“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, f**k,” 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.