“Hermes,” she said through her teeth. “Have I not warned you about spying on me in my chambers?”

“I’m certain you have,” the Messenger of the Gods said indolently. He rubbed his bare back along the couch, wiggling sinuously with pleasure. “Ah, wonderful. I had such an itch. In fact, dear sister, there is another itch I have-one that you can help me with, which is only fair, since you’re its inspiration.”

“Am I?” Athena’s face might have been carved of marble. “Shall I scratch your itch with my sword?” The bow in her grip vanished, replaced by a wicked razor-edged sword.

Hermes let himself sink back in the couch. He laced his fingers behind his head and spoke soulfully to the skies about Olympus. “Forever gazing upon what I cannot touch.” He sighed. “Such cruel fates should be reserved for mortals.”

Athena had learned from centuries of experience that Hermes was so intoxicated with his own charms that, when he started flirting, the only way to deflect him was to change the subject. She used her sword to point at his sandals. “You’re wearing your wings. Is this an official message?”

“Official? Oh, no, no, Zeus is off doing… something.” He smiled wickedly. “Very likely someone. Another mortal girl, I’m sure. The Fates alone know. Really, I can’t guess what he sees in mortal women, when any normal god would sacrifice an immortal private body part or two just for a chance to slip one past Hera’s girdle-”

“The message,” Athena said. “Your excuse for invading my chambers?”

“Oh, there is a message.” He produced his caduceus and waved it at her. “Really. See? I have the wand.”

“Your beauty lends you the impression of charm. Your behavior dispels it.”

“Oh, I suppose that was wit. It was, wasn’t it? I ask, beloved virgin of war, because otherwise there’d be no way to tell.”