Antigoddess

* * *

The world came back fast. Trees and water and sky splashed in buckets across the darkness. And not just before her eyes, which fluttered open. The world drenched her brain too, a whole other world, of yellow sand and white brick, days spent in woven dresses and sitting at looms. Images of bronze shields and sharpened spears, of her brother laughing in front of a fire. The taste of goat meat in her mouth. It all soaked in, colder than the ground beneath her head, another life immersed with her present one.

“Cassandra? Can you hear me?”

She blinked. That voice. Apollo’s voice. The god who had loved her. And cursed her. He was there. And he was Aidan. Memories linked together in her skull like pressed-together LEGOs.

“I can hear you.”

Aidan kissed her hair. “You almost killed her,” he said to Athena.

“I did kill her,” Athena corrected. “And now she’s herself again. Isn’t that right?”

Cassandra tugged free of Aidan and got to her feet, trying not to wobble. Athena nodded, and Cassandra knew what she must see. The difference was slight, but it was there. The way she held her shoulders. A scant bit of stiffness in her spine. The awkward ease of youth had fallen away. Memories of another person, another life, had settled onto her like layers of snow.

“No, that’s not right,” Cassandra said. “But I do remember. Is that what you wanted? Athena?”

Athena exhaled. “You know me. Good. It’s what we needed.”

“It wasn’t what I needed.” Cassandra cocked her head and narrowed her eyes. “I saw you, once, on the battlefield below the wall. You threw a spear through four men. One was a boy I’d made jewelry for when we were children. He wasn’t much more than a child when you cut him down. And you laughed.”

Athena frowned. “I suppose it isn’t fair to say that’s not me anymore. Not when you’ve just remembered.”

“No. It isn’t.”

“Cassandra.” Aidan reached for her.

“Don’t, Apollo.” Cassandra shrugged him off, which wasn’t hard. When she used his real name he recoiled like he’d been burned. She walked up the deadfall and back to the road.

* * *

“Are we just going to let her go?” Hermes asked.

“She needs time.” We’ve done enough to her for now. Give her a moment to put two lives together. “When she’s ready, she’ll come looking for us, and we’ll see what she can do. Until then, just keep an eye out. Make sure she’s safe.”

Apollo turned. “Stay away from her. Nothing’s changed. If you try to use her, I’ll find something that really will crack your head open.”

Athena clenched her jaw. “Nothing’s changed? Everything’s changed. She won’t want you within a mile.”

“I was making it up to her. I wanted to make it right.”

Athena shook her head. “How could you have righted a wrong she didn’t know you committed? When could she have told you it was enough? That you’d paid for it, and been forgiven?” Gods. Forever making their own rules.

“This wasn’t the way.”

“We needed Cassandra of Troy. No one had any other suggestions.”

Apollo glared at her. “Not even a shred of guilt. Minutes after you strangled an innocent girl. Everything is a means to an end with you.”

“It was justice. She had the right to know who she was. And what you did to her.”

“You hide behind justice. Athena knows best.” He looked at them with disgust. “I’m glad you’re dying. I wish that I was. It’s what we all deserve.”

* * *

Having one’s head sewn back together hurt. A lot. Particularly when there was no anesthetic involved. Athena sat on the counter of the sink at the Motel 6 while Odysseus dragged black surgical thread back and forth through her scalp with a sterilized needle. The awkward tugging and stinging did nothing to improve her mood. She still seethed over Apollo, walking away like a kicked puppy, trying to make her feel guilty for doing what had to be done.

But was there another way? Maybe I was in too big a hurry.

She thought of Cassandra’s eyes, the way their innocence had turned to bitterness. It was hard, and cold, and more than a little cruel.

“He’s just like the girl,” Hermes said from the bed on the other side of the room, where he lay lazily flipping through channels. “Apollo just needs time. Time to see the bigger picture.”

We don’t have the time that everyone seems to think we have.

She inhaled and felt the tickle of feathers.

I don’t have the time.

“And shouldn’t we be investigating why he’s not dying?”

“Apollo can get bent,” Athena snapped, and winced when Odysseus poked harder with the needle than he had to. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” Odysseus groaned. “Are you two really so thick that you don’t understand why he’s doing this? Your war doesn’t matter to him. The only thing that matters is Cassandra.”

The needle slid through her skin again, tugged as he made a knot. It would heal quickly; the makeshift stitches could come out in a day. Odysseus clipped the thread off and started to clean up. Red dots and wads of gauze and tissue moistened pink with blood and water decorated the sink. Athena turned and looked in the mirror. He’d done a good job. The stitches weren’t even visible through her hair. She sighed.

“Apollo will fall in line once he realizes that Hera is coming for her. And for him. He’s smart. And we’ve always been close, by godly standards. And,” she said, arching her eyebrow at Odysseus, “I wouldn’t put too much stock in his ‘love.’ The last time he loved her, he drove her completely bughouse. Remember that.”

“I remember.” He tossed reddened tissues into the trash. “But haven’t you ever heard of atonement?”

“Great movie,” Hermes supplied. “Better book.”

Odysseus ignored him. “The way you grabbed her throat today—I’ve never seen anything like that from you. Maybe you should start thinking a little less about the big picture.”

He refused to look at her while he finished cleaning, throwing away pieces of thread and wiping down the counter. The rejection stung like a tightly squeezing ball in her chest.

“How can you say that?” More words rose and died in her throat. The way he ignored her, the aversion in his eyes; it pierced like needles. She expected loyalty from him, if from no one else.

I need it. That’s more the truth. I can’t let him turn his back on me. It would hurt more than these stupid feathers.

Athena stalked across the room and slammed out the door. The air had turned colder since they’d come back and the mist had turned to snow; small, dense flakes hit her cheeks like tiny razors. Her feet struck the pavement as she paced, almost hard enough to crack it. She didn’t know how long she was out there, turning ice into steam, before she heard the door open and Odysseus walked through it.

“Do you think any of this is easy? Dying? This stupid Twilight? You, Hermes, Cassandra—Hera and Poseidon will send all our worlds sliding off the edge and I’m the one holding on to the rope, so don’t tell me not to think about the bigger picture! Thinking of the bigger picture is the only thing I can do these days.”

“Don’t give me that,” Odysseus said. “This is exactly your element.”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about what you did back in the woods. It was cruel, and that’s just the way you wanted it. You got to be a god again. You’re so bloody scared of being the tiniest bit human—”

“Bullshit. Hard choices have to be made. How can you accuse me of wanting to do that? Do you think I liked it?”

Odysseus took a breath. How must she look, her head full of sutures, still wearing the t-shirt soaked in blood? If she wanted to, she could tear his limbs off, one by one. He should be afraid of her. He always should have been. But he never was.