“We’ll do whatever you need to do.”
He rolled the flower between his fingers and clenched it in his fist. Ten minutes ago they’d been in Athena’s bedroom with their hands on each other. So close. Ten minutes ago. It felt like light-years.
“I just need some time, okay?” he said. “I’ll be fine.”
She nodded. He didn’t want her to stay. He didn’t need her to. It was how he’d always been. But after she left, she couldn’t stop thinking that she should have asked.
*
“This is good. This is good news. Not about Calypso, of course, but Cassandra is home. There’s that, at least.” Hermes sat surprisingly still, considering the unease he felt at having Thanatos in their home, eating the last of their egg rolls. He’d babbled on and off since Athena left to check on Odysseus, but neither Thanatos nor Ares took much notice. Which was fine by him. He’d never cared much for Thanatos. None of the gods had. As for Ares, well, if Cassandra made short, bloody work of Ares then all the better, no matter what deal he and Athena had struck.
“Hermes.” Ares nodded at him. “You’re sweating.”
“So? At least I’m sweating sweat. You’re sweating blood. And you”—he eyed Thanatos—“you don’t have any body heat to begin with.” How had he wound up there, playing polite host to two gods he disliked or downright hated?
While two murderous … wolves, for lack of a proper word, lounge on my recently shampooed carpet.
Panic did a decent impression of a dog, flopped over on its side. But Oblivion rested its snout on its forepaws, eyes open and unblinking.
Ares sighed lazily and leaned back against the couch cushions. Hermes chucked a coaster at him before he could set his leaking hand down on the upholstery.
“What happened to you, anyway?” Hermes asked.
Ares studied his wounded fist with affection. He squeezed it together, and blood ran down his wrist to soak into the sleeve of his shirt.
“One of the judges of the underworld had a scepter with razor edges. I bludgeoned him, but it cost me my hand. Athena wouldn’t let me keep the scepter. Go figure.” He shrugged. “It’ll heal.”
Hermes glanced at Thanatos. It might heal. But certainly not as quickly as Ares was accustomed to. A cut was ready to open on his forearm, too. It spread across the skin like red ink and would burst in the next few days.
“What were you doing, Hermes?” Ares asked. “When we met you on the stairs?”
“Running for our lives from Achilles and the Moirae. I told you.”
“But why were you there?”
“To get the shield. Have you been paying any attention?”
“I think what he’s looking for is, why the shield,” Thanatos said.
“Because we needed it for Henry,” Hermes muttered. “Because he’s the only one who can kill Achilles and have him stay dead.”
Thanatos made a face. “The only one?”
“Yeah, according to Demeter. Why? Does that piss you off?”
“A little,” Thanatos admitted. “Then again, if it’s possible for one, it’s possible for another.”
“What’s he going on about?” Ares asked, and reached for the lone remaining egg roll.
Hermes had to admit, it was a good question.
“Why are you here, Thanatos?” Hermes asked. “Why are you helping Cassandra?”
“I don’t know,” Thanatos replied. His eyes lost focus. It wasn’t a look Hermes remembered ever seeing on Death’s face before. “Maybe because she’s like me. She’s becoming like me.”
“Like you?” Hermes asked, but Ares barked laughter.
“What is it about that girl?” He hit Hermes in the shoulder. “Are you in love with her, too?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Thanatos said. He drained the last of the wine and stood. “I’m not in love with her. That’s not possible.”