Mortal Gods

by Kendare Blake

  “How is he?” She looked down the hall toward Hermes’ bedroom.

  “Keeping the takeout restaurants in business,” Odysseus said, but it wasn’t hard to read between the lines. Hermes was no better. The food wasn’t helping. “Did Demeter know where Aphrodite was?”

  “Can we talk about it tomorrow? I just want a hot, hot shower.” A bath would’ve been nicer, but with all the sand in her hair it would be like lounging in a mud puddle before she was through.

  “A simple yes or no will do. Or I could join you in the shower, if you’d rather talk there.”

  “The punishment for watching a goddess bathe is to be eaten by hounds,” she warned.

  “Right,” he said. “By your own hounds. And I’m distinctly houndless.”

  “I’m sure Henry would give Lux out on loan.” She opened the refrigerator and grabbed a takeout box. Sesame chicken, and plenty of rice. “Why are there leftovers? He’s supposed to eat—”

  “Even he has limits.” Odysseus grasped the back of Athena’s neck. His fingers found their way into soreness she hadn’t known she had. “Do you want him to burst?”

  “I suppose not.” She leaned back and closed her eyes. Let his fingers work their magic on the dozen or so knots in her neck, and down her back and shoulders. His touch had come to feel familiar and safe. Until he slipped one hand beneath her shirt and the other up into her hair.

  “Odysseus. You don’t know how to not put the moves on someone.”

  “Only you, goddess,” he whispered, and then chuckled softly. “There’s sand in your hair. You been sleeping on the desert floor again?”

  “Under the stars,” she said. “Scorpions and night spiders danced across my belly.” Odysseus slid his fingers across her stomach and she felt it all the way down. A little more pressure, and she might’ve bent in two. She put her hand over his to stop him.

  “How is Cassandra?” she asked.

  Odysseus sighed and let go.

  “Broken,” he said. “And not healing. But she did do a nifty trick with the maps. Right before she set the maps on fire. You’d better deliver Aphrodite into her hands, and fast.”

  “Artemis first,” Athena said. “What happened with the maps?”

  “She says Artemis is somewhere in the Malaysian rain forest.”

  The Malaysian rain forest. So far away. Again. But their sister had to be found and saved. Artemis was clever, and a skilled hunter. Coolly indifferent, and quicker to rage than Athena, but so very protective of those she pledged to. She would make a fine soldier. She would avenge Aidan beside Cassandra, and that would be fitting.

  “I’ll shower, get a few hours’ sleep, and repack for the climate. How fast do you think I can get a flight connecting to Kuala Lumpur?”

  “Not so fast,” said Odysseus. “You just got here. Why not let Hermes and me go?”

  “I—”

  “It’ll do him good to roam out of Kincade a bit. And me. We’re not children, you know.”

  “Please. When have I ever treated you like a child?” But she had, she supposed. In the old days. Odysseus had been her favorite, and she’d guarded him like treasure.

  What will happen to you if I fail, hero? What will your destiny be, if I’m not around anymore to guide it?

  She touched his face, and he grabbed her hand. Dried blood capped her index finger, where a feather had burst through on the return journey and torn most of the nail away.

  “It’s nothing,” she said, as Odysseus dragged it under the kitchen light. “It barely stings anymore.”

  “Are there others?”

  “None that I can feel. Not now.”

  “Not yet,” he said.

  “Don’t worry about me.” She tugged her hand away. “Worry about Hermes. He’s fading, and hurting worse than a cracked fingernail.” She paused. “I don’t know if it’s the best idea. The two of you going off on your own. To the middle of nowhere.”

  “It’s a better idea than you going off again,” he said. “You’re away from Cassandra too much, Athena. You should know better than to leave your primary weapon unguarded for so long.”

  He had a point. The girl who killed gods was no secret. Every former immortal who didn’t hold Athena’s favor would try to eliminate Cassandra, that is if they couldn’t convince her to jump into their pockets instead.

  “Speaking of weapons,” Athena said. “When are you going to tell me where Achilles is?”

  “Never,” he said. “You said he was no use to anyone, and you were right. He’s my friend, but he follows his own mind. He’s better off hidden.”

  “Someone else could find him.”

  “They won’t.”

  “Tell me where he is.”

  His expression grew wary. She ought to lie. It would be easier if she lied. But she couldn’t. Not to Odysseus.

  “I don’t want to use him,” she said. “I want to kill him.”

  He didn’t look away, or say she wasn’t serious. It didn’t even seem to surprise him that much.

  “I’ll never tell you,” he said.

  “He was the weapon Hera sought. Now that she’s dead, others will seek him. Maybe even Aphrodite. He might lead us straight to Cassandra’s vengeance.”

  For several beats of her heart, Odysseus stayed silent. “What are you up to?”

  “The only thing I’m ever up to,” Athena replied. “War.”

  * * *

  “Hey.”

  Cassandra blinked at the suds on the end of her nose. Her mother had just flicked soap into her face. Almost into her eyes. Her own mother.

  “The water’s getting cold, space cadet.”

  “No one uses the word ‘cadet’ anymore.” She wiped the bubbles off on her shoulder. “They’re astronauts. Get with the space program.”

  “Well. Aren’t we clever today.” Her mom smiled. Cassandra knew that smile. It always showed up right before someone asked whether she was okay. But she seemed okay. Up to her elbows in lemon-scented dish soap or dutifully taking notes in class. Slogging her way through the million details that made up every single stupid day.

  “How are you today, sweetheart?”

  No one’s eyes never stayed on her face when they asked. Except for maybe Odysseus’. Athena’s would, too, if she ever bothered to inquire.

  “My fingers are pruny.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  “Yeah. I know what you mean.” Cassandra rinsed a plate and set it in the rack to dry. She thought she’d already scrubbed everything in the sink, and if she hadn’t, so what? They were family germs.

  “Hours go by without me thinking about anything,” she said brightly. “Tasks pop up and keep my mind on other stuff.” She frowned. “Life goes on.”

  “I wish you’d—talk to us more.”

  “You didn’t raise me to talk. You raised me to figure things out for myself, which is what I’m doing.” A snap crept into her voice, and she bit down. “Besides, Dad isn’t the best at heavy-lifting emotional stuff, you know? He’s been in the garage restoring the same armoire practically since Aidan died.”

  “He just doesn’t know what to say, Cassie.”

  “Or maybe he doesn’t know how to restore furniture.”

  Her mom laughed. “Who knows what he’s doing out there? Stripping paint? Huffing fumes? I don’t even want the damned thing.”

  “You will when I’m finished.” The smell of paint thinner preceded her father into the kitchen. Cassandra didn’t need to turn around to know he had goggles around his neck and was dressed like a walking drop cloth. “Or maybe we could put it in Cassie’s room.”

  “I don’t want it, either. Besides, you and Henry would break your backs getting it up the stairs.”

  Her father flexed, considering. He usually took her advice on these things. Even when it didn’t come from a vision.

  “Maybe if you got Ody to help,” her mother said, and nudged her. “I’m sure you could convince him to come over.”

  “Sure.”
Cassandra smiled. “Why have two bodies at the foot of the stairs when you can have three?” The nudge was the most pointed attempt yet at pushing her and Odysseus together. At first, it had made her mad that they expected her to move on so soon. But her parents were ancient. Dinosaurs. Everything they’d learned about relationships they’d forgotten before she was born.

  She sighed. That wasn’t fair. Her parents just didn’t know how much deeper and further she and Aidan went. Thousands of years further.

  And they never would. This mother wasn’t that mother. This father wasn’t that father. Cassandra didn’t know why that was. She only hoped that her other parents were at peace. And that these parents would never be touched by any god’s madness.

  “Maureen,” her dad said, “I’ve got to run to the hardware store. You coming along?”

  Her mom wrinkled her nose. “Only if you change out of that stuff and crack a window. And only if we can stop by the post office and the bakery. And the drugstore,” she shouted after him. He was already headed up the stairs, muttering about wanting to be home before midnight.

  “Is that Ody’s car I hear?” Cassandra’s mom asked. The Dodge buzzed and grumbled, audible from several streets over. Odysseus pulled into the driveway, killed the engine before it got really annoying, and bounded up the front steps.

  “Knock knock,” he said, and poked his head in.

  “You have got to get a muffler,” said Cassandra’s mom.

  “Really? I think it makes my entrance more dramatic. Like trumpeters.” Odysseus smiled at Cassandra. “Ah. Dishes. Need help?”

  “You wouldn’t.”

  “I wouldn’t. But it’s gentlemanly to offer.” He grunted when Lux leaped up and pinned him to the door. Henry wasn’t far behind, and he peeled the dog off.

  “What brings you by?” Cassandra’s mom asked.

  “Aside from an uncontrollable desire to see your daughter?” Odysseus’ constant flirting didn’t help the matchmaking efforts. But it was just for fun. Anyone who saw the way he looked at Athena could tell you that. “My cousin’s home,” he said. “She was hoping Cassandra and Henry might come by for awhile.”

  “How is Hermes?”

  Odysseus shifted his weight. It was a strange charade they kept up, an ailing student and his concerned relatives. And it wouldn’t last forever. Someday soon, the truth would come rushing out to knock them all over.

  “I thought I heard the car.” Cassandra’s dad returned, less paint-covered but still reeking of chemicals.

  “Hey, Mr. Weaver. Working on the armoire?”

  “What kind of a question is that?” Henry asked. “He’s always working on the armoire.”

  “Except when I’m shuttling your mother from store to store. Let’s go!” They exited in a turpentine-scented cloud. Cassandra’s mom was right. They’d need to crack a window.

  “What did she learn?” Cassandra asked. “What about Aphrodite?” A burst of heat jumped quickly into her hands, and she kept them carefully unclenched so Odysseus wouldn’t notice.

  Odysseus shrugged. Lux put a paw up on his knee and whined until there was more petting. “Lots of talk but no answers. From what Hermes says about Demeter, we shouldn’t be surprised. I guess she’s all riddles and wrinkly skin. But Athena’s not giving up, Cassandra.”

  “She’s not trying hard, either.”

  “So what do you need to see us about?” Henry interjected.

  “Hermes and I are leaving soon. For the jungle Cassandra showed us in Malaysia. It’ll just be you three and Athena for awhile.”

  Cassandra fumed. She should have held the information about Artemis ransom until Athena delivered Aphrodite.

  “How long?” she snapped.

  “Could be a few weeks. Maybe longer.”

  “But what about school?” Henry asked. “They’ll hold you back.”

  “It’d be better if they did,” Odysseus said. “I should keep getting held back. I could be in your year, and then Cassandra’s.”

  “Well.” Henry shrugged. “Good luck then.” He turned and went back upstairs with his dog. A few seconds later, his door shut, and music turned on.

  “I thought he would’ve warmed to us by now,” Odysseus said.

  “Really?”

  “Well, to me at least.” He walked into the kitchen and pulled out a chair. “Want to come by and see us off?”

  Cassandra ground her teeth together. Malaysia wasn’t where they should be going. They should be going after Aphrodite. But even though Cassandra was the god killer, Athena ran the show. Heat flared in Cassandra’s palms, asking to be let out. Sooner or later, it would stop asking and demand.

  Odysseus eyed her. She’d been unconsciously flexing her fingers.

  “You okay with this?” he asked.

  “I suppose,” she said. “Aidan would want me to be.”

  “No,” Odysseus said, a little sadly. “Aidan would want you to run. Far, far away. But I’m glad you haven’t.”

  “What’s that face for?” Cassandra asked, grudgingly. “Is Athena not well?”

  Odysseus sat and put his elbows up on the table, slumped forward like he was exhausted.

  “There was only one feather,” he said. “Under her fingernail. She can’t feel any more. Unless she’s lying.”

  “I don’t think she’d lie to you,” Cassandra said, and was surprised she said it.

  “She would if she thought it was for my own good. And she always thinks she knows what’s for people’s own good. Gods are controlling buggers.”

  “Why don’t you just tell her,” Cassandra said quietly. “How you feel.” Even though Athena would break him like a toy. That was what gods did to mortals who loved them.

  “She’s not exactly the soul-baring type,” Odysseus replied. “And besides. She knows.”

  “She does love you,” Cassandra said. “Only, the way she loves isn’t enough to sustain a rat. You deserve better.”

  “You don’t know her like I do.”

  “I know that with everything she’s taken from me, she still won’t do me one favor.”

  “She’s trying,” Odysseus said.

  He looked at Cassandra calmly. Fondly. But she knew she was pushing it. If anyone else had talked about Athena that way, they’d have found themselves flat on their backs.

  “She’s trying to let you grieve,” he said. “Hate her for being a god, or hate her for trying to be human, but don’t do both.”

  Cassandra’s eyes dropped. “You know Artemis is probably dead, right?”

  “I know. But she’s their sister. If there was a chance for Henry, no matter how slim, you’d have to take it, wouldn’t you?”

  She would. Of course she would.

  “Don’t be gone long,” she said.

  4

  IN THE CAVERNS OF THE EARTH

  Olympus didn’t exist anymore. As far as Ares knew, it had cracked and crumbled into the sea. It dissolved into particles and was carried off in the mouths of birds. It disappeared the moment the gods left it, the moment they leaped or were thrown from it. The moment the humans forgot them.

  But Aphrodite was dragging him to Olympus nevertheless.

  “Olympus. Come home to Olympus,” she said, and her teeth shone like pearls. “Mother waits.”

  “Olympus is gone, sweet one,” Ares said, as she tugged and pulled, leading him through the trees, her pale, bruised fingers wrapped around his dark, bleeding wrist.

  He had lingered with Aphrodite in the wood for days and nights, leaving blood streaks across her skin. Despite the bruises on her rib cage and hips, she was still beautiful. So he let himself be dragged toward whatever delusion she wanted. Her hair swayed down her back, bright as gold, as she picked her way through branches. Her tiny puppy wriggled happily in the crook of her arm.

  “We shook Olympus down a millennium ago, pet. With our sadness and indifference.”

  “We don’t have time for indifference anymore, Ares,” she said, and turned to him with sane blue ey
es. Her fingers bit into the bandage on his bicep, already soaked through with blood from a new cut. “I know what’s happening to you.”

  “Aphrodite.”

  “And I know what’s happening to me,” she said. “I don’t want to be mad. I remember who…” She paused and closed her eyes. “I remember sometimes.”

  Ares pressed his hand to her cheek. She remembered what she used to be, before her mind started to soften and burn. Her death was unfair and cruel, without dignity.

  “I’m ashamed,” she said, “of what I’m becoming.”

  He kissed her hair. “Let’s go.” His poor Aphrodite. It was difficult to keep his touch gentle when he wanted something to break. Something to cut. Something to crush.

  The urge subsided when they reached the mouth of the cave, a modest opening dug into a rock wall and grown over with ferns and moss. They’d have to bend their heads to go inside.

  “It isn’t much,” he said. The wind from inside was cold, and spoke of large, black caverns.

  Aphrodite squeezed his hand, and they went in.

  * * *

  Ares knew exactly when it was that they left the cave on earth and entered the cave on Olympus. He felt the gravity change. The rock walls increased in luster and somehow in boldness, like a blurry curtain had suddenly been drawn back. It was hard and sharp and beautiful. It felt like home.

  “How can this be?” he asked, and it was Hera who answered from somewhere in the shadows.

  “It exists because we remade it,” she said. “It exists because we have need.”

  “Mother.” Ares couldn’t see her. Even with immortal eyes, the dark was too complete. When he strained forward, he could barely make out her shape. She stood tall and proud, shoulders back, the curve of one hip thrust out, forming the perfect silhouette.

  “My son.”

  Aphrodite stepped away to let them have their reunion.

  “It’s true then,” he said. “You live.”

  “Is that disappointment I hear?”

  “No,” he said, but he heard something in his mother’s voice: a soft grinding, like a heel twisting against gravel. “I thought Athena and the girl killed you.”