Goddess (Starcrossed)

Scion to name her daughter Helen was like a Christian naming her child Judas. Like all the other Helens before her, Helen Hamilton had decided that being Judas to her family was worth it—so long as they survived.
    “I’m sorry, Claire,” she said, trying in vain to do a mind-meld with her friend and get her to understand without saying anything. “But I’m not giving up my powers.”
    “And that’s that,” Matt said, truly saddened. “She won’t ever be our ‘Lennie’ again, Claire. She’s made her choice—power over us.”
    Matt angled his head over his shoulder and made an inhuman chittering noise. Helen recognized it. Automedon had used it to command his men when he attacked Helen, Hector, and Claire in the woods outside a track meet.
    The Myrmidons reacted to Matt’s command by backing up and forming a semicircle on their side of the “wall.” One of them moved forward and retrieved Phaon’s body, and a second group came forward and swept the sand clean. They were as efficient as an army of ants, and within seconds a new battleground had been cleared inside the makeshift arena on the beach.
    An offering was brought into the circle. A pumpkin.
    “What’s going on?” Helen said to Orion, as memories of cooking with her father, turning pumpkins into pancakes, pie, and Popsicles crowded into her mind.
    “It’s one of her symbols. Hecate’s power covers a lot of different things,” he whispered in answer to her half-formed question. “Portals, crossroads, boundaries, trade, and bargains are the big ones, which is why she officiates over duels, which are sort of a bargain if you think about it. But she’s also the witch goddess. Something about Macbeth and bargaining your soul. The pumpkin is one of her symbols because she’s the first witch.”
    Helen stared at that silly pumpkin, quite certain that the Fates were laughing their heads off at her. She loved pumpkins. Of all the many-life memories that Helen had recently been subjected to, the memories that she made on Nantucket were her favorites. Jerry had given her the best life she’d had in all of her many existences. Daphne had been right when she’d said Helen should thank her for making her think that Jerry was her father.
    One look at that blasted pumpkin, and she knew that she’d trade all this Scion nonsense, all of her wondrous powers, for one more night of baseball and ice cream with her dad. Just one night where Lucas could come over for some pasta, eat awkwardly in front of her overprotective father, and then they could all watch sports and argue about politics like everyone else in Massachusetts. But that perfect night would never happen.
    Helen would never be a normal high school kid again.
    A bright flash, and a strange orange fire erupted around the boundaries of the arena. Hecate didn’t reappear, but her presence was manifest in the hum of power that encircled the ring. The pumpkin disappeared. The fire went out. The challenge was set.
    The crowd behind Helen whispered frantically to one another. Thunderclouds rolled in off the water, and lightning flashed in the distance. Zeus and the Olympians arranged themselves to have the best view. They were enjoying this.
    Helen tried to step into the arena and found that she couldn’t. Orange fire flashed. A regular person would have been burned by it, but it only threw Helen back a few paces. Matt walked easily into his spot, ten feet away from the line in the sand at the middle of the cleared oval. He unsheathed his sword, a thick, wicked-looking thing that made Helen’s breathing pick up. She tried again to enter the circle, only to find an invisible barrier stopping her. Helen tried to use her talent to create a portal to get inside the ring, but nothing happened. Hecate could even bar a Worldbuilder from crossing a boundary if she wanted to. Helen paused to mull this over.
    “What are you doing, dummy?” Hector asked her, half a laugh in his voice. As she had been reminiscing about pumpkin pancakes and contemplating the power of Hecate, Lucas, Jason, and Orion had been busy strapping armor onto Hector piece by piece in what looked to her like a ritual.
    “What do you mean, what am I doing?” Helen asked—irked as usual when Hector made fun of her. “He doesn’t want to fight you, he said he only wants me.”
    Hector only laughed harder at her melodramatic tone. “You’re not about to steal my glory, Princess.”
    She really hated it when he called her