by Jax Garren
“Hey,” Giselle said as cheerfully as she could, taking Coyote by the arm.
Ereshkigal sent her the kind of fake smile she remembered from popular kids in high school, the kind that said, “See how nice I am?” to everyone else while saying, “Get the fuck away from me,” to her. Then she turned the pomegranate to them. “Seeds? They’re particularly sweet here. The god of spring raised these trees himself.”
“No—” way in hell, Giselle started to say.
But Coyote physically pulled her away from Ereshkigal, putting himself between her and the fruit. “Looks great, but no thanks.”
“Are you sure?” Ereshkigal asked sweetly.
Coyote gave her a look that said, “Come on...” and then said aloud, “I’ve read a few myths. I know what happens if I eat here.”
After a brief scowl, Ereshkigal tossed the pomegranate into the dirt. “Can’t blame a woman for trying.” Immediately the fruit began to rot, turning brown and shriveled as maggots appeared like magic.
Grossed out, Giselle backed away from it even farther. Somehow Coyote managed to maintain a casual smile. “Can’t blame the living for wanting to go back.”
They reached double doors, one-and-a-half-story-tall wooden pieces of art with engraved bronze banding across them. Ereshkigal climbed the few steps up to them, arms spread wide as if in a ritual pose, while Coyote waited below with Giselle, still arm in arm.
“We need to find Macha,” he muttered.
“And you seemed to be having a grand old time.”
“Catch more flies with honey.”
“Are you really going to play for her?”
He shot her a look that seemed a wild combination of excitement and nerves. “It worked for Orpheus.”
But wasn’t he, like, one of the greatest musicians of all time? She bit her tongue, trying not to doubt her partner. Instead, she said, “I don’t remember that one having a happy ending.”
“Yeah, well, when you win, don’t be a dumbass is the moral lesson there. When we win, we won’t look back.”
Ereshkigal threw open the doors. Inside, a narrow hall was dimly lit from the triangular windows above. After about six feet, the hall intersected a wider room that stretched perpendicularly in either direction. Despite the lack of light, the bright whiteness of the interior reflected what little came through, making the place feel more like a pristine dawn than a creepy twilight.
Unable to completely shut up, Giselle said, “Orpheus is a pretty high standard. Feeling, uh...” Supportive, Gi. “...ready to kick ass?” What was going on inside his head?
He swallowed, his eyes alight with nervous energy. “Opportunity of a lifetime to try.” He pulled her arm tighter in and leaned down until his lips were at her ear. “Regardless of how well or poorly I do, I’ll at least make sure she’s distracted.”
Giselle startled at the implication. “And I can slip out and find Macha.” She frowned. “But you implied I’m in the act.”
He shook his head. “She knows I was lying. I suggest we stick to our strengths. I’ll entertain, you be a hero.”
She touched his jaw, and he looked down at her, a mixed bag of emotions passing through his eyes. “So what you’re saying is, I should sneak around and hit things while you impress a goddess.”
That seemed to amuse him, and he winked at her as he leaned in close again. “There’s only one goddess I care about impressing.”
Her cheeks heated as he leaned back, and the open space seemed to get stuffy.
Ereshkigal reached a hand down, and Coyote dropped Giselle’s arm to join the real goddess. Giselle shoved down the ridiculous jealousy that roared through her as Rawan-Persephone, whoever-Osiris, and Bryn-Hekate joined her. Together, they ascended into the temple of Ereshkigal, Giselle feeling a little too much like Dorothy on the way to see the wizard. As if he read her mind, Osiris shook his head and said, “Galla and gidim and gods.”
Rawan and Giselle joined in with, “Oh my,” and linked elbows.
Chapter 14
RAFAEL LET THE GODDESS take his elbow as they strolled toward the corner. She’d proven herself nice, as long as he was telling her what she wanted to hear. Which, he supposed, was better than never nice. Still not comfortable. But he was used to that sort of privileged behavior and could play the game.
Had he ever been this arrogant? Hopefully not. Would he have ever become this arrogant? Unease wormed through him as he thought over his behavior in the last year and the growing pile of apologies he’d had to make for himself and the band after nights of excess.
Yeah, he totally had this sort of jackass in him. Freyja was pretty good at keeping it in check with her criticism. He didn’t like it, but it was good for him.
They made it to where the hallway opened up, and suddenly they were in the middle of the central corridor and the main altar came into sight on the left. After growing up half-atheist and half-Catholic—depending on if you asked his parents or grandparents—the simplicity of Ereshkigal’s temple surprised him. The central rectangle was nearly empty, with white walls that rose in elegantly immaculate lines. A series of screens let light in from the back, creating elaborate shadow patterns on the floor. A giant lit brazier burned in a circular firepit with a wide ledge. Five grand doors, like the initial one they’d come through, led off at equal intervals from the right and left, with the middle one they’d entered through acting as a sixth opening, giving a clean regularity to the design.
Ereshkigal headed straight for the fire, her tawny skin lighting up bronze as the flames reflected off it. She was beautiful, in a dangerous sort of way. The smile she turned on them was that of a predator enjoying this nice new mouse it’d found. Hopefully he could keep her attention while Freyja went off to find their own quarry.
He was in the freaking underworld playing for a goddess. How mythic was that? The ultimate proof that he was a serious artist, at one with his craft. His heart beat heavy at the thought. Too bad he was doing this at twenty-one and not after he’d had a few more years’ experience under his belt.
At least he was still pretty. If you can’t wow ’em, flash ’em.
Which he was practically doing anyway in the damn scarf covering his ass. “So, what kind of music do you like?” he asked again.
Ereshkigal tipped her head to the side. “Temple music is almost all I hear. Play me something new.” She sat by the fire and propped one long leg up along the ledge.
“You’re several thousand years old. I think the only things I know would be new to you.” He spun the drum around to his front.
“Come now, my worship didn’t die out so completely. I’ve heard the lute.”
He held back a laugh—barely—and merely raised his brow. “Lute? Things have changed a little since then, goddess. You like the lute? You want pretty la-la-la music? Or you want something with a little grit behind it.”
She chuckled. “Grit? In music? You’re not going to flatter my feminine delicacy with something dulcet?”
He grinned. “In my experience, delicate romancing is not really what women want.”
Her predatory grin grew past Cheshire cat and into jungle beast. “Then play me music with grit, boy-channeling-a-god. You have made me curious.”
“Guitar, Huehue,” he ordered, before whispering, “No fucking with me right now if you don’t want to move in here permanently.”
To his infinite relief, a beautiful acoustic guitar appeared in his hands. He plucked the strings and found it already perfectly tuned. He started to noodle around, playing enough, hopefully, to catch her interest, but not enough to be satisfying. “Artists get paid for their labor. I want safe passage out of Kur for my friends and me, as well as Macha, immediately after I’ve played.”
“Huh.” She placed a finger on her lips, like she was thinking. Then she pronounced, “A song for each friend. If I like it, you may choose one of your companions for safe passage. For every song that doesn’t amuse me, someone will remain behind.”
He suc
ked in a nervous breath. No pressure. “I don’t even know what you like.”
She narrowed her eyes. “One song for each of your compatriots.” She looked into the fire, and her voice turned causal in that forced way that was anything but. “Then you will play a final song for me, and if you please me enough, I may be lenient. But you must play a song that is truly for me.”
He frowned. “You want me to write you a song, like, on the spot?”
“Yes. A song for me.”
He straightened up at the request that came in a tone so full of longing he had to sympathize with her. She must be so lonely. Think fast, Rafe... “I can’t write a song off the top of my head that’s good enough for you.” He could compose bawdy ditties while drunk around the campfire all night, but that was probably not what she wanted. “I’m happy to compose one in your honor after I’ve returned home. Is there a way you can hear me? Then I could create something worthy of you.”
She laughed as though she saw right through his flattering words. “Worthy... Alright then. A song written in my honor. You have until the next new moon to please me, or I will send my galla for your friends.” She flapped a hand at his teammates.
Next new moon? Jada had made a joke about their concert opening on the dark of the moon, which meant she was giving him not quite two weeks. No pressure. Rafael nodded. He could write a kickass song in that time—it was one good thing the last two years had proven to him; he didn’t have to agonize over every note like that was somehow noble. For the next album, he was going to strive for more middle ground between phoning it in and considering his every press of a key overly precious. Writing a song for a goddess... it was an interesting challenge. “A song for each person here, including myself”—Was it his imagination or did her lips briefly quirk into a frown that he’d included himself? Uh-oh—“and one for Macha. And I’ll compose something new for you by the new moon.”
Ereshkigal shook her head. “Macha is not free to go.”
“But you sent galla after Freyja in protest of her presence.”
Ereshkigal shrugged a single shoulder. “If you win a ticket home for your lady fair, I’ll send nothing more after her. But Macha keeps Nergal out of my hair, so she’s become useful.” She looked so damn put out when referring to her husband that he almost grinned—until he thought about what she’d said.
As much as he despised Macha for the racist, evil, murdering bitch she was, he didn’t want to think about how she might be keeping Nergal busy. She should be in prison, not... wherever she was, doing whatever she was doing there. His gaze caught Freyja’s, and she nodded slightly. She’d slip out and, hopefully, find her. Somehow they’d get out with her—which was not going to be easy. He turned his full attention back to Ereshkigal. “Please state the full bargain.” There would be no mincing of words if he could prevent it.
Ereshkigal shot him an irritated look, hand on her cocked hip like he was being hella annoying—and maybe he was. But he just smiled at her like a dumb pretty boy, and finally she rolled her eyes and said, “Five songs. One for you and each of your friends. And you’ll present a song in my honor by the new moon or I’ll send my galla to fetch you all.” She narrowed her eyes. “Or maybe I’ll just fetch you and the blue-eyed girl you keep eyeing. Heaven knows how long Macha can keep Nergal occupied before he’s bored again.”
Freyja nearly turned a sickly green, and Rafael gritted his teeth as any sympathy he’d felt for the goddess ejected out the tiny temple windows. No way was that happening. And they definitely had to get Macha out of here.
Time to put on a show. He gave her his most charming smile, now an utter fake, and strummed the guitar gently as he said, “Modern music doesn’t sound like it’s played on a lute anymore. Ready for something different?”
“Impress me,” she said, already sounding bored.
“Electric, Huehue.” To his pleasant surprise the guitar in his hand transformed to a shining instrument worthy of Hendrix. He jammed the strings once, making it roar through... magic? There were no speakers or amp. Whatever, it worked.
His heart pounded as he psyched himself up for an unbelievable opportunity. In the afterlife. In front of a goddess. His pasted-on grin turned real. After faking a cough, he launched into the opening riff of Zeppelin’s “Whole Lotta Love.”
Ereshkigal’s gaze jerked up, like the sound startled her. He’d expected that. He just pictured the crowd at Madison Square, imagined the sound of happy screams and his band behind him, and rocked it for all he was worth. He sang, his voice lacking some of Plant’s growl—although having run up the stairs carrying Bryn helped with that.
Ereshkigal didn’t know the difference and didn’t seem to care. After her initial surprise, a slow smile crept across her face as she looked at him in a new way, like he’d suddenly become interesting for something other than his barely clad ass. He grinned back, relaxing into the moment. He was playing for the favor of a goddess in the underworld. This was the most profound performance of his life.
FREYJA WAS SHOCKED at the growl of the guitar and stared at Coyote as if she’d never seen him before. So... Huehuecoyotl had chosen a musician—or, at least, somebody who could wail on an electric guitar. She didn’t recognize the song, but it was exactly the kind of arrogant, overtly sexy thing she imagined Coyote would sing. He looked shockingly comfortable playing for Ereshkigal, like he wasn’t playing for their lives. He stood relaxed, his fingers moving in a way that looked both agile and yet somehow lazy as he caressed the strings.
She looked at Rawan and Osiris, and they seemed as clueless as she was about whatever he was playing, though Rawan wore a shocked grin, like she was once again impressed.
Giselle’s mother, however, was rocking along with it, mouthing the words with one hand in the air like she was clubbing. Giselle backed up to where Bryn stood and shot her a look like what are you doing?
Bryn’s eyes widened in surprise or disappointment or something. “Led Zeppelin?”
“Oh, don’t they sing that song in Thor?”
Bryn literally, physically face-palmed.
Coyote broke into a guitar solo, dragging Giselle’s attention to him again as the guitar sang like the lovechild of a siren’s wail and a jaguar’s growl, giving her stomach a serious case of the feels. Maybe things south of her stomach. Elvis’s pelvis had nothing on Coyote’s barely clad ass or muscular shoulders.
An insane desire accosted her to reach out and slide her hands down his abs to feel the motion of his hips as they moved to the music he played, and it scared the crap out of her. There was no such thing as a little with a guy like that; they always expected more.
Would Rafael look this decadent—No, not decadent. Sleazy? Yes, sleazy—if he dropped the hopeful, irrepressible party-boy image for something raunchy? She thought of his tired smile this morning and the impish gleam in his eyes as he’d promised to buy her a replacement shirt.
No way. Even singing about sex on the back porch at a party he hadn’t had the cocky, overt sensuality Coyote displayed on the regular. Rafael was too nice. Hell, he wasn’t even interested in her. It made him safe.
She took a deep breath, trying to get her apprehensions under control. She was safe with Coyote too—he’d proven that. She just had to keep her hands off him, something totally in her control, and he wouldn’t push.
As Coyote began to sing again, she wrapped her arms around her midsection, as if that could keep her feelings orderly, and turned back to her mother. “So this song is famous?”
The next lyric was hella freaking dirty, making her face flame, and Bryn mouthed right along with it.
“Mom!”
Bryn blinked at her, her attention completely diverted from Coyote. Then she broke into a smile that made the room fill with sunshine. “Yes, my girl?”
Her pure, joyous wonder drove the chaos out, and Giselle realized it was the first time she’d called her Mom since the pit.
Her mother. Giselle wasn’t going to berate her for singing along
to Coyote’s raunchy song. The woman had been through too much.
She shut down that emotion, too, before it welled up and threatened her. Ereshkigal did seem enthralled with Coyote’s antics, which was exactly what they needed. She leaned in and whispered to her mother, “I’m going to find Macha.”
Bryn frowned, then nodded. “Pass me your doppel... dopp... twin.” She looked so frustrated that she couldn’t come up with the word.
Doppel... “Doppelganger?” she asked, unsure what her mother was talking about.
Bryn let out a breath and gave her a partial smile, like she was happy to hear the word and mad she hadn’t thought of it herself.
But knowing the word didn’t help. “I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Doppel... make your... spell.” Her face screwed up again, like it was killing her to not get full sentences out.
But suddenly it hit home to Giselle exactly what an amazing resource Bryn—who’d been Freyja before her—was going to be. “I have a spell to make a doppelganger?”
Bryn nodded.
“I don’t know that one.”
That got a frown. Bryn grabbed her arm and very carefully drew three runes on it with her finger.
“Whoa.” This was so much better than working with Andromeda’s caustic expectations. “I’ve mostly studied fighting.”
Bryn shot her a silly grin, then shook her head before planting a hand on Giselle’s chest. “Völva.”
A Norse shaman. While Giselle had a history of channeling Freyja and then throwing rocks at her opponents, her mother had used magic. She must’ve been amazing, and Giselle had a million questions.
Across the room, though, Ereshkigal walked toward Coyote with a smile that was a little too curious. Giselle bristled. The woman needed to stay away from her partner.
Bryn put a hand on her arm, and as she scooted them a bit more carefully behind Osiris and Rawan, she enunciated slowly, “He is a good”—she hesitated as if thinking about her words—“distraction. Go now.”
Giselle took a deep breath, trying to calm down. Macha was the whole reason they were in this mess. Time to go rescue that waste of air. Swallowing the worry that Coyote and his arrogantly-too-beautiful-for-his-own-good self was going to get more than he could handle from Ereshkigal, Giselle traced the runes her mother had shown her onto her own chest, imagining a copy of herself standing right in front of her.