from Tartarus, we waited for his next move. And waited. And waited. The days turned into weeks, weeks turned into months, months turned into years. However, we didn’t sit around twiddling our thumbs. We trained. The Supernatural Council of the Americas met. We coordinated with ISEA to prepare without alarming the mundanes. Bringing mundane attention, therefore, belief and the power that yields to Apollo was the last thing we wanted to do.