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  They stopped, and Athena turned and traced the scar on his chest. It had faded still more.

  “I should have known sooner,” Athena said. “As soon as we met Achilles. As soon as I choked Cassandra. Even then I hadn’t guessed how far it went. I thought you were dead. I would’ve killed you last night, had Ares not stayed my hand. Ares, of all gods.”

  “Don’t tell me any more,” Odysseus said. “I’m indebted to the prig enough as it is.”

  She pressed her palm to his chest.

  “I’m sorry. I’m sorry that I let this happen to you.”

  “It wasn’t your fault. It wasn’t your sword.”

  “It was my fight!” Athena ground her teeth, and backed away. “I lost it,” she said. “Whatever I was. I’m not that anymore.”

  “Athena. What are you talking about?”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “It matters that you’re here. My fuckup didn’t cost me someone else.”

  “So the others,” he said. “They’re safe?”

  “I don’t know. But if they are that’s not the point. Andie and Henry. Cassandra. My brother. They all could have been killed.”

  “But they weren’t,” Odysseus said. “And you’re wrong about Cassandra. I don’t think she was in much danger at all. We’ve never had to test the theory, but I suspect that Cassandra would be even harder to kill than I am.”

  “Why do you think that?” Athena asked.

  She had figured it out—it had gradually worked its way into her head after she caught a glimpse of his more-than-human quickness. The ones who had fallen and been brought back—Odysseus, Cassandra, and Achilles—they were more than they had been when they died. And they were more than they had been when they lived before. They were two bodies in one. The hero and the myth. So Achilles being stronger, Athena understood. But Cassandra was no great warrior.

  “Cassandra and Achilles,” Odysseus explained, “are archetypes. Touched by the gods. I was a traveler, with a good head on my shoulders and the finest patron goddess a man could ask for. But I was still only a man. Not divine.”

  Athena nodded. Achilles was once a near invincible fighter. Now he was unkillable. And Cassandra, once an oracle, had seemed to become almost as Fate itself.

  “We’re ourselves,” Odysseus said. “And we’re the old myths.”

  “But you can’t kill gods?” Athena asked.

  Odysseus smiled. “I’m not a weapon. Just an old hero. Although I may have been imbued with the powers of supersmartness.”

  Athena thought back to Demeter’s words. Make her remember and she’ll be more. They still are what they were.

  “The Fates are responsible for this,” she said, “but I don’t know why. Achilles I understand. But why would they put Cassandra in motion when they can’t control her?”

  Odysseus shrugged.

  “Maybe the Fates are like the rest of you lot. Maybe they can’t agree.”

  Behind them in the tunnel, closer than Athena thought possible, Ares cleared his throat.

  “Had enough of your reunion?” Ares asked. “We don’t exactly have the time to waste.”

  “Why not?” Aphrodite asked from his arm. “All we’re doing is waiting for the dead to bring us Persephone.” She looked at Athena and Odysseus with surprising fondness. “Let them have their time. Our reunion lasted for days, remember?”

  Ares tugged her close. They looked happy and miserable all at once. Passion edged with resentment. But that was how they’d always been.

  Athena pursed her lips. She stepped away from Odysseus. After all this time, she’d finally blundered into Aphrodite’s domain. Love. It felt dangerous. Foolish. As if all the wisdom gained from watching mortals wear their hearts on their sleeves and ruin themselves meant nothing.

  Persephone’s scream cut through the corridor, and Athena tensed. Aphrodite trembled and closed her eyes. She clamped her hands down over her ears like a child. It was the first sign of instability she’d shown in the underworld.

  “We should probably move.” Odysseus craned his neck around a curve in the wall. What would they see when Persephone rounded the corner? A mass of blood-rushed dead swarming all over her? Or perhaps they’d be driving her from the rear like cattle.

  Athena looked at Ares. “Where did you intend to take her?”

  “The only place we can hold her,” Ares said. “Across the river.”

  * * *

  Persephone crossed the river screaming curses, boiling from the center of an army of corpses. Their arms and legs writhed like a bed of snakes. If Persephone hadn’t been a goddess, she would’ve been pulled apart, or drowned. They all might have been. But Athena and the others were able to stay just ahead of the pack, swimming fast across the Styx, splashing and squinting with closed mouths.

  Athena waded as quickly as she could toward shore. Her legs felt like logs, still weak from the loss of blood. Beside her, Aphrodite stumbled and Athena caught her by the arm before she could go under.

  “Stay up!” Athena shouted. “Wolves, help!” For a second she thought they wouldn’t obey, but then both Panic and Oblivion turned and let Aphrodite grab onto the shoulders of their coats.

  “Athena!” Ares called.

  He was still hip deep in the river. Persephone hissed and struggled in the arms of the dead a few feet beyond.

  “The dead can’t cross the Styx,” he said. “The rest of the way is up to us.”

  Great.

  Odysseus drew the sword from his back, but Ares shook his head.

  “I don’t think Hades will entertain making any deals if you take his bride’s arm off.” He motioned for Odysseus to go up onto the bank. It would just be the gods of war. Ares would probably take the close quarters as an opportunity to throw a few elbows into Athena’s eye.

  I can throw them right back. Let’s just get this done.

  Persephone stilled when she saw them coming. Bits of the half of her that was fully dead and rotten floated in the Styx like so much fish food, scraped off by the grips of the shades. Her one usable, yellowed eye tracked their movements, while the milky-white rotten one twitched distractingly. Athena swallowed. She would have to grip those decaying arms. The fully dead side wouldn’t be so terrible, but on the still-rotting side the skin would slough off in Athena’s hands.

  There was no time to get squeamish.

  “Go!” Athena shouted at Ares, and he, always the gentleman, surged forward and punched Persephone square in the face. Athena heard Persephone’s teeth rattle, but the punch didn’t do much and she struck, slicing five deep gashes into Ares’ chest with her fingernails.

  Athena grabbed Persephone’s mushy, rotting wrist and twisted it behind her back. The shoulder joint went farther than she expected and she almost let go, thinking it would come loose from the socket and tear free.

  “Get the other arm, Ares!” Athena shouted.

  He yanked it across his body and grabbed the back of Persephone’s head with his other hand to dunk her under the water. Athena ground her teeth.

  Good plan, moron. Let her drink up some extra hate. It’s not like she needs to breathe!

  Slowly, they dragged her toward the shore. As they neared the border between the living and the dead, Persephone weakened, but it still felt like wrangling a marlin. She jerked and thrashed and bit down hard into Athena’s bicep. Something in the half-dead saliva made the muscle go slack. But they were close to shore. The water rose to the middle of their thighs. Once they got to dry land on the far bank, Persephone would be easier to handle.

  Ares roared. He dragged Persephone the rest of the way in heaving, enormous strides. Before he threw her on the bank, he drew his hand back to strike.

  “Ares!” Aphrodite forced her way between them and shoved him hard. Knocking Persephone out was unnecessary. Once her feet left the water, she collapsed like a sack of rags. Athena and Odysseus watched Aphrodite help her up and lean her against the black rocks.

  “Aphrodite’s a lot sweeter than I rem
ember,” Odysseus said, and Athena regarded her grimly. Aphrodite could be tender, when she wanted to be. When she was sane enough to be.

  “Just remember that she can turn back into a raging bitch at the drop of a hat.”

  Odysseus nodded. He hadn’t forgotten the sight of her shoving a makeshift spear through Aidan’s back any more than Athena had. The mad, victorious light in her eyes. Athena couldn’t get it out of her head.

  “She’s sweet because she needs us,” Athena said. “Because we suit her purpose. Don’t trust it. Don’t ever trust either of them.” She looked at Ares as he wrung the river out of his shirt. “And don’t care about them, either.”

  Odysseus stared at Aphrodite, and narrowed his eyes. “No chance of that.”

  Athena smiled slightly.

  Odysseus nudged her with his shoulder. “Now what?”

  “Now we wait for Hades. It shouldn’t take long.”

  13

  HUNTERS

  Cassandra stared at the television. An actress she knew spoke on the screen, but she had no idea what she was watching. She didn’t even remember when she’d stopped aimlessly flipping through channels. Outside, the light through the window showed orange. Another lost day. After swallowing the Fury’s blood, Thanatos had taken to his bed ill. That had been two days ago.

  The back door opened and closed. Calypso’s soft footsteps echoed down the hall, and then the door to her guest room clicked shut. They hadn’t spoken much since Calypso killed the Fury in the basement. Calypso spent most of her time in the pool, swimming and swimming and swimming, and when she wasn’t in the pool, she was in her room. For the first time since leaving the cave, Cassandra was lonely. She’d gotten used to the nymph’s company.

  So go talk to her. It takes two people for the silent treatment to work.

  She shoved herself off of the sofa and went to the kitchen to assemble a tray of papaya juice. The ice rattled in the glasses as she carried it to Calypso’s door. She had to knock with her toe.

  Calypso answered wrapped in a white bathrobe. Her brown braids dripped and smelled faintly of chlorine.

  “Papaya juice?” Cassandra offered up the tray.

  Calypso shook her head.

  “Come on. Please? There’s only so much to do in this place, you know? Only so many shows to pretend to watch. So many books to pretend to read.”

  “Then why don’t you really read them?” Calypso asked.

  “I can’t concentrate.”

  Calypso stepped back to allow Cassandra inside.

  “I don’t want any juice,” she said as Cassandra set the tray down and started to pour.

  “Why are you so mad at me?” Cassandra asked. “It’s not like the Fury gave you much trouble. You’ve obviously had experience killing something like that before.”

  Calypso’s movements had been fast and coldly precise. As businesslike as a cat breaking the back of a mouse.

  “You should’ve done it,” Calypso said.

  Cassandra sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Maybe I should have. Everyone certainly seems to think so. But it still got done.”

  “This is your war,” Calypso said loudly.

  “My war? I’m not the one who showed up on your doorstep.”

  “You are the one who seeks to kill gods. I don’t care about it. And Thanatos cares about nothing. Yet I’m the one who severed Megaera’s head, and Thanatos lies in pain. You’re behaving like a spoiled child.”

  “No,” Cassandra said. “I was a spoiled child. Before this. Now I’m behaving the only way I can.”

  She poured juice into both glasses. Calypso could drink it or not drink it. But to her surprise, Calypso picked it up, and sat down beside her.

  “You couldn’t kill that Fury,” Calypso said softly. “How do you expect to be able to kill me?”

  “I’ll be stronger then,” Cassandra said. “I’ll be better.”

  She looked away. That was a lie. Cassandra didn’t really believe she’d ever have to make good on their bargain. She thought that if enough time passed, Calypso would heal, and want to stay.

  “There’s nothing for me here anymore, Cassandra.”

  “You’re wrong. There is. It’s just hard to see right now.”

  Calypso sighed wearily.

  “I’ve lived a very long time. I know when to leave. Don’t presume to know better.” She stood and stepped to the side of the open door. “Take some juice to Thanatos. Get him up. It’s time we got going. Though I don’t know how you intend to kill Lord Hades, when he’s bound to be more charming than the Fury in the basement.”

  * * *

  Cassandra quietly opened the door to Thanatos’ room and set the tray down on the first thing she bumped into. With the curtains closed, the room was nearly pitch black.

  “Thanatos?”

  “Yes?”

  “Are you just sitting in here awake?”

  “With a massive headache,” he said.

  She closed the door and fumbled her way through to the windows, then pulled the curtain back by inches to let in a sliver of fading light. Thanatos watched with equal parts curiosity and irritation. She kept on pulling until he groaned and swung his legs over the side of the bed, elbows on his knees and head resting in his hands.

  “Cassandra. What the hell are you doing in here?”

  “Getting you moving,” she barked, suddenly irritated. “Now do you want some juice, or just a kick in the ass?”

  “Careful,” he said as she handed him the glass. “Your temper will melt the ice.” He took a sip and set it on the bedside table. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing. I’m just pitching a tantrum because you stayed in bed too long.”

  “You’re a bad liar,” he said. “I like that.”

  “Because it gives you an advantage?” Cassandra’s lip curled. “Gods. You’re all the same. Calypso thinks I won’t be able to kill Hades because he’ll charm me into thinking he’s good. But none of you are good. I’ll hate him the minute I lay eyes on him. I hate him already, just knowing what he is. Killing him will be easy.”

  Thanatos watched her with steady eyes. The heat in her hands and chest ebbed.

  “Why are you so angry?” he asked.

  “That’s a stupid question.”

  “So give me a stupid answer.”

  “But you already know, don’t you?” she asked. “You already know what I am. Who I was.”

  She paused, but he didn’t move. He held her with those dark, steady eyes until she went on.

  “They cursed me and murdered my family. They put an axe in my chest. They betrayed me, strangled me in a field! Blew up buildings full of people. Made it so I can’t go home.”

  Her voice went lower and grew louder with every word. Every memory. An image of Aidan flashed inside her brain and she squeezed her fists to crush it out.

  “It’s more than enough reason to hate them,” she said. “More than enough reason for them to die. And that’s the truth.”

  “That’s the truth,” he said softly. “But it’s not the whole truth.”

  “Finish your juice and get up.” She walked out of the room. “I’ve got gods to kill.”

  * * *

  Cassandra’s anger kept her warm for most of an hour, long after she’d finished stuffing her scant belongings into a bag. Anger felt good. Safe. When it started to wane, she imagined Ares’ face bleeding under her hands. And then Athena’s. And then Aphrodite’s, and the fire surged up fresh.

  Calypso stepped into her open doorway.

  “Did you wake Thanatos?” Calypso asked. “Is he well again?”

  “I don’t know if he’s well. But he’s up.”

  Calypso seemed to have calmed since their encounter in her bedroom, but said nothing else before walking away. Cassandra’s heart sank. Her anger fizzled, and without it she felt cold and alone again.

  I want to go home.

  “She just wants assurances,” Thanatos said.

  He leaned
against her door, looking down the hall after Calypso.

  “Assurances that you’ll do what you promised,” he said. “That you’re more than a shaken little girl whose anger won’t carry her as far as she thinks it will.” He shrugged. “I tried to tell her you are. But she didn’t seem to believe me. Right now I don’t think you’d believe me, either.”

  “Stop pressing me.”

  She glared at him. The god of death looked too smug and too innocent. The effects of the Fury’s blood still clung to him, and the slight hitch in his movements and grimace on his face made him seem more human. He’d abandoned his slacks for jeans and a dark gray T-shirt. He wore the costume well.

  “Did your headache go away?” she asked.

  “No. But I’m out of bed now.”

  He held his hand out. Cassandra shouldered her bag and walked past it.

  “I had another day and a half before we really needed to get moving,” he said. “But if you insist.”

  “What do you mean? Why a day and a half?”

  He slid past her in the hallway. “That’s the earliest we can expect to be hunted down by one of Megaera’s avenging sisters.”

  “Her what?”

  “You didn’t think they’d just let that go? They’ll be on our trail every step of the way to Hades. And even if I don’t come back to this house for a decade, one of them will be here waiting when I do. Unless they’re all dead. The Erinyes have patience to spare.”

  Cassandra paused in the living room and looked out over the darkness of the hills, at the thousand tiny points of light from mortal houses. She thought she detected movement in a few of the closest and, standing in front of the large windows with the neon glow from the kitchen bathing her back, she felt suddenly exposed.

  Relax. There’s no Fury standing in the bushes with leathery wings and bloody eyes. She blinked and focused in on a particularly tall shadow. That’s just a tree, idiot.

  Thanatos moved around in the kitchen, stuffing supplies into a bag. The extra Fury blood went into a cooler with a couple of ice packs. He seemed calm. Sure of his timeline. But maybe he was always calm. Death had nothing to fear.

  “Does this mean you can’t come back to this house?” Cassandra asked. “Did you give up your house for this?”