“A few blocks farther on, we found Terminus, his World War I greatcoat peppered with shrapnel holes, his nose broken clean off his marble face. Crouching behind his pedestal was a little girl—his helper, Julia, I presumed—clutching a steak knife.
Terminus turned on us with such fury I feared he would zap us into stacks of customs declaration forms.
“Oh, it’s you,” he grumbled. “My borders have failed. I hope you’ve brought help.”
I looked at the terrified girl behind him, feral and fierce and ready to spring. I wondered who was protecting whom. “Ah…maybe?”
The old god’s face hardened a bit more, which shouldn’t have been possible for stone. “I see. Well. I’ve concentrated the last bits of my power here, around Julia. They may destroy New Rome, but they will not harm this girl!”
“Or this statue!” said Julia.”