“You look like shit,” said Aidan, and Hermes smirked.

“You’re one to talk. What are you supposed to be, anyway? A seventeen-year-old Bela Lugosi?”

Aidan pulled the cape off his shoulders. It did seem ridiculous now, standing before his eternal half brother. Like playing at children’s games. “I’m sorry I tried to kill you.” He looked up in time to see Hermes’ quick shrug. “But you can’t have her.”

Hermes crossed his arms. “I think Athena’s going to have a different opinion.”

Aidan clenched his jaw. Athena. Always proud and haughty, always Daddy’s favorite. She was used to being strong and getting what she wanted. But the gods were dying. He knew that much. If Hermes was any indication, Athena would be weaker than she used to be. She’d be fading. He wondered what her death was, whether it made her angry, or crazy, or both.

“I’ll fight you,” Aidan said quietly. “I’ll fight you with everything I can.”

Hermes nodded, considering. “You know, Apollo,” he said finally, “Athena would like to save you. But if you make it come down to a choice between her survival and yours, I think we both know which way it’s going to go.”

Aidan looked down. Resignation weighed on his shoulders. The stance felt unnatural. The god of the sun should never hang his head.

“What’s it like?” Hermes asked. “Living with them? Loving one of them? It’s been quite a while, for me.”

Aidan smiled a small, regretful smile. “It’s amazing. I never thought anything would matter as much as she does. Just one mortal girl.”

“One mortal girl,” Hermes repeated.

“Hermes.”

“Yeah?”

“Please leave us alone. I’m asking you, if we ever really were brothers. Get her to stay away.”

Hermes blinked. For a minute Aidan thought it had worked. That hearing him beg and say they were family had shocked Hermes into compliance.

Hermes sighed.

“We are brothers,” he said gently. “So I hope you’ll believe me when I tell you that I wish that was a choice we had.”

A soft rush of air passed Aidan’s cheeks. When he looked up at the tree, Hermes was gone.

12

WHAT HAPPENS ON THE ROAD

“Shouldn’t we leave this thing somewhere farther off the beaten path?”

Athena looked over her shoulder at the silver Taurus. It stared back sadly, like a dog being left at the pound, parked in the rear of the lot of the travel plaza just outside of South Bend, Indiana. She shrugged.

“Well, shouldn’t we take the plates off or something?”

“Don’t see why.” Athena shrugged again. “We’re going to be long gone before anybody finds it, and the trucker probably didn’t get the plate number anyway.”

“You’re wrong there,” Odysseus said as they walked. “He was probably on the radio as soon as we started swerving over the lines.”

“What are you worried for? We’ve already crossed a state line, and the car was probably stolen in the first place. They can’t tie it to us, and even if they could, we’ll have disappeared. We don’t have time for this. Let’s just get something to eat and catch a ride to New York.”

Odysseus sighed and shut up, and Athena looked at the travel plaza. It was made up of a Shell gas station-slash-souvenir shop, a very large set of restrooms, a McDonald’s, and a Dunkin’ Donuts. Both of the restaurants were greasy. One was greasy and sweet. She pulled open the main door and looked in both directions. The whole place smelled like hot oil and diesel fuel.

“You go to one and I’ll go to the other. Grab some food and try to find us a ride. Preferably a trucker.”

“Why a trucker?”

“They’ll be going farther and they usually have a sleeper in the cab. You have money, don’t you?”

Odysseus nodded and pulled out his wallet. He gave her a ten and headed toward Dunkin’ Donuts. Athena walked into the McDonald’s side. There was a short line and a few of the people waiting were truck drivers, men with cheap ball caps, thin legs, and blue jeans pulled over cowboy boots. She glanced down at herself. She looked like total shit; if not like a criminal then at least like a runaway who’d had a rough couple of days. She buttoned her cardigan up as far as it would go to cover the bloodstains. The tears in her jeans might at least pass for a fashion statement.

When she got in line, she made sure to smile and nod at the guy in front of her. He was thirtysomething, with a goatee and mustache and a long, black mullet hanging down from his baseball cap. She checked the logo: New York Yankees. She smiled again; he turned around.