by Devon Monk
“Myra and Jean won’t like it.”
“Jean suggested it. Myra agreed to it so quickly, I didn’t even have time to argue her into it.”
“Traitors,” I grumbled.
“Sisters who want to keep you around for a few more years.”
“I know how to do my job without you setting rules for me to follow.”
“I won’t be setting the rules. Well, I won’t be the only one. We’re going to all come to an agreement on rules. All of us who are here to look after Ordinary. All of us who put our lives on the line.”
Just thinking of Myra and Jean putting their lives on the line in the same way I had pushed fear and then—even stronger—guilt through my veins.
“I really screwed this up, didn’t I?”
He was done with the buttons and had straightened the blanket over my feet. Now he was moving around to the side table where I assumed the ice chips awaited.
“I’m gonna have to go with yes on that.” He sat on the edge of my bed, then scooped out ice with a plastic spoon. “But we got through it. We all got through it.” He nodded, and it sounded like he’d been telling himself that for a few days now.
I reached over and pressed my hand on his thigh. “I am so sorry,” I whispered.
He nodded again, suddenly very interested in dumping that ice chip back in the cup and searching for a replacement. His shoulders straightened and he twisted, ice balanced on the spoon.
“I know.” He waited for me to open my mouth for the ice.
I did and the sliver coated my tongue with clean, cool relief. I rolled it around, trying to coat every part of my sticky tongue and sore mouth.
“So. There are a few things that we’ll need to take care of today. That’s why we asked them to lower your painkillers. Are you too uncomfortable?”
I took a second to give my body a quick assessment. I was sore, yes. And there was no way I wanted to stand, or do anything else to put weight—even just a shift of gravity—on my lungs, but all in all I wasn’t doing too badly.
“I’m good for now.”
“There’s a button that you can hit if you need morphine, okay? But if you’re ready for some company, I can go get everyone.”
“Everyone? How many? Who?”
“All the gods, your sisters, Hogan, Bertie, Shoe and Hatter. Probably a few more now that they know you’re awake.”
“And here I am, looking my best.”
“You look amazing.” He leaned down and kissed me again, and I decided I could live with that little lie between us if he kept doling out those kisses.
“Ready?” he asked.
“Why all the gods?”
He was silent a second, studying me. “Myra said you should know. You should feel it.”
“I don’t know what she’s talking about.”
He placed his hand on my leg, fingers warm, palm heavy. I wanted him to rub his hands all over my body and let him remind me I was alive, whole, me.
“You died, Delaney.” He paused, letting me absorb that. “The bridge to Ordinary died for a very short time. The permission and avenue for all gods to vacation here, to set their powers down, died.”
His voice wasn’t quite as steady on the third repeat of my death, and I never wanted to hear him say it again, but braced for it anyway.
“When that happens….” His eyes went distant, as if he were reading text hanging in the air between us. “…the power of the bridge must be given to a new member of the Reed family.”
That thumped me pretty hard, and I exhaled. “I’m not…I’m not the bridge anymore?”
“No. You are.” His eyes focused. “There’s a bit of a loophole for temporary death, reincarnation, and apparently favors from Death to your father.”
“Yeah?”
“Yes. You weren’t gonefor very long, technically, not even dead. Your soul was not given to Death, nor your spirit. So while the bridge was absent from Ordinary for a short time, your dad’s soul was housed in a living being, so he was able to hold it until you were back in your body. I still don’t know how he pulled that off.”
“Okay.” Was this where I told him the demon had admitted I couldn’t really die unless he wanted me to die? I didn’t actually know what that meant in the long run, didn’t know why all the gods were here to see me, either.
“Ready?” he asked.
No.
“Sure.”
Then he got up, and opened the door for all he gods of Ordinary.
It had been awhile since we’d had them all together in one place. And honestly, the hospital room, though fairly spacious, wasn’t quite up to the task of containing them all comfortably.
That didn’t stop them. Every god and goddess of Ordinary filed into the room, uncomplainingly standing as close together as they could around my bed.
I couldn’t see them all from my vantage, but the gods closest to me: Aaron, Than, Odin, Zeus, Frigg, were familiar faces.
“Hi,” I said. “How are you all doing?”
Aaron was the first to speak. “You just cancelled our vacations. How do you think we’re doing?”
“Don’t,” Ryder, who had somehow made his way through the crowd of bodies to stand at the head of my bed said.
And surprisingly, Aaron listened. I must really look a mess.
“We’re leaving, Delaney,” Odin said. He had the growler full of power hanging from the crook of one thick, scarred finger. “For one year, as we must.”
“Leaving? But…” I looked at a few faces trying to make sense of this. “Why?”
“You died a bit.” Odin scowled, angry at me for revealing that little failing of mine. “Enough that the bridge was gone, and so all of our powers returned to us. Since it was either pick them up, or forfeit them to some random mortal, we picked them up.”
“All of you?” I said, still not following as quickly as I’d like. “All of them?”
He flipped the latch and uncorked the growler, then tipped it upside down. He didn’t actually have to do that to prove to me that the powers were no longer stored there, were no longer in his keeping. I could, if I focused right, see the powers flowing through the flesh and bones of the people around me, could hear the songs, the rising chorus and sheer magnitude of influence, force, and will.
“All of us,” Odin said, and that was when I realized it wasn’t just my friend Odin standing there. It was Odin the god, wise and weary, his one eye already set on a distant horizon, the power drawing him forward into the world and universe as surely as a sail in the winds of a storm. “All of the powers.”
Those words were final, a hammer on the stone of this moment, inexorable, inescapable.
And then all of the gods, all of the goddesses, people I had known all of my life, shopkeepers and artists, business owners and hermits, volunteers, almost-uncles and aunts, do-gooders, do-nothings filed past my bed and said goodbye. A touch of a hand, a brush of lips on my temple, a wave of power, power, power, moving and flowing like a river I could not stop, sliding through my fingers, racing toward the sea.
It seemed only fitting that when they had all left the room there was only one god remaining.
“Hi Than,” I whispered. My chest was tight with the effort to not break down completely. Tears ran hot and silent down my cheeks, and the collar of my hospital gown was wet.
“Reed Daughter,” he said as if this was the first time we’d met. “This was a most interesting experience.”
I winced. “I’m sorry you only got a couple months here. I’m sorry you have to go. This is all my fault. I promise it will be better the next time you come back. Please come back.” That last was so small, I wasn’t sure if he’d heard it.
“Dear child.” He reached out, his arms long, his fingers, slender like pale blades. He cupped my hand in both of his, and his touch was warm, comforting. “I did not say it was an unpleasant experience. Nor am I unhappy with how these events have played out.”
He paused, those eyes, endless, cold, filled w
ith the power of the ultimate end, flickered with something else. Warmth. Humor.
As if he had a say about how the events had played out.
Wait. Had he?
“All the gods leaving?” I asked.
He waited.
“Lavius’s death?” The cables cinching my chest loosened. “You wanted him dead, didn’t you?” My brain moved sluggishly, trying to put the pieces together through the muzzy painkillers. “You planned this? You came here…did you send that stone to Dad? Did you…” The enormity of it, if it were true, knocked the words out of me.
Had Death sent Dad that demon-filled stone? Had he known Dad was going to die, and thrown his lot in on the chance Dad would negotiate with the demon, who would in turn negotiate with me?
But if that were true, Death would have had to have known so many other things would happen, would all fall in a row like black dots on white dominos–bones and holes manipulated by his hand.
He’d have to know that Heimdall was going to be killed. That Crow would screw up and allow the god Mithra to claim Ryder. That Lavius was on the hunt for dark magic and was making his move toward Ordinary. That Sven would be killed, the vampire hunters drowned in Lavius’s bid to catch Rossi’s attention.
That Ben would be kidnapped, Jame nearly killed, and me attacked.
And I wondered that anyone, even Death could have known all those things, could have so carefully planned each happening.
Or maybe he hadn’t planned it. Hadn’t planned anything. Fate was a different god power, after all, and so was destiny.
Maybe he just knew what was inevitable. Maybe he could see the beginnings of everything that was to happen because he was, ultimately, the end that allowed it to be.
I had wondered, back on that day he had called and met me at the casino over frou-frou coffee to negotiate the terms of his application for vacation, why he had decided to vacation in Ordinary now for the very first time.
Had he talked to my dad by then?
If he knew this was all going to happen, had he decided this was his chance to remove that one ancient evil out of the world, and claim a death denied to him for centuries? If so, then maybe this all made sense.
“You knew.” It wasn’t enough to carry all the nuances of my understanding, but it was all I had room for with the stunned shock and admiration filling me.
“I am sure I do not know what it is you think I knew.”
“Everything. You knew everything.”
A curl of his mouth—so so close to a smile, though a sly one.
“I am a very old god, Reed Daughter. I know a great many things.”
“Lavius,” I tried. “You wanted him dead. You knew he was making a play, would make a play. And you knew what he’d do. You’ve wanted him dead for years.”
“Centuries.” With that one word it was Death, grim and cruel standing beside my bed holding my hand, his skin gone smooth and cold as marble and steel. “Centuries,” he hissed.
There was a burning hunger there, an anger at a war long fought, and slowly, there was the sense of a vicious victory.
“And Dad? Bathin? Mithra? You knew?” My throat closed around those words. Had this all been a move in his game against Lavius? Had he killed my father, all but sold my soul for this game?
“Ah, Delaney. Do you not know me better than that?”
I searched his face. I thought I knew him once. I was beginning to believe I should never make that mistake again. “Do I?”
“Yes,” he said firmly. “You do. I would never bring a man to his death early just to satisfy my impatience.” And there was more behind those words. He had not killed my dad, didn’t make the deal with the demon to do so, didn’t make me deal with the demon. Maybe he nudged things, allowed the options to unfold, offered his favors.
We made our choices. All of us. Dad, me, Bathin, and certainly Lavius.
Free will, baby.
I nodded. I’d known Than for less time than any other god who had stayed in Ordinary. I supposed it didn’t make sense to trust him so much. But I did.
He’d brought me back to life, hadn’t he? And he’d somehow made Bathin give me back my emotions.
“Thank you,” I said. It covered a lot of things, but I wanted to make sure I specified a few. “For letting Dad stay, and for taking him gently.” He’d told me once that when Dad had died, he’d had a lot of questions for Death. Now I knew those questions involved a demon, an ancient evil, our safety, and Death’s favor.
“For killing Lavius. For letting me return to the living. And for making Bathin give me back my soul.”
Both eyebrows rose and his eyes sparkled. “The demon still possesses your soul.”
“He…does?” That was weird. Because I could feel. Like right now, I felt surprise. And confusion. “But I can feel.”
“Ah. I believe you’ll need to speak to your sister about that.”
“Myra.” I didn’t even have to ask. I knew it would have to be her. And oddly, I knew she might be the only one who Bathin would listen to. But his deals never came without a price. If she had done something stupid, I was going to get out of this bed and kick her butt.
“Now. It is time for me to leave this quiet shore.” Thanatos patted my hand, more like a fond uncle than the embodiment of death.
“It’s only a year. That’s the rule. Any god who picks up his power only has to be gone for a year.”
“Yes?” There was curiosity in his tone.
“Please don’t stay away,” I blurted.
And then, right there in front of me, with Ryder as a witness, Death smiled.
“I wouldn’t dream of it, Reed Daughter. I still have so many kites to fly.” And with that, he turned and walked toward the door, straight and lean, head held high as he faded into smoke and gray and was gone.
I exhaled, and it came out on a shaky laugh. Ryder squeezed my hand and I realized he’d been holding onto my hand this whole time. I squeezed back, and watched the door, wondering if this was really over now. If this had all been about gods and ends, or if there was still a beginning for us, for Ordinary.
A beginning that didn’t involve any more death, blood, or murder.
The door opened and Myra and Jean strolled in, followed by Shoe, Hatter, and to my surprise, Hogan, but not Bathin.
“Hope you ordered orange juice,” Myra said. “This might take a while.”
Chapter 21
She was not joking. Myra and Jean settled in for the long haul, bringing in comfortable chairs, tall cups of coffee and a tray of fruit for finger food.
Hatter and Shoe had stayed for just a few minutes. Gave me a hard time about how I’d obviously missed the class for how not to get shot by a gun twice in one year, and then they’d left to keep the streets of Ordinary safe for the tourists, creatures, and residents.
Not gods though. Because there were no more gods in Ordinary.
That was weird.
The demon hadn’t shown up yet either. I’d expected he’d want to be here to see me get lectured by my sisters, but apparently he had other demon-y things to do. Or maybe he was gone for good.
Since he still had my soul, I wasn’t sure if that would be better or worse.
Probably worse, knowing my luck.
Also, I planned to get my soul back. There was no way I was going to let him keep it a moment longer than necessary.
“Are you still listening to me?”
Myra had been going on about how many businesses had just been abandoned by their owners, and how many residences were now standing empty. It was a logistical problem we’d never had to address before: a mass exodus of so many gods and goddesses. It was going to be a huge pain on a practical level for security, ownership, upkeep and day-to-day routines.
All of the deities had been hands-on with their interests and hadn’t left a lot of staff behind to deal with it all.
It wasn’t really a problem if Odin wasn’t around to make more terrible chainsaw art, and we could drive by his cab
in once a week to make sure no one had broken in, but there were gods who ran much more vital businesses. Hades’ popular bed and breakfast, Athena’s surfing shop and lessons, Aaron’s yard and garden nursery, Zeus’s fashion boutique.
“I’m still listening,” I said. “And I agree with the plan so far. We let the lead workers at each business step up into managerial positions, make sure they’re compensated for it…that’s in the gods-own-business rules somewhere isn’t it?” I glanced at Ryder.
He looked up to the left, as if running through a card catalogue in his head.
“Yep. There’s a pool of money set aside for this contingency. All of the deities have been contributing to it over the years. We’ll need to find out how to access…oh, the Reeds are executors. So.” He shrugged. “We’re good to go.”
Okay, so it was getting to be pretty nice to have contract man as my boyfriend.
“We’ll check in on their residences, but otherwise keep them as is until they return,” I said. “Let’s say twenty-four months. We’ll hire a service to air them out once a month.”
“All right.” Myra lifted her cup to take a drink, found it empty and stood to toss it into the little trash basket in the corner. She stretched, her hands pressed against her lower back before sitting back down.
I didn’t know how long she and Jean had been here, but I was starting to get hungry. And tired. Also, I still ached, but didn’t want to take the morphine boat into night-nightville.
“What else is important, Mymy?” I asked. “I’m fading pretty fast here.”
She looked at me, looked over at Jean, then made a sort of half nod. “Are you sure?” she asked Jean.
“I think so. Yes. I am.”
I glanced at Jean, who just raised her chin like I was going to challenge her about something. But I had no idea what was going on. Until I glanced over at the door and Hogan, who had been here earlier and gone out for some errand I’d missed, walked back into the room.
“My ass is numb,” he said. “I thought you’d never call me in from the waiting room. And also, I’ve been listening in at the door.”
I had a moment of my heart beating so hard it hurt. But then Ryder squeezed my hand. “We got this,” he said again. It was beginning to be one of my favorite things to hear him say.