Antigoddess

“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.