Athena reached for Hermes’ forehead and watched her hand shake.

“Ares, would you and the wolves stay with him a few minutes? There’s—” She looked around the living room as though she was surveying her kitchen cupboards. “There’s nothing here to eat. Nothing that’s good for sick people. The grocery store’s only a few miles away. Odysseus, will you drive?”

She tossed the keys to the SUV at him and headed for the back door without really knowing why. Maybe to avoid the invisible trail Cassandra seemed to have left. Maybe just to feel farther away.

“Good thing we still have the rental,” Odysseus said as he buckled up. “I guess Hermes didn’t bother to bring the Dodge back from where we parked it. I wonder if anyone’s found it yet. Maybe it’s giving the cops something to puzzle over: a stolen car covered with inhuman prints.”

“I doubt that they’d bother to dust a stolen ’91 Dodge for prints. Besides, our fingerprints look as human as anyone else’s.” She didn’t bother with her own seat belt. She didn’t want to be gone long. Just long enough for the twitchy feeling to leak out of her bones, and to find something palatable for Hermes to eat, if there was such a thing.

“So,” Odysseus said carefully. “Cassandra seems different.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Athena looked at him slantways.

“Oh, nothing.” He smiled. “Just that she sent the temp up by ten degrees. And after she was gone I swear it smelled like … ozone? Is that what they call the smell before a thunderstorm?” He shook his head and turned onto Alderwood Place. “She didn’t even look like herself.”

“She looked like a monster. A demon. And how much, do you think, did we have to do with that?”

“All of it. None of it. And what do you mean by ‘we’?” Odysseus blinkered for the grocery store and hit the brakes abruptly. He still had trouble sometimes with driving on the right side of the road. “Besides, it’s probably for the best anyway. We can use all the monsters we can get.”

“I thought you were her friend,” Athena said.

“I am her friend. But the Fates are slicing and dicing your aunt, we’ll be next on their list, and Hermes is laid up on the sofa. So you’d better start finding uses for the assets we’ve got.”

Athena sat quietly as Odysseus pulled into a parking space and killed the engine.

“No,” she said.

“No?”

“I’m not leading. I’m not going to use them anymore. Your lives are your own. From now on, they’ll make their own choices.”

Odysseus stared at her. But how could she make him understand? She still felt like Athena, goddess of battle and wisdom. But she wasn’t. If she was, she wouldn’t have almost gotten them killed. Gotten him killed.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I shouldn’t have asked you to drive me here. You have too much on your mind. Calypso—”

“I’ll mourn Calypso for the rest of my life,” he said, and grabbed her shoulder when she moved for the door. “But I need you. We need you.”

“No you don’t,” Athena said, jerking the handle and stepping out. “I had to learn that. And now so do you.”

*   *   *

Henry squeezed Andie’s hand before they got out of the Mustang. Her fingers were cold and clammy. They’d been stuck in school for hours after Cassandra texted, saying that Hermes was sick and she was going over to see him. Knowing she was there already eased Henry’s conscience, as though she was an ambassador for all Hermes’ human friends. Andie wanted to ditch out on the rest of the day and go at once. But they were just about out of good excuses.

He can’t be that bad.

The words repeated in Henry’s mind but refused to come out of his mouth. Hermes probably wasn’t that bad. They’d just seen him, for Pete’s sake, and he’d been fine. Thin as ever, and maybe a little feverish, but he had run fevers on and off since the day they’d met him. But every time Henry tried to say something to reassure Andie, his tongue went numb. What did he know about the deaths of gods?

When they finally got to Athena’s, Andie was first through the door, and not for the first time Henry regretted that she was so tall. He couldn’t see a thing.

“Get away from him,” Andie said.

Ares had dragged the ottoman nearer to the couch. He sat on the edge, leaned over Hermes, and pressed a wet cloth to his forehead. He paid no attention to Andie’s order, just regarded them in a lazy, irritated way and kept sponging. Henry’s throat tightened. What right did Ares have to take care of Hermes, when whatever had gone wrong was probably his fault?