Antigoddess gw-1

by Kendare Blake

  “Quit it.” She jerked away. “It’s gone.”

  “But what was it?”

  “An injury put on me by a mortal. And if she can do it to me, she can do it to the others.”

  “But it was just a handprint. I don’t even think she knew what she was doing. It could be nothing.”

  But it wasn’t nothing. It was something. Only she had no idea what, and it seemed Cassandra wouldn’t have much time to figure it out.

  Oh, Aunt Demeter. I wish I hadn’t respected your wishes. I wish I’d pulled you out of the sand and rolled you up. I could use you. I could really use you.

  Odysseus’ hands thrust into his jeans pockets against the chill and his neck turtled slightly. She didn’t want to look at him, so she kept on studying the terrain.

  “Kincade’s not exactly the high ground, I suppose,” Odysseus mumbled.

  “Nowhere is the high ground where Hera is concerned.”

  He leaned against her and heat moved into her from his shoulder. Why did he have to be so damned comforting? What was it about him that could make her so soft? Maybe it had always been this way. Thinking back, she remembered the fondness she felt every time she looked at him. When she watched him charge the battlefield at Troy, his eyes terrified but determined, he’d been so alive; it had made her want to laugh and scream. But it hadn’t been like this. Back then she was a goddess and he a mortal. Back then the lines between them were clearly drawn.

  Ahead, the world seemed to stretch on to forever, but she knew it didn’t. Not really. Somewhere, Hera was coming for them. And no matter how she planned, or what strategy she used, it wouldn’t be enough.

  “Not getting down on us already?” Odysseus nudged. “Are you still angry that Aidan didn’t let you kill Hector?”

  “His name’s not Aidan. And we could have used Hector. We could have used them both.” She shrugged him off. Odysseus made a disgusted sound. He would chastise her now, call her inhuman, which was a stupid argument anyway. He would call her selfish. And if he went much further, she’d knock his ass in the wet dirt.

  “You’re not alone in this. No matter what you might think.” He crossed his arms over his chest, staring out in the same direction she had. “I know you think you’ve got to make all the hard choices. Someone has to lead us, right, and you’re the one. So you come out with mud on your face. You get to be the villain, the one that everybody blames.”

  “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “Someone’s got to do it.”

  “Someone does,” he agreed. “But don’t think it means you’re the only one with blood on their hands. That bitch is out to kill us all. It’s our fight as much as yours.”

  The words set off a sting someplace deep inside her. She moved against him again so they stood side by side, looking down the highway.

  “Cassandra thinks I’m doing it to save myself. And I am. I mean, I was. When Demeter told us we’d need to use humans to fight, I barely shrugged. I just wanted these feathers out of my throat. I just wanted Hermes to grow strong again. If humans could help that happen, then great.” She took a breath. “I’ve gotten really bad at looking after people.”

  “It’ll all come back,” said Odysseus. “You took care of me well enough, back then.”

  Athena snorted, remembering his epic ten-year quest for home. “You were almost drowned. I don’t know how many things tried to eat you.”

  Odysseus shrugged. “Eh. It all turned out well. Besides, you made me a legend.”

  “Stop this. You’re not yourself without your ego.”

  They smiled at each other. Let the rest of them hate her. Let the whole world blame her for its end. It didn’t matter, as long as he knew who she really was.

  * * *

  Lux whined. The big German shepherd walked restlessly from Henry to Cassandra and back again, trying to fix whatever was making the room so tense and quiet. Henry finally grabbed his collar and told him to sit. Andie rubbed his fur absently.

  “So I was in the Trojan War.”

  “Well, not exactly.” Aidan leaned against Cassandra’s closed closet door. “You were Hector’s wife, and he was in the Trojan War. You mostly just watched from the wall.”

  “Lame,” she whispered.

  “Lame that you just watched, or lame that we were married?” Henry asked.

  “Both.” They smirked at each other.

  “Hey,” said Cassandra. “This isn’t a joke. There isn’t really time for the denial phase you’ve both got coming.”

  “Nobody’s denying anything.” Andie squared her shoulders uncomfortably and brushed dog fur off her hands.

  “But you are. You’ve got this look on your faces, telling your jokes, like there’s going to be an explanation soon. Like everything’s still normal and this has been the most elaborate April Fools’ joke ever.”

  “It’s nowhere near April.”

  “Screw you, Andie.”

  Andie’s mouth dropped open. Henry pushed off the wall.

  “Come on, Cassie. Give us a break. It’s a lot, you know? If you walked into the woods and saw a rabbit hiding colored eggs would you just buy it? Just like that?”

  Cassandra ground her teeth. Unless that rabbit was about to turn and snap them like twigs, it wasn’t the same thing. She ran her hands over the stitching of her quilt. If there had been a loose thread, she would have grabbed it and torn the whole thing apart. The need to run grew in her belly; it grew stronger every minute.

  “Look, I think we just need to take a step back.” Andie stood up and stretched. “Get a good night’s sleep. Everything will look better in the morning.”

  “We don’t have until the morning. We’ve got to leave. Now.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  Cassandra wanted to hit her. “I’m talking about my vision. About gods knowing where we are, coming to Kincade to kill us.”

  “You don’t know when she’s coming. Or if she really will come. You just saw someone tell her. ‘Kincade,’ you said. Just one word.”

  “If we don’t leave now, we won’t get away. And they’ll burn this place down looking for us. If we go, they won’t waste time on Kincade. They’ll chase us instead, and by then we’ll be far enough ahead.”

  Andie raised her chin. “Do you really know that? Or is this just a hunch? I’m not giving up my life over a hunch.”

  Cassandra stared at her, eyes wide. She looked at Henry, but he didn’t know what to do either. They would stand there, paralyzed by indecision, until Hera and Poseidon were at their door.

  “Athena said we stand and fight, or we run. And she was right about that at least. Hera will be here. Soon. We have got to get out.”

  Andie tapped her foot and shook her head. It wasn’t getting through.

  “Andie.” Aidan stepped close and took her by the shoulders. “Do you want to remember?” He looked into her eyes, and the heat in the room jumped, driving the thermostat up ten degrees. His hands moved from her shoulders and wrapped around her throat.

  “Aidan, don’t.” Cassandra started to get off the bed. Lux whimpered and nosed his way behind Henry’s knees.

  “It’s her choice,” he said evenly. “Hers and Henry’s. It’s not Athena’s or mine. And not yours either.” His fingers closed around Andie’s neck and squeezed. He lifted her until she was on her toes, so easily his arms barely flexed. Cassandra remembered the ease with which he lifted her the night of the party. She remembered Athena’s iron fingers around her throat. But Andie could still breathe, even though her hands rose to try to pry him loose.

  “Do you want to remember?”

  Andie’s eyes were ringed with white. Cassandra had never seen her so scared.

  “No!”

  He let go. Andie held her throat with her hand and fell back on the bed with Cassandra, but she was all right. The skin wasn’t red. There wouldn’t even be bruises.

  “No, I don’t want to remember.” She looked at Cassandra and started to cry. Cassandra hugged her. Andie never
cried. Not when her hamster died in second grade. Not even when her dad left to start a new family.

  Henry stood up, hands balled into fists. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

  “I’ll do it to you too, if you want.”

  Cassandra shook her head, not quite sure who she was shaking it at. The heat in the room lingered, but wasn’t radiating off Aidan like it had when he’d grabbed Andie. Still, he seemed taller and more beautiful. More of a god.

  I shouldn’t regret that. We’re going to need him to be before all this is over.

  “Don’t jump to my defense.” Andie sat up and wiped her eyes. She gently pulled free from Cassandra. “I’m not your wife. I’m not Andromache. It’s gross.”

  “That’s not why I did it.” Henry’s legs twitched, like he couldn’t decide whether to pace or storm out. He ended up doing nothing.

  “What are we going to do?” Andie wiped her eyes again and sucked in a hitching breath. “Go home, pack our bags, leave notes saying we’re headed to California? What about my mom?”

  Henry sat down heavily. “I can’t believe this. Cassie, she’s right, we can’t both go. What about Mom and Dad?”

  “There’s nothing we could tell them that they’d understand. But we’ll come back.” We’ll come back. Whenever we can. After all the gods are dead, and who knows how long that will take?

  “Maybe they don’t want us. Maybe they just want you.” She said the words, but Andie’s voice held no hope. Cassandra couldn’t let them stay. She couldn’t leave them behind to have their necks snapped.

  “We’ll come back.”

  “We should probably tell Athena.” Aidan stood apart from them, near the door, arms crossed.

  “No. It’ll slow us down. And besides, I don’t trust them.”

  He nodded, staring at the carpet. “I’ve got to go back to my house. Get my bag again. Rewrite the note.”

  “We’ll meet back here in an hour, okay, Andie?”

  An hour. Not much time. Certainly not enough to say good-byes, or to do anything that they’d have liked to do one more time in the city they grew up in. Andie got up and walked out the door. Henry and Lux followed behind. After they’d gone, Cassandra reached under her bed for her duffel bag and started to fill it with clothes from her dresser.

  “Do you think Andie’ll come back?” Aidan asked. “She was pretty upset. Maybe I shouldn’t have done what I did.”

  “No, you were right about that,” Cassandra said. She pushed past him to get into her closet and yanked shirts and jeans off plastic hangers. “Even if you were wrong about everything else.” In the corner of her eye she saw his shoulders slump. He hadn’t touched her since she’d brushed him away near the deadfall. But he wanted to. And angry as she was, part of her wanted to let him.

  “Cassandra, I’m sorry.”

  “About what exactly? About the fact that we’re all probably going to die because gods can’t stand the thought of going quietly? They’ve been around forever. Isn’t that long enough?”

  “It’s not easy for them. You don’t really understand … anything about forever. About what that word really means.”

  She rolled a sweater up and stuffed it into her bag. “I guess I don’t. I’m just a human. I just live. And die. Nothing I do is eternal.” She threw makeup and moisturizer into the bag. She wanted to throw them against the wall. Makeup and moisturizer. Ridiculous.

  “Why did you come here? Why did you find me?”

  “Because I never stopped loving you.”

  “That’s a selfish reason.” She went to her dresser, opened drawers, and slammed them shut. “You made me feel things I shouldn’t feel. And I can’t make them go away just like that. Yesterday I loved you. Now it’s all over. Except it’s not. It’s still in here.” She struck her chest with her fist. Her heart burned. It needed to be torn out.

  “A thousand times I opened my mouth to tell you.”

  “To tell me what?”

  “Everything. Who you were. Who I was. What I’d done. But then I’d look at you. And I knew no matter what I did, I would lose you anyway. To death, or disease, or a fucking car accident. I’ve felt your heartbeat, and it’s so delicate it makes me ache. It paralyzed me, how different we are, and in the end I was a coward. But I’ve loved you a thousand years, and another thousand.”

  “You asshole.” She stopped angrily packing and threw her bag on the bed. A thousand years and another thousand. That’s how long he’d spent loving the girl he’d gotten murdered. “You made me love you more than I did before. Knowing what you did. It’s a violation.”

  “What do you want me to do?”

  “There’s nothing you can do. You can’t make it like it was before. Neither of us can. No matter how much I want you to.” Everything was hard now, and cold, but it was a million times harder without him. “You should go. Get your stuff. Get out money for us.”

  He nodded and turned, then stopped with his hand on the doorknob. “I came here to make sure you had the life you should have had if not for me. But I couldn’t. I wish I could take it all back. Or make this go away.”

  Downstairs, the door opened and Lux barked and ran down to the entryway. Cassandra froze, listening to her parents talk to the dog and stomp their feet on the rug. Grocery bags crinkled and clinked down on the countertop, filled with aluminum cans and cardboard and bundles of vegetables.

  “Cassandra!” her mother called. “Henry! Come help with the groceries!”

  Cassandra threw her duffel into the closet like they might see it from downstairs. They were home. Her mom and dad.

  “I thought we’d be gone before they got back. That there wouldn’t be any choice. We just wouldn’t have been able to say good-bye.”

  Her knees felt like water. Aidan grasped her arms and held her up.

  “It’s okay,” he said. “I’ll go. I’ll help them. You stay here.”

  “No,” she said. “I want to.” She couldn’t decide if she felt like crying or throwing up. “Aidan. I don’t know if I can do this.”

  He pulled her close and held her.

  19

  THE THINGS YOU CAN’T SEE COMING

  Nobody looked back until the lights of Kincade were far behind, an orange glow thrown up into the black sky as the Mustang flew down the highway. It was close to four in the morning. The road was empty except for a few scattered semitrucks. They’d waited until Cassandra’s parents were asleep to leave. Then they’d waited longer, dragging their feet until Aidan finally grabbed their bags and took them silently to the car. Henry was the last to come. He’d knelt on the front steps with his dog, scratching his ears and whispering. Then he’d locked Lux up inside and helped Aidan push the Mustang down the driveway and along the road until they were far enough away to start the engine.

  “Is anybody hungry?” Aidan asked from behind the wheel. He’d suggested he drive, since he wouldn’t get tired, but any of them could have done it. Cassandra had never felt more awake in her life. “We could stop at the travel plaza and get something from the gas station. Some chips or soda or something.”

  “We’ve got a full tank. Let’s wait.” Cassandra glanced over her shoulder. “Andie, I’m sorry I snapped at you earlier.”

  “It’s okay. I’m sorry for—you know—being myself.” She shrugged, her face pale and washed out. She was okay for the moment. They all were. But sooner or later it would get bad. Sooner or later they’d realize what they’d left behind, that their lives had been severed and they couldn’t go back.

  Let it feel unreal. For as long as it can.

  “Aidan, do you even need to eat?” Andie asked. “I mean, you eat all the time, but do you need to? You don’t get tired, so do you need to sleep?”

  He swallowed. “Yes. No. I don’t necessarily need to eat. But I want it. And a god needs to do what he wants.” He and Cassandra glanced at each other, waiting for Andie’s smart-ass comment, but it never came.

  Trees flashed by in the Mustang’s headlights. The road
was still damp, but the sleet had stopped. If Cassandra strained her eyes against the interstate floodlights, she could see stars in the sky.

  “Where are we going exactly?” Henry asked.

  “I don’t know,” Aidan replied. “Away. Just away.” His foot pressed down on the accelerator, taking them south.

  * * *

  Hera had never been known for her subtlety. When she made announcements, she liked them to be loud and shiny, taking up all the air in the room. This time was no different. She leveled two buildings in Philadelphia: one an office building on Market Street and another along the western edge of Logan Square. Both were skyscrapers, stretched buildings of steel and windows that shone like crystal as the sun moved over the city. She seemed to choose them completely at random, though both did have a relatively high composition of glass. Athena supposed she wanted to watch it fly, glittering prettily in the light before it embedded itself into other buildings and the soft flesh of people passing by.

  The news, of course, leapt all over it. Death tolls were estimated to be in the thousands. Various terrorist groups cropped up to claim responsibility, and they were already linking it to the Chicago attack. But Athena knew a diversion when she saw one. Resources from the surrounding states would be drained, called in to deal with the carnage. The stables would be left empty and the drawbridge unguarded. Hera could slink into Kincade casually, wreak her havoc, and leave their stinking carcasses far behind long before any human authorities came around to gawk.

  In the room at the Kincade Motel 6, two gods and a reincarnated mortal watched the TV, barely breathing. Images of smoke and flashing emergency lights played across their irises. None of them needed to say anything. They sat on the garish bedspreads and Athena clicked through channels, searching for new information, looking for the whole story. The humans weren’t getting it.

  Buried within the emergency news broadcasts, almost as a footnote, were reports of a storm rapidly approaching the East Coast. They were calling it a nor’easter, covering it only because of the problems it could cause regarding the search and rescue efforts in Philadelphia. Meteorologists were optimistic. They expected the storm to swing farther north, making land closer to Connecticut before swinging back out to sea. Idiots. The storm had come out of nowhere, the ocean a fury of waves and wind. It wasn’t a fucking nor’easter. It was Poseidon, come to drag the lot of them down into the deep until they churned in the sandy bottom. Hidden inside the waves would be creatures they hadn’t known existed: dark, scaled things with fins and claws, piranha’s teeth and lidless eyes. It was happening. Their time was up.