Mortal Gods

Her brows knit, and she tensed, trying to concentrate. Sometimes she’d be herself for hours at a time. Sometimes she was nowhere to be found. And other times Aphrodite skated just below the surface, her beautiful, intelligent face drowning under the ice.

“It’s all right,” Ares said. Only he was beginning to suspect it wasn’t. If the Moirae were truly the gods of gods, they would heal Aphrodite’s mind. They would heal Hera’s stone fist, or at least the stone parts that were less useful. But they didn’t. And Hera still refused to let him see them, instead keeping them secreted in the heart of the mountain.

He kissed Aphrodite gently and pushed her hair behind her ear.

“Don’t tell Mother,” he said, “but I don’t really want Athena to die. I don’t really want to kill her.” Gods shouldn’t kill one another. They’d become desperate, grasping leeches, cracking each other open like the Titans had.

“Ares,” Aphrodite whispered, “I know what’s happening to me.”

He wiped tears from her cheeks. “I know.” Aphrodite was trapped inside her own rotting mind. “Don’t worry. I said I didn’t want to kill Athena. I didn’t say I wouldn’t.” He called for Oblivion, and the wolf came on silent paws.

“Take the others,” he said. “Go out hunting again. Don’t come back without pieces of heroes.”

The boy? Oblivion asked.

Blood leaked from Ares’ back.

“No,” he said. “The hell with the boy. The hell with the Moirae.” Aphrodite hissed. “I want you to take a piece out of the prophetess. The so-called god killer.”

He watched the wolves go, snapping at each other, standing up on hind legs, forelegs stretching in their sockets.

“You and I, Aphrodite, are going to see the Moirae. Right now.”

15

HOMECOMING

Hermes finally let Andie use a sword. Sure, it was blunted, wooden, and designed for kendo, but when she held the weapon aloft, her grin took up half her face. Cassandra sat on the back patio, and watched them practice, listening to every “Ow!” and “Hey!” and “Not so hard!” She watched Andie feint and dodge. Even bogged down with protective gear, she was fluid and strong. Fast, sure, and well balanced. Nowhere near a beginner. Bruises painted her face, and streaks of early spring mud made her ponytail filthy. She looked at home in her skin.

Lux pressed his nose into Cassandra’s thigh. Henry’d brought him along that afternoon, unable to bear leaving him behind, barred off on the ground floor. The poor dog couldn’t climb stairs for another week, when his last stitches came out. Henry’d been sleeping on the downstairs couch with him.

But Henry wasn’t by Lux’s side now. He was in the mud with Andie. He and Calypso practiced one-armed moves and blocks. Like Andie, he learned faster than a normal student. He was stronger than an ordinary high school senior, too, and had better instincts. Like Andie, his muscles remembered.

In the yard, Calypso ducked Henry’s arm and smacked him around a little, just for fun. He laughed.

“It’s all games to you,” Cassandra whispered. “All games, until the swords are real. Until Athena gets back, and gods come hunting.”

Lux whined.

“What?” she asked the dog. “You don’t think I’m being fair?”

But she wasn’t, she supposed. Because it hadn’t been a game to either Andie or Henry, since the wolf attack. Really, not since Aidan died. So what if they laughed? So what if they enjoyed themselves? She couldn’t ask everyone to be as glum as she was. Heat tingled in her palm, and she drew her hand away from Lux fast. Not everyone could be as angry as she was, either.

Tires crunched up the thawing driveway, and Lux barked.

“Pizza’s here,” Cassandra said. Hermes blocked one of Andie’s blows and snatched her sword away without any effort. Andie squeaked and rubbed her wrist. A lesson within a lesson: they were training to fight, but not to fight gods.

“Finally,” Hermes said. “I’m literally starving.”

Andie laughed. “Athena would say that’s not funny.”

“You guys get un … armored.” Cassandra waved at them. “I’ll go tip the driver.” She opened the sliding glass door and went into the house, grabbing a small stack of cash off the table. She looked over the fives and tens a moment, wondering how much to tip. Was it a standard percentage of the bill, or based on the number of pizzas? Because the guy had to carry six.

When the front door clicked open, at first she thought she was hearing things. The clomping footsteps and sounds of bags dropped onto the floor didn’t make sense until she heard Odysseus’ voice. She tucked the money into her back pocket and walked into the entryway.