Mortal Gods (27 page)

She slipped her good shoulder free and winced as the extra weight of the shirt hit the feathers. It didn’t hurt. Not compared to other things. But the pain of the feathers was special. It made her stomach turn. It scared her.

One good breath, and she pulled the shirt all the way off.

Brown and white feathers stuck out of her shoulder. She’d hoped it would look like a wing. Just a wing, attached to her skin. But it didn’t. The feathers pushed through at all angles, in all sizes, nothing like natural growth. It was a wound of cracked, broken skin and bloody bits of tissue. Athena stared at it, scared to look away, afraid that she’d feel them move, or that another one would break through, even though there hadn’t been any new pain since leaving Pennsylvania.

“Oh,” Hermes whispered. He stood in her open door, his pair of tweezers looking tiny and grossly inadequate. What they needed was a weed whacker, or some way to tear them out by the handful. Hermes wavered on his feet, and she darted forward and steadied him.

“It’s okay,” she said. “I can do it myself.”

He set her on the chair. The burn of the first feather being removed felt almost good. The hot trickle of blood down her arm felt less so. As he plucked, the burning and stinging melded together. Ten, then fifteen feathers fell to the towel on the floor.

“Maybe I shouldn’t pluck all of them now.” Hermes swallowed. “Your shoulder is coming apart.”

“They can’t stay,” she said. Not one more minute. “Don’t worry. We’ll bind it up tight.”

“Oh my god.”

Athena looked up. Odysseus stood in the doorway.

“Dammit,” she muttered. She turned her face away as if she could distance herself from her own wound. Hermes stopped plucking and backed off to give Odysseus a better view.

“Cassandra,” Odysseus growled. “She’s so fucking careless!”

“It was an accident,” Athena said.

“This doesn’t look like an accident.”

She allowed herself a peek at Hermes’ progress. The feathers didn’t leave neat bleeding pinpricks. They cut through to the surface like razors and left jagged, deep crevices. Where two sprouted too close together, the cuts joined and gaped open, enormous and long. Hermes was right. The meat of her shoulder looked like it had hit something and shattered.

“Disgusting, isn’t it,” she said softly.

“What’s happened?” Calypso came down the hall, smelling like vanilla, no doubt gorgeous fresh off her pillow. Athena wiped her eyes with the back of her arm.

“Jesus. Not Calypso.”

“Hey,” Odysseus said. He moved fast and blocked the door. “Not now, okay, Cally? Give us a minute. Everyone.” He stared at the floor as Hermes walked by and handed off the tweezers.

“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 hidden 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.