Cassandra’s brow knit. “The dead can eat?”
“They can taste,” said Hermes. “They can drink. Hell, I don’t know, maybe they just like to roll around in the stuff. It’s been awhile since I’ve been down there.” Underneath the jovial tone he was tense and nervous. On his overthin frame it gave an impression of constant vibration.
“Are you okay, Hermes?”
“Haven’t been for over a year,” he said. “But a few more days won’t hurt. And I understand why you’re going. Half of me wants to go with you. He was my brother, too.”
“I know. And we’ll hurry.” Maybe she did understand Athena’s rush. Hermes was so thin he looked fake, like a wax figure or a mannequin. Far too thin to be alive and talking.
He ran a shaky hand through his hair, still chestnut and shiny despite the failure of his muscles and tightening skin.
“Just, when you get back, I don’t want to see any new feathers coming out of my sister’s ass, okay?”
Cassandra nudged him. “You know you’re making me pass up a great joke about ass plumage, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know. But now’s not the time.”
*
An hour and a half later, Cassandra followed Athena through the dark, over rocks and boulders still half-covered with snow and ice. She couldn’t see two feet in front of her face. They could have been going anywhere. But she bit her lip and didn’t ask. She felt enough like a child already, scrambling along, without whining and wanting to know if they were there yet. Since leaving the house, they hadn’t spoken much aside from the usual questions about whether it was warm enough in the Dodge and if she needed to stop to go to the bathroom. Which was fine by Cassandra. She wasn’t there to bond.
But she wasn’t particularly angry, either. Mostly she was nervous and afraid. If Athena had any sense of how to deal with mortals, she would have seen the fear leaking straight through the bottom of Cassandra’s wet shoes. But Athena didn’t notice. She parked the car on a side road in the middle of nowhere, mumbled that it was adjacent to a state park, and plunged onto the trails.
They crested a hill, and the barest glimmer of predawn light showed a dull wooden building lit poorly by pale fluorescent lights. Beside it, a large lake lay choppy and slate gray.
“Where are we?” Cassandra asked finally.
“Boathouse.”
“What are we doing here?”
“Stealing a boat.”
Of course. They would need one to get across the river to the underworld. She remembered that much from her life in Troy. They had to cross over either the river Styx or the river Acheron to reach the shores of the dead.
“We’re not going to portage, are we?” she asked. “Because I can guarantee my slowness will piss you off.”
Athena didn’t look back. “We don’t need to portage.” She walked straight for the deserted boathouse, across the nicely plowed dirt road and very empty parking lot. Cassandra smacked her lightly on the back.
“Why didn’t we park here?”
“I didn’t want the Dodge here,” Athena replied.
“Or maybe you just wanted to make me hike three miles over frozen rocks.”
Athena sighed. “Not everything I do is expressly designed to make your life harder, Cassandra.”
“Sure.”
Inside the boathouse, Athena chose a light wooden skiff and pulled it down as easily as if it were an empty nutshell. She set it into the water, and Cassandra grabbed oars off the wall. Athena knelt and gripped the sides.
“Get in.”
Cassandra lowered herself in carefully. The skiff rocked and bobbed. Below the sides, the water looked black and very cold.
“How far do we have to row?” she asked.
“We’re not rowing anywhere.” Athena stood and let go of the boat, and Cassandra made a mad grab for the dock.