“Why?” he asked. “Because you told me to? You can’t tell me who to be with, Athena. Come to think of it, you can’t tell me how to feel, either. But it was right godly of you to try.”
“You’re so difficult. Ever since you thought of that stupid Trojan Horse and became convinced of your own cleverness.”
“Yeah, well. I am clever.”
“Pride goeth before the fall, hero,” she said. His eyes closed, and she let hers close, too.
“Where will you go, after the war is over?” she asked. “Back to London? I’d give you money, if you wanted to open a pub or buy Manchester United or something.”
“Try Arsenal,” he muttered. “I don’t know. Thought I’d see what you were up to. We could wander the world again. Odysseus and gray-eyed Athene. Like old times.”
Old times. Good times.
“I’d like that,” she said.
“And sooner or later,” he whispered, “I’ll wear you down.”
She let him drift off to sleep, and she lay there for a long time before going out onto the widow’s walk. The night air was good and cold on her cheeks as she looked at him through the windows of her French doors.
“You’ll never wear me down, Odysseus,” she said. But as long as they were together, he would try. He would have no other love, and no other life. It was a nice dream to have, wandering the world with her favorite hero. But it couldn’t be.
After the war was over, she would have to disappear.
16
THE DAYS OF HEROES
Athena twisted in front of the bathroom mirror and prodded the dark, reddening spot under her ribs. The feather buried inside hurt like an open wound. She pressed, and the quill rolled beneath her finger, down deep. It itched.
“You’ll take your time, too, won’t you, fucker.”
She could cut it out and sew the hole closed. It would heal faster that way than letting it emerge on its own. But there was another, fluttering against the back of her tongue, and there’d be another after that. If she started plucking and cutting, she might never stop.
She wiped fog from the mirror and toweled her hair. Somewhere in the backyard, Achilles had already started training with Hermes and Calypso. Andie, Henry, and Odysseus would join them after school. Athena slipped her shirt over her head and gave the dark spot one last look. Would it turn into a disgusting, weeping sore? Probably. She only hoped it wouldn’t hinder her in the fight to come.
When she went downstairs, Calypso was in the kitchen drinking a glass of lemonade. A long, black bruise marred her right cheek. Achilles’ work. She smiled at Athena through a cracked lip, and the blemishes didn’t make her any less beautiful. How irritating.
“Taking a break?” Athena asked.
“I needed one. Achilles is quick, and stronger than me. How are you healing?”
“Fast.”
Calypso raised her glass. “Can I get you something to drink before you start?”
“You’re the guest here,” Athena said. She ducked into the refrigerator and grabbed the milk. “Can I get you anything before I start?”
“I’m not a guest.”
The urge to drink from the carton was strong. But that was stupid. She wouldn’t mark her territory with milk drinking. She grabbed a glass from the cabinet.
“Your name’s not on the mortgage, and you’re not family.”
“But if you asked me to leave, I wouldn’t,” said Calypso.
“So you’re a squatter.”
Calypso shook her head. “Why do I try to argue? I remember that day, on my island, when Hermes came and ordered me to give up Odysseus. Never mind that it was my island. Never mind that I loved him.”
“He wasn’t yours, Calypso. He had to go home.”
“Excuses, excuses. You hate me even though I’m on your side. There’s no winning with you.”
“I don’t hate you,” Athena said. “I resent you. It’s completely different.” She drained her glass and wondered why she’d said that. Why she’d let Calypso bait her.