Mortal Gods (20 page)

Lux whined.

“What?” she asked the dog. “You don’t think I’m being fair?”

But she wasn’t, she supposed. Because it hadn’t been a game to either Andie or Henry, since the wolf attack. Really, not since Aidan died. So what if they laughed? So what if they enjoyed themselves? She couldn’t ask everyone to be as glum as she was. Heat tingled in her palm, and she drew her hand away from Lux fast. Not everyone could be as angry as she was, either.

Tires crunched up the thawing driveway, and Lux barked.

“Pizza’s here,” Cassandra said. Hermes blocked one of Andie’s blows and snatched her sword away without any effort. Andie squeaked and rubbed her wrist. A lesson within a lesson: they were training to fight, but not to fight gods.

“Finally,” Hermes said. “I’m literally starving.”

Andie laughed. “Athena would say that’s not funny.”

“You guys get un … armored.” Cassandra waved at them. “I’ll go tip the driver.” She opened the sliding glass door and went into the house, grabbing a small stack of cash off the table. She looked over the fives and tens a moment, wondering how much to tip. Was it a standard percentage of the bill, or based on the number of pizzas? Because the guy had to carry six.

When the front door clicked open, at first she thought she was hearing things. The clomping footsteps and sounds of bags dropped onto the floor didn’t make sense until she heard Odysseus’ voice. She tucked the money into her back pocket and walked into the entryway.

“You’re back.”

Odysseus smiled. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

“It’s just—sooner—” she said, and stopped. Athena was there, dusty and robotic as usual. But behind her—

She’d never seen him up close. They’d never been on the same level, or looked at each other eye to eye. His face she remembered, and the wild blond hair. But not his eyes—so bright green and curious.

“I thought you were going to kill him,” she said.

“Well I did, sort of,” Athena said. “I need to talk to my brother.” She slid around Odysseus, and Cassandra noted the limp. The sliding door whirred open and shut, and the sound of Hermes clapping her in an embrace was loud and happy. But Cassandra couldn’t take her eyes off of Achilles.

“What happened?” she asked Odysseus.

“She couldn’t kill him.”

She couldn’t kill him? What, did she have an attack of conscience? Impossible.

Odysseus read her expression and laughed.

“It wasn’t like that,” he said. “She didn’t change her mind.”

“Was she limping just now?”

“That’s my fault,” said Achilles. His voice was as surprising as his eyes: low and reasonable, laced with an Australian accent. “I’m harder to kill than she thought.” He smiled, and she wished it reminded her of a wolverine, but it was only a smile. “Nice to see you again, Cassandra. It
is
just Cassandra now, right? You don’t still go by Princess Cassandra?”

She glanced at Odysseus, and he raised his brows. So he was like them. He remembered their old lives.

“It’s Cassandra, God Killer Great and Terrible now,” she said. “What about you?”

“That’s a mouthful. I’m just Achilles still. Or Achilles of the Swift Feet, if you want to get Homeric.”

Odysseus clapped him on the shoulder.

“Try Achilles the Invincible,” he said. “Athena tried her damnedest. But he just won’t stay dead.”

Achilles the Invincible. Cassandra the God Killer. The two weapons of fate stared each other in the eye.

“No wonder she brought him back.”

*   *   *

Hermes peeked around the corner from the kitchen, staring slack-jawed at Achilles.

“Knock it off, will you,” Athena said. “It’s not like I brought home a bearded lady or a Fiji mermaid.”

Hermes gave her a look and squared his shoulders before going to inspect Achilles up close. As he circled, he puffed up like a cockerel, bumping into Achilles a little and looking him up and down. Hermes. Alpha male.

“He’s thinner,” Calypso said, rubbernecking over her shoulder. “Hermes, I mean. We’ve been trying to feed him. But his clothes are looser and looser.”

Athena breathed in vanilla and flowers. “Why don’t you let
me
worry about my brother.”

Calypso shrugged.

“I thought you were going to kill Achilles,” she said.

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Athena pushed past Calypso. She rolled her cracked shoulder and felt pain in her foot, full of clotted, closing holes. At least it was the same shoulder Ares had stabbed. Small blessings.

“How are you?” Calypso asked. “You don’t look well.”

“That’s a rude thing to say,” Athena said. But Calypso hadn’t meant anything by it. Besides, it was true. Athena looked like walking shit. She sucked air into her lungs. No feathers, but a suspicious, warm throb in her side told her they were up to something new. Her eyes zeroed in on the refrigerator. There had to be a beer in there.

“You brought him here.”

Athena winced at Henry’s voice. Of course he would be there. That’s how her luck was going. Maybe she could wedge herself into the crisper drawer until he left. Behind her, Lux whined, and his black muzzle poked into the fridge to sniff at the cold cuts.

“He looks better,” she said. She stroked the dog’s ears. A growl rumbled through her fingers even as she fed him a slice of roast beef. “He doesn’t trust me. Because you don’t trust me.” She looked up at Henry. “Sign of a good dog.”

Footsteps sounded behind them, and Henry stiffened. Achilles. She tensed and got ready to intervene in case they decided to go for each other’s throats. Henry wouldn’t remember Achilles’ face, of course. And Achilles hadn’t seen Hector since the night he’d ransomed the body outside Troy. And by then it wasn’t so much Hector’s body as a ragged slab of meat, no matter what the poets said.

Achilles broke the silence. The corner of his mouth curled up.

“Ody was right,” he said. “You’re not him. You don’t look a thing like him.”

Athena narrowed her eyes. Henry was the spitting image of Hector. Maybe Achilles was lying. Or maybe he was lying to himself. Either way, it seemed like a good thing.

“I don’t remember anything,” Henry said, and for a second Athena was ashamed of him. He sounded like a coward. But that wasn’t fair.

“I know,” Achilles said. “And that’s good.”

“I guess so.”

Hector and Achilles in her kitchen. Their fates had twined together so tightly. And now they maneuvered them face-to-face again. Why? To bury old hatchets? Maybe in each other’s backs.

The sliding door opened and closed around Andie. Her hair stuck to her forehead in sweaty black streaks.

“You’re back so soon,” she said. “We thought you were pizza. Who’s this guy?”

“Andie, Achilles. Achilles, Andie.”
You remember her. You killed her husband once.

Andie stiffened and turned white. “What is he doing here?”

Cassandra and Hermes edged past Achilles, Hermes to linger near the wall, Cassandra to stand by her brother. Beads of sweat crept down the back of Athena’s neck. Had the kitchen always been so small? She wanted to blow out the walls, let the late winter wind rush in and distract them with shivering. Where was Odysseus? And Calypso? Hermes caught her eye and made a face.
Tension in the mortal ranks
, that look said.
What are we going to do about it?

But she’d just gotten off of a plane. Couldn’t he think of something for once?

“Look.” Achilles put his hands in his pockets. “I don’t know what I’m doing here. I think I’m here to help you.”

Andie stepped beside Henry. “We don’t want your help.”

“I’ve heard that before. But you need it.”

“Why didn’t you kill him?” Andie hissed.

Athena rolled her eyes. “Why don’t you give it a try? He can’t be killed. At least, not easily.”

“He can’t be killed?” Hermes snorted. “Great. Now even mortals are more immortal than we are.” He sighed. “Well, he’s pretty enough. What are we going to do with him?”

“He broke my arm,” Athena said. “He can do worse to Hera and Ares. I figure, we use him like a bulldozer. It’ll keep Cassandra a hell of a lot safer.” Athena shifted her weight and caught sight of Odysseus and Calypso still in the entryway. Their heads were bent together intimately.

“A bulldozer?” Achilles said, and shrugged. “I’ve been called worse.”

“Athena,” said Andie. “He can’t stay. He killed Henry.”

“You don’t remember that.”

“But I know it.”

“Hey,” said Achilles. “I didn’t kill any Henry. I killed Hector.” He bared his teeth. “And Hector killed my friend. I should’ve killed him twice.”

Hermes winced and raised skeptical eyebrows, but Athena waved him off. Yeah, yeah, it was a mess. Henry and Achilles would never be pals. But both weapons were there, in the same room. She had them both. Why couldn’t anyone else see how everything was going according to plan? Why couldn’t they see that it would be over soon? The war would be won.

She wished Odysseus were paying attention. He could defuse things when no one else could. But he was still lingering in the entryway with Calypso, her hand pressed to his chest.

“This might not work, big sister.”

“It has to, little brother. It’s
meant
to.” And if Odysseus didn’t get his ass into the kitchen soon, she’d be reduced to stomping her feet.

Achilles pulled his hands from his pockets.

“If you don’t want me, you’re welcome to die. Again. I’m an instrument of battle, but I don’t need it. I sat out half a war in Troy and would’ve sat out all of it, had Hector not murdered Patroclus.”

“That’s a lie,” Henry said.

“A lie on lots of counts.” Odysseus walked in with Calypso behind him and threw an arm around Achilles’ shoulders. “Your pride would’ve dragged you back sooner or later. And in war, there’s no such thing as murder.”

“We can’t trust him,” Andie said. “You know we can’t. We should put him in a block of cement or something.”

Achilles laughed. “You’re brutal, girl,” he said. “I like you. But I’d like to see you try.”

Odysseus stood between them. “We can trust him. And we will. We’re not on opposite sides anymore. This isn’t Troy.” He looked at Achilles, who nodded.

“This isn’t Troy.”

*   *   *

“Knock knock.”

“Go away.”

“But I saved you a slice of pizza.” Hermes pushed a plate through the cracked open door and waggled it. Athena had been hiding in the darkness of her room for hours, not bothering to turn on a lamp when the sun went down, just trying to keep from hearing mortal drama and ignoring the throbbing of her mangled foot. Hermes flipped the light on and sat on the bed. He eyed her shoulder and leg, elevated on a pillow.

“You look rough,” he said.

If she looked rough, he looked worse. Skin stretched across his wrist as he passed her the plate. She couldn’t tell if the extra eating was helping at all.

But it might be slowing it down. Please, let it slow down.

“Here,” he said. “Eat up. Sausage, bacon, and onion. I don’t waste space with low-calorie veg.”

She snorted and picked it up. “Hermes. There’s a bite taken out of it.”

“Well what did you expect?” He swooped in and stole another bite. “I only ordered six, and you brought home two extra mouths.”

“This house is getting crowded.”

“Well.” Hermes lay back beside her. “We’ve got the space for one more boy. And such a pretty boy.” A low fever radiated off him. He hadn’t had it when she’d left, but they’d come and gone before.

“How are you feeling, brother?”

“Fine and finer,” he said. “Don’t worry about me.” He gestured to the plate. “Eat that before I do.”

She took a bite but barely tasted it.

“It’ll be over soon, Hermes. The war. I promise.”

He put an arm around her. “Why so blue? Suburban life getting you down?”

She rested her head against him. What had he said to her on the banks of the Green River, camped out on their way to find Circe’s witches in Chicago? They were obsolete gods in a dying world. He wanted peace. Comfort in his final days. If she’d left him there by the river, he might’ve accepted dying and had months of wine and beauty and decadence. But they would win, and he would live. So there would be plenty of time for that.

When she looked at him, her eyes burned.

“What should we do, after it’s over?” she asked. “Where should we go? Rome? Firenze? Amsterdam? Anywhere. You name it, and we’ll go. We’ll drink it dry. Throw money in the air. Roll around in satin.”

He laughed softly. “Someone’s been watching too many music videos. Not that it doesn’t sound nice.” He stole a bite of crust. “First things first. We have the weapons. What now?”

“I don’t know,” she said. “Train them. Get them ready. It won’t be long before Hera comes for Achilles. Her pride won’t let me have him, too.”

“Was that your plan all along?” he asked.

“No. My plan was that she’d come for us once she knew I’d killed him. But one is just as good as the other.”

There was a knock, and Odysseus poked his head in.

“Am I interrupting?” he asked.

“Only if you have bad news.”

“Just looking for blankets and an extra pillow.” He walked in and opened the door to Athena’s closet. Several quilts and a comforter still in the plastic sat on the top shelf, but there were no extra pillows. He grabbed a quilt and the comforter.

“For Achilles?” Athena asked.

“For me. I gave up my room to Achilles, and Calypso’s already in the extra room. I’m riding the comfy couch.”

“The couch?” Hermes asked, and made a face. “Why the couch? Athena’s bed’s more than big enough for two.”

She shoved the plate of pizza into her brother’s stomach. “So’s yours,” she said. “Get out.”

Hermes rolled off the bed and paused at the door. “Alas, Odysseus and I already tried that in the rain forest.” Odysseus laughed, and Hermes ducked out before Athena could throw a pillow.

“Here.” She tossed it at Odysseus instead. “Take one of mine. I only have the one head anyway.”

“Thanks.” He headed for the door then stopped. “Fancy some company? I’m not really that tired.”

“That’s because you passed out cold most of the way from Sydney.” She jerked her head toward the other side of the bed.