Ungodly: A Novel (The Goddess War) (31 page)

She didn’t blame them. But she wouldn’t wait around for it, either. After she and Athena had dealt with Atropos, she would join the Moirae. Cassandra would disappear again, only this time, they wouldn’t worry or search. This time they’d be relieved.

Henry sat at the table eating bacon, half a strip for him, half a strip for Lux, in a slow, salty pattern. He hadn’t said much since she’d told him about the Moirae’s plan. And about Calypso. The truth about Calypso.

But she hadn’t told him everything. Her intent to join the Moirae she kept to herself. Because no matter how wrong she was, or how tainted, he and Andie would want her to stay.

There was still life here worth living. Cassandra looked down at the dishrag in her hand. If only her mess could wipe away clean.

“You guys are being jerks,” Henry said. Everyone in the kitchen turned, but he was only talking to their parents.

“Henry?” their mom asked. “Are you all right?”

“Am I still your kid, you mean?” He frowned. “Yeah. I still am. And so is she.”

Their parents looked down at their feet, ashamed as children caught teasing a dog.

“Of course she is,” their dad said. “It’s just strange knowing … all of this.”

“I know,” Henry said. “It was strange for me, too. But I didn’t act like a total dick.”

“I don’t know how you think we’re supposed to respond—”

“Better,” he said. “The world’s the same as it was yesterday. You just know about it now. I know you haven’t had much time to process, or whatever.” He stood up and put his backpack over his shoulder. “But both of your kids might be dead tomorrow. So you might want to speed it up.”

“Dead? What do you mean ‘dead’?!” Their mom chased him out the door, but he was in his car and out of the driveway before she made it down the front steps.

“Cassie,” her dad said. “What did he mean, ‘dead’? Tomorrow?” He took her by the shoulder and tucked her hair back. Her mom came back inside and grabbed her phone.

“What are you doing?” Cassandra asked.

“Calling the police.”

“Mom. You don’t want to do that.”

“Why not?”

“Because we know a lot of the police. And they’ll all get killed.”

Her mom hesitated with the phone halfway to her ear.

“This isn’t real,” she said, and hung up.

“It is,” Cassandra said softly. “But it’s almost over.”

Her dad squeezed her shoulder.

“I need you to tell us everything,” he said, and she nodded. There was fear in her mom’s eyes, but not fear of her. It would be all right. Cassandra looked into the driveway, where the Mustang usually sat.

Henry. Always the peacemaker.

26

NEW VS. OLD

Hermes texted Henry before he got to school, so Henry headed for McDonald’s and looped back around toward Athena’s house. He hadn’t figured on going to many classes anyway.

“Henry.” Odysseus sat up when he walked in. “What’re you doing here?”

He held up a greasy paper bag. “Egg McMuffins.” He held up another bag. “Pancakes and hash browns. Hermes texted. When did he wake up?”

“Last night.”

“Where is he?”

Odysseus’ face darkened. “We moved him to his room so he’d be more comfortable. And less underfoot.” He smiled sadly. “You’ve never seen a worse patient. He’s lobbying for one of those little bells.”

“I thought he might be … up and around.”

Odysseus shook his head. Hermes would never be up and around again.

“Can I go in?” Henry asked. “Or is Athena there?”

“Athena’s out back, waiting for Ares to get home with the mutt.” Odysseus cocked his head. “You surprised me last night, when you helped him. I mean, I know you’ve got a soft spot for four-legs, but that same four-leg put you and your dog in the hospital this winter.”

“I guess saving my parents’ lives goes a long way.”

Odysseus nodded. “Guess so.”

Henry walked down the hall, trying to decide what face to wear when he saw Hermes. How happy was too happy, and too hopeful of recovery? How sad was too sad, and insulting about the way he looked?

“Don’t bother knocking, just get those bags in here,” Hermes called. “I’ve been smelling that greasy wonderful crap since the minute you walked through the front door.”

Henry walked in, holding up the bags like Santa’s sacks, and Hermes held his arms out eagerly, all bones. The god in the bed was a skeleton with stretched-out skin. He looked so weak. It made Henry second-guess the favor he’d come to ask.

“You’re a godsend,” Hermes said, and tore into the first McMuffin. He’d asked for a variety pack of sausage and egg, and Henry had taken the liberty of sneaking in a few bacon, egg, and cheese biscuits. “Are you hungry? Do you want half a hash brown?”

“No,” Henry said. “I’m fine. Is there anything else you need?”

“Well, you could butter my pancakes.”

“God. Odysseus was right. You’re a terrible patient.” He reached into the bag for a handful of butter packets and a plastic knife.

“I’ve missed you, mortal,” Hermes said. “And your little girlfriend, too.”

“We were here,” Henry said. “We came to see you. You had us worried.”

“I should have been the one worried,” Hermes said. His chewing slowed. “I’m sorry I wasn’t there when Achilles came. I looked after you well enough until you really needed looking after. Then I passed out.”

“That wasn’t your fault.”

“Maybe not.” Hermes shrugged. “But nothing ever seems to be. Not my fault, and not my doing. I wasn’t the one who brought our sisters home. Or got us out of Hephaestus’ house. Or even got you that fine shield. You did that. I drove.”

“You can’t think that way,” Henry said. “You did everything we needed you to.”

“I won’t be there,” Hermes said. “I didn’t even make it to the end. You’ll be alone. You and Athena.”

“Don’t talk like you’re already gone. You don’t know that.”

“My heart hurts every time it beats. Like a countdown. And I know when it’s going to hit zero, Henry.” He sighed. “Athena will make it all right. She’ll make sure you’re okay. Even against Atropos, I’d lay money on my sister any day of the week.”

Henry sat on the foot of Hermes’ bed and bit into a cooling hash brown. He wasn’t sure whether Athena had told Hermes that when the battle was over, she’d be gone, joined into the Moirae, but somehow he doubted it.

“She won’t be able to help me,” he said.

“What do you mean?”

“She’ll have her hands full fighting Atropos.” He regretted having to ask a favor of a dying friend. But there was no one else to ask. “I saw Achilles last night. The way he moved. The way he fought. I can’t beat him.”

“You can. Demeter said so.”

“She said I could kill him. And maybe that’s true. But I’ll never get close enough. Not like this.”

“Henry,” Hermes said through a cheekful of pancake. “What are you talking about?”

“Ares says that the reason Achilles is so strong, the reason they all are—even Odysseus and Cassandra—is because they embody the myths. Because they died and came back with a hero inside.”

Hermes pressed deeper into his pile of pillows. Henry thought he saw his heart beating through his T-shirt, and looked away fast.

“And you believe Ares?” Hermes asked.

Henry shrugged. But how could he see Cassandra and Achilles and not believe?

“But,” Hermes sputtered, “you and Andie always said that you were yourselves. And you can fight. We trained you, and honestly, you sort of could to begin with. Probably why you both had such stellar ice-hockey careers—”

“Hermes. I’m asking you if you have the energy.” He nodded toward the god’s thin hands. “And the breath to bring me back.”

Hermes looked him in the eyes for a long time. But Henry wouldn’t change his mind.

“All right,” Hermes said. “Odysseus is in the living room. If I don’t have the breath for CPR, I’ll shout for him.”

*   *   *

Athena sat on her back patio, foot up on the damp cushion of a cheap plastic chair. The sun shone bright on young grass, merciless in a cloudless, blue day. Spring gave way to summer already. Beside her, a bucket of beer bottles sat insulated with the ice packs they’d used to cool Hermes.

She took a breath and smelled drying earth and warming leaves. The neighborhood was peaceful. Softly quiet. No indication of the violence that had erupted last night, less than a mile away.

If I was the god I used to be, I’d spur a storm. Something great, and black, and blasting. My winds would tear that little rabbit out from whatever tree he hid under. I’d string him up by his innards and watch him kick.

Wishful thinking. And impossible, even if she possessed the power. Achilles wasn’t shivering somewhere in the woods. He was back with Atropos.

The message from Clotho and Lachesis would come soon. Athena knew it as surely as if they’d touched her with the sight already. The message would come, and they would go. Achilles would fall alongside his mistress of death, and Athena would take her place. She hoped not literally.

Clotho and Lachesis had implied that with Atropos gone, the disease and corruption would also be gone. Athena hoped that meant they would go back to separate bodies. She said she would join them, but not at the hip.

The latch on the back gate lifted; a dark-as-night snout pushed through the privacy fence. Oblivion. Even under a bright sun and clear skies, its coat sucked up light like a black hole.

“I thought you’d be back sooner,” Athena said.

Ares started, surprised to find her waiting.

“Panic’s been cooped up and bandaged too long,” he said. “It needed to eat a few raccoons.”

The red wolf came into the yard, walking a little stiffly. But it wasn’t dead. Its jaws hung open and dripped bloodstained spit. Pieces of the raccoons were stuck in its teeth.

Terrible, wicked wolves. Who saved our friends’ lives.

Terrible and wicked, like their master. Athena looked at Ares and noted the fresh blood over the wound in his stomach. What had he ever been, except what he was? What right did she have to expect otherwise?

“How’s your stomach?” she asked.

“Hole in it,” he said, and shrugged. “Not healing as fast as I’d like.” He came to the patio table and shoved her foot off the chair opposite to sit down. He shoved a little harder than necessary, and she hid her smile behind a turned cheek.

“Is this how it is for you?” he asked. “Is this how it is to play the hero? A knife in your guts and a half-dead wolf, and she hasn’t even said thank you.”

“She hasn’t tried to kill you again, either.”

He laughed. “That’s what passes for gratitude? What a state these mortals are in.” He watched his wolves circle each other in the yard. Oblivion snuck in to steal a lick from Panic’s reddened teeth. They were grotesquely sweet.

“Not long now, is it?” he asked.

“Nope.”

“That why you’re out here? Soaking up the rays, making a toast to the first casualty of war?” He nodded to her beer, and squinted skyward at Aidan’s sun.

“Making jokes about him now?” Athena asked, and her jaw clenched. “When it was your girlfriend who killed him?”

“It wasn’t easy to hear that,” he said, voice going lower, and louder. “No matter what you think. He was my brother, too. And Aphrodite didn’t know. She didn’t.”

“But she did it.”

Ares made a fist, and Athena took a deep breath. Aphrodite killed Aidan. Aidan killed Poseidon. Cassandra killed Hera. And on, and on, one to the other. The only constant was that they were dead.

“I don’t want to do this,” Athena said. “I was waiting for you as much as anything.”

“Really?” he asked, and she almost laughed. He sounded all of eight years old. The little brother forever in her shadow.

“So,” Ares said. “What do we have, besides ourselves? What can we turn to our advantage? Location? Weapons? You should have let me keep Aeacus’ scepter.”

“So he could pound down our door looking for it? No.” Athena took a swallow of beer.

“I wish we still had Uncle Poseidon’s head,” Ares sighed. “We could call the sea. Recruit an army of Nereids.”

“You had Poseidon’s head?”

“Right.” Ares smiled. “You jumped off the mountain before that part.”

“Well … where is it?”

Ares frowned. “Aphrodite stashed it when we were on the run. She buried it in a hole in Rhode Island. Two days later she went to dig it up and the whole place was a saltwater marsh. It’s gone. Lost.”

“You lost our uncle’s head?”

“Yes. You turned him into a head, and we lost it. Either way, we can’t count it amongst our assets.”

“He probably wouldn’t have been too big a help anyway, even if we hadn’t killed him,” Athena said. “The Titans’ children seemed to suffer worse than us.” She picked at a scab near her neck and tore out a feather like a ragged splinter before tossing it into the yard. Blood leaked hot down her chest. “How do you think Dad died?”

“Zeus? What makes you think he’s dead? With the ego on him, he’d probably explode. We’d have heard it, or dreamt it. Or died right along with him.”

Athena curled her lip. Ares always put too much stock in their father. She glanced to the yard, where the wolves circled the bloody bit of feather.

“Don’t let them eat that,” she said, and he shooed them off.

“You should let me carry Achilles’ shield,” Ares said. “The kid will only get killed and stripped of it.” He waited, eyes sharp as though he hoped she’d argue.

“If Henry says you can take it, you can take it. I don’t know if Henry will want to go at all.”

“Want to?” Ares asked, puzzled. “Who cares if he wants to? And why aren’t you planning? Battle strategy. That’s your bag of tricks. What’s gotten into you?”

“I messed up,” Athena said. “I can’t be in charge of their lives. I won’t be. I’m a soldier now, just like you.” She laughed bitterly. She couldn’t believe she’d had to say that, and to him of all people.

She reached down into the ice bucket and brought out two fresh beers. Ares looked at her skeptically.

“A little early, isn’t it?”

“No, brother. It’s late.”

*   *   *

Hermes’ hands trembled around Henry’s neck. Not because he lacked the strength. He might not be able to hold himself upright, but he was still god enough to cut off a mortal’s air supply. He was still god enough to crack right through a mortal neck.