Antigoddess

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.