Mortal Gods (22 page)

“Dinner break’s over,” said Athena. She clapped her hands and got them up. “Back outside. Hermes, take Achilles again.”

“Come on, are you serious?” he moaned.

“Don’t whine. You’re the one who can make him faster. He’s more use to us if he learns not to take so much damage.” Both muttered as they went out, Achilles about being glad to be of use and Hermes about what damage? But they both went. Calypso and Odysseus took Andie. Athena stepped subtly in front of Henry.

“You,” she said. “You’re the one I want.”

“Me?” Henry asked. “Why me?”

“Because I want to see what you can do. You’re here, when your other Trojan brothers aren’t. There must be a reason.”

Henry swallowed. “What, am I supposed to be honored or something?”

“Cut the attitude.” She reached down, scooped up a
b
ō
, and tossed it into his chest. “Makes you sound like a boy, instead of a hero.”

“I am a boy,” he said. He adjusted the
b
ō
in his hands and held it like a long spear. Yeah, he was a boy, all right. But he was a boy-hero. She mock charged him, and he used the end to pop her in the chest. He glanced at Achilles.

“Don’t be distracted,” Athena said. “Not by your hatred of him. Or your dislike of me.”

“That’s not it. I mean, I do dislike you. Him, I don’t even know. Not really.”

“So what is it?” she asked.

“I don’t want him to think of me as Hector,” Henry said. “I don’t want him to decide he wants a rematch. Maybe you think that’s cowardly.”

Achilles hadn’t stopped watching since Henry touched the
b
ō
.

“I think that’s sensible,” she said, “in a way that Hector of Troy never was. But, Henry, your remembering how to fight won’t make him think of you as Hector any more than he already does.” How could it, when Henry already looked exactly like Hector, from his height, to his stance, to his black hair and careful eyes?

“How do you know?” he asked.

“Because he’s trying,” she said. “He not the way he used to be. Consumed by glory and the hunt for immortality. Blinded by loss. It took a lot for him to not tear your head off in the kitchen that first night. But he didn’t.”

“Well, bully for him.”

“Come on, Henry. It’s a start. Now try to hit me in the face.”

He exhaled and narrowed his eyes in concentration. But he didn’t hesitate. She didn’t know how to take that. The
b
ō
whirred past her left ear as she dodged.

“Again,” she said, and he moved to strike. His body knew where to put its feet. His arms knew when to tense and when to give. “Keep at it. Show me how much you hate me. Hit me!”

He moved laterally and whacked her across the hip.

“I never said I hated you,” he said, and went for her head again. “I don’t.”

“I know,” she said.

“How do you know?”

“Easy.” She grabbed the
b
ō
and shoved him back hard enough to roll him through the damp grass. “Because you let me pet your dog.”

Henry regained his feet and smiled, just a little. When he came at her again she couldn’t help being impressed. He was steady and strong. But it didn’t matter how fast he learned or how much he remembered.

Achilles was fire and knives, rage and poetry. Achilles was slaughter. And Henry would never be his equal.

*   *   *

After a shower, Hermes shut himself inside his room and blasted music Athena didn’t recognize, some kind of remixed electronica. He was pissed, she supposed, that he’d gotten stuck with Achilles all day. The hardest job. The only job that could really be called a job.

Athena stood over the stove. The steam from a massive pot of noodles basted her face. A decent vat of linguine with clam sauce would do for a peace offering. She didn’t really know how to make it, but she’d lived in Italy long enough. She’d seen it prepared a thousand times. She stirred, trying to make her fingers cooperate. Even now they were too used to scavenging, or being served.

“I didn’t know goddesses could cook.” Achilles walked up behind her and peered into the sauce. He took a deep sniff of the white wine.

“I’m not sure this one can,” she said, and glanced at her sink, which was full of hostile clams.

Achilles stretched.

“It feels good here,” he said. “Like a camp. Or a compound. I can’t wait to do it again tomorrow.”

“And you could, couldn’t you? You could do this every day.”

“Of course. Can’t the others?” His blond hair was wet from his shower, slicked back and hanging down his neck. His t-shirt clung to the muscles of his chest. He looked like a rogue or a male model.

“How old are you, Achilles?”

He ran his eyes over her body and stepped closer.

“Almost as old as you, Athena.”

“Careful.”

He chuckled. “Sorry. All the fighting makes me … amorous.” He jumped onto the countertop. “I’ll aim my affections elsewhere. No shortage of beauties here. Even that big girl, Cassandra’s friend.”

“Andie?” Athena asked. “You stay away from Andie. She’s a biter.”

“I could win her over. And wouldn’t that be something, if I killed the boy in one life and stole his girl in the next. What would they say?”

Athena sighed. “How old are you, I said.”

“I’m seventeen.”

Seventeen. Two years younger than Odysseus. Four years younger than she and Hermes pretended to be.

“Have you always been this way?” she asked. “So strong?”

“I don’t think so,” he said. “Of course, you don’t exactly jump off a building until you know you can. After I was killed that first time, I pushed it. There’s not a lot you can’t do, without that limit.” He smiled. “But you know that.”

“I used to know that.”

“That’s the last time you shower first,” Odysseus said. He walked into the kitchen with a towel around his shoulders. “Ran out of bloody hot water.” He sniffed the air. “What’s going on here?”

“Clam sauce,” said Athena. “Well, probably.”

“Right. Can you give us a second?” Odysseus said to Achilles. “I need to talk to her.”

“Sure.” Achilles hopped off the counter. “I’d be willing to give that sauce a try,” he said. “Assuming there’s any leftovers.” He winked and headed for his bedroom.

“He really does get flirty,” she said.

“What?” Odysseus asked.

“Nothing. What did you need to talk to me about?”

Odysseus stared suspiciously down the hallway. “Cassandra,” he said. “She should train, like the others do. Learn how to defend herself if she has to.”

“Anything she fights she can burn up with a touch. Besides, she doesn’t want to.”

“But—”

Athena shook her head quickly. “Never mind. You’re right.” Cassandra’s powers weren’t instantaneous. To use them she had to put herself in harm’s way. She’d almost died facing Hera the last time, and this time would be worse. This time Hera knew their tricks. “She’ll have to be convinced.”

“No problem. I’ll start with her tomorrow, after school. Which, by the way, I was expelled from.” There was a surprising amount of heat in his voice, considering he’d never been seriously enrolled.

“Poor hero. Did the principal wound your pride?”

“Shut up.”

“How soon can you have Cassandra ready?” she asked.

“Inside of a month, I’d say. She’s no warrior, but if we focus on dodging…” He walked to the sink and poked at a clam. “You know you might lose some of them. Even with all this training.”

“I don’t know any such thing,” said Athena. “You want to chop those tomatoes?”

“I know you have a plan,” he said. “And I know you can lead an army. But even the best-laid plans can unravel.”

Athena handed Odysseus a knife. “Don’t worry so much. It will all fall into place.” A chill ran down her back as she spoke. He could be right. Even if the Fates were on their side, that didn’t mean they would all make it. Their first victory had cost them Aidan. And when she’d faced Ares in the jungle it had cost a tribe of men.

But that was my fault. My mistake. I won’t make another one.

“What smells so delicious?” Calypso asked. She walked into the kitchen, clean and freshly dressed in dark jeans and a light, form-hugging sweater.

“You going somewhere?” Athena asked.

“Cassandra and the others invited me over to watch a movie. Are you coming, Ody?”

“Yeah.” He handed the knife to Athena and left without a backward look. Athena listened to the Dodge kick to life. Tires rolled down the driveway, and the house felt suddenly empty.

Calypso had been there less than a month, and already they welcomed her into their group as a friend. Already they trusted her. Because she’d saved them? Or because she wasn’t a god?

“It doesn’t matter,” Athena whispered. She wouldn’t have gone anyway, even if they had asked.

She stood for a few moments and let the pasta steam her face. Then she walked to Hermes’ bedroom.

“Hermes, I’m making … something.” She knocked on his door. “Will you come out and pretend to eat it?” She waited, trying to discern sounds of movement above the techno thump. He couldn’t be giving her the silent treatment. Hermes didn’t even know how the silent treatment worked.

Farther down the hall, light shone through the crack of the bathroom door. The shower was on. She smiled. Any moment he’d come flying out, bitching up a storm about the lack of hot water.

Something in the bathroom crashed to the floor. It sounded like a bag of baseball bats dropped onto cement. Or a thin body tumbling against hard tile.

“Hermes,” Athena gasped. The bathroom hinges and lock didn’t stand a chance. The door cracked and gave way. She stood in the frame and moaned, hands clapped over her mouth.

“Get out. Get out!” He scrambled to get his legs underneath him, not much more than bruises and bones. Dark marks covered his stretched skin. She could see every rib. Every bump of his sternum.

“Get out!” he shouted. “Don’t look at me!”

She took half a step back, to mind her own business, to hide behind useless noodles. But then he crossed his arms over his face. Her brother feared her eyes like a vampire feared daylight. She wrenched his robe off the wall hook. When she draped it over his shoulders she braced for an elbow to the face, but instead he leaned into her and let her hold him tight. Heat from his fever bled into her cheek and chest.

Hermes cried, naked and shivering on the floor. Footsteps sounded across the carpet: Achilles, coming to investigate. Athena leaned and turned the broken door closed before he could see in.

“Everything all right in there?” he asked.

“It’s fine,” she said, and squeezed Hermes tight while he held his breath. “Trying to figure out the hot water.”

“Okay. Well…” Achilles didn’t say anything else. After a moment his footsteps moved back down the hall.

“Trying to figure out the hot water?” Hermes sniffled.

“I didn’t hear you coming up with anything.” She spoke through her teeth, her chin resting against the top of his head. “How did you hide this?” she asked. “How did I not know how bad you were?”

“I know how to dress. I’ve always known how to dress.” His voice sounded better already. Clearer. She shut her eyes.

I make every excuse, use all the right words, to make him seem fine. How his fever is lower. How his eyes are bright. I stuff him full of food. Like it helps. Like it matters. Like he isn’t going to die.

He tried to gather himself up, and adjusted the robe to slide his thin arms into the sleeves.

“This is humiliating,” he said. “I look disgusting.”

“No you don’t. You could never.”

He
hmph
ed. “I think they call this phenomenon ‘sister goggles.’ What are you doing in here, anyway? Ruining my ice-cold bath?”

“I made you something to eat.” The words barely made it out before she broke, and tears streamed down her face. She clung to him, and he stroked her hair and let her cry, even though her weight had to hurt him, thin as he was. He hurt all the time, every day. She didn’t know what she would do, when his skin started to tear. Would it be in one place? Or all over?

“I don’t have much longer, sister,” he said.

“No.” Athena shook her head, furious, and wiped her eyes. “You do. If Hera can heal, then so can you. If she has a way, I’ll take it. I’ll take it and pour it down your throat. You’ll live, and she’ll die.”

He hugged her tighter. “Don’t hope too much.” He brushed her hair back, and she looked into his face, handsome despite everything. Like his vanity was strong enough to force his illness to stay below his chin.

“You should have told me,” she said.

“So you could worry more than you already do?” he asked. “No. I just wanted time. Normal time.”

“Why did you let me pit you against Achilles all day? You idiot.”

“Bah,” he said. “I can still take that kid.”

But he couldn’t. Not anymore. His time was up. She had to make her move, and make it fast.

17

NEVER LOOK A GIFT WOLF IN THE MOUTH

Cassandra’s shoes crunched through the receding snow of the cemetery. She pressed her heel down, and it sank an easy two inches into mud. She thought of the coffins, all buried beneath the thawing ground, and wondered if they were waterproof, or if the water seeped through the weaker ones and dripped onto the decaying bodies inside.

“Do you have anything to drink?” she asked Calypso. “I suddenly feel like retching.”

Calypso handed her a bottle of cherry vitamin water. It coated her throat and swished away the grave dirt. Across the cemetery, workers labored with shovels and a small Bobcat. The edges of their spades cut through the earth like butter. What a good day to bury someone.

“Thanks for coming with me,” Cassandra said. Aidan’s grave wasn’t too far ahead, a few headstones away from a large tree. “It keeps Athena off my back.”

“You really don’t like her,” Calypso said.

“You do?”

“No. But I understand her.”

Cassandra eyed Calypso quietly. She was so beautiful, and there was a sweetness to her that made the beauty impossible to resent. Odysseus thought she was maybe a bit manipulative, but Cassandra didn’t see it. Cally was dying, like the others were, but she didn’t carry any of the desperation that they did. Though maybe she would, when her hair turned gray and her forehead wrinkled.