Ungodly

by Kendare Blake

  And that’s what you intended for Cassandra. To put her through all this shit, just to lose herself anyway.

  “Of course I understand,” Athena said. “I’m a goddess. Not a stolen girl.”

  The Moira wearing Cassandra considered the trade. And nodded. An obsolete goddess of battle would become the Moira of Death. It was more than fair, on all sides.

  “Athena, you can’t do this,” Odysseus said. “How do we even know they’re telling the truth?”

  “As a token of good faith,” Clotho said in her Cassandra-but-not-Cassandra voice, “we will tell you a very great secret.”

  “What’s that?” Athena asked.

  “Achilles is here. Now. In Cassandra’s house.”

  23

  ACHILLES

  “Don’t. Linger.” Andie brushed Henry’s fingers away from her bare belly. “On my scars.”

  “Why not?” he asked, and walked his fingers right back where they’d started. Four clean cuts slashed across her belly, gently pink.

  “Because I don’t like to think about them. I rub fricking Bio Oil on them twice a day hoping they’ll disappear.”

  But they never would. They would remain, shiny and smooth, with small pockmarks at the edges where the stitches had grown into the skin. Henry hadn’t realized how close he’d come to losing her that day in the road, when the Nereid raked its claws across her stomach. Nobody had until it was over, and Hermes noticed all the blood that had soaked into her shirt.

  “So close,” he whispered.

  “Yeah. Close to spilling my guts out across the hood of your old Mustang.” She covered her eyes with one hand, reclined on his pillow. She talked tough, but her stomach clenched beneath his palm. It had to be a strange thing, to know what it felt like to almost be disemboweled. Henry could relate. He knew what it felt like to almost have his jugular torn out.

  He touched the scar on his cheek.

  “Yours is prettier than mine,” she said, and touched it, too.

  “Handsomer, you mean. And no it isn’t. I’d rather have yours. Tiger stripes.”

  She laughed. “Tiger stripes. You’re so full of it.” She pulled him close and wrapped her arms around his neck. They kissed, and the house was quiet. He’d thought he heard Cassandra come home a while ago, but couldn’t be sure. At the time, he’d been trying to keep an angry Andie from storming out. But Andie thought she’d won. That she’d convinced him to stay himself, and not die and come back and let Hector in. But letting Hector in was the only way. When he was a true hero, she would see that.

  Something mood-killing and cold dug into his side: Lux’s wet nose.

  “Ew. Go away, boy.”

  “He’s mad.” Andie smiled. “We’re taking up the whole bed.”

  Lux whined and paced around a minute before turning to stare at Henry’s closed door.

  “Maybe he has to go out.” Henry hauled himself up and opened it, motioning for the dog to go through. Lux lowered his head and backed up two steps.

  “Come on, what’s the matter?” Henry made to clap his hand to his leg and stopped. Andie sat up nervously. Now that the door was open, the house was too quiet. There were no sounds from downstairs. No muffled TV or clinking dishes in the kitchen.

  Lux stared into the dark hallway, pinning and unpinning his ears. Henry knew enough of his language to understand.

  Something is out there. Don’t go out there.

  “HECTOR!”

  Andie clapped her hand over her mouth.

  “HEEECTORR!”

  Henry held his breath.

  It was Achilles. Achilles was in their house.

  * * *

  There were no wolves in the woods except Ares’ own. No coyotes, no bears. Nothing more interesting than a couple of city raccoons and a few dozen of his sister’s reflector-eyed owls.

  Ares listened to the quick steps of Panic rustle through the brush. Oblivion trotted behind, but made no sound. In their wake, the ghosts of Famine and Pain howled miserably, unable to catch up. His poor, missed wolves. He’d let the Moirae use them, and he’d paid the price.

  Ares looked up at the cold yellow moon. He’d been running beneath it with Panic and Oblivion for over an hour. It was something he’d always loved to do. Aphrodite had never understood that. She’d rather he be an indoor dog, free of dirt and draped in expensive clothes. But he went out to run anyway. Under the moon, like their sister Artemis.

  He remembered Artemis’ blood splashed across the jungle. It was probably still there. Wet. Dead.

  But that was the only memorial she would want. And if she had to die, that was the death she would want.

  If she had to die.

  Ares flexed his hand. Parts of it had scabbed over, but the scabs around his knuckles and the folds of his palm broke easily. Artemis had gotten the death she wanted. The death she deserved. Would he? Aphrodite certainly wouldn’t. Aphrodite would die mad, frothing at the mouth, when she should die in his arms. Looking into his eyes. Knowing who he was.

  He wiped blood across the front of his shirt. He’d probably never see his Aphrodite again, and if he wanted the death he deserved, he would have to go seek it out.

  The scent of carrion hit his nose. The wolves had opened their mouths to taste the wind, their eyes fixed back the way they’d come. It was their breath he smelled.

  “What is it?” he asked.

  Guests, the wolves replied.

  * * *

  “The ladder in Cassandra’s room,” Andie whispered. His parents had a fire ladder installed outside Cassandra’s window when they were children. Who knew if it still worked? But Henry didn’t intend to check. Achilles was in his house, and that filled him with rage as well as fear. He regretted that he’d let Athena hold on to the shield.

  How he ached to face Achilles with that. And beat him with it.

  Henry edged into the hallway and felt his dog quick by his side. A low growl rumbled through Lux’s body even as his tail tucked between his legs. Henry put a hand on his head and scratched.

  “Andie,” he said, and nodded to the dog.

  “Henry,” she hissed back, but she understood. Take care of Lux.

  Every time his foot hit a creak on the stairs, his heart stopped.

  It doesn’t matter. He knows where you are anyway. And he’s too much of a dick to sneak an attack from behind.

  “Hec-tor,” Achilles sang out, and the light turned on in the den.

  “My name is Henry.”

  “No it isn’t. Not down deep. Down deep you’re him as much as I’m me.”

  “I’m pretty sure Achilles never had an Australian accent.”

  Achilles laughed, and the sound made Henry grind his teeth hard enough to taste dust. He wasn’t Hector, but he still hated Achilles. How much must they have hated each other back then, for it to carry through their blood for so many thousand years?

  He took the last step and walked down the hall to the den. Andie came behind him with her hand on Lux’s collar. When she saw inside the room, she gasped.

  Achilles had taken two chairs from the kitchen and set them with their backs to the TV. Then he’d strapped Henry’s parents to them and gagged them with cloth. His dad’s nose was broken. His mom wept.

  “I’ll kill you,” Henry growled.

  Achilles laughed, free and easy until the smile that went along with it slid off his face.

  “That’s the spirit, mate.” He reached into his back pocket and drew out a long, silver knife. To demonstrate its sharpness, he cut off some of Henry’s mom’s hair.

  “You fucking prick!” Andie shouted.

  Achilles paid no attention. He jerked Henry’s mom’s head back and slid the knife down her temple. He seemed worse, somehow. More unhinged. More wrathful. Perhaps it was something the Moirae had done. Perhaps they’d been infusing him with hate on his way to godhood.

  “Doesn’t even know who you are, does she?” Achilles asked. “Her own son.”

  “Let them go.”

&nb
sp; “Before I tell them?” he grinned. “Before I make you pick one?”

  Henry looked to each. Even though his brain screamed that he could never choose, he knew he would.

  “Eye for an eye, as they say.”

  “Hector killed Patroclus,” Henry said. His parents looked so confused, and helpless. “And you killed Hector. You killed Hector, and so many more.”

  “Yeah, well. Some people are worth more eyes than others.” Achilles spun his knife, twisted, and, before Henry could move, carved a scar to match Henry’s into his father’s cheek. It bled horribly. The sight of so much red, so much of his father’s blood, made Henry dizzy. Behind him, Andie quietly began to cry.

  “You killed Patroclus,” Achilles said. “And you stole my shield. As if you were worthy of it.” He bared his teeth. “I’ll be having it back now. Is it here?”

  “I can take you to it,” Henry said. “You can have it. I know it’s yours.”

  Lux whined and squirmed in Andie’s grip, maybe smelling the blood.

  Achilles sighed.

  “No, I suppose they wouldn’t let you keep it here,” he said. “I suppose they won’t even let you use it, now that Athena’s back. She’ll be the one to face me with it, and that will really be something.” Achilles wagged his knife back and forth. “Much more gratifying than this. I thought this would be fun. But it’s cruel.

  “And it really isn’t fair, making you choose when I’ve already cut this one up.” He grabbed Henry’s dad by the shoulder and turned the knife in his fist, angling the blade downward and raising it over his head.

  Henry’s mind flashed on Michael Myers. On the shower scene from Psycho. He screamed as the knife came down. They all did. His dad closed his eyes. His mom shouted through her gag.

  The windows behind the TV shattered, and an enormous black wolf rose up on two legs. Panic came through the second window and used Oblivion’s distraction to knock Achilles away. They crashed into the TV and rolled through broken glass. Achilles made no sound, but Panic yelped miserably when Achilles shoved the knife through its side.

  Henry darted forward and dragged his dad’s chair out of the way. Andie did the same for his mom, taking her far across the room with a shell-shocked Lux in tow.

  “Hector!” Achilles shouted and leaped, so damn fast, and Henry stood between him and his father, no time to think about the eight inches of steel about to be buried in his stomach, or his neck, or driven right down into his head. What was done would be done, and maybe he’d leave the rest of them alone.

  I wish Andie would close her eyes.

  “Achilles!”

  Ares jumped through the broken window. His arm shot out and grasped Achilles’ wrist. The way his knuckles whitened, Henry knew the force of the grip would have broken a normal person’s arm. But Achilles didn’t even drop the knife. The point hung suspended, inches from Henry’s chest.

  “God of war,” Achilles said, and looked up at Ares from under his brow. “It’s an honor.”

  “You stabbed my wolf.” Ares shoved Achilles hard and sent him skidding nowhere near far enough. Oblivion circled around behind, but didn’t attack. It seemed to know it would catch a knife in its throat. Instead it hunkered low on its paws and blocked as much of Henry’s mom and Andie with its body as it could.

  “He-Henry,” Ares barked, like he’d just remembered Henry’s name. “Do you have anything to cut into this prick with?”

  “No.”

  “Here.” Ares pulled two knives out of his back pocket and tossed one end over end. Henry reached out and caught it by the handle—barely. He swallowed. He’d almost grabbed it wrong and skewered himself like an idiot.

  He had to focus. On his training. He’d trained with Athena. He’d even trained with Achilles.

  Henry stared at the knife in his hands. He wasn’t afraid, exactly, though he knew he should be. He was just … numb. The knife felt fake. Made of rubber. So out of place in his grip that he didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

  “Taking hostages.” Ares clucked his tongue. “The old Achilles was a warrior. Not a whackjob.”

  “The old Achilles died.” Achilles grinned. “This Achilles can’t. This Achilles is a god.”

  Ares spun the knife in his fingers. “Don’t get ahead of yourself.”

  Ares stepped forward; Achilles stood his ground. Henry walk-stumbled around the side of the couch. Anyone bothering to look would have seen the tip of his knife shaking. All his anger had leaked out with his father’s blood.

  When they jumped, Henry meant to go with them. But they were too fast. They hit in the center of the room like a thunderclap, and he stood frozen, watching them wrench and tear at each other. No tentative cuts. Ares shoved Achilles away and he flew into Oblivion, into his mother’s chair. Achilles reached back and slashed at anything he could find. Andie dragged Lux out of the way and screamed when the knife cut through the muscle of her shoulder.

  That made Henry move. He crossed the room fast, ready to throw himself onto Achilles’ knife. With some luck, the blade in his chest would give him enough time to land a stab of his own.

  And he’ll die. If I can find his heart, he’ll die and stay dead.

  But Achilles didn’t drive his knife into Henry’s chest. He flipped it and brought the handle down on the top of his head.

  “Later,” he whispered as Henry buckled at his feet.

  The room blacked in and out. Henry heard sounds, shouts, words, Lux barking. Ares and Achilles struggled again in the middle of the room, their movements too fast for Henry’s spinning vision. He heard something like a growl, and Achilles’ hand stuffed into Ares’ gut.

  There’s a knife on the end of that hand.

  Another moment flickered past, and Achilles jumped through the broken window. Henry couldn’t be sure, but it seemed that Achilles had been holding something in his arm. Something loose, and wet, and pink. Achilles had been holding his own intestines in his hands.

  “Andie,” Henry said, right before he lost consciousness.

  PART III

  ONE FATE

  24

  LIES CAVE IN

  “Did you kill him?” were the first words out of Henry’s mom’s mouth when Andie yanked her gag. “Did you kill him?”

  “No,” Ares groaned. “He can’t be killed.”

  “What are you saying? Of course he can be killed. You cut through his stomach. He’s probably out there now, on the ground.”

  Henry’s head pounded, but he hauled himself up and ungagged his dad, then started working on the knots in the rags used to tie him to the chair.

  “We need to call the police,” his dad said.

  “We need to call Athena,” Ares corrected. “She’ll coordinate … hospitals.” His voice was low and far away. Henry glanced at him, fearful he’d see the god losing consciousness, or holding his own guts in his hands. The idea brought back a flash of Achilles, diving through the window with ropes of intestine looped over his wrist. Henry gagged.

  But Ares wasn’t holding his stomach. His gut wound looked like a clean stab, just leaking blood and nearly forgotten. Ares looked down at the floor, where Panic lay limp.

  “Damn it.” Henry finished with his dad and wadded some of the rags together to press to the cut on his cheek. “Andie?”

  “I’m okay,” she said. “Lux is okay. Your mom is okay.” She had finished with the knots holding his mom’s feet and started on her hands. Her left arm was a sleeve of red, but her hand was steady.

  “Where’s Cassandra?” his mom asked. “Is she all right? Did any of you see her upstairs?!”

  “I didn’t think she was home,” Andie said. But before anyone could really panic, Athena kicked in the door and ran inside, with Odysseus and Cassandra behind her.

  * * *

  “Cassandra! Thank god!”

  Cassandra blinked hard twice. The sight before her eyes made no sense. Overturned furniture. Her parents wearing bracelets of rags. There was a blood-soaked bandage on her dad
’s cheek. And in the center, Ares stood motionless over the body of a red wolf.

  “Where were you?” her dad asked, though she thought the answer was a little obvious. Athena was right beside her. She’d been with Athena.

  Only that wasn’t quite true. Clotho and Lachesis had been with Athena. Cassandra had last been in her room, where they’d wormed inside her head. But they were gone now. Back at Athena’s house, two creatures that resembled translucent, elongated crustaceans lay ground into the carpet. One had fallen out of Cassandra’s nose. The other from her ear. She’d crushed both beneath her feet and listened to them crunch like hard candies.

  Henry lurched from behind their father to kneel over the top of Panic. He pressed a reluctant hand to its chest.

  “He’s not dead,” he said, and Ares knelt beside him. “He might be okay, if we get him to a vet.”

  “It isn’t a dog,” Ares said. He sounded slow. In shock. Blood had soaked one of his pant legs all the way to the knee.

  “Well, can it pretend to be a dog?” Henry asked, and the wolf whispered an answer. “Talking isn’t a good start,” Henry said to it. “I’ll take him. Ares, you have to stay here. The vet will take one look at your gut and send you to the ER.” He heaved the wolf up in his arms and made a face when the creature rose onto two feet to help. Oblivion nosed closer, mostly on all fours.

  “Stay.” Henry pointed at it, and it lowered its head.

  “What does he mean? What’s wrong with your gut?” Athena asked. “Are you all right?”

  “I took a stab. Nothing to write home about.” Ares stood straighter while Athena lifted his shirt. The wound was deep and bad. It pulsed blood and opened like a mouth every time he breathed.

  “What were you doing here?” Athena asked.

  “He saved us,” Cassandra’s mother answered for him. “Him and his dogs. They jumped through the windows and stopped him. That boy—that boy was going to kill your father.”

  “I’m okay, Maureen.” Cassandra’s dad went to her and hugged her tight. “We have to call the police. That kid, whoever he was, can’t have gotten far.”

  “Oh, you can bet he’ll be miles away,” Ares said.