Ungodly: A Novel (The Goddess War) (25 page)

I’ll let you in. We can talk in the kitchen.

Minutes later, Cassandra had robed up and sat across the kitchen table from a distracted-looking Athena. The goddess looked like crap. Worn around the edges. And she hadn’t bothered to clean herself up: the shirt she wore had a fat bloodstain on the side and she hadn’t put on a jacket.

“I gather you’ve been gone since Olympus,” Athena said quietly.

“Yep. And until two days ago, I thought you were lying dead at the foot of it.”

“You thought?” Athena asked. “Or you hoped?”

Cassandra’s palms tingled and she pulled them into her lap. She shrugged. It didn’t make much difference.

“Are you all right?” Athena asked. “You don’t look all right.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’m here.”

“Do you want me to smooth things over with your parents? I could, you know.”

Athena could charm them. Use her god’s tricks to muddle their brains and make everything seem like a reasonable dream.

“No. I don’t want you to do that.” Cassandra nodded toward the bloodstain. “How are your feathers?”

Athena pulled the shirt away from her side. The darkest part of the stain stuck to her skin. She was still bleeding.

“They’re a bitch, as usual. Had a little break from them in the underworld. But now they’re back. And they’re angry.” She smiled. Talk of feathers shouldn’t have made her smile.

“You were in the underworld?”

Athena nodded. “Odysseus is alive.”

Cassandra straightened in her chair. It couldn’t be. She’d been there. She’d seen that sword fly into his chest and come out his back. A brief flare of joy rose in her chest; she nearly jumped up to go see him. But it flickered out. All she could see was the hope in Calypso’s eyes.

“Ares saved him, the bastard,” Athena went on. “He made a deal, and saved him, and got us all out of there in one piece.” Athena’s eyes stayed on the blood on her shirt; her fingers fidgeted with it. When she looked up, she didn’t look anything like the Athena Cassandra remembered. “That’s why Ares is here, Cassandra. That’s why I let him come. Because he gave me Odysseus back.”

“And Aphrodite?”

“She stayed below. The underworld holds everything in check, it seems. Or at least it slows everything down. Down there, she’s barely crazy.”

“She’ll always be crazy,” Cassandra said. The heat from her hands felt like it might send the whole table up in flames. She clasped them together tight.

“I know. The deal is just a deal, Cassandra. It doesn’t mean they’re forgiven.”

Cassandra saw the way the goddess’ eyes tracked up and down her shaking arms.

“Odysseus will want to see you,” Athena said. “He’ll be … glad. That you’re okay. But…”

“But what?”

“Thanatos told us. About Calypso. That Alecto killed her.”

“Alecto … God,” Cassandra whispered, and closed her eyes. How could she ever face Odysseus, after what she’d done?

“Is he—?” she started to ask, but didn’t know how to finish. Of course he wasn’t all right. Odysseus had loved Calypso in his way. If he ever found out what Cassandra had done, he might strangle her.

“It’ll take time,” Athena said. “A visit from you would be welcome.”

“Soon,” Cassandra lied. “Maybe tomorrow.”

“Why are you back?” Athena asked calmly. “Thanatos said you were seeking Hades. To kill him. You should have come looking for me instead. Hades was with us, in the underworld.”

“I must have just missed him,” Cassandra said. “The blood of a Fury sent us to his home in Athens.”

“I ruined your plans again.”

“No. It doesn’t matter. I don’t—” Cassandra started, and stopped. “I’m done.”

Athena looked relieved, as if she thought Cassandra might grab her throat and demand another boat ride to the underworld.

“You seem tired,” Athena said. “But you must be glad to be home. How was it, seeing Andie and Henry?”

“They’re together now,” Cassandra said, and her arms began to relax. “A couple. They think I don’t know. That I can’t tell. But the way they look at each other. When Henry looks at Andie, the scar on his cheek turns bright red. I can’t decide if it’s gross or sweet.”

Athena chuckled, another thing about her that was softer than Cassandra remembered. Whatever happened in the underworld was transforming. Or perhaps seeing a sword through Odysseus was transforming.

“Did you know?” Cassandra asked.

“I just found out. We got back today, too.”

“You and me,” Cassandra said. “Blown dimensions apart after Olympus only to come home on the same day. Does that feel like the hand of Fate to you?”

The light in the hall flipped on, and Cassandra’s dad poked a groggy head into the kitchen. When he saw Athena, he woke up fast and his face hardened.

“It’s her first night home,” he said. “She needs to sleep.”

“I know,” Athena nodded. “I just wanted to make sure she’d settled in okay.”

“That’s not your responsibility. You need to leave now.”

Cassandra watched as Athena stood to go. Her dad had never spoken to her like that before. She really wasn’t using any tricks.

“How did she get in?” her dad asked after Athena was gone.

“I let her in the back door. She just wanted to talk a minute.”

Her dad huffed. “I’ve got to talk to Henry about that fat dog of his. He’s really starting to slack off.”

20

HELL-BENT FOR LEATHER

They approached with stealth. A whisper of sand here, a glimmer of steel there. Just slow enough to make her doubt what she’d heard and seen, to convince her she was dreaming or perhaps just truly getting old. She’d felt safe in the desert for so long. Underneath the same star-speckled black sky. The darkness cloaked her; it settled on her weathered, stretched skin like the softest of blankets. So she was confident, and comfortable. Levelheaded enough to talk herself out of gleams from the shadows. Enough even to push it away as imagination when she felt their feet press her edges into the sand. Not even the sting of that first slice woke her completely. It took four, five, six, seven, the shears cutting so fast and sharp that it felt like being burned by hot pokers.

And by then it was too late.

*   *   *

“Demeter!”

Athena jerked upright in her bed. Her arms struck out, idiotic panic punches at nothing but the warm, quiet air of her room. Had she screamed? She thought she’d heard herself shout as she woke, or maybe that’s what woke her. She felt back for her pillow. It was soaked with sweat. Her hair, too, was wet. And when she made to swing her legs out of bed they were hopelessly tangled in damp sheets. She turned for the bedside lamp and saw a thin, moonlit face standing inside her door.

“Hermes.” She flipped on the light and rubbed her hand across her face. “Did I wake you? Did I scream?”

“We both did.” Hermes was pale. The whole of him was covered with sweat. His T-shirt stuck to every hollow of every rib.

“We both?” Athena extricated her legs from the sheets and slipped her feet out.

“Demeter in the desert,” she said, and Hermes nodded. “She was asleep and they—they cut her apart with their shears.” She saw it again as soon as she said it. Twin silver blades, racing through Demeter’s skin. Clean cuts all. They moved through her like razors through wrapping paper, so fast it took seconds before the wounds realized they should bleed.

“They were so sharp,” Hermes whispered.

She looked at him. He was more than terrified; he was close to crying. She wondered if he could taste the blood and desert dust in his mouth like she could.

“It doesn’t mean anything,” she said. “It doesn’t mean it’s true. It’s just a dream.”

“We don’t have just dreams.”

No, they didn’t. And certainly not the same dream at the same time. The Moirae were doing it. They were killing them all.
Aunt Demeter …
Athena closed her eyes.

“Do you think they did it because of what happened at Hephaestus’ house?” Hermes asked, shaking. “Because I stood against them? Because we fought?”

“I think they did it because they’re mad,” she said quietly. “And I mean mad like nuts. Not because they were angry with you.”

“But they were. They had to be. You didn’t see the way they broke Hephaestus’ bones. The way Atropos
smiled—
” His breath hitched and he hugged himself. Sweat beaded on his forehead and upper lip.

“Hermes.”

“You didn’t see!” And just like that he collapsed at her feet.

“Hermes!”

He flopped and jerked and bit his tongue; blood shone red and slick on his teeth and lips. She shouted for Odysseus, for anyone as she held him down, ignoring how hot his skin was and how many bones she could feel.

“Is this it?” she heard herself screaming, and it made no sense. He was sick, that’s all. He was sick and he’d upset himself. Any moment he’d be still, and take a breath, and his eyes would roll back the right way.

“Oh, shit.”

She looked up; Odysseus stood over them.

“Help us!” she shouted, and he knelt and took Hermes’ head in his hands.

“He’s burning up. Hermes, can you hear me?” He slapped his cheeks lightly. Hermes bucked in her grip.

“Give him here.” Ares bent and scooped him up, keeping his head clear of Hermes’ flailing arms. “Get ice.”

“What are you doing?” Athena blinked confusedly as Odysseus dashed for the kitchen.

“We’ve got to get his fever down,” Ares said.

Athena darted past them in the hall and opened the bathroom door wide, noting absently that Hermes had found time to fix it since she’d ripped it off its hinges. After the first time she’d heard him fall.

She tore half the shower curtain off its rings pulling it back.

“Cold water,” Ares barked. “Push the plug down.”

Ares set their brother down gently. The water touching his bandaged hand churned pink and Athena winced when he splashed it over Hermes’ thin arms and shoulders. It must’ve been so cold. Such a shock.

But Hermes didn’t shiver. He didn’t take great gulps of air. He lay in the frigid water as though he was dead. But at least he stopped thrashing.

“What’s going on?”

Athena glanced over her shoulder and saw Thanatos standing in the doorway with wide eyes.

“You get out!” she shouted. “Get out of my house! Now!”

He backed out slowly. Goddamned Death.

“Ice,” Odysseus said. He emptied three trays of cubes into the bath before Ares stopped him on the fourth.

“Keep that one. We might need it later. And refill the rest.”

“Is it working?” Athena asked. “Is he cooler?”

“I don’t know.”

Time flattened. The sound of water rushing into the tub went on and on into forever, and she couldn’t tell if it cooled her brother, even as it cooled the air against her face. Her mind spun, it raced ahead and put coins over his eyes. She could actually see them, silver circles sunk into his cheeks.

Ares pressed ice to the back of Hermes’ neck, and his lids fluttered. They fluttered, and the eyes underneath swiveled back and forth, slower and slower, until he blinked. When he opened his eyes again, they fixed on her face.

“Hey,” Athena said.

“Hey yourself,” Hermes whispered. “This feels nice.”

Her heart thudded in her throat, and she gripped Odysseus’ fingers where they held her shoulder. Hermes was fine. It was just a scare. Just a bad night after too much running and too many bad dreams.

“Ares,” Athena said. “How did you know to do this?”

“You knew it, too. You just panicked.” He pressed more ice to Hermes’ forehead. “You love him too much,” he said gruffly. “It makes you stupid.”

The pulse in Ares’ neck jumped like a grasshopper. His expression was as worried as theirs. He loved their brother, too, she realized. No matter what he said.

*   *   *

They lay Hermes onto the couch with ice packs and damp towels, and covered the whole mess with an insulated blanket to slow the melt. Athena spent the rest of the night sitting on the floor, watching him sleep. Odysseus did his best to stay awake with her, but by daybreak she and Ares were the only ones left. Odysseus snored softly with his head in her lap, and Panic did the same with Ares on the other sofa. Oblivion slept beside the armrest. Or she thought it did. Its eyes were still open, but it hadn’t moved in hours, and occasionally twitched its paws like it was dreaming.

They didn’t talk, though their whispers would’ve woken no one. Athena didn’t know how to say thank you, and she didn’t want to hear the other thing. The thing that she knew. That Hermes was worse. That ice baths and an insulated couch were not a cure. They’d fought their way out of the underworld in just enough time to watch their brother die.

No. I’ll save him. I should be able to save him.

Maybe if she’d been there. If she’d stayed in the fight that day instead of diving off Olympus. Hermes had had to do everything without her.

But then Odysseus would be dead. And damn it all, she couldn’t trade one for the other, even in her imagination.

She hadn’t heard a peep from Thanatos. She assumed he’d listened and left. Good. But now and then, when Odysseus stopped snoring and everything seemed too quiet, she’d imagine him in the basement, motionless as a wax figure, waiting for her to calm down.

“I’m going to change the ice.” Ares stood and stretched, dislodging Panic, who yawned. “And then I’m going to take the wolves out to run. They don’t do well kept in one place for too long. Start taking bites out of each other.”

He switched melted ice for fresh and subbed in a few frozen gel packs they’d accumulated for the mortals’ post-training-session swelling. He did it so well and so carefully that Hermes didn’t even mumble in his sleep.

“Come on.” He clapped his hand to his thigh softly for the wolves to come.

“Don’t go far,” Athena said.

She’d told him about the dream she and Hermes had shared about Demeter, murdered in the desert, but wasn’t sure whether Ares believed it was true. He’d said that the desert was days away anyhow. On a map, it was days away. Yet the Moirae had been in Buffalo yesterday, and slicing into Demeter by nightfall.

“I’ll go to the woods,” said Ares. “And I won’t kill anything that anyone will notice. You don’t need to watch me every minute.” He shrugged into a jacket and headed for the back door.