The slope Aphrodite chose that night was black with rocks and overlooked the sea.
“Storms are on my mind tonight,” she said. She twined her arms around Ares’ shoulders. Below them, waves crashed against the cliff in shades of blue and graphite under overcast skies. “The kind of storm I was born in. I didn’t emerge on the half-shell from a gently rising wave, no matter what they say. It was nowhere near that calm. Birth never is.
“I was born from a raging swell, from water breaking on sharp rocks. I was flung onto the sand amidst a kill of sharks and silver fish, tied with seaweed ripped from its bed.”
Ares stroked her hair and wondered if it was true. It made sense: birth in exchange for death, the life of a goddess for the blood of a cove. A hell of a lot more sense than a giant clamshell opening and poof! There she was. But he couldn’t know for sure. Aphrodite sounded coherent, but she often did until she started to scream.
“What are you thinking about?” she asked, and lifted her head.
“Nothing, pet.”
“Don’t lie.”
He kissed the top of her head.
“Fine. I was thinking that Athena could arrive any day. With Hermes and her brats. I was thinking how we have to kill them and eat them.”
Aphrodite’s pert nose wrinkled. “We won’t have to eat them, silly.”
“Not us. But the Moirae. And through them we’ll regain our strength. Athena and Hermes are a meal for us, even if we don’t do the actual chewing.” He flexed his arm. The cut that had refused to heal was gone. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos took care of it when he returned with Panic. A reward? Or perhaps a last infusion of strength so he could better do their work.
Athena’s face flashed behind his eyes. So fierce. So bullheaded. So unprepared.
“Ares,” Aphrodite said, and tugged on his arm. She gestured to the door, where Panic paced back and forth. “The Moirae call.”
The Moirae called. And when they called, the gods went.
Poor Athena. She actually thought she was going to win.
27
ARMING
Athena and Hermes found their way back to the house just after dawn. The sun breached bright and yellow, rising to meet a cloudless blue sky. No orange. No pink. No glorious reds. Just yellow. It was a good omen, maybe. Aidan’s eye, peering down, making sure she did as she had promised.
“Nothing will touch Cassandra, brother,” she whispered. “I swear.”
“What?” Hermes asked. He went into the house and shed his shoes. The kitchen was stocked for a massive breakfast, just for him. The others would eat light.
“Nothing,” Athena replied. Somewhere in the backyard, a bird trilled. Down the block, someone started their car. An ordinary day, if not for the faintly audible clang of weapons being packed into bags.
“Can I fix you anything?” Hermes asked. Athena had never been less hungry.
“Save me an egg,” she said. “I’m going to check on the packing.” She put silent feet to the basement stairs and stopped when she heard their voices: Odysseus and Calypso.
“It will be all right,” Calypso said.
“It might,” he said. “It might not. But she thinks she knows.”
Athena bristled hearing them talk about her. She wondered what else they said, when she wasn’t there. Had Calypso told him what happened last night? Had they laughed at her together?
“If you think she’s making a mistake,” Calypso said, “then why are you following her?”
Odysseus paused. “Because I always follow her,” he said. Fabric moved, and metal slid against metal. “Because old habits die hard.”
Because you can’t let me go without you. Say it.
“I need you to do something for me, Cally.”
“Anything.”
“I need you to look after Andie and Henry. She’ll be preoccupied with Cassandra and Achilles. Andie and Henry are vulnerable.”
“But she must know that,” Calypso said.
“Of course she does. She’s been a general long enough to know that soldiers die. But she wouldn’t tell them that. So, take care of them, will you?”
“I will. With my life. They’ve become friends to me.”
“Me, too,” he said.
Athena backed quietly up the steps. So that’s what he thought of her. That she would let Andie and Henry die. Sacrifice them, for Olympus, like an offering of blood might help their chances.
He had no faith, though he’d seen her wage many battles. Though she was the goddess of war. She had the weapons, and the Fates were with her. She’d always intended to have Andie and Henry covered in the back, to face off against wolves or nothing, with Hermes standing guard. The battle would be hard, and there would be pain. But they would win. And it would be a one-sided, glorious victory.