Antigoddess (30 page)

Odysseus was right. She’d killed him as surely as if she’d thrust the spear in herself. Back then, Andromache’s screaming could barely compete with her own laughter.

“Well, now what?” Hermes threw up his hands and collapsed on the bed with a bounce.

“Athena.” Odysseus moved in front of her.

“What?”

“Your face.” He stared at her cheek, which still tingled where Cassandra had slapped her.

Tingling. Almost burning. But she’s just a human.

She twisted to look into the mirror. There was a red handprint painted across her cheek.

“Why are you smiling?” Odysseus asked.

Athena studied the impossible wound. As she watched, it tingled and burned deeper.

“Because even though Cassandra doesn’t feel any different”—she pressed a cool palm to her face—“she
is
different. More than a prophet. A weapon.”

18

FATE’S A BITCH

The scent of granite hung on the air. Whether it was real or just in her imagination, Athena didn’t know. The sleet had stopped, leaving the world wet and black in the absence of the sun. She inhaled; the scent faded. It probably hadn’t been there in the first place. The air was completely still, no breeze to carry news, or to dry the slushy puddles in the street.

It didn’t matter. She stood at the tree line along the highway where she and Odysseus had walked into Kincade. This was the way that Hera would come. She would follow them in, rising up behind them like some gruesome specter. The move had bravado. It had menace. Doing it any other way wouldn’t even cross her mind.

The city of Kincade was cut through by one large river and five tributaries. There was also a lake, Lake Reilly, medium-sized but quite deep, and fed into by the river.

Athena’s eyes scanned the horizon. The tributaries were no problem; they were too small for any water-dwelling bastard to move through that quickly. But the river and the lake were perfect hiding places for Poseidon. As for Aphrodite, well, they’d probably leave the sniveling brat back home. Or they would, if they were smart.

She heard footsteps coming cautiously up from behind. Odysseus. She’d only been gone from the motel for twenty minutes.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting my bearings,” she replied without turning. “Preparing for battle. Doing what I do.”

He came up to her shoulder and tried to rubberneck around the front of her to see her cheek.

“Quit it.” She jerked away. “It’s gone.”

“But what was it?”

“An injury put on me by a mortal. And if she can do it to me, she can do it to the others.”

“But it was just a handprint. I don’t even think she knew what she was doing. It could be nothing.”

But it wasn’t nothing. It was something. Only she had no idea what, and it seemed Cassandra wouldn’t have much time to figure it out.

Oh, Aunt Demeter. I wish I hadn’t respected your wishes. I wish I’d pulled you out of the sand and rolled you up. I could use you. I could really use you.

Odysseus’ hands thrust into his jeans pockets against the chill and his neck turtled slightly. She didn’t want to look at him, so she kept on studying the terrain.

“Kincade’s not exactly the high ground, I suppose,” Odysseus mumbled.

“Nowhere is the high ground where Hera is concerned.”

He leaned against her and heat moved into her from his shoulder. Why did he have to be so damned comforting? What was it about him that could make her so soft? Maybe it had always been this way. Thinking back, she remembered the fondness she felt every time she looked at him. When she watched him charge the battlefield at Troy, his eyes terrified but determined, he’d been so alive; it had made her want to laugh and scream. But it hadn’t been like this. Back then she was a goddess and he a mortal. Back then the lines between them were clearly drawn.

Ahead, the world seemed to stretch on to forever, but she knew it didn’t. Not really. Somewhere, Hera was coming for them. And no matter how she planned, or what strategy she used, it wouldn’t be enough.

“Not getting down on us already?” Odysseus nudged. “Are you still angry that Aidan didn’t let you kill Hector?”

“His name’s not Aidan. And we could have used Hector. We could have used them both.” She shrugged him off. Odysseus made a disgusted sound. He would chastise her now, call her inhuman, which was a stupid argument anyway. He would call her selfish. And if he went much further, she’d knock his ass in the wet dirt.

“You’re not alone in this. No matter what you might think.” He crossed his arms over his chest, staring out in the same direction she had. “I know you think you’ve got to make all the hard choices. Someone has to lead us, right, and you’re the one. So you come out with mud on your face. You get to be the villain, the one that everybody blames.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Someone’s got to do it.”

“Someone does,” he agreed. “But don’t think it means you’re the only one with blood on their hands. That bitch is out to kill us all. It’s our fight as much as yours.”

The words set off a sting someplace deep inside her. She moved against him again so they stood side by side, looking down the highway.

“Cassandra thinks I’m doing it to save myself. And I am. I mean, I was. When Demeter told us we’d need to use humans to fight, I barely shrugged. I just wanted these feathers out of my throat. I just wanted Hermes to grow strong again. If humans could help that happen, then great.” She took a breath. “I’ve gotten really bad at looking after people.”

“It’ll all come back,” said Odysseus. “You took care of me well enough, back then.”

Athena snorted, remembering his epic ten-year quest for home. “You were almost drowned. I don’t know how many things tried to eat you.”

Odysseus shrugged. “Eh. It all turned out well. Besides, you made me a legend.”

“Stop this. You’re not yourself without your ego.”

They smiled at each other. Let the rest of them hate her. Let the whole world blame her for its end. It didn’t matter, as long as he knew who she really was.

*   *   *

Lux whined. The big German shepherd walked restlessly from Henry to Cassandra and back again, trying to fix whatever was making the room so tense and quiet. Henry finally grabbed his collar and told him to sit. Andie rubbed his fur absently.

“So I was in the Trojan War.”

“Well, not exactly.” Aidan leaned against Cassandra’s closed closet door. “You were Hector’s wife, and he was in the Trojan War. You mostly just watched from the wall.”

“Lame,” she whispered.

“Lame that you just watched, or lame that we were married?” Henry asked.

“Both.” They smirked at each other.

“Hey,” said Cassandra. “This isn’t a joke. There isn’t really time for the denial phase you’ve both got coming.”

“Nobody’s denying anything.” Andie squared her shoulders uncomfortably and brushed dog fur off her hands.

“But you are. You’ve got this look on your faces, telling your jokes, like there’s going to be an explanation soon. Like everything’s still normal and this has been the most elaborate April Fools’ joke ever.”

“It’s nowhere near April.”

“Screw you, Andie.”

Andie’s mouth dropped open. Henry pushed off the wall.

“Come on, Cassie. Give us a break. It’s a lot, you know? If you walked into the woods and saw a rabbit hiding colored eggs would you just buy it? Just like that?”

Cassandra ground her teeth. Unless that rabbit was about to turn and snap them like twigs, it wasn’t the same thing. She ran her hands over the stitching of her quilt. If there had been a loose thread, she would have grabbed it and torn the whole thing apart. The need to run grew in her belly; it grew stronger every minute.

“Look, I think we just need to take a step back.” Andie stood up and stretched. “Get a good night’s sleep. Everything will look better in the morning.”

“We don’t have until the morning. We’ve got to leave. Now.”

“What are you talking about?”

Cassandra wanted to hit her. “I’m talking about my vision. About gods knowing where we are, coming to Kincade to kill us.”

“You don’t know when she’s coming. Or if she really will come. You just saw someone tell her. ‘Kincade,’ you said. Just one word.”

“If we don’t leave now, we won’t get away. And they’ll burn this place down looking for us. If we go, they won’t waste time on Kincade. They’ll chase us instead, and by then we’ll be far enough ahead.”

Andie raised her chin. “Do you really
know
that? Or is this just a hunch? I’m not giving up my life over a hunch.”

Cassandra stared at her, eyes wide. She looked at Henry, but he didn’t know what to do either. They would stand there, paralyzed by indecision, until Hera and Poseidon were at their door.

“Athena said we stand and fight, or we run. And she was right about that at least. Hera will be here. Soon. We have got to get out.”

Andie tapped her foot and shook her head. It wasn’t getting through.

“Andie.” Aidan stepped close and took her by the shoulders. “Do you want to remember?” He looked into her eyes, and the heat in the room jumped, driving the thermostat up ten degrees. His hands moved from her shoulders and wrapped around her throat.

“Aidan, don’t.” Cassandra started to get off the bed. Lux whimpered and nosed his way behind Henry’s knees.

“It’s her choice,” he said evenly. “Hers and Henry’s. It’s not Athena’s or mine. And not yours either.” His fingers closed around Andie’s neck and squeezed. He lifted her until she was on her toes, so easily his arms barely flexed. Cassandra remembered the ease with which he lifted her the night of the party. She remembered Athena’s iron fingers around her throat. But Andie could still breathe, even though her hands rose to try to pry him loose.

“Do you want to remember?”

Andie’s eyes were ringed with white. Cassandra had never seen her so scared.

“No!”

He let go. Andie held her throat with her hand and fell back on the bed with Cassandra, but she was all right. The skin wasn’t red. There wouldn’t even be bruises.

“No, I don’t want to remember.” She looked at Cassandra and started to cry. Cassandra hugged her. Andie never cried. Not when her hamster died in second grade. Not even when her dad left to start a new family.

Henry stood up, hands balled into fists. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“I’ll do it to you too, if you want.”

Cassandra shook her head, not quite sure who she was shaking it at. The heat in the room lingered, but wasn’t radiating off Aidan like it had when he’d grabbed Andie. Still, he seemed taller and more beautiful. More of a god.

I shouldn’t regret that. We’re going to need him to be before all this is over.

“Don’t jump to my defense.” Andie sat up and wiped her eyes. She gently pulled free from Cassandra. “I’m not your wife. I’m not Andromache. It’s gross.”

“That’s not why I did it.” Henry’s legs twitched, like he couldn’t decide whether to pace or storm out. He ended up doing nothing.

“What are we going to do?” Andie wiped her eyes again and sucked in a hitching breath. “Go home, pack our bags, leave notes saying we’re headed to California? What about my mom?”

Henry sat down heavily. “I can’t believe this. Cassie, she’s right, we can’t both go. What about Mom and Dad?”

“There’s nothing we could tell them that they’d understand. But we’ll come back.”
We’ll come back. Whenever we can. After all the gods are dead, and who knows how long that will take?

“Maybe they don’t want us. Maybe they just want you.” She said the words, but Andie’s voice held no hope. Cassandra couldn’t let them stay. She couldn’t leave them behind to have their necks snapped.

“We’ll come back.”

“We should probably tell Athena.” Aidan stood apart from them, near the door, arms crossed.

“No. It’ll slow us down. And besides, I don’t trust them.”

He nodded, staring at the carpet. “I’ve got to go back to my house. Get my bag again. Rewrite the note.”

“We’ll meet back here in an hour, okay, Andie?”

An hour. Not much time. Certainly not enough to say good-byes, or to do anything that they’d have liked to do one more time in the city they grew up in. Andie got up and walked out the door. Henry and Lux followed behind. After they’d gone, Cassandra reached under her bed for her duffel bag and started to fill it with clothes from her dresser.

“Do you think Andie’ll come back?” Aidan asked. “She was pretty upset. Maybe I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

“No, you were right about that,” Cassandra said. She pushed past him to get into her closet and yanked shirts and jeans off plastic hangers. “Even if you were wrong about everything else.” In the corner of her eye she saw his shoulders slump. He hadn’t touched her since she’d brushed him away near the deadfall. But he wanted to. And angry as she was, part of her wanted to let him.

“Cassandra, I’m sorry.”

“About what exactly? About the fact that we’re all probably going to die because gods can’t stand the thought of going quietly? They’ve been around forever. Isn’t that long enough?”

“It’s not easy for them. You don’t really understand … anything about forever. About what that word really means.”

She rolled a sweater up and stuffed it into her bag. “I guess I don’t. I’m just a human. I just live. And die. Nothing I do is eternal.” She threw makeup and moisturizer into the bag. She wanted to throw them against the wall. Makeup and moisturizer. Ridiculous.

“Why did you come here? Why did you find me?”

“Because I never stopped loving you.”

“That’s a selfish reason.” She went to her dresser, opened drawers, and slammed them shut. “You made me feel things I shouldn’t feel. And I can’t make them go away just like that. Yesterday I loved you. Now it’s all over. Except it’s not. It’s still in here.” She struck her chest with her fist. Her heart burned. It needed to be torn out.

“A thousand times I opened my mouth to tell you.”

“To tell me what?”

“Everything. Who you were. Who I was. What I’d done. But then I’d look at you. And I knew no matter what I did, I would lose you anyway. To death, or disease, or a fucking car accident. I’ve felt your heartbeat, and it’s so delicate it makes me ache. It paralyzed me, how different we are, and in the end I was a coward. But I’ve loved you a thousand years, and another thousand.”