by Jax Garren
“I think he’s coming up here. Don’t you need to, oh, get backstage, seeing as you’re about to go on?”
Lyssa snorted and leaned back against the railing, arms crossed. “Nah, I gotta see this.”
Chapter 41
A MOMENT LATER A BAT zipped past and transformed on the light grid. Coyote’s green headdress jammed into the lights above him, and he cursed as he crouched down to yank it off. “What are you doing here? Stupid fucking—” He stomped on the feathered mess.
“Is the stupid fucking thing me or your hat?” Giselle asked, voice as icy as her freezing blast.
He shot her a glare as he straightened back up. “The hat. You know that. I thought you hated Rage Riot.”
“What? Why is that important right now? My friend had tickets, and this show’s a big fucking deal. What have you done?” She flung her hand toward Ereshkigal.
“Uh...”
Lyssa leaned up from where she was hidden behind Giselle and waved her black-manicured fingers at him. “Hi, Coyote, person who owes a song to a goddess...”
His shoulders sagged. “Oh, fuck me.”
Ignoring that, Giselle lit into him with all the fury she felt. “You were so self-righteous.” She mimicked his snotty-ass tone as she continued with his own words, “We’re partners! Partners work together and tell each other everything! They don’t go into danger and leave the other one behind!” She smacked him on the shoulder. “You freaking hypocrite! And you’re putting Rafael Marquez in danger—doesn’t matter if I like his music or not, he’s a person!”
Lyssa snickered.
Coyote narrowed his eyes at the guitarist. “Do you maybe have somewhere to be?”
“Do you?” she asked, eyes wide. Then she laughed again and sauntered past him, patting his chest proprietarily as she brushed by. “See you around, trickster. Text if you need me.” She morphed into a raven and flew away.
Giselle clenched her fists, wondering if he would indeed text Nemain—fricking Nemain, not her, his supposed partner—if he needed something. Because he’d let a freaking Morrigan know his plan and left her out.
Coyote didn’t watch her go, instead holding steady eye contact with Giselle and sporting the expression of someone who was pissed he got busted, but maybe not pissed he’d done it. Dammit, he’d seemed too good to be true—because he was.
Then his shoulders slumped like he was suddenly quite exhausted, and his voice didn’t come out the angry growl she expected. “I understand why you’re angry. I didn’t know how to tell you what I was doing without telling you...” He exhaled heavily and jammed a hand into his hair, squeezing it like he’d pull some out. “It’s been a hell of a crazy week. What did she—Nemain—say?”
She pursed her lips, wondering if he was going to lie to her now. “That you’re friends with Rafael from high school and got him to write a song for you.” She rolled her eyes. “Or you ‘worked together’ on one.” Hopefully the air quotes she made got her point across. But then her sarcasm crumbled into genuine hurt. “What part of that couldn’t you tell me? None. There is nothing in there you couldn’t have told me—unless you were going to lie to me about who wrote the song, or just... you just didn’t want me here. I don’t understand. You said all these things about us, and I believed you. I freaking believed all of it, and I don’t know why I do that every time, but here I go again, an idiot for one more person who says we mean something.”
He looked at the ground a moment, face crunched like he was making a painful decision. Then he took her hands.
“Don’t. Please, don’t make it worse.” She pulled back, but he didn’t let her go.
“Please stay. I need to tell you something.”
She grunted, but didn’t try to get away, clinging to the ridiculous hope that he had some explanation for his actions that would make them okay. Stupid, stupid girl—just like Ande had said.
He cleared his throat and squeezed her hands and waited for her to look him in the eyes. His gaze lasered into hers with the magnetism of true north—her own personal true north—and she couldn’t turn away. She wanted him too much.
Don’t believe him. Don’t set yourself up like this.
“Freyja—whoever you are under that mask,” he started, voice low and cracking with emotion as he shuffled closer to her, close enough she could feel the heat from his body even through the layers of her clothing. “I’m not friends with Rafael Marquez. I—”
A burst of magic exploded through the auditorium with breathtaking force, cutting him off, and Giselle’s head whipped toward the source.
Ereshkigal’s box. And there was someone else in it. Someone with black hair.
Coyote squeezed her hand even tighter, this time in dread. “How did she do that?”
Giselle felt the blood drain from her face. “I dunno. She’s a real goddess. Who knows what they can do. You brought her here.”
“Technically, as I’m in trouble for leaving shit out, I should probably tell you for absolute honesty’s sake that...”
Yet more rage stiffened her back. “I swear to the gods if you tell me you got my mother to do it, not just to tell you how, I will behead you right here on the catwalk.”
“Please bring me back to life afterward.”
With a yell, Giselle took the sweet hold he had on her hand and twisted his arm until he spun and she could lock it against his back. “Well, maybe,” Giselle spit out, “you should call my mother, your good buddy and co-conspirator—the one you share your plans with—and tell her that her ex-wife has been teleported into Ereshkigal’s box and it looks like they’re going to fight.” She shoved Coyote forward before she got mad enough to throw him over the railing.
And he became a bird and was just fine—the fucker.
In the box, Ereshkigal had her hand up like she would hit Sofia with those creepy long nails. After a moment of confusion, Sofia, who was standing before her with a muffin tin in her gloved hands and an apron over her jeans like Martha Stewart on casual Fridays, tilted her head at the goddess and—no shit—smiled.
She slammed the pan forward into Ereshkigal’s head, mashing muffins all over her face, and the goddess backed up. Another wash of magic, and Sofia transformed into Ishtar, wings unfurled and star raised like a weapon.
Coyote whipped his phone up and ordered, “Text Bryn: ‘Ishtar is in the goddess’s box.’ Send.” Without waiting for a confirmation, he grabbed the back of Giselle’s chain mail, and the world grew large as she was transformed into a... what?... a bat. Coyote dove toward the box at an incredible speed, and she dumped herself over the railing, somehow managing to soar after him.
He hadn’t completely landed when he transformed back, calling, “What are you doing?”
Ereshkigal didn’t take her eyes off the woman channeling her sister. “Taking her back where she belongs.”
Sofia shook her head. “I’ve been resurrected, bitch. I don’t belong there anymore than you belong here.”
Coyote re-formed Giselle more carefully, and she drew her ax, unsure what to do with it. A few people in the next box seemed to have noticed the disturbance and were trying to peek around the divide. How much more attention were they going to grab in the relative silence between sets?
The question remained—did she actually stop Ereshkigal from returning Sofia to Kur? Because that would solve a helluva lot of problems before they began.
But could she let someone do that to her mother right in front of her? Yeah, the woman was probably evil. Giselle hadn’t given her a chance to explain, though. What if, somehow, this was all a misunderstanding. What if Sofia was really a hero and no one knew it? What if her reasons were so powerful and so... good... that everything would be clear and the past twenty years of misery would all be worth it to know that something right and good had been done?
By driving a spike through someone’s head?
Coyote slammed his fist into a chair. “You couldn’t do this after the show?” Like that was the main concern here? His phone buzzed and he
ignored it.
“It’ll only take a moment,” Ereshkigal answered. “Then I can sit and properly enjoy myself.”
The door slammed open and Bryn rushed in. “Stop!”
“Mom!” Giselle yelled at her.
For a moment Sofia’s focus wavered, her gaze flicking to Giselle as Coyote’s phone buzzed again in the silence. “I’m your mother. You would’ve known that if it wasn’t for her.” To Giselle’s surprise, her words contained more hurt than anger. “You destroyed our family, Bryndis.”
“You murdered someone! Never mind that you...” Bryn trailed off, making Giselle wonder what else Sofia had done.
“Well, well,” Ereshkigal snickered. “And I thought my family was insane.”
Sofia glared at Ereshkigal like all the rage she felt could be channeled onto her. “Old arguments—but not as old as Ishtar and her sister’s. You murdered us.”
Us? Sofia’s connection to Ishtar was so tight it sounded like she was taking on aspects of the myths as her own. And Freyja wouldn’t even talk to Giselle.
Not that that was her most important concern at the moment. But seriously, it was part of a larger pattern that was getting harder to deny. Maybe there was a fate, and hers was to be alone.
Coyote’s phone went off yet again, and Giselle flicked an irritated gaze at him. “You want to take care of that? Somebody needs you.”
“I’m not leaving you with this.”
She glared at him. “You were going to handle this by yourself, but I can’t? No, wait, you were going to handle this with my mom and Nemain and the gods know who else, just not me, but I can’t?”
“That’s not... Things have changed since—”
“Things always change! This is the same damn argument we had last week, you hypocrite!”
His hands came up as fists, not like he was going to hit her, but like he wanted to grab something—maybe her—and couldn’t.
His phone buzzed again.
“If Marquez needs you, go help him. It’s the least you can do after dragging him into this mess.”
With an angry twitch of his mouth, he yanked his phone out and typed something but didn’t leave.
Meanwhile, Ishtar shot him a superior grin before turning back to Ereshkigal. “So you brought me here, on my turf, intending to drag me back to Kur. Me, who nearly defeated your husband in the underworld before choosing to walk away.”
Across the room, Bryn flinched like she knew something Sofia didn’t.
Ereshkigal’s smile grew crafty. “Not even Ishtar can kill the goddess of death.” She placed her hands together and dragged them slowly apart. As she did so, her palms began to glow with a powdery energy the same gray as her dust-filled home. When she held her hands up, each palm glowed with an eye.
Nervous, Giselle pulled out a small ax. To her surprise, Coyote crossed himself and took a step back. “Mal de ojo,” he said, ears turning red as if he was embarrassed. Evil eye. She didn’t know why he would be embarrassed—right now that superstition looked based in fact.
Sofia, though, was undaunted, smiling as her star became a sword. “I can kill you when you’re in the mortal realm.” She slammed her weapon through Ereshkigal’s midsection with all the confidence of someone who thought they couldn’t fail.
Ereshkigal slapped her hands on Sofia’s temples, muttering in a language Giselle was quite sure she’d never heard.
“Sofia,” Bryn yelled as tears formed in her eyes. “I plane shifted the box to get her here. We’re technically on Kur.”
Sofia’s eyes widened in fear, but she twisted the sword anyway. When Ereshkigal’s hands lifted, glowing eyes appeared on either side of Sofia’s own, and she stumbled back as if dazed.
“Eye of death, bitch.” Ereshkigal, sword sticking out of her midsection, placed a hand on Sofia’s forehead, and the woman howled in pain as Ereshkigal muttered again, then announced, “Word of wrath.”
“What’s happening?” Coyote asked.
Giselle struggled to remember what she’d read about Ereshkigal. “Eye of death, word of wrath...”
Voices rose up from beneath them like a trumpeting chorus of judgment.
Coyote looked behind him out at the arena. “Oh fuck.”
Giselle turned to see what he was seeing. The light and magic show of their box was garnering attention. Not that most people could see back into it, but the lights and sounds, now that the opening act was done, made it obvious something was going down. How long before Rage Riot came on and distracted everyone again? “Shit...”
Ereshkigal’s spell continued as a large hook appeared in thin air, and Giselle froze, more concerned with what was about to happen than the attention they were getting. “The word of guilt,” she muttered, remembering the last part of the spell Ereshkigal had cast on Ishtar in the myth.
If the chorus agreed that Sofia’s soul was guilty—whatever that meant—she’d die and her body would be hung on the hook to rot in Ereshkigal’s throne room, a death that, according to Sumerian myth, would kill even the most powerful god.
The ghostly chorus around them grew louder, as gray, humanlike shapes swirled into view, crowding the small box with their spectral presence. Coyote took her arm and pulled her back to whisper in her ear, “I know you want to intervene, but don’t get killed for what she’s done.”
He wasn’t wrong. But it was her mother. They had another chance. And who the hell was he to tell her what to do? She elbowed him in the gut—not as hard as she could, but hard enough to matter, and he let her go.
“Freyja,” he whispered, sounding so sad.
She flipped him off, and there was nothing friendly in the gesture. No, for all her sins, Sofia wanted to include her in whatever she was doing—which was more than Giselle could say for anyone else in this room right now. She had to do something... but what?
Across the box, Bryn yelled something in Icelandic as she slammed a group of black candles to the floor.
Instantly the magic in the room shifted. The chorus sent up a painful keening as they dissipated. Coyote stepped in front of Giselle, the stupid man with no armor.
Ereshkigal gasped like she could no longer breathe, but her hand stretched out toward Sofia, who still reeled with her hands clutched to her head. Ereshkigal’s razor-like nails reached for Sofia’s throat as if to say if she couldn’t magic her, she’d take her by violence.
Giselle didn’t think, didn’t really make a decision, she just flicked her hand out and threw ice. Ereshkigal froze, her fingernails just scraping the sides of Sofia’s neck.
For a moment, the box was quiet except for Sofia’s panting breaths. The woman’s hands trembled, and her expression, so sure and caustic during the little time Giselle had known her, looked fragile. Her gaze flicked to Bryn with a look so full of longing and love it made Giselle ache for what could’ve been for their family.
Then her gaze shifted to Giselle, and one side of her mouth curled in knowing pride.
Dammit, her crazy-as-fuck mom was proud of her, and it felt way too good.
But something was wrong with her freeze—the ice looked too thin, as if the goddess was melting it. “Mom!” she yelled, shoving past Coyote to get to them—to do something.
“I got this, baby,” Sofia said with a smile that was once more full of arrogance. She yanked her sword from the woman’s chest as the ice began to slough off, stepped up to Ereshkigal, and slid her own hands together, mimicking the goddess’s early movements. “My turf. My power. The eye of death.” She slapped her hands on Ereshkigal’s temples, and the goddess gasped again as if she couldn’t breathe. “The word of wrath.” She slammed her palm onto Ereshkigal’s forehead, causing the goddess to scream. “And I do not call on the Anunaki, your old gods of a dead age. I call on my followers—my army—the gidim.” The air in the box picked up as if blown about by a hot, dry wind. “How do you declare this woman who has kept and tormented you for millennia?”
Innumerable cracked and hacking shouts in dozens of languages
resounded, sending a chill through Giselle. Did Sofia just call the gidim her army?
“Guilty you are,” Sofia said softly as her hand slid down the woman’s face to her throat.
“Sofia, don’t,” Bryn pleaded. “Just let her go.”
“She’s not a forgiving one, Bryn. You want her to come after our daughter?”
“I’m okay!” Giselle said. “We’ve worked with her before!” But would Ereshkigal work with her again after she’d frozen the goddess? Would Rafael be okay? And Coyote? Even though he was a lying asshole, she didn’t want him stuck in Kur, no way.
Sofia’s hand wrapped around Ereshkigal’s neck as the woman’s eyes glassed over in a look of terrified acceptance. “I pronounce the word of guilt.” She lifted the goddess up like the powerful being was a rag doll. Without hesitation, Sofia hoisted the woman onto the hook, impaling her.
A rush of energy blasted outward, nailing Giselle in the midsection. She hurtled backward, slamming into a stool and then the half wall behind them overlooking the stage. Pain shot up her back like she’d been hit by a car, and she held in a whimper.
Coyote, however, wasn’t so lucky. The energy slammed him into the wall and spun him over so that he was flung headfirst out into space.
Fear rammed through her for his safety—it was a long way to the floor. “No!” Giselle flopped over the railing to reach for him, but Coyote was gone.
To be continued...
THANKS FOR READING! If you enjoyed Trickster’s Strings, I’d sure appreciate a review.
Book 3, The Trickster’s Song, will be available in December. Want a little something while you’re waiting for the adventure to continue? Check out Owl’s Cry, a Godsongs novella set during the week and a half of downtime between Giselle and Rafael’s date and the Rage Riot concert. It’ll be available for purchase in September, or you can get it for free by joining my newsletter! The first chapter is below if you want to check it out...
Chapter 1
“SIRENS BLARED THROUGH the night sky, shattering the illusion of peace once again,” Coyote announced with the drama of a narrator.