Ungodly Read online

  Thanatos stood.

  “As you wish. Come to the basement.”

  So there is a basement.

  The access was through the garage. As they descended the stairs Cassandra tried to put all thoughts of peeled eyeballs and girls on meat hooks out of her mind, but the unfinished state of the stairs didn’t help. Neither did the rough stone walls. It was such a sharp contrast to the rest of the house that it almost felt like descending into a cave.

  Like descending into Olympus.

  That one stupid day. The foolish pride of it and the disaster that awaited them. She and Athena had been no more than dogs with the scent of blood in their noses. They’d gone blindly, seeking meat in their teeth, and they’d paid the price.

  On impulse, she reached back, slipped her hand into Calypso’s, and squeezed. The walk to the basement had to be bringing up similar memories for her, and hers were much worse.

  I’ll get vengeance for Odysseus, too. I promise. Somehow.

  She pulled her hand free before her thoughts turned too dark. She wanted to comfort Calypso, not turn her to dust.

  “Isn’t there any better lighting?” Cassandra asked. “I can barely see my feet to keep from falling down the stairs.”

  “Here. I know the way well.” Thanatos reached for her arm and drew her closer to his back. His fingers slid against her palm, testing the heat there as if he was trying to feel the rage licking through her fingers.

  They descended the last step and hit a floor of hard-packed damp dirt. Thanatos moved away quickly, and Cassandra spun in the pitch black, half-certain her shoulder was going to bump into a hanging corpse. Then he lit a torch, and yellow light flooded the small room.

  No corpses. Not much of anything, really. A few shelves of dusty books. An old stone table. Some candles. He moved along the walls, using his torch to light other torches, and made some lame joke about an earthquake striking at that instant and burying them all.

  “Your sense of humor is even more twisted than Athena’s,” Cassandra said, and Calypso blinked.

  “Athena didn’t have a sense of humor.”

  Cassandra shrugged. She ran her hands down her legs, smoothing her skirt. Her most recent wave of anger had subsided and left her cold. She took a breath. The air in the basement smelled of worms and water.

  “What are we doing down here?”

  “Looking for a map,” Thanatos replied.

  “To Hades? You need a map?” Her nose crinkled. “I thought you knew where he was.”

  “It’s not as easy as all that. They don’t call him the Unseen One for nothing.”

  Calypso laughed. “I thought they were just making fun of his helmet of invisibility.”

  Thanatos laughed, too, then made a stern face. “Don’t get smart. This is going to be nasty business.”

  “How’s that?” Cassandra asked. “How can looking for a map be ‘nasty business’?”

  “Because our map is nasty business. It’s one of the Erinyes. One of the Furies. And she’s not going to be pleased when we bait her here. She’ll be even less pleased when I drink her blood.”

  “What?”

  “A little vampiric, I know. But the Furies belong to Hades. They’re his favorite daughters. His most loved pets. They always know where he is, and their blood will sing the song to me.” He paused. “Like a really gory GPS.”

  Cassandra willed her stomach to be still. She was the killer of gods. Losing her lunch in front of Thanatos wouldn’t do.

  “So where is she?” There didn’t appear to be anyplace in the basement to hide a Fury. It was one room with no doors.

  “I don’t know. But we’re about to summon her.”

  Summoning. The word sounded ominous. Dangerous. Cassandra glanced at Calypso, but she didn’t seem the slightest bit concerned. She barely seemed curious.

  Maybe I’m an idiot for using her as a litmus test. Maybe I’m stupid for thinking she might care about what happens to me at all. She hasn’t really cared about anything since Odysseus died.

  But those were paranoid, unfair thoughts. Calypso had taken care of her, fed her, counseled her. Brushed her hair and tried to make her laugh. And she asked for nothing in return except for one good death, when everything was over.

  “You can help by lighting candles.” Thanatos tossed her a box of matches. He didn’t tell her which candles to light, so she began to light them all, each tiny flame adding yellow to the brown and gray room.

  “Is this just for ambiance? Or are we about to do some”—she made some ridiculous flourish with her hands—“magic?”

  “You get very sarcastic when you’re nervous.” He moved toward the back wall and bent down, feeling the packed dirt with his hands. “Calypso, will you help me with these?” They knelt together, and Cassandra watched as they pulled a massive set of chains with cuffed ends out of the ground. The chains were fixed somewhere down deep. Maybe to the bedrock. She swallowed. Nothing disturbing about that.

  “Can you handle these?” Thanatos asked, and Calypso tested the chains’ weight in her hands.

  “Yes.”

  “Don’t even give her a chance to speak, when we bring her in.”

  The sight of Calypso with the chains made everything suddenly real, and it was moving too fast. They were about to summon a thing, a Fury, that was strong enough to need to be bound by chains with four-inch-thick links. It could be a trap. A lie. Thanatos could be summoning one of his own pets. A quick vision of her insides splashed against the wall and soaking into the dirt of the floor popped into Cassandra’s head.

  Not a real vision. Just the product of too many horror movies with Andie.

  She closed her eyes. This time something flashed behind her lids, in the dark part of her mind that always felt open. Just a glimpse of a leathery wing, claws, and an eye so red all the vessels must have burst.

  She stepped back and sucked in cool air through her nostrils. That was a Fury?

  Calypso had better be goddamn fast with those chains, or Cassandra’s insides really would end up splattered on the walls.

  Comforting heat curled into Cassandra’s fingers and soothed her stomach. Anger followed so quickly behind fear these days. She made a fist and gripped the heat like a handful of sand, ready to throw it into a bloodied eye.

  Anything that kills me, kills itself.

  “Thanatos,” Cassandra said hotly. “What else have you used those chains for?”

  “All manner of underworld beasts. A couple of Furies, a Gorgon.” He leafed through a book she hadn’t noticed him pick up. “A volleyball player from UCLA.”

  “What?”

  “Relax. It was voluntary. All very Fifty Shades.” He looked up and nodded at Calypso. “Once I read the incantation, the path opens. So. Who do you want? Any preferences? Now’s the time to make requests.”

  “Requests for what?” Cassandra asked.

  “Which Fury, of course. There are lots of them, but some are shinier than others. I thought you, Princess of Troy, might want Alecto. She was ecstatic about your city falling and your brother dying.”

  “Alecto?” Cassandra’s brain reached into her past but found no memory. Back then she’d been a doomed prophetess. Nowhere near as involved with the gods’ machinations as she was now. Ah, simpler times.

  “Alecto of the Unceasing Anger.”

  “That’s what they call her?”

  Calypso rattled her chains. “Perhaps one of the lesser Furies might be better.”

  Thanatos clapped his book closed.

  “I hate to tell you this,” he said, “but we won’t get much lesser. When you’ve got the killer of the gods and the god of death putting out the call, who do you think is going to answer?”

  Calypso let her chains droop and cocked her brow at him.

  “We could always try to color the request,” she said. “Put out the right bait.”

  Cassandra looked from the nymph to the god. “What do you mean, put out the right bait?”

  “Well, you
wouldn’t try to catch a shark with ice cream,” said Calypso, “any more than you’d try to catch a butterfly with a leg of goat.”

  Thanatos looked at Calypso like she’d broken his favorite toy. He’d been holding that bit back. For what? His own amusement? Or was he really trying to get one of them killed?

  I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised, considering what he is.

  “So.” She passed Thanatos with a look and spoke to Calypso. “How do we put out ice cream? I think the ice cream–loving breed of Fury is the kind we’re looking for.”

  Calypso transferred the chains to one hand so she could secure her braids, and the dirt on her fingers tinged the white braid brown. It made her look tired already, and they hadn’t even started. But if Calypso wasn’t strong enough for the job, it was Cassandra’s fault, because of the damage she’d done to her dragging her out of Olympus.

  “Unfortunately, Thanatos is right,” Calypso said. “With the two of you calling, we can’t hold out much hope for a minor Fury. More likely it will be one of the Erinyes who shows up. The original Erinyes. And that means Alecto, Megaera, or Tisiphone.

  “Knowing you as I do, I wouldn’t be surprised if it was Alecto of the Unceasing Anger. But with Thanatos by your side, it might be Tisiphone, the Avenger of Murder.”

  “Death isn’t murder,” Thanatos mumbled.

  “The one you want,” Calypso continued, “is Megaera. Mild compared to the other two. They call her the Jealous One.”

  The Jealous One. That didn’t sound so bad.

  “She tends to show up in times of infidelity, or lust.”

  “What do you mean, ‘lust’?” Cassandra eyed Thanatos, who chuckled.

  “Who’s the one sabotaging you now?” he asked. “But come on. It’s not like I’m bad to look at.”

  Cassandra crossed her arms. There was no denying that. He was incredibly easy to look at. Beautiful, and terrible, like they all were.

  Except Aidan.

  Her eyes moved across his chest, over his shoulders and up to his amused expression. He was so dark and cold. He didn’t have any of the warmth that Aidan had. Aidan’s smile was dashing and open. Thanatos had a secret smirk.

  But Thanatos hasn’t betrayed me, driven me insane, and gotten me locked in a basket, either.

  She squared her shoulders. Their differences didn’t matter. It wasn’t a contest. It wasn’t real. Whatever happened in the next few minutes was only a ruse. Bait at the end of a hook.

  She stepped close to Thanatos and looked up into his eyes. The sound of her breath was loud. After a moment, his hand came up to touch her face.

  “I’m not kissing you!” She jerked back. “I’m not here to die.”

  He pulled away and rolled his eyes, muttering about stereotypes. “Not all of my kisses kill,” he said. “But you’re really starting to tempt me.”

  “Thanatos.” Calypso shook her head. “Don’t joke. Not now.”

  “Why don’t you try with me?” he said to the nymph, but Calypso shook her head.

  “It has to be real,” Calypso replied. “And I feel nothing, now that Odysseus is gone. But Cassandra, I will help you.”

  “Help me,” Cassandra said. She wasn’t sure if she could do it. Lusting for death was not her style. But what was the alternative? To let Calypso try to lasso something called the Unceasing Anger? She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. After a few moments, she felt Thanatos’ hands settle on her hips.

  “Make it real,” Calypso whispered. “It has to be real.”

  It felt impossible. The cold from Thanatos seeped into the air and wound around Cassandra’s body. And there was nothing romantic about standing in the middle of a stone and dirt basement, waiting for a leather-winged hell-beast to burst in between them.

  Slow and easy, Calypso’s voice began to weave through the room like a melody. Cassandra wanted to ask what she was saying, but could barely form the thought, and besides, the song didn’t sound like words. It sounded like sunlight filtered through clear water. It sounded like island flowers.

  Thanatos pulled Cassandra closer. He didn’t feel so cold anymore, and a tug had started in her chest, sweet and warm. When she pressed against him it felt natural. His fingers slipped into her hair. He whispered something, and she leaned in close to hear.

  “Cassandra, be ready.”

  She blinked. His voice was strained, as though he’d run a mile.

  “The path is open.”

  Calypso’s chant was gone, and slowly, Cassandra’s body sank back into her shoes, leaving her to wonder where it had been. Her fingers were clenched onto the sides of Thanatos’ shirt, and for the moment she didn’t let go. She was too busy listening, and studying the change in the room.

  Everything had crystallized. The air was clearer and somehow brighter. The stone of the walls and even the dirt floor seemed sharper. It was like standing inside of a mirror’s reflection.

  A beautiful girl materialized beside them. She wore a short black dress and black boots. Hair the color of wet sand tumbled to her waist. And before she could speak a word, Calypso threw the chain around her neck and pulled.

  The image of the girl disappeared faster than Cassandra could have imagined. The girl’s tanned arm turned shriveled, the skin loose and ropey with veins. Her lovely mouth morphed into a bat’s mouth, too full of teeth and tongue. And her brown eyes rolled so red it was a wonder they didn’t burst and bleed down her cheeks.

  The Fury screeched and bucked, but Calypso maneuvered the chains as if she’d practiced for years: a quick loop there to secure an arm, a hard jerk here to throw the Fury off balance. A cuff closed around its right wrist and Thanatos moved in to help, pulling the slack chain taut. It was none too soon. The Fury bit down on air inches from Cassandra’s face. She could smell the decay on its breath.

  Wings burst from the Fury’s back and battered Calypso and Thanatos both, but Calypso looped more chain around its body and then jumped onto the wings.

  “Thanatos! Secure the legs!”

  Before he could, the Fury kicked, and its talons caught Calypso in the shin, tearing a bright red line. And then Thanatos had the cuffs on and Calypso rolled away, leaving the beast to seethe and writhe on the floor.

  “Cally! Your leg.” Cassandra held her hands out, to help her walk or apply pressure, but Calypso waved her away.

  “It’s all right. It’s shallow.” But blood ran freely down to her ankle and into her sandal.

  Thanatos stepped up beside them and looked down on the Fury. He seemed exhilarated, more than anything.

  “Wrapped up nicely as a Christmas package.” He dusted his hands off on his jeans. “Let’s go upstairs awhile. Let her mellow. I’d rather not have to suck the blood out of something that looks like that.”

  8

  LIKE EXCALIBUR

  “Achilles will come for Hector. It’s all he’s ever wanted. That, and to be a god. You can bet that the Moirae have promised him both. He’ll come with all their strength at his heel. You won’t be able to protect Hector. The Fates will hold you down, press you to the ground, and turn your head to watch.”

  “Great. So what are we supposed to do? Achilles can’t be killed. You kill him once, and he pops right back up to be killed again.”

  “Only because it isn’t the right death.”

  “What the hell does that mean?”

  “It means the boy who can put Achilles to rest is the boy standing right next to you. And he is the only one.”

  * * *

  Hermes sat behind the wheel of the rented SUV, driving back toward the road and on to the airport, and home to Kincade. No one had spoken since they got into the car, but the words of Demeter filled the cab. He could hear Andie and Henry replaying it in their heads so clearly he might as well have been telepathic.

  * * *

  “Why Henry? Why does it have to be him?”

  “Their destinies are intertwined. All the way to Troy and back again, it is one or the other. There are threads of A
chilles inside Hector and threads of Hector inside Achilles. This time will be like the time before. They will face each other. And you have to hurry, if you want to help him.”

  “How am I supposed to do that? How can I help him?”

  “By making him equal to the task. No mortal man could best Achilles. Not then, and not now. But then, Achilles was only a mortal himself. Find the edge that he once carried, and give it to Hector.”

  “The edge that he once carried. You want me to drag Henry to the underworld and dunk him in the river Styx?”

  * * *

  He was lucky Demeter hadn’t had arms then, or she’d have cuffed him in the head. But she said no more. She waited, and breathed, and blinked her elephant-lashed eye patiently.

  * * *

  “The edge he carried. The edge he carried … Like a sword. Like Excalibur. But Achilles didn’t have a magic sword. He had the Styx dip and he had … a shield. A shield forged by the gods. The Shield of Achilles.”

  “Very good, Messenger. Now all you have to do is find it.”

  * * *

  Find it. All he had to do was find it, a legendary shield that hadn’t been seen for a few thousand years.

  “My god,” he said softly.

  “What?” Andie asked. She sat up fast in the passenger seat and scanned the windows as though Demeter or something worse might be flying up after them. Hermes gripped the wheel grimly.

  “I might have to do research.”

  * * *

  A day after they returned from their failed trip to the desert, Henry lay on his bed, idly rolling a hockey puck between his fingers. Lux lay on the floor chewing a strip of rawhide. It was the only noise in the house, even though his parents were downstairs.

  He, Hermes, and Andie had made it back days before the end of spring break. He wished they’d stayed in the desert longer. Coming back so soon without Cassandra and facing his parents was harder than Henry had imagined. Their faces when he walked through the door showed how much they’d hoped. They’d thought he might be able to bring her home, and he’d thought so, too.

  Lux heard the sound of Andie’s Saturn and scrambled up off the floor. Andie knocked once and let herself in, calling out a tremulous “hello” that was met with mostly silence. The house was joyless. Sometimes Henry couldn’t help being pissed off at Cassandra for just how joyless it was.