“Cassandra, don’t say anything!”
Athena smiled. So much for only predicting the weather. “We need your help.”
“Help with what? What’s going on?”
“Stop backing up. I don’t want to feel like a wolf stalking a rabbit.”
Cassandra scowled. “Then stop stalking. What are you talking about? What didn’t Aidan tell me?”
“Do you really want to know?”
Aidan jerked toward her. “Cassandra. Don’t.”
“Don’t what?” she asked. “Why not? Would someone just please tell me what’s going on?”
“That would take too long.” Athena moved forward. Her hands closed around Cassandra’s throat and squeezed. “Don’t be afraid.”
15
RESURRECTION
The struggle was brief. What chance did she have, anyway, against a goddess?
Cassandra clawed at the hands around her neck. Her mouth worked frantically, trying to suck in just the tiniest bit of air. It hurt. Beneath the panic it burned and stung. Her lungs felt like they’d grown claws and were shredding her rib cage. Aidan yelled something, her name or maybe just expletives. His voice faded as her ears failed and the sky went black. It was like being filled up with ink.
Athena kept a steady grip. The impact of the girl’s fists against her shoulders and arms didn’t matter at all. She looked Cassandra in the eyes and tried to keep her expression soft. Not angry. Not gleeful. The whole thing would have been easier had a third of her scalp not been hanging off the side of her head. It must have been a terrifying image to die to.
Behind them, Hermes had his hands full trying to hold Apollo. His bellowing had driven all of the owls high up into the trees. But it didn’t matter. The life in Cassandra’s eyes flickered. The pulse beneath Athena’s fingers slowed, then stopped. She waited a few more seconds, then laid the girl carefully on the damp, frozen ground.
“Odysseus,” she said, and he darted forward onto his knees. He would know what to do; he’d be ready, had known what she was up to. He tilted Cassandra’s head back.
“I hope you didn’t do any damage to the windpipe,” he muttered. Then he sealed his mouth over hers. Once. Twice. He gave her breath, but there was no sign of life.
“Chest compressions,” Hermes said. “Do you know the count?”
“It’s fifty to two,” Aidan said. “Or is it f**king thirty? I can’t remember!” He dragged his hands through his hair, pacing wildly. “Cassandra, wake up. Oh god, you bitch!” He spun on Athena and shoved her hard.
“Shut up.” Odysseus pressed down on Cassandra’s chest, elbows locked, counting.
Time stretched out. Athena tried to stay out of Apollo’s way, her eyes on Cassandra. It seemed that she should’ve come back already.
Every second she stayed dead felt longer. Doubt crept into Athena’s chest and caught in her throat. Cassandra’s lips had turned a chill purple. Her skin seemed paler. A thin haze of mist collected on her cheeks. She was sixteen, murdered in the middle of a forest, dressed in a long, khaki jacket and a red sweater. Two thousand years ago, she’d been nineteen, murdered as a slave in a land a sea away from her home, an axe buried in her chest.
Breathe. Breathe, dammit! We need you, and three gods are willing it, so BREATHE!
“I think I heard something.” Odysseus leaned in close to her mouth, his eyes wide and excited. “Yeah. Come on, girl, pick it up.” He pressed down on her chest again, lightly. The color was coming back into Cassandra’s skin. Her eyelids fluttered when he rubbed her hands.
“Pulse is back online.” He looked up at Athena, out of breath. “Next time you’re going to do that, you might give more of a heads up. For the record, I don’t know the ratio for doing full CPR.”
“What does it matter? You did it,” Hermes said. He shook his head. “I thought you’d killed her.”
Apollo rushed to Cassandra and drew her onto his lap. Tears wetted his cheeks and he stroked her hair.
Odysseus rose and put a brief hand on his shoulder. There was a surprising amount of empathy in the gesture and Athena frowned. To Odysseus, what she’d done must seem monstrous.
Apollo gently touched Cassandra’s face and smoothed her hair back. Against his warmth, color began to return to her cheeks and dark bruises blossomed. They circled her throat in a broad collar; she’d be wearing scarves and turtlenecks for the next few weeks. Swallowing and talking was going to be a real bitch too, at least for a couple of days.