Hermes and Odysseus traded a look, like they were about to be stuck in the middle of something uncomfortable that was none of their business. Only it was their business. It was their doing. Everything that had changed, and was changing, was their fault.
“Don’t get dramatic,” Andie said. “You’re still you, and there’s another you in you. All I want to do is learn to use a sword. What’s the big deal?” She stood and gathered her bag and coat.
“Do you need a lift home?” Odysseus asked.
“Nah. You guys still have stuff to do here. I’ll go to Cassandra’s and catch a ride from Henry.” She walked around the wooden partition and left without another word.
“I won’t teach her anything, if you don’t want me to,” said Hermes quietly.
“Why not? It’s her choice. I’m not her master.” Cassandra crossed her arms. Hermes raised his brows and gave Odysseus the “someone-is-TESTY” expression before shoving more Chinese into his mouth and wandering into the kitchen.
“Have you heard any more from Athena?” Cassandra asked.
“Nope,” said Odysseus. “It took me weeks to get her to carry the phone. But when she called she did say that Demeter sends her regards.”
“Whatever that means,” Hermes sang from the kitchen, apparently eavesdropping.
Cassandra looked down at the maps. The feeling she’d had about Taman Negara was gone, and they were just maps again. But if she did it for one goddess, she could do it for another.
Her palms tingled. She stared at the paper and thought hard.
Aphrodite.
Her fingers burned so hot she gasped, and the maps ignited. Orange fire shot up in a tower from the coffee table, inches from her face.
“Oh-kay!” Hermes shouted, there in a flash. He slapped the flames out and fanned away the smoke. “Let’s not do whatever you just did again, yes?”
“I’m sorry,” said Cassandra, eyes wide. “I don’t know how I did that.”
Hermes sniffed. “I smell burnt hair. It better not be mine.”
“Come on.” Odysseus pulled Cassandra off the couch and led her through the house until they stood on the rear porch that faced into the backyard. It was a bare rectangle of snow at the moment, but in the spring it would thaw and grow a pad of soft grass. With the privacy fence on all sides, it would make a perfect place to train Andie. And maybe Henry.
So they could die again. So someone could drive a spear through Henry’s chest again, while she and Andie watched.
“Well,” Odysseus said, “what was that about?”
“What do you think?” Cassandra asked sulkily.
“I think you were looking for Aphrodite, and you blew up the world.”
Cassandra looked, into the trees, where an owl perched in the high branches, waiting for Athena.
“She’d better come back with news, Ody.”
“Why?”
“Because she’s kept me waiting long enough already.” The backs of Cassandra’s eyes stung; she clenched her teeth hard.
“Feels like you hate everyone on the planet right now, doesn’t it?” Odysseus asked.
“Not quite everyone.” But it was close. She hated. Over the past months she’d hated everyone and everything at some point, from her mother to the guy who made her coffee at the mall.
Odysseus sighed.
“I wish I’d had the chance to know him better, Cassandra.”
Cassandra wiped her eyes. Already, Odysseus knew her well. He was the only other person on the planet like she was. The only one who remembered another life.
“Yeah,” she said. “Me, too.”
“I’m not going to say anything stupid, like how time heals all wounds.”
“Good. Don’t.” She tucked her hands under her arms and tried to ignore the way he looked at her. But it was difficult. Odysseus had eyes that could make even unfeeling, bitchy goddesses blush.
“What?” she snapped.
“I was just remembering what they said you were like. Back then. In Troy.”
“I don’t care,” she said. “But what did they say?”