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  He nodded.

  “It’s just a house,” he said. “And I will come back. As soon as you’re strong enough to come with me and scare the Furies out of my basement.” He closed the last of his cabinets and picked up his bags. “Time to go. Taking the car east.”

  “Is that where Hades is?”

  “Must be. That’s the way my arteries are straining.”

  * * *

  Thanatos drove fast through the nighttime desert. Too fast for Cassandra’s taste, but he seemed at home behind the wheel, and it was nowhere near as gut-wrenching as driving up the steep, curving road to his home. Behind them, Calypso reclined in the backseat, twisting her white-tainted braid around her finger and looking at the stars.

  “Where do you think he is?” Cassandra asked Thanatos. “Do you have any guesses?”

  Thanatos cocked his head. “If I had to guess? I’m leaning toward Greece. If the god of the underworld is dying, it might have made him a little homesick. Or at least nostalgic.”

  “We’re going to Greece?”

  “Or somewhere else in Europe. Maybe Africa. He loves those places best. They’re where all his favorite plagues happened.” He glanced her way and smiled. There was something so disarming about it that she almost smiled back.

  “You know how creepy that is, right?” she asked. “Talking about plagues that killed thousands and then grinning like a goon?”

  “Millions,” he corrected her. “They killed millions. And it isn’t me who loves the plagues. It’s Hades. They fill his halls. He loves his dead.”

  “Shouldn’t the god of death love the dead?”

  “No,” he said. “It’s a difficult thing to understand. You wouldn’t comprehend it even if I told you. But I think you will, someday.”

  Cassandra rolled her eyes. Gods. They acted like they knew everything, but they were some of the most obtuse creatures she’d ever met.

  “There is one thing I don’t get,” she said. “Why do you exist? If Hades is lord of the dead, and Atropos is the Fate of death, why does there need to be another?”

  “Hades is lord of the underworld. Like a shepherd. And Atropos is a Fate. The decider. I am death embodied. I am the hand, and if you want to get specific, I’m the hand of gentle death. There are,” he said, and eyed her sideways, “many of us. All different sorts.”

  “What a lovely thought.”

  Thanatos shrugged and pressed down on the accelerator a little harder.

  “Would you slow down?” Cassandra asked. “We’re going to run out of gas before we get to a station.”

  “I’ve got extra gas. In the trunk.”

  “Fantastic. When we flip over, we’ll make an extra big explosion.” She mimed a car accident and subsequent fireball with her hands, and Thanatos laughed. She laughed, too, until a wing beat against her window.

  “What was that?” she asked.

  There was no time to say anything else before the Fury’s heavy body struck the side and the car started to spin.

  Thanatos swore and squeezed the brakes, trying to steer into it. Dust and grit from the shoulder of the highway flew up on all sides and hit the window in a rain of pebbles. Cassandra’s head spun as the car twisted and fishtailed. She gripped the door handle hard, knowing the impact would come in the next moment. One hard jerk and one black thud, and maybe she would wake up afterward and maybe she wouldn’t.

  The dark part of her mind clicked open: she saw the car spinning as if from above, as if she was outside of it, and saw not one but two Furies latched onto the roof, wings unfurled like sails. Two more sets of wings flapped into view. If they attached, the car would flip.

  “Two more!” she shouted. “Get them off the roof!”

  The car slowed, but Thanatos couldn’t do much besides control the fishtail. Cassandra fumbled for the window button and failed, but Calypso got hers down and snaked her torso through, knife in hand. She cut one of the Furies and it tumbled off of the car. With it gone, Thanatos hit the brakes hard. The car careened to the side as they stopped. Cassandra was thrown against the door. Calypso was thrown out.

  “Calypso!” Cassandra wrestled with her seat belt.

  “No! Stay inside!”

  “But—” Before she could protest, Thanatos was out and over the hood. He dove for Calypso and scooped her up. She had her right arm gripped tight to her body, but otherwise seemed all right. Cassandra tried to catch her breath. Every inch of her felt as though it was made of loose Jell-O. Her heartbeat vibrated in her ears.

  “Where are they?” she asked, and in answer, heard a boot heel stomp on the roof of the car. She looked out the back window, into the weak red of the taillights.

  Two Furies walked the road. They weren’t in their creature form. They wore the same short black dresses and tall boots that Megaera had, when she hadn’t been sporting claws and leathery wings. The Fury that Calypso had knocked off the car followed behind, still hideous, perhaps too injured to affect the change. One of her legs dragged as she crawled and scratched toward them.

  “Thanatos,” the first Fury said. “What have you done with our sister?”

  “And not only our sister, but one of the Erinyes,” said the second.

  A third voice came from the roof of the car.

  “Return Megaera’s body and her blood. Give us the nymph. They are ours.”

  Thanatos shook his head. Beside him, Calypso grimaced and let go of her hurt arm. Her small knife glinted in the car’s headlights. It wouldn’t do much if one of the Furies decided to rush her. This time they weren’t shackled to a wall.

  “The blood I keep,” Thanatos said. “I went to enough trouble to get it. And I’m keeping the nymph as well. The body, though, you’re welcome to. It’s buried in my basement.”

  Every Fury seethed. They hissed and roared. Wings popped through the skin of their backs and veins bounced across their cheeks and arms.

  “Quit while you’re ahead,” he went on. “And don’t take it so personal. Furies can die. I’ve killed you before.”

  But not her. Not Megaera. Cassandra could see the rage unspoken on the faces of every one. That had been the wrong thing to say.

  Two of the Furies rushed Thanatos, claws digging into his chest and shoulders. They dragged him away from the car in a storm of beating wings. Every time the light caught their claws, they were covered with more and more blood. His arm lifted; he had one of their heads in his hand and crushed it. The Fury dropped, twitching, and the roof of the car bounced as the Fury on top of it flew to take her place.

  “Thanatos!” Cassandra cried.

  “Not me!” he shouted. “Calypso!”

  “What?” Cassandra shouted back. She turned away from the attack, and saw Calypso struggling underneath the Fury they’d thrown from the car, her teeth bared with the effort of holding the fangs and claws at bay. Calypso had one good arm. The other looked broken, and bled from four deep cuts.

  Cassandra jerked the car door open and stumbled out on unsteady legs, but adrenaline made her move fast. She felt outside of her body. Out of control. The Fury bit down on Calypso’s forearm, razor teeth hitting bone, and Calypso screamed.

  “Get off of her!”

  Cassandra didn’t think. She grabbed the Fury by the wing and shoulder and its eyes burst inside its skull. She wanted it away from Calypso, away and dead, a harmless corpse on the side of the road. Heat flooded her palms. She heard her own voice, shouting. She pushed the Fury up against the side of the car and kept pushing. She kept pushing as it shrieked. She kept pushing until it popped like a blister.

  * * *

  There were no bones. No internal organs. No teeth, or claws, barely a trace of wings and skin. It was all liquid. Red, and viscous, and laced through with something like mucus. It covered the rear quarter panel of the car and splattered up onto the roof. It coated Cassandra from her hair to her knees. She kept her lips pressed tightly closed, but could still taste it, salty and bitter, warm but cooling fast. Her hands flapped; droplets sho
ok free and struck the ground.

  “Don’t move.”

  Cassandra closed her eyes as the Fury’s blood began to drip.

  Car doors opened. Whatever Thanatos was doing, it took forever. A scream built in Cassandra’s throat: half rage, half disgust. Her hands still throbbed, full of steam. But it lessened. The shock of the Fury’s sudden demise worked like a reset button.

  A wet towel scraped along her eyes and mouth.

  “It’s only water on the towel. Don’t open your eyes yet. Wait. There.”

  Cassandra opened her eyes to a puddle of red at her feet. It was as if the Fury had been nothing but a leather, winged bag of blood. Thanatos and Calypso wiped her as clean as they could.

  “Where are the others?” she asked.

  “I killed two,” said Thanatos. “The third fled. Calypso, get her new clothes. And more water to rinse her hair.” His hands moved to her shirt and started to tug at it. She almost slapped him away, but she had to get the Fury’s mess off of her. That was more important than shyness or modesty. He stripped her shirt over her head. The night air hit her skin and made her shiver.

  “Don’t make her carry so much.” Cassandra looked at Calypso. “I’m fine. I can rinse my own hair. Help her with her arm.”

  Thanatos released her reluctantly and handed her two bottles of water.

  “Calypso, show me your arm,” he said. “We need to splint it and find something to use as a sling.”

  Cassandra tilted her head back and carefully poured water into her hair. It was freezing cold, and blood and mucus slipped under her fingers as she rinsed. Her teeth clacked together with shivers and nausea. The last of the water she used to rinse her face and arms.

  Calypso gave a small yelp as Thanatos set her arm into the makeshift splint. Even in the dark, a ring of purple bruises was visible against her skin. But they were lucky. The bone hadn’t broken through.

  “Are you all right?” Cassandra asked.

  Calypso nodded, and smiled at her for the first time in what felt like a week. “I’ll heal,” she said. “You did well.”

  “Yeah. If I’d known the thing was going to explode like a water balloon, I might’ve pulled it back a little.” Cassandra crossed her arms over her exposed chest, but Thanatos kept his eyes on the ground. He hadn’t snuck so much as a peek. She walked around to the clean side of the car and dug inside her bag for a dry shirt. Something black, to keep from getting stained by the blood she knew was still on her. She slipped out of her destroyed jeans, too, and after a second’s hesitation, tossed them into the ditch.

  Calypso came around the car and leaned against the door as Cassandra pulled on a pair of pajama pants.

  “Are you all right?” Calypso asked. “You didn’t swallow any of the Fury’s blood?”

  “Nope. But I have new respect for Thanatos for downing an entire cup.” She drew a shaky breath. Her next shower couldn’t come soon enough. “Shouldn’t you be mad at me? Wouldn’t you rather the Fury killed you?”

  “No,” Calypso said. “I made you a promise, and I keep my promises. I’ll die in the way of my own choosing.”

  “Calypso,” Cassandra said sadly. “Listen, I—I promised you I would … because I was angry. Because I needed you. But you asked out of grief and—”

  A vision slipped over Calypso’s face: her brown hair faded to white and fell from her scalp like ashes. The skin of her face wrinkled, and darkened, and tightened against the bone until it might have been mummified. Her eyelids disappeared and her lips shrank back from her teeth. Cassandra saw her hands on Calypso’s shoulders.

  “Cassandra? Are you all right? What’s the matter?”

  “I’ll do it,” Cassandra said. Her voice was blank. The vision let go with a jerk and a rush of weakness. It was a true one, but it didn’t seem possible.

  I do it. I kill her. But how? How can I?

  Calypso kissed her gently on the forehead.

  “I know you will.” She walked back to the front of the car and left Cassandra to slump against the rear panel. Thanatos cleared his throat. He kept his eyes low, and when he was close enough, Cassandra grabbed his arm.

  “What is it?” he asked. “What’s wrong?”

  She didn’t know. Maybe it wasn’t wrong. It was what Calypso wanted. But it felt wrong. As wrong as the cold seeping into her fingers from Thanatos’ skin.

  I wish he was Aidan. If Aidan were here, none of this would be happening. If Aidan were here, I wouldn’t have to worry.

  But those thoughts were fairy tales. They weren’t true, and even if they were, Aidan wasn’t there. He was dead. Dead before the gods’ war had a chance to turn from bad to worse. Dead before she really needed him.

  Thanatos brushed wet hair from her cheek, and she inched away.

  “You can’t make me warm,” she said.

  “I could too,” he said softly. “One irritating word from me and you’d be burning like a furnace. There. I saw that. Half a smile is better than nothing.”

  “This was a bad night.”

  “It was. I didn’t think they’d come so fast. But it’s not going to get any easier.”

  He glanced up at the stars. The desert was cold and quiet, lit by a bright moon. No visible movement in any direction. No cars. No flapping leather wings.

  “These little beauties weren’t even the cavalry,” he said. “They were cannon fodder. If it had been Alecto, or even Tisiphone, you and Calypso would be dead. I would be strewn across the highway in annoying, painful pieces. And that’s exactly who’s coming.”

  “So what do we do?” Cassandra asked.

  “Get a decent night’s rest. And then fly out of here on the first plane we can find.”

  14

  SHIELD OF HEROES

  Henry lay on his bed beside Andie. Since the kiss in the hall, they’d gotten away with a lot. Plenty of time spent in his bedroom behind closed doors. Time to discover how her body felt against his, and to wonder at how that discovery felt like remembering. He’d kissed girls before. He’d had years of first kisses, kisses where he didn’t have a brain cell free to feel it, too preoccupied wondering if he was doing it right, or what it meant, or how far it would go.

  But Andie was different. And thanks to a very distracted set of parents, who would never in a million years think anything was going on in his room besides intense hockey debate, they had ample opportunity to enjoy just how different it was.

  “Cassandra’s going to flip when she gets home,” said Andie.

  “Good.” He ran his fingers underneath her shirt, up and down the bare skin of her back. He hoped Cassandra did freak out. It would serve her right. But he didn’t think she would. He didn’t want to say so to Andie, but he was beginning to think that the sister who came back wouldn’t be the same person as the one who left. That whatever Cassandra was doing out there, whatever kept her from coming home, it couldn’t be good.

  Maybe we should be glad she’s gone.

  Maybe she would stay gone, and draw the gods away like insects after a blinking light. The Fates could drag Achilles in her direction, and make him forget all about their old feud.

  “Hey.” Andie poked him in the chest. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he said. “I’m good. Better than good.”

  “Good.” Andie nipped his ear, and his pocket buzzed.

  “Damn.” He pulled the phone out. “It’s Hermes.”

  Hermes didn’t wait for a hello before speaking.

  “Henry, excellent. I’m in your driveway. We’ve got to go to Buffalo. I found Hephaestus. I’m going to come in and tell your parents I have an appointment with a specialist and you need to drive me. Go with it.” He hung up without waiting for a goodbye. Henry sighed.

  “What is it?”

  “Guess we’re going to Buffalo.”

  * * *

  “Your parents look good,” Hermes lied as Henry backed the Mustang out of the driveway. He waved to Maureen in the kitchen and she raised her hand without smil
ing. Both she and Tom were like ghosts, thin and gray and sullen. They said all the right things, asked about his health, about the specialist and what he hoped to learn there. Asked if he was all right in the house by himself. But the words had nothing behind them. They were just preprogrammed sounds.

  “They do,” Henry lied back. “So, what are we going to Buffalo for? What’s going on with Hephaestus?”

  “He wants to meet you. Both of you. It was lucky that Andie was at the house. Saves us a stop at her place.” Behind the steering wheel, Henry hid a smile. In the backseat, Andie didn’t bother to hide hers.

  “Oh.” Hermes smirked. “Finally.”

  “Why does he want to meet us?” Andie asked.

  “To make sure you’re worthy of a new shield.”

  * * *

  They parked the Mustang on the street in front of Hephaestus’ massive, museumlike house. When they got out, neither Henry nor Andie could take their eyes off it.

  “Millionaire industrialist, right?” Hermes smiled.

  “No kidding.” Henry glanced down at his sweatshirt. “Maybe we should have dressed better for this.”

  “In what?” Andie walked around to the driver’s side. “Leather armor and one of those helmets with the tufts on them?” She snorted.

  Hermes watched her carefully. She was uneasy. She hadn’t liked it when she asked how Hephaestus was going to determine their worthiness and he hadn’t had an answer. And she hated it whenever anyone implied she had something to prove.

  But you do. We all do.

  Hermes made a fist and felt his bones strain together under the skin. Practically no meat remained in his hands. He told himself it was because he’d been on the move, and hadn’t been able to eat the twenty thousand calories he could at home. But that wasn’t true.

  I ate all those chickens. All that caviar and fast food.

  When he took off his shirt his heartbeat was visible through his chest. If he was a mortal, he’d be dead already. But he was a god. So he had a few more weeks.

  The hell with that. I haven’t come so far to leave them unprotected. I haven’t come so far to never see my sister again.