“How do you find a magical shield that’s two thousand years missing?” Hermes paced back and forth across the balcony outside Athena’s bedroom. “How do you find a magical shield that’s two thousand years missing?” He’d gone to Athena’s room after an hour of asking the same question in the living room, in the hopes that a little of her wisdom remained. Just enough to float the answer into his brain. But the only answer that came was:
You don’t. You don’t find a magical shield that’s two thousand years missing, any more than you find Excalibur, or the Holy Grail, or the last living unicorn. There was no trail to follow, no leads, no sightings. Maybe if Athena were there, she’d have a plan.
“But she isn’t. I am.” He felt the balcony rattle under his feet and slowed his pace. Without noticing it, he’d started to use his speed. To any passersby, he would’ve looked like a human-colored set of lines streaking back and forth. Oops.
He gripped the railing. This little game of What Would Athena Do? wasn’t getting him anywhere. So what would Hermes do?
“That’s easy. Hermes would run.” Except that after their trip to the desert, he’d been exhausted and slept for twenty hours. He wouldn’t be able to run for much longer. And Henry and Andie would be unlikely to run with him willingly and leave their families defenseless in the blast radius.
“So we can’t run. What else? Play to my strengths. What do I do if I can’t run?” He thought back. The last time he couldn’t run or steal his way out of a problem had been when he noticed he was losing weight. And then he’d still run. Straight to Athena. Straight to—
“Someone else who can take care of the problem.” He stood, careful not to move too much and disrupt the thought that had started to form between his ears. The problem wasn’t finding the shield, which seemed fairly damned impossible, it was having a shield. Having the advantage given to Achilles by the gods. Given by Hephaestus, god of fire, craftsmen, and metalwork.
A spark of hope started in Hermes’ chest and worked its way outward, making his whole body vibrate. Hephaestus. A god. A god he’d just seen, less than two hundred years ago.
“Screw that shield. The shield of Achilles. We’ll make a new one. A better one. A shield of Henry.” He winced. Of course, they’d have to give it a better name.
9
DEALS
When Athena woke, it was full dark. It took several blinks just to figure out her eyes were open, and several more to remember what happened. The Ares’ fist–shaped bruise on her jaw helped in that department.
Ares had stopped her from putting Odysseus out of his misery. Why? She’d had the sword in her hand. She’d finally been ready.
The sword. It was gone. She groped the cool, hard sand around her and found nothing. But she heard things. Padded paw steps. Soft yips and sniffing.
Ares’ wolves.
But where was Odysseus? Athena’s throat tightened. If Ares had finished what she’d started— She pushed herself up on her elbows and tested her legs. Her boot heel scraped loudly against the sand.
“Awake already? I must not hit as hard as I used to.”
“Where is he?” Athena got her feet underneath her but remained in a crouch. Ares’ voice hadn’t come from that far away, and her eyes still hadn’t adjusted. She thought she saw a shadow move, and in the distance, the rippling of the river.
“He’s here,” Ares said. “Not far. Come this way.”
She scuttled like a crab, hands in front of her until she felt Odysseus’ arm. He was still warm. Still breathing. She pulled him into her lap as gently as she could, and then sharpened her ears to the dark. Two separate creatures moved. Probably the wolves, but the count didn’t mean much. Ares himself was probably standing stone still, and Oblivion could go days without so much as a twitch.
“What do you want?” she asked.
Ares snorted.
“Always to the point, aren’t you sister? Not a hello. Or a ‘glad to see you’re not dead like your mother.’”
Athena inhaled sharply. Hera was dead? What the hell had happened on Olympus?
“I didn’t know she was dead.”