Antigoddess

“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