The Trickster's Strings: A Superhero Adventure-Romance (Godsongs Book 2)

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The Trickster's Strings: A Superhero Adventure-Romance (Godsongs Book 2) Page 6

by Jax Garren


  The sound of clashing metal ahead made her heartbeat rise as a spike of fear rushed past her defenses. She was going to die here.

  No, no. She felt no fear. She felt nothing.

  A battle cry echoed through the walls, and she hurried faster, wondering what the hell was happening. She was supposed to meet a gatekeeper, not an army.

  Maybe this was a bad time to show up?

  Or maybe she could use the fight to slip inside.

  She crawled as fast as her stinging hands—roughed up from the scratch of ragged crystals—would take her.

  “Holy... fuck!” She didn’t recognize the voice.

  “Waaaaaaalllll!” someone screamed, and Giselle froze. That voice was familiar and yet more like a memory.

  “Mom?” she mouthed. How had Bryn gotten here? Unless she was going crazy and imagining things.

  Or... unless Coyote had somehow brought her mother to the netherworld, at which point she was going to fucking kill him.

  He was supposed to be protecting Bryn, not dragging her into a death match in Kur. She’d been imprisoned in a fucking hole for years! The whole reason Giselle had done this was to save her mom, not to drag her into a new, more literal hell.

  Ignoring the pain, she crawled faster as purple light shone up ahead. She exited the tunnel to find herself in an impossibly large cavern with the black walls of the palace in front of her.

  A battle raged before the gate. One side was composed of shadowy creatures in various animalistic and humanlike shapes, marshaled by a bearded man with an aura of power. The other was a team of conduits.

  One woman wore a moon mask and draping white fabric clasped at her shoulders. Green mist blew from her fingers and seemed to be choking one of the galla—but another demon approached her quickly from behind. Hekate would be Freyja’s guess—the witch goddess of Greece, and also the goddess who led souls to the afterlife. With her bright blue eyes and blonde hair, Giselle had a terrible feeling that was her mother.

  Her mother... She couldn’t think about that right now. She had to bring her A game.

  But she wasn’t the only female conduit in the fight. Another, in a lion mask with a thin linen dress cut in an Egyptian style, slashed with her claws, drawing sprays of black mist from the galla with each swipe. Her tawny skin seemed to carry its own brightness in the dim light of the underworld. Sekhmet—the goddess her roommate wanted.

  Her roommate, whom she’d told to get a message to Coyote to start looking up ways to retrieve her should she fail, not join her in the underworld.

  A man stayed at the edges of the fight, clearly unsure what the fuck he was doing there. His eyes were wide in fright, which looked strange on a man in a pristine mummy costume, complete with Egyptian headdress. Osiris maybe? Egyptian god of the underworld and of resurrection. And she had... no idea who was under that mask. Definitely not Coyote.

  She looked around again, hoping to find... there.

  In the center of the fight, a spotted jaguar leapt on demons, smashing its way through the crowd with teeth and claw. He sniffed the air, turned to her, and roared.

  Emotion bowled back into her, bringing tears to her eyes as her friends—Coyote, Rawan, her mother, and... okay, some dude who looked like he deeply regretted coming here—had somehow found a way here to help her. But while they were doing all right, they were going to eventually get their asses handed to them by a god with a hooked sword and an overwhelming number of galla.

  Coyote-jaguar dashed toward her, heedless of the fight around him.

  “Bow!” she yelled as she reached behind her, terrified for him and his headlong sprint. Sure enough, a bow and an arrow appeared from her holster. As the jaguar pounded toward her, she shot at anything that came close to him.

  Coyote jumped, nearly knocking her down as his big-cat paws landed on her shoulders, and he growled, canines dripping saliva as they got way too close to her face.

  “Coyote?” she asked, wondering if she should be shooting him too. But he was already transforming back, his face turning into worried relief. Strong arms wrapped around her, pulling her tight to his hard body, and she collapsed into him, relieved beyond measure that he was here.

  “What the fuck were you thinking?” His embrace was fierce, tight enough to feel secure, and nearly claustrophobic. “Gods, I was so worried.” He backed up, looking more angry than relieved now. “You idiot!”

  “You said—” A cry from the fight cut her off, and she spun back to everyone else. “There are near infinite galla. We can’t fight them.” But they were definitely fighting, not negotiating. This hadn’t been the plan. She tamped down the nerves that sprung up from a plan change.

  Although, frankly, she’d rather fight than negotiate. More her style.

  “Defeat Neti, then. We’ll keep them off you. How the hell you thought you’d do this alone...” Coyote practically growled at her, his tone saturated with enough anger to get her dander up.

  She shot him a nasty look and ran toward the gate and its keeper. “I was going to trade Brisingamen, not start a war with the afterlife!”

  Behind her, Coyote was already yelling at the sky. “Guitar, Huehue, I want a fucking guitar. Not a clay pipe. Not a five-hundred-year-old drum, a—that’ll do.”

  “Axes,” Giselle told her holster. She reached back with a silent prayer to her own absent patroness and, sure enough, pulled out two weapons. The light but lethal axes felt perfect in her hands, and determination rushed through her. Although Rawan was holding her own, Giselle was clearly the experienced fighter here. She tossed one ax at the nearest demon and struck it in the back. As the galla demon exploded into ichor with a screech, her weapon disappeared.

  She reached back and another blade appeared. Her holster was badass! Charging forth with renewed hope, she entered the melee, determined to make it to the gatekeeper and force him to unlock the doors to Kur.

  As she neared him, the rapid pluck of a classical guitar wended its way through the noise of battle, and she glanced over her shoulder. Coyote was playing a guitar? And he seemed to know what he was doing. Then he started singing, and she recognized Imagine Dragons’ “Demons.”

  And though he sounded tired, it was good.

  She’d think about that weirdness later. For now she turned back to her goal. The god before her brandished a sword that ended in a hook, the same kind she’d used when channeling Ishtar. His curly beard came down to his chest, and the same tiered hat of bones that Ishtar wore sat regally on his head. Metal banded his bare biceps. He wore no shirt, but a tiered skirt came down to his ankles. His whole body seemed a little bigger than it should be, like the human frame couldn’t quite contain the power of a god. It was intimidating.

  “Go home, little girl. You’re playing with real gods now. This place is not for you.”

  “Macha of the living is down below. I come only for her.” It was beyond Giselle why they hadn’t just sent her back up if Ereshkigal was so pissed over it. As Andromeda had said, the ways of gods didn’t always make sense.

  “You are alive and do not belong below.”

  “Could you send Macha up, then? I’m happy to wait.”

  “Once here, no one can leave.”

  “Catch-22.” She wrinkled her nose. “I gotta get in there and grab Macha. Do we fight or what? If I win, can I go in?”

  He smiled. “If you lose, you shall certainly enter.”

  “I’m battling a comedian. Great.” His words seemed mild, but she knew exactly what he meant. Losing meant death. Nervously, she stepped back into a fighter’s pose, axes out and ready to go. “All right then. Let’s do this.”

  Neti nodded cordially, then his sword flashed out so quickly Giselle barely had time to get her ax up. The blow hammered against her weapon, sending pain down her forearm and into her shoulder. She gasped at the fierceness of the hit, but her opponent had no malice in his expression. He was just that strong.

  Her ax slid off his weapon with a grind of metal, and she twisted to take a
shot at his knee, not dicking around with this one. Neti stepped away from her blow, her ax missing by a hairsbreadth, and countered, coming down at her shoulder with lightning speed.

  Giselle dove to the ground and rolled away, landing on her back. Neti rose above her, his weapon up to strike a killing blow to her chest. Fear froze her for a moment. A shield would be nice about now...

  Coyote’s voice rang clear and proud over the diminishing sounds of a fight. She didn’t know what he was doing—it didn’t feel like magic touching her. Just the sound of his voice as he sang about strength and darkness gave her hope.

  No shield. Do something else. Instead of defending herself, she flung an ax at Neti’s midsection. Surprised by the aggressive maneuver, Neti dodged instead of attacking.

  “Bow,” Giselle muttered and pulled a small bow and an arrow from her holster. From the ground, she shot three arrows in quick succession, landing two in his side.

  Neti roared in pain and turned to her, his calm demeanor gone in a face of rage. She might not win, but she was good enough to piss off a god. The thought empowered her.

  He charged.

  “Pike!” Through the magic of the holster, she somehow pulled a six-foot pole from her back and spun it to face her opponent. Neti’s eyes widened as he realized too late what she was doing. For a moment he wobbled, slowing as he tried to reverse course. Then he slammed forward into the sharp end. Impaled, his body slid toward her, getting closer. She shoved the pike forward, scrambling back as she did. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

  As the weapon left her hands, it disappeared, and Neti toppled to the ground. Giselle hopped to her feet, drew a long-handled ax, and stood behind Neti, the weapon at his neck.

  “We need to get in,” she said. “Please open the gate.”

  “Galla!” Neti called. “To me!”

  Giselle risked a glance up to see how many of the demons were following orders.

  To her surprise, none of them were. They’d all gathered around Coyote, who was strumming away with an aplomb that surprised her. He looked right with the guitar in his hands and his exhausted eyes still shining with determination.

  “You okay over there?” she asked. The galla weren’t attacking, but it was hard to tell what they were thinking with their Edvard Munch–esque faces.

  Coyote nodded without stopping—or looking at her. But his jaw tensed so badly she could see it from her spot twenty yards away. She’d never seen him so pissed, and it took her aback. What had she missed?

  Rawan-as-Sekhmet galloped over to her and pulled Neti up by his long hair. “You’re not getting any help,” she practically growled with a very un-Rawan-like viciousness. Despite her rough voice, though, her expression was pure glee. Giselle’s mouth twitched into a smile, remembering her roommate’s promise to “go Sekhmet” on evil men.

  “Bíum, bíum, bíum...” Across the floor, Hekate wended her way toward them, then transformed into a different goddess. Her blonde hair was laced with green, and her blue eyes almost looked teal behind her mask. “My girl,” she said.

  Giselle’s heart dropped low in her abdomen, and her tongue felt thick. “Mom?”

  A moment later the woman’s arms were around her, and Giselle had to bottle up the well of sobbing that wanted to come out.

  “I—I can’t. I...” She didn’t hug her back, motioning at the god at her feet, at the galla surrounding Coyote, at the wall behind them. She couldn’t feel this now. She’d collapse, and she needed to be strong—stronger than she’d ever been—for the challenge ahead.

  Her mother—Bryn, she’d think of her that way for now—kissed her temple, and as if a bit of magic came with it, Giselle felt herself settle just enough to shore up those emotional walls. “After we save the girl,” Bryn muttered, seeming far more lucid than Giselle had feared. Bryn dropped to her knees beside the god. “You’re injured. I can heal you. But in exchange, you will call off the galla and open the gates—all seven of them.”

  “Or,” Rawan-Sekhmet said, brandishing claws, “I can rip you into pieces.”

  “We’re discussing this in a minute,” Giselle told her roommate under her breath.

  Rawan shot her an angry smirk. “You bet we are. You’re in big-T trouble.”

  “Me?”

  Neti sighed, his breath trembling out of him. “If you’re done squabbling, I will open the gates. But you do not have Ereshkigal’s blessing to enter this kingdom. There are consequences for trespassing where the living do not belong.”

  “That’s not ominous,” Giselle muttered, glancing back at the squad of people who’d come to help and were now all in a shit ton of danger with her. Would the plan to hand over Brisingamen still work at this point? What were they going to find in the land of the dead?

  She set her jaw and turned back to Neti. There was no going back now. She’d sent Macha here. She had to at least try to get her back. “Just do it.”

  Chapter 10

  GISELLE TENTATIVELY pulled back her ax, enough that Neti could turn to face them. Bryn, who she somehow knew was channeling Idunn—Norse pantheon thing maybe?—reached into Freyja’s bag and for some reason pulled out a packet of applesauce. “Uhh...”

  Bryn handed the bag to her, and Giselle mechanically wound it back onto her belt. Before she could ask what the applesauce was for, the stranger channeling Osiris stepped forward, visibly shaking. Giselle decided to let Bryn do whatever she was doing and nodded at him. “Hand over the godstone, and I’ll tell you how to get out of here.”

  He looked at her and then at the subdued god and the becalmed galla surrounding Coyote like he was some sort of Pied Piper for demons.

  She didn’t blame them. She kinda wanted to join the crowd watching him.

  “I’m sorry, I...” He stopped, taking a deep breath, and seemed to settle himself some. “I’m sorry I was so ineffective. I’ve never been in a fight before. This is all very new.”

  Giselle gave him a tense smile. “That’s totally understandable. I’m not even sure why you’re here. You can go. I’m okay. I have my friends. Just turn back in the godstone.”

  Osiris took another shaky step toward them. “No, I mean, I’d like to stay. I can do better. I just froze.”

  She frowned at the gate behind them. “It’s not going to get easier than this, and this is your last and only opportunity to turn back.”

  The collection of galla dispersed as Coyote’s song wound down. With a clank and groan, the first of seven gates began to open. Osiris’s eyes widened as he watched the slow progress of the thick wood. “I want to see it,” he said in a hushed whisper.

  “Even if it’s the last thing you see?”

  Osiris blinked at her. Then he straightened up. “I’m not going back now. I’ll do better.”

  Giselle nodded, then turned back to the yawning maw of the first gate and the twenty-or-so-yard gap to the next one.

  “You have Mictecacihuatl if you want her,” he told her.

  “Huh?” she said, trying to parse that. “Mickey-see-what?”

  Coyote strode toward them, weary determination on his face as he passed with barely a glance at her. “Mictecacihuatl. Meek-teh-ca-see-waddle. Aztec lady of the dead. We all have chthonic gods in case they’re useful.”

  She hustled to catch up with him as he stood, arms crossed, in front of door two. She wanted to ask what was wrong, but the intense, fiery darkness in his eyes stalled the question before she got it out. Finally, just for something to say, she managed, “What’s a chthonic god?” He didn’t look at her.

  In fact, he rolled his eyes. “Underworld god. Seriously?”

  “Did you just roll your eyes at me?”

  Neti shot her a look with some amusement through his anger as he leaned against the open first gate. “You must leave something behind.”

  Giselle spun to him. “Huh?”

  Rawan-Sekhmet bit her lip—which looked odd and painful on a lion’s face. “When Ishtar descended to the underworld, she had to leave something at e
very gate, which led to her being naked and defenseless when she reached the interior. I just figured Ereshkigal was trying to get her at a disadvantage, but maybe there’s something to it, like a symbol for leaving worldly things behind.”

  Coyote yanked his hated headdress off and tossed it on the ground. “Everyone needs to leave something at each gate, or one offering for the group per gate?”

  “Everyone,” Neti said.

  “I don’t have seven items to lose,” Coyote grumbled.

  Freyja pulled a pack of gum out of her pouch of holding and dropped it on the ground, then grabbed a wad of useless crap from it to hand to Coyote.

  Neti shook his head, like that wouldn’t work. “They must be your own items.”

  Rawan-Sekhmet dropped a black cloth thing she’d had tied around her shoulders like a cape, then crossed her arms over her chest, which was vaguely visible through the gauzy linen dress. “I’m not sure I have seven things to lose, either.” She shifted, looking uncomfortable. “I’m glad to be Sekhmet, but I’m not used to being in public this, uh...”

  Coyote tipped his head, his look sharing exactly no sympathy. “Naked?” He motioned to his own torso.

  “You’re a guy!”

  “Doesn’t mean I like running around half-naked in public. I’m wearing a miniskirt. That’s my costume. A miniskirt and no fucking underwear.”

  Rawan’s lips twitched and she loosened her arms a bit.

  Everyone found something to divest, and as soon as they had five items on the ground, the second gate began to roll back without Neti touching it.

  “Do we get the items back?” Osiris-whoever asked as the first gate started to close behind them.

  “You may pick them up, should you return,” Neti answered in a bored voice before stepping back into the entry cave.

  The gate closed between him and their party with an ominous clang, and Rawan shot a nasty look backward. “Thanks for the vote of confidence.”

  Coyote still didn’t look at Giselle as they headed through the second gate, still clearly pissed, and not generally so. He was very specifically pissed at her. She’d never seen him angry like this—even when he’d been frustrated with her in the past, he’d been able to look at her.

 

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