“I’m not.” Athena knew what could happen. That one misplaced or careless touch from Cassandra could make feathers bloom in an instant, filling her heart and slicing through her blood vessels.
“If something goes wrong…” he said. “They need you.”
Athena stopped. He meant that he needed her. But that wasn’t true. He’d always been more than fine on his own.
“She won’t hurt me. Will you, Cassandra?”
Cassandra looked at Odysseus. “I won’t. If I can help it.”
“You’re both really pissing me off,” Odysseus said.
“Would you rather I use her map trick to find Achilles, then?” Athena asked, and he scowled. She would, if it came to that. If he wouldn’t tell her.
“Hermes, did you call the cab?”
He nodded. “Should be here—” An impatient honk sounded in the driveway. “Right now. So, table whatever argument this is, and let’s go. I’ve got a goddess to find.”
They stopped in the living room. Hermes took his bag from Athena and grasped the back of her head, pulling her forehead quickly to his.
“See you when I get back, big sister,” he said, and let her go, leaving her more than a little surprised. “And when I get back, our little family will have grown.” He winked at Cassandra and headed for the door, grabbing Odysseus’ worn leather bag from the entryway as he went.
Odysseus eyed Athena. “You know we’re not done with this conversation.”
“I know.”
He hugged Cassandra and kissed her on the head, told her to be careful, and whispered, “Don’t kill her,” into her ear.
“I won’t.”
He looked at Athena and said his fast and silent goodbye. It was nothing more than a soft encircling of his fingers around her wrist, and his eyes on hers, but it was somehow so intimate.
Don’t let go.
Athena tugged herself away.
The door closed, and the cab pulled out of the drive. They were gone.
*
The wind smelled of ice. Athena breathed it in, walking back and forth on the porch that extended out from her second-story bedroom. She should put on a jacket, or wrap herself in a blanket. Anyone in a passing car might call the police, thinking she’d lost her mind out on the roof in the middle of winter in a t-shirt. But the air across her skin felt good, and when she sucked it in deep, the ache in her lung was still just a quiet burn. No ruffling vane had emerged to tickle and sting. It was buried. If she was lucky, it would stay that way.
She gripped the edge of the railing and thought of Odysseus and Hermes on the other side of the world. The house felt too big without them. Every sound she made announced itself loudly and died off with nothing to answer it. They could be gone for weeks. For a month. It had only been a day, and already she paced the rooms like a lonely ghost. Already she was out on the porch without a coat, like a crazy person.
A widow’s walk. That’s what they would call this, if it faced the sea. A place for anxious wives to watch the water and wait for their men to come home safe.
Athena’s fingers tightened around the wood. One twist of her wrists and she could rip the whole thing apart. It wouldn’t even be hard. She could splinter it and toss it down into the snow. Maybe then she’d feel better.
And I could rebuild it afterward. Give me something to do until they get back.
The hum of a familiar engine caught her attention. Andie’s silver Saturn came into view and pulled into the driveway amidst a cloud of pounding music. The girl was alone inside, her face through the window a pale orb with big eyes.
“I see the car’s running again,” Athena said, as she got out.
“Better than ever.” Andie stood before the front steps, looking up. “Aren’t you cold?”
“No.”
“Right. Gods don’t feel cold. Neither snow, nor heat, nor gloom of night will keep a goddess off her porch.”
Athena leaned down. “I recognize that, you know. The creed of the U.S. Postal Service. I’ve been in America for most of the time it’s been America. And you got it wrong.”