Her eyes blinked hard. There was no time for a bitching and moaning identity crisis, no matter how well deserved. She pulled open the bathroom door and walked out into the room, where Hermes and Odysseus were watching a rebroadcast of Spartacus on Starz. They were stretched out, one on each of the double beds, their hands behind their heads. When she came in, Hermes reluctantly turned the TV off.

“The witches are all right?” she asked.

“Hidden safe as houses,” he replied. He flashed a winning smile. He was covering something up.

“What is it?” Athena asked.

“You’re going to be pissed,” Hermes said. “But trust me, you’re lucky that I did it.”

“Did what? You did something? I told you not to do anything until we got here.” Her voice rose, and she talked more and more, aware that she was only filling space, trying to delay his delivery of yet another hiccup in their plans, another complication, another setback.

“Apollo is here.”

The room went silent. Hermes and Odysseus waited, tense, for her reaction.

Apollo. Their half brother. God of the sun, god of prophecy. He’d fought against them in the Trojan War, but he was strong and smart. And unless something had changed drastically, he would never bow to Hera.

“Good,” she said.

“Not exactly,” said Hermes. “He’s here protecting Cassandra. Apparently, from us.” He let the rest of the story fall out of his mouth in a jumble, making sure to emphasize the fact that Apollo had tried to dye the cellar floor red with his innards. As he spoke Athena’s eyes turned darker and darker.

“Do you know where he is?” she asked.

“Yes, but—”

Hermes and Odysseus exchanged looks and grabbed their jackets. They bolted through the door of the motel room after Athena, who was already halfway down the sidewalk.

* * *

Aidan and Cassandra took the long way back to her house, following the roads rather than cutting through yards and tree lines. She’d started walking that way, and he hadn’t stopped her, even though they shouldn’t waste the time. As they went he watched her from the corner of his eye even though she tried to keep her tears discreet.

Keep it together. He feels guilty enough as it is.

“I’m okay.”

“You’re not.” He kept his hands forcibly in his pockets. “I wish there was more time. Or something else we could do.”

“I know.” It wasn’t easy for him, either. She’d seen the deep breath he took before they left his house. One last breath of the Tide that clung to his blankets and clothes, the rose hip potpourri that Gloria put in bowls all over the upstairs.

“I should’ve left a different note.” He’d left it under the glass of bamboo shoots in the middle of the kitchen table. Gloria would see it as soon as she came home. And her son would be gone. Cassandra slipped her hand through his arm, rested her chin on his shoulder.

“They’re your parents. They’ll understand.” But they won’t. Because they won’t really know. No more than mine will.

“It didn’t say anything I wanted to say. It didn’t even say good-bye. It just said lies.”

“I know.” And she was sorry that she’d ever thought they weren’t really his parents. “We’ll come back someday and explain.” She rested her head against him. “Don’t we have to believe that?”

“Yeah. We do.”

They walked slowly through a light mist that threatened to turn into light snow. Cassandra looked out through the trees. She’d come this way so many times. The deadfall stretched out on their left, a long, downhill path of grass where a tornado had gone through years before. It cut through the middle of the forest and no one had bothered to clear it, so the bones of downed trees lay across the ground, grown over with moss, fallen over at various angles. Cassandra always thought it looked too precise. Almost deliberate. But it was strangely beautiful. Another thing about Kincade to miss.

“Wait.” Aidan stopped and put his hand over hers.

“What?” He didn’t answer, but his grip tightened. Goose bumps worked their way up the back of her neck.

“Aidan, what is it?” He stared down into the deadfall and she followed his gaze. An owl sat quietly on a low branch. Another sat in the tree beside it. And another in the one after that.

Owls in the daytime. Shouldn’t they be asleep?

She opened her mouth, but before she could speak, the feathers of the first owl began to seethe. Blood showed beneath the down, between the quills, and the bird started to shed feathers and skin in a grotesque waterfall.