Cassandra remembered the god he’d been, golden like the sand and strong. The waves on the rocks used to ring with his laughter. At least two Trojan girls a year came back from swimming giggling, with Poseidon’s babies growing in their bellies.

They’d run from him now. They’d run screaming.

Across the slippery sound of water, Hera’s voice rolled like thunder off every wall.

“We can bring the others. Is that what you want?”

The girl shivered and twitched on the stone.

“Talk, you stupid witch!” Aphrodite shrieked and threw a stone. It bounced off the girl’s shoulder and drew blood.

“Don’t, daughter. We don’t have to be cruel.” She held out her arm and Aphrodite ran to her and held her tight.

“She says nothing. She lets us die. Lets us burn and bleed and crack!”

Hera shushed her and stroked her hair. Aphrodite keened softly for a few moments, then quieted. “She’ll talk. She’ll talk because she knows we are their gods. The witches of Circe do not belong to Athena alone.”

The girl shivered. “You killed us.”

“I had to, little one. You took things from me and my family. Things we have looked a long time for.” She kissed Aphrodite’s brow and sent her away, back to hug herself in a corner. Hera stepped forward and knelt before the girl. She reached up and tucked wet strands behind the girl’s ear, almost tenderly. “Look. You see Aphrodite. Goddess of love and beauty. She’s dying, and dying cruelly. Losing her cheeks to clotted blood and her mind to madness. Because love is madness.” She wove her fingers into the girl’s hair and twisted, yanking it tight. “Love is madness. We kill for it like you do. I’ll kill you and every remaining witch to save Aphrodite and my blighted brother. Or I can spare you and kill somebody else.”

The girl breathed hard. She looked at Aphrodite and glanced back toward the green water. But she said nothing. Hera sighed and nodded to Poseidon.

Cassandra wanted to look away as he threw himself onto the rocks. He wrenched his jaw open and sank his teeth into the girl’s leg, his expression horrible and vacant, close to mindless as he tore her skin away and chewed. He would have bitten again had Hera not held up her hand.

The girl fell back, clutching the wet red hole above her knee. She trembled, her breath shallow and ragged. She’d go into shock soon, and then it would all be over.

“Go back for the others.”

“No.”

The girl spoke, her voice deep and sweet, softly accented with French. “No. Leave them alone!”

“I will and gladly. If you strike the bargain.”

The girl wept. She took several deep breaths before she spoke again. When she did, it was only a few words.

“Kincade. New York.”

Hera smiled. And snapped her neck.

The vision threw Cassandra back hard. The legs of her chair skidded across the hardwood of the kitchen.

“Cassie?” Henry jumped forward and held her steady. But that was no comfort. Hera, Aphrodite, and Poseidon had killed that girl. Even after she told them what they wanted.

They know where we are. They’re coming.

She swallowed and looked at Henry.

“We’ve got to get out of here.”

* * *

Athena was at the mirror when he came in, leaning close to the glass, using her fingernail to coax a small, blood-tinged feather out of her eye. It had been floating just below the lid for the last hour, making her eye water and sting. When Apollo came through the door, he didn’t bother to knock, and her reflection shot him a sour look. Then she went back to scraping her nail along her eye.

Hermes sat up quickly, but with more curiosity than alarm. Apollo couldn’t stand against them when they were all together.

Odysseus clicked the TV off and cleared his throat in the awkward silence. He bounced up off of the bed and extended his hand.

“Ody,” he said.

“Aidan. I remember you. You used to be trouble.”

He smiled. “Still am.”

Behind them, Athena let something drop loudly against the countertop. The feather had come out; she rolled it between her fingers, staining them red before rinsing the lot of it down the drain. Odysseus raised a brow in her direction. She arched hers back, but her expression softened. Apollo looked like walking shit. His clothes hung on him in a wet bundle.

“I’ve come to find out what the f**k’s going on,” he said.

“Might’ve been a better question to ask before you attacked me.” Athena turned from the mirror and rested her hip on the counter. She’d changed into a different t-shirt and sort of wished she hadn’t. She should have worn the blood like a badge.