Henry Weaver, chickenshit of the ages.
* * *
Pack light, Athena had said. For the underworld. When Cassandra didn’t even know what she was packing for, or what the weather was like, or if there was even weather at all. The open mouth of her suitcase yawned. Most of her clothes had gone into it already, only to be taken out again. Pack light. She nixed the suitcase and reached for her schoolbag, then dumped her books and notebooks onto the floor to make room for a few shirts and a spare pair of jeans.
“This is an impossible trip to pack for,” she said to Odysseus. “You’ve been there before, haven’t you? How about some advice?”
He leaned over the bed and surveyed the choices.
“Here.” He grabbed a few t-shirts and a zip-up hoodie. “That should do it. Just don’t forget your goat’s blood and honey.”
“What?”
He waved his hand. “Hermes will take care of it.”
Cassandra peered down into her mostly empty backpack.
“So that’s it?”
“Yeah, that’s it. You won’t be gone long. She won’t let you be.” His voice turned bitter at the end, and his normally easygoing eyes sat hard as stones.
“You think we’re making a mistake, going into Olympus,” Cassandra said.
“I think she is.”
“Why?” Cassandra asked.
“Because she’s too bloody sure she’s going to win.” He exhaled sharply. “Doesn’t matter anyway. She won’t listen to me. Not when she gets like this. She didn’t listen to me when I said not to kill Achilles—”
“And that turned out okay.”
Odysseus shrugged. The outcome wasn’t the point, she supposed. He ran his hands through his unruly brown hair. He was tense and scared for Athena. Probably scared for all of them.
“I don’t think she likes you doubting her,” said Cassandra.
“Yeah, well, I don’t care. I care about keeping her alive. And telling her the truth.”
Cassandra frowned and thought of Calypso, how she must feel, knowing that Odysseus cared for Athena first.
“Ody, are you and Cally…?”
He shook his head. “No. And yes. And before you say anything, I know how shitty that is. What a bleeding mess I’ve made. It would have been better for us all if Athena had never showed a scrap of humanity. If she’d stayed a goddess, and I’d never been able to touch her.”
Cassandra rested her chin on her hand thoughtfully.
“I don’t know how to respond first. ‘What the hell scrap of humanity are you talking about?’ or ‘So, you’ve actually touched her?’”
“My gods, did I touch her. In the back of a truck on the way to Kincade.” He groaned and made fists. “The memory of it keeps me up nights.”
“You. Are. Really gross.” Cassandra zipped her bag. “And really unfair to Cally. She’s so sweet. And beautiful.”
“Cally’s wonderful,” Odysseus said. “Amazing. Lovely. She deserves better than me.” He sat down on Cassandra’s bed, wrinkling most of her wardrobe still spread out on it. He reached under his leg and pulled out a sweater, a blue one Aidan had bought for her. He folded it and held it out.
“What?” she asked. “In case I need something dressy?”
“Hades can be quite a particular bastard. He might want you formal. Listen. When you’re down there, Athena’s going to bait you. She doesn’t want to go, so she’s going to rush you along, piss you off. But you can’t touch her, do you hear me? You can’t touch her when you’re angry.”
Cassandra lowered her eyes.
“The thing that happened in Pennsylvania,” she said, “when I grabbed her, I only meant to make her let go—”
Odysseus didn’t blink.
“You knew what you were doing,” he said.
The feathers in her shoulder. He’s right. It was easy. I barely thought. I just let it out.
“Cassandra? What’s that look for?”
“Just thinking,” she said. “A few months ago, I would’ve run miles to keep Athena safe for you, even though I hated her. Because you’re my friend.”
“And now?”
Now I kill gods.
“Now everything’s different.”
He lay back on the bed and patted the pillow beside him. A few hours’ sleep was a good idea. But she didn’t see how it was possible, when she was leaving for the underworld and Aidan when she woke. She lay down and closed her eyes. Reviving dead boyfriends was worse than waiting for Christmas morning. Her heart pounded, and blood raced through her limbs. In a few hours, she would see him. She would touch him. And she and Athena would pull him out of the underworld, or die trying.
“Thank the stars for Athena,” she said.
“Never thought I’d hear you say that.”
“Don’t get me wrong. I do basically despise her. But you have to admit she has a knack for getting things done.”
Odysseus switched her lamp off and lay with her in the dark.
“What will you say to him, when you see him?” he asked.
Maybe nothing. It could be like it was at his grave. No words. But it wouldn’t matter. She’d have him back, and whatever she had to say, she’d have all the time she needed to say it.
“Well?”
“I’ll tell him I love him,” she said finally. “And that I’m glad he’s dead. I’ll tell him I’m grateful he protected me, and that he deserved what he got.” She breathed out, and to her surprise, began to feel sleepy. “And then I’ll bring him home.”
23
TRIP TO THE UNDERWORLD
Some hours later, Odysseus woke her. It was still full dark, but she came awake immediately and grabbed her backpack. Together they put on their jackets and crept to the door. A folded note was taped to the other side.
“It’s from Andie and Henry,” Cassandra said.
“What’s it say?”
“It says, ‘We hope you find him. We miss him a lot. Good luck, and be careful.’”
“Real poets, those two,” Odysseus said, and looked at Henry’s closed door. “Do you think they’re in there?” He waggled his brows. “You know.”
“What? Gross. No.” Cassandra tiptoed down the hall and down the stairs, then slipped into her shoes in the entryway. It was lucky that Lux was no longer a stellar guard dog, or they’d have been busted for sure. After the wolf attack he’d become timid and a much deeper sleeper.
They closed the door quietly and jogged through yards to Athena’s.
“You’re so going to get packed off to boarding school for this,” said Odysseus.
“No way. I can distract them with my boyfriend, suddenly back from the dead,” said Cassandra, and realized she was smiling.
“Right. Maybe try the long-lost twin brother angle. That always works.”
“Hey!”
Henry, Andie, and Lux ran to catch up.
“What are you doing?” Cassandra asked. “Go back, or you’ll get us all caught.”
“You’re going to get us caught.” Henry scowled. “You didn’t even make up a story for Mom and Dad. I told you to before you went to bed.”
“If you wanted me to listen to you,” she said, “you should have bossed me around more when we were younger.”
“I tried,” said Henry. “You were a brat.”
“You’re covered staying at my house until Friday,” Andie said. “Assuming you’re back before then, Tom and Maureen will never know a thing.”
“Thanks, Andie.”
“Cassandra?” Andie asked. “If you … can’t bring him back. Would you tell him…” She paused. “That I miss his stupid face. And thanks for … you know. Dying for us.”
Cassandra steeled her jaw.
“We’ll be back soon.”
* * *
Athena met them at the door in boots, jeans, and a jacket. A burlap sack that looked mostly empty hung in her right hand. When she said pack light, she meant it. She poked Cassandra’s backpack.
“Whatever you’ve go
t in there, clear it out by half and let Hermes repack it with food.”
“Okay.” She nodded at Odysseus. “Thanks for staying with me.”
“Anytime,” he said, but he was already distracted, his eyes on Athena. Cassandra had barely walked down the hall toward the kitchen before they started to whisper.
“Will you at least think about what I said?” Odysseus hissed. “You don’t know how to fight this war!”
“I know how to fight every war!”
Cassandra turned the corner and heard no more. Hermes’ clattering around in cupboards made sure of that.
“All right,” he said. “I’ve got granola bars, beef jerky, bottled water, a few apples, some canned meat, and bread.” He touched each lightly. “And, of course, a bear-shaped bottle of honey. Everything you need for a trip to the underworld.”
“Okay,” said Cassandra. “What’s with the honey? Odysseus mentioned it, too.”
“Well, it’s pretty good on the granola bars. Or, if the dead surround you, you can take the cap off and throw it in the other direction.”
Cassandra’s brow knit. “The dead can eat?”
“They can taste,” said Hermes. “They can drink. Hell, I don’t know, maybe they just like to roll around in the stuff. It’s been awhile since I’ve been down there.” Underneath the jovial tone he was tense and nervous. On his overthin frame it gave an impression of constant vibration.
“Are you okay, Hermes?”
“Haven’t been for over a year,” he said. “But a few more days won’t hurt. And I understand why you’re going. Half of me wants to go with you. He was my brother, too.”
“I know. And we’ll hurry.” Maybe she did understand Athena’s rush. Hermes was so thin he looked fake, like a wax figure or a mannequin. Far too thin to be alive and talking.
He ran a shaky hand through his hair, still chestnut and shiny despite the failure of his muscles and tightening skin.
“Just, when you get back, I don’t want to see any new feathers coming out of my sister’s ass, okay?”
Cassandra nudged him. “You know you’re making me pass up a great joke about ass plumage, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know. But now’s not the time.”
* * *
An hour and a half later, Cassandra followed Athena through the dark, over rocks and boulders still half-covered with snow and ice. She couldn’t see two feet in front of her face. They could have been going anywhere. But she bit her lip and didn’t ask. She felt enough like a child already, scrambling along, without whining and wanting to know if they were there yet. Since leaving the house, they hadn’t spoken much aside from the usual questions about whether it was warm enough in the Dodge and if she needed to stop to go to the bathroom. Which was fine by Cassandra. She wasn’t there to bond.
But she wasn’t particularly angry, either. Mostly she was nervous and afraid. If Athena had any sense of how to deal with mortals, she would have seen the fear leaking straight through the bottom of Cassandra’s wet shoes. But Athena didn’t notice. She parked the car on a side road in the middle of nowhere, mumbled that it was adjacent to a state park, and plunged onto the trails.
They crested a hill, and the barest glimmer of predawn light showed a dull wooden building lit poorly by pale fluorescent lights. Beside it, a large lake lay choppy and slate gray.
“Where are we?” Cassandra asked finally.
“Boathouse.”
“What are we doing here?”
“Stealing a boat.”
Of course. They would need one to get across the river to the underworld. She remembered that much from her life in Troy. They had to cross over either the river Styx or the river Acheron to reach the shores of the dead.
“We’re not going to portage, are we?” she asked. “Because I can guarantee my slowness will piss you off.”
Athena didn’t look back. “We don’t need to portage.” She walked straight for the deserted boathouse, across the nicely plowed dirt road and very empty parking lot. Cassandra smacked her lightly on the back.
“Why didn’t we park here?”
“I didn’t want the Dodge here,” Athena replied.
“Or maybe you just wanted to make me hike three miles over frozen rocks.”
Athena sighed. “Not everything I do is expressly designed to make your life harder, Cassandra.”
“Sure.”
Inside the boathouse, Athena chose a light wooden skiff and pulled it down as easily as if it were an empty nutshell. She set it into the water, and Cassandra grabbed oars off the wall. Athena knelt and gripped the sides.
“Get in.”
Cassandra lowered herself in carefully. The skiff rocked and bobbed. Below the sides, the water looked black and very cold.
“How far do we have to row?” she asked.
“We’re not rowing anywhere.” Athena stood and let go of the boat, and Cassandra made a mad grab for the dock.
“Hey, jerk! How about a warning?” She flexed her arms and tugged the boat close to the side. “What are you doing?”
“Well, I was thinking torches, but that might be a bad idea. Plus—” Athena looked back the way they’d come in. A large flashlight was affixed near the door. “I’m not sure about the batteries, though. We should probably bring both.”
“Both?”
Athena shrugged and went for the flashlight. “You’re right. This should be plenty.”
“Have I mentioned that I love the way you explain things?” Cassandra asked. She looked out across the lake. Daylight had begun to leak through the clouds, showing them low and gray. It wouldn’t be dark much longer. Athena handed her the flashlight.
As Athena got into the skiff, something shifted. The boat and the water, normal, everyday things a moment before, turned strange and out of context. The air went stagnant, and despite the motion of the skiff, the black water didn’t ripple. The flashlight was just a flashlight, but right then it felt about as familiar as a goat’s head.
Athena crouched and reached into the pocket of her jacket. What she pulled out looked like a bunch of sticks mixed with small, dried flowers. She flicked a lighter and set them on fire, burning orange against her cheeks, her lips whispering words Cassandra couldn’t hear.
“Turn the flashlight on,” Athena said.
“What?” Cassandra asked, an instant before Athena dropped the flaming bundle into the water, and the world around them went pitch dark.
“What’s happening?!” She fumbled with the switch on the flashlight, terrified it would slip out of her hands and be lost in the water. “I can’t find the button!” But in the next second she did, and the beam fell yellow on Athena’s calm face. “Why is it so dark?”
“The way down is always dark.”
But this was more than dark. The beam of the flashlight felt heavy trying to cut through it.
“What did you do?” Cassandra asked. “Are we still in the boathouse?”
“Not exactly.”
Cassandra’s heart pounded, bobbing on top of the inky water. Water that might very well have reached the center of the earth.
“Athena?” Her voice trembled. “I think I’ve had enough cryptic. Would you tell me what’s going to happen, please?” She pointed the beam of the flashlight back toward the dock, and it hit nothing. Just blackness, in all directions. Nothing to be seen except for the boat they sat in and Athena’s unruffled face. She’d never been so grateful for Athena’s unruffled face.
Athena looked into the flashlight beam a moment.
“Don’t be scared,” she said, and her voice was softer. “This is how it happens. I’m opening the way. Now we just have to find the river.”
“How do we do that?”
“Hold the flashlight steady. And look away, if your stomach’s feeling weak.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a short-bladed knife.
“What’s that for?” Cassandra asked.
“Not for you. But we have to pay the fare. And the fare is blood.”
Cassandra swallowed. As Athena talked, she felt less cold, and less scared.
“I thought it was just coins,” Cassandra said. “We used to put coins on their eyes, for the boatman. For Charon.” Charon, the ferryman of the dead, who transported souls across the river to Hades for a price. “Don’t tell me that didn’t work.”
Athena smiled. “Sometimes I forget what you are. That you were with us back then, when we were real.”
“You’re still real to me, if you haven’t noticed. Irritatingly real.”
“Well,” Athena said softly, “no Charon this time. It seems I lost his number a few thousand years ago. This time it’s blood. I just hope the blood of a god is payment enough, since I couldn’t fit a sheep in this boat.” She reached out and handed Cassandra the burlap sack she’d brought from the house. “But just in case mine doesn’t work, I brought a snake.”
“A snake?” Cassandra shone the light on the burlap and saw slow movement inside. “There’s been a snake in here the whole time?”
“Mm-hmm. The cold keeps her still.”
“So.” Cassandra turned the bag. “If you’re not sure your blood will work, why don’t we just start with the snake?”
Athena snatched the bag back. “I like this snake.”
Once the snake was safely in the belly of the boat, Athena put the knife to the palm of her hand and nudged one of the oars toward Cassandra. Cassandra grabbed it as the blade dug deep into the meat of Athena’s palm. The blood pooled for a few seconds, and then she tipped it over the side in a steady stream as if from a chalice. Her lips moved in a soundless prayer or incantation, and she plunged her hand into the water.
“Push us out, Captain.”
* * *
They moved off into the dark, slowly at first, and then faster. The water against Athena’s wrist stung like blades of ice. She fought the urge to pull her hand out, had to force herself to leave it below the surface, trailing like chum to the sharks, to every monster and beast that lurked in the water below the paper-thin belly of the boat. Some hideous child of Keto might twist out of the depths and tear her hand off with rows of triangular teeth. Or worse, they could drag her down to be crushed in the dark between scaly coils.