“What’re they doing?” Hermes whispered out of the corner of his mouth.
“They’re doing what they do,” Athena replied. She touched both Hermes and Odysseus on the arm and walked them back a few steps. She had only a vague understanding of magic, but whatever was happening, they weren’t a part of it.
Behind them, on a large white screen, a stretched map of the world appeared from the projector. It always looked so odd to Athena, miles and miles of sand and saltwater, rocks and ice and green, represented in lines and labels. Mareden stepped away from the laptop and returned to her place at the table, taking a candle from the tray as she passed. Once she was seated, the witches linked hands, beginning with Celine and moving counterclockwise. It had an odd visual effect, almost serpentine. They closed their eyes.
“Light,” Celine said softly.
An almost inaudible puff sounded as the candles produced flame all at once. Athena took a quiet breath. It was beautiful and strange. Each small tip of fire was identical to the one beside it.
“Now,” Celine said. “Find me Cassandra of Troy.”
For a long second, nothing happened. Then the whispering started, whispers of words long forgotten. The sounds came on together, as if the women shared one brain. Whispers quickly became quiet chants, twenty intermingled voices, and Athena thought she heard Circe be invoked; she thought she heard them call the Moirae, the Fates, but she couldn’t be sure. The air in the room grew colder, even as the candle flames grew. They grew until they were spears of light flashing across the women’s cheeks. Then the chanting stopped, all at once. Together, twenty heads turned to the image of the map. Their eyes were coal black, and blank.
Athena looked. On the map, one tiny sparkle of light shone, like a gem embedded in the screen. She walked closer. The sparkle was in the northeastern United States, in New York state. Her eyes narrowed.
“Kincade,” she said, and looked triumphantly back at Hermes. “Someplace called Kincade.”
Odysseus smiled his lopsided smile, his expression both relieved and disbelieving. Around them, a collective exhale rose as the women came back to themselves. The candle flames shrunk. Several of the witches blinked their eyes rapidly. Celine licked her thumb and forefinger and snuffed out her candle. She stood as the others extinguished theirs.
“You have your answer, goddess,” she said.
Athena nodded. Kincade, New York. On the map it looked like a small town in the middle-upper part of the state. The population couldn’t be that large. Maybe they were finally catching a break.
“Thank—”
She didn’t get a chance to finish. Her words were cut off by the wooden, rickety sound of the elevator door being pulled up. Celine’s brow creased curiously. Everyone in the warehouse was collected in the conference room, and the front doors to the building had been locked. “Mareden,” she said.
“I’ll see to it.” Mareden rose quickly and left. Her footsteps clicked toward the reception area, and then they heard her voice, asking if she could be of service. There was no reply before she started to scream.
Athena and Hermes exchanged a glance, but Celine and her sisters reacted without thinking. They shrieked Mareden’s name, charging from the conference room in a struggling, panicked wave. Athena, Hermes, and Odysseus were left in their wake. Hermes’ eyes moved toward the back of the warehouse, toward the emergency exit and fire escape.
“We can’t just leave them,” Athena said, and started moving, following the sounds of gasps and cries. Behind her, Odysseus asked Hermes what was happening, and Hermes replied that he didn’t know. But she knew. A cold certainty wrapped itself around her heart. They’d been found.
As much as she wanted to run, she forced her legs to be slow, to creep up onto the scene. At first only the backs of the witches were visible, rigid with fear, as they stood in a semicircle around Mareden and her attacker. But even before she saw a face, she heard familiar laughter, throaty and full of malice, that made her pause. It sounded like an echo out of a deep well.
Hermes froze. Athena moved forward again, slinking like a cat. Between the frightened bodies, she glimpsed a tall, ivory shoulder and a head of shining dark blond hair, like ancient gold.
“I’ve been all up and down your floors, daughters of Circe,” Hera said. “You’ve set yourself up quite nicely. What a pity that I’ve come too late for you to choose the correct side.”
“We do only what the gods tell us,” Celine said. She lowered her eyes in a gesture of piety.
Clever. But it won’t make any difference.