Jax was arranging a bouquet of gardenias when his shop exploded.

Glass rained down like teardrops, scattering under golden birdcages and clay pots stuffed with horn-shaped flowers. Jax set down the ribbon. He could hear a piercing scream, followed by something that could have been either claws or teeth ripping into flesh. Across the counter, the customer adjusted his monocle.

"Oh, dear," he said. "Loud today, isn't it?"

"It's worse in the evenings," Jax said.

The customer nodded at the scattered glass. "Hope you have insurance."

"Of course," Jax said, knowing full well that he did not have insurance, nor even a working kettle. "Do you want these gift-wrapped?"

"If that's not too much trouble."

Jax cut a piece of pink ribbon, humming as he tied it. "Blooms and Brooms" was quiet today; his assistant, Sara, had begged off about an hour ago, citing a nasty green rash (Sara was always suffering from a rare but curable disease; she'd had dragon boils just last week). Only Jax remained, along with two dozen plants and a pegapiglet.

More glass shattered. He glanced at Bibi.

The winged piglet was curled up on his desk, her snout tucked against her soft pink belly. Her snoring had taken on a dramatic, nasally quality since the customer entered the shop. Jax would have bet every gold coin in his purse that she was listening to every word they said. Not, he reflected, that there were many coins. But still.

"Here you go." Jax lay the flowers carefully on the counter, avoiding any glass. "That'll be twenty gold durla."

The man didn't reach for his purse. "Is it true?"

"What?" Jax asked.

"Are you...?" The man looked sheepish. "You know."

Jax sighed. "Yeah. I'm his cousin."

He didn't need to specify who. He only had the one cousin, and anyway, nobody was more famous than Persophecles; it was like being related to a minor god. The customer leaned forward, squishing the gardenias.

"Wow." The customer shifted, and the gardenias took on a flat pancake look. "I'm such a big fan of him. That thing he did with the gorgon? And destroying the nixie lair? That was so cool. I still think about it."

Jax looked at the crushed gardenias. "Did you want these put in a box?"

"What's he like?" the customer asked.

Jax shifted the bouquet. "Persophecles?"

How to describe his older cousin? Jax frowned. Once, he'd worked up the courage to ask out Maggie Matheson, the mapmaker's daughter; Percy had insisted on accompanying them on their picnic and lounged around shirtless, licking cheesecake off his fingers. Percy and Maggie had gone out for a month after that and then his cousin had broken Maggie's heart in a six-word letter. Jax still couldn't eat cheesecake.

Jax rummaged in a drawer. "He's just like any older cousin, I suppose."

The customer nodded, apparently satisfied. "I thought he'd be like that. No big head. No ego. Just your everyday man that comes home to his family."

Jax pulled out an oat cake. "Right."

"And tomorrow's the big day, isn't it?"

"Yup," Jax said.

The customer rifled in his pocket. "Do you think Persophecles would sign my pocket square?"

"I think he's a bit busy," Jax said, looking pointedly at the shattered windows. Screams drifted through the cavernous space, accompanied by the sound of metal striking flesh. The customer visibly deflated.

"Oh." The man shoved the pocket square away. "Right. Some other time, then."

Jax turned to the desk. "Percy doesn't really do autographs."

He ripped a corner off the oat biscuit, offering it to Bibi; the pegapiglet opened her mouth just wide enough to swallow it. Then she went back to snoring loudly. Traitor, Jax thought fondly, stroking her soft ear.

The customer leaned forward. "Is that what you call him? Percy?" He shook his head. "I can't believe you actually know him."

"Are you sure you don't want a box?"

"What?" The customer blinked. "Oh, no. No. I'll just take them like this. I—" He started forward, hissing out a breath as something crunched under his feet. He hopped up and down, clutching his sandal. "Ow. Bugger. That really bloody hurt."

Tears welled up in his eyes. A spike of panic shot through Jax.

He started towards the customer. "Wait, don't—"

The tear fell. The customer touched his face, his eyes wide. Jax watched as the droplet rolled down his cheek, dangling from his chin like a pearl earring.

"Blast," Jax muttered.

The ceiling exploded.

Claws ripped through the wood. A terrible roar shook the room, followed by the overwhelming smell of rot and sulfur. The monster slithered through the ceiling, a gelatinous, worm-like thing with milky eyes; it raised its head, snuffling at the air.

Jax couldn't breathe.

He seized Bibi off the desk, his heart rocketing in his chest. The customer scrabbled backwards on his hands and knees. Red speckled his wrists.

"Do something!" the customer demanded.

Blood roared in his ears. "Like what?"

"Anything."

Jax seized a green spray bottle and threw it; it bounced off the monster's shoulder. The creature roared and spun to face him. Jax ripped a wooden trellis from a plant pot, holding it out like a shield; his lunch — a cheese-and-cucumber sandwich — was threatening to crawl back up his throat. His hand was so sweaty that the wooden stick slipped.

"We're going to die." The customer was moaning, rocking back and forth. "We're going to die, we're going to—"

The door burst in.

A young man appeared, his handsome face coated in dust and dried blood. His golden hair shone in the din. He was wielding a silver sword, and his shirt was half-torn, revealing the sort of muscles that existed only in romance novels. He could have been an avenging angel, Jax thought, or perhaps a sun god.

"Jax." Percy sounded exasperated. "What on earth are you doing? Get under the table."

Jax got under the table.

He pulled his knees into his chest. Metal struck flesh; the monster roared. He could see Percy's sandals darting effortlessly across the floor, parrying and slicing and feinting. This was what his cousin was made for, Jax thought: the song of battle.

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror.

His face was very pale against his dark hair, his lanky frame awkwardly squished beneath the table. Was that dirt or freckles on his cheeks? It was impossible to tell. He could see the knobs of his spine through his shirt.

Persophecles let out a triumphant cry. There was a thud, and the smell of sulfur grew stronger. Something wet soaked into his sandals. Jax looked down just in time to see green pus encasing his foot, and he gagged, scrambling out from beneath the table.

"Wow." The customer stared up at Persophecles in adoration. "Wow. That was incredible. I'm such a big fan of yours."

Persophecles wiped his sword on his trousers. "Just doing my job."

"Can I touch your sword?" the customer asked.

He held out a tentative hand. Persophecles ignored him, pivoting to survey the room; his cousin's handsome face furrowed. Infuriatingly, Jax thought, this only made him look more handsome and brooding. Some people were like that.

Persophecles waved a calloused hand. "You should board up these windows, Jaxy. It's not safe to have this much glass."

Jax cradled Bibi close to his chest. "Fine."

"And maybe board up the roof, too," Persophecles added.

Jax felt it was pointless to mention that he worked in a flower shop, and that most plants needed light to survive. "I'll consider it."

"You know better than to cry," Persophecles said, kicking at the monster's carcass. "It attracts them."

"It wasn't—" Jax cut off. Again; no point in arguing. "Yeah. I know."

Persophecles' blue eyes were very bright. "I just hate to think of you here alone. You're a sitting duck. These monsters are strong." He picked up the discarded wooden trellis. "What were you doing with this, anyway? You weren't thinking of using it, were you?"

Jax sighed. "Well, I—"

"This is so embarrassing," the customer cut in, holding up a bit of fabric, "but would you mind signing my pocket square? My wife will die."

"I already told you," Jax said. "Percy doesn't do autographs."

His cousin met his gaze. Something flickered in Persophecles' eyes — the same look he'd had when Jax had asked Maggie Matheson out, when his mother had been so delighted that she'd made them sticky buns and lemonade for their picnic — and then it was gone. His cousin smiled, clapping Jax on the shoulder.

"Of course I can," Persophecles said. "Bring it here."