Mortal Gods

“Maybe,” she lied. But it did make her sad. No matter how twisted they were, and what pain they caused each other, the gods had once had forever. Forever to fight and hate and make up, to switch loyalties and regain trust. They’d been at it so long they didn’t really understand what it would mean for it to be finished. They wouldn’t, until it was far too late.

She couldn’t say any of that to Hermes. Underneath his selfishness and sarcasm he had the biggest heart of all the gods. One more ounce of sympathy, and he’d hesitate in the face of his family. And they would slice him in half for his trouble.

“We’re going to kill them tomorrow, little brother. All of them. Just like we killed Poseidon.” She pushed the horse’s face away, toward the open pasture. “We’ll kill them for real, and if there’s regret to feel, we’ll feel it later.”

She slapped the horse on the hindquarters, and he tossed his head and galloped away. Together they watched him go and pretended the snow scattering beneath his hooves was beach sand. Pretended he was Poseidon, running for the surf.





26


IN WAIT


Ares and Aphrodite stood together on one of the many slopes of Olympus. The mountain had infinite surfaces, infinite tunnels and pathways and exits, more plateaus and edges than any mountain should contain. It wasn’t a real place. It wasn’t a real mountain. Olympus belonged to the gods, subject to only their will, strength, and fancy.

The slope Aphrodite chose that night was black with rocks and overlooked the sea.

“Storms are on my mind tonight,” she said. She twined her arms around Ares’ shoulders. Below them, waves crashed against the cliff in shades of blue and graphite under overcast skies. “The kind of storm I was born in. I didn’t emerge on the half-shell from a gently rising wave, no matter what they say. It was nowhere near that calm. Birth never is.

“I was born from a raging swell, from water breaking on sharp rocks. I was flung onto the sand amidst a kill of sharks and silver fish, tied with seaweed ripped from its bed.”

Ares stroked her hair and wondered if it was true. It made sense: birth in exchange for death, the life of a goddess for the blood of a cove. A hell of a lot more sense than a giant clamshell opening and poof! There she was. But he couldn’t know for sure. Aphrodite sounded coherent, but she often did until she started to scream.

“What are you thinking about?” she asked, and lifted her head.

“Nothing, pet.”

“Don’t lie.”

He kissed the top of her head.

“Fine. I was thinking that Athena could arrive any day. With Hermes and her brats. I was thinking how we have to kill them and eat them.”

Aphrodite’s pert nose wrinkled. “We won’t have to eat them, silly.”

“Not us. But the Moirae. And through them we’ll regain our strength. Athena and Hermes are a meal for us, even if we don’t do the actual chewing.” He flexed his arm. The cut that had refused to heal was gone. Clotho, Lachesis, and Atropos took care of it when he returned with Panic. A reward? Or perhaps a last infusion of strength so he could better do their work.

Athena’s face flashed behind his eyes. So fierce. So bullheaded. So unprepared.

“Ares,” Aphrodite said, and tugged on his arm. She gestured to the door, where Panic paced back and forth. “The Moirae call.”

The Moirae called. And when they called, the gods went.

Poor Athena. She actually thought she was going to win.





27


ARMING


Athena and Hermes found their way back to the house just after dawn. The sun breached bright and yellow, rising to meet a cloudless blue sky. No orange. No pink. No glorious reds. Just yellow. It was a good omen, maybe. Aidan’s eye, peering down, making sure she did as she had promised.

“Nothing will touch Cassandra, brother,” she whispered. “I swear.”

“What?” Hermes asked. He went into the house and shed his shoes. The kitchen was stocked for a massive breakfast, just for him. The others would eat light.

“Nothing,” Athena replied. Somewhere in the backyard, a bird trilled. Down the block, someone started their car. An ordinary day, if not for the faintly audible clang of weapons being packed into bags.

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