THE ISLAND OF CIRCE, REDUX

“Ay caramba.”

The scene in the room hadn’t paused when the door opened. It was a jumble of caressing, and giggling, and soft sighs. The scent of amber incense wafted up, cloying and strong.

“Shut up, Hermes.” At the sound of Athena’s voice, Odysseus’ eyes fluttered open; his brow creased as he tried to focus.

This is just like it was before.

The scene from thousands of years ago and the room she looked into now. Odysseus had been marooned on Circe’s island after the Trojan War. His men had been transformed into pigs and beasts, and he’d been taken as Circe’s plaything. He’d lingered there for a year in Circe’s bed, while Athena labored to send him home.

And here you are again. Tangled up in a ball of witches.

Athena and Hermes stood in the doorway as Celine snapped her fingers at the girls, telling them to grab their things, quickly, quickly. This evoked whines of protest, but the look in Celine’s eyes silenced the noise. All three left in a flurry of bare legs and perfumes that made Athena’s nose crinkle as they passed. Before she left, the blonde ran a lingering hand across Odysseus’ chest while he lay dazed in the center of the bed. Celine looked at Athena, for a moment seeming like she was going to explain. Then she ducked her head solemnly and quit the room, closing the door behind her.

Hermes walked quickly to the bed and peered down into Odysseus’ face. He narrowed his eyes and scrutinized him, his mouth dropped open comically. Athena stayed where she was, near the door. She hadn’t known what to expect, but it certainly hadn’t been this. To have the reincarnated body of her favorite hero lying before her had jolted her brain to a catatonic stillness. She felt almost peaceful. Shocked but peaceful.

“It’s really him,” Hermes said. “Younger. Better haircut. But it’s him. Wily Odysseus.” He bent and pushed the boy’s head with a stiff forefinger. “Something sure as hell took a good bite off him.”

Athena took a deep breath and walked to the bed and looked down on his face. Two thousand years had passed since she’d seen him last.

Odysseus. I thought your story was told. That you’d live and die on Ithaca, quietly, with your loyal Penelope.

Odysseus lifted his hand to his forehead and grimaced like a man fighting a cheap whiskey hangover.

“Hey,” Hermes said sharply. He snapped his fingers before Odysseus’ face, then looked at Athena. “They were like freaking Dracula’s wives. I think they put the whammy on him. What should we do? Cold shower?”

“That won’t be necessary,” Odysseus replied. “But if you could hand me my shirt, that’d be nice.”

“He’s British,” Hermes observed while he bent to retrieve the rumpled cloth from the floor. “That’s interesting.”

“Not as interesting as what he’s doing here.” Athena glanced around at the silk pillows. “Didn’t you get enough of this two thousand years ago?”

Odysseus sat up wearily and caught the shirt Hermes threw. When he slid into it, Athena could see the halting protests of his torn back muscles, but he didn’t wince or moan. His fingers stayed steady as he buttoned it up and stared at her. There was nothing in his expression, but she expected that. He never gave away anything that he didn’t want to.

“Enough for a lifetime. But this isn’t the same lifetime, now is it?”

The same lifetime. Not by a long shot. In the old days, he’d been a king. A leader of the Greeks during the Trojan War. He’d fought alongside Agamemnon and Achilles. He’d helped them break down Troy’s walls. Cassandra’s walls.

And now we find you here. At the same time we seek her.

Odysseus rolled the sleeves of his black shirt up to the elbows. When he stood, he was as tall as he had been then, tall enough to look into her eyes. “In any case, I was looking for you.” He stepped closer; the movement was intimate and challenging. “Athena.”

“You know who I am.”

His brows knit and he smirked. “You knew who I was.”

“Hello?” Hermes waved his hand. “Anybody know who I am?”

Odysseus looked over his shoulder. “Messenger. Nice to see you again. You’re looking a bit thin. You given up meat or something?” He looked at Athena and jerked his head back toward Hermes. “Why couldn’t you send him for me like you did before? Would have been nice to have a winged escort. Might’ve kept the fucking Cyclops off my neck.”

“He can’t fly anymore,” she replied, and ignored Hermes’ offended glare. “And I think I’ve seen you home safely often enough.”

“Right, right, right. You fought Poseidon so I could make it back to Ithaca after the war, and I’m supposed to be eternally grateful. Never mind that it took ten bloody years to get the job done, and that everyone I was traveling with died—”

Athena laughed. The sound cut through the air, surprising everyone.

“You can’t blame me if you keep pissing off Poseidon. Though you might just come in handy. Perhaps I could feed you to him as a distraction.”

You’re still so much the same. Clever. Balanced on a razor’s edge. They gave Achilles all the credit for the war in Troy. Manslayer, they called him. Sacker of cities. But it was you who thought of the Trojan Horse. Hollowing out that wooden steed to sneak Greeks inside the city. Without you, Achilles was nothing.

“Enough of this.” Hermes’ voice was deep and impatient, and uncharacteristically godlike. “There are questions to be answered and work to be done, and since when do I have to remind you of that?” He arched his brow at Athena. “Banter with your favorite hero later, when we’re not knee-deep in throw pillows and body glitter in the middle of a brothel bedroom. When we’re not fighting for our lives.”

Odysseus smiled. “I see he’s still dramatic.”

“Shut up.” Hermes crossed his arms. “Why were you looking for us?”

Odysseus’ eyes flickered from him to Athena. “For protection,” he replied. “Why else would you seek out a goddess?”

“We’ve got our own problems,” said Hermes. “Sister’s suggestion wasn’t half bad. Maybe we should use you as a distraction. Throw Poseidon off our scent for a while.”

“Counterproductive, mate.” Odysseus turned and walked to a Louis XV–style chair in the corner of the room. It was covered in garish red velvet to match the walls. Everything in the room was a shade of red. It was supposed to be seductive. Instead it evoked claustrophobic thoughts of blood and being swallowed whole. He picked up a green-and-black canvas pack from the seat and slung it over his good shoulder, then looked back at Hermes with a grin. “If Poseidon and his little harem get hold of me, you all”—he gestured to them with a tilt of his chin—“are dead.”

“What are you talking about?” Athena asked.

“Listen. I know that Hermes isn’t on some wonky diet. His body’s eating his flesh away. He’s dying. All the gods are dying. I also know that Poseidon and his lady friends have a plan to keep that from happening, and it involves gathering weapons and eating the two of you. And then maybe sinking the whole world under the fucking waves or some bollocks.”

“How do you know that?” Hermes asked.

“Never mind how I know that. The important thing is, I know what they’re after, and they know that I know. Figured that out when that insectian Cyclops popped out of the dark like a frakking jack-in-the-box.” He flexed his injured shoulder and grimaced.

Athena looked at her brother. When the door had opened, she’d prayed for an ally. Instead she found an informant. Still, a gain was a gain.

“Let’s get out of this nauseating room,” she said. “And then you’re going to tell us everything.”

* * *

They found Celine waiting near the bar. Three glasses of red wine sat on the polished wood beside her. When they approached she stood, her expression apprehensive but pleasant.

“I have sent the girls away,” she said, and gestured to the wine. “Please. Join me. Take some refreshment.”

“That seems about right.” Odysseus set his pack down on the floor and moved toward a glass, but Celine took it gracefully away from his seeking fingers.

“You are not of age,” she said.

“I’m eighteen,” he said. “In the UK, that’s age plenty.”

“Ah, but you are in America now.” Celine smiled. Athena grinned and tipped up her own glass. Odysseus gestured toward her.

“Come on. I’m almost as old as they are.”

Celine lifted her chin and pursed her lips. Her head shook demurely, once, right to left. “No, no, monsieur. They are ageless. You, though an old one, have a new body. And that body is not yet of age.”

Athena drank while Odysseus grumbled, trying to look like she was enjoying it. But swallowing took some effort, both because of the feathers in her throat and the liberal amount of honey Celine had added to the wine. It was meant as tribute, but it hadn’t been watered, and tasted too heavy and sweet. Hermes guzzled his like water. Athena grabbed a few blackberries from a silver tray to cut the sugar.

“Are you pleased to find him?” Celine asked. “We healed him as best we could, in the tradition which has always been our way.” There was nervous unease in her eyes, like she thought Athena was about to wrench her head off of her shoulders.

“You’ve done well. And you have nothing to fear from me. I’m sure that Odysseus had no objections.”

Celine smiled. “And now you will take him and leave us in peace.” She sipped her wine, and Athena watched her shoulders relax.

“Don’t you want to know what’s happening?” Hermes asked incredulously. “Two gods and an old one turn up at your door, and you don’t think that something might be, I don’t know—afoot?”

Celine sipped again and stood. “I have no doubt. And no care. We keep to ourselves. We keep our own, and let the rest of the world do as it will. We do not interfere with it, and it does not interfere with us.”

“And if it did interfere with you?” Odysseus asked.

“It has not for over a thousand years,” Celine replied, and shrugged. There was a disaffected air in her demeanor that Athena didn’t like. It was passive and haughty. “It would be best, I think, if you went as soon as possible.”

“We need your help,” Hermes pressed. “That’s why we came. We didn’t even come for him.” He gestured toward Odysseus, who smiled and raised a grape in a “thanks and fuck you” salute.

Some of the serenity drained out of Celine’s large brown eyes. Her warm smile faltered and became brittle.

She’s afraid. She’s known all along the danger we brought with us.

It must’ve killed her to put on a demure face and play the polite hostess. Everything inside her must’ve screamed to lock the door, to protect herself and her coven. But what was a locked door against a god? Even a door locked by witches. It wouldn’t have done any good.

Athena saw the denial quickly chipping away from Celine, taking her calm, capable exterior with it. These witches were not warriors; they were not Amazons. They had never been allies of anyone save themselves. But they had to help. They were needed.

“We have given you shelter and care.” Celine stood and folded her arms in front of her, then pulled them, trembling, to her sides, palms up. “We are glad to offer you food and drink, rest and relaxation. And then we ask you to leave at once. As your host, it is our right to do so.”

“Don’t pull that ‘code of Xenia’ bullshit on them,” Odysseus said. “They’re your gods, not your guest-friends.”

“They are no one’s gods,” Celine snapped. “Not anymore.”

Odysseus looked at Athena with wide eyes. The look demanded action. It called for punishment for such disrespect. Athena smiled. He had always had so much pride, and it had always been so easily wounded. Only her hand on his forearm kept him in his seat. She stood and sighed.

“You’ve hit the nail on the head, Celine. We are no one’s gods.” Athena’s tongue drifted over the feather nestled beneath the swollen skin on the roof of her mouth. It had begun to emerge. A quarter inch of smooth quill could be felt, and it tasted faintly of birds. “We are barely gods at all, anymore.” She locked eyes with the other girl, drawing herself up, and in Celine’s eyes she knew that she must seem huge, larger than life and shimmering, blotting out the world. Mortals were easily dazzled. Even witches. “You think by turning us away you will save The Three Sisters, that you will save your coven and your world. But you are wrong.”

“No,” Celine said softly. Her hands fluttered and shook as they clasped together and started to wring.

“The gods are dying. We’re banding together, one side against the other, and those who seek to kill us would gladly send you and twenty-two other witches with us. Circe’s coven has to choose a side.”

Athena could see the mantra repeating inside the frightened woman’s head. We are not fighters, it said. We are modernized, we are comfortable, we keep to ourselves and let others solve their own problems.

“No. You are immortal! You do not need us!”

“Have Circe’s witches become such cowards?” Odysseus spat. “I remember when they trapped my men to put them in stew!”

Celine ignored him and touched Athena’s hand. “You are immortal,” she said again, her voice growing high with fear. “You do not need us. We ask nothing from you. Please go!”

The entreating touch was the last straw. It had been many centuries since humanity had bowed to Athena, but these were Circe’s witches. These were the descendants of her people, and they had no right to refuse. She looked at Celine’s small, pale hand and felt pity. Felt guilt. She would have liked to be strong enough to do as she asked, to go and fight her own battles. Celine’s repeated words, “You are immortal, you are immortal,” stung her ears. Suddenly she reached into her mouth and grasped the short, exposed quill of the feather. When she yanked, it tore free with a long, meaty sound. Behind her, Hermes moaned.

Blood drenched her tongue and teeth. The feather hung limply from her fingertips, and she slammed it down onto the bar top. It was disgusting, coated with blood and bits of her skin. Celine put her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide and losing their reason.

“I am a walking wound,” Athena hissed. She swallowed red salt and came close to retching. “And still I’m asking. The ones who come after me won’t be so polite. So make your choice. But don’t fool yourself. You’re going to have to get off your ass and help someone.” She spun and struck the bar chair, sending it flying, and headed for the back of the warehouse. When she saw the exit door, she pushed through it and pounded her feet against the steel stairs. She didn’t stop until she’d shoved her way out into the brick-walled alley.

Stupid.

She touched the ragged hole in the roof of her mouth with the tip of her tongue. It felt like setting her whole head on fire. She spat blood onto the pavement. With the adrenaline wearing off, it was starting to sting and throb. She bared her teeth. Tearing it out had been so easy.

“Athena.”

She didn’t turn. She didn’t want to betray her surprise, but she’d been so preoccupied with the pain that she hadn’t heard the door open behind her.

“Don’t sound shocked,” she said. “You already knew.”

“I knew you were dying,” Odysseus said. “I didn’t know how.” He placed hesitant fingers on her arm, like he was afraid to feel another quill breaking the surface. She jerked.

Yes, I’m hideous. Get the fuck away.

He cleared his throat.

“They’ll heal you,” he said. “They’re right good at doing that.”

“I don’t doubt it. You’re looking downright spry for just taking on a Cyclops.” She turned and met his eyes. He looked so concerned. It shamed her. And it touched her. He’d always been her favorite hero. She’d never given much thought to whether she’d been his favorite goddess.

He grinned and held up his fingers.

“Two Cyclops.”

“Whatever you say. But Circe’s witches can’t heal this.” She gestured to her mouth. “This I will have to bear. And if I can’t stop tonguing it, it’s going to turn into one mother of a canker sore.”

He stared at her, and she watched his mouth open and close, words and phrases trying themselves out in his head. It was amusing to watch someone with so quick a tongue try to find the right thing to say. In the end, he didn’t say anything. He just lifted his hand and gently wiped away a dot of blood from her lower lip.

“That was awful of me, in there.” She gestured toward the door.

“Gave Miss Celine the fright of her life.” Odysseus smiled. “I thought she was going to faint dead away. But desperate times call for desperate measures. You did what you had to.”

“That’s what these are, I suppose.” She looked at him carefully. He could meet her gaze like so few were able. But just then he couldn’t quite manage it. “How did you know?”

He paced away and shrugged. “I don’t know. Up until I was six, I was a carefree lad growing up in Stoke Newington. Still had this ridiculous name, of course, but everyone around home just called me Ody, which I wish that you would do.”

“That’s Garfield’s dog’s name. But if you insist.” She swallowed gingerly. It hurt when anything touched the roof of her mouth. Keeping her voice normal was difficult.

He grinned and went on. “Anyway, one summer I was on holiday with my family at Brighton Beach. My older sister and I got to messing around. I hit my head on something and went over the rail. I maintain that the something I hit my head on was actually a rock that she threw, but she denies it. The point is, I almost drowned. Stopped breathing, stopped pumping blood. I was dead. And then I wasn’t dead, if you get my meaning.”

“You were yourself again.”

He raised his eyebrows and ran a hand through his brown hair. It was a tangled mess, and his fingers snagged in it. Probably on a sticky patch of some kind of massage oil from his time in the room of many bosoms, was Athena’s guess.

“I was myself again. Remembered everything. Ithaca, Troy, everything. That fucking endless journey home.” His face grew serious. “And you. I remembered you.”

Athena dropped her eyes. How many times had she thought of him, over the centuries? Every clever human who wasn’t as clever as he was, every pompous act of bravery that wasn’t as brave or as pompous as his would have been. Now he was there, eighteen again, young and strong with the same quick, dark eyes and the same sideways smile. Asking her to protect him when it was the last thing she had time to be doing, and she couldn’t even find it in herself to be angry about it.

“Thought I was plum crazy, for the longest time. But I kept my mouth shut and I watched, and I listened. I lived like a normal bloke, played some rugby, scammed on the Tube. And then three months ago, she came for me.” Odysseus cleared his throat.

“She?”

“Everything all right out here?” The door behind them opened, and Hermes popped his head out. He looked from Odysseus to Athena and handed her a glass of water.

“Thank you,” she said. “Everything’s fine.” She glanced at Odysseus. His hands were stuffed deep into his jeans pockets. The look was decidedly awkward, almost guilty.

What must Hermes be thinking, finding us like this? He’d better not be thinking anything, if he knows what’s good for him.

She took a swish of water and spat onto the sidewalk. The water came out clear. The ragged channel on the roof of her mouth stretched from just behind her teeth to nearly down her throat. She didn’t know what was going to hurt worse: talking, or having her tongue sit on it idly in a constant, hot pressure.

“Well you’d better get back in here,” said Hermes. “Celine has finally grown a spine. The coven’s going to help us. She’s assembling them upstairs.”

“Can we trust them?” Odysseus asked.

“They were frightened, but they’re not idiots. I’ve convinced them that they can back us and live, or back Poseidon and live as slaves.”

Athena smiled. “Well done, Hermes.”

* * *

Celine met them when the elevator doors opened on the top floor. In one hand she held a clay bowl, filled with dark, steaming liquid that looked like unfiltered tea. When Athena stepped out, she gave it to her. It smelled of strong, bitter herbs.

“What’s this?” Athena asked.

“Please, accept it,” Celine said. Her mild smile was gone, replaced by a nervous, distracted intensity. “It is only a simple potion, to help with your pain.” She motioned for Athena to drink. The taste was faintly lemony. It stung the roof of her mouth; she had to clench her jaw to keep from wincing. But as the initial acid sting wore off, a calm numbness spread within her mouth.

“Thank you,” she said.

“You are welcome. And please forgive my cowardice.” Celine’s eyes met hers, unwavering. “It will not happen again.”

Athena nodded. They walked quickly together down the hall. When they reached the conference room, Celine extended her arm to direct them inside. At a glance, at least fifteen girls of varying heights and features stood around the long, oval table. They had arranged themselves attractively, so that the different shades of blonde, brunette, black, and red moved through the room like a mellow rainbow. Each wore a well-cut suit and a silver necklace. It was a sharp contrast to Athena’s well-worn t-shirt and cardigan and Hermes’ brown hoodie. Still, none of the witches regarded them with disapproval. The mood was serious, fearful, and tense with power.

“I have assembled everyone I could.” Celine motioned for them to join her at the head of the table. “Bethe, Jenna, and Harper are out of the office today, working on consultations.” She nodded to the women, who moved forward and sat down in their chairs. Then she held her hand out to Athena. “Please,” she said, and sat herself. “Tell us what we must do.”

Athena could feel Hermes and Odysseus standing just behind, one at each of her shoulders. They expected her to talk, to make a speech, to rouse the troops as she had once done. Part of her resented it. She hadn’t been a general for two thousand years. The blank row of faces that lined the table seemed miles away, viewed across mountaintops. These were modern women; mystical or not, how could she talk to them about the wars of gods? This wasn’t anything like it had been in those days. This was no great hall where kings drank and feasted, where braziers burned late into the night. It was a damn boardroom.

She took a deep breath.

“I trust that Celine has told you who we are.” She regarded them gravely. “And now I will tell you why we have come.

“There is a war being fought among the gods. It’s not like other wars, wars that conquered cities or which were staged for our amusement. It’s the Twilight, the death of us all, and you know that there are those who would not accept that without a struggle.” Not a single eye moved while she spoke. No one made a sound. “I won’t accept that without a struggle. The gods, my family, are set to consume each other. My aunt Demeter has favored us, and told us of tools, weapons that will help.”

“Who are the enemies?” The voice came from the left side of the table. Athena recognized the blond girl from the room where they had found Odysseus, but just barely. She looked different fully clothed.

“Poseidon,” Athena replied. Then, hesitating, she glanced sidelong at Hermes. “As well as Aphrodite … and Hera.”

Hermes shifted his weight, but stayed quiet.

The witches exchanged glances.

“Hera has always been a friend to women,” said a redhead with striking green eyes. “And Aphrodite has ever been a friend to the coven. Why should we help you over them? You’ve always chosen the causes of men over us.”

Athena swallowed. She wasn’t exactly wrong. But times had changed. “Not always,” she whispered.

“Look.” Hermes stepped forward. “You don’t know Hera like we do. And don’t forget what I told you about Poseidon.”

Celine raised her chin. “What do you need from us?”

“We need to find a prophetess. The reincarnation of Cassandra of Troy. That’s why we came to you. Poseidon and Hera are seeking her as well. We don’t have much time.”

“What can she do for us?”

Athena swallowed. “We don’t know. Not for sure. But Demeter thinks she’s a weapon, and I believe her.”

The redhead shook her head and looked across at the blonde. “It seems reactionary. And blind. Not at all a winning battle plan.”

Odysseus bumped Athena’s shoulder as he moved to the front.

“Don’t forget who you’re talking to,” he said darkly. “This is Athena. She knows strategy better than anyone. She’ll tell you what she wants to tell you. Hell, she might even be lying. But what choice do you have?”

“How can you want us to do this?” asked the blonde, who Celine whispered was called Isabella. “You ask for our help and offer us no protection in return. After you go, your enemies will become our enemies. What’s to stop them from burning us to the ground?”

“The chances that they’ll even come to you are slim,” Athena replied. “They don’t know we’re here.”

“That’s not good enough.”

“Isabella,” Celine cautioned, but the girl looked at her like she was mad.

“The gods will tear us apart. They will send things after us.” She looked at Odysseus imploringly. “Can’t you stay at least? Can’t one of you protect us?”

“No,” Athena said.

A number of protests rose from around the table, but Celine hushed them.

“This is not for us to question,” she said mildly. “The gods would do more if they could.” She looked each of the girls in the eye. Physically, she looked no older than any of them, but the fact that she was their matriarch was plain. “The coven of Circe will support Athena. We will help her locate this prophetess. And then we will worry about ourselves.” The witches around the table lowered their eyes in silent compliance. Celine snapped her fingers.

“Mareden,” she said, and the trim receptionist stood from where she sat at the end of the table. “A map on the projector, please. Lilith, we will need candles.” A buxom redhead pushed her chair away and quickly left the room. It was less than a minute before she returned with a silver tray laden with white pillars. As she passed, each witch took one and set it before her.

“What’re they doing?” Hermes whispered out of the corner of his mouth.

“They’re doing what they do,” Athena replied. She touched both Hermes and Odysseus on the arm and walked them back a few steps. She had only a vague understanding of magic, but whatever was happening, they weren’t a part of it.

Behind them, on a large white screen, a stretched map of the world appeared from the projector. It always looked so odd to Athena, miles and miles of sand and saltwater, rocks and ice and green, represented in lines and labels. Mareden stepped away from the laptop and returned to her place at the table, taking a candle from the tray as she passed. Once she was seated, the witches linked hands, beginning with Celine and moving counterclockwise. It had an odd visual effect, almost serpentine. They closed their eyes.

“Light,” Celine said softly.

An almost inaudible puff sounded as the candles produced flame all at once. Athena took a quiet breath. It was beautiful and strange. Each small tip of fire was identical to the one beside it.

“Now,” Celine said. “Find me Cassandra of Troy.”

For a long second, nothing happened. Then the whispering started, whispers of words long forgotten. The sounds came on together, as if the women shared one brain. Whispers quickly became quiet chants, twenty intermingled voices, and Athena thought she heard Circe be invoked; she thought she heard them call the Moirae, the Fates, but she couldn’t be sure. The air in the room grew colder, even as the candle flames grew. They grew until they were spears of light flashing across the women’s cheeks. Then the chanting stopped, all at once. Together, twenty heads turned to the image of the map. Their eyes were coal black, and blank.

Athena looked. On the map, one tiny sparkle of light shone, like a gem embedded in the screen. She walked closer. The sparkle was in the northeastern United States, in New York state. Her eyes narrowed.

“Kincade,” she said, and looked triumphantly back at Hermes. “Someplace called Kincade.”

Odysseus smiled his lopsided smile, his expression both relieved and disbelieving. Around them, a collective exhale rose as the women came back to themselves. The candle flames shrunk. Several of the witches blinked their eyes rapidly. Celine licked her thumb and forefinger and snuffed out her candle. She stood as the others extinguished theirs.

“You have your answer, goddess,” she said.

Athena nodded. Kincade, New York. On the map it looked like a small town in the middle-upper part of the state. The population couldn’t be that large. Maybe they were finally catching a break.

“Thank—”

She didn’t get a chance to finish. Her words were cut off by the wooden, rickety sound of the elevator door being pulled up. Celine’s brow creased curiously. Everyone in the warehouse was collected in the conference room, and the front doors to the building had been locked. “Mareden,” she said.

“I’ll see to it.” Mareden rose quickly and left. Her footsteps clicked toward the reception area, and then they heard her voice, asking if she could be of service. There was no reply before she started to scream.

Athena and Hermes exchanged a glance, but Celine and her sisters reacted without thinking. They shrieked Mareden’s name, charging from the conference room in a struggling, panicked wave. Athena, Hermes, and Odysseus were left in their wake. Hermes’ eyes moved toward the back of the warehouse, toward the emergency exit and fire escape.

“We can’t just leave them,” Athena said, and started moving, following the sounds of gasps and cries. Behind her, Odysseus asked Hermes what was happening, and Hermes replied that he didn’t know. But she knew. A cold certainty wrapped itself around her heart. They’d been found.

As much as she wanted to run, she forced her legs to be slow, to creep up onto the scene. At first only the backs of the witches were visible, rigid with fear, as they stood in a semicircle around Mareden and her attacker. But even before she saw a face, she heard familiar laughter, throaty and full of malice, that made her pause. It sounded like an echo out of a deep well.

Hermes froze. Athena moved forward again, slinking like a cat. Between the frightened bodies, she glimpsed a tall, ivory shoulder and a head of shining dark blond hair, like ancient gold.

“I’ve been all up and down your floors, daughters of Circe,” Hera said. “You’ve set yourself up quite nicely. What a pity that I’ve come too late for you to choose the correct side.”

“We do only what the gods tell us,” Celine said. She lowered her eyes in a gesture of piety.

Clever. But it won’t make any difference.

“What do you want?” This came from one of the other girls. Hera’s head snapped to the left sharply like a snake’s, and the left side of the circle shuddered. But no one stepped back. Every set of eyes stayed carefully trained on Mareden, who stood motionless in Hera’s grasp, the back of her head held in the goddess’s hand.

Athena wondered if she could feel the power in those fingers, if she knew that in one crunch of Hera’s knuckles, the back of her skull would cave in like it was made of sugar.

“I want you to tell me what you have told Athena,” Hera replied.

Athena stepped into the circle.

“I’d be happy to tell you myself. If you’d only ask nicely.”

In the quiet it was possible to hear Hera’s smile stretch across her face before she turned. When she saw Athena, her eyes glittered. She cut an imposing figure, as usual. But the years had changed her as it had changed them all. Gone were the locks of hair falling to her waist. Now she kept her blond hair cut fashionably short. Her clothes too were modernized and expensive: she paired a cream-colored silk top with tailored gray slacks. A headband adorned with a peacock’s feather, her sacred bird, was affixed to her head. Zeus’ wife, Athena’s stepmother, pivoted on sling-backs with kitten heels. She glanced at Athena’s frayed jeans and smiled, then shoved Mareden away. Relief passed through the witches in a wave, and they came forward to catch her. Then they crept backward, toward Hermes and Odysseus.

“Didn’t you used to be clever enough to run away?” Hera asked.

“Not a day in my life have I needed to run from you,” Athena replied.

The two goddesses faced each other for the first time in over a thousand years. From a distance they would have seemed like two normal, mortal women with smooth cheeks and groomed hair. But to those in the room they were thunderstorms encased in skin; the current of the air between them crackled with the possibility of violence.

“That was a long time ago.” Hera smiled. “Since then I’ve grown stronger. You’ve only grown dead.” She casually brushed the fingertips of one hand along her bangs, tucking them back. The other hand she kept curled in a tight fist by her side. Unnaturally tight, it seemed to Athena. She looked closer. The skin of that fist was smooth and poreless, whiter than the rest of her skin. Something was wrong with it. She blinked and looked harder. Just above the bones of the wrist there was a small roll. It took her only a moment to realize that it was the line where the arm became flesh again.

“You’re turning to stone,” she whispered, and then she laughed. “That’s fitting. Guess I’m not the only one growing dead, eh? Whatever that means.”

For a moment, Hera’s eyes darkened, and Athena tensed. She would engage her if she had to. And she would move fast, before that stone fist of hers could smash through any of these poor witches’ faces. But Hera’s expression cleared and became almost light.

“Athena, look at you. Scrambling around, seeking answers from sorceresses, playing by all the rules. Haven’t you learned anything from this century?” Hera’s hand strayed into her back pocket. “You have to break the rules to win. And humans have come up with such excellent toys.” The thing she held in her palm was no larger than a tube of lipstick. It was trim and black. On the top was a small green light, and what appeared to be a button.

“Oh, fuck,” said Hermes, as her thumb pressed it down.

The bomb had been planted somewhere on one of the lower floors. The blast was strong enough to cause the whole building to quake. The sound was deafening. Only Athena, Hermes, and Hera had ears enough to hear the shocked screams of the witches. It happened in an instant, one bright instant of fiery light and flying glass, wood, and concrete. The floor beneath them rippled like it was made of water before exploding into pieces.

Hermes moved too quickly to be seen. He raced around the circle and grasped Celine, Mareden, and one more of the witches, and vaulted through the window headfirst. It was impossible to tell whether the glass broke because of him or because of the explosion.

Athena acted almost as quickly, pivoting and running toward Odysseus. Her arm caught him by the waist and she went through the window after Hermes. They had dropped only half of the forty feet when the force of a second explosion catapulted them forward into the concrete of the building across the street. Athena was barely able to twist her body in front of Odysseus before they struck the wall. When she finally hit the ground her bones felt loose, like they’d been rattled inside her muscle.

“Go, go, go!” she shouted at Hermes. He had the witches in his arms. He nodded and ran, faster than any living thing, just a blur streaking through the panic as people from nearby buildings began to empty into the streets, screaming.

Another strong rumble surged through the ground, and Athena leaned forward to cover Odysseus as, behind them, the warehouse that held The Three Sisters collapsed in on itself in a cloud of dust and crashing brick. She stifled a frustrated scream. No one inside could have survived. She peered through the dust, moving her head to try to see through the people running in all directions.

Hera stood unharmed in the center of the rubble and twisted metal. Her shirt was torn and her pants were filthy and streaked with dirt, but there were no wounds. She stared directly at them. Athena heard her voice clearly above the chaos.

“When they said that someone would oppose us, I hoped it would be you, Athena.” Her smile was malice and poison. “I sincerely hoped it would be you.” She raised her fist, the fist of stone, and slammed it into the ground. The impact set off a shockwave, and the foundation of the building next to them began to crack.

“Come on,” Athena said to Odysseus, and pulled him to his feet. She didn’t let him run on his own for long before she lifted him by the shoulder and went faster.

PREMONITION

Andie grabbed Cassandra’s arm. Something had apparently happened on the movie screen that Cassandra should take note of. Or something was about to happen. Andie had already seen the thing twice, so she couldn’t be sure. Either way, it didn’t matter. To Cassandra, the movie on the screen was images and noise. A distraction. Something meant to block out the memory of blasted dust and flying glass, and screaming.

It’s not working.

Despite the sheer volume of the theater and the thick smell of buttered popcorn, despite the color and spectacle of everything happening in the made-up story playing out before her eyes, the only thing she could see or hear was that explosion. It was huge, on repeat inside her head. It spoke of the death of innocent people. Lots of them. And it hadn’t happened yet.

Cassandra stood and made her way to the end of the aisle, ignoring Andie’s startled questions about where she was going. She shoved through the theater doors and stalked through the lobby, past the concession and the restrooms. She didn’t stop until she was outside. The cold and dark seemed as far as she could get from the explosion. From the heat and choking dust. But the minute she was clear of it, her mind started it up again from the beginning.

How many of them would die? Who were they? And what did it have to do with her? Because it had something to do with her, that much she was sure of.

Why can’t I stop it? What’s the point of seeing, if I can’t stop it?

She walked quickly around the side of the building, down the shadowy alley that somehow still managed to smell faintly of buttered popcorn.

“Cassandra?”

She jumped at the sound of Andie’s shout.

“Cassandra? Are you out here?”

Cassandra craned her neck and saw Andie walking through the parking lot, looking in every direction. She drew farther back into the shadows and walked behind the theater, then slipped across the alley, staying in back crossways until she couldn’t tell what she was behind anymore.

Andie couldn’t help. The distraction hadn’t worked. And Cassandra hated to see that look on her face, when she knew it.

As she walked her brain went back over every option she could think of to stop the explosion, options she’d already crossed out as infeasible. She couldn’t call in bomb threats to every building in every major city. But maybe she really could talk to the police. They employed psychics sometimes. They might believe her.

Even if they did, it wouldn’t make a difference. They couldn’t figure out where it’s going to happen any better than I can.

She ground her teeth as she walked, and felt the passing wind slowly freezing her ears and making them sting. Her arms and fingers were cold too. She’d left her jacket back at the theater.

“Cassandra?”

She gave a little yelp as Aidan appeared in front of her, and jerked so hard in the opposite direction that she almost fell on her butt. He held his hands out.

“It’s just me! Andie called me. She said she couldn’t find you.”

Cassandra laughed bitterly, and pointed her finger at him.

“See, why couldn’t I foresee that? You, jumping out of that alley. At least that would be something I could use!”

His shoulders slumped. He frowned. For a second she wished he wouldn’t care so much, so she could complain about things he couldn’t fix without feeling guilty.

“Why did you leave the theater?”

“Why do you think?” She put her fists to her temples. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap. It’s just driving me crazy.” She peered up at him. “How did you find me?”

“I wasn’t far away. It just took some looking.”

“You’re not stalking me, are you?”

“A little. But it’s warranted. Come here.” He held his arms out and she went. He folded her into his chest and kissed the top of her head.

“Aidan, I’ve never wanted to stop anything so badly. I’ve never seen anything that felt so important. I mean, I felt horrible for your sister, but—”

“I know. It’s different. But it’s the same. You can’t stick your neck out. You can’t be found.”

He was so warm. She twined her cold fingers under his shirt.

“You make me feel safe.”

He sighed. “Don’t say that.”

“Why not?”

“Because it shames me, that I can’t protect you from them. From this.” He drew back and looked into her eyes. “But I’m trying.”

“I don’t blame you. This isn’t your fault.”

“You’re so cold.”

Waves of heat flowed from him into her, through her chest down to her toes and fingertips. Like sunlight. A safe spot she could curl up in. She pulled free.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing. Just, don’t do that right now. I want to be cold. I want to walk in the dark until I can’t feel my toes.”

“You want to suffer, because you can’t save them.”

“I deserve that. I don’t even know who they are.”

But I’m the reason they’ll die.

She was sure of it as soon as the shock of the initial vision wore off. Those women, whoever they were, would die at the hands of gods who were looking for her.

Cassandra paced. She seethed. She wanted to pummel the cement of the building beside them until her knuckles bled and her hands were broken.

I don’t want to hide. I want to save them.

She took a deep, slow breath, and clenched her teeth. More even than saving them, she wanted to stop the gods. Grind them into paste if she had to. Sudden heat tingled in the palms of her hands, and she shook them in the cold air.

“Can I tell you a secret?”

“Always.”

“Part of me wants the explosion to happen. So it can be over. A small part. Because—”

“Because every hour that passes until then is like walking in a shadow.” Aidan nodded. “Because at least once it’s over, you won’t be able to do anything about it anymore.”

Cassandra nodded. Of course he understood. He always understood.

And he would. He’s so wise. He’s a god.

The sudden bitterness of the thought caught her by surprise. The knowledge of the explosion had kept her from thinking too much about Aidan and what he was. But she realized she hadn’t kissed him since the night he’d told them the truth.

I will. Just not now.

He gestured with his head and shoulder down the alley. So harmless looking, with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

“Can I walk you home now?”

SCATTER

Weeping. Weeping, they were all weeping. Celine, Mareden, and the third witch, a petite brunette creature called Estelle. Athena stood to the side with Hermes and Odysseus, trying to not be annoyed. Trying to be patient and sympathetic, like she should be. God knew the witches had reason enough to cry. Reason enough to be downright hysterical. Their sisters were dead. Their home was destroyed. But Athena was angry and shaken, a combination she never wore well. After a few more seconds of watching the moaning huddle, caked with dust and dried blood from several cuts, she turned and stalked into the trees.

“Hey, wait up.”

She glanced back and saw Hermes following. He looked tired, and streaked with sweat and grime. They had run so far, left Chicago behind, the skyline dwarfed by miles of distance. Athena looked back at it from the copse of trees where they’d stopped. A plume of smoke curled up from the east side. It looked to Athena like Hera’s waving arm, bitchy and gloating.

“Fuck!”

“Sister—” Hermes held his hands up while Athena battered her fist into the bark of the nearest trunk. The tree trembled but didn’t fall.

Athena looked at her torn and bleeding knuckles in disgust. Bits of bark were embedded into the skin.

Hermes didn’t press her. She’d plant her set of bloody knuckles square in his jaw if he did. Hera had beaten them, and losing in battle was something Athena had never gotten used to. A million questions weaved through the air. How had Hera known where they were? How had she gotten so close without them knowing? Close enough to plant a bomb? But Athena didn’t have any answers.

“I want you to take them,” Athena said suddenly. “Take them and hide them. Do it well.”

“Where?”

“I don’t care where!” she screamed, then bit down on her tongue when she heard the cries of the witches sharply cut off. They had so many reasons to be afraid. They didn’t need to be afraid of her too.

Celine’s potion had started to wear off, and the wound in her mouth throbbed. The wounds on her knuckles throbbed. It seemed she could feel the point of every impact that the pattern of bricks had imprinted into the flesh of her back in a hot, sore bruise. Cuts from window glass and sharp-edged steel stung in a dozen places. Evidence of her defeat. It was in every one of her wounds and in the wounds of Hermes. It was in Odysseus’ cuts and those of the witches. It was fifteen miles away, seventeen bodies broken and torn open, buried in rubble.

“I don’t care where,” she said again, this time more calmly. “Think of anywhere. Take them far away if you have to. Or let them decide. Just do it well. Make them safe.”

“There’s nowhere safe.” Hermes looked at her wildly. “Did you see that? Did you see her? She’s still a god.”

“So are we.” So are we. But not like that.

“Her and Poseidon together. Aphrodite. How are we supposed to stand against that?”

“I don’t know. But we will.”

We’ll stand. But we won’t win.

She closed her eyes and thought of Hera. Of the impact of her fist into the ground. She’d felt it all the way up to her knees. With Poseidon, Hera could take whole cities of lives, and she would. Just to sharpen her teeth. All the better to bite through Athena’s neck.

“What do we do?” Hermes looked up into the sky. “What should we do?”

“What are you talking about?”

He glanced at her. Guilty. “I’m talking about not winning. Bad choices.” He shook his head. “I don’t know what I’m talking about.”

Athena stood still. Irritation mixed with anger and fear. “You think you made the wrong choice. Picked the wrong side.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what you meant.” She kept her voice low. Tried to keep it calm, but it came out accusatory. “You’re afraid.”

“Of course I’m afraid,” Hermes hissed. “And Hera might be a high-riding bitch, but she’s afraid too. You can understand that, can’t you?” He shook his head. “She’s doing what she has to, like she’s always done.”

“Killing people to save herself?”

“To save her family.”

“We’re her family!” Why was he talking like an idiot?

“Will you give us up?”

Athena and Hermes turned. Celine stood a short distance from them, the jacket of her suit torn to reveal a long swath of pale arm. A deep cut ran down her leg, leaking blood into the grass. She had lost one of her shoes and discarded the other, so she stood evenly, if a little weakly.

Does she blame me? Athena looked at the girl, at her tear-streaked face and hitching chest. Do I have any right to tell her not to?

“No. We won’t give you up.” Athena glanced sideways at Hermes, who looked away.

Celine held her head high, dignified. Whether it was a show of strength or just the force of habit Athena didn’t know. Her red hair hung limply, matted down with dust.

“Then we must find the others: Jenna, Bethe, and Harper. They may be in danger. Will you help us?”

For a moment Athena only blinked. It was Hermes who stepped forward and nodded. He looked at his sister.

Thank you, brother.

“We’ll go now, and I’ll come back for Mareden and Estelle.”

“Yes,” Athena replied. Exhaustion crept up in the wake of adrenaline. “Be careful, and quick. We don’t know how much Hera knows, or what she intends to do.”

“She had a hard-on for you, that’s for sure,” Hermes said. “You shouldn’t stay here. Take Odysseus and go. I can meet you in Kincade.”

Athena glanced back through the trees. Mareden and Estelle huddled on the ground, embracing each other. They weren’t listening to anything that was being said. They didn’t care. If Hera found them again, they wouldn’t even run.

“I’m not going to leave them,” Athena said. “So you’ll have to hurry. It won’t be easy for you to move so many witches at once.” She paused. Recommending that the witches split up was out of the question, after what had happened. “Get them to the nearest safe place. Celine, you should keep on moving once he gets you there. Lay low. Do you have some friends?”

“We have many, all over the world,” Celine replied. “And they are very discreet.”

“Good,” said Athena. “Then get going. I’ll watch over Mareden and Estelle. Hermes—” She grasped his arm suddenly and stood for a second, looking down at it. She hadn’t meant to do it.

He might never come back. The next time I see him he might try to kill me. Or he might run and keep on running.

But there was nothing she could say. No guarantee she could ask for.

“Don’t give up,” she said finally. “We haven’t even started yet.”

He patted her hand and she let go. “I’ll be back.” He offered an arm to Celine and she took it. “The god of thieves might be easily rattled. But that doesn’t make him a coward.” He turned to go, but before she walked with him, Celine looked at Athena.

“I’m glad that you came to us in time to learn the whereabouts of the girl.”

Athena said nothing. It was the last thing she’d expected.

Celine shrugged. “Blaming you would be easy. But it is not so simple as that. We would have been forced to choose a side. It would have come to this, eventually. So I am glad that when you found us we were strong enough to help you. And I am glad that you were there to save us.” She paused, and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. The voice that issued from her throat was the same as ever, though her lips trembled. “The last of Circe’s coven.” She nodded to Hermes, who led her a few paces before picking her up and starting to run. It was only seconds before they were no longer visible.

Will they be all right? Athena stared into the trees where Hermes had gone. Would any of them? They’d stepped into it right and proper. The odds of survival slipped by the minute, and the odds of a victory were somewhere between winning the lottery and dying of spontaneous human combustion. She flexed her torn hand and rubbed her tongue against the roof of her mouth. The pain felt like weakness. Where would the next goddamn feather turn up? In her heart? Or maybe it would corkscrew right through her eye.

She thought of Hera, so strong, and as maliciously clever as ever. Her death was a slow turning to stone. It was a walking metaphor. And instead of making her weak it only made her more of a monster. They were up against too much. Poseidon would crash the sea into every continent and Hera would apparently bomb the shit out of the rest, all while brandishing her damn stone fist like a battle-axe.

What did it feel like, to have your flesh slowly harden into rock? Did it feel similar to the way the feathers felt? Stinging pains and dull, aching throbs?

“I hope it hurts like fucking nails in your eyes,” Athena muttered. “And I wish that it had started with your face.”

Behind her, Odysseus cleared his throat. She turned to see him standing beside the tree she had struck with her fist. There was a patch of bark missing eight inches across and three inches deep. Sap oozed from the wound like sticky, amber blood. Embarrassment clenched down in her chest; she didn’t like him knowing she’d lost her temper. It wasn’t in tune with the goddess she’d always been, the one he must remember.

Odysseus examined the splintered wood and flashed a cockeyed grin.

“Whatever the tree did, I’m sure that it’s sorry.”

Athena sucked on her tongue. “I miss the days when one glare from me was enough to turn you into a trembling puddle.”

Odysseus laughed. “In all our long history, I don’t remember any days like that.” He gestured over his shoulder, back toward where Mareden and Estelle still sat. “They’re all right,” he said. “I just couldn’t … stand there anymore. They don’t want comfort, you know?”

“I know.” What could have comforted them? They wanted their sisters back, their lives back. They wanted for none of what was happening to be happening. It was impossible. Not even Zeus at the height of his powers could perform those kinds of miracles. And even if he could, he wouldn’t. She could practically hear his voice in her head, as clear as it had been when she’d sat near his knee on Olympus.

What has happened was ordained by Fate. It governs all things, and we cannot see into its mind, child, no matter how mighty we are.

Over and over she’d heard those words, or a similar variation. The Fates. The Moirae. Three beings of destiny, above the gods. Zeus always called them “It,” but they were really three: three sisters. He was mostly right, though. They acted as one, spoke as one, sometimes moved as one as they worked their golden loom, weaving and unweaving peoples’ lives. And shearing them off just as quickly. Fate was the only lesson a god needed to learn. It was their only hard limit.

Athena exhaled bitterly. Since then she’d learned a lot more about limits. Limits of strength and limits of life.

“How fast do you heal?”

Athena blinked. She’d been caught up in her own mind and hadn’t noticed Odysseus drawing closer. He held her injured hand up to his face, surveying the tears in the skin and the drying patterns of blood crisscrossed over her fingers and wrist.

“Faster than you’d think for someone who’s dying,” she replied, and he smiled.

“You should put something on it anyway,” he said. “I’ve got some ointment and bandages in my pack, from back at The Three Sisters.”

Athena sighed. All the anger that had fueled her flight through Chicago had leaked out. What still lingered was weak and exhausted, just fumes. Odysseus brushed his fingers across the back of her hand, lightly and carefully. The touch was soothing and sweet. She could’ve closed her eyes and fallen asleep standing.

Instead she pulled away and clenched her fist, breaking the newly forming scabs on her knuckles.

“Don’t baby me,” she said. Odysseus raised his eyebrows.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” He smiled his familiar smile and walked back through the trees. Athena counted to ten before following.

* * *

Hermes was back before nightfall. He came without Celine and would only say that he had found the others and that they were safe. Athena didn’t ask where they had gone. The fewer people who knew, the safer the witches would be.

“Are you going to rest for the night?” Hermes asked, and Athena looked over her shoulder at Odysseus, who sat with his back against a broad tree trunk. His eyes were closed, but he was listening, she was sure.

“We’ve rested enough.” She glanced into the darkening sky. Hera was out there somewhere. She knew it, but she couldn’t feel it like she had been able to sense Demeter’s presence. The bitch had cloaked herself somehow. Either that, or I’m just growing weaker.

“Are you sure?” Hermes asked. His eyes stole down to her hand. Odysseus’ bandaging stood out on her knuckles, bright white. “Did you do that yourself?”

“No. Odysseus had some salve from the witches.”

“Oh,” Hermes said.

Athena cocked her head. “Is something wrong?”

“No.”

“Then get going. Why are you dawdling?”

Hermes did his best to appear intimidated and couldn’t quite manage it. “You’re not the warm and fuzzy sister I left here a few hours ago.”

“You’re not the confused and cowardly brother who ran off a few hours ago. Are you.”

“No.” He smiled with closed lips. He liked her better this way, no matter what he said. She could see it. This way was normal. It made him feel safe.

Hermes rolled his shoulders back. “Well, stay off the main roads when you go. They’re calling this a terrorist attack, which is at least accurate. But Fox News is saying it leveled half a block, and that’s a total exaggeration.”

Athena looked around at the trees. When they’d fled Chicago, they’d done so in a state of panic. They hadn’t even gone the right way, which would have been east, though it was probably a lucky mistake in case Hera had been watching in an attempt to follow. She and Hermes hadn’t stopped running for miles, darting like rabbits into the first patch of forest they found. They’d changed directions then and run through trees for another four miles. She wasn’t certain where they’d ended up. She thought it was part of Palos Park.

“Look, there are forest preserves all over down here, looping to the east. We’ll stick to them as best we can. Drop the witches and then meet us at Wolf Lake. We’ll start hitching from there.”

“I don’t know where Wolf Lake is,” Hermes protested. “Some of us haven’t committed every stretch of the globe to memory.”

“So get a map.”

“No money. It was inconveniently blown up back at The Three Sisters, remember?”

Athena looked at him carefully. He was being thick on purpose. Since when had the god of thieves needed money for anything? He was already wearing a fresh set of clothes, some new jeans and a Hollister t-shirt that had obviously been lifted from somewhere.

“Besides, it would be a good idea if I went ahead to Kincade and checked things out. We don’t need any more surprises.”

“Am I slowing you down, Hermes?”

He didn’t answer, just smiled an odd little smile. He looked good, all things considered. With his muster up and his eyes bright, he hardly looked sick. It was the weariness that really made his bones show. Plain old fatigue, pulling his skin down toward the ground.

Athena sighed.

“Fine. Go on ahead. But be careful. And don’t do anything until we get there. We won’t be more than three days behind.”

“Absolutely.” He smirked and walked away toward where Mareden and Estelle waited. Their eyes were dry, finally, and their faces lit with tenuous hope. They had been certain that Bethe, Harper, and Jenna had somehow been killed too. When Hermes got to them, they each stood to one side and slung an arm around his neck. Only Mareden looked back at Athena, and when she did it was without expression.

* * *

“Aren’t you worried we’re getting lost?” Odysseus asked. They’d been walking for two hours and had left the Palos Park Woods. The going was easier for a stretch as they crossed over highways, but then they’d gone back into the trees. It was full dark and the sky overhead hung a dull, overcast black. Light in the forest was basically nonexistent. Odysseus kept close to Athena. She did her best to pick the path with the least obstructions, but it was a miracle he hadn’t gone face-first over a root.

“How do you know we’re going the right direction?”

“I just know.”

“But how? There’s no moon, and no visible stars. And it feels like we’re traveling in a curve.” He adjusted his pack on his shoulders. “Don’t you think we should pop out of these trees and check? How can you see in this? I’m going to end up arse over ears.”

Athena groaned. “You’re worse than Hermes.”

“Well, I’m only saying.”

“Don’t question me. I’m a god. Dammit.” She turned back and saw him smile in the dark.

“You could just piggyback me, you know.”

“Is the great Odysseus getting tired?”

“Not in a thousand years. It’d be faster is all. During that uphill stretch I was halfway to jumping on without asking.”

He reached forward and managed to slip his finger through one of her belt loops. She froze like he’d stabbed her with an ice pick and slapped his hand away. The grin fell off his face in the span of a second.

Athena blanched. “Sorry.” Grabbing her belt loop had been a harmless gesture, meant to keep him on the right track and on his feet rather than facedown in dirt and ferns.

“Don’t worry about it. Nothing like being smacked away like a three year old to remind you of your place.”

“Don’t be like that.” She watched him. He didn’t hide his facial expressions in the dark like he did in the light. The embarrassment and disappointment on his features were plain. He shook his head.

“I’m not. Like anything. It’s just been a long time. I thought you might’ve loosened up.”

“Don’t count on it.”

He smiled. “Look, I didn’t mean anything by it. I feel like I know you, is all. Like I’ve known you for a long time. Ever since Brighton Beach, getting my memories back—I guess it never occurred to me that you wouldn’t feel the same way.”

He made her feel guiltier by the second. “I do feel the same way. I have known you. For a long time.”

“Don’t worry about it. You’ve been alive these few thousand years. What do my two lives matter to you?”

“Will you shut up? They matter plenty. When I saw you back at The Three Sisters I thought—” She paused as the smirk broke through his cheeks, then laughed. “You still can’t touch me.”

“But you’re still my goddess?”

“Because I’m still your goddess. Now keep moving.” As she turned, she caught a flash of disappointment cross his face. That was real. She’d seen him through so many things in the past. She’d seen him sad to the point of madness, seen him sulk when his pride was wounded. But she’d never seen that look before.

I’ve never seen that look from anyone.

“Wait.”

“What?” He tensed, thinking she’d heard something. She lifted her hand toward his face curiously. Her fingers traced the air along his neck and shoulders. She could feel the heat of his skin.

An image of the red room at The Three Sisters rose in her head, adorned with satin and crystal beads. The sounds of his breathing as he lay on the bed, still dazed. None of his lovers in his previous life had ever wanted to let him go. Circe had kept him for a year. The sea goddess Calypso had kept him for seven and would have married him if Athena hadn’t demanded his release.

She looked at him in the dark. Could he really be so much better than any other? What was it about him? What did his lips feel like, parted against your neck, or grazing along your shoulders? How did his arms feel when they crushed you again

Date: 2015-12-18; view: 638