Mortal Gods (13 page)

That got through, as she’d known it would. Ares’ face crumpled, and he charged, not as fast as Hermes but with ten times the force. The impact sent them both into a slim tree, overwhelming the strength of the shallow roots. It fell, and Athena’s foot skidded backward to keep from going over with it. The sound of the tree cracking and crashing would have reached Hermes and the others, and she imagined them stopping short and looking back.

Balance recovered, she twisted Ares around and slammed him into the diagonal fallen trunk, then rolled him onto the ground, back through the blood. He’d sop up all that was left of their fallen sister, before she was done. Penance for his disrespect.

“You fight like I remember,” she said. “Poorly, and without brains.” But with bluster and bronze, too. With rage and heart, like a bellowing bull. When his fist connected with her jaw, and then her stomach, it doubled her over, and he tossed her easily into another tree. Artemis’ blood splashed when she dropped into it.

“You’re still strong,” he said.

“Bother you, does it?” She got up and shook blood drops from her arm.

He bared his teeth and clenched his fists. But he didn’t charge. And there was something in his eyes like pity. It couldn’t
be
pity, but whatever it was, it made her angry. Ares, pity her? Never.

She jumped for him, and they fought like forces of nature, like blunt instruments, with no regard for pain or damage. His fist split her lip and hers broke his nose. Athena didn’t bother dodging; she didn’t feign and slip like she had with Hera to avoid her stone fist. With Ares it wasn’t about skill or tricks. It was all about strength.

And speed. The feathers in her lungs sapped her wind. Strong or not, she couldn’t keep it up forever. Already her breath came too fast. She didn’t have long.

Her elbow rose up and caught him under the chin. It pushed him back a few steps.

“How do you want to die, Ares?” she asked. “Want me to take your head off, like Aidan and Hermes did to Poseidon? Or should I just poke twenty holes through your chest with a sharp stick?”

“Familiar threats,” said Ares.

“Yes. Only in the old days you’d have gone home and bitched to all of Olympus. Now Olympus is gone.”

“For the goddess of wisdom, the things you don’t know could fill a book.” Ares reached behind himself and pulled a short-bladed knife from his pocket. In the filtered light it looked dull, even less impressive than it already was. Ares shrugged. “It’s not much,” he said. “But anything bigger seems less than sporting.”

Athena almost laughed. She wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d pulled a gun. Ares had never cared about rules or fair play, or being
sporting
.

She let Ares advance, dodging the small knife a few times before dodging not quite enough. It sank into her shoulder, and she grabbed his hands and twisted his fingers loose. Then she yanked it out of her own shoulder.

“Got your knife.”

Ares grinned. “Got another one.” And true to his nature, the one he drew from his other pocket was bigger. They both struck, but she was faster. The tiny blade thrust up under his ribs and kept on going until her hand was buried to the first knuckle. He roared and stepped back to lean against a tree with his hands pressed to his stomach.

“A knife wound for a knife wound,” he said. “Enough for today.”

“What’s your hurry?”

“They didn’t send me to take care of you,” he said.

“They?” She thought a moment. “Of course. Aphrodite. Where is she? I have a girl who wants to boil her brains inside her head.”

Ares’ eyes went black as pitch. He lurched forward and knocked Athena sideways. She brought her knife down into his back, but not before his sank into the side of her knee. It cut through something taut, and all at once her leg went loose at the joint. She crumpled with a growl.

“That girl won’t get within a mile of Aphrodite,” he shouted, and looked wildly into the trees. “I wonder how far little brother managed to take them.”

“No, Ares—”

He bolted too fast. The tip of her knife sank into the ground inches behind him and left her sprawled on her stomach, chin coated with their sister’s blood.

“Ares!” Athena drew her good leg under her and rose with a grimace, dragging her useless one and forcing it to work. She braced it with her hand, wrapped around the knee.

“Don’t touch them!”

10

OUT OF THE PAST

The girl who saved them was not from Kincade. She was far too beautiful, for one, and for another, she wasn’t human. She had flawless beige skin and enough grace to make a jungle cat jealous. Braids of differing width and length fought their way through brown hair, and her eyes were flecked green and brown, sea glass and sand.

“They won’t find us here,” she said, the last of the song she’d sung to disorient the wolves still leaking out of her voice. “The beasts won’t follow. They’ll return to their master.”

Henry looked over his shoulder anyway. Whatever the girl had done, whatever spell she’d cast to conceal them, was gone. The air was clear. Only the scent of burnt sugar and salt remained. Her scent.

“What were they?” he asked. He sat in the snow with his dog on his lap. Even though Lux was a bag of broken bones, the girl hadn’t left him behind.

“Ares’ pests,” the girl answered.

“Pests?” Andie asked. “Those were more than pests.” She pressed a mitten into Henry’s good hand. “For your face,” she said, and he wiped his eyes. He hadn’t realized he was crying.

“No,” she said. “Not for that.” She pressed the mitten to his torn cheek. Then she shoved her fingers into Lux’s fur, and started to cry, too.

“Don’t weep yet,” the girl said. “Your dog will live. If we can get him to a good veterinarian fast enough.”

Henry clamped his hand over the largest of Lux’s cuts. He was warm, and a weak pulse fluttered under his fingers.

“Come on,” Andie shouted, and pulled the dog’s hindquarters into her arms.

“Let me,” said the girl. “I’m stronger.” She lifted him smoothly, without heaving or effort.

They ran for the cars, and the jostling shook Lux out of his stupor; by the time they got him into the backseat of the Mustang he was conscious again, and whining.

When they burst through the doors of the emergency vet on 142nd, it was easy enough to cobble together a story about wild dogs, and in the confusion no one noticed the gash on Henry’s cheek until they were in the exam room.

“Is that a bite?” The vet tech asked. The veterinarian looked up from Lux.

“My god, your face. And your hand. You should be at a hospital.”

“Later,” Henry said. “Is he going to be okay?”

“Listen, kid, you’ve got to get to a doctor yourself.”

“I’ll drag him there right after you answer his question,” Andie snapped. “Promise.”

The vet put his stethoscope buds back in his ears and pressed it to Lux’s abdomen and chest.

“The cuts I can stitch. The bleeding’s not bad.” He paused. “This was a dogfight?”

“Yes. Why?”

The vet looked at the tech doubtfully. “Because there’s fluid in the chest. Maybe blood. You’re sure he wasn’t hit by a car?”

“It was a big dog,” Andie said. “A bunch of big dogs.”

Lux whined and shoved his muzzle into Henry’s hand.

“Just fix him, please? I don’t want to leave him.”

The doctor sighed and scratched Lux between the ears.

“All right. But go to the hospital. Leave your cell number at the front desk, and I’ll call as soon as I know what he needs. It’s probably going to be surgery—”

“Just do it,” Henry said. “Please. Don’t worry about what it costs. I’ve got savings.” He gave Lux one last scratch and let Andie pull him out the exam room door.

The girl who had saved them waited patiently in the lobby. She stood by the windows, humming another song and twisting a brown braid around and around her finger.

“Will he live?” she asked.

“They don’t know yet. But if he does it’s thanks to you.”

“He’ll live,” she said. “He’s strong. I felt it through my arms when I carried him.” She raised a hand to hover over Henry’s cheek. “This is going to scar. And it needs to be cleaned. Stitched. It’s very bad. Almost grotesque.”

“So he looks pretty much the same as usual,” Andie said, and grinned weakly. She stood beside Henry and cupped his wounded arm, forming a human sling. Adrenaline and shock were wearing off, and frightened exhaustion crept in behind. In the lobby mirror, the cut on Henry’s face made him want to pass out. A flap of flesh hung from his cheek and wobbled. His coat was torn and mostly covered in blood. He didn’t even want to look down at his hand.

He stepped close to Andie. She was alive and miraculously uninjured. When the wolves had surrounded her, he was more scared than he’d ever been in his life. He wanted to grab her and shake her, tell her what an idiot she was for coming back, for not running when she had the chance. He wanted to hug her until she ran out of oxygen.

Andie didn’t notice. She stared at the girl, who was wearing an unseasonably light jacket and no boots, jeans soaked to the knees. Not a day over seventeen, except in the depths of her eyes.

“How did you do that?” Andie asked. “I mean, thank you, but what was that?”

“I have a way of hiding things,” she replied. “You might call it a talent.”

“Do you also have a way of finding things? Because you showed up at just the right moment.”

“That was an accident. A lucky one, but still an accident. I was looking for someone else. Odysseus.”

“Why are you looking for him?” Henry asked.

“Because I miss him,” she said. “My name is Calypso. I suppose you could say I’m his girlfriend.”

*   *   *

Athena shoved herself past trees, through ferns. She dragged herself along by vines. In the corner of her eye, she could see her blood streaking across shiny green leaves in a pathetic parody of Artemis. Limping and wounded. If Artemis were alive, she’d have laughed in Athena’s face.

Every injury sang: the feather in her lung, the holes in her shoulder and leg, even her split lip. She’d pushed Ares one step too far. But Hermes’ light still blinked in her chest, and Ares didn’t have the nerve to go after Cassandra. Cassandra was the weapon that killed gods. If what Ares said was true and she hadn’t finished the job with Hera, she would have if they’d stayed even a moment longer. Ares would know that, and deep down he was a coward.

Faint screams of grief reached Athena’s ears. Someone was dead.

She propelled herself faster. It wouldn’t be Ares. The screams were women’s screams, and no one would grieve so loudly if he’d been the one to fall.

When she burst into the village, she expected panic. But there was none. No smoke except for the small trail rising up from the cooking fire. And all around, dead bodies. Sun-browned bodies of well-fed, happy men and boys. A few had mercifully crushed skulls. Others had gotten Ares’ blade and died sliced open. Women and children wept and yelled, but no one took up weapons and swore vengeance. They were people of peace. Hunters. Farmers. A little boy sat beside his dead father with dry, empty eyes. He didn’t understand. He wouldn’t until they took away the body.

“Athena!” Odysseus ran to her, and she leaned on his shoulder.

“I thought—when he came and you weren’t there—” His hand pressed against her cheek, and he glanced down. “Your leg.”

“What happened here? What is this?” she asked. Several huts had caved in or been flattened altogether. It was all so small. So fragile. Ruined. Hermes and Cassandra stood in the center. Hermes had his hand over his eyes.

“Come on,” said Odysseus. “Let’s get you somewhere you can rest.”

He tugged her, but she resisted. She wouldn’t embrace him, or even look him in the eye, though his heart beat against her and she wanted to. Odysseus was alive. As much as she had believed he would be, she was still grateful.

“What happened here?” she asked again, louder.

“They tried to help,” Hermes shouted. Tears tracked in clear lines through the dirt and dust on his thin cheeks. “They tried to help, and when they did, he ignored us and went after them.” He turned his palms up, turned his arms so she could see the cuts he’d taken trying to defend them. Then he let them drop. It hadn’t done any good.

“Where is he?” Athena asked. “Where did he go?”

“I don’t know,” Hermes said. Somewhere, someone wailed louder, and he grimaced. “They didn’t understand. When they picked up their weapons they didn’t understand that they’d become soldiers to him.”

“These weren’t soldiers,” Athena snapped. “These weren’t warriors.” Ares would have known that. He just didn’t care. He’d turned on the villagers because he was too afraid to do what he’d threatened. He’d killed a dozen because he feared one girl.

“Cassandra stopped him,” Odysseus whispered.

Cassandra had her arms crossed over her chest, her shoulders hunched, her cheeks pale. She was afraid. Less of Ares than of herself.

“Tell me what happened.”

“She—” Odysseus swallowed. His throat had to hurt, but she needed to hear. “I tried to hold her back. I tried, but—she kicked me. And then she ran up from behind and put her hands on his back like she was going to jump on him. Where she touched him, his back popped like a burst mosquito.”

“And then he ran away,” Athena finished.

“She didn’t kill him. But she was close.”

Athena watched Cassandra, standing mute and shell-shocked in the middle of the massacre. She really had needed the girl, after all.

“Come on.” Athena still held Odysseus’ shoulder, but her knee already felt better. A few hours off of it and she’d be able to walk on her own.

Cassandra looked up as they approached.

“You’re hurt,” she said.

“You’re not,” Athena said. “Good.”

“I should’ve done something sooner.”

Athena had nothing to say to that. The bodies of strangers lay strewn at their feet. Strangers who had taken it upon themselves to stand between them and a god.

“We should go,” said Hermes. “Before we bring anything else down on their heads.”

“Isn’t there anything we can do for them?” Cassandra asked.