“Jesus. Not Calypso.”

“Hey,” Odysseus said. He moved fast and blocked the door. “Not now, okay, Cally? Give us a minute. Everyone.” He stared at the floor as Hermes walked by and handed off the tweezers.

“You ordering gods around now?” Athena asked as Odysseus shut the door. She tugged a towel over the feathers and sucked air across her teeth. “That’s bold, even for—”

She stopped talking when he pushed his fingers into her hair.

“Uncover that,” he said.

“No.”

“Uncover it.”

“It’s ugly.”

“It’s ugly,” he said. “You’re not.”

Her eyes burned again. “Why don’t you get out of here? Hermes was doing a fine enough job.”

“I want to do it.”

“Why?” she asked.

“Because I know they scare you. Because you’re not so scared when I’m around.” He gently moved the towel away. But his other hand stayed in her hair, his thumb softly touching her jawline. He removed the feathers slowly, with short, steady pulls. “Cassandra and I are going to have words,” he said.

“Guess we’re lucky she didn’t slap me in the face this time.”

“Wouldn’t have mattered,” he said. “You’d still be you. Shining, larger than life.”

“Yes,” she said. “Shining goddess of battle, in silver and bronze. That’s what I am.”

“Idiot, that’s what you are,” he said. “You shouldn’t have gone in the first place. And it isn’t the armor that makes you shine.”

She flexed her shoulder, squeezed her own muscle like an orange to ooze fresh blood. He looked up at her, fondly irritated. His dark hair hung in his eyes and he blew it out of the way, then removed his hand from her neck and used it to hold her fast.

“It was worth it to go,” she said. “Because now I know.”

“Now you know what?”

“About Olympus,” she said, and he paused. “Olympus has returned. And Hera’s hiding inside of it.”

*   *   *

A statue of Hera sat heavy in the trunk of the Dodge—heavy enough to sag the rear suspension and take the muffler nearly to the ground. Athena had searched for the statue the better part of the morning, and paid cash. Then she drove home, careful not to chip its stone ass.

Dragging the statue to the backyard was nearly cathartic, even if it was only a statue. Athena stared into Hera’s stone face and studied the curve of the cheek, the locks of hair escaping the headband. But the blank, pupil-less eyes were her favorite part.

“Is this what you’ll look like when Cassandra’s really done with you?”

No. In fact, it didn’t look like Hera at all. Just a generic representation, made to look like the other sculptures artists had chiseled over the centuries. Thousands of stone gods and goddesses, with the same face. The only way to tell the statue was supposed to be Hera was the peacock twined around her feet.

The sliding door opened, and the smell of fried chicken and buttered biscuits wafted out of the kitchen.

“I would’ve voted for a lawn jockey,” Odysseus said. He closed the door behind him. “Or some of them pink flamingos.”

Athena smiled. “She’s for Achilles. Stone he can hone his fists on.”

“You never bring me any presents.”

“I would, if you’d show me something worth rewarding.” She glanced at him slyly. He looked briefly insulted, then puzzled. He was such a good liar. Good enough to almost make her doubt what she’d seen: that he was faster and stronger than he’d shown.

“You really think he’s something, don’t you,” he said.

“Don’t get jealous. He is something. A weapon of fate, and all ours. And to think I wanted to kill him.”

Achilles’ strength grew by the day. It would be he who got them their victory as much as Cassandra. As much as Athena.

“I don’t get jealous,” Odysseus said. “How’s your shoulder?”

“It’s fine.” It still bled when she flexed her arm, and bled more when she dragged the statue, bouncing, from the trunk to the backyard. The throb reached hotly all the way to her fingers. “Thank you. For last night.”

“I wouldn’t have been anywhere else.”

“You’d better get some chicken before Hermes and Achilles eat it all,” she said.

“Okay. Can I bring you something? A biscuit? A bucket?”