The Wicked Within

Her earthy green eyes flared with desperation and hope. She hopped off the altar and strode across the crimson carpet. At nearly six feet tall and standing two steps higher, she towered over me. “You will revive my child?”

I swallowed. Inside I was shaking, and it took some effort to keep the trembling from my voice. “If you agree to leave me and my friends, my family and theirs, my descendants and theirs, the city and everyone in it alone, unharmed—by your hand, your command, or your influence— forever.”

“That is a tall request for one so . . . small.”

“A small concession compared to holding your child again. After I do this, you must also agree to remove my curse.”

Her full lips dipped into a frown. “Anything else?”

“No, that about does it,” I answered, noticing that she seemed a little pale, her breathing subtly shallow. She hadn’t fully healed from our last meeting.

“The Hands,” she prompted.

I drew in a deep breath and glanced at Kieran. Together we went to the right side of the church and found the long marble slab etched with the name ANDRES ALMONESTER Y ROXAS.

Athena knelt down. “Here?” she asked, her voice tight. “Beneath this stone?”

“Yes. That’s where Josephine hid them.”

Please be right, Sebastian. Please be right.

She waved us away, her focus on the stone as she ran her hands over the surface. A faint green light appeared beneath her hand and traveled around the seam of the slab. As she lifted her hand, the stone rose. The sound grated through the cathedral. A thud shook the floor as she set the heavy stone aside.

I held my breath as she peered inside, using her power to raise the Hands from their hiding place. My breath caught in relief and wonder. They were just as I remembered. A stone basket cradled by two strong hands, broken off at the wrists. Athena grabbed the statue with care. As I stared at her profile, I could only imagine what must be running through her head and her heart.

Finally she rose with her treasure. Her throat worked, and I caught the briefest flash of emotion in her glistening eyes. Anguish. Pain. Fear of feeling happiness just yet. As she carried the basket to the altar table and placed it on top, I noticed Artemis had tears in her eyes.

Now it was all up to me.

But first we had to make our bargain binding. The doors to the cathedral slammed shut with a heart- stopping bang, Athena using her power to cut off my main escape route. When the sound faded away, she said in a low, emotionless tone, “Step up to my altar.” A shiver crawled up my spine.

Squaring my shoulders, I left Kieran with what I hoped was a reassuring nod, stepped onto the raised sanctuary, and walked to the altar.

At the table, I looked at the child inside the basket, eyes open, its body covered in a blanket, one chubby hand clutching the end. A bowl divided into two separate sides appeared on the altar, along with a thin, wicked- looking blade, a quill, and a thin strip of ancient-looking paper.

Athena repeated the promises I’d ask her to make and stated that by blood, she was bound to them, with Artemis and Apollo serving as her witnesses. She cut her finger, squeezed several drops into the bowl, and then dipped the quill in, using the liquid as ink to write down her vows. Then she turned around and slid it toward me, picking up the knife and handing it over.

I took it. The handle was warm. “Your blood goes in the other side of the bowl. You write your agreement below mine, that you will faithfully attempt to resurrect my child.”

“You really think I can?” She was betting an awful lot on an unproven ability.

“I would not be here, and you’d be dead already, if I thought otherwise.”

It was now or never. I glanced at my father again, then over my shoulder at the door. Horus wasn’t coming. Sebastian . . . he would be here soon, I hoped. I faced the altar, slit my finger, and then wrote my promise. Athena took the paper and snapped her fingers, and flames began to eat away at the edges, releasing a blood- tinged smoke that rose up in the shape of our words and then disappeared.

In the ensuing silence, the distant sounds of the battle ebbed into the church. Doubt skated along my nerves. Doubt that I could do something so unusual. I’d changed Sebastian back, but he’d been stone for a short period of time, and I’d been hyped up on adrenaline and emotion. This child had been trapped in stone for a thousand years. . . .

My father cleared his throat, the sound bouncing around the lofty space. I knew that was to remind me of my training, of everything I’d learned so far. Okay. Focus, Ari. You do this right and Athena is gone for good. Out of your life. Out of your father’s life. Out of New 2 for good.

“Okay,” I breathed. I could do this. I reached out and placed my hand palm down over the baby’s chest. My eyelids slid closed, and with that I imagined a wall, one that held my power, falling down. My curse rose fast, always there, just lurking, waiting for the opportunity to strike, my power growing more volatile and impatient with every day.

All right, Selkirk, do your thing.

TWENTY-THREE

THE DOORS BEHIND ME BANGED open so hard, one split and the other flew off its hinges. I spun around. A wizened old figure appeared in the doorway, shuffling in with his staff to support him, a hood drawn over his head.

The River Witch stopped in the aisle.

What the hell?

Athena came around the altar and stopped next to me, livid. The witch lifted his wrinkled hand and pulled back his hood. My heart stopped. As the hood was dragged slowly off his head, the old face changed, like he’d peeled away a layer of deceit, leaving behind a beautiful woman with red hair, porcelain skin, and the features of an angel. A pretty witch, Crank’s voice reminded me. Had she somehow seen beyond the disguise?

And if the kids had left with her, then where the hell were they?

The cloak dropped to the floor. The witch was dressed for battle, her hair braided at the sides and pulled away from her face, her staff at the ready. A strange shimmering black breastplate was molded to her body, covering her torso, neck, and arms. Ancient designs filled the plate.

“Hello, Athena,” she said with such underlying pleasure I knew we were all going to be in a world of hurt.

Athena marched off the altar and down the aisle like vengeance reborn. As she reached out to grab the witch, the witch held up her hand, and Athena stopped. Just froze.

“How dare you interrupt!” Athena railed. “You, more than anyone, know what I have lost!”

“Aye, and I lost too. Or do you forget? You stole my child! Mine! Did you think Zeus wouldn’t notice you switched our children? You sacrificed my child to save your own, and it didn’t even work! He knew and took yours anyway. Do you know what he did to my child? He tossed her from the window of his temple, just threw her away.”

“You betrayed me first! You should have kept your mouth shut and kept the prophecy to yourself. You knew what would happen once you uttered those words, Dora! You damn well knew it would be the end of my child!”

The River Witch was Anesidora. The Pandora of legend. Athena’s first creation, and the one who’d uttered the fateful prophecy about Athena’s child.

Kieran moved to my side as Artemis and Apollo held arrows notched against the strings of their bows, but had yet to raise them. Menai, I noticed, had appeared at the broken doors, her bow drawn as well.

“These long years I have waited, satisfied in the knowledge that I took your child from you, that your