*   *   *

When they pulled into the driveway, Andie’s Saturn was parked on the street. As she went up the stairs Cassandra thought of ways to dodge uncomfortable questions, but when she reached the second floor hallway, Henry’s door was pulled firmly shut. A lucky break.

She could hear them inside, and was briefly grossed out before she realized they were arguing.

I should find out about what, she thought, but instead turned and went through her bedroom door.

In her room, she twisted the knob tight and leaned against her door, grimacing even at the soft whuft the wood made sliding into place. But no one came. Andie didn’t burst from Henry’s room like a Valkyrie demanding answers. Lux didn’t even bark.

She started to take off her cardigan when an insect crawled up her nose.

“Ungh!” She swatted and exhaled as hard as she could, trying to stop the million legs from scrambling up her nostril. Any moment and the bug would turn, take the down chute, and head for her throat. She’d be able to hack it up onto her tongue and spit it out. The thought filled her with adrenaline and disgust. All those legs in her mouth, clinging to her lips.

Cassandra stumbled to her vanity dresser and stared into the mirror, expecting to see the back third of a red-brown centipede hanging from her face.

There was nothing there. And the bug had settled down inside, too.

She tilted her face up, more scared than she could remember being in a while, bracing herself for bug legs nestled firmly up her nose.

Nothing.

“I really am going crazy.”

(No. Not crazy. Just unused to having us inside your head.)

Cassandra lurched back from the mirror. That voice. She recognized the way it boomed from the center of her brain.

“The Moirae.”

(Not all of us. Only Clotho. And now Lachesis.)

“Now?” Cassandra asked, and felt another bug start to fight its way in, this time through her ear. That was worse than through her nose, though she hadn’t been able to imagine worse moments before. It drilled and squiggled and scratched its way right past her eardrum, and she couldn’t tell how many legs it had but it felt like a lot. By the time Lachesis finished working her way in, Cassandra lay curled up and sweating on the carpet.

She took a breath and her stomach clenched in a hard dry heave. Clotho and Lachesis waited for it to subside. Cassandra could feel them sitting behind her eyes, their presence as heavy as two fat, furred spiders bouncing on a web.

(Get up, Cassandra.)

Their voices wove together as one, so loud and encompassing that Cassandra mistook it for her own thought. She’d hooked her elbow onto the vanity table and dragged herself halfway onto her knees before she realized it wasn’t.

“Get out of my head.”

(Not just now. Now we need your legs. Ours have become … unreliable.)

A flash then, of skin twisted and melted together, bones joining to other bones as tributaries into a larger river. The image couldn’t be hers. She’d never seen that part of the Moirae. The legs uncovered. And even in her darkest thoughts, she couldn’t have conjured something so painfully wrong.

“What do you want my legs for?” Cassandra looked at her reflection. A single dot of blood hung on her upper lip. She touched her ear and her fingers came away dry.

(To ferry a message.)

“Forget it.” She wiped the blood away on her sleeve. “Get out.” Except she didn’t mean it. Not really. The longer Clotho and Lachesis sat inside her mind, the more at home they seemed. It wasn’t crowded, or an invasion. It was company. When one or the other or both of them took control of her legs and stood, Cassandra went pleasantly slack inside.

Sort of lovely, to not have to do things on my own.

(Yes. Very lovely. You are very lovely, Cassandra.)

Cassandra smiled into the mirror. One half of each eye had turned green.

“Should we go to Athena’s, then?”

*   *   *

Hermes’ fever held steady. He didn’t wake. Aside from swallowing and shivering when Athena spoon-fed him bowl after bowl of hot broth that evening, he hadn’t moved at all.

“Hermes,” Athena whispered. “Can you hear me?”

She listened so intently for a response that she jumped at the sound of Odysseus’ shoes on the floor.

“Come on,” he said, and squeezed her shoulder. “Let’s get you some air.”

He led her upstairs into her bedroom and straight through to the widow’s walk. The cool night hit her square in the chest. Odysseus moved to the railing beside her.