Mortal Gods

“Talking about what?”

Megan rolled her eyes. “Isabelle, as usual.”

“You’re half-dead because you lost sleep listening to him moan about his ex-girlfriend? There’s a lesson in there somewhere.”

“What? That I should stop letting him bounce around on me when Isabelle isn’t feeling generous?” Megan blew her bangs out of her face. “I know. But it’s hard, when he needs someone to talk to. When she’s being a bitch.”

“It’s still a crappy deal, Megan.”

“I guess,” she said, and stared into her chip bag. “You were really lucky, you know? To have Aidan. A real, decent guy. Even if it was only for a little while.” She stopped and looked at Cassandra, horrified. “I’m so sorry. I don’t know why I said that.”

“No,” said Cassandra. “You’re right. It’s true. I was really lucky. For a little while.” He should’ve been there next to her on the stairs. She tried to imagine him there, and it was just that close. Like if she closed her eyes and fell asleep, she might wake against his shoulder.

“I shouldn’t have said anything. I made you sad.”

“No. It’s okay. I—” She paused. Blood soaked Megan’s shoulders and dripped down her knees. Finger tracks of red smeared and streaked across her face. Cassandra held her breath as buckets covered them both, hot and heavy as a cloak. The carpet squished beneath her shoes.

“I think I need to get some air. Andie?” She kept her voice calm and stood. It wasn’t even hard. Blood and terror had become like milk and cookies. Even through the coppery taste. Even through the smell.

“What’s up?” Andie asked, and Cassandra glanced back at Megan’s bloody face.

Only it wasn’t Megan’s. It was Odysseus’. And it was Hermes’.

*   *   *

“We’ve got to skip class,” Cassandra said.

“No arguments here,” Andie said. “But why?”

Cassandra wiped at her lips. The blood was gone, but the flavor coated her mouth as if she’d swallowed a gallon.

“Hey, are you okay? Should we get Henry?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Hermes and Odysseus were in trouble. But the distance between Kincade and Malaysia was an impossible jump. How would they get there? How would they find them? She slammed a fist into the lockers. Stupid, useless visions.

“Cassandra, what’s going on?”

“Odysseus and Hermes,” she muttered.

“What? What about them?”

She took a breath, spat blood onto the floor, and saw only saliva.

“I think they’re dead.”

*   *   *

Athena knew something was wrong the moment she heard the growl of Henry’s engine and the squeal of his tires. But Cassandra, Andie, and Henry were all safe when they pushed past her into the entryway: no blood, no scrapes, no broken bones. Good.

She closed the door against the wind and it ruffled their coats like soft sails.

“What happened?”

The three looked at each other. Pale, frightened mortals. For the hundredth time she thought what strange soldiers they made.

“I saw Odysseus and Hermes covered in blood,” Cassandra said.

Athena went still. “How much blood?”

“Buckets. Like they’d been dipped in it.”

“Buckets of blood.” Athena wandered past them, into the living room. “What could that mean?”

Cassandra and Andie exchanged a look. “I think it means they’re dead,” said Cassandra after a moment.

“No. That can’t be what it means.” The Fates couldn’t expect her to win a war without her brother and her hero.

“It might not have been their blood,” Andie suggested. “Maybe they were in a fight. Or hunting.”

“Hunting what?” Henry asked.

“Athena,” said Cassandra. “Maybe you should sit down.”

“Why would I need to—?” Athena shook her head. “I don’t need to sit. I need to figure out what it means. And I think better when I pace.” But she stopped, as a small compromise. Odysseus and Hermes were in danger. But not true danger. The Fates wouldn’t let them die. Not now. Not yet.

What if I’m wrong?

She closed her eyes. She wasn’t wrong. But what, then, did the vision mean? Why had her prophetess seen what she’d seen?

“I told you what it means,” Cassandra said. And a minute later, “Hey! Are you listening?”