A voice came from behind them. “Tell her anything you want.”
Odysseus looked up. For an instant it was like hallucinating; seeing another person in the middle of the jungle made so little sense that it jarred his brain. Then a hand clamped around his throat and jerked him up to stare into a face he barely remembered. He’d only glimpsed it for brief moments, on a battlefield thousands of years ago.
Hermes shuffled backward. His feet slid in Artemis’ blood, the knees of his jeans soaked red from kneeling in it.
“Ares. Let him go.”
But Ares had no intention of doing that. The grip on Odysseus’ throat tightened and the world began to fade.
*
Lux ate snowballs, snapping each one out of the air and chomping down on it as it was lobbed at him.
“He’s so funny,” Andie said.
Henry threw another snowball. It fell just short of Lux’s reach, so he chased it into the rest of the snow, digging with his snout like he could pick it out of the rest. Some secret smell distracted him, and he snuffled around in a broad circle. Then he lifted his head and sneezed.
With Athena out of town, the winter trees stood quiet, their bare branches mercifully free of owls. Henry had come to hate the owls over the past months. Their yellow dish-plate eyes. Their swiveling necks. It felt as if Athena could see out of every skull, and he didn’t believe Odysseus when he said she couldn’t.
He took a deep breath and let it out in a wandering cloud, listening to the whisper of snow over their boots and Lux’s familiar whine. It was too good a day. Something was bound to screw it up. What would it be? News of his sister dying halfway across the globe? Or something more mundane, like frostbite. Maybe just a disturbing urge to kiss his sister’s best friend.
Andie chased Lux through the snow, hair flying around her face like a flash of black feathers. She was all grown up. And she was beautiful, in a rough, extremely annoying way.
“How do you think Cassandra’s been doing?” she asked. “About Aidan, I mean.”
Henry shrugged. “I don’t know. Same as before. She doesn’t talk about it much.”
“Have you tried?”
“Have you?”
Andie frowned. “Not really. I’m not that kind of friend, you know? I don’t know what to say. She seems like she’s working it out. But I half think she’s faking.”
“Yeah, well. Haven’t you ever heard of ‘fake it ’til you make it’?”
“As your former wife, I bet I’m very familiar with that.”
“What are you? Twelve?” Henry packed a snowball and chucked it at her. She threw one back, twice as hard.
“Have you been to the cemetery lately?” she asked.
“Not since the funeral. Have you?”
“I was thinking of going. I mean, I really miss him. Everybody’s supposed to be so careful about Cassandra and her feelings, but he was our friend, too.” She looked at him. “You probably think we didn’t know him at all.”
“I don’t think that.”
Andie wiped at her eyes.
“Are you crying?”
“No,” she said, but she clearly was. “It’s just that I do miss him. And I don’t know about you, but I really wish he was here.” She sniffed. “I really wish he was here.” Lux slipped up and licked her face.
“Maybe we could go together,” Henry heard himself say. “To the cemetery.”
“Yeah?”
He nodded, and she set Lux back on four paws.
“Tell anybody I cried, and you’re dead.”
“Please. Who would believe me?”
Andie laughed. “Henry. Sometimes I can really see why I married you.”
“Not to ruin your romantic notions,” he said, “but our marriage was probably arranged.”
She wiped her face again. “I bet you’re right. Huh. Guess that takes a lot of pressure off of us, then, doesn’t it?”