Antigoddess gw-1

by Kendare Blake

  Clever. But it won’t make any difference.

  “What do you want?” This came from one of the other girls. Hera’s head snapped to the left sharply like a snake’s, and the left side of the circle shuddered. But no one stepped back. Every set of eyes stayed carefully trained on Mareden, who stood motionless in Hera’s grasp, the back of her head held in the goddess’s hand.

  Athena wondered if she could feel the power in those fingers, if she knew that in one crunch of Hera’s knuckles, the back of her skull would cave in like it was made of sugar.

  “I want you to tell me what you have told Athena,” Hera replied.

  Athena stepped into the circle.

  “I’d be happy to tell you myself. If you’d only ask nicely.”

  In the quiet it was possible to hear Hera’s smile stretch across her face before she turned. When she saw Athena, her eyes glittered. She cut an imposing figure, as usual. But the years had changed her as it had changed them all. Gone were the locks of hair falling to her waist. Now she kept her blond hair cut fashionably short. Her clothes too were modernized and expensive: she paired a cream-colored silk top with tailored gray slacks. A headband adorned with a peacock’s feather, her sacred bird, was affixed to her head. Zeus’ wife, Athena’s stepmother, pivoted on sling-backs with kitten heels. She glanced at Athena’s frayed jeans and smiled, then shoved Mareden away. Relief passed through the witches in a wave, and they came forward to catch her. Then they crept backward, toward Hermes and Odysseus.

  “Didn’t you used to be clever enough to run away?” Hera asked.

  “Not a day in my life have I needed to run from you,” Athena replied.

  The two goddesses faced each other for the first time in over a thousand years. From a distance they would have seemed like two normal, mortal women with smooth cheeks and groomed hair. But to those in the room they were thunderstorms encased in skin; the current of the air between them crackled with the possibility of violence.

  “That was a long time ago.” Hera smiled. “Since then I’ve grown stronger. You’ve only grown dead.” She casually brushed the fingertips of one hand along her bangs, tucking them back. The other hand she kept curled in a tight fist by her side. Unnaturally tight, it seemed to Athena. She looked closer. The skin of that fist was smooth and poreless, whiter than the rest of her skin. Something was wrong with it. She blinked and looked harder. Just above the bones of the wrist there was a small roll. It took her only a moment to realize that it was the line where the arm became flesh again.

  “You’re turning to stone,” she whispered, and then she laughed. “That’s fitting. Guess I’m not the only one growing dead, eh? Whatever that means.”

  For a moment, Hera’s eyes darkened, and Athena tensed. She would engage her if she had to. And she would move fast, before that stone fist of hers could smash through any of these poor witches’ faces. But Hera’s expression cleared and became almost light.

  “Athena, look at you. Scrambling around, seeking answers from sorceresses, playing by all the rules. Haven’t you learned anything from this century?” Hera’s hand strayed into her back pocket. “You have to break the rules to win. And humans have come up with such excellent toys.” The thing she held in her palm was no larger than a tube of lipstick. It was trim and black. On the top was a small green light, and what appeared to be a button.

  “Oh, fuck,” said Hermes, as her thumb pressed it down.

  The bomb had been planted somewhere on one of the lower floors. The blast was strong enough to cause the whole building to quake. The sound was deafening. Only Athena, Hermes, and Hera had ears enough to hear the shocked screams of the witches. It happened in an instant, one bright instant of fiery light and flying glass, wood, and concrete. The floor beneath them rippled like it was made of water before exploding into pieces.

  Hermes moved too quickly to be seen. He raced around the circle and grasped Celine, Mareden, and one more of the witches, and vaulted through the window headfirst. It was impossible to tell whether the glass broke because of him or because of the explosion.

  Athena acted almost as quickly, pivoting and running toward Odysseus. Her arm caught him by the waist and she went through the window after Hermes. They had dropped only half of the forty feet when the force of a second explosion catapulted them forward into the concrete of the building across the street. Athena was barely able to twist her body in front of Odysseus before they struck the wall. When she finally hit the ground her bones felt loose, like they’d been rattled inside her muscle.

  “Go, go, go!” she shouted at Hermes. He had the witches in his arms. He nodded and ran, faster than any living thing, just a blur streaking through the panic as people from nearby buildings began to empty into the streets, screaming.

  Another strong rumble surged through the ground, and Athena leaned forward to cover Odysseus as, behind them, the warehouse that held The Three Sisters collapsed in on itself in a cloud of dust and crashing brick. She stifled a frustrated scream. No one inside could have survived. She peered through the dust, moving her head to try to see through the people running in all directions.

  Hera stood unharmed in the center of the rubble and twisted metal. Her shirt was torn and her pants were filthy and streaked with dirt, but there were no wounds. She stared directly at them. Athena heard her voice clearly above the chaos.

  “When they said that someone would oppose us, I hoped it would be you, Athena.” Her smile was malice and poison. “I sincerely hoped it would be you.” She raised her fist, the fist of stone, and slammed it into the ground. The impact set off a shockwave, and the foundation of the building next to them began to crack.

  “Come on,” Athena said to Odysseus, and pulled him to his feet. She didn’t let him run on his own for long before she lifted him by the shoulder and went faster.

  9

  PREMONITION

  Andie grabbed Cassandra’s arm. Something had apparently happened on the movie screen that Cassandra should take note of. Or something was about to happen. Andie had already seen the thing twice, so she couldn’t be sure. Either way, it didn’t matter. To Cassandra, the movie on the screen was images and noise. A distraction. Something meant to block out the memory of blasted dust and flying glass, and screaming.

  It’s not working.

  Despite the sheer volume of the theater and the thick smell of buttered popcorn, despite the color and spectacle of everything happening in the made-up story playing out before her eyes, the only thing she could see or hear was that explosion. It was huge, on repeat inside her head. It spoke of the death of innocent people. Lots of them. And it hadn’t happened yet.

  Cassandra stood and made her way to the end of the aisle, ignoring Andie’s startled questions about where she was going. She shoved through the theater doors and stalked through the lobby, past the concession and the restrooms. She didn’t stop until she was outside. The cold and dark seemed as far as she could get from the explosion. From the heat and choking dust. But the minute she was clear of it, her mind started it up again from the beginning.

  How many of them would die? Who were they? And what did it have to do with her? Because it had something to do with her, that much she was sure of.

  Why can’t I stop it? What’s the point of seeing, if I can’t stop it?

  She walked quickly around the side of the building, down the shadowy alley that somehow still managed to smell faintly of buttered popcorn.

  “Cassandra?”

  She jumped at the sound of Andie’s shout.

  “Cassandra? Are you out here?”

  Cassandra craned her neck and saw Andie walking through the parking lot, looking in every direction. She drew farther back into the shadows and walked behind the theater, then slipped across the alley, staying in back crossways until she couldn’t tell what she was behind anymore.

  Andie couldn’t help. The distraction hadn’t worked. And Cassandra hated to see that look on her face, when she knew it.

  As she walked he
r brain went back over every option she could think of to stop the explosion, options she’d already crossed out as infeasible. She couldn’t call in bomb threats to every building in every major city. But maybe she really could talk to the police. They employed psychics sometimes. They might believe her.

  Even if they did, it wouldn’t make a difference. They couldn’t figure out where it’s going to happen any better than I can.

  She ground her teeth as she walked, and felt the passing wind slowly freezing her ears and making them sting. Her arms and fingers were cold too. She’d left her jacket back at the theater.

  “Cassandra?”

  She gave a little yelp as Aidan appeared in front of her, and jerked so hard in the opposite direction that she almost fell on her butt. He held his hands out.

  “It’s just me! Andie called me. She said she couldn’t find you.”

  Cassandra laughed bitterly, and pointed her finger at him.

  “See, why couldn’t I foresee that? You, jumping out of that alley. At least that would be something I could use!”

  His shoulders slumped. He frowned. For a second she wished he wouldn’t care so much, so she could complain about things he couldn’t fix without feeling guilty.

  “Why did you leave the theater?”

  “Why do you think?” She put her fists to her temples. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to snap. It’s just driving me crazy.” She peered up at him. “How did you find me?”

  “I wasn’t far away. It just took some looking.”

  “You’re not stalking me, are you?”

  “A little. But it’s warranted. Come here.” He held his arms out and she went. He folded her into his chest and kissed the top of her head.

  “Aidan, I’ve never wanted to stop anything so badly. I’ve never seen anything that felt so important. I mean, I felt horrible for your sister, but—”

  “I know. It’s different. But it’s the same. You can’t stick your neck out. You can’t be found.”

  He was so warm. She twined her cold fingers under his shirt.

  “You make me feel safe.”

  He sighed. “Don’t say that.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because it shames me, that I can’t protect you from them. From this.” He drew back and looked into her eyes. “But I’m trying.”

  “I don’t blame you. This isn’t your fault.”

  “You’re so cold.”

  Waves of heat flowed from him into her, through her chest down to her toes and fingertips. Like sunlight. A safe spot she could curl up in. She pulled free.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing. Just, don’t do that right now. I want to be cold. I want to walk in the dark until I can’t feel my toes.”

  “You want to suffer, because you can’t save them.”

  “I deserve that. I don’t even know who they are.”

  But I’m the reason they’ll die.

  She was sure of it as soon as the shock of the initial vision wore off. Those women, whoever they were, would die at the hands of gods who were looking for her.

  Cassandra paced. She seethed. She wanted to pummel the cement of the building beside them until her knuckles bled and her hands were broken.

  I don’t want to hide. I want to save them.

  She took a deep, slow breath, and clenched her teeth. More even than saving them, she wanted to stop the gods. Grind them into paste if she had to. Sudden heat tingled in the palms of her hands, and she shook them in the cold air.

  “Can I tell you a secret?”

  “Always.”

  “Part of me wants the explosion to happen. So it can be over. A small part. Because—”

  “Because every hour that passes until then is like walking in a shadow.” Aidan nodded. “Because at least once it’s over, you won’t be able to do anything about it anymore.”

  Cassandra nodded. Of course he understood. He always understood.

  And he would. He’s so wise. He’s a god.

  The sudden bitterness of the thought caught her by surprise. The knowledge of the explosion had kept her from thinking too much about Aidan and what he was. But she realized she hadn’t kissed him since the night he’d told them the truth.

  I will. Just not now.

  He gestured with his head and shoulder down the alley. So harmless looking, with his hands stuffed into his pockets.

  “Can I walk you home now?”

  10

  SCATTER

  Weeping. Weeping, they were all weeping. Celine, Mareden, and the third witch, a petite brunette creature called Estelle. Athena stood to the side with Hermes and Odysseus, trying to not be annoyed. Trying to be patient and sympathetic, like she should be. God knew the witches had reason enough to cry. Reason enough to be downright hysterical. Their sisters were dead. Their home was destroyed. But Athena was angry and shaken, a combination she never wore well. After a few more seconds of watching the moaning huddle, caked with dust and dried blood from several cuts, she turned and stalked into the trees.

  “Hey, wait up.”

  She glanced back and saw Hermes following. He looked tired, and streaked with sweat and grime. They had run so far, left Chicago behind, the skyline dwarfed by miles of distance. Athena looked back at it from the copse of trees where they’d stopped. A plume of smoke curled up from the east side. It looked to Athena like Hera’s waving arm, bitchy and gloating.

  “Fuck!”

  “Sister—” Hermes held his hands up while Athena battered her fist into the bark of the nearest trunk. The tree trembled but didn’t fall.

  Athena looked at her torn and bleeding knuckles in disgust. Bits of bark were embedded into the skin.

  Hermes didn’t press her. She’d plant her set of bloody knuckles square in his jaw if he did. Hera had beaten them, and losing in battle was something Athena had never gotten used to. A million questions weaved through the air. How had Hera known where they were? How had she gotten so close without them knowing? Close enough to plant a bomb? But Athena didn’t have any answers.

  “I want you to take them,” Athena said suddenly. “Take them and hide them. Do it well.”

  “Where?”

  “I don’t care where!” she screamed, then bit down on her tongue when she heard the cries of the witches sharply cut off. They had so many reasons to be afraid. They didn’t need to be afraid of her too.

  Celine’s potion had started to wear off, and the wound in her mouth throbbed. The wounds on her knuckles throbbed. It seemed she could feel the point of every impact that the pattern of bricks had imprinted into the flesh of her back in a hot, sore bruise. Cuts from window glass and sharp-edged steel stung in a dozen places. Evidence of her defeat. It was in every one of her wounds and in the wounds of Hermes. It was in Odysseus’ cuts and those of the witches. It was fifteen miles away, seventeen bodies broken and torn open, buried in rubble.

  “I don’t care where,” she said again, this time more calmly. “Think of anywhere. Take them far away if you have to. Or let them decide. Just do it well. Make them safe.”

  “There’s nowhere safe.” Hermes looked at her wildly. “Did you see that? Did you see her? She’s still a god.”

  “So are we.” So are we. But not like that.

  “Her and Poseidon together. Aphrodite. How are we supposed to stand against that?”

  “I don’t know. But we will.”

  We’ll stand. But we won’t win.

  She closed her eyes and thought of Hera. Of the impact of her fist into the ground. She’d felt it all the way up to her knees. With Poseidon, Hera could take whole cities of lives, and she would. Just to sharpen her teeth. All the better to bite through Athena’s neck.

  “What do we do?” Hermes looked up into the sky. “What should we do?”

  “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 stoo
d 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.