“You ordering gods around now?” Athena asked as Odysseus shut the door. She tugged a towel over the feathers and sucked air across her teeth. “That’s bold, even for—”
She stopped talking when he pushed his fingers into her hair.
“Uncover that,” he said.
“No.”
“Uncover it.”
“It’s ugly.”
“It’s ugly,” he said. “You’re not.”
Her eyes burned again. “Why don’t you get out of here? Hermes was doing a fine enough job.”
“I want to do it.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because I know they scare you. Because you’re not so scared when I’m around.” He gently moved the towel away. But his other hand stayed in her hair, his thumb softly touching her jawline. He removed the feathers slowly, with short, steady pulls. “Cassandra and I are going to have words,” he said.
“Guess we’re lucky she didn’t slap me in the face this time.”
“Wouldn’t have mattered,” he said. “You’d still be you. Shining, larger than life.”
“Yes,” she said. “Shining goddess of battle, in silver and bronze. That’s what I am.”
“Idiot, that’s what you are,” he said. “You shouldn’t have gone in the first place. And it isn’t the armor that makes you shine.”
She flexed her shoulder, squeezed her own muscle like an orange to ooze fresh blood. He looked up at her, fondly irritated. His dark hair hung in his eyes and he blew it out of the way, then removed his hand from her neck and used it to hold her fast.
“It was worth it to go,” she said. “Because now I know.”
“Now you know what?”
“About Olympus,” she said, and he paused. “Olympus has returned. And Hera’s hiding inside of it.”
* * *
A statue of Hera sat heavy in the trunk of the Dodge—heavy enough to sag the rear suspension and take the muffler nearly to the ground. Athena had searched for the statue the better part of the morning, and paid cash. Then she drove home, careful not to chip its stone ass.
Dragging the statue to the backyard was nearly cathartic, even if it was only a statue. Athena stared into Hera’s stone face and studied the curve of the cheek, the locks of hair escaping the headband. But the blank, pupil-less eyes were her favorite part.
“Is this what you’ll look like when Cassandra’s really done with you?”
No. In fact, it didn’t look like Hera at all. Just a generic representation, made to look like the other sculptures artists had chiseled over the centuries. Thousands of stone gods and goddesses, with the same face. The only way to tell the statue was supposed to be Hera was the peacock twined around her feet.
The sliding door opened, and the smell of fried chicken and buttered biscuits wafted out of the kitchen.
“I would’ve voted for a lawn jockey,” Odysseus said. He closed the door behind him. “Or some of them pink flamingos.”
Athena smiled. “She’s for Achilles. Stone he can hone his fists on.”
“You never bring me any presents.”
“I would, if you’d show me something worth rewarding.” She glanced at him slyly. He looked briefly insulted, then puzzled. He was such a good liar. Good enough to almost make her doubt what she’d seen: that he was faster and stronger than he’d shown.
“You really think he’s something, don’t you,” he said.
“Don’t get jealous. He is something. A weapon of fate, and all ours. And to think I wanted to kill him.”
Achilles’ strength grew by the day. It would be he who got them their victory as much as Cassandra. As much as Athena.
“I don’t get jealous,” Odysseus said. “How’s your shoulder?”
“It’s fine.” It still bled when she flexed her arm, and bled more when she dragged the statue, bouncing, from the trunk to the backyard. The throb reached hotly all the way to her fingers. “Thank you. For last night.”
“I wouldn’t have been anywhere else.”
“You’d better get some chicken before Hermes and Achilles eat it all,” she said.
“Okay. Can I bring you something? A biscuit? A bucket?”
Athena smiled. He’d never pry an entire bucket out of Hermes’ paws.
“Maybe a leg,” she said.
The growl of Henry’s Mustang preceded it down the street.
“Never mind,” she said. “No time.”
* * *
“Anybody care for some chicken?” Hermes tilted the bucket of original recipe and passed it around the circle in the backyard where they’d gathered with Hera’s statue in the center.
“This is weird,” Andie said. “KFC in the cold backyard, talking about Olympus. Olympus. You guys I can handle. You’re real. In front of me. In the flesh. But Olympus? That’s a stretch.”
“I had the same reaction,” Hermes said around most of a leg.
Athena eyed the statue of Hera. She had to give her stepmother credit. Retaking Olympus was no small feat. She’d become a god again, in the gods’ home, and it seemed that the gods’ home healed those who resided there.
“I should have thought of it myself,” Athena said. “But what’s done is done. We’ll claim Olympus and turn them out.”
“What do you mean, ‘turn them out?’” Cassandra asked. “You mean kill them. The war doesn’t end until they’re dead. You said so.”
“No, it isn’t over until I am dead. That’s what Demeter said.”
“Whatever,” said Cassandra. “Hera dies. Aphrodite dies. They killed Aidan, and you promised.”
“I did. To give you comfort. Hera will be killed. Aphrodite might be. But vengeance isn’t…” Athena paused. “As rewarding as you might think.”
Henry and Andie exchanged glances.
“Is it right what Cassandra said, then?” Henry asked. “That you lost your nerve? You let Ares go.”
“To keep your sister safe,” said Athena.
“To keep her brother safe,” Cassandra muttered, and the mutter worked its way around the circle as if following the bucket of chicken.
“Dissention in the ranks,” Odysseus whispered into Athena’s ear. “Not the best time to mount an offensive.”
She brushed him away.
“As soon as my shoulder heals, we go,” she said. “It won’t be long. And the trip won’t be far.”
Cassandra crossed her arms. “So you remember the way?”
“Of course I do.”
“Oi.” Odysseus stepped forward. “Why are we talking like it’s decided? This doesn’t feel like much of a plan. We rush into Olympus with nothing but guts and bravado, ready to be put on spits?”
“We’ve got more than just guts and bravado, friend,” Achilles said. “And it sounds plenty fine to me.”
“Yeah, it would,” said Odysseus. “But how about some good old-fashioned recon? Maybe find out why they suddenly laid out the red carpet.”
“Hera overestimates herself,” said Athena. “Like she always does.”
“Maybe she’s not the only one.”
“Enough,” Athena said, glaring at Odysseus. The nerve. The balls. She’d have been impressed if it didn’t piss her off so much. “We go, and we go now.”
“Athena,” said Hermes quietly, “you don’t need to go so fast.”
His collarbones peeked out of his shirt. The fever radiated off him from across the circle.
“Don’t you say that to me,” she said. “You know I do.” Her mouth twitched downward. “I shouldn’t have taken so long … it feels late already.”
“Athena—”
“Save your breath, Ody,” Cassandra said. “It doesn’t matter that we have no plan. She doesn’t think we need one.” Her fingers twitched into fists. “Honestly, I don’t think we do, either.”
“Finally,” Athena said. “The oracle says something I know is true.”
“You really think we can win?” Odysseus asked.
As an answer, Achilles drew a hid
den sword from behind his back. He swung hard, and the stone statue of Hera fell, cleaved clean in two.
22
THE SPACE THAT GODS INHABIT
“Olympus can be reached from the mouth of any cave. Just like the underworld can be reached from any lake or river.”
“There’s a … cave … up at the state park,” Andie said. Her face was white as a sheet. “We went camping up there sometimes before my dad left. And I can’t believe I’m saying anything to help you.” She looked at Henry like she was nuts, and he offered no arguments. “It’s not very big,” she said.
“It won’t matter. It’ll do. Thank you, Andie.”
“No problem. I guess.”
“So,” Henry said, “all caves lead to Olympus? How come nobody’s ever accidentally spelunked into it, then?”
“All caves lead to Olympus for gods,” Hermes replied. “As all bodies of water lead to the underworld for us. At least, when Olympus and the underworld exist.”
Cassandra could barely believe it. Olympus. The underworld. Unreal places made real, as if she could look out her bedroom window and see a floating castle in a cloud. As if she could look into the river at Abbott Park and see Aidan waving up at her. Her brows knit as she realized. If Olympus had returned, perhaps the way to the underworld had opened as well.
Sudden hope ignited in her chest.
“The underworld,” she said. “Has it returned with Olympus?”
Athena and Hermes traded an uneasy glance.
“If we can get to Olympus, can we get there, too?”
“I don’t know,” Athena said.
“Bullshit.”
“I really don’t,” Athena said gently. “I suppose it’s possible.” She took a deep breath. “I know why you’re asking.”
“Take me there.”
“Cassandra—”
“Look,” Cassandra said, doing her best to keep from trembling, “I’m not mad, okay? I know you couldn’t before, you didn’t know. Maybe it wasn’t even possible before.” But it was possible now. She knew the legends. The myths. Orpheus and Eurydice. The Cyclops being freed. Freed. You could pull someone out of the underworld if you loved them and had a god or two on your side. She’d sing Aidan out of that hole if she had to do it belting “The Star-Spangled Banner.” And she wouldn’t be a fool and look back too soon.
“A trip like that,” Athena said, “we don’t know how long it would take.”
“Don’t you want him back?” Cassandra goaded. “Don’t you want another soldier to help keep the mortals alive on that mountain?”
Athena gritted her teeth.
“We don’t have time.”
“Time? What are you talking about? Olympus isn’t going anywhere, is it?” Cassandra dug her nails into her palms. Nobody said a word. Andie held tight to Henry’s arm. Achilles and Calypso barely blinked. Even Odysseus, the great butter-inner, remained silent, curious to see how it played out. Or maybe he was as crazily hopeful as she suddenly was. That she could have him back.
Athena looked nearly ready to pop when Hermes pulled her close and whispered into her ear.
“No,” she said softly. “You can’t wait.”
“I can. I promise I can. And if it might be possible?”
“If it’s possible now, it’ll be possible after,” Athena hissed.
“There won’t be an after,” Cassandra said. “If someone doesn’t take me, then I’m not going with you to Olympus. Good luck with Hera. She’ll turn you to feathery paste.”
“You’re making threats now?” Athena asked. “Giving orders?”
“Stop.” Calypso stepped in between them. “You don’t need to do this. I’ll take Cassandra, if you won’t.”
Cassandra smiled triumphantly; Athena looked as if she’d swallowed a rock.
“Don’t be ridiculous. We have no idea what condition the underworld is in,” Athena said. “And it’s no picnic on a good day.”
“I don’t care,” said Cassandra.
Athena glared at her, every muscle in her jaw clenching. But Cassandra wouldn’t give in. She couldn’t. Not if it meant Aidan.
“Go home and pack,” Athena muttered and turned her back. “Get an hour of sleep if you can. We leave before dawn.”
* * *
Odysseus went with Cassandra to her house, along with Andie and Henry. After the growl of the Mustang faded, Athena went back into the yard and kicked the stone statue of Hera in half of its face over, and over, and over. In five minutes, the toes of her favorite boots were ruined, and chunks of Hera lay scattered across the grass.
“Dress rehearsal?”Achilles asked.
Athena smiled ruefully. “Maybe.”
“We could do it all ourselves, you know. Walk in there. Blow up the place. Walk back out. Just you and me.”
He sounded so confident. Very Crocodile Dundee. But it wouldn’t work.
“No,” she said. “We need her. We need Cassandra.”
“The other weapon of fate.” He nodded. “Right. You think that’s why we’ll win. Because if you have us, you have the Fates.”
“Why do you think we’ll win, Achilles?”
He walked to her and picked up half of the statue, as easily as she could have.
“Because you’re the goddess of war.” He blew dust off the cracked stump of Hera’s neck. “That’s why I joined up. What could be mightier than you?”
* * *
Andie didn’t look like herself, sitting on the corner of Henry’s bed, her knees up and her hands pressed against the blankets. She looked afraid. Like a backward-scuttling crab.
“Lux,” Henry said, and gestured with his head. The dog bounced up onto the bed and curled into her lap.
“Dog therapy,” Andie said.
Henry shrugged. “It usually works for me.”
Her phone buzzed, and she reached into her pocket then texted something fast and furious.
“Who’s that?” Henry asked.
Andie made a face.
“It’s Megan, nosy. We were supposed to go to a movie.”
“Not anymore?”
“What do you think?”
Henry sighed. She’d probably be this snappy until the moment they left for Olympus.
Olympus. They were going to real, live, legendary, mother-effing Olympus. The only thing that could make it feel larger and more ridiculous was if they got there on Pegasus.
“This is what we trained for,” he heard himself say.
“I guess.”
“You’re the one who wanted to start using swords.”
She squinted at him. “What’s that supposed to mean? It’s a good thing I did, or we’d both be in Ares’ wolves’ stomachs right now.”
“That was weeks ago,” Henry said. “We’d actually be in little piles of Ares’ wolves’ poop right now.”
She cracked a smile, but just barely. “Big piles, you mean.”
Around Henry’s room, nary a piece of wall was visible for all his posters. Childish, outdated relics. Andie had made fun of him for it once. But the big blue Avatar face sure felt comforting now, when his sister was packing for the underworld across the hall. They would go and sit with her soon, he supposed. After she and Odysseus finished discussing whatever secret reincarnated-handshake crap they were discussing.
“Henry?”
“Yeah?”
“Do you think it’s done any good? The training, I mean.”
“Sure,” he said. He flexed his arm. “Check out my bicep. It’s almost doubled.”
She smacked him. “I mean, do you think it’s made a difference? Do you think we can stand against gods?”
“Hermes won’t let us face gods,” he said. “We’ll handle the wolves. We’ve faced off against them before.” He didn’t look her in the eye. He didn’t look Lux in the eye either. The deep red scar on his cheek said enough. “And we have you-know-who. What’s-his-ass. Achilles. Besides, I don’t want my sister to go alone.”
“Me, neither.” Andie stuffed her hand
s into Lux’s fur, and his tail thumped. “I don’t know what I’m saying, anyway. They killed Aidan. Hurt Cassandra. Hurt Lux. It’s our fight.”
“Hey,” he said, and pointed to his cheek. “And me.”
“Yeah,” she said. “And you.” She moved Lux’s head from her lap and stood up, looking at the posters like Henry had just done. “I spend more time in here with you than I do with Cassandra these days,” she said. “Must be annoying. Bet you never counted on your kid sister’s friend always hanging around.” She crossed her arms. “I don’t remember you dying. But it feels like I do. And that almost feels like a premonition.” She looked back at him. “Or an omen? I don’t know what the word is.”
Henry swallowed. He’d never seen Andie so small and scared and nervous. He didn’t know what to do, so he didn’t do anything.
“When the wolves said that you were the boy who had to die, everyone thought that they made a mistake,” Andie went on. “That they thought you were Odysseus, or somehow Achilles. But what if they knew you were you?” Her voice grew quieter, but more breathy, more intense. Her cheeks flushed rosy, and she shook from shoulders to wrists. “What if Hector has to die?”
“I’m not Hector.”
“It doesn’t matter to them!” She turned on him with big, scared eyes and rushed him, hugging him hard and fierce, like he always guessed her hugs would be—part affection, part cutting off circulation.
“I’m not going to die, Andie,” he whispered.
“I think you are,” she said.
Henry slipped his arms around her. He could feel her curves through her clothes, and all her hard muscle, from years of hockey as much as from bashing shields and swinging swords. Her black hair lay soft against his cheek and smelled like herbs. The dirt-smeared tomboy had grown into a pretty girl when he wasn’t looking. And she hadn’t been just his “kid sister’s friend” in a long time.
Henry’s heart pounded in his ears. It was weird to think that he could kiss her. Shove Lux off onto the floor and press her back on his bed. No time like the present to play the Last Night on Earth card. He cleared his throat.
“I guess it’s a good thing you’re not psychic,” he croaked.
“Oh.” She pulled away. “It’s not a joke!” But she laughed a little and punched him in the liver, almost hard enough to make him buckle. The moment was over, and he tried to laugh with her, hugging his internal organs and kicking himself.