Antigoddess (26 page)

Athena exhaled. “You know me. Good. It’s what we needed.”

“It wasn’t what I needed.” Cassandra cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “I saw you, once, on the battlefield below the wall. You threw a spear through four men. One was a boy I’d made jewelry for when we were children. He wasn’t much more than a child when you cut him down. And you laughed.”

Athena frowned. “I suppose it isn’t fair to say that’s not me anymore. Not when you’ve just remembered.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Cassandra.” Aidan reached for her.

“Don’t, Apollo.” Cassandra shrugged him off, which wasn’t hard. When she used his real name he recoiled like he’d been burned. She walked up the deadfall and back to the road.

*   *   *

“Are we just going to let her go?” Hermes asked.

“She needs time.”
We’ve done enough to her for now. Give her a moment to put two lives together.
“When she’s ready, she’ll come looking for us, and we’ll see what she can do. Until then, just keep an eye out. Make sure she’s safe.”

Apollo turned. “Stay away from her. Nothing’s changed. If you try to use her, I’ll find something that really will crack your head open.”

Athena clenched her jaw. “Nothing’s changed? Everything’s changed. She won’t want you within a mile.”

“I was making it up to her. I wanted to make it right.”

Athena shook her head. “How could you have righted a wrong she didn’t know you committed? When could she have told you it was enough? That you’d paid for it, and been forgiven?” Gods. Forever making their own rules.

“This wasn’t the way.”

“We needed Cassandra of Troy. No one had any other suggestions.”

Apollo glared at her. “Not even a shred of guilt. Minutes after you strangled an innocent girl. Everything is a means to an end with you.”

“It was justice. She had the right to know who she was. And what you did to her.”

“You hide behind justice. Athena knows best.” He looked at them with disgust. “I’m glad you’re dying. I wish that I was. It’s what we all deserve.”

*   *   *

Having one’s head sewn back together hurt. A lot. Particularly when there was no anesthetic involved. Athena sat on the counter of the sink at the Motel 6 while Odysseus dragged black surgical thread back and forth through her scalp with a sterilized needle. The awkward tugging and stinging did nothing to improve her mood. She still seethed over Apollo, walking away like a kicked puppy, trying to make her feel guilty for doing what had to be done.

But was there another way? Maybe I was in too big a hurry.

She thought of Cassandra’s eyes, the way their innocence had turned to bitterness. It was hard, and cold, and more than a little cruel.

“He’s just like the girl,” Hermes said from the bed on the other side of the room, where he lay lazily flipping through channels. “Apollo just needs time. Time to see the bigger picture.”

We don’t have the time that everyone seems to think we have.

She inhaled and felt the tickle of feathers.

I don’t have the time.

“And shouldn’t we be investigating why he’s not dying?”

“Apollo can get bent,” Athena snapped, and winced when Odysseus poked harder with the needle than he had to. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” Odysseus groaned. “Are you two really so thick that you don’t understand why he’s doing this? Your war doesn’t matter to him. The only thing that matters is Cassandra.”

The needle slid through her skin again, tugged as he made a knot. It would heal quickly; the makeshift stitches could come out in a day. Odysseus clipped the thread off and started to clean up. Red dots and wads of gauze and tissue moistened pink with blood and water decorated the sink. Athena turned and looked in the mirror. He’d done a good job. The stitches weren’t even visible through her hair. She sighed.

“Apollo will fall in line once he realizes that Hera is coming for her. And for him. He’s smart. And we’ve always been close, by godly standards. And,” she said, arching her eyebrow at Odysseus, “I wouldn’t put too much stock in his ‘love.’ The last time he loved her, he drove her completely bughouse. Remember that.”

“I remember.” He tossed reddened tissues into the trash. “But haven’t you ever heard of atonement?”

“Great movie,” Hermes supplied. “Better book.”

Odysseus ignored him. “The way you grabbed her throat today—I’ve never seen anything like that from you. Maybe you should start thinking a little
less
about the big picture.”

He refused to look at her while he finished cleaning, throwing away pieces of thread and wiping down the counter. The rejection stung like a tightly squeezing ball in her chest.

“How can you say that?” More words rose and died in her throat. The way he ignored her, the aversion in his eyes; it pierced like needles. She expected loyalty from him, if from no one else.

I need it. That’s more the truth. I can’t let him turn his back on me. It would hurt more than these stupid feathers.

Athena stalked across the room and slammed out the door. The air had turned colder since they’d come back and the mist had turned to snow; small, dense flakes hit her cheeks like tiny razors. Her feet struck the pavement as she paced, almost hard enough to crack it. She didn’t know how long she was out there, turning ice into steam, before she heard the door open and Odysseus walked through it.

“Do you think any of this is easy? Dying? This stupid Twilight? You, Hermes, Cassandra—Hera and Poseidon will send all our worlds sliding off the edge and I’m the one holding on to the rope, so don’t tell me not to think about the bigger picture! Thinking of the bigger picture is the only thing I can do these days.”

“Don’t give me that,” Odysseus said. “This is exactly your element.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about what you did back in the woods. It was cruel, and that’s just the way you wanted it. You got to be a god again. You’re so bloody scared of being the tiniest bit human—”

“Bullshit. Hard choices have to be made. How can you accuse me of wanting to do that? Do you think I liked it?”

Odysseus took a breath. How must she look, her head full of sutures, still wearing the t-shirt soaked in blood? If she wanted to, she could tear his limbs off, one by one. He should be afraid of her. He always should have been. But he never was.

“That’s not what I’m saying.” His brows knit and his palms lay flat, trying to explain. “I know it needed to be done, believe me. But you used to be patient. Compassionate.”

Athena exhaled. “Back then I had the luxury.” She pressed her hands to the side of her head and wanted to squeeze, to reopen the stitches and scream. “But I know, I know. I came here to save her, to protect her, and instead I killed her in the first five minutes.” Her arms fell to her sides. His words hung around her neck like lead. “I had to, you know. ‘Make her remember, and she’ll be more.’ That’s what Demeter said. Unless I misinterpreted the riddle.” And maybe she had. The immediate battle was over, the adrenaline rush subsided, and she was so incredibly tired.

“At night I imagine feathers cutting through my insides,” she said softly. “I see them, making their way to the surface, tearing me up before they tear me open. When they come through it’s slow. They twist up and rise, like plants from soil.” She laughed a humorless laugh. “I’m going to die, Odysseus. And when I do I’m going to look like a monster. I suppose you think that’s fitting.”

He stepped closer and took her by the elbows. Heat flowed into her from him in a powerful, strange wave.
This is what it feels like to want someone.

“Look at me,” he said, and pushed her hair back over her shoulder. “You’re not going to die. If there’s a way to survive, you’ll find it. You always do.”

“I thought the same thing about you not a day ago. But it might not be true anymore. So many things are different now.”
Like us, standing here. With your hands on me. Like the feelings for you that I shouldn’t feel.

“You’re right. Things are different.”

“We’re still goddess and hero.”

“What if we’re not? Just that.” He smiled at her, his eyes soft.

“That’s what we are, always.” Her heart sped with curious hope. The urge to fall was utterly new and made her dizzy. He could catch her and hold her up. She knew he could.

If this is how Aphrodite feels every day, it’s no wonder she’s such an idiot.

“Always,” he said, and let go of her arms.

*   *   *

Cassandra’s head itched from the odd sensation of having one too many brains inside it, brushing against each other. Everything she remembered ordered and reordered, stacked and shuffled. It felt like her mind had grown longer and larger, that it stretched out behind her several thousand years.

The cloud of her breath puffed like steam from a train. The cold mist that had been falling for the last hour was slowly turning to sleet. It left icy trails in her hair. The only parts of her that felt warm were her neck and throat, which throbbed and ached underneath Athena’s handprint bruises. She swallowed.

It hurts worse than strep. Worse than when I had it for a week in third grade.

Third grade. In third grade, she’d already been thousands of years old. She just hadn’t remembered.

“Athena,” she croaked. Blaming her was easy. It was her handprints wrapped around her neck. She was the one who had asked her if she wanted to know, without giving warning about what that might mean. And she was the one who’d lured her brother Hector to his death.

Hector.

Hector.

Henry.

The knowledge forced its way through her ears, and she stopped short; the sounds of her shoes slapping the slushy sidewalk cut off sharply. Hector, Troy’s hero, was her brother, Henry. She could see him on the city wall, smiling as he pointed down into the market. She could see him throwing Lux’s Frisbee.

And Andie too. With long hair, twisted through with hand-dyed ribbon. She’d taught Cassandra to use a bow. Her name had been—

“Andromache.” Hector’s wife. Henry’s wife. Gross.

“Cassandra.” Aidan. Apollo. She remembered him too.

“Are you—?” he asked.

“Don’t ask if I’m all right. And don’t tell me you’re sorry.”
Even if you are.

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. “I wouldn’t do that. It’s stupid. I just—never knew what to do. How do you make up for driving someone out of their mind?”

“Do I look the same as I did before? Didn’t it ever bother you?”

“You look more like her now,” he said. “And it did bother me. It bothered me every day.”

“Could’ve fooled me. Did fool me.”

The wet sweatshirt on his shoulders looked like it weighed a million pounds. Of course it wouldn’t, to a god. It wouldn’t even be uncomfortable. They didn’t feel the cold, or the heat. They didn’t feel. Cassandra looked up into the gray sky, let the sleet hit her cheeks and melt onto her lips. It didn’t taste of tears, just of cold, and she swallowed it down. The bruises made her wince but she didn’t care. The cold water felt good. It eased the nausea of having an extra lifetime crowd in behind her eyes.

“I’ve always loved you. I looked for you for so long. After what I did. After you died.”

“Was killed,” she corrected. “I didn’t just die. I was killed. They took me hostage and put an axe in me when I hit the Greek shore. Like a sacrifice.” The memory made her shiver. It was real, but far away, and so strange to remember her own death. “You cursed me. It was your fault Troy fell. More than the Greeks’. Even more than your stupid sister’s. You gave me prophecy and then made people think I was crazy.” She glared at him. He didn’t even look the same. Images of Apollo and Aidan danced over each other. The boy she loved and the god she hated. “And now you lied. You lied when you said you had no more secrets. You knew who I was the whole time! And never said anything. It’s sick.” Her throat tore every time she raised her voice, but she didn’t care. Her head felt like it might explode.

He grabbed her shoulders. “Please. What was I supposed to say?”

“It might’ve been hard in the beginning, but not now. After I knew what you were, then you could’ve told me the truth.” She hated him. Hated him for being what he was, for standing in front of her wearing the face she loved.

But I do love him. I love him even when I hate him. Even back then when he could do that to me. That’s the worst part. Worse than dying. Worse even than our walls crumbling.

“I know,” he said. “I know.”

“You don’t know anything. And I don’t want to be with you anymore.” She thought she wanted to see his face when she said it, that she wanted to see pain, but it only made her own hurt worse.

He turned away and put his hand on his head. For a second she thought he’d turn and leave.

“I can’t—leave you alone yet. I’m sorry. But Athena and Hermes are still here.”

That’s right. I need you. I need a god, to keep other gods from ruining our lives again.
But even then a sliver inside her was glad. He’d been so much a part of her. For so many thousand years. Cutting him out so fast felt like it would tear half her chest away.

“We aren’t going to run from them anymore, are we?” she asked.

“I don’t think we’d make it if we tried.”

“So what do we do then? How do we keep my family safe? How do we keep them away from Andie and Henry?”

Aidan glanced up and she nodded.
Yes. I know them too.

“Let me talk to Athena,” he said. “Find out exactly what she’s after. They want to make an ally of you. But I don’t know why, or against what.”

“We won’t have much time to choose sides,” she said, and suddenly knew it was true.

Aidan reached out hesitantly and touched her cheek. His hand was so warm and her heart thumped like it always had. She let it linger there for a moment, then brushed it away.

“Don’t. It’s not like that anymore.”

“I love you,” he said. “I made a mistake, a long time ago. It was a god’s mistake, so it was big. But I’m sorry. I’ve been sorry for thousands of years.”

He was sorry. But what did he know about time or consequences? How long could you hold a grudge when someone broke your life like an unwanted toy? Was a thousand years enough? Two?