“I open at nine,” I say as we reach the hour mark. “I need to unlock the door in a minute or so.”
“I’m not done.”
“I see that, and I apologize, but there’s another customer waiting.”
She turns and peers at the window. There’s a woman partially obscured by the window graphics but obviously waiting.
The older woman assesses her in a glance and sniffs. “She can wait.”
As if hearing her, the woman at the door raps and lifts her watch and then jangles the door. Great. My second imperious customer of the day.
I walk to the door and unlock it. As it opens, I quickly say, “Sorry, I had a private showing that’s running a little long. Please look around. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
I hurry back to the first woman, who fixes me with a sour look.
“So, about the Queen Anne chair,” I say. “It is a lovely piece, and reasonably priced. I can show you two online that are more expensive and in worse condition.”
“It looked lighter online. That dark wood won’t go in my front parlor.”
“What about the banquet lamp?”
She wrinkles her nose. “Perhaps. I’ll need to think about it. What else do you have?”
Before I can answer, her gaze moves over my shoulder.
“May I help you?” she says.
A voice behind me says, “I believe the question is whether Ms. Bennett can help you. You have clearly monopolized her time long enough, with no inclination toward a purchase. In other words, you are wasting her time.”
I turn to get my first good look at the newcomer. She’s about forty, with an olive-skinned face that looks cut from marble, all perfect angles. Wide-set gray eyes. A little too wide-set, giving her face an owlish look. Those eyes could be dove-soft gray. Instead, they’re steel. Gray steel.
She wears a gray pantsuit and her dark hair is cut short, curls flattened against her scalp as if she glued the unruly locks in place. Everything about this women snaps “Get out of my way” and I have to bolt my feet to the floor to keep from complying.
The first customer holds fast, but emotions still play over her face. Emotions that I suspect are unfamiliar to a woman of her standing. Intimidation. Fear. Uncertainty.
“Go,” the gray-suited woman says. “Now.”
“You can’t—”
“Can. Did. I need to speak to Ms. Bennett. You may leave.”
I clear my throat. “I don’t believe we have an appointment, Ms. . .”
“Athene.” Her eyes meet mine. “My name is Athene.”
“I don’t care what your name is,” the older woman huffs. “I had an appointment.”
“Which has ended.”
Athene strides toward the woman, and while part of me wants to interfere, the rest of me doesn’t dare. This is Athene. The Athene. No offense to Vanessa, but if I had to pick my favorite god in the Greco-Roman pantheon, it would be Athene. Goddess of war. Goddess of wisdom. Goddess of reason. Also, apparently, goddess of mowing people the hell out of her way.
She herds the woman straight out the door. Then she locks it and flips the Open sign to Closed.
As she’s doing that, I text Vanessa.
Me: Athene just walked into my shop. Any advice?
The response is instantaneous.
Vanessa: Stay perfectly still, and she might not see you.
I snort a laugh.
“Something amuses you?” Athene says.
I stuff the phone into my pocket. “Just a joke text.” And not much of a joke at all. I do have the distinct urge to stand perfectly still and hope Athene’s shark-like focus moves on.
“So Athene, huh?” I say, in what might be my lamest greeting ever. At least I don’t add “cool,” like a teen fangirl trying to play it chill. “Pleased to meet you.”
“I do not engage in pleasantries. They are meaningless customs that waste everyone’s time.”
“Even if I really mean that I am pleased to meet you?”
She pauses a half second, considering. “If it is a sincere pleasantry, it is marginally less pointless, but only marginally.” She steps toward me, the predator closing in on her prey. “You believe you found a Costa painting.”
I open my mouth.
“Do not ask who told me. I will only say it was neither Vanessa nor Marius, and I only say that because I know they would be upset if you thought so. They are far too concerned with what others think of them.”
“I wasn’t going to ask who told you. I was going to say that I don’t believe I found a Costa painting. I did find one. Or, more accurately, I was led to it.”
“No, you were led to a fake. I want to know why you lied to Aphrodite and Ares, telling them it was cursed. You knew it was of interest to me, yes? You were trying to get my attention. Now you have it, and you may wish otherwise.”
“Wow. You are intense. I got that impression from Vanessa and Marius, but one really needs to experience the full force to properly appreciate it.”
Her eyes narrow. “If that is meant to be mockery—”
“No, it’s meant to be ‘step off.’ I didn’t lie to Vanessa and Marius. I had no idea—still have no idea—what interest you have in the painting. And I sure as hell wasn’t trying to get your attention. Kinda busy leading my life, which is complicated enough, thank you very much.”
“They said you remind them of Mercury. They are correct.”
“Well, right now, I don’t take that as a compliment.
“It wasn’t one.”
“Whatever. Point is that I found the painting. I saw the girl from the curse, as did Aiden Connolly and two very freaked out police officers. Then I uncursed it before the officers carted it off into evidence.”
“Evidence of what?”
“Stolen goods. If you want the painting, talk to the state police. They should have it in lockup. You can confirm it is the original. Otherwise, if you—”
“Hello, hello,” a voice trills, in perfect pitch with the tinkling door chimes. “I do believe I’m late to this party.”
“I locked that door,” Athene says.
“Not against me.”
The woman who walks in looks like Athene, while managing to look as unlike Athene as possible. She’s roughly the same height, with the same wide-set eyes, hers being blue. Same perfect facial structure, with a sharper chin that gives those wide-set eyes a more cat-like appearance. Dark curly hair, just like Athene’s, except she’s wearing it in tiny pigtails more appropriate for a five-year-old. She’s dressed in yellow overalls, a blue newsboy hat and red high-top Chucks. In short, she looks like Athene playing a children’s show host, all primary colors and adorable wide grin.
The newcomer bounces over and slaps Athene on the shoulder. “How is my favorite eldest sister?”
Athene frowns. “You mean elder sister. You can only have a single eldest sister”
“That’s why your my favorite one.”
“Mercury, I presume,” I say, and there’s a note to my voice that’s almost like a growl. She looks over, blinking in surprise.
“That isn’t quite the welcome I expected.”
“She said she was pleased to see me.” Athene pulls herself straighter. “She does not seem pleased to see you.”