Ares and Aphrodite. They always enjoyed humiliating you.

“I thought you gave Aphrodite back,” Hermes said.

“Zeus wouldn’t take back the bride-price. He said I was stuck with her.”

Hermes laughed. Nothing remained on any of the platters except chicken bones and a few sprigs of asparagus. Both bottles of wine were dry. And he needed to get back to Andie and Henry. He’d been gone too long already.

“I’m in the war, Hephaestus. I need your help. That’s why I came.”

“I just told you. I don’t want to be involved.”

“I know. And I wish I didn’t have to beg.” He leaned forward, elbows on the table, and stared into his empty plate. “I don’t want to die.”

Hephaestus sat quietly for a long time. Then he set his wineglass down with a clink.

“What do you think I can do for you?”

“I need you to forge us a shield for Hector of Troy.”

12

THE KIDNAPPING OF PERSEPHONE, REDUX

The knife in Ares’ hand shone dull silver. Athena tensed. He’d gotten the drop on her, but if he thought he and Aphrodite would get out of it clean, he was kidding himself. When he took one step forward, she would spring. And that knife might just end up buried in his gut. She might just saw the blade clear up to his throat.

Aphrodite stepped between them and slapped Ares’ hand.

“Don’t,” she said. “Don’t joke. Do you think because she’s unarmed she can do no damage?” She turned to Athena and apologized.

“A joke?” Athena asked. “That’s supposed to be funny? I could’ve torn your hand off.”

“Torn my hand off?” Ares laughed. “Weeks of fighting monsters have made you overconfident.”

Weeks of fighting monsters. Had it been that long that she’d spent tearing scales and claws off of beasts at the banks of the Styx? Had that much time passed in the dark? She didn’t know. It could have been days and it could have been forever.

“It wasn’t all a joke, either, Aphrodite,” Ares said. “This is going to take a lot of blood.”

He drew the blade across his hand and flicked a few red drops into the lake. He shook blood in all directions, flinging it onto petals of asphodel and into the mud of the bank. Athena recoiled as some of it landed on her face, but it was smart. The dead would smell it, and come for a taste. It wouldn’t take long.

“Why are we doing this?” Athena asked, wiping her cheek.

“Have you noticed how Persephone is nowhere near?” Ares asked. “How she seems to hang out by the river border, and near her palace? I think it’s because she’s mostly dead now. Mostly a shade herself. I don’t think the dead are quite as obedient as they used to be.”

As Athena looked out across the still lake, a pale head poked out of one of the tunnels. A pale arm followed it, and then another, until a parade of waxy corpses lurched toward them, so many that Athena wished Ares had put out less bait. They came from everywhere, even from the corridor they’d come down, their legs stiff and jerking, vacant eyes bright at the prospect of food. Of life.

Aphrodite moved close to Ares and took his arm. So many dead were disconcerting. Men, women, youths, all shuffled closer with their mouths slightly open.

“They won’t hurt you,” Ares whispered into Aphrodite’s hair.

“You sure?” Athena asked irritably. “What’s the second part of the plan?” The first of the dead touched her: a whisper against her shoulder. Then a weak, groping hand.

Athena pushed her panic down. They were only shades. Only the dead, and she could force her way through thousands if she had to.

Which she would, if she wanted to get free. Hundreds of pale shades had already assembled in only a few seconds.

“All right, before there are too many.” Ares’ voice was loud, and not quite as calm as before.

“Ares, hurry,” Aphrodite pressed.

He dragged the blade across his wrist and reached for the head of the nearest dead. He forced his wrist against its mouth and let it drink. “Here.” He tossed Athena the knife. “Feed as many as you can.”

Athena watched the corpse lap and suck on Ares’ blood. Color quickly returned to its hair, its cheeks, and even the rags it wore. The eyes blinked to something like life.

Turncoats. They were making turncoats. The blood of whoever fed the dead would bind the dead to them.

Athena made a quick cut in her palm and shoved it in the face of the nearest shambling body.

“Give me the knife,” Aphrodite said.