Antigoddess

It could be a bluff.

But it wasn’t. Apollo was perfect, unblemished. She looked him over carefully, assessing him like a horse. How was it possible? How had he escaped? And then the darker questions: Could it be duplicated? Could it be taken from him?

“I know why you’re here,” he said. “And the answer is no. So I want you to go, before you bring worse trouble.”

“Worse trouble?” Athena studied him. He was no natural-born liar. His eyes told her everything in the space of a second. “You’ve been hermit-crabbing in the mortal world for too long. You don’t know anything.”

Certainly not as much as he wanted her to think he did. He knew they were dying. He knew she wanted Cassandra.

But he doesn’t know why. He doesn’t know about Poseidon, or Hera, or Aphrodite. He probably doesn’t even know about the war.

“Brother. The worse trouble will come knocking, with or without me.”

“I said no, Athena.”

“Don’t be an idiot. You don’t get to say no.” She looked at Cassandra. “And neither does she.”

At the mention of her, he stepped in front of Cassandra, blocking her from view, and stared at Athena, hard as nails.

“Neither one of us is going to give,” he said.

Athena smiled, but didn’t mean it. She knew what was going to happen.

I don’t want to hurt you. She looked at his shoulders, at the strength of his arms. And I’d rather you not hurt me.

“I suppose compromise, for a god, is a very dirty word.”

“Cassandra,” he said softly. “Run home.”

His attack was fast enough to impress even Hermes. He sprang without thinking, without tensing, without giving any clues, and the lunge caught her by surprise. He plowed into her rib cage and threw both of them halfway down the deadfall before Hermes and Odysseus even had time to shout.

When they struck the ground, he broke away and rolled quickly onto his feet.

Athena was up a second later. She was getting tired of acts of desperation. It felt like they were all they had left.

“What are you trying to do? Do you really think you can beat me? You never could before.”

He bared his teeth. “That was before you started spitting up owl pellets.” Her eyes narrowed. “But I don’t want to. Just turn around and go.”

“I can’t. Cassandra is the key.”

“The key to what? She doesn’t have anything you can use. She can call a coin and tell you the weather.”

“You’re lying again. You really suck at it.”

“She’s just an ordinary girl.”

“Never. She’s a prophet. Thanks to you.”

He lunged, but this time she was ready; her hands caught hold of his head and twisted him around. He was no human, and no Nereid; his neck was strong and close to unbreakable. But she did manage to pull him off balance and brought a knee up into his back. She felt his grimace between her palms before he jerked loose.

Up the deadfall, Hermes and Odysseus moved closer, and Cassandra moved beside them like they’d forgotten all about one another. Athena took a deep breath, careful not to wince. A swelling bruise had already bloomed up around her ribs from their trip down the trees. When Apollo circled, she backed off. There was something in his eyes she didn’t like.

“How far are you willing to take this?” she asked.

“Until you go, or one of us is in pieces.”

She frowned. Dying was one thing. Spending the rest of her time alive with her legs and torso in different time zones was another.

He charged again and reached into the grass for a large stone. It struck the top right side of her head with a sickening, dull crack, and hot blood flowed into her hair. She fell to the ground.

She heard Odysseus scream and Hermes yell at him to stay back, but she couldn’t reply. She lay frozen with shock, watching the rock rise and fall, feeling it strike with sharp thuds against her skull.

He’s killing me.

Odysseus would see her head crushed into the grass, unrecognizable. Just a wet, red mess.

He can’t kill me.

Or perhaps he could. She was already dying, after all, and that wasn’t supposed to be possible either. Maybe the rules had changed completely.

Apollo raised the rock again, and Athena screamed. But it wasn’t a scream of fear or pain. She screamed at the sight of her blood on the stone. She wasn’t dead. She wasn’t anywhere near dead. Her arm came up, grabbed Apollo’s, and threw him off to one side. When she lifted herself to one knee, she felt the right side of her head flop down, bleeding and torn open, but the skull was intact. She heaved herself to her feet and threw him again. Then she grasped his throat and lifted him like a fish from a stream.

“No!”

Cassandra, running down through the fallen trees.

“No! Let him go!” She stopped just short of Athena. Aidan had dropped the rock and struggled nervously as his sister’s fingers squeezed, threatening to tear through the skin of his neck.

“Let him go,” Cassandra demanded. “Let him go, now!”

After a moment of consideration, Athena dropped him and he fell in a heap. Cassandra darted forward and wrapped her arms around him.

“You were supposed to run the other way,” he said.

“You shut up,” Athena snapped. Blood dribbled liberally down her shoulder, matting down the hair on the right side of her head. She looked like the victim in a Robert Rodriguez film. Cassandra looked at her with wide eyes. Mixed expressions of awe and revulsion rippled across her face.

She thinks she knows me. She just can’t remember from where. She’s not like Odysseus. She’s still asleep.

Even as she held Aidan, there was confusion in Cassandra’s eyes. Of course she was confused. She’d just seen him bludgeon someone with a rock, and run to his defense afterward.

“Athena,” he said. “Don’t hurt her.”

She glanced at him with irritation. “Ridiculous words, coming from you.”

You were the one who cursed her in the first place. You gave her the gift of sight and then made her never be believed. And now she kneels at your side, protecting you from me, who could twist her in half.

The innocence in Cassandra’s eyes made her want to scream. The blind affection in how she held him. There was something so sick about it. That she didn’t know.

“Don’t, sister. I love her.”

“I notice the ‘sister’ only comes out when you want something.” She crossed her arms. “She doesn’t even know who you are.”

“I know who he is,” Cassandra said. “He’s Aidan Baxter.”

Athena snorted.

“But he used to be called Apollo. Who are you?”

“You used to know.”

Cassandra’s brow knit. “What do you mean?”

“Athena, don’t.” He started to rise, but Athena put him down with a finger.

Don’t blame me for this. You found her, made her love you again. I’m sure it was done with the best of intentions. But you’re an idiot if you thought it wouldn’t all blow up in your face.

“I mean, you aren’t you. But back when you were you, you would’ve known who I am.” They hadn’t come all this way to find half a prophetess. They needed her whole. They needed Cassandra of Troy.