Being turned into a Super Duper . . . maybe I was going to hell for that. But was it worse to not be human or to turn away from a chance at life? Really, if I hadn’t fought to live, was that not like a form of passive suicide? Which was also wrong according to my mother and the Church of the Firsts.

That worry slid off me until there was only one left. My mother. Her condemnation, and her belief that I no longer existed. That I was no longer her daughter, all because I didn’t look right. I frowned and stared out into the dark night. I tried to put myself in her position and realized if Tad had come to me, if he’d told me he was a Super Duper, I never would have turned from him. Even though I feared the supernatural, I never would have turned from someone I loved.

The fact that she’d turned away from Tad and me when we’d needed her most . . . Perhaps I needed to reevaluate my belief system if that was the kind of people it produced.

I thought about what Dad had said. That Tad and I were the babies they’d fought for. Was there something in Mom’s past that drove her to the Firsts? Something she thought she could protect herself with by being better than anyone else?

I pulled into the bakery, feeling hopeful for the first time since I’d agreed to Merlin turning me. “Come on, Ernie. Time to bake.”

He grinned up at me. “Now you’re talking, honey butt.”

“That is a horrible nickname.” I let us back into the bakery. I flicked lights on and got the oven heating up.

“Well, until something better comes along, I’ll just keep trying them on for size. Baby.”

I snorted. “That’s off-limits. Roger used to call me baby.”

“Hmm. That the ex?”

“Yes. The ex who couldn’t even wait for me to kick the bucket before finding a new girlfriend. And telling me what he was going to do with my life insurance.”

“He didn’t.”

“Yeah, he did.”

Ernie sat himself on the top of the counter near the sink. “He sounds like a total dick of epic proportions.”

I grinned. “I’d hardly call it epic. More like forgettable.”

Ernie’s jaw dropped and he fell backward. “Oh, goddess. Tell me. I love gossip.”

That was something I was beginning to see. So while I got things going, I told him all about Roger, the story punctuated by the opening and closing of the fridge and Ernie’s guffaws of laughter.

Within a few short minutes I had the food processor going full tilt, the loud purr of the powerful, compact engine doing that same weird vibration to my skin. This time, though, I kept my hands on the sides of the bowl. In the past, I’d always done things by feel in my bakery. With the extrasensory issues going on, that intuition was heightened even further. I dumped walnuts and cinnamon in and pulsed them until they were partially chopped. I actually felt it when the consistency was spot on and flicked the processor off. The scent that rose up as I lifted the lid made me close my eyes. Cinnamon, that had Remo all over it.

“You’re thinking about the mob boss again.”

My eyes flew open. “How do you know?”

Ernie winked. “Heart rate, flushed skin, parting of the lips. You’re so hot for him you can’t hide it.”

I cleared my throat. “I need the phyllo dough.” I pulled it out of the fridge and rolled it out, covering it with a damp towel.

“What are you making?”

“You can’t guess? I thought the phyllo would be a hint.” I grinned at him and his eyes widened.

“Tell me you’re making baklava!” he screamed, his voice pitching far higher than I thought possible, as his fists shot in the air as if he’d just won the Super Bowl.

“I’m making baklava!” I yelled back at him, laughing. He spun around a few times in the air, and I went back to my baking.

Once I had the pastry in the oven, I let myself stop the distractions. “Achilles has Tad. Another trap for me and one I won’t walk away from.”

Ernie flew away from the oven door, where he’d been staring at the pastries. “Yes and yes. No one else would take him.”

“Remo might,” I said softly, scraping the remaining dough off the counter and tossing it into the sink.

“The mob boss? Why would he do that? Doesn’t he want to get in your panties?”

I flushed, and dusted off my hands before I glanced up at him. “He wants me to . . . side with him. Thinks he can keep me safe from Achilles.”

Ernie lowered himself to a clean section of counter and plopped himself down. “Doubt that he can keep you safe at all. Thing with heroes, the originals at least, is that they aren’t really human either. Achilles’s mom was a nymph, and his dad one of the original bad boys. Just like the other heroes, he has a background that all but screams what he’s going to do with his life. They’re made or born to kill monsters and perform ridiculous tasks. That being said, you need to get Tad away from Achilles sooner rather than later.”

“But aren’t the heroes supposed to be good guys? Shouldn’t Tad be safe with him?” Even as I said it, I knew that was why I hadn’t been terribly worried. In my head, even though Achilles hated me, I didn’t think he would hurt an innocent. That wasn’t how heroes did things. Right?

Ernie shook his head. “Tad is a bad guy to Achilles. To all the heroes, what you look like dictates which camp you are in. Which is why they particularly hate sirens. You confuse them at the best of times with your beauty, which to them should make you good. But then you can turn around and kill people, which makes you bad. They are black and white. You are serious shades of gray.”