by Jax Garren
Giselle just shook her head and tried to ward off the kindness with her hand. “No thank you.” She held up the tea and took a sip. “Yum. Good!” And really bitter. Okay, maybe sugar was a good idea. But between her teeth?
Ande plopped a white cookie-toffee-something onto her plate. “Nougat and pistachios. I think you’ll like it.”
Outside, the tinkling of bells on animals soothed Giselle’s nerves as she took a better look around the tiny shop or tea parlor or whatever it was. Bags of flour were stacked up behind a counter where metal weight pans sat. An old stove in another corner had a wood fire inside and a kettle on top. Ande sat gracefully down on the colorfully woven rug and took a brown cookie thing for herself before saying something to the woman in the other language.
The woman answered back, gave Giselle a sympathetic smile, and left.
“Does she know what we’re doing?” Giselle asked before trying the cookie thing. It was quite sweet but went well with the tea.
Ande nodded. “Mostly. She’s also a magistrate. That’s why we came here; it’s the closest outpost to Kur.”
“So I go through a cave in the mountains, and that’ll lead me to the gates of Ganzir, Ereshkigal’s palace.” Repeating the plan helped her keep calm, and Ande—a meticulous planner herself—didn’t mind. It was one thing they had in common.
“Yes. There are seven gates, guarded by Neti.”
“And I’ll try to gain entrance by requesting an audience with Ereshkigal, but if that doesn’t work, I have to fight my way in.”
“Hopefully, as Ereshkigal seems to want Macha gone, it won’t come to that. Neti is formidable, or so I’ve heard, but what’s worse are the galla—the demons of Kur. They’re not tough individually, but they attack in swarms.”
Giselle nodded, trying not to think too hard about swarms of creatures like the wispy, smokelike snake that had attacked her when she’d woken up yesterday. “Once inside, I present Brisingamen as a peace offering.” That part sucked hugely. She wasn’t sure she fully understood the consequences of what Brisingamen did, but it could bring a dead man to life. Just knowing that she could bring Coyote back, should the worst thing happen, made each fight more bearable. And she was giving that security up for Macha, who was friggin’ evil.
She really hated that woman.
Ande nodded. “Underworld gods don’t tend to like things that bring the dead to life.”
“Then I cross my fingers that she’ll let us out.”
“And most importantly...?”
“Avoid her husband, Nergal. Ereshkigal may listen, but Nergal’s a raging dick who’ll kill me for fun.”
Lips pursed in frustration, Ande nodded. Weird. Throughout the time Giselle had lived with Ande, she’d never felt particularly loved. Watched over, sure. Ande was dutiful in taking care of her charge. But Giselle had never been under the delusion that Ande wanted her there for any other reason than the fact that she’d inherited a godstone. Ande never treated her with affection.
But now that she was about to go to the underworld—an underworld?—the woman was acting like she’d actually be upset if Giselle didn’t return. It was weird to think that despite having only plucked Giselle from the foster system to train the next Freyja, at some point the woman had maybe started to like her.
The thought made her feel warm inside. If she made it out of this alive, she’d figure out some way to make Ande and Coyote see eye to eye—or at least not hate each other so much.
Ande reached for the oversized backpack she’d brought along with her and pulled out a plain leather holster that looked like it might sheath a single ax across the back.
“Coming with me?” Giselle joked.
Ande just rolled her eyes. “No. The ever living can’t cross into the land of the dead. I’d get stuck.”
Giselle blinked. “Excuse me?”
“I’m three thousand years old. I should’ve died long ago. If I cross into Kur, I won’t be able to leave because I should be there—or my people’s version of it anyway.”
“Oh. What’s your version of it?”
Ande’s lips twitched like she was irritated, and she shoved the old holster at Giselle. “It took some doing, but I found this.”
Giselle took it from her and noted the not-very-old-looking bloodstains across one of the straps. “Huh. It’s, uh... sturdier than the one you loaned me.” And only held one weapon as opposed to two. Not that she had two axes anymore, having left one at Ande’s condo.
Seemed like bringing her that second ax would’ve been a lot more helpful than a new holster that didn’t fit her weapon. “Thanks?”
Ande rolled her eyes. “It should re-form with your costume once you change back. Since Freyja’s stocked with magical artifacts made for her—or by her—it’s a little easier to divest them from her costume. You should find this helpful.”
It took her a moment to realize what Andromeda meant. “Wait, this is my actual holster? The one from the picture?” Excitement rushed through her, and she wished she had her phone to look up the photograph she’d taken from the Book of Conduits, the one that showed exactly how far from a full complement of artifacts her version of Freyja got when she transformed. Since working with Coyote, she’d found Brisingamen and her bag of holding—the one she’d given to Coyote before being taken in by the military—but she was still missing her holster, her shield, and maybe not most importantly but definitely most interestingly, her cape that transformed into falcon wings. “This is awesome! But there’s no weapon.”
“It’ll provide whatever weapons you need—an ax, two axes, a sword, bow and arrow—just let it know.”
Whoa, that was a game changer. Maybe she did have a shot at this. “I can get two axes?” That had become her specialty while training with Ande.
Her mentor nodded. “Whatever you need.” She sipped her own tea and muttered, “Gods forbid you actually need it.”
Giselle slipped the holster over her shoulders, and even without the stone activated, she could feel a buzz of rightness run through her. The longer she’d been with the stone, the more she felt connected to it, and she could tell it liked having its stuff back.
“And that pretty boyfriend of yours wouldn’t come?” Ande said snidely.
Giselle sighed. “I didn’t tell him where I was going. Somebody needs to look out for the city if I don’t make it back.”
Ande gave her a pointed look. “And what am I?”
Giselle shot her a pointed look right back. “So consumed with the big picture that you forget the people on the street around you.”
“Hm.”
Feeling restless Giselle hopped up and went back to the window. “I can’t believe I’m in another country. I can’t believe I’m in Iran!”
Ande’s phone buzzed. She checked it, and her face wrinkled in confusion.
“Everything all right?”
“Hm? Oh, fine. Anything you want to do? We’ve got a few hours.”
“For real?” Giselle asked, hopeful.
After tapping a quick message back and pocketing her phone, Ande rose to her feet. “I’m feeling indulgent. Take advantage.”
Because she didn’t think Giselle was going to make it out of Kur.
Giselle looked down, gathering her swirling thoughts. She was going to get out of the underworld. This couldn’t be the end. But if Ande was going to let her play for a bit...
“I’d like to see something new. I’ve never seen anything new.”
Andromeda smirked and motioned to a rack of colorful clothes. “You may want to put something else on. With that American band T-shirt and blonde hair, you’ll stick out a bit around here.”
RAFAEL, STILL CHANNELING Coyote, put his hand in the center of their huddle and looked at his teammates. It was more than a little odd being the leader when he’d only done this for a few days. But Sekhmet and Shawn were even newer at this than he was—and Bryn, who should have been in charge, was barely keeping her shit together enough to understand what was
happening.
“Frrrreyja,” Bryn asserted as she put her hand on top of his. She was going in as Hekate, but had Idunn and Xiuhtecuhtli in Hekate’s pouch as backups. He really freaking hoped she didn’t need to channel Xiuhtecuhtli again. He was developing a theory that only very sane people should get Aztec gods.
Sekhmet, now actually channeling Sekhmet—that godstone had miraculously been in the pile—put a clawed hand in. She clutched her chador, as she called her veil, over her shoulders, leaving her face visible. Her lioness mask, unlike everyone else’s half or three-quarter masks, started at her upper lip and went over her head, ending at her neck in the back and making it look like she had a lion’s head on a human body. Her eyes had turned golden and catlike, giving no clues to what she looked like in real life.
Finally, Shawn, channeling Osiris and resembling a mummy from a black-and-white horror flick, put his trembling hand in. Turned out Osoosi was not in the pile, which had disappointed him quite a bit. But even after Rafael had explained what they were doing, he’d still decided to join for the chance to channel a god.
So there they were, Sekhmet the warrior, Hekate the witch, Osiris the lord of life and death, and Huehuecoyotl the bard. Hopefully they could find Freyja quickly and make an unstoppable team.
“Everybody got your backups secured?” he asked.
Sekhmet nodded. She also carried Persephone, Greek goddess of spring and wife of Hades, just in case going chthonic helped in the underworld. Rafael had pocketed Mictlantecuhtli, Aztec god of the dead, for himself and Mictecacihuatl, lady of the dead and Mictlan’s wife, for Freyja. Shawn nodded, patting his pouch with Shango, a Yoruban fire god.
Once again the realization that Bryn had beaten all of these conduits by herself—in addition to the other dozen or so still in Freyja’s pouch—made him shake his head in awe. Freyja had spent her first few years with a fucking badass. No wonder she was indefatigable.
But it didn’t matter how good Freyja was; no one should have to march into battle with death itself alone. He was pissed as all get out with her—she was going to get a fucking earful about her shitty decision-making as soon as they found her—but he was doing the best he could to help.
“Ring charged and ready to go?” he asked Sekhmet.
She nodded. “I don’t know how we’re getting back—it could take weeks to recharge with this many people going this far—but I’ll get us there.”
“We’ll worry about that when Freyja’s safe.” He wasn’t sure how they were getting back, either, as attempting to board a plane headed to the US from Iran with no visa or entry paperwork seemed likely to pose a challenge. He took a deep breath. One problem at a time.
He put his other hand on top of the stack of hands in the circle. “I’m sorry your first mission as conduits is literally storming the gates of the underworld.” Andromeda had worked with Freyja for nearly a year before she’d let her steal a godstone from the campus library. “But we’re creative, capable people, and we’re going to figure it out.”
“Shouldn’t we have a name, like the Justice League or something?” Shawn asked.
The question gave Rafael a warm feeling. “If you want to keep doing this after fighting our way in and out of Kur, we’ll come up with something.” A real team. That’d be badass.
“Let’s see,” Sekhmet said. “We have two neophytes, a crazy person—no offense, Hekate—and a bard who, from what I’ve heard, can’t sing. And we’re going to find our idiot teammate who hares off into danger alone. I’m going with the Incompetents.”
“I sing just fine, thank you,” Rafael growled. “It’s not my fault Freyja doesn’t like Aztec music.”
Shawn gave him a smug smile, the first really positive expression he’d seen from the bookish man since he’d agreed to come along. “The name sucks—I’m not the least bit incompetent—but any name means we keep the godstones.”
Rafael smiled back at him. “As I said, make it out, and we’ll talk.”
“Freyja!” Bryn yelled.
Rafael nodded. “All right, Incompetents. Let’s go.”
“I refuse to answer to—” Shawn’s complaint was cut off as a sharp tug of energy jerked them away.
Chapter 9
THE JASHAK SALT DOME rose before Giselle in vertical waves, like ridged cardboard made of crystal. This far into the night, she couldn’t see the colors Andromeda had assured her were there, but alternating lines of light and dark strafed across the mountain as they zipped closer to the jagged horizon in a borrowed Range Rover.
“Sorry I couldn’t find your shield too,” Andromeda said.
“This is great,” Giselle said, patting the holster. It made her a little uneasy going into battle without a weapon actually in the holster, but how awesome would that be to not have to worry about carrying anything bulky on her back?
Now if she could make her armor a little less cumbersome. Oh, and fly.
“I got this, Ande. We have a plan.”
“Handing over Brisingamen to that harpy is a tragedy, not a plan.”
“Better than dying?”
“Don’t do anything stupid. Just get the bitch out and come home.” They pulled off the road, and Ande stopped the vehicle.
“You’ll be here?”
“Not here here. I’ll be outside the entrance. But yes.” She narrowed her eyes at the hood of the vehicle, as if steeling herself, and then exited.
Giselle swallowed, then followed her, trying not to think about what she was doing. “Thanks for driving me around. I thought Iran was all desert, but the mountains are lovely. Everybody was so sweet too.”
“Yeah. Great country. Nice people. Focus, Giselle. You have a job.”
Giselle rolled her eyes. “I’m as prepared as I’m going to get.” But she remained quiet as they headed up a path into the mountain of salt. Ande’s powerful flashlight reflected off erratically patterned crystals. They passed “waterfalls” of foamy salt and cave entrances with stalactites and stalagmites of crystal.
At one point, they strolled through a narrow pass between gardens of pink and black salt that rose into peaks like freshly whipped cream. Giselle breathed in the smell of saline and rock and wished that Coyote was here to see it with her.
Coyote? No. If she was going to dream big before dying, might as well dream huge. She wished Rafael was here to see it with her. They’d hold hands and take selfies in the crazy formations of rock. The world would be jealous of her because she had the most beautiful musician in the world as her boyfriend.
No one would ever look down on her again if Rafael Marquez claimed her.
She stared at the ground and kicked a stray crystal. The world would never know she existed. With her birth mother in prison, she and Bryn had been put into witness protection when Giselle had been an infant. Then, after Bryn had disappeared—and supposedly died—she’d gone into the foster system. Now even her name in the system was fake—a joke, even.
She would travel to the underworld and it would be like she’d never existed. Not even Coyote knew who she really was.
Maybe, if she lived, she should tell him. She bit her lip.
“Here we are,” Andromeda said, voice sharp. They’d entered a room-sized cave and stopped outside another entrance about the size of a large dog. Giselle would have to crawl to get through it. “Once in Kur, time will speed up compared to the outside. I’ll see you enter and walk back out a few minutes later—even if it takes you hours from your perspective. And if I don’t see that, I’ll know you’re stuck. Either way, I’m leaving in the next fifteen minutes—from my perspective, anyway.”
She hadn’t realized that. “So I can still make Government in the morning?” The magic that had brought them here and would bring them back was instantaneous, like Rawan’s ring. She could be back in her dorm room by morning, Texas time.
Andromeda shot her a look like she’d lost her ever-loving mind. “Yes, you can still attend your government class in the morning.”
Giselle nod
ded. She’d live through this and then see Rafael in the morning. Her friend. She took a shaky breath. “If I don’t come out, find Coyote and tell him my real name.”
“I have no interest in talking to that puppy, so you’d better get your skinny ass out.”
That made her chuckle, just a little. Alrighty then. It was time to transform. As the magic washed over her, she wished Coyote were here to go in with her with a joke and his adequate singing. Coyote this time, not Rafael.
Why hadn’t she told him to meet her? He would’ve. Maybe.
He’d said they weren’t ready for this mission. He didn’t want to do it, and she’d respected that bit of sanity on his part.
Suddenly she felt more alone than she had in years, which was weird because she’d been alone for most of her life. One week with Coyote and suddenly she expected people to be there? What was happening to her? Even Ande, who had surprised her by actually giving a shit, was standing with her arms crossed, mentally preparing herself to walk away without Giselle and without regret.
But she thought, maybe, Coyote would miss her, even if they had only known each other a week. They’d done a lot together in a week.
The decision had already been made. He would stay home and keep the South Chavez neighborhood safe, and she’d face this alone. She took a deep breath, shutting off the fear, as she’d had to do too many times in her life, making her mind as numb as Novocain. If she didn’t feel anything, she wouldn’t be afraid. When nothing was left but logic, she affixed a light to her head to illuminate her path through the dark and knelt down, the crystals digging into her leather-clad knees. There were no tearful goodbyes or final touches from Ande—the woman had already crossed her off the list of the living.
Fine. Wishing once again that she had gloves, Giselle crawled into the hole, whistling Rage Riot’s “Searchlight” and pretending she felt no pain.
The salt cave stretched long, like a reverse birth canal, leading the living to the dead. The salt-lined walls sucked the moisture from her breath, making the air even dryer than the desert outside. She licked her lips and kept whistling.