*
“Do you know how much alcohol it takes to get a god good and drunk?” Hermes swallowed beer from a red plastic cup. “Not as much as you’d think.”
But still, a lot. It was his twentieth cup.
“I’m out,” he said, and eyeballed the plastic bottom.
“Take mine.” Cassandra handed him her cup. The mortals, it seemed, didn’t feel like drinking. Not even amidst the whoops and laughter of what seemed to be half the school. An impromptu party jammed the bonfires at Abbott Park to near capacity, celebrating the suddenly rising temperatures. The mercury had risen above sixty that day, and the forecast said it would go as high as seventy for the remainder of the week. A strawberry spring. One little glimpse of paradise before winter’s fist closed back up.
The air smelled of warming dirt, wet leaves, and smoke. Organic smells. Nostalgic smells of past fires where Aidan had kept her warm. Now she stood by herself, watching Hermes laugh with Sam and Megan, both of them smitten with him to varying degrees. He told them stories about his fictitious dorm at his fictitious college. Or maybe it wasn’t so fictitious. He’d been alive a long time. He’d probably gone to lots of colleges.
Behind him, Calypso spoke when spoken to. Hermes seemed annoyed to have her there and ignored her. Most of the girls were too intimidated to say hello, and the boys just stared. She looked alone. Alone, but not lonely. There was a difference.
“Should Hermes really be getting drunk?” Henry asked. “When he’s supposed to be watching out for Ares?”
Cassandra smiled. Maybe not, but who had the heart to tell him so?
“Don’t worry.” Andie gestured toward Calypso. “She’s here. If those wolves come back, she’ll just sing them stupid, like last time. Do you need anything?” She tugged at Henry’s jacket, carefully arranging it around his sling. The shoulder was healing well. The sling would be off soon, and he’d start to train. Start to use a sword. Start to learn how to kill.
“It’s going to be a hell of a scar,” Andie said.
“Yeah,” Henry replied. The scar on his face was brutal and ugly, a red, stitched stripe just below his cheekbone. “The docs did a real Frankenstein job of it.”
“Makes you look like a warrior,” Andie said.
“Don’t say that,” Cassandra said. “You wouldn’t say that if you remembered what it was like to watch a spear go through his chest. And stop … touching him all the time.”
“What? Gross, I’m not touching him all the time,” Andie protested, but Cassandra turned and walked away.
“It will all happen again,” she muttered. “They’ll get together. Henry will die. I’ll swallow an axe, and Andie might live just long enough to wish she hadn’t.”
“That’s no prophecy. That’s only your fear.”
Cassandra turned. Calypso blinked innocently and sipped from her cup.
“How do you know?” Cassandra asked.
“I don’t. It was just a guess.”
Just a guess. But it did make Cassandra feel better somehow.
“You’re thinking about him,” said Calypso. “Your Aidan.”
“How can you tell?”
“I’ve seen that face on lots of girls. And in the mirror, when Odysseus is gone, and I’d give anything for him to walk through my door.” She shook her head, and pretty braids fell across her shoulder. “It must be difficult to believe. That someone eternal as Aidan could be truly dead and gone forever.”
“I don’t believe it,” Cassandra said. “But no one knows where he went. Not even Athena.”
“Athena doesn’t know everything. I’ve guided my share of mortals to the underworld. Almost as many as she.”
Cassandra stared at Calypso intently. With the fire reflected in her sea-glass eyes, she appeared entranced.
“Is that where he is? Is there a way to get there?”