“Hidden safe as houses,” he replied. He flashed a winning smile. He was covering something up.
“What is it?” Athena asked.
“You’re going to be pissed,” Hermes said. “But trust me, you’re lucky that I did it.”
“Did what? You did something? I told you not to do anything until we got here.” Her voice rose, and she talked more and more, aware that she was only filling space, trying to delay his delivery of yet another hiccup in their plans, another complication, another setback.
“Apollo is here.”
The room went silent. Hermes and Odysseus waited, tense, for her reaction.
Apollo. Their half brother. God of the sun, god of prophecy. He’d fought against them in the Trojan War, but he was strong and smart. And unless something had changed drastically, he would never bow to Hera.
“Good,” she said.
“Not exactly,” said Hermes. “He’s here protecting Cassandra. Apparently, from us.” He let the rest of the story fall out of his mouth in a jumble, making sure to emphasize the fact that Apollo had tried to dye the cellar floor red with his innards. As he spoke Athena’s eyes turned darker and darker.
“Do you know where he is?” she asked.
“Yes, but—”
Hermes and Odysseus exchanged looks and grabbed their jackets. They bolted through the door of the motel room after Athena, who was already halfway down the sidewalk.
Aidan and Cassandra took the long way back to her house, following the roads rather than cutting through yards and tree lines. She’d started walking that way, and he hadn’t stopped her, even though they shouldn’t waste the time. As they went he watched her from the corner of his eye even though she tried to keep her tears discreet.
“I’m okay.”
“You’re not.” He kept his hands forcibly in his pockets. “I wish there was more time. Or something else we could do.”
“I know.” It wasn’t easy for him, either. She’d seen the deep breath he took before they left his house. One last breath of the Tide that clung to his blankets and clothes, the rose hip potpourri that Gloria put in bowls all over the upstairs.
“I should’ve left a different note.” He’d left it under the glass of bamboo shoots in the middle of the kitchen table. Gloria would see it as soon as she came home. And her son would be gone. Cassandra slipped her hand through his arm, rested her chin on his shoulder.
“They’re your parents. They’ll understand.”
“It didn’t say anything I wanted to say. It didn’t even say good-bye. It just said lies.”
“I know.” And she was sorry that she’d ever thought they weren’t really his parents. “We’ll come back someday and explain.” She rested her head against him. “Don’t we have to believe that?”
“Yeah. We do.”
They walked slowly through a light mist that threatened to turn into light snow. Cassandra looked out through the trees. She’d come this way so many times. The deadfall stretched out on their left, a long, downhill path of grass where a tornado had gone through years before. It cut through the middle of the forest and no one had bothered to clear it, so the bones of downed trees lay across the ground, grown over with moss, fallen over at various angles. Cassandra always thought it looked too precise. Almost deliberate. But it was strangely beautiful. Another thing about Kincade to miss.
“Wait.” Aidan stopped and put his hand over hers.
“What?” He didn’t answer, but his grip tightened. Goose bumps worked their way up the back of her neck.
“Aidan, what is it?” He stared down into the deadfall and she followed his gaze. An owl sat quietly on a low branch. Another sat in the tree beside it. And another in the one after that.
She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the feathers of the first owl began to seethe. Blood showed beneath the down, between the quills, and the bird started to shed feathers and skin in a grotesque waterfall.
Cassandra shut her eyes tight. When she opened them again, the owl was just an owl. Healthy, watching her with wide yellow eyes.
“Aidan?”
“She’s here. And Hermes is with her. There’s no point running.”
The clearing flickered into view, the fallen trunks sketched across the ground like long hash marks in the mostly dead grass. Apollo and Cassandra stood on the other side, as if by magic, as if they’d been waiting. Athena put a cautious hand over Odysseus’ chest.
“Don’t worry,” he said. “I won’t run headfirst into anything.”
Athena took a deep breath, trying very hard not to be annoyed with Apollo before he even opened his mouth. It felt something like a snake trying to swallow an egg.
When she reached the tree line she walked past it without pausing, and her legs struck the cold earth confident and fast. Just fast enough to be threatening, to see whether he would twitch or give ground.
He didn’t. He stood silent, his hands balled into fists at his sides, wearing jeans and a navy blue hooded sweatshirt. The hood covered most of his hair, but it was still visible across his forehead, bright gold. Steel blue eyes regarded her without blinking.
Athena almost smiled. Did they all look so handsome at first sight? She didn’t think so. It was just him, beautiful even by a god’s standards, forever the lord of the sun. He was apprehensive; she could see that in the way he stood, tense and ready for anything. But he was confident too. He thought he had the edge.
They were almost close enough to shake hands. In the electricity of the moment, the slight form of Cassandra was almost forgotten, behind and a few steps back.
Athena shifted her weight onto her hip.
“Apollo.”
“It’s Aidan now.”
She snorted. “No, it isn’t. And it never will be, no matter how many years you spend playing human house.”
His eyes narrowed. It wasn’t how she’d meant to start things. Confrontation was counterproductive, but angry words backed up in her throat. What was he doing here? Why was he, one of her favorite brothers, standing in her way?
Aidan took a deep breath. “Still the same, Athena, after all this time. Guess it was too much to hope that a few thousand years would’ve humanized you a little.” His eyes flickered to her jeans, to her tattoos. She lifted her wrist to give him a better view.
“They’re just costumes we wear. Like that sweatshirt of yours.” She raised her chin. “Take off that hood. You look like a punk.”
He smiled and shook his head, but he pushed it back. “Better?”
“It’s a start.”
“I hear you’re dying,” he said. “I can see what’s happening to him”—he nodded toward Hermes, several feet behind her with Odysseus—“but what’s your story?”
Athena glanced at the owls sitting all around them in the trees. Two more drifted in while they spoke.
“The owls. Their feathers. Choking me, worming through my guts.” She shrugged. “What about you?”
He smiled. It was a smile of triumph. Her knee moved to take a step, whether forward or back she didn’t know. She wanted to touch his face. She wanted to inspect him. She wanted to tear a branch off of one of the fallen trees and beat him until the blood flew.
“He’s not dying.” Athena felt Hermes and Odysseus move closer, crowding against her back for a better view.
