Tori Karacis knows it’s going to be a bad day when she wakes to two shocking realizations. One, she's in bed with a very naked Apollo, having lost her struggle to resist her attraction to him. Two, she still has her wings. Not dinky little fairy wings, but full-scale, cover-’em-with-a-trenchcoat bat wings.
Apollo suggests consulting the Gray Sisters about the wing problem. Those cannibalistic, psychopathic oracles who—even with only one tooth and one eye among them—manage to see too much. For one thing, they’ve foreseen a Rapture, zombie-apocalypse, biblical-plague, hellgates-busted-open end of the world.
While the Sisters are perfectly cool with death and destruction, the thinning of the human herd doesn't sit well with them at all. They’ll help Tori. All she has to do is save the world.
Tori and her team trace the origin of the plagues to New York City, which is under quarantine and martial law (as if that would enough to stop the influx of gods and gorgons, dragons and demons). But as death threatens from the outside, betrayal lurks within Tori’s circle of friends.
And nobody is safe. Nobody.