Well, more than it already has, I guess.
In the end, the final stumbling block is, like most of life’s challenges, clothing-related. Princess dresses only go up so many sizes, and I’m hovering right around the cut-off point. I’m also pushing five seven, which is the upper height requirement. My new friends here assure me it’ll be no trouble at all, but I have a feeling their wardrobe department is going to hate me soon enough. After signing a huge stack of documents and confirming my training session times, I’m finally done. Nathan and I walk out, carting a pile of documentation and pamphlets to the car.
“So what do you think?” he asks as we drive to the new apartment.
“Seems like they’re dead set on preserving the ‘magic’—if I didn’t look like a princess already, well…”
“All the love bullets in the world wouldn’t keep the heat off you?”
“That’s about the size of it, yeah,” I say before silently mouthing his turn of phrase to myself. Love bullets? “I’d probably have had to spend a good chunk of each day ‘convincing’ people that I should be allowed to work there. Yech.”
“Good thing that won’t be a problem. And you’re much prettier than any princess I’ve ever seen.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I say, grinning.
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he replies.
You know, I think he has a bit more self-confidence than I gave him credit for. Of course, I might just be rubbing off on him. I tend to have a variety of interesting effects on people if they’re around me long enough. Think of it as a bit of “divine overflow”—aspects of my personality tend to bleed into my surroundings, particularly when I’m using my abilities.
“That’s the spirit,” I say. “I might make you my high priest.” That would mean he’d be my chief worshipper and expand my power by his belief alone.
Nathan laughs, and I can’t help but join him. I’m in a good mood. This new job feels like it’ll be a breath of fresh air, and the danger posed by Garen and his organization seems a thing of the past. “So how’s the pay for your priests?” he asks.
“Terrible, but the benefits? Spectacular.”
“Any chance of a little immortality in that package?”
Kid, give me the worshippers I deserve, and you’d be amazed at what I can do. “There might be a taste,” I say in an even tone. I’m still wary of getting his hopes up, so I decide to change the subject. “In the meantime, though, what are you going to do? I don’t think I can rush you through casting as easily, especially with my powers as weak as they are.”
“I thought about that. We’re not really short on cash right now, and it seems like you can just get us more whenever you feel like as long as we’re careful. With that and the small paycheck you’ll be drawing, I figure I can focus on Web design.”
“Fine by me,” I say. “Just remember, gods of love and beauty have expensive tastes.”
“I seem to recall they’re also very good at getting free stuff.”
“True enough,” I say, hiding my discontent. I won’t say anything yet, but eventually, I’d prefer not to have to use my gifts to weasel complimentary goods and services out of people. It’s not because it feels immoral, either—it’s more that the deific side of me rebels against the notion I am somehow undeserving of such gifts in the first place. The idea that I have to use my powers to trick mortals into giving me what I desire is an insulting one. Centuries of abandonment have muffled those urges, but every now and then, the ancient, battle-scarred goddess within me stirs. I’m smart enough to repress those feelings, to keep them from meddling with the reality of my situation and making things worse, but each time I’m forced to act as if I’m not the god I am, it rankles.
So for now, I keep it to myself and do what I must to persuade those around me to give what I want … all while knowing it should be mine by rights.
The apartment Nathan has chosen is prefurnished, and it’s not half bad. Certainly better than Inward. “We’ll need to have the cable and Internet hooked up,” Nathan says as we get situated. “And get ourselves a phone plan together. But it’s pretty nice, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I admit. “Let’s try to keep it that way, too. Can you arrange some sort of local maid service to come by every week or so?”
He gives me a questioning look. “I saw your last home,” I explain. “We’re not living like that. I might be adrift in the modern world, but I’m still a goddess. We don’t do chores.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, giving the only right answer. Smart boy.
* * *
We settle into a comfortable routine over the following days, putting things in order so we can begin our new lives. My thoughts of Garen grow distant as it seems our precautions have finally given us a measure of peace. Nathan gets himself a replacement phone and a new computer, dumping all his important files onto it from an external hard drive he brought with him. I end up with a phone, too, but it takes hours before Nathan’s able to teach me the ins and outs of the little gadget. It helps when he does some research on Norse mythology, then comes back and has me think of it as a digital Mímir. Odin once enchanted the head of a decapitated seer of the same name to whisper wisdom and counsel to him. It all clicks into place after that.
And suddenly my phone, my “Mim,” becomes a link to the sprawling knowledge of the Internet. I’ve heard about this vast information network from the television at Inward, but nothing has really prepared me for the sheer scale of the thing. It’s all available here, anything and everything. Whatever I desire is instantly at my fingertips, a schizophrenic world of facts and entertainment, education and debauchery. I’m addicted in a heartbeat, to the point where I have Nathan get me a computer of my own so I can browse without the constraints of my Mim’s tiny screen and keyboard.
The days left until my first training session pass in an eyeblink. Through the Internet, I can see the latest fashions, learn what the world thinks of my kin and me (not much, unfortunately, beyond comic books and fantasies), and stare openmouthed at the incredible diversity—and perversity—of its pornographic archives. No wonder we’ve been left to rot in the past. The Internet is the new god of humanity, and why not? It can provide anything for anyone. Why pray to me in the name of beauty and fertility when millions of websites with enticing ads can promise all you’d ever want and more?
They seek you out, after all, while I sit here and wait for you to come to me.
It’s troubling, what I’m beginning to understand here. I see now why we’ve faded. Our pride, our power, our distant strength—they’ve all been twisted over the years into crippling flaws. Humanity created us to answer its prayers, to protect bodies and souls alike. Now you’ve grown up, put us away like old toys, and built our successor. Worse, it’s our better by far, because it’s something you can see and touch and identify with. This realization of mine is a sobering one, but I’m no fool—I can smell the opportunity here, the chance to claw my way back on top. I can offer real magic—true power amid a downpour of deception. With my gifts and the global audience the Internet could give me, I might just be able to turn the world on its head.
It’s food for thought, anyway. For now, I have a job to get to.
The training materials and classes are downright adorable. I was more concerned with just being a princess in general, so I left it to my friends at the casting center to pick which one I’d be. They chose Cinderella on account of my blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin, and an opening at the Magic Kingdom, and while I suppose I could be a little annoyed they didn’t give me Elsa (I mean, a Scandinavian princess? Come on!), at this point I’m just happy to have a role.
With my character decided, all my time goes into studying how to act like a proper handmaid-turned-princess for boys and girls of all ages. I learn how to write her signature, interact with kids, stay on message, deal with unruly guests, and, in general, keep the magic alive. It’s absolutely spellbinding, to be honest. A thousand years ago
, you people were praying to me for victory in battle, strong boys, and fertile wives. Now you’ve created these elaborate fantasy worlds and built an empire around them. I’m hooked and can’t help wanting to learn more. The whole process takes several days, and at the end of the Traditions class, I get my cast ID, which gives me free access to the parks. Spectacular.
Finally, there’s the on-site costume fitting. I enter the park through one of its hidden employee entrances after Nathan drops me off. The entire place was built over a network of tunnels, loading docks, warehouses, and utility rooms, turning what was once the ground level into a subterranean city. It’s all in the service of immersion, a clever bit of engineering, and foresight to hide the machinations of the park from its guests. I’m given a brief spiel about the ins and outs of the corridors, then sent to get fitted. I soon find I was right about the costume—I narrowly manage to fit into Cinderella’s biggest gown, and even then it’s uncomfortably tight on me. Luckily, I get it into the heads of the staff that they should take pity on me and have some special alterations made, setting aside a dress that’ll be all mine.
There’s a bit more training, more costume and makeup tests, and even a few short character quizzes. Finally, the day comes when Nathan drops me off at the park and I’m actually going to go out there and perform in public. My heart is pounding. Adrenaline sings in my veins, and it feels like I’m about to go into battle, not sign autographs and smile. I’m sent to the dressing room to get ready. As soon as I arrive, I’m ushered in front of a long mirror, where dozens of princesses and face characters are transforming themselves from cast members into living legends. I’m soon stuffed into my outfit, long white gloves are pulled past my elbows, my hair gets bundled up underneath a wig and light blue headband, makeup’s applied, and I’m ready to go.
As I make my way out of the dressing room, I’m paired with a character host who’ll assist me with visitors and make sure I can focus on my job. I’m giddy with excitement, all set to begin my first day in earnest. We’re both sent topside, emerging in the bright Florida sunlight. A beautiful castle that’s apparently mine looms in the distance. Brilliant flowers bloom in carefully manicured beds, children and families dash over freshly cleaned paths, and bright colors and enticing architecture call to my eyes from every direction. I follow my guide in a daze, ready to begin winning hearts and spreading magic. I have a brilliant smile plastered on my face—one I intend to hold all day. From listening to some of the chatter back in the dressing room, the constant grinning begins to sting after a while, though I doubt it’ll ever be an issue for me. Who knew I’d be using my superhuman stamina and pain threshold to play the perfect Disney princess? Considering how hot it is outside, it’s even better that I don’t sweat.
It’s a short distance to the character-meeting site in the courtyard of my castle, but as I walk, I notice something odd about the park. There’s a crackle of energy in the air, and an odd tickle begins to run up my spine. My smile almost slips as I realize with a shock what I’m sensing: it’s the unmistakable scent of divinity.
There’s a god here, somewhere.
He’s powerful, too. I’m positive it’s a “he”—there’s a vibrant sense of masculinity to the aura, a certain distinctive charge that pulses on the underside of reality. I’m trespassing in someone’s domain. Would he even consider a gnat like me a threat? I need to find this god and let him know who I am, and soon. Maybe he can tell me more about Garen, or at the very least, tell me how he got so damn powerful in the dry, faithless desert our world has become.
I give my head a little shake, trying to focus on the task at hand. There’ll be time later; I can return as soon as my workday has ended and snoop around. I carefully arrange my character and her background in my head as I settle in. In no time at all, my host begins shepherding eager families into a line to meet me.
“Cinderella!” a young girl in braids shouts as she gets close. She can’t be older than six. She’s clutching an autograph book to her chest and giving me this gleeful, breathless look.
“Well, hello there!” I say happily. I notice her parents just beyond, standing at the front of the line. Their faces carry an odd blend of hope and worry—this is obviously something their daughter has been looking forward to, and I understand they dearly want it to go well.
The girl beams at me, then gets a hesitant look. She’s not sure what she should do next. I kneel in front of her and hold out my arms. Excited, she rushes forward and wraps me up in a hug. I feel a rush of confidence stir inside her mind, mixed with—
“I love you,” she whispers, holding me tight. And she does. This girl has formed a bond with this character as strong as any parent or caregiver could hope for, and here I am, in the flesh, justifying its existence for her. But that’s nothing compared to what happens next, because just like that, a tiny flare of energy hums to life in my body, and I realize this girl actually believes in me.
For the second time in minutes, the integrity of my smile is threatened by a staggering realization. The only difference is that, this time, it’s coming from within. How is this possible? She’s never heard the name Sara, let alone Freya. What prayers for a Norse goddess could she have unleashed by thinking about Cinderella, of all things?
“I love you, too,” I reply softly. Then I draw back and look at her. I search for clues, some sign behind her eyes that could point to how she knows who I truly am, and find nothing. “Are you having a good day?” I ask, at a loss.
“Mm-hm!” she hums through a smile, closemouthed. Then she seems to remember the autograph book in her hand and thrusts it out at me. I unclip the retractable Sharpie from the book, open it to the first blank page, and sign my character’s name with a flourish.
I raise myself back to my full height and hand the pen and pad to my assistant, who takes it to the girl’s mother at the front of the line. Her father pulls out a large digital camera, and I pose for pictures with the little girl, who happily clutches my side the entire time. The belief she has for me is real—I can feel it. But how? She just thinks I’m a Disney princess. That’s who she loves, not some ancient goddess from the howling North.
Then it hits me.
The girl loves me. She believes in me. I’ve never thought about it like this before, never considered that someone’s direct belief in me, no matter the guise, could count. It seems like it shouldn’t work. She clearly thinks she’s hugging Cinderella, after all. But whatever mystical scales balance the fortunes of the gods, they don’t see a difference. Her belief is strong, and it’s currently being channeled straight at me, a creature born to catch it. The spark is small, of course; she obviously hasn’t dedicated herself to a lifetime of worship. What’s important, though—incredibly, insanely important—is that there’s something there.
The next child is a little older, maybe eleven, and while she’s obviously happy to see me, the belief is missing. The same is true for the following three kids, but the fourth, a little boy, has that same glimmering spark of adoration the first girl did. My mind whirls with the possibilities. Sure, they’re not all would-be followers, and even when they are, it’s just a distant flicker of belief. But it all adds up, and it’s not like I’m in a hurry. Every day I’m here, I’m going to get just a little bit stronger. I can feel it.
I’m going to be a god again.
5
A LOVELY WAR
I close the door to our apartment behind me and lean against it, breathless with delight.
“And she’s back!” Nathan says from the kitchen. Something sizzles under his care, and I realize he’s cooking dinner. “How was work?”
“Incredible,” I squeak.
He comes out into the hall to meet me, and I see he’s wearing an apron designed to look like a tuxedo. I shoot a puzzled look at it, my earth-shattering discovery momentarily forgotten. “As long as you’re bringing home the bacon, so to speak, I figured that left me to deal with dinner,” he explains, gesturing with a spatula at his outfit.
>
“You’ll spoil me,” I say, pushing off from the door and giving him a friendly hug. “Good plan.”
“Well, try it first,” he says over my shoulder. “Worse comes to worst, there’s always takeout. You’re in a good mood—everything go well at the park?”
“Better than well,” I say, pulling back to look at him and grin. “Ridiculously, wonderfully better.”
“That’s great!” he says, breaking into a big smile. “Let me finish this stir-fry and you can tell me all about it.”
“A stir-fry?”
“Yeah,” he says, heading back to the kitchen. “They had buy-one-get-one on mushrooms at the store.”
“I can’t remember if I’ve ever had a stir-fry.” My diet at the Inward Care Center was always pretty bland—burgers, pasta, lasagna, that sort of thing. Before that, I tended to stick with the foods from my homeland. Fresh fish and savory meats, sharp dairy and sweet-and-sour jams. I’m making myself hungry just thinking about them. Still, no harm in trying something new. “But there’s a first time for everything.”
In a few minutes, we’re sitting at our dining room table, munching on a serving of vegetables, chicken, and rice. It’s not bad. I find myself liking the sauce he’s made more than the actual food he’s put it on, though—reminds me of some of the marinades we’d pair with fish. I can tell that what he’s made isn’t the effort of an amateur. There’s talent here, whether I’m the best person to appreciate it or not. “This is good,” I say. “Where did you learn to cook?”
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