The Trickster's Drum (Godsongs Book 1)

by Jax Garren

  Giselle waved a finger at her in warning. “I gotta go. I literally can’t get there in five minutes. I’m so sorry. I’ll call back when I can. Don’t do anything stupid.” She hung up.

  Text messages pinged like raindrops two seconds later, and Rawan still hadn’t looked back at the road.

  “Watch where you’re going!”

  “Shit!” Rawan turned forward and veered back into their lane. “You’re Freyja!”

  Giselle’s gut sank. “No.”

  “No, you were just talking to Huehuecoyotl, the other new godstone that’s in play. He’s got a mission for you! Are you two working together after the battle on campus? Do you know who he is?”

  “I’m not Freyja! I’m a chicken, not a goddess.”

  “Oh Shiiiiirley Temple, I just realized where I know that photo from.” Rawan jerked the wheel to the right, pulling them off the road in front of a cow pasture before she slammed her hand to her mouth in agitated excitement.

  Giselle could feel all the blood drain from her face as she turned to the window. “Oh fuck.”

  “That was Sofia Messner. Your mother is Ishtar? Were we just in Ishtar’s house? She makes so much more sense now. Her parents are crazy.”

  There was no way out of that one. She’d seen the damn photo. Why had Giselle taken an acolyte to Sofia’s old house? Oh yeah, because Coyote was her only other ride. She held a hand up between them, unable to look at whatever horrified expression her possibly former roommate had on her face. “Look, I didn’t know that until last year, okay? Bryn, who raised me, never told me. Whatever’s going through your head, it’s a million times worse when you find out she’s your mother, not your roommate’s.”

  Rawan was quiet for so long that Giselle finally risked a glance, flinching.

  “I’m sorry I said your mother was evil,” Rawan offered in a small voice, eyes still wide with what looked like half a billion unspoken thoughts spinning behind them.

  Giselle looked away again, straightening out her already perfectly straight T-shirt. “She’s not my mother, okay? She’s just the woman who gave birth to me.” She squeezed her eyes shut, wishing she could disappear into the floor. “Dammit.”

  “I... I won’t tell anyone. I know I’m all excited about my friends online and stuff, but that’s not their business.” The leather seat squeaked as she shifted. “Unless you, you know, wanted to pen something. Anonymously, I mean, because everyone would love—and I mean love to—”

  Giselle couldn’t help shooting her the nastiest quelling look she could. “How could I have anything at all to say about a woman I haven’t seen since the day I was born?”

  Rawan played with one of her rings, and at least she looked mighty chagrined. “Point taken and I’ll shut up now.”

  That’d be the day...

  She managed quiet for maybe sixty seconds. “So Coyote, whatever he was saying, it seemed really urgent.”

  At least that wasn’t about Sofia. “Can we get back to Malverde, please?”

  Rawan’s piercing gaze on her didn’t falter. “I can get you there.”

  “Yes, please. I just want to go home.”

  “No, I can get you to wherever Coyote needs you.”

  “It’s in Malverde. Got a rocket on you?”

  “I figured. I can still get you there in a few seconds.”

  Giselle frowned. “It’s like a thirty-minute drive.”

  “Doesn’t matter.”

  “How would you do that? Are you...” Giselle hesitated, then jumped in, finally looking at her roommate again. “Are you a conduit?”

  Rawan shook her head. “No, but I have a Mercury ring.” She flashed the silver ring she’d been twisting around her thumb.

  Giselle frowned at it. “A what?”

  “Mercury, god of travel? I have a ring he made—don’t tell my parents.”

  “And that does...”

  Rawan looked at her like she had lost her mind. “How does a conduit not know this? And, honestly, why aren’t you calling the Bifrost? Did you lose your horn, too?”

  “Huh?”

  Rawan tilted her head, earnest confusion in her expression. “Freyja doesn’t have her gear. We noticed that. If you need a lift to an emergency—Because that’s what you’re doing, right? You and Coyote are stopping, like, crime or something? Like a real superhero?—I’ll get you there. Five seconds or less. Just admit you’re Freyja.”

  Giselle narrowed her eyes. “So I tell you I’m Freyja, whether or not I actually am, and you’ll take me where I need to go?”

  Rawan scowled at her. “No! I know you’re her. You’re the daughter of Ishtar—you’re like a member of the conduit peerage. Just admit you have the godstone.”

  “I’m a member of the peerage?” Giselle barked a laugh, then shrugged like the most juvenile-delinquent liar she’d ever met in a group home. “Sure, then. I’m Freyja. I need to get downtown before my friend does something deeply stupid, so I’ll be whoever you want.”

  The sound of rampant frustration emanating from Rawan’s throat almost made up for the epic level of frustration she’d caused. “Audhubillah! Now I don’t know anymore.”

  Giselle scrunched her face, hating what she was about to do, but fearful Coyote was going to get himself hurt or killed or, at best, de-godstoned. “Look, I’m so sorry to ask yet another thing of you. You’ve already done so much. But if you can really get me to the southside YMCA in five seconds, I would owe you a big one.”

  Rawan narrowed her eyes. “With two people and a car, it’ll take days to recharge this.” She once again held up a ring that Giselle had seen but never really noticed. The simple silver band was etched with a tiny caduceus that Rawan had turned to her palm side. “So pick your emergencies, Freyja.”

  If Rawan was looking for a reaction, Giselle made sure she didn’t get one. “Two of the Morrigan have showed up at the Y, causing chaos, and my friend is thinking about being a hero. I need to get there to protect him from himself. I don’t know what’s going to happen in the next few days, but I know this is important.”

  Rawan slapped the steering wheel. “I’m watching you!” She pointed a finger at Giselle. “You know I’m going to have proof sooner rather than later. Like when we get there and you ‘get lost in the crowd’ and suddenly Freyja shows up and then you ‘find me’ after Freyja’s already gone with some lousy explanation for where you’ve been.” She shot her a pointed look. “Seriously. I’m your roommate, and I have a camera phone and a crazy amount of determination and I’m not stupid. You won’t be able to keep this from me, and I won’t tell anyone, I swear. I just have to know!”

  The moments were ticking away, and, well, Rawan had a point. Calling it nearly impossible to keep this a secret from her roommate was optimistic. And she really needed to get to the Y before somebody—Coyote or anyone else in the Morrigan’s path—got hurt. Hoping she wouldn’t regret this, Giselle held out her hand. “Gimme your phone.”

  “What? No! You’re not stealing my phone to stop me!”

  Giselle’s anger flared at the accusation. “I’m not stealing your phone!”

  “Then what are you doing?”

  “Making sure you’re not recording us right now!”

  For a moment, Rawan looked like she’d yell again. Then she shut her mouth and pulled out her phone. “Oh.” Quickly she unlocked it with a face scan and turned it to Giselle. “It’s not, I swear. Look all you want.” Then she hit the button on the side until it asked if she wanted to power down. “Hell, we’ll turn it off. And I won’t tell anyone. I get the whole secret identity thing—puts you in danger, puts me in danger, there’s danger—danger, I tell you!”

  Giselle watched the phone power down and wondered if she was about to make a giant mistake.

  “And, if you don’t mind me saying, you seem to not know what you’re doing. Sorry, but it’s true. And I know a lot about conduits. A lot. I’ve been studying this for years. I could help you.” Hope and eagerness practically vibrated off of
her, reminding Giselle of an excited puppy.

  Giselle handed the phone back as her insides cramped in discomfort. What was it with all these people who thought life was some sort of fun game? “My whole life people have been telling me to go away, and suddenly everyone wants to work with me. Or, her. Not me.”

  Rawan put her hands over her mouth, and her sentence came out with the rapid cadence of one long word. “Alhamdulillah, you really are her.”

  Giselle looked down, made the only decision that made even vague sense to her at the moment, and pulled the godstone out of her pocket. The red granite was nearly plain except for runes spelling Valfreja—lady of the slain—across one side and Vanadis—spirit of the Vanir—on the other.

  Rawan shrieked. “Can I touch it? I don’t have any blood anywhere.” She reached forward, then jerked her hand back. “No, that’s weird. Is it weird?”

  “I really need to get to Coyote before he gets his ass handed to him.”

  “Oh, yeah. Let’s do this.” Rawan flipped the ring around “One sec. Need blood.”

  Giselle pulled out a lancet. “Mine work? I gotta bleed anyway.”

  Rawan nodded so hard it looked like her head was going to fall off. Giselle rolled her eyes, her sense of humor returning, and pressed the lancet to her thumb. “By the pricking of my thumbs...” A droplet welled up, and she smeared it on the ring’s symbol. The metal absorbed the liquid, and a hushed energy infused the air as the ring’s magic turned on, as if it was waiting for a command.

  “Something awesome this way comes,” Rawan misquoted, voice full of awe.

  Giselle stuffed everything in Bryn’s backpack—minus the Batphone—and shouldered it so that it would disappear and reappear with the rest of her clothes. The next droplet of blood she wiped on her godstone. The power came with a rush of refreshing cold, and she felt weirdly peacefully happy that someone knew her secret, even if she wasn’t supposed to.

  “Whoa...” Rawan said.

  “Does the ring know where to go?” Giselle asked.

  “Oh! Sorry. Wait, first.” She grabbed Giselle’s hand and held her gaze. “I’m really excited that I’m meeting you. But I’m not helping because you’re a conduit. I’m helping because of you. I know we’ve only known each other, like, two weeks, but I can already tell that you’re worth helping. No matter who your mom was.”

  Giselle ducked her head and blushed. “Because of what we’re doing, I know.”

  “No. Well, not just that. Because of who you are. I believe in you. Screw Ishtar and whatever happened. I’d go into battle with you.”

  Giselle glanced up at that, trying to see the lie—or more likely, the overexcited fangirl—behind the words. But mostly what she saw was her roommate, the woman who’d offered to ditch her date so they could hang out on Friday and then spent her entire Saturday helping Giselle out. Giselle cleared her throat. “Thanks.”

  “YMCA South, Malverde, Texas!” Rawan announced. “Get ready for speed. Here we go!” They accelerated sideways with the gut punch of a roller coaster pulling six g’s. Giselle screamed in surprise, and Rawan grabbed her hand, grinning like they were on a ride. Giselle grinned back as the world around them blurred. They weren’t disappearing and reappearing; they were moving so quickly they’d be practically invisible to anyone looking on.

  In less than the promised five seconds, they slammed to a halt. Giselle breathed heavily, like she’d just gone jogging, sure she would vomit or fall over or something as soon as she got out of the car.

  Beside her, Rawan wobbled and made a warbling noise in her throat as she unbuckled her seat belt.

  “You okay?” Giselle asked.

  “Yea—oh no.” Her friend went pale, and Giselle leaned over to open her door in case she was going to hurl. “No!”

  It was then that Giselle looked up and realized the problem. “Uh... how did we fit through the doors?”

  Rawan gave her a weak shrug. “Magic.”

  Outside the window, Macha turned to the car with a wicked grin, hands up ready to cast as they sat like ducks parked in the middle of the YMCA gymnasium floor.

  Chapter 18

  RAFAEL, DISGUISED AS a fly, zipped into the gymnasium where the two remaining Morrigan had appeared, and debated his next move—if Freyja really had meant it when she’d said she couldn’t get there. Even rested, he was not ready to take Macha and Badb Catha on himself, and at the moment he was exhausted from this morning’s six-hour rehearsal. Without Freyja, he—and all the people in here—were fucked.

  Then a fucking Kia Soul appeared in the middle of the floor, and all hell broke loose. He had just enough time to see Freyja in the passenger seat before the goon next to Macha—because they’d brought armed help this time—turned a semiautomatic on the car.

  Rafael’s heart clenched, and without thinking, he launched himself at the guy, reforming into Huehuecoyotl as he flew. The gun barrel burned his palms as he forced it up. Polystyrene rained down as the bullet trail arced from the hood of the car up to the ceiling. Screaming ensued.

  He managed to glance at the car in time to see Freyja had collapsed over the driver but was still moving.

  And then the gun was yanked away and turned on him.

  He turned into a flea.

  The car door on the opposite side opened as Freyja yelled, “Go, go, go!”

  The gun repointed toward the terrified YMCA clientele who’d been driven into the stands, and Rafael transformed into a rattlesnake, rattling his new tail to get the guy’s attention back. The gunman, eyes wide in confused fear, hesitated, waving the gun around the room like he couldn’t figure out where to point it.

  Freyja slid over the car hood, grabbed a basketball off the court floor, and flung it at the guy’s arm, knocking the gun to the ground.

  A movement to the left caught Rafael’s attention, and he turned in time to see a boot aimed at his side. His floppy body took off, landing behind an officiant’s table as he groaned in pain from bruises up his left torso.

  More screams, this time at him from the already terrified onlookers.

  He transformed back to a human on his knees and dumped the table over for at least a little coverage before clutching his side. “It’s okay! I’m not a snake.”

  He popped his head up in time to see Freyja vaulting over the table after him. She crashed into his chest, once again landing on top of him. Without hesitation, she patted his midsection, about where snake-him had been kicked. “Are you all right?”

  He should say a businesslike “fine” and get up. They’d been so awkward yesterday after not keeping their hands to themselves. And yet his mouth said, “Better now,” and he winked as he patted her hip.

  And encountered a pouch or something. “You have a fanny pack?”

  She slid off him as Macha railed at the gunman to go around the partition and kick their asses or something. Whatever. Freyja lifted the leather bag, shaped like an hourglass with the top half of the upper circle cut off, that was now attached to a new belt hung low across her hips. “I have a pouch.” If her expression was anything to go by, this was news to her, too. She stuck her hand in it.

  The gun spatted noisily, and more screaming ensued. Rafael grunted as he flattened himself on top of her, ignoring the pain. “Anything useful in—”

  “Empty. Not even... Wait a fucking second.” She extracted, of all things, a ball of green yarn.

  He blew out a breath. “No, useful. Anything—”

  “I have no idea what’s in here.”

  “It’s not that big. Can’t you look?”

  “It seems to be bigger on the inside!” Gunshots punctured the table above their heads, and she yanked him flat down next to her. Some asshole asked if they were dead yet.

  Rafael shoved his hand into the bag. No crafting supplies. No “bigger.” Just a leather bottom about the size of his fist. He shrugged. “Ask it for something more helpful than yarn.”

  “There’s a good chance yarn’s all it has.”

 
; “Why?”

  But she ignored his question as men with guns rounded the corner. “Powerful things,” she muttered as she stuck her hand back in. The men raised their guns.

  “And?”

  “Shiiiiiiiiiiiit,” was all she said, her face going deathly pale. “We have to leave.”

  Unsure what that was about, he ignored the part of him that wanted to live and bull-rushed the gunmen aiming for them.

  “Coyote!” she yelled, then, “Not that! Something else!” He wasn’t sure if that last bit was to him or her new bag of useless shit.

  The first man, surprised by his move, dodged out of the way. The second didn’t flinch, but he turned as a gym bag came flying at his head. “Thanks!” Rafael yelled at his partner before barreling into the guy from the side. They both went down.

  Pain bludgeoned through him again from ramming into the guy and then the ground. Fighting hurt. Who knew? Man up, wuss.

  Behind them, Freyja yelled, “I don’t need jewelry! Fuck this bag!” The smack of fist on flesh was comforting as his partner got back to what she was best at—kicking ass.

  Which he wasn’t doing so well at. The man rolled them until he was on top and his hands latched around Rafael’s throat, cutting off his air.

  “Turn him!” Macha ordered—oh, shit—and like he was a life-sized doll, Rafael found himself flipped up, his chest toward the conduits at midcourt.

  “No!” Freyja screamed in keening rage. The room chilled as her ice blast went off, then an ax sailed inches by him and—gross—embedded itself in his attacker’s side.

  Freyja stood frozen for a moment, breathing heavily as the man who’d been holding Rafael slipped to the floor in a puddle of blood. Had she just killed somebody for him?

  Oh, gods. She’d just...

  “No... oh, gods, no...” She ran to the man like she could do something with a split trunk that had already bled out. Rafael caught her before she dropped herself into the red pool of messy death. Behind her, the guard she’d been fighting was frozen—she’d taken out two men in less than two seconds. “I didn’t mean to kill anyone.” She turned to the hell bitches at midcourt. “You!”