“I broke your neck,” Athena said.

He shrugged. “Been broken before.”

She looked at Odysseus, but he hadn’t known. His eyes were round as one of her owls’. Achilles stood up and dusted himself off, none the worse for wear. He didn’t even seem angry. The way his green eyes flickered from Athena to Odysseus, he seemed mostly embarrassed to have been killed. Except he hadn’t died.

“You still are what you were,” Athena said softly.

Invincible.

14

WEAPONS

Odysseus checked Achilles over as if he were assessing a horse. He lifted the boy’s arms and moved his chin back and forth. Another minute, and he’d open his mouth and look at his teeth.

“I don’t believe it,” Odysseus muttered. “You bloody can’t be killed. Unless”—he cocked his head—“what about your heel? Did your mum really dip you headfirst in the Styx and miss that part? If I cut it, would you die?”

Achilles smiled. “The legend’s not that literal. Not quite.”

“So you can be killed,” Athena said. “You’re not immortal.”

“The whole world knows my name,” he said, and shrugged. “If I’m not immortal, I’m damn close.”

“What if I pulled you apart?” she asked.

“What if you could?” He nodded toward her ruined shoulder and foot, then turned back to Odysseus. “What’re you doing here, anyway? Why’s she all … after my hide?”

“Haven’t you heard? You’re the weapon of the gods. Or at least, you’re one of them.” Athena waited while Odysseus filled him in.

“Mm,” Achilles said. “Well, since killing me is out, why don’t I come back with you? Then you’d have both weapons instead of one.” He cocked his eyebrow at Athena. “Might’ve saved us all a broken neck if you’d just asked that in the first place.”

Athena glowered. Since killing him was out. What a thing to assume. But she was in no condition to try again. And the idea of Achilles dying and popping up over and over like some macabre prairie dog was just too awful.

Her eyes took in his wild blond hair and gray-blue t-shirt. He was built sort of like Henry, with broad, muscular shoulders and fast, narrow hips. But he was taller. And much more lethal.

“I would have been content to stay on the mountain,” said Achilles. “But you found me. And this is what I was made for. So make your choice, goddess. The side who has me lives forever.”

“He’ll be a help, I promise,” said Odysseus.

Athena sighed. “Shit.” Was he going to promise to feed and walk him next? “Fine. Never let it be said I’m not flexible.” He would come back to Kincade. And they could use Hera’s own weapon to cut her throat.

*   *   *

“Do you know how much alcohol it takes to get a god good and drunk?” Hermes swallowed beer from a red plastic cup. “Not as much as you’d think.”

But still, a lot. It was his twentieth cup.

“I’m out,” he said, and eyeballed the plastic bottom.

“Take mine.” Cassandra handed him her cup. The mortals, it seemed, didn’t feel like drinking. Not even amidst the whoops and laughter of what seemed to be half the school. An impromptu party jammed the bonfires at Abbott Park to near capacity, celebrating the suddenly rising temperatures. The mercury had risen above sixty that day, and the forecast said it would go as high as seventy for the remainder of the week. A strawberry spring. One little glimpse of paradise before winter’s fist closed back up.

The air smelled of warming dirt, wet leaves, and smoke. Organic smells. Nostalgic smells of past fires where Aidan had kept her warm. Now she stood by herself, watching Hermes laugh with Sam and Megan, both of them smitten with him to varying degrees. He told them stories about his fictitious dorm at his fictitious college. Or maybe it wasn’t so fictitious. He’d been alive a long time. He’d probably gone to lots of colleges.

Behind him, Calypso spoke when spoken to. Hermes seemed annoyed to have her there and ignored her. Most of the girls were too intimidated to say hello, and the boys just stared. She looked alone. Alone, but not lonely. There was a difference.

“Should Hermes really be getting drunk?” Henry asked. “When he’s supposed to be watching out for Ares?”

Cassandra smiled. Maybe not, but who had the heart to tell him so?

“Don’t worry.” Andie gestured toward Calypso. “She’s here. If those wolves come back, she’ll just sing them stupid, like last time. Do you need anything?” She tugged at Henry’s jacket, carefully arranging it around his sling. The shoulder was healing well. The sling would be off soon, and he’d start to train. Start to use a sword. Start to learn how to kill.