Ungodly: A Novel (The Goddess War) (35 page)

There was so much love in his voice. He was wrong, what he said on the widow’s walk. She would have been with him as long as she could, if there had been a choice.

“Cassandra!”

“Cassie!”

Andie and Henry up there, too. They were all right. How Athena wanted to see all of their faces again. Just once more. But Atropos wasn’t dead yet.

“Now what?” Athena asked Clotho.

(The shears. She dies by her own shears. The one who kills her will take her place.)

Clotho and Lachesis lay sprawled, clutching their own shears in their hands.

“You heard them,” Cassandra said. “Give them to me.”

“What?”

“Give them to me.” She held her hand out. “It’s what’s supposed to happen.”

Athena stared at her, open-mouthed.

“Come on,” Cassandra said, and smiled. “You’ve got a life now. Up there. This wasn’t meant for you.”

“No,” Athena said. “We made the deal.”

Cassandra’s smile changed. It disappeared.

“Give them to me!”

Athena jumped back, favoring her injured hip. Cassandra fell and her hands caught Athena at the knee. Athena thought she would black out from the pain of so many feathers bursting through the joint.

“Stop this, Cassandra.” Athena moaned. “It’s only them in your head. You don’t want this.”

“Nobody wants this,” Cassandra said as she got to her feet. “But I
am
this.” Her fingers hooked into claws but this time Athena was faster and managed to dodge.

“Get out of her head!” Athena screamed at the Moirae.

“Cassandra. You’re not death. You killed gods because you fought—”

“I killed Calypso!”

Athena stopped. Cassandra’s eyes were wide and hateful. Full of regret. In the midst of all that had happened, Athena had missed how much of Cassandra’s hate had turned inward.

“I put my hands on her,” Cassandra shouted. “And she died. Her hair turned white, and then yellow, and then it shed off of her skull. Her face turned to leather in front of me!”

Above, Athena heard Odysseus speak, but couldn’t tell what he said.

“You didn’t mean to do that,” Athena said, and knew it was true. Cassandra had cared for Calypso. It was in her eyes for anyone to see.

Athena sought Atropos in the back of the cave. The cold weight of the shears in her hand felt good. Solid. She opened and closed them once, and Atropos hissed.

Athena moved fast, but Cassandra’s hands slammed down on her back. Feathers cut through her lungs, through her liver, through the skin and muscle that held her together. It brought her to the ground.

Athena turned over and looked up through the cave entrance, hoping to see a scrap of sky, wishing she wasn’t there, in a hole that felt so much like a grave.

“Athena!” Odysseus shouted. He started down the rope and then let go and fell the rest of the way to splash into the lake. He came up sputtering, and she recalled how cold it was. It seemed a long time ago that she had been in the water.

Cassandra’s shadow fell across her torso. She bent down to carefully take the shears from Athena’s hand.

“I don’t want to kill you,” Cassandra said. “After it’s over, I think you’ll heal.”

Poor Cassandra. The girl who killed gods. They’d put her through a world of shit, and she proved herself tough as nails. Athena understood why Aidan had loved her so much.

“No,” Athena whispered. “You’ll heal.”

Athena jerked the shears closed, and severed half of Cassandra’s ring and pinky fingers. The sound of the tips falling to the cave floor was covered by her scream.

Athena rolled away. The feathers made it hard to move. Hard to breathe. But she did it anyway, and scrambled across the stone. She raised the shears high over her head, and brought them down in Atropos’ chest.

Something flooded through her. Something dark.

*   *   *

“No. No, goddamn it.” Odysseus dragged himself out of the lake.

Athena knelt beside the wall of the cave with her head down, one arm out to hold herself up. Her other hand clutched the shears. Her shears.

Cassandra’s head swam. Atropos was dead. Athena killed her. And suddenly, Clotho and Lachesis weren’t talking to her anymore. But she could still hear them as they begged their new sister for help.

(Join your blood with us. Heal us. Help us.)

Athena grabbed her head as though she was trying to block them out. Trying to fight. But she wouldn’t be able to for long.

Cassandra stared at Clotho and Lachesis. They were pathetic, shriveled sacks. Weak. Dying. They’d done so much to bring her there. They’d created her. The Fates.

She got to her feet and wiped the blood from her severed fingers on her shirt. It was all right, the lost fingers. She only needed one good hand anyway.

When she plucked the shears from Lachesis’ hand, Lachesis looked at her curiously. It wasn’t until she brought the point down between her eyes that anyone started screaming, and then it was only Clotho. But soon enough, Clotho stopped as well.

Cassandra backed away from the dead Moirae, away from the blood that leaked from their sliced-open legs and from their heads. She held the shears carefully. They were so very, very sharp.

“Go see if she’s okay,” she said to Odysseus, and he went to Athena’s side. For a moment, Cassandra wasn’t sure. The next thing she saw might be the tip of Atropos’ shears through Odysseus’ back. But Athena wrapped her arm around him, and he helped her stand.

Cassandra heard her whisper, “Fucking feathers,” and smiled.

“What did you do?” Odysseus asked. He looked at Cassandra with wonder.

“What I was put here to do,” Cassandra said, and felt the dark part of her mind click shut.

EPILOGUE

Athena stood in her kitchen, making sandwiches. One black nose and one red one pressed close to the countertop, so she tossed the wolves each a slice of roast beef.

“That’s plenty,” she said when it seemed as if they’d beg for more. She smiled. If she forgot that they could walk on two legs and speak, she could almost become fond of them. And with their deaths gone, they weren’t nearly so disgusting. Panic’s red coat was almost pretty.

“Is that for me?”

Hermes poked his head around the corner.

“Make your own,” she said, but pushed the plate toward him. Old habits died hard. She might be following him around with sandwiches forever even though he didn’t need them. His cheeks were back, and his arms and chest were on their way. He was well.

“Tell me the truth,” he said with his mouth full. “When Ares didn’t show up to fight, you thought he had run off.”

“I didn’t think that,” she replied. “And you wouldn’t think that, either, if you’d seen him at the end.” The back door closed. Ares, coming back from the woods after the wolves. “He was by your bedside like a nursemaid, eyes big and wet as Henry’s German shepherd.” She smirked and handed Ares a sandwich over her shoulder.

“The hell I was,” Ares muttered.

“The hell he was,” Hermes agreed.

They stood in the kitchen and ate in silence. The space felt crowded with so many gods inside it. So many true gods. Over the course of one battle, they’d outgrown the house.

“I’m leaving tomorrow,” Ares said.

“For where?” Athena asked.

“The underworld. To spring Aphrodite,” Ares said. He chewed for a moment, and cleared his throat. “If Hades gives me any trouble…”

“Gives you any trouble?” Hermes scoffed. “After we just saved every god’s life? He’d better fall down groveling and shower you with pomegranates. He’d better shove a bunch into a fruit basket and send it over here posthaste. Trouble.”

Athena smiled. “If he gives you any trouble, you know where to find us.”

Ares nodded, and she thought she saw the corner of his mouth turn up. Just a little. Then Odysseus’ feet sounded on the stairs, and Ares stuffed the last of his sandwich in his mouth and left. Hermes, too, took his plate and waggled his eyebrows.

“Was it something I said?” Odysseus asked as both gods and two wolves walked past him. He slid his arms around Athena’s waist. The feathers had fallen out and healed without a scar. Before long, she might not even remember what they felt like twisting through her skin.

She put her hands over his. He was her hero, as he’d always been.

“Well, goddess,” he said, and kissed her. “Where to now?”

*   *   *

“Weather’s getting warmer. Everyone says we’re going to have a hot summer. I thought about bringing flowers, maybe in a pot, but if I don’t get here for a few days I don’t want them to wither. Of course, maybe you could do something about that?”

Cassandra stood before Aidan’s grave, talking to him, as she had every day since they’d returned. Every day. But it wouldn’t be that way forever. Eventually the visits would slow, and then stall out. That was just how it was. No matter how much you loved someone.

“You’re not here anyway,” she said. “Under that rock and all that dirt.” She looked up into the sky. Aidan was there. The sun. He was in the light, and the wind. And he was with her, too. In memories, and even the fat gold coin in her pocket. The past never left.

“Your sister is thinking of selling her house. But I don’t think she will. I think she’ll keep it, as long as we’re still here.” But Athena wouldn’t stay. She, Odysseus, and Hermes would move on, and soon. Andie said that every time she and Henry went over, it felt as if they might walk in and find the place vacant. Cassandra hadn’t seen any of them in days. Only Thanatos. Thanatos lingered, and looked at her in that way he had that told her he wasn’t going anywhere. Cassandra didn’t know whether Athena would bother to say goodbye, or if she would ever see her or Hermes again after they left. But she was surprised to find that she hoped she would.

A horn sounded. She turned and saw the Mustang, with Andie and Henry inside.

“Guess that’s my cue,” Cassandra said, and looked down at the grave. Walking away was always hard. She was glad that it hadn’t gotten easier. But she did it.

As she left the cemetery, she reached into her pocket for the coin, and twisted it between her healing fingers. Heads and tails winked in the late afternoon light. She flipped it high and watched it spin end over end.

She had no idea on which side it would land.

ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

The end of a trilogy. When I started writing, I never had any designs on writing a series of novels with overlapping characters, let alone an actual trilogy. And then
Anna Dressed in Blood
happened, and then
Girl of Nightmares
went pretty well, and I thought, I can probably do a three. And truth be told, I’m happiest with the last two legs of the Goddess War books, which is a nice surprise. There was plenty of pain trying to wrap up this last one, don’t get me wrong, but par for the course, I don’t remember exactly what that pain was, only that it was there.

But here it is, and it is done, and there are so many people who have had a hand in that, who have put their work in, their minds in, their sweat in, and I’ve got this horrible paranoid thought that I’m going to forget someone. If that someone is you, trust that I am sorry, and that one day not far from now I will wake from a dead sleep, with bloodshot eyes, screaming your name.

Seriously, though, that paranoia is probably unfounded. How could I forget any of these folks, who have done so much?

Melissa Frain, editor of editors. Never have I received one of your editorial suggestions with any other reaction than, “Duh! Of course!” and smacking myself in the head for not spotting it myself. You are right on. Brilliant, and amazing to work with. Thank you for making these books. It’s a true team effort. They’re ours.

Adriann Ranta, super agent. You are always one hundred percent on top of things, and that’s no exaggeration. You are also brilliant, and amazing to work with. Thank you for having more faith in my writing than I deserve.

Alexis Saarela, publicist supreme. Thanks for being flexible with me this year, and not wringing my neck when I had trouble coordinating all those tour dates. Thank you for coordinating all those tour dates. You are so good at what you do. I’ve been lucky, lucky to have you.

Seth Lerner, the art team at Tor, and Eithné O’Hanlon, the artist who created the redesigned cover art, thank you for making them pretty.

Thanks to Amy Stapp, for mailing me things and staying on top of production schedules and being all around kind and accommodating. Also for being a willing participant in any Mel-pranking that may need doing … I’m sort of being presumptuous here.

Thanks to Lauren Hougen, for an excellent set of copyedits. You caught a lot of stupid, and made me remember who got injured and where.

Kathleen Doherty is just about the best publisher anyone could ask for, and she gives excellent advice on dog ownership to boot. Thank you, Kathleen.

Thanks to amazing author April Genevieve Tucholke, for her sense of adventure, welcoming spirit, and many, many interesting and lucrative career alternatives. The beefalo call us, April. One day we’ll heed them. And ride them.

Thank you to the librarians, who get books into folks’ hands every day. Thanks to the bloggers, who love reading and love forcing their love onto other people.

Thank you to the readers, who, if you are reading these words, have truly made it through to the very end of the Goddess War trilogy. You stuck it out. Made the journey with me, and Athena, and our troubled and troublesome Cassandra. That means so much. I hope you’ll come along to a few more places yet.

Usual suspects roll call: my brother, Ryan Vander Venter, thanks for toting me around whenever I need a media escort in Minnesota. You are a good brother, even if your popcorn is too salty and you make me listen to you recite sports champions in chronological order. Susan Murray, who reads everything even though she forgets it all and has to read it over again. Infinite reads! Missy Goldsmith, who has no time to read anything anymore, but once the kids are older I know you will read them all on a magnificent bender. Mom and Dad, you guys are more supportive than the very best Wonderbra. Dad, apologies for comparing you to a bra. You are more supportive than the very best … athletic supporter? And finally to my first reader, and great pop pop, Dylan Zoerb, for luck.