by SM Reine
“Yes, what about it?” Marion asked.
The Godslayer handed a wrench to her.
Fixing the leak, removing and replacing the moldy wood, and exterminating termites took over a week. Marion lost count of the number of days. It took forever to get anything done, especially since they had a perfect storm of the Godslayer’s poor bedside manner and Marion’s resistance to authority other than her own.
But the wood did get replaced. The termites were killed. Pipes were repaired.
They were only just finishing those issues when another storm blew through. Marion woke up to the sound of a loud crashing, and she looked out her window to see that the tool shed had collapsed underneath a broken tree.
“Oh, damn,” she said.
She turned around to see the Godslayer already at her back.
“I know, I know,” Marion muttered, and she put on her jacket to go to the home repair store.
She didn’t wait for the Godslayer to assign anything to her this time. She found an employee who knew something about sheds, bought some plans, and came home with a flatbed full of supplies.
The Godslayer was waiting for Marion in the wreckage of the back yard, arms folded. All her biceps bulged. She drummed her fingers on her forearms.
“I didn’t even hire contractors to help us, since I can’t imagine they’d appreciate working alongside someone without a face,” Marion said, dragging lumber down from the driveway. “Aren’t you thrilled? We get to build something outside in the damp coldness, as appears to be your favorite thing to do.”
The avatar went inside.
Marion stared at the shut back door.
“We are building something out here,” Marion said loudly.
But her sister didn’t come back.
Muttering angry words to herself, Marion started flipping through the plans again, reading about leveling and foundations and other things she knew nothing about.
The door creaked open behind her.
A jacket settled over her shoulders. There were sturdier gloves tucked into the pocket. The Godslayer had changed into warmer clothes and brought some for Marion.
“Ah, very good,” Marion said stiffly, threading her arms through the jacket. “So this, the…leveling. Do we…?”
The Godslayer took the plans. She flipped through them, then tossed them aside.
She began to work without waiting to see if Marion would join her.
Marion struggled to keep up. None of it was exactly complicated, but it also wasn’t easy.
The shed took as long as the bathroom repairs had. At no point did the Godslayer stab Marion in the throat—or even clap her hands in her face again. They seemed to have passed that.
By the time they got to roofing the shed, Marion had stopped wondering why Elise’s avatar was hanging around. She just was. And this was life now.
Life was lining the inside of the shed with fiberglass insulation—nasty material that left splinters all over Marion’s arms. Life was hanging drywall, and then affixing hooks to studs so that kayaks, bicycles, and other equipment could be hung neatly. Life was spending the warmest days spraying paint on the outside of the shed so that it matched the rest of the house.
When it was finished, they touched up the paint on the house too. And replaced some older wood. And also a window.
Eventually, the house was like new.
Marion hadn’t written a single page of a journal since the Godslayer had shown up. She’d slept well, eaten every day, and stopped wearing gloves unless they were for working.
The last project that they undertook together was replacing a cracked second-story window. It required cooperation—one of them inside, one of them on the dormer outside—and Marion had gotten so good at home improvement that it took them less than a day to complete.
That evening, the Godslayer didn’t make dinner for Marion. Marion cooked duck for herself and ate it in happy silence.
Marion woke up the next morning. It was dark outside, though dawn touched the horizon. Somehow the darkest nights of the year had passed and it was starting to get bright again.
Nobody sat in the chair by her bed.
She got up and stretched, savoring the pops in her back, the strain in her arms, the soreness of her thighs. Marion hadn’t put so much physical effort into anything since picking up archery, and even that hadn’t been as much a full-body workout. It also hadn’t been as satisfying as seeing a house slowly come together over the course of weeks.
Or had it been months?
Marion pulled on a sweater and went downstairs to look for the Godslayer, who proved not to be in the kitchen, or the living room, or the no-longer-leaky office. She ate a bowl of oatmeal, mostly by force of habit, and then went to look outside.
She found the Godslayer when she climbed down to the creaky old dock. At that point, the dock was the only creaky thing remaining on the property.
The Godslayer had taken a banana-colored kayak onto the water. She sat on the ocean to watch the sunrise.
“Elise?” Marion called. Her shifting weight made the dock slide into the mud. Her toes got wet. “Oh, for the love of gods.”
Marion stepped back onto the grass and stretched her hands out. She had enough lumber left over in the shed that she could have done repairs manually, as the Godslayer had taught her.
But Marion summoned those materials with a wave of magic and assembled them into a sturdier structure. Marion cured concrete piers instantly.
She was not tempted to use that magic to break the world in half.
By the time the sun was above the water, and the Godslayer was paddling her way back to shore, Marion had made a dock that would not get anyone’s feet wet. She’d used magic, and now she’d stopped using magic, and that was all fine.
The Godslayer climbed out of the kayak. She looked over the dock, and nodded once. She wasn’t angry that Marion had fixed it with magic. If anything, there was something satisfied in the way she stepped back.
“Good morning,” Marion said airily. “I’ve already eaten, dressed, and fixed something today. Why don’t we take a look in the attic? There may be some kind of pest problem up there. Or we could replace the shower with something new…”
The Godslayer shook her head.
There was nothing wrong with the house. No more projects left to complete.
“Do you want to do something else?” Marion asked.
The Godslayer shook her head again. She reached into her jacket…and removed a gun.
Marion tensed. “You made me do all this work and now you want to kill me? There must have been easier forms of torture.” Though, in truth, Marion had not been thinking of house repairs as torture by the end.
The Godslayer offered the gun to her stock-first. It was a gift, not a threat. The word “Beretta” was stamped into its barrel. Some kind of pistol. Not too heavy, but large enough that Marion was confident it would pack a punch.
“Why do I need a gun when I have a four-armed killer of gods with me?” Marion asked, going for a light, joking tone.
The Godslayer just stared.
And Marion’s heart sank.
“We’re done, aren’t we?”
The Godslayer rested her hand on Marion’s heart, right over the place it beat, and then placed Marion’s hand on her own heart. The heart at the core of the Godslayer thumped every few seconds. It was slowing.
This avatar was not meant to last for long. She’d been made for one purpose and had outlived it.
Marion’s eyes pricked with heat. “Then this is goodbye.”
The Godslayer nodded, and she didn’t fight when Marion pulled her in for a hug, though she also didn’t return the gesture. She was made to slay. To work. Not to love anyone, even her sister.
She had done her best to love with the tools that she had. She had shown Marion how to survive a mundane adult life that involved fixing roofs instead of waging war. She had fed her, protected her while she slept, and provided months of companionship.
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Elise could have done a lot of important things with the Godslayer’s remaining time on Earth, but she had sent her to be with Marion instead.
The avatar stepped away after a moment. Without a hint of hesitation, and without looking back, she walked into the ocean. The water rose up her ankles. Her knees. Her chest.
When all that remained was her head, a wave rose up to obscure her.
When it fell, she was gone.
Marion’s knees wobbled and she sat on a very sturdy dock, overlooked by a house with a fresh coat of paint, and she sat alone in the chilly morning. The Godslayer never emerged from the water. Not that she’d expected that she would. Elise had given Marion as much as possible, and now Marion was alone.
Somehow, with the Beretta tucked in her belt, Marion didn’t feel quite as lost as she had before.
When she returned to the house that afternoon, she booted its fifteen-year-old computer for the first time, logged onto the internet, and searched for a gun range in the nearest town. There were two. She picked the one with the better website and called them. “I’ve been gifted a gun,” she said. “Some kind of Beretta pistol, I think.”
“You think?” asked the receptionist. He sounded amused.
“Yes. I’d like to get private lessons.”
“On shooting?”
“Guns in general, and eventually shooting, yes,” Marion said.
“We’ve got an instructor in until five today. Come whenever you want. Don’t need reservations.” A pause. “What’d you say your name is?”
She hesitated and said, “Marion.”
“I’ll be waiting for you, Marion,” he said.
She hung up and frowned at the phone. And then at the Beretta. And at the yellow kayak outside the window, still upside-down at the edge of the water.
Marion had been raised by gods and werewolves. She had been queen of the sidhe for a short time. And her life had been ruled by destiny. She knew what it felt like when greater forces were swirling around her, and this was very much like that, although she wasn’t sure why.
With instructions from the internet, she took the gun apart carefully. There was nothing magical inside of it.
She reassembled it with those same instructions. Hopefully she did it right. After all, this was the last gift Elise had given Marion. She didn’t want to break it before it became useful.
“Very well, Elise,” Marion said to her empty house, stuffing the Beretta into a pocket. She’d become used to talking to Elise without a response. It wasn’t much different once Elise’s avatar had left. “Let us see what your final lesson will be.”
She was out the door three minutes later.
Although she’d rented a truck to make all the house repairs easier, she chose to walk into town. It wasn’t a large town. The fact it had two gun ranges spoke volumes about its demographic, but the ratio of gun ranges to non-gun ranges certainly made it easy to find where she was going.
There was a black pickup parked in the front of the lot. Its tires were large, and it was lifted enough that Marion would have needed help from a step to get inside. A rifle was mounted in the back window.
That familiar feeling—the feeling of fate—rubbed against her again.
She dismissed it as lingering emotion from the Godslayer’s strange departure. In this part of the country, literally everybody had pickups like that.
Marion entered the shooting range. There was a long counter with many varieties of guns hanging on the back wall. Muffled gunfire, like a hammer striking anvil, rang out from beyond the reinforced door.
A shifter was working the register—a golden-eyed individual with a shaved head, thick eyelashes, and a Monroe piercing. “You must be Marion,” the clerk said pleasantly. “Right? You called for classes?” That voice wasn’t the one she’d heard on the phone.
“Yes, that’s me,” she said.
The clerk handed Marion ear protection and thick plastic glasses. “Go on back. He’s waiting for you.”
“Who?” she asked.
“The instructor,” the clerk replied, as if that were the most obvious answer in the world.
“Right.” Marion put on the safety equipment. “Do you need to inspect my gun or…?”
“Nope. Go ahead.” The clerk hit a button, and the door unlocked.
Marion stepped into the range.
There were several stations where people could shoot, but only one was occupied. She could see a man’s back beyond the edge of the wall that sheltered it. He had broad shoulders and dark skin.
She couldn’t hear her heart or footsteps as she approached, the Beretta heavy in her sweaty palms. She could only hear the rhythmic crack of gunfire growing more distinct as she approached.
The instructor set his gun down. Stepped back. Turned to face her.
It was Seth.
Lucas.
Whatever.
Or, to be precise, it was one of his avatars, just as the Godslayer was an avatar of Elise. He looked much more normal than the Godslayer, from his close-cut hair to his strong jaw and dark eyes. This manifestation of Seth seemed to be enjoying a quiet life in a medium-sized town working at a gun range.
Did he know what he was?
Did he know who she was?
The corner of his mouth lifted in a smile. “You got my gun. Great.”
“Are you…?” Her tongue was heavy and thick and useless in her mouth. Yes, this stupid, clumsy feeling that she’d always gotten around Seth was familiar, too.
“I brought a drink for you,” he said, offering an insulated cup to Marion.
She took it. Sniffed the lid.
Hot chocolate.
He knew. He remembered.
Marion started to shake, and she had no control over anything. Not her choppy breathing or her stupid gangly extremities or even her facial expressions. The former Voice of God, with her years of experience in politics, had somehow unlearned all her self-control at the same time she’d learned to fix houses.
She set the cup down.
And then she flung her arms around him.
Unlike the Godslayer, this avatar hugged back. He hugged her as tight as a human being was capable of hugging. He smelled like gunpowder and leather.
“You made me wait,” she whispered, throat thick with tears. “I was afraid—I thought you were captive—”
“I am,” he said. “And I’m not. Forever’s a long time. I’ve already lived it a few times.”
“Then you could have come back sooner!”
“I’m sorry. Elise wanted to make sure you would be okay first,” Seth said. “She was worried about you.”
Marion didn’t really care. She clung to him harder than she’d ever clung to anyone before, even when he’d been in his unbreakable god form. She pressed her face into his neck and inhaled the smell of his human sweat.
It was Seth. This one had been made for her.
For them.
“Does this mean you forgive me?” Marion asked.
“Not really.” He kissed her gently. “It means I’m ready to let you show me who you are—again. And I’ll give you as long as you want to prove yourself.”
“Forever,” she said instantly.
Seth chuckled, and he said, “Okay.”
Several months later.
The guests only had the opportunity to knock once before Marion threw the door open.
“Merry Christmas!” Penny McIntyre, a green-fleshed orc with horns sticking out of her curly hair, offered a bouquet of flowers to Marion.
“Ooh,” she cooed, taking them from Penny. “They are lovely! Hello!” She wrapped her arm around Penny’s shoulder in a tight hug. “I’m so thrilled that you could come. I was worried, with the roads as they are.”
“No snowy road conditions can stop the great Dana McIntyre,” Penny giggled.
Her wife shoved through the door. “Fuckin’ right they can’t.” Dana stomped her boots, getting snow and mud all over the entryway.
Marion’s hand
covered her mouth. “Oh.”
“What?” Dana asked, looking her full in the eye. “Problem?”
“No, not at all,” Marion said after only an instant’s hesitation. She’d gone too long arguing with her sister. She wouldn’t pick a fight over this now that they were on speaking terms. “Get in here. It’s so cold outside.” She tried to hug Dana, but the vampire hunter was much too fast. She got out of reach quickly.
That was fine, and quite well deserved. Dana was still pissed at Marion. The fact that Penny had been able to bully her into visiting was a small miracle.
Ariane was waiting behind Penny and Dana. She was kind enough to remove her shoes before entering, and she also hung her own cloak on the hook by the door, right next to the worn leather jacket.
“Hello, my sweetness.” Ariane kissed Marion on both cheeks.
“Hello, Mother. No flowers from you?”
“I thought you’d prefer this.” Ariane took a wine bottle out of her cloak. “From Myrkheimr Vineyards. The queen wanted to send it to you.”
Marion took the bottle. “Merry Christmas to me.” Heather most likely meant it to be a kind gesture, but it felt a bit like getting a holiday card from her dead husband. Not a cheery gift.
She shoved it somewhere on the living room wine rack without looking.
“Where’s the better half?” Ariane asked, inviting herself to sit in the living room. It was decorated for Christmas, from the towering tree by the windows to the pair of stockings over the fireplace.
“Cooking,” Marion said. “He insists he needs to learn for my sake.”
“Unless I want you living on fumes and the occasional glass of wine, someone needs to cook.” Seth stuck his head through the kitchen doorway. He was wearing a thick-knit green sweater and a lopsided grin. “Hey ladies.”
“Pussy-whipped,” Dana said, not quietly.
Seth laughed. “No, because she won’t let me get a cat.” He kissed Marion’s shoulder and ducked back into the kitchen. It smelled like something was burning.
“No cat? You monster,” Penny said.
“Cats are disgusting creatures who soil inside the house,” Marion said. “And all the hair. Do you realize how much more I would have to clean?”