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

by Jax Garren

  This was not helping his headache. How much of what she was saying was accurate and how much a twisted truth, like her version of his and Freyja’s story? He didn’t interrupt, just let her keep going—keep telling him things he needed to know.

  “With my money and Rage Riot’s connections, I can get into pretty much anywhere—most conduits have money, and she needs someone who fits in. I actually told her...” She stopped talking and blushed.

  “Told her what?” His mind was spinning—he needed to talk to Freyja. He needed to make his sister understand that she’d been given a bogus story. How did he do that without admitting who he was? Should he tell her? But if he did, would Lyss let it slip next time she got high with her good buddy Ande?

  “I suggested that when we get Huehuecoyotl back, she should give it to you.”

  Oh, the irony...

  “He’s a god of music. Who better to give a god of music to than you?” She ran a hand through his hair in a way that was hard to see as sisterly. “We could work together, you know? I’ll do the fighting, and you’ll play music. It’d be so much fun with you.” Exactly what he did with Freyja. “And we’d make a great team, convincing people not to line up with Ishtar. Everyone loves you. We could do a lot of good.”

  He shot her a pained look. “The other goddesses of the Morrigan—isn’t Macha one of them? You’re with her?” Hopefully that didn’t sound too knowledgeable.

  “Yeah.” Then she giggled. “We won’t see much crazy from her for a while because she’s been magically transformed into a frog and they can’t figure out how to undo it. Which is pretty funny if you ask me. Except we can’t get the godstone back. Freyja did that too. To be honest, I like her style, but she’s causing problems. Ande just wants her to ditch her boyfriend and come back—she was Freyja’s mentor before the girl went off the rails—but I say anyone who does all this shit for a dude can’t be trusted, you know?” Her expression got serious again. “These demons coming after you, is that her fault too?”

  “No! It’s...” How much could he say? “Freyja’s really well known on the south side. She saved Mercedes’s daughter. Don’t you think it’s possible the way this Andromeda person has portrayed her isn’t entirely accurate?”

  Lyssa shrugged uncomfortably. “I met her briefly. She seemed... low class? I don’t mean to sound snotty or anything, but she did steal a godstone and give it to her boyfriend.”

  “I’m not”—her boyfriend... shit—“sure what to do with this information right now. Right before our opening night.” Other than throttle his sister.

  “Oh! The demon thing.” She pulled the godstone out. “I started this whole thing to tell you that I can take care of it—no problem! It was in the rafters?”

  “I’m not sending my sister after a demon.” Although... that was quite possibly the most viable solution at the moment. It seemed weird to send his sister out into danger, but he’d beaten demons without a black belt in Judo or Krav Maga. She had both.

  Lyssa rolled her eyes. “Seriously, I can handle it. This thing’s badass. Watch.” With an enticing lift of her eyebrows, she pricked her finger on a lancet and swiped the godstone over the welling blood. Godpower rushed through the room, something he’d grown more attuned to, even without Huehue activated. A moment later, his sister stood in full regalia, her short black and scarlet hair now down to her waist and a black and red mask hiding her features. A forest-green dress with a shredded skirt made her green eyes stand out, and a black, multi-buckled, leather waist-cinch, which he was quite sure had no historical accuracy whatsoever, advertised her figure in a very Lyssa way. His sister spun in a slow circle. “I’m normally hot, I know, but I’m breathtaking now, eh?” Her black-stained lips curled up in expectation.

  He shook his head, fearing his brain had exploded from this bombshell. “You are always beautiful, Lyss. You know that.”

  She just rolled her eyes. “Okay, so—demon. They’ve come after you before? How did you take care of it?”

  At least this truth wasn’t incriminating. “I shot it.”

  “Alrighty, then. I don’t have a gun, but I can take care of it in my own way. Get ready for the show. I’ll only be a few minutes. Try to chill out, okay?” Her expression turned serious again as she gripped his shoulder. “I’m glad you told me what happened. I’m going to keep you safe. And if the song doesn’t work, you let me know, and I’ll find this conduit who threatened you and kick her ass. Nobody messes with my Rafael.” Before he could answer, she opened the door, turned into a crow, and flew away.

  He sank back into the chair, head in his hands as he tried to process all the tangled things she’d just said, and a weird thought crossed his mind. It was like she instinctively knew who to be jealous of, which was going to make changing her mind about Freyja hard.

  “Well, that was interesting,” a voice said from behind a changing screen.

  He rubbed his forehead. “Bryn? Glad you made it.”

  Freyja’s mother came out wearing the mask of Hekate and carrying a small bag with a large candle poking out the top. “When you said you had a show, I wasn’t expecting...” She motioned around her. “I guess I shouldn’t worry so much about my daughter’s financial prospects with a musician.”

  He snorted. “No, I don’t need a partner to support me.” He gave her a small smile. “But I’m glad you think well enough of my chances to have worried about that.” He took the bag from her and looked through the ritual supplies inside. He had so many questions for her about what Lyssa had said, but he didn’t want to send her mentally spiraling before Ereshkigal’s song. One problem at a time... “You really think this’ll work?”

  Bryn raised a hand as if to slow him down. “Depends on what you mean by ‘work.’ I can do what you need, I just hope you write songs as well as you pack arenas because at a venue like this, a lot more is riding on her favor than a few galla catching you unawares.”

  He gave her a nod of confidence. “I crushed it. Everyone was pissed when I threw a new song into the set this late in the game, and then they heard it. ‘Highlight of the show,’ my manager now calls it.”

  Bryn nodded. “Then let’s summon Ereshkigal. I hope you saved her a good seat.”

  Chapter 39

  “I FEEL LIKE I’M PROPOSING,” Rafael said, lighting one more candle in a private box that was starting to look like a candle shop. If someone opened the door, the fire marshal was going to get called.

  Bryn’s lips quirked into what he guessed was amused disapproval as she motioned toward the taco bar the caterer had set up, along with a giant pot of queso and a margarita machine. “You will do better than this generic setup, I hope.”

  Despite his nerves, he had to give her a smile that might’ve been a wee bit cocky. “I’ll do better than this—I guarantee it.” If he ever got in the position to propose to anyone. Anyone like Freyja. Gods, that kiss had been everything.

  Not that he was in marriage proposal territory yet. Although one day...

  Wild thoughts, by Rafael. He straightened his jacket sleeves nervously. After discussing logistics with Bryn, they’d decided he would get ready for the show and then they’d perform the ceremony as the opener finished playing—giving Ereshkigal the minimum amount of time to do something crazy before he got onstage and, hopefully, kept her attention.

  “Take it off,” Bryn ordered.

  “Excuse me?” For a brief, embarrassing moment, he remembered her stripping in the shower. It’d be a lot nicer to have a memory of Freyja stripping in the shower.

  “Your jacket. I need to put a protective bind rune on you, and I’m assuming you don’t want it on your face.”

  “Oh!” He gave a relieved chuckle and slid off the slick red material, then rolled up his shirtsleeve. “Yeah, I’m pretty sure Kelly would kill me if I ruined her makeup by scrawling ‘no touchie’ across my forehead.” On his forearm, anyone who saw it would just assume he’d gotten another tattoo.

  He raised a brow as the Greek goddess
drew Norse runes, one on top of the other like Freyja had.

  “Not using Greek?”

  She frowned. “I don’t know Greek. But magic is magic. It’d probably be better in Hekate’s language, but this will work.”

  She pulled out a lancet and made to prick herself. “I got it,” he said, holding his hand out. She still looked so frail. “What runes are they?”

  After a moment’s hesitation, she placed it in his hand. “Algiz, Laguz, Berkano. Protection, life, creative energy.”

  “Protect the life of this artist?” Freyja used runes to represent the idea of what she wanted.

  Bryn nodded congenially. “Something like that.”

  Just like he’d done for the bind rune Freyja had made him, he traced the runes in the order she’d drawn them, imagining himself safe from Ereshkigal as he muttered the names. This time he felt less awkward than the last—possibly because he sure as rain hadn’t gotten a ticket yet, even though he’d flown by a cop once just to see what would happen.

  This time he could more readily feel the energy in the air. He thought part of that was his own growing ability to be in touch with... magic or whatever you wanted to call it. But also, Freyja’s mother was a fucking badass. When the air seemed charged with so much energy he felt it in his core, ready to explode, Bryn said something in a language he didn’t recognize, and he gasped as the magic flowed through him, burning his arm with an intense pleasure-pain that left his head giddy and the rest of him embarrassingly aroused. He took a shaky step back, breath quick and face hot, praying his partner’s freaking mother didn’t notice.

  Could his Freyja do shit like that? Because that started a whole new level of fantasy. Fantasies that he really needed to not contemplate right now in front of her mother. Change the subject, change the subject... “You must, ah, miss being Freyja, huh?”

  She looked completely unfazed by the power that had just rushed through them as she turned back to the series of icons she’d set out on the coffee table. “Not particularly.”

  “Really?” he asked, surprise distracting him from his fluster.

  “Yes. If my daughter wants to throw the damn stone in the ocean, I’ll help her.” She dropped her head, suddenly looking sad and defeated. “Or, I would. Except I don’t think that’s a good idea right now. Not with everything that’s happened.”

  “Sofia... I guess what she did would turn anyone off of it. I’m sorry.” Though he couldn’t imagine anything—not even a terrible tragedy like that—making him want to give up Huehue.

  Appearing finally satisfied with the arrangement of her makeshift altar—he could see where Freyja got her meticulousness from—she sat on the floor. “No, Sofia made it fun. It was part of what I loved about her.” He nodded, unsure what to say to that. She looked down at the floor between her knees, looking so young yet so frail for someone who was probably in her forties. She’d missed twelve years of her life. What had they done to her in that time? He probably didn’t want to know.

  “My family has had the Freyja stone since it was created. When Brynjar and I were born, we were supposed to be a sign of blessing—twins born of a sacred line. I was never given the option not to be Freyja.” She looked around the room and shook her head. “I had hoped to give my daughter the choice I wasn’t given. But now...”

  Whoa. He had so many questions. But instead of asking any of them, he assured her, “She loves it,” thinking maybe Bryn needed to hear that. “We have a blast together. I think...” Should he say this? But at the slight widening of Bryn’s eyes, looking an awful lot like hope, he went ahead. “I think it gives her a purpose she really craves.”

  The corner of her mouth turned up, just a bit. “And you make the mission fun. Not to terrify you, but the two of you remind me of Sofia and me.” She shot him a pointed look.

  “And I’m the one who goes homicidal?”

  “I’d prefer if you didn’t.” She pushed herself up to standing and walked toward the edge of the box. “When do you need to be backstage?”

  He checked his phone, hoping for a text from Lyssa. Last he’d heard, she hadn’t found anything, had returned to sit for makeup, and then gone back out. Still nothing. He frowned. It was their usual operation to get onstage as quickly as was reasonably possible after the opening band; he didn’t like to keep the audience waiting too long. But maybe they’d have to. Outside, the opener was about two songs from done. He sighed. “It’s flexible, but sooner is better than later.” Although he’d probably get back there and annoy everyone, as he couldn’t seem to fucking relax. He just wanted to get onstage. Everything would feel better when he was playing.

  Maybe instead of cocaine, he should get a prescription for Xanax.

  The idea of the dullness, though, just seemed... dull. Getting laid would do wonders for his mental state—gods, how long had it been now? Too damn long. But he was finally making progress with Freyja. He could wait. It would be worth it.

  He needed a distraction, like... something Bryn had said. “Who’s Brynjar?”

  She blinked at him. “My twin brother. He has Freyr.”

  “Oh. Oh! Bryn and Brynjar? Did your parents hate you?”

  She chuckled. “My name is Bryndis, but they cut it off for witness protection. Bryndis Bjarkardóttir.” The chuckle turned into a small smile. “I immigrated from Iceland, in case that isn’t obvious.”

  “Freyja has an uncle?” That was great! She’d be so excited to have more family.

  “Uncle?” Bryn looked genuinely confused, making him doubt himself.

  “She’s your daughter, he’s your brother, so they’re niece and uncle. Right?”

  Bryn’s face darkened. “That would sound right.”

  What sort of answer was that? Maybe this was not great. If Freyja had an uncle—and grandparents who weren’t complete assholes, like Sofia’s parents were—why hadn’t she gone to them? He suddenly had a whole new array of not-his-business questions to ask, but Bryn’s face didn’t look like she’d welcome further inquiry. As if to cut off any chance of him blundering ahead, she lit the main candle on the altar and began chanting.

  Okay, topic closed. He hustled over to the outskirts of the oval she’d inscribed with salt, next to the door, where he could make a quick escape should Ereshkigal get handsy. Within moments the room was swirling in cloudy darkness that made his mouth dry in irrational fear. Ereshkigal’s green eyes appeared, shining with an eerie purple light.

  “Huh,” Bryn said, almost like she was surprised, despite having assured him she could do this. “I hope you practiced your speech.”

  He licked his suddenly dry lips and tasted lipstick. Gross. “Start now?”

  “Not sure if she can hear you yet. No crossing the line without her promise. Don’t forget.”

  He nodded and checked to make sure his toes were outside the line of salt, where, according to the woman who possibly hadn’t known if this would work, he was safe. Suddenly, in all his clothes he felt naked. Shifting into Coyote—no, Dark Coyote—would feel really good about now. Dark Coyote might be a one-by-four cloth away from nude, but he made Rafael feel staggeringly powerful.

  “Who calls me forth?” Ereshkigal hissed as her body solidified. “What plane am I on? Why do I...” She hissed as if she was in pain. “Mortal!”

  “I have requested you forth with a song in your honor. Do you recognize me, my lady?”

  Ereshkigal gasped a breath, looking pissed as all hell as her jaw worked.

  “Breathe steadily, my lady,” Bryn said softly. “I’ve created a death space for you, but you will have to abide by some of our rules while you’re here.”

  Ereshkigal, looking shocked beyond measure, studied Bryn-as-Hekate as the two inhaled and exhaled in unison. When she seemed steady again, her attention snapped to Rafael, where he waited in the corner, trying not to look like he wanted to be anywhere but here. She studied him in confusion for a moment, then smiled, her fingers curling together to show off her ridiculously sharp-looking nails. �
�My court musician. I would say I’m disappointed to see you wrapped in so much odd fabric, but you clean up well. I look forward to taking these odd garments off you.”

  Well, you did just say you wanted to get laid... idiot. “I offer libations”—he pointed to the margarita machine—“and sustenance.” Tacos. Because.... welcome to Texas, and that was what the arena catering had. “I am a musician of renown on this plane and invoked you for a concert in your honor. I have written a song for you that will debut tonight. It has been declared the highlight of the show.” Or so said Trevor, who complimented everything a little too much. Still, he knew he’d done well. “And soon people all over the world will be singing my song to you.” She cocked her head to the side as if she was actually listening. “In return for this, I request that you release your claim on me, send your galla no more to harm me and mine, and we will part with goodwill.” Just keep your hands off my ass.

  He held his breath, waiting for her response. Her eyes narrowed. “People the world over? Your mouth brags what your deeds cannot do.”

  He waved toward the arena. “Go see for yourself. I’ve gathered a crowd of nineteen thousand spectators from all over the planet who will hear of you and leave singing your song. And I will sing it again here tomorrow to another crowd of the same size, then travel to another city, and another, until the world has heard your song, my Queen of the Vast Night.” As he’d worked on the lyrics, he’d researched Ereshkigal’s mythology and he loved that particular epithet she’d been given in her own time.