Ungodly

by Kendare Blake

  Cassandra squeezed her eyes shut. He was the last person in the world who should say that.

  “Is Hermes…?” she asked.

  Odysseus nodded over his shoulder.

  “Stick around, after,” he said. “I want to hear all about your time on the road. God killing.”

  Cassandra let him lead her into the house. The kindness in his voice was terrible. It was only because he didn’t know. Once he did, their friendship would be over. She deserved that. But she couldn’t help wanting to put it off.

  Hermes lay on the couch, covered from chin to toe by a slab of blankets. They’d packed something in with him that made boxy bunches beneath the fabric. She didn’t know what it was, but it hid his thinness well enough. If she didn’t know better, she’d think he had just come down with the flu.

  That’s a lie. His gaunt face had gone the color of ash. If I didn’t know better, I’d think he was already dead.

  Athena stood beside the couch. She’d changed out of her bloody shirt, but the way she stood said the wound still hurt. A dark spot above her collarbone hinted at another feather working toward the surface.

  “You brought him back here,” Athena said, staring at Thanatos.

  “He’s not the cause of this.” Cassandra spoke carefully. Anyone could see Athena was barely hanging on, and Thanatos was an easy target. But Athena knew the truth when she heard it. She backed up a step so Cassandra could get to the front of the couch.

  “Hey,” Hermes whispered as she knelt. “We’ve been looking for you. Went all the way to the desert to ask Aunt Demeter where you were.” Cassandra felt the cold emanating from beneath the thick blanket. They’d packed him with ice, and still his eyes shone bright with fever, and sweat dripped down his neck. “They killed her, you know. The Moirae. Sliced her into confetti.”

  Cassandra pressed her hand to his shoulder. “How long has he been like this?”

  “Since last night. Since we dreamed of Demeter’s murder.” Athena hugged herself tightly, and Odysseus went to stand beside her. “The fever broke for a few hours this morning. But it won’t stay gone.”

  “Is there anything we can do?”

  “I don’t know.” Athena wiped a tear out of her eye. “Maybe if we found a way to kill that.” She gestured toward Thanatos, who did his best to look innocent.

  “Can’t.” Cassandra smiled softly. “I already tried.”

  Athena scoffed and rolled her eyes. “Perfect.”

  The back door opened and closed. Cassandra knew who it was before she saw him, even before she heard the wolves scramble into the kitchen, just by the way Athena stiffened. Cassandra drew her hand back fast from Hermes’ shoulder and took a long, slow breath.

  Control it.

  But she couldn’t. It burst from her as soon as Ares stepped into her peripheral vision. His wolves whined and slunk behind his legs. Cassandra breathed, in and out. In and out as fire licked up her arms.

  He should be dead. He should die. It was what she’d waited for.

  Control it.

  She told herself again. To control it like she hadn’t been able, when she’d killed Calypso. When she’d murdered Calypso.

  Athena stepped slowly around the back of the couch, her arm stretched wide to block Cassandra’s way, or maybe just to separate them. Not that it would do any good. One touch and there’d be nothing left of Athena but the remains of a pillow fight.

  “It should’ve been you,” Cassandra heard herself say. Her legs drove up from the ground and she vaulted toward Ares and Athena both. “It should’ve been you! Not her!”

  Ares stepped back, and reached for Athena as though he might shove her closer. The coward. But his hand wrapped around Athena’s arm and pulled her to his side, so maybe he meant to use her as a human shield instead.

  “Cassandra!” Thanatos jumped forward and caught her around the waist. She’d come so close. The terror in Ares’ eyes was incredible. Exhilarating.

  “Thanatos, be careful,” Athena shouted, but he paid no attention. He wrangled Cassandra from the room. Just like he had in Hades’ house.

  21

  NO TIME TO HEAL

  “That went better than I expected.” Athena shook loose of Ares and returned to Hermes.

  “What just happened?” Hermes asked when she knelt.

  “Nothing.” She checked his shoulder where Cassandra had touched him. It was no worse. “Just Cassandra, come to check on you.” She felt Odysseus’ and Ares’ eyes glued to her back and willed them to shut up. There wasn’t any need to worry Hermes.

  Sure, Cassandra had exploded into a bloodthirsty monster in their living room. Sure, the way her face had seemed to elongate in that moment, the way her teeth seemed to elongate, was bound to keep them all up nights. But considering Athena had figured on losing most of an arm to feathers during the exchange, it really had gone much better than she’d hoped.

  Still, they’d have to find a way to keep Cassandra and Ares apart.

  Odysseus closed the front door, left open after Thanatos had dragged Cassandra out. There’d been a tense few seconds when she’d clawed into the jamb and it seemed that she would scratch her way back in. But her fingernails gave way instead.

  Athena reached for Hermes’ forehead and watched her hand shake.

  “Ares, would you and the wolves stay with him a few minutes? There’s—” She looked around the living room as though she was surveying her kitchen cupboards. “There’s nothing here to eat. Nothing that’s good for sick people. The grocery store’s only a few miles away. Odysseus, will you drive?”

  She tossed the keys to the SUV at him and headed for the back door without really knowing why. Maybe to avoid the invisible trail Cassandra seemed to have left. Maybe just to feel farther away.

  “Good thing we still have the rental,” Odysseus said as he buckled up. “I guess Hermes didn’t bother to bring the Dodge back from where we parked it. I wonder if anyone’s found it yet. Maybe it’s giving the cops something to puzzle over: a stolen car covered with inhuman prints.”

  “I doubt that they’d bother to dust a stolen ’91 Dodge for prints. Besides, our fingerprints look as human as anyone else’s.” She didn’t bother with her own seat belt. She didn’t want to be gone long. Just long enough for the twitchy feeling to leak out of her bones, and to find something palatable for Hermes to eat, if there was such a thing.

  “So,” Odysseus said carefully. “Cassandra seems different.”

  “Whatever do you mean?” Athena looked at him slantways.

  “Oh, nothing.” He smiled. “Just that she sent the temp up by ten degrees. And after she was gone I swear it smelled like … ozone? Is that what they call the smell before a thunderstorm?” He shook his head and turned onto Alderwood Place. “She didn’t even look like herself.”

  “She looked like a monster. A demon. And how much, do you think, did we have to do with that?”

  “All of it. None of it. And what do you mean by ‘we’?” Odysseus blinkered for the grocery store and hit the brakes abruptly. He still had trouble sometimes with driving on the right side of the road. “Besides, it’s probably for the best anyway. We can use all the monsters we can get.”

  “I thought you were her friend,” Athena said.

  “I am her friend. But the Fates are slicing and dicing your aunt, we’ll be next on their list, and Hermes is laid up on the sofa. So you’d better start finding uses for the assets we’ve got.”

  Athena sat quietly as Odysseus pulled into a parking space and killed the engine.

  “No,” she said.

  “No?”

  “I’m not leading. I’m not going to use them anymore. Your lives are your own. From now on, they’ll make their own choices.”

  Odysseus stared at her. But how could she make him understand? She still felt like Athena, goddess of battle and wisdom. But she wasn’t. If she was, she wouldn’t have almost gotten them killed. Gotten him killed.

  “I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn�
��t have asked you to drive me here. You have too much on your mind. Calypso—”

  “I’ll mourn Calypso for the rest of my life,” he said, and grabbed her shoulder when she moved for the door. “But I need you. We need you.”

  “No you don’t,” Athena said, jerking the handle and stepping out. “I had to learn that. And now so do you.”

  * * *

  Henry squeezed Andie’s hand before they got out of the Mustang. Her fingers were cold and clammy. They’d been stuck in school for hours after Cassandra texted, saying that Hermes was sick and she was going over to see him. Knowing she was there already eased Henry’s conscience, as though she was an ambassador for all Hermes’ human friends. Andie wanted to ditch out on the rest of the day and go at once. But they were just about out of good excuses.

  He can’t be that bad.

  The words repeated in Henry’s mind but refused to come out of his mouth. Hermes probably wasn’t that bad. They’d just seen him, for Pete’s sake, and he’d been fine. Thin as ever, and maybe a little feverish, but he had run fevers on and off since the day they’d met him. But every time Henry tried to say something to reassure Andie, his tongue went numb. What did he know about the deaths of gods?

  When they finally got to Athena’s, Andie was first through the door, and not for the first time Henry regretted that she was so tall. He couldn’t see a thing.

  “Get away from him,” Andie said.

  Ares had dragged the ottoman nearer to the couch. He sat on the edge, leaned over Hermes, and pressed a wet cloth to his forehead. He paid no attention to Andie’s order, just regarded them in a lazy, irritated way and kept sponging. Henry’s throat tightened. What right did Ares have to take care of Hermes, when whatever had gone wrong was probably his fault?

  “Where’s Athena?” Henry asked.

  “And Cassandra?” Andie added.

  “Athena went out for food,” Ares replied calmly. “As for Cassandra, Thanatos dragged her out of here. I guess that means I owe him one.”

  “Thanatos?” Andie asked.

  “The guy Cassie came home with,” Henry said. The god she came home with.

  “Yeah,” Ares said. “Thanatos. You know. God of death.”

  Andie glanced at Henry. He knew exactly what she was thinking. Where the hell had Cassandra hooked up with the god of death? And why?

  In the five seconds since Cassandra had been back, they’d barely had a moment with her that didn’t involve one of their parents. She hadn’t told them anything. That morning she’d made pancakes before Henry left for school, and he’d practically choked on them, sitting across from her pretending to be nothing more than her relieved brother.

  “She really doesn’t tell you much, does she?” Ares smirked.

  “She will,” Henry said. No matter how curious he was, he had no desire to hear anything from Ares.

  Hermes shuddered beneath the blankets, violent as a seizure. Every one of them moved closer, ready to do who knows what. Andie nudged past Ares and stepped over Panic’s back. Henry started to tell her not to get so close, but she edged her toe underneath its rump until it whined and jumped away to lay someplace less pokey. She pressed the back of her hand to Hermes’ cheek.

  “He’s so hot.”

  Henry stood over the back of the couch and looked down. Hermes’ cheeks and eyes had fallen in. Had he really been so healthy yesterday? Or had they imagined it, refusing to see how much of him had wasted away? His skin was so pale. Almost blue.

  How can skin that color be hot? How can it have any blood in it at all?

  “What happened?” Andie asked. “He seemed fine when we left. He was so happy to see Athena.”

  “They had a nightmare,” Ares said. “From what I understand, they saw the Moirae kill old Demeter.” He flipped the cloth on Hermes’ forehead to the cool side. “I guess it set him off. Or maybe he was just waiting for his big sister to get home.”

  Henry gritted his teeth. What was that in Ares’ voice? Resentment? Regret? He wanted to shove him, take the damp cloth and throw it in his face. Being nursed by Ares was the last thing Hermes would want.

  “Is there anything we can do for him?” Andie asked. She tucked the blankets tighter around his chin, and his eyes fluttered.

  “Not unless you can kill the Moirae.”

  “So you believe it then,” Henry said. “I know Hermes does. But you do, too?”

  “Believe what?”

  “That if the gods kill each other … if you kill the Moirae, you’ll get better. He’ll get better.”

  Ares shrugged. “Maybe. But fuck, why not? I haven’t heard any better suggestions. And even if we don’t get better, with them dead at least we can live out the last of our days without worrying about a pair of shears to the guts.”

  “So how do we find them?”

  “Henry,” Andie whispered, like she didn’t want Hermes to hear. But Hermes couldn’t hear anything. Henry could’ve shouted it point-blank into his ear and he wouldn’t have flinched. He was so close to gone. And Athena wouldn’t take that sitting down. She might be playing nursemaid with chicken soup and Tylenol for now, but soon enough the goddess of battle would remember who she was. They’d be on the road after the Moirae before they had time to pack socks, and they’d better have a good idea about which way to go.

  “If they were in the desert last night, do you think they’ll stay there?” Henry asked.

  “Henry, shut up!”

  He couldn’t. He wished he could hold Andie and tell her he was still scared, that he knew Achilles would be waiting. Maybe he would later, when Ares’ mocking eyes weren’t assessing every inch of his frame for signs of trembling.

  “Hermes is our friend,” he said. “It’s going to come down to it sooner or later, so why not now, when some good might come out of it?”

  Ares smiled, cockeyed. For a second, he looked a little like Odysseus, only dim instead of clever. He stood. With his knees locked, he and Henry were almost the same height.

  “You look a little like me,” Ares said. “I didn’t notice until you grew some balls.”

  “He doesn’t look anything like you,” said Andie, but she had to be blind to think that. They had the same broad shoulders and deep chest. They’d even dressed in similar T-shirts. With the scar on Henry’s face, and the fresh cuts surfacing on Ares’ neck, they looked more like brothers than Ares and Hermes did.

  “He looks a lot like me,” Ares said. “But that’s where the similarity stops. I’m the god of war. You’re just a kid. And I don’t know what they think you’re going to do against Achilles except die.”

  “I’m the only one who can kill him,” Henry said, and hated the way his voice sounded.

  “You?” Ares shook his head. “Not you. Hector of Troy maybe, but not you.”

  “I know what you’re saying,” Henry said calmly. “And I’m not doing it. This is as close to Hector of Troy as you’re going to get.”

  “Not even if it would give you the juice you need to stay alive? Haven’t you noticed that you past heroes who die and come back with your old memories tend to wake up … supercharged?”

  “Supercharged,” Henry whispered, remembering how Odysseus had taken out Famine in the tunnels of Olympus. How he’d managed to survive a sword through the chest long enough to fall all the way to the underworld. Achilles, Cassandra, and Odysseus. They were all more than they were before. They weren’t just heroes. They embodied their myths. Odysseus, once only clever and quick, was now fast enough to take down wolves, clever enough to hide Achilles and his own strength for most of a year. Cassandra, once a doomed prophet, was now the doom of gods, with eyes to the future that rivaled the Fates’.

  And Achilles. The myths said he was invincible, and now he was impossible to kill.

  The myths also said that of all others, only Hector could stand against him. What would that Hector be now, if not the one who could truly destroy Achilles?

  Henry looked at Andie. She stared at him with wide brow
n eyes and shook her head.

  “Why would you tell me this?” Henry asked Ares.

  Ares shrugged.

  “You seem to care about my brother, so maybe I want you to live. Or maybe I could just tell that you didn’t want to know.” He shrugged again. “I just do things. Let other people figure out the whys.”

  * * *

  Cassandra was so angry she thought her fingers might melt together. She wanted to hurt something so badly she was moments from hurting herself. Her fingernails were bloodied and cracked from breaking across Athena’s door, and their sharp edges dragged up and down her wrists. But it wasn’t enough. Her wrists itched down deep. She’d have to claw her way under the skin if she wanted to scratch it.

  “Why did you bring me here?” she shouted.

  “This is where you needed to go,” Thanatos said quietly.

  “I’d almost gotten it down. I’d almost swallowed it.” She wasn’t making sense but it felt good to yell. To hell with the right words. Screaming eased the itch in her chest. Yelling loosened the tightness in her throat.

  In the car she’d started to feel better. Breathed deep and closed her eyes, let the cold wind come in through the window and blow Ares right off her shoulders. Calypso, too, had helped. She’d closed her eyes and thought of Calypso.

  Then Thanatos turned the car into the cemetery and pulled her by the wrist to Aidan’s grave.

  “You can’t swallow it,” Thanatos said. “You almost killed them back there, going after Ares. You’d have gone through Athena. You’d have stepped on Hermes’ chest if it would’ve gotten you closer. Did you really want to kill Ares so badly?”

  “Yes, I wanted to kill him! I want to kill all of them. Athena, Hermes, Odysseus. All of them. I hate them.” She paced in front of Aidan’s grave. The letters on his headstone curved down in pity. She ran at it and shoved it hard. Two hundred pounds of marble fell over in the grass. It seemed to Cassandra that it flew.

  “I hate you,” she said, and then she screamed until she thought her vocal cords would rip, would snap like weak twine. “I hate you!”