much time to figure it out.
Odysseus’ hands thrust into his jeans pockets against the chill and his neck turtled slightly. She didn’t want to look at him, so she kept on studying the terrain.
“Kincade’s not exactly the high ground, I suppose,” Odysseus mumbled.
“Nowhere is the high ground where Hera is concerned.”
He leaned against her and heat moved into her from his shoulder. Why did he have to be so damned comforting? What was it about him that could make her so soft? Maybe it had always been this way. Thinking back, she remembered the fondness she felt every time she looked at him. When she watched him charge the battlefield at Troy, his eyes terrified but determined, he’d been so alive; it had made her want to laugh and scream. But it hadn’t been like this. Back then she was a goddess and he a mortal. Back then the lines between them were clearly drawn.
Ahead, the world seemed to stretch on to forever, but she knew it didn’t. Not really. Somewhere, Hera was coming for them. And no matter how she planned, or what strategy she used, it wouldn’t be enough.
“Not getting down on us already?” Odysseus nudged. “Are you still angry that Aidan didn’t let you kill Hector?”
“His name’s not Aidan. And we could have used Hector. We could have used them both.” She shrugged him off. Odysseus made a disgusted sound. He would chastise her now, call her inhuman, which was a stupid argument anyway. He would call her selfish. And if he went much further, she’d knock his ass in the wet dirt.
“You’re not alone in this. No matter what you might think.” He crossed his arms over his chest, staring out in the same direction she had. “I know you think you’ve got to make all the hard choices. Someone has to lead us, right, and you’re the one. So you come out with mud on your face. You get to be the villain, the one that everybody blames.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Someone’s got to do it.”
“Someone does,” he agreed. “But don’t think it means you’re the only one with blood on their hands. That bitch is out to kill us all. It’s our fight as much as yours.”
The words set off a sting someplace deep inside her. She moved against him again so they stood side by side, looking down the highway.
“Cassandra thinks I’m doing it to save myself. And I am. I mean, I was. When Demeter told us we’d need to use humans to fight, I barely shrugged. I just wanted these feathers out of my throat. I just wanted Hermes to grow strong again. If humans could help that happen, then great.” She took a breath. “I’ve gotten really bad at looking after people.”
“It’ll all come back,” said Odysseus. “You took care of me well enough, back then.”
Athena snorted, remembering his epic ten-year quest for home. “You were almost drowned. I don’t know how many things tried to eat you.”
Odysseus shrugged. “Eh. It all turned out well. Besides, you made me a legend.”
“Stop this. You’re not yourself without your ego.”
They smiled at each other. Let the rest of them hate her. Let the whole world blame her for its end. It didn’t matter, as long as he knew who she really was.
Lux whined. The big German shepherd walked restlessly from Henry to Cassandra and back again, trying to fix whatever was making the room so tense and quiet. Henry finally grabbed his collar and told him to sit. Andie rubbed his fur absently.
“So I was in the Trojan War.”
“Well, not exactly.” Aidan leaned against Cassandra’s closed closet door. “You were Hector’s wife, and he was in the Trojan War. You mostly just watched from the wall.”
“Lame,” she whispered.
“Lame that you just watched, or lame that we were married?” Henry asked.
“Both.” They smirked at each other.
“Hey,” said Cassandra. “This isn’t a joke. There isn’t really time for the denial phase you’ve both got coming.”
“Nobody’s denying anything.” Andie squared her shoulders uncomfortably and brushed dog fur off her hands.
“But you are. You’ve got this look on your faces, telling your jokes, like there’s going to be an explanation soon. Like everything’s still normal and this has been the most elaborate April Fools’ joke ever.”
“It’s nowhere near April.”
“Screw you, Andie.”
Andie’s mouth dropped open. Henry pushed off the wall.
“Come on, Cassie. Give us a break. It’s a lot, you know? If you walked into the woods and saw a rabbit hiding colored eggs would you just buy it? Just like that?”
Cassandra ground her teeth. Unless that rabbit was about to turn and snap them like twigs, it wasn’t the same thing. She ran her hands over the stitching of her quilt. If there had been a loose thread, she would have grabbed it and torn the whole thing apart. The need to run grew in her belly; it grew stronger every minute.
“Look, I think we just need to take a step back.” Andie stood up and stretched. “Get a good night’s sleep. Everything will look better in the morning.”
“We don’t have until the morning. We’ve got to leave. Now.”
“What are you talking about?”
Cassandra wanted to hit her. “I’m talking about my vision. About gods knowing where we are, coming to Kincade to kill us.”
“You don’t know when she’s coming. Or if she really will come. You just saw someone tell her. ‘Kincade,’ you said. Just one word.”
“If we don’t leave now, we won’t get away. And they’ll burn this place down looking for us. If we go, they won’t waste time on Kincade. They’ll chase us instead, and by then we’ll be far enough ahead.”
Andie raised her chin. “Do you really
Cassandra stared at her, eyes wide. She looked at Henry, but he didn’t know what to do either. They would stand there, paralyzed by indecision, until Hera and Poseidon were at their door.
“Athena said we stand and fight, or we run. And she was right about that at least. Hera will be here. Soon. We have got to get out.”
Andie tapped her foot and shook her head. It wasn’t getting through.
“Andie.” Aidan stepped close and took her by the shoulders. “Do you want to remember?” He looked into her eyes, and the heat in the room jumped, driving the thermostat up ten degrees. His hands moved from her shoulders and wrapped around her throat.
“Aidan, don’t.” Cassandra started to get off the bed. Lux whimpered and nosed his way behind Henry’s knees.
“It’s her choice,” he said evenly. “Hers and Henry’s. It’s not Athena’s or mine. And not yours either.” His fingers closed around Andie’s neck and squeezed. He lifted her until she was on her toes, so easily his arms barely flexed. Cassandra remembered the ease with which he lifted her the night of the party. She remembered Athena’s iron fingers around her throat. But Andie could still breathe, even though her hands rose to try to pry him loose.
“Do you want to remember?”
Andie’s eyes were ringed with white. Cassandra had never seen her so scared.
“No!”
He let go. Andie held her throat with her hand and fell back on the bed with Cassandra, but she was all right. The skin wasn’t red. There wouldn’t even be bruises.
“No, I don’t want to remember.” She looked at Cassandra and started to cry. Cassandra hugged her. Andie never cried. Not when her hamster died in second grade. Not even when her dad left to start a new family.
Henry stood up, hands balled into fists. “You shouldn’t have done that.”
