Freya

by Matthew Laurence

  “Think of it like this: We’re the products of humanity, right? We live to serve, because answering your prayers gives us strength. As we grow, your beliefs shape our personalities and appearances. Well, Dionysus doesn’t serve you—not anymore. He’s figured out a way to get strength without answering any prayers. He runs an amusement park, not a religion. One of these days, he’s going to decide he doesn’t need to hide what he is, and the second he does, he’s going to try to rule you.”

  Nathan thinks it over, clearly weighing his desire for short-term security against the future danger of a rampaging god. “You’re sure about this?” he asks at last. “Do you really have to destroy him?”

  “I’m a god of war as well as love, Nathan. I’ve seen empires rise and relationships prosper. Without fail, whether you’re talking kings and queens or husbands and wives … every time someone stops needing an ally or stops seeing the value of someone who was once their friend, it’s only a matter of time before they try to take advantage of them.”

  “So he’s a cancer,” Nathan says. “That’s what you see when you look at him? A god gone rogue, about to kill its host if he’s not killed first.”

  “Nail on the head, Nathan. That’s why we can’t leave.”

  “This is officially the weirdest night out ever.”

  “And I still haven’t gotten my filet,” I say, folding my arms—a goddess denied. Nathan and I excused ourselves long before our dinners arrived, leaving Dionysus to devour his meal and plot murder. I thanked him for his assistance and bravery, and then we hightailed it out of there.

  “Well, where do you want to go? It’s getting late and I’m starving.”

  “Me too. Maybe that Mexican place downtown again? It’s open really late.”

  “Their nachos were amazing,” Nathan says, his face taking on a wistful cast at the memory.

  “I think it seems right. It can be our go-to spot whenever our dinner gets ruined by uninvited guests.”

  “Man, I hope this doesn’t become a thing.”

  “It just might,” I say, pulling a playful grimace. “Who knows how many other weirdoes are out there?”

  “Ugh, please no. Whatever happened to having a normal life?”

  “I think you signed it away the second you struck out with me, mortal.”

  “Hah. Should’ve read the fine print, eh?” he says, chuckling.

  He’s clearly joking, but I can’t help feeling a little worried that maybe, deep down, he really does feel sorry for joining me. I know I haven’t quite brought him the fun and adventure I’d intended. It’s that thorn of doubt that pushes me to ask the question that’s been dogging me for the past few days. “Are you starting to regret following a god, Nathan?” I force it out lightheartedly, but underneath the mirth, I’m petrified by what his answer might be. I’d really miss him.

  Nathan takes a moment, seeming to seriously consider the question. Then he looks at me out of the corner of his eye and breaks into a friendly, incredulous grin. “Sara, I’ve made my share of bad decisions, but I can honestly say you’re not one of them.”

  I think I smile for the rest of the night.

  * * *

  Compared with the revelations and encounters of the previous week, the following one is downright dull. Every day I hit the park in my character outfit, reveling in the little morsels of belief offered up by the guests. When I have free time, I spend it on the Internet, researching gods of every type imaginable. Once Nathan realizes I’ve spent more time at Inward than he’s been alive, he starts to understand just how much of the modern world I’ve missed. When he finds out the only movies I’ve seen since I committed myself in the early nineties have all been rated PG-13 or younger, he balks and institutes a movie night, trying to catch me up on almost three decades of R-rated entertainment. My favorite film is still The Princess Bride, but after a few evenings of cinematic carnage, more adult fare manages to work its way up the list.

  The park’s open late on weekends, and I work a few evening shifts to pick up some extra belief. Honestly, I’d do this job for free as long as I was assured I would get more power out of it. I feel stronger than I have in centuries, and it’s all from just a week. Imagine what I’ll be like in a month. Hell, what about a year? Blessings upon the genius who built these parks. If I ever find your spirit in my wanderings, I will ensure you are brought to a place of honor in my vast and beautiful hall of Sessrúmnir.

  I change out of my costume, carefully placing it back on the rack to be cleaned. I catch a glimpse of a clock on the wall of the locker room and grimace—it’s getting late. Nathan should be by to pick me up soon, if he’s not already waiting. My daydreaming probably had something to do with the minutes’ slipping by so quickly. It’s been ages since I thought of my homeland. It must be the power returning to me, sparking all kinds of forgotten feelings and memories as it does. I dress in a daze, focused on the events of centuries past. Lost in thought, trying to think of the last time I had the power to visit my house or the glorious fields that were my domain, I barely notice his approach until he’s right behind me.

  “Now, now,” his voice says beside my right ear, a seductive whisper. “You shouldn’t have gone to all the trouble of getting dressed.”

  I whip around with a gasp. Dionysus is there, leering at me, and I realize the dressing room is suddenly empty—the handful of princesses and other cast members who were here moments before are now missing.

  He moves closer, eyes racing up and down. “An obstacle easily removed, thankfully.” He reaches out, pushing aside my top and twining a finger around my bra strap with a practiced motion before I can reply.

  “Stop that!” I say, swatting his hand and backing away.

  He pauses, insane eyes twitching with confusion. “Words I’m not very used to hearing, I must confess,” he says. “Usually, women implore me to do just the opposite.”

  “What have you found of Garen?” I ask, glaring at him.

  He narrows his eyes at me. “All business? That’s behavior hardly becoming of a goddess of love, isn’t it? I offer you pleasures unparalleled among the mortals, and you can’t even hide your revulsion.”

  Uh-oh. “We had a deal, Dionysus,” I say, trying to keep him from going any further down this path. “One dead mortal for anything you desire.”

  “Ah, yes, our deal,” he says, drawing closer. Longing and madness crackle around him like a storm. “Well, it just so happens I found your mortal.”

  What? So quickly? No, no, that’s impossible! I thought I’d have more time to get stronger. If he’s telling the truth and Garen is dead, that means I need to act now. But how on earth do I deal with a superpowered madman? I’m still too damn weak. This could turn very ugly, very fast.

  “He told me so many interesting things, too,” Dionysus says, beginning to pace before me.

  Tell me you didn’t give him a chance to talk, I scream in my head.

  “Wasn’t very hard to locate, either, loaded down as he was with mystic trinkets and the stench of the divine. I had to admit, I was curious about his obsession with you. And his answer, well, it was so very shocking I had to see if it was true.”

  “What did he tell you, Dionysus?”

  “Ah, ah, ah, that’s Mr. Nyce to you, impostor,” he says, glaring at me.

  I take a step back. Okay, this is going from bad to worse to some kind of ultrasuck faster than I thought possible. “I don’t understand,” I say, trying to seem fragile and nonthreatening.

  “He said he found you in an asylum,” he grates, crossing his arms. “That you had stolen the spark of the divine from Freya, killed her in the quest for immortality, and were planning to do the same to me.”

  “What?”

  “I challenged him for proof, and he said all I had to do was ask for your affection. A true god of love, he said, would never deny a kindred spirit. If you were truly the embodiment of adoration and fertility, you would welcome my delicate attentions with open arms.” He pauses, and the
heat of his rage intensifies. “And you did not.”

  “Dionysus, he would have said anything—”

  “It’s Mr. Nyce!” he screams at me, eyes ablaze. He looks away for a moment, then turns back, seemingly at peace. The change is so abrupt it’s terrifying. “Perhaps. Mortals can be slippery. So I told him I would speak with you, and if he was lying, he and his allies would know the true extent of my rage.”

  “Ask me anything,” I say desperately. “Or better yet, take me to him. We’ll see what he has to say for himself.”

  “No, I think not,” Dionysus says in a high-pitched melodic voice. “I think you will give me what I want, and then I will make my decision. Convince me, ‘god of love,’ that you are capable of satisfying the desires of the divine, and I will believe you.”

  Well, isn’t this a messed-up scenario. I either sleep with this scumbag, or he kills me. Or turns me over to Garen. Or some other equally unwelcome thing. Whatever. It’s lose-lose, regardless. There’s never a question what my answer will be, though. You do not make demands of my pantheon. We are elemental—the freezing winds, the tongues of flame, the endless sea—and we will not be chained, not by words and not by deeds. He seeks to make a servant of me, to flaunt my very nature in the name of his twisted lust?

  I spit at his feet. “Argr hóra,” I curse at him, lips curled with loathing.

  He looks down at the gobbet of my saliva, glistening between his feet, and then back at me with a baffled expression. He doesn’t seem entirely clear on how strongly I’m rejecting his advances, so I follow up with a stinging slap across his left cheek, putting all my not-inconsiderable strength into it. His head whips to the side and he sways back a step. That should get the message across.

  And it does. He turns to me and a bestial scream rips out of his throat. “How dare you?” he shrieks, features contorted with rage, before he shoves me through the wall.

  It’s like being kissed by an avalanche. His arms smash into my chest with brutal force and send me sailing backward, crashing through the masonry behind me to fall, limbs askew, in the utility corridor beyond. My hair is caked in plaster and flecks of paint, and the air is filled with the sound of clattering debris. I cough and lever myself up on one arm to watch as he pushes his way through the hole I’ve made.

  “I asked nicely,” he says, a deranged tone in his voice. “And you throw it back in my face?”

  Groaning, I push myself to my feet. “You do not presume anything of me. You are a miserable—”

  He screams and launches a fist at me. He’s not a fighter, though, telegraphing the move ages in advance. I watch, adrenaline slowing the world around me to a crawl, as the muscles in his right shoulder contract, pulling his arm up and around to deliver a punishing haymaker to the side of my head. I’m more than fast enough to dodge it, ducking to one side and feeling the whoosh of air as it shoots past my left ear.

  And then I’m running flat out, bolting down the corridor in a panic. I need to get away from this man, put some distance between us before he slaughters me. I’m not prideful enough to think I can take him in a fight, not on a single week of belief. He’s had years to overcharge himself in these parks. The hallways zip past me as I run with all the speed a daughter of the wind can manage. I rocket under banks of fluorescent lights and snaking ductwork, watching the walls carefully. Where is everyone? I know it’s after hours, but these hallways are usually packed. The lack of people is so stark and unprecedented it’s chilling. I don’t have time to reflect on it, though. I’m somewhere under Fantasyland, and if I can just get my bearings, I can get out the back and into the outdoor loading zone. These tunnels aren’t too hard to navigate normally, but when you have a crazed god on your tail, everything becomes a little more difficult.

  I don’t dare look back for fear of slowing down, but I can only hope he’s not as fast as I am. I’m so focused on speed that when I skid around the corner and have to come to a complete stop, I almost pitch forward into a maintenance cart. I blink and cock my head to one side, not understanding what I’m seeing. There’s a wave of crimson liquid rushing toward me from down the hall, crests of white foam dancing on its surface. It’s so unexpected, so out of place, I’m unable to react before it crashes into me, sending me barreling back down the corridor I came from.

  At first I think it’s blood, but then, as it tumbles me around and gets in my mouth, I realize it’s wine. Dark, luscious red wine. He’s hit me with a tidal wave of merlot. I’m jostled and bounced in the flow for several seconds, caroming off pipes and who-knows-what-else in my unexpected surfing trip through the underground corridors of Disney. The wall of liquid eventually peters out, depositing me unceremoniously in the middle of the hall, drenched in the stuff. I sputter and hack, streams of liquid pouring off my hair to pool around me in a new red lake that ripples on the corridor’s floor.

  I pity tonight’s cleaning crew, if they even still exist. Maybe Dionysus did something to make everyone just … vanish? Is he that powerful? I try to get my bearings, wiping at my eyes and jostling my bag as I do; somehow, it’s still on my shoulder. Coughing through wine-infused ropes of hair, I watch with growing horror as a pair of gleaming white shoes marches toward me through the puddles, not a speck of red staining them.

  A hand grasps me roughly by the arm and tugs, hauling me upright. “What a mess you’ve made of yourself,” Dionysus says with a sneer. He lets go of my arm with a little shove, sending me staggering back. I barely maintain my footing. “Now I will simply take what I want, and when I am done with you, this ‘Garen’ can have whatever scraps remain.”

  Well, that’s wonderful. He’s gone for a combination order of evil. I’ll be damned if he’s going to manage any part of it without a fight, though. I fumble in the bag at my side, turning away so he can’t see what I’m doing and trying to make it seem like I’m cowering.

  He reaches out and grabs me by the hair, attempting to pull me close. In that instant, I whip out the syringe I stole from Garen at the steakhouse, aiming to plunge it into his neck. His eyes widen as the metal barb punctures his skin, but he snaps his head back and twists, knocking it out of my hand before I have a chance to inject him with its contents.

  The syringe clatters to the floor, and Dionysus kicks my legs out from under me, sending me toppling to the ground beside it. Before I can even reach it, he’s on top of me, pinning my arms to the wine-soaked concrete. He smirks at me, and his eyes dance with delirium and delight. Since I can’t wipe that smile off his face with my fist, I do the next best thing and spit in one of those wild eyes of his. He grimaces, then backhands me. Stars explode in my vision. He’s unstoppably strong—not the best tactician or fighter, but he doesn’t really need to be. With one arm free, I try to grab for the syringe again, but my head feels cloudy and I can’t seem to control my movements very well.

  Then there’s a little scrape and a flurry of movement. I realize someone else is beside us in the same moment Dionysus does, but it’s too late for either of us to react. I squint my eyes and try to focus on the blur of motion, and with a thrill of happiness, I realize it’s Nathan in the split second before he stabs Dionysus between the shoulder blades with the syringe. The enraged god spins to focus on my devoted follower, batting his hand away. He pushes at Nathan unsteadily, more in confusion than anything else, but it’s still enough to launch my friend off his feet.

  Before Nathan can crash into the wall behind him, vines rip out of the floor and ceiling and snatch him in midair. The plants grow like lightning, sprouting broad green leaves and bunches of swollen red grapes as they ensnare him. It’s almost too fast to be believed. In a matter of moments, he’s caught spread-eagled in the middle of the hall, grapevines locking his arms and legs in place.

  Dionysus gets to his feet and starts walking toward Nathan. “Her little high priest, I see. Come to save the day?” he mocks. “All you’ve done is force me to ponder which of you I should hurt first so the other can watch.”

  I launch mysel
f off the floor, almost slipping in the wine, and punch him in the back, right on the plunger of the syringe, which is still sticking out from between his shoulder blades. “Watch this,” I hiss in his ear as the liquid enters his body.

  He doesn’t even have a chance to turn around. He takes a staggered half step to the side before collapsing on the wine-pooled floor. The vines around Nathan immediately go slack, dropping him beside the unconscious god. I grin with satisfaction as Dionysus’s immaculate clothes become stained at last, the red seeping into them and—I hope—ruining the fabric.

  “Someone’s been watching too many action movies,” I say, helping Nathan to his feet.

  “Oh, hey, you know, just picking the roommate up from work,” he mumbles, sounding a little dazed. He reaches out and touches my arm. “Are you okay?”

  “Chauffeur and knight in shining armor. I hauled the right psych tech out of the crazy house,” I say, reaching up to pull a few stray leaves from his hair.

  He grins at that, then nudges Dionysus with his foot. “Well, he’s not so tough. I mean, grapevines? Talk about amateur hour.”

  I laugh, silently thanking whatever twists of fate brought us together. “Nathan, you are the most wonderful Web designer I’ve ever met,” I say, hugging him.

  “Hah. And you’ve met how many?”

  “Shh. Best not to dwell on that,” I murmur, soaking up the hug. To be honest, I feel a little shaken—it’s been a very long time since I fought one of my kin, and I’ve never felt so outclassed. I have to get stronger.

  Though I badly want to rest, I have no idea how long Garen’s poison will last, especially on a god as powerful as Dionysus. “Come on,” I say, breaking our hug. “Let’s figure out what to do with him.”

  Nathan sighs as he moves beside me. “Well, isn’t there supposed to be a cryogenic vault somewhere nearby we can use to freeze him?”

  I elbow him lightly in the ribs and bend down to pick up one of Dionysus’s arms. Carefully, I pull him onto my shoulders in a fireman’s carry, then return to my feet with a groan. I might be stronger than I’ve been in centuries, but he’s very heavy. Nathan seems impressed, though.