before.
“Wait.”
“What?” He tensed, thinking she’d heard something. She lifted her hand toward his face curiously. Her fingers traced the air along his neck and shoulders. She could feel the heat of his skin.
An image of the red room at The Three Sisters rose in her head, adorned with satin and crystal beads. The sounds of his breathing as he lay on the bed, still dazed. None of his lovers in his previous life had ever wanted to let him go. Circe had kept him for a year. The sea goddess Calypso had kept him for seven and would have married him if Athena hadn’t demanded his release.
She looked at him in the dark. Could he really be so much better than any other? What was it about him? What did his lips feel like, parted against your neck, or grazing along your shoulders? How did his arms feel when they crushed you against his chest?
She’d never felt any of those things. Not once.
Athena blinked and snapped her arm back to her side. She grimaced. The movement hadn’t been quiet. She watched Odysseus carefully. His eyes wandered and stilled again.
“If you’re having trouble keeping up, just say so,” she said quickly.
“I’m having trouble keeping up,” he said with a wry smile.
“All right. We have to keep moving, but—” She thought of ways to carry him along, using her arm to hold him up beside her. “I’ll help you.” She reached out and took his hand. The gentle pressure of his fingers sent a jolt down her spine. Then she tugged him forward, and they walked quickly before breaking into a run. As they went she pulled him up and along, and sensed his fear change to exhilaration as they streaked through night-black trees, their feet barely touching the dirt.
Athena stuck her thumb out as the tenth pair of headlights approached in the morning fog. Hitching was a pain in the ass, especially when there was fog so thick that the driver couldn’t see that the thumb was attached to a good set of legs. Visibility was also a factor when it came to Odysseus, who consistently stepped too far out into the lane and was going to get his arm taken off at the very least.
They were on Route 6, walking the shoulder and hoping to get a ride that would take them onto the freeway and, if they were lucky, out of Illinois. Two more cars passed by in the pink-orange light of dawn; the second one honked loudly. Athena and Odysseus gave it matching middle fingers.
“Just some scared house lady,” Odysseus mused. “Probably scared to death that we’re going to steal her car, cut her up, and stick her in the trunk while we go joyriding.”
“You can’t really blame her,” said Athena, gesturing to her clothes, which were still torn and caked with dirt. Blood had dried to brown spots and patches on her knees and the belly of her t-shirt. Odysseus looked even worse. Unlike Hermes, they hadn’t taken a trip to the local mall.
Hermes was probably halfway to Kincade by now, Athena supposed. He was probably holed up in some swanky hotel and figured that “laying low” meant using a very convincing alias to book it under. Athena frowned.
But things were different. They were all vulnerable, and she regretted letting him go ahead on his own.
“Why are we looking for Cassandra, anyway?” Odysseus asked.
“You remember her?”
“Of course I do. She was a right comely little princess. Maybe not so much as her sister, but…”
Athena rolled her eyes. “Do you remember her with something besides your penis?”
Odysseus laughed. “I remember that everyone said she was a prophet, but nobody believed what she prophesized. They said she was crazy. Even when everything happened the way she said it would. People were jerks, back then.”
“It wasn’t the people.” Athena put her thumb out for another pair of headlights, but they went right by. “It was Apollo.”
“Apollo? Patron god of Troy?”
“He was in love with her. He was the one who gave her the gift of prophecy to begin with. But then she pissed him off, somehow, so he cursed her. He made it so she’d always see, but no one would ever believe her.”
“Sounds pretty crazy-making.” Odysseus waved his arms at an approaching minivan.
“Don’t flag the ones with children inside. They’re never going to stop for two bloodied vagrants, and they might call the cops.”
“I thought maybe they’d think we were in an accident and pull over like good Samaritans.” He sighed. “So when we find Cassandra, what makes you think she’ll help? She must hate gods, after what was done to her.”
“She probably doesn’t remember. And even if she does, not all gods are bad.” She smiled over her shoulder. “Some of them work for years to save the skins of cocky, ungrateful heroes.”
“Hey! You coming?”
She turned toward the voice, shouted from the rolled-down window of a silver, late-model Ford Taurus. A jacket-clad arm hooked out onto the door and gestured for them to come on.
Odysseus grinned and slung his bag over his shoulder. In the fog they hadn’t even noticed the car pulling over. They walked up and Athena got into the front seat. Odysseus piled into the back and immediately tossed his bag down to use for a pillow. He’d probably be snoring in less than a mile, but he shook hands with the driver before flopping onto his side.
“Name’s Derek,” the driver said after they had introduced themselves. “Where you headed?”
“We’re trying to get out to New York,” Athena supplied. She held the front of her cardigan closed to keep the rips and blood hidden.
“Oh, yeah? Freak Show Central?” Derek checked his mirrors and pulled back onto the highway.
“No, just upstate,” said Athena. “We have friends there.” Derek made an affirmative sound with his nose and roof of his mouth, and said nothing. Behind her, Odysseus shifted clothes around in his bag, getting comfortable.
“I can take you quite a way,” Derek said. He rubbed at his face quickly with the back of his hand. “I’m headed to Erie, Pennsylvania. Driving straight through.”
“That’s just fine.” Athena yawned. Part of her didn’t want to sleep. She knew the fresh, stiff hell she was going to be in for when she woke up. All of her muscles and tendons would have clenched down and shrunk three sizes. But it wasn’t a matter of choice. It took a lot to weary a god, but it happened eventually.
“Thank you for picking us up,” she said. “We might’ve stood out there all morning, with the fog as thick as it is. I’m surprised you even saw us.” Her lids slipped shut. She was asleep before the driver could answer, and when he did, her eyes were closed, so she couldn’t see the look on his face.
Had Athena been more alert when she had gotten into the car, she would have noticed a few strange things about their driver. His clothes didn’t fit right, for a start. His pants were too tight to even button, and they were too long. Inches of fabric collected around the tops of his Velcro tennis shoes. The clothes didn’t match, either. He was wearing a combination of green and red that would have looked wrong even around Christmas. And then there was the smell, sour and medicinal, hiding just underneath a camouflage of Brut 57.
But Athena hadn’t been more alert. She had fallen asleep, slumped against the passenger-side window. She and Odysseus slept together, oblivious to the car’s increasing speed. The Taurus’ engine was surprisingly quiet, even at a hundred miles an hour, and the freeway was wide open ahead, except for a large tanker semitruck, shining silver as it plodded along in the right lane. Neither one of them stirred as they passed it. The truck driver watched with annoyance and told another driver over the CB that some idiot in a silver Taurus was out to get them all killed. He didn’t really take the thought seriously until the car moved over the center line, and the passenger door opened and a young woman flew toward the speeding pavement.
The move was quick and well done. He pushed Athena’s door open and shoved her out toward the ground, with the intent of sending her rolling across the asphalt, directly under the sixteen tires of the semi just
