Mortal Gods

“What are you doing?” Calypso asked again.

“Nothing. I … I need to talk to Odysseus.”

“Talk. About what?”

Athena squinted at her.

“None of your business,” she said.

“None of your business, you mean,” said Calypso. “What do you think you can do for him in the middle of the night? Goddess of battle. You’d use up these hours talking in circles.”

“You caught me,” Athena said wickedly. “Talking isn’t what I’m after.”

If she meant to shock, it didn’t work. Calypso didn’t budge. But she did shift her hip, such an easy, naturally seductive motion that Athena blushed darker.

“What kind of comfort can you offer?” Calypso asked. “Awkward embraces and frustration?”

Athena looked back out through the sliding door. Even balanced ridiculously on a broken statue, Odysseus was the best thing she’d ever seen. The lines between them had blurred once. She’d told herself she wouldn’t do it again. Yet here she stood.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” said Calypso. “Tell me the virgin goddess of war is finally ready to take him into her bed, and I’ll get out of your way.”

“If I were, it wouldn’t matter if you stood in my way or not,” Athena said. She refused to blink, to acknowledge the way her eyes stung and watered. Calypso would never see her cry.

“But you aren’t,” Calypso said. “I am. I love him, like you do. Only I can say it out loud. And I can give him everything you can’t.” Calypso’s hair fell in a perfect frame of her face. The curves encased in her clothes outpaced Athena’s by miles. Even Aphrodite would be jealous.

“Shut up, Calypso,” Athena said. She stared at Odysseus, wishing she still had the godly will to make him turn and see them. But who would he choose? Calypso was right. He would go with her, back to her room, and Athena would be left standing alone.

“You want him, you don’t want him. You tease him, but you won’t take him,” Calypso said. “Just go away, goddess. Stop being so unfair.”

Athena tore her eyes away from Odysseus and shoved past the table. She grabbed her jacket off the hook and threw open the front door.

“Calypso.”

“Yes?”

“Tomorrow, after this is over, you are out of my fucking house.”

*   *   *

Cassandra left Andie sleeping in her room and snuck out through the backyard, into the woods. There was a special thrill to it, and not just the chilly night air and stealthy movements, but because Athena would have been furious. Cassandra out alone, unprotected, the night before the goddess’ big battle. She looked up into the barely visible branches of the trees, but there were no owls. No yellow eyes tracking her. It was nice.

For a while.

But after the first half mile, Cassandra started to wish Andie and Henry hadn’t needed their rest. The woods were lonely and too quiet. If only one of Ares’ wolves would pop out from behind a trunk, so she could blow it up into blood and fur and wolf bits. If only she’d brought Lux to throw his ball around.

A branch cracked to her left, and leaves rustled with unmistakable footsteps. Achilles came through the trees, moonlight and stars on his bright blond head.

“What’s this?” he asked. “The other weapon of fate? Fancy meeting you here.”

“What are you doing out?” Cassandra asked.

He stretched his shoulder, rolled his neck back and forth.

“Same thing you are, I imagine. There isn’t a lot of sleep to be had the night before you storm Olympus.”

“I didn’t figure you’d be nervous.”

“I’m not,” he said. “Not exactly. But even a hero as great as me has never been inside Olympus before.” He nodded back toward her house. “The other two sleeping?”

“Finally.”

“Good. They’ll need it. Athena said you didn’t find what you were looking for.”

Of course she hadn’t. Did he see Aidan standing next to her? Anger balled fast in her throat, and she swallowed hard.

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Fair enough,” he said, and shrugged.

He seemed so easygoing. Not unlike Odysseus. But there was more ego to Achilles, and less reason. And of course the rage, bubbling beneath his skin. There was always that. Cassandra supposed she could relate.

They walked together a while without talking, and her dislike of him faded in the face of her hatred of the gods. He hadn’t harmed Henry yet. He hadn’t even threatened him. And he was going to be her human shield on Olympus. They were a team, the pair of them. He was the brawler, and she was the finisher.