“I don’t know any such thing,” said Athena. “You want to chop those tomatoes?”

“I know you have a plan,” he said. “And I know you can lead an army. But even the best-laid plans can unravel.”

Athena handed Odysseus a knife. “Don’t worry so much. It will all fall into place.” A chill ran down her back as she spoke. He could be right. Even if the Fates were on their side, that didn’t mean they would all make it. Their first victory had cost them Aidan. And when she’d faced Ares in the jungle it had cost a tribe of men.

But that was my fault. My mistake. I won’t make another one.

“What smells so delicious?” Calypso asked. She walked into the kitchen, clean and freshly dressed in dark jeans and a light, form-hugging sweater.

“You going somewhere?” Athena asked.

“Cassandra and the others invited me over to watch a movie. Are you coming, Ody?”

“Yeah.” He handed the knife to Athena and left without a backward look. Athena listened to the Dodge kick to life. Tires rolled down the driveway, and the house felt suddenly empty.

Calypso had been there less than a month, and already they welcomed her into their group as a friend. Already they trusted her. Because she’d saved them? Or because she wasn’t a god?

“It doesn’t matter,” Athena whispered. She wouldn’t have gone anyway, even if they had asked.

She stood for a few moments and let the pasta steam her face. Then she walked to Hermes’ bedroom.

“Hermes, I’m making … something.” She knocked on his door. “Will you come out and pretend to eat it?” She waited, trying to discern sounds of movement above the techno thump. He couldn’t be giving her the silent treatment. Hermes didn’t even know how the silent treatment worked.

Farther down the hall, light shone through the crack of the bathroom door. The shower was on. She smiled. Any moment he’d come flying out, bitching up a storm about the lack of hot water.

Something in the bathroom crashed to the floor. It sounded like a bag of baseball bats dropped onto cement. Or a thin body tumbling against hard tile.

“Hermes,” Athena gasped. The bathroom hinges and lock didn’t stand a chance. The door cracked and gave way. She stood in the frame and moaned, hands clapped over her mouth.

“Get out. Get out!” He scrambled to get his legs underneath him, not much more than bruises and bones. Dark marks covered his stretched skin. She could see every rib. Every bump of his sternum.

“Get out!” he shouted. “Don’t look at me!”

She took half a step back, to mind her own business, to hide behind useless noodles. But then he crossed his arms over his face. Her brother feared her eyes like a vampire feared daylight. She wrenched his robe off the wall hook. When she draped it over his shoulders she braced for an elbow to the face, but instead he leaned into her and let her hold him tight. Heat from his fever bled into her cheek and chest.

Hermes cried, naked and shivering on the floor. Footsteps sounded across the carpet: Achilles, coming to investigate. Athena leaned and turned the broken door closed before he could see in.

“Everything all right in there?” he asked.

“It’s fine,” she said, and squeezed Hermes tight while he held his breath. “Trying to figure out the hot water.”

“Okay. Well…” Achilles didn’t say anything else. After a moment his footsteps moved back down the hall.

“Trying to figure out the hot water?” Hermes sniffled.

“I didn’t hear you coming up with anything.” She spoke through her teeth, her chin resting against the top of his head. “How did you hide this?” she asked. “How did I not know how bad you were?”

“I know how to dress. I’ve always known how to dress.” His voice sounded better already. Clearer. She shut her eyes.

I make every excuse, use all the right words, to make him seem fine. How his fever is lower. How his eyes are bright. I stuff him full of food. Like it helps. Like it matters. Like he isn’t going to die.

He tried to gather himself up, and adjusted the robe to slide his thin arms into the sleeves.

“This is humiliating,” he said. “I look disgusting.”

“No you don’t. You could never.”

He hmphed. “I think they call this phenomenon ‘sister goggles.’ What are you doing in here, anyway? Ruining my ice-cold bath?”

“I made you something to eat.” The words barely made it out before she broke, and tears streamed down her face. She clung to him, and he stroked her hair and let her cry, even though her weight had to hurt him, thin as he was. He hurt all the time, every day. She didn’t know what she would do, when his skin started to tear. Would it be in one place? Or all over?