“The gods are dying. We’re banding together, one side against the other, and those who seek to kill us would gladly send you and twenty-two other witches with us. Circe’s coven has to choose a side.”
Athena could see the mantra repeating inside the frightened woman’s head. We are not fighters, it said. We are modernized, we are comfortable, we keep to ourselves and let others solve their own problems.
“No. You are immortal! You do not need us!”
“Have Circe’s witches become such cowards?” Odysseus spat. “I remember when they trapped my men to put them in stew!”
Celine ignored him and touched Athena’s hand. “You are immortal,” she said again, her voice growing high with fear. “You do not need us. We ask nothing from you. Please go!”
The entreating touch was the last straw. It had been many centuries since humanity had bowed to Athena, but these were Circe’s witches. These were the descendants of her people, and they had no right to refuse. She looked at Celine’s small, pale hand and felt pity. Felt guilt. She would have liked to be strong enough to do as she asked, to go and fight her own battles. Celine’s repeated words, “You are immortal, you are immortal,” stung her ears. Suddenly she reached into her mouth and grasped the short, exposed quill of the feather. When she yanked, it tore free with a long, meaty sound. Behind her, Hermes moaned.
Blood drenched her tongue and teeth. The feather hung limply from her fingertips, and she slammed it down onto the bar top. It was disgusting, coated with blood and bits of her skin. Celine put her hands to her mouth, her eyes wide and losing their reason.
“I am a walking wound,” Athena hissed. She swallowed red salt and came close to retching. “And still I’m asking. The ones who come after me won’t be so polite. So make your choice. But don’t fool yourself. You’re going to have to get off your ass and help someone.” She spun and struck the bar chair, sending it flying, and headed for the back of the warehouse. When she saw the exit door, she pushed through it and pounded her feet against the steel stairs. She didn’t stop until she’d shoved her way out into the brick-walled alley.
Stupid.
She touched the ragged hole in the roof of her mouth with the tip of her tongue. It felt like setting her whole head on fire. She spat blood onto the pavement. With the adrenaline wearing off, it was starting to sting and throb. She bared her teeth. Tearing it out had been so easy.
“Athena.”
She didn’t turn. She didn’t want to betray her surprise, but she’d been so preoccupied with the pain that she hadn’t heard the door open behind her.
“Don’t sound shocked,” she said. “You already knew.”
“I knew you were dying,” Odysseus said. “I didn’t know how.” He placed hesitant fingers on her arm, like he was afraid to feel another quill breaking the surface. She jerked.
Yes, I’m hideous. Get the f**k away.
He cleared his throat.
“They’ll heal you,” he said. “They’re right good at doing that.”
“I don’t doubt it. You’re looking downright spry for just taking on a Cyclops.” She turned and met his eyes. He looked so concerned. It shamed her. And it touched her. He’d always been her favorite hero. She’d never given much thought to whether she’d been his favorite goddess.
He grinned and held up his fingers.
“Two Cyclops.”
“Whatever you say. But Circe’s witches can’t heal this.” She gestured to her mouth. “This I will have to bear. And if I can’t stop tonguing it, it’s going to turn into one mother of a canker sore.”
He stared at her, and she watched his mouth open and close, words and phrases trying themselves out in his head. It was amusing to watch someone with so quick a tongue try to find the right thing to say. In the end, he didn’t say anything. He just lifted his hand and gently wiped away a dot of blood from her lower lip.
“That was awful of me, in there.” She gestured toward the door.
“Gave Miss Celine the fright of her life.” Odysseus smiled. “I thought she was going to faint dead away. But desperate times call for desperate measures. You did what you had to.”
“That’s what these are, I suppose.” She looked at him carefully. He could meet her gaze like so few were able. But just then he couldn’t quite manage it. “How did you know?”
He paced away and shrugged. “I don’t know. Up until I was six, I was a carefree lad growing up in Stoke Newington. Still had this ridiculous name, of course, but everyone around home just called me Ody, which I wish that you would do.”