Qebhet shook her head. "No, they had you as a Jane Doe. A friend fabricated an ID so we could claim your body. Luna was very convincing as your sister." She hugged her arms; the persistent chill was starting to nip, raising gooseflesh beneath her thick sweater. She had learned to tolerate refrigerated spaces as a necessity of her work, but she had never learned to love them: she was too much a daughter of the Nile, too serpent-blooded, to thrive in the cold. But she didn't want to rush Hecate, who was still adjusting moment by moment to the onslaught from her reawakening senses.
"Oh – your pantheon's been told, though," she said, remembering abruptly Apollo and his urgent business with Hecate, the outrage and the confusion that had followed Lady Persephone's news of the murder. "Apollo seemed impatient to speak to you."