Odysseus raised his hands to her hips, and then to her sides, careful to avoid the fresh feather wound over her ribs. They stood that way for long moments, statues except for the blood rushing under their skin. Athena sensed his wanting in the eager grip of his fingers, and his rising and falling chest. But still they stood, and went no further.
“I love you,” she blurted, and his eyes opened wider. “I just wanted to tell you, in case. In case you didn’t know.”
“I knew,” he said. “I don’t remember much from the fall. Just the wind in my ears and you, wrapped around me. Your heart beating faster as mine slowed down.” He pushed her hair away from her cheek.
“I love you, too, Athena,” he said. “Always have.”
He looked into her eyes. If he kissed her now, she would let him. More than that, she would kiss him back. They both knew it, and neither moved.
It’s because he knows it’s wrong. He feels it, like I do. Our hearts, our desire will never be stronger than what stands between us. We are two different things. But oh how I want it, this time we have left.
Athena let her hands slip from behind his neck down to his shoulders.
“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t let go of me. I haven’t worked up the courage yet, but I will.”
“You never lacked for courage,” she said, and pushed gently away. “It’s because it’s real now. And now that we can have it, you know it’s as wrong as I’ve always said.”
“That’s not it. That’s not it at all.”
He reached for her, as if he would prove it.
“Athena!” Hermes said, and burst into the room.
“Not now, mate,” Odysseus groaned. “There’s a sock on the door.”
Hermes narrowed his eyes and tore it off the knob.
“There’s not anymore,” he said, “and you two had better get downstairs.”
He turned on his heel and left, and Athena and Odysseus followed. When the stairs turned toward the entryway, Athena was greeted by a very unexpected sight.
Standing on her welcome mat, dressed in a navy plaid button-up with sleeves rolled to the elbows, was the god of death.
* * *
Athena had last seen Thanatos in Los Angeles in 1972. She’d been living there then, in a small, dusty apartment above a biker’s lounge. Most of her nights she spent on a stool, belly up to the bar and a line of empty beers, watching a band called Steve Hunger Road Show do their best impression of America. Steve Hunger Road Show. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d thought of them. Steve had been sort of a douche, but Mickey and Jim hadn’t been half bad. They’d been her friends.
And then one night she’d seen Thanatos’ pale face across the room. She’d invited him over for a drink, even though he made her skin shrink two sizes. They talked, and laughed, and she’d teased him a little, called him the “Goodnight Prince.” Seductive Death, always trying to make what he was seem beautiful instead of necessary. Before they said goodbye, she’d squeezed his hand.
The next morning, without word or notice, she abandoned her beloved dusty apartment. What became of Steve Hunger Road Show she never knew. Probably nothing. Or maybe Thanatos had been there for them, and the bar had burned down that night with them inside it. It didn’t matter. Where Thanatos was, she had no desire to be.
And now he’s here in my living room. Drinking my brother’s wine.
She didn’t even know Hermes had wine. He certainly never offered anyone else any. But it was the obvious choice. Even in rolled-sleeve plaid, Thanatos looked like a vampire god. She kept a close eye on his glass of wine as he sipped, curious to see if he could stick a finger in it and turn it into blood.
“Thanatos,” she said. “What are you doing here?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Ares interjected. “He’s here for us. Death come to claim the dying gods.”
“Shut up, Ares.” Not that it would have surprised her. Thanatos’ eyes flickered over every inch of them as he sat, reclined comfortably in a chair. He lingered on Hermes’ gaunt face, on Ares’ seeping, mangled hand, on the dark circle of blood staining the side of her shirt.
“Did Hades send you?” she asked.
“I haven’t seen Hades. I came with Cassandra. She’s at her house now.”
“Cassandra?” A quick look passed between Athena, Hermes, and Odysseus.
“She found me in California,” Thanatos explained. “I’ve been trying to help her. And I’ve been failing.” The story slipped out of his mouth in low tones: Cassandra’s intention to rid the world of gods, Megaera’s end in the basement, and the Fury attack on the road. “And then we went to Athens. After Hades.”
Athens. Athena’s city. Hades was living in her city. Athena chewed her cheek until she drew blood; it tasted musty, like the inside of a birdcage.
So what? Athens isn’t mine to protect anymore. I couldn’t protect it, anymore.
“And then?” Hermes pressed.
“And then Alecto told Cassandra that Athena had taken in Ares and Aphrodite.”
Panic whined loudly from behind Ares’ knees. If Cassandra was home, she’d know Ares was there soon enough. The last time Athena got between them it had cost her a shoulder’s worth of feathers. This time would be much worse.
“She won’t come for you,” Thanatos said.
“The hell she won’t,” Ares spat.
“Wait.” Odysseus pressed closer. “Where’s Calypso? Did she stay with Cassandra?”
Thanatos set his wine down on the coffee table. His long fingers rubbed against the legs of his jeans.
“Calypso is dead. Alecto killed her.”
The room went still. Athena reached for Odysseus and found air. He was gone before anyone had time to think of something to say.
Calypso. Dead.
She didn’t have any right to feel so bad about it. But she did anyway.
“Is Cassandra all right?” she asked.
“No.” Thanatos hung his head. “But at least she’s almost done.”
* * *
Cassandra ate as much pizza as she was able. It was funny how comforting her parents found watching her eat a decent meal. It had been too long since they’d been able to feed her, or tell her things, or make sure she was safe. They intended to make up for it in spades, and she would let them, for as long as she could.
But who knew how long that would be? Seeing the confused relief in their eyes was terrible. Knowing she would do it to them again was worse. It hadn’t been her idea to come home. After she’d murdered Calypso with her bare hands, Thanatos had scooped her up and made the plans without discussion. They hadn’t even taken Calypso’s body. It was probably still lying in Hades’ house, among the other dead things.
Unless Alecto had returned to take it to her sisters, to defile it somewhere, tearing it apart and cackling in a ruthless, satisfied circle.
Cassandra closed her eyes. Whatever the Furies did to the corpse was irrelevant.
I killed my friend.
“You’re going to have to do summer school as it is,” her dad said, and poured her more soda. “For a few weeks at least. You can’t disappear without consequences.” But what those consequences were, he didn’t say. Neither did her mother. They tiptoed around it and talked themselves out of it with every slice of pizza. It could wait until tomorrow, they thought. She’d had a hard year, but at least she was safe, they thought.
They were poor punishers due to lack of practice. Seventeen years without enforcing anything more than two days’ grounding would do that to a parent. The closest they came to scolding that night was telling Andie she couldn’t stay over.
“We kept your room closed off,” her mom said gently. “But I went in to straighten up. Sometimes. Of course now you can do it yourself.”
Cassandra touched her doorknob and made a silent wish that she’d open it and fall through into a void. Out of existence, just like that, with no memory of her left behind for her family to mourn over.
“Do you want me to make pancakes in the morni
ng, Mom?” she heard herself ask.
“That would be nice. Cassandra?”
“Yes?”
“I know it was hard. I won’t pretend to know what you felt. But I know what I felt when you were gone, and if it’s anything like that, I—” Her mother paused and looked at her, hard. “It’s not okay to make us feel like that. It’s not okay to do that to us on purpose.”
“I know. I should’ve come home.”
“You should never have left.”
“I know. That’s what I meant.”
Her mother hugged her tight, and Cassandra could feel her heart beating fast, as though just saying those words had scared her to death.
“I love you, Cassandra. You’re a good girl.”
No, I’m not. Not anymore. Now I’m a monster.
19
DEATH AND THE DYING
I’m afraid to open the damn door.
Athena stood outside Odysseus’ room. She’d waited as long as she could, given him as much space as she knew how, only to stand motionless with her hand on the knob. Screw that. She swung the door open and stepped inside.
“So, when do you want to kill Alecto?” she asked.
Odysseus looked up at her.
“What?”
“When do you want to kill Alecto? We can go as early as tomorrow. I might be dying, but I can still tear the wings off a couple of overgrown harpies. She’s dead. Say the word.”
He didn’t say anything. He sat on his bed with his elbows on his knees. If he’d wept, she couldn’t tell. If he’d thrown anything, she couldn’t tell, either, as his room was generally messy.
“You can say something. Anything you want to. I know you loved her.”
He ran his hand roughly across his face.
“I didn’t love her,” he said. “That’s the bitch of it. But she always loved me, and I sure did like her a lot, and that seems like the shittiest thing in the world.”
He toyed with something between his fingers: a dried white flower. A gift from Calypso? Or something he’d kept, that she’d worn in her hair?
Athena swallowed, disliking the way the sight of the flower made her feel.
He has every right to mourn. Every right to feel whatever he feels. But then, I suppose, so do I.
“I never loved her,” he said. “And I never cut her loose. She knew it, but she would’ve been happy with me anyway, even knowing that I loved you more.” He looked at Athena, but she turned away for fear of resentment. “You said let’s go kill Alecto. But what if I said let’s go find Calypso? What if I didn’t believe she was dead?”
“Then we’d go. We’d find her.” It felt stupid in retrospect, coming in and declaring war on the Fury. All bluster and balls and no heart.
“Because it doesn’t feel like she can be gone,” Odysseus said. “She’s always been here.”
“We’ll do whatever you need to do.”
He rolled the flower between his fingers and clenched it in his fist. Ten minutes ago they’d been in Athena’s bedroom with their hands on each other. So close. Ten minutes ago. It felt like light-years.
“I just need some time, okay?” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
She nodded. He didn’t want her to stay. He didn’t need her to. It was how he’d always been. But after she left, she couldn’t stop thinking that she should have asked.
* * *
“This is good. This is good news. Not about Calypso, of course, but Cassandra is home. There’s that, at least.” Hermes sat surprisingly still, considering the unease he felt at having Thanatos in their home, eating the last of their egg rolls. He’d babbled on and off since Athena left to check on Odysseus, but neither Thanatos nor Ares took much notice. Which was fine by him. He’d never cared much for Thanatos. None of the gods had. As for Ares, well, if Cassandra made short, bloody work of Ares then all the better, no matter what deal he and Athena had struck.
“Hermes.” Ares nodded at him. “You’re sweating.”
“So? At least I’m sweating sweat. You’re sweating blood. And you”—he eyed Thanatos—“you don’t have any body heat to begin with.” How had he wound up there, playing polite host to two gods he disliked or downright hated?
While two murderous … wolves, for lack of a proper word, lounge on my recently shampooed carpet.
Panic did a decent impression of a dog, flopped over on its side. But Oblivion rested its snout on its forepaws, eyes open and unblinking.
Ares sighed lazily and leaned back against the couch cushions. Hermes chucked a coaster at him before he could set his leaking hand down on the upholstery.
“What happened to you, anyway?” Hermes asked.
Ares studied his wounded fist with affection. He squeezed it together, and blood ran down his wrist to soak into the sleeve of his shirt.
“One of the judges of the underworld had a scepter with razor edges. I bludgeoned him, but it cost me my hand. Athena wouldn’t let me keep the scepter. Go figure.” He shrugged. “It’ll heal.”
Hermes glanced at Thanatos. It might heal. But certainly not as quickly as Ares was accustomed to. A cut was ready to open on his forearm, too. It spread across the skin like red ink and would burst in the next few days.
“What were you doing, Hermes?” Ares asked. “When we met you on the stairs?”
“Running for our lives from Achilles and the Moirae. I told you.”
“But why were you there?”
“To get the shield. Have you been paying any attention?”
“I think what he’s looking for is, why the shield,” Thanatos said.
“Because we needed it for Henry,” Hermes muttered. “Because he’s the only one who can kill Achilles and have him stay dead.”
Thanatos made a face. “The only one?”
“Yeah, according to Demeter. Why? Does that piss you off?”
“A little,” Thanatos admitted. “Then again, if it’s possible for one, it’s possible for another.”
“What’s he going on about?” Ares asked, and reached for the lone remaining egg roll.
Hermes had to admit, it was a good question.
“Why are you here, Thanatos?” Hermes asked. “Why are you helping Cassandra?”
“I don’t know,” Thanatos replied. His eyes lost focus. It wasn’t a look Hermes remembered ever seeing on Death’s face before. “Maybe because she’s like me. She’s becoming like me.”
“Like you?” Hermes asked, but Ares barked laughter.
“What is it about that girl?” He hit Hermes in the shoulder. “Are you in love with her, too?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Thanatos said. He drained the last of the wine and stood. “I’m not in love with her. That’s not possible.”
Hermes watched him walk to the kitchen, the god of death in jeans and Hollister plaid. Thanatos might not love Cassandra. But he certainly did like her. The college-boy costume he wore had never seemed a truer fit. He looked cagey, nervous, caught in the headlights.
I should be afraid for her. People he grows fond of have a habit of wilting like cut flowers.
But if wilting was in Cassandra’s blood, she’d have done it already. It was Thanatos who was in danger here. Love. Hermes snorted. It made you a moth to a flame, they said. More like a bird to a plate-glass window. And for Thanatos it would be worse, because his very touch could kill her, if he wasn’t careful.
And you’ll want to do it, too. Maybe not at first, but eventually. It’s in your nature. It is your nature.
“I don’t get you,” Ares sighed. “The lot of you. Getting so attached to these people. Even if we survive, you’re just going to lose them.”
“Then you shouldn’t get attached to anything, Ares.” Thanatos poured a splash of wine and drank it down. The sound of the glass when he set it on the counter was so brittle Hermes half-expected the stem to crack. “Nothing lasts forever. You’re walking proof.”
Ares frowned. “But it’s just how they’re made. They’re made to die. I don’t get it.”
“You think you get to keep her,” Hermes said softly. And then louder, “You think Cassandra’s like you. A god of death.”
Thanatos stared at his hands. His voice when he spoke was firm, but patient.
“That’s exactly what she is. Haven’t you been paying attention?”
* * *
When Cassandra’s phone chirped, she almost didn’t know what it was. It seemed like a long-dead corpse, come back to life after being plugged into a wall. She grabbed it off her bedside table with a little distaste. People could reach her again. She was back on the grid.
The text was from Athena.
I’m in your backyard. Can you come?
Cassandra sighed. If she left the house, even to stand in the backyard, her parents might have tandem heart attacks. They probably weren’t even asleep. They were probably lying there listening for telltale scrapes of canvas against carpet or suitcase zippers. She typed back:
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.
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