“I claim your world,” it hisses, androgynous and cold. “I claim your cattle, your flocks, your future. You are weak. Bloated with arrogance and made irrelevant by age. I seek your challenge, dare you to show yourself before me. I am here”—and the vision sears with darkness, spiraling down, down, from North America, to New York, to the Hudson River, to a rusting set of docks—“and I defy you to test my claim. Come to me. Come see how feeble you have become. I claim your world, I claim—”
And the message repeats, over and over, a constant loop of challenge and malice.
I’ve never seen anything like this before. Whatever this creature is, it’s calling out every god in existence, actually praying to us in all our devastating glory, and asking for a fight.
The door to my hotel room shudders under someone’s fists, jarring me awake. I practically throw myself off the bed, dash over, and wrench it open to reveal Sekhmet standing there, chest heaving with adrenaline. “It’s him,” she rasps. “Apep. We cannot go.”
Ah, hell. She’s talking about the creature I released when I destroyed Impulse Station—Samantha’s mother. Sort of. “I—I wasn’t planning—”
She pushes in and begins pacing. Words dribble from her, uncharacteristically subdued and unsure. “He stands astride this world and the Land of the Dead, renewed each night no matter the means of destruction. Made to fight and die, and do so endlessly.” She looks at me, eyes wide. “Made in a different age, Freya, as we all were. When night fell, it was believed Apep wished to devour the sun, and so my kin gathered to destroy him, to fight for every dawn. Now those believers are gone and we no longer guard against this creature, but does the sun still rise? Of course. Apep cannot consume it, but—do you see the flaw? Do you see how the cycle has been broken? As long as the sun rises and sets, he cannot be killed.”
“I know, Sekhmet,” I say, reaching out and trying to get her to slow down. “It’s a problem, and one we’ll have to face someday soon, but we’re all kind of immortal by definition. Even if some idiots show up for a battle royal, what can he really do to them?”
She frowns and shakes her head. “I do not know. What does he desire? Has he gained some new knowledge in all these years? Does he wish to face a specific god? Or is he simply bound to pursue conflict at night? I seek vengeance and judgment, you hunger for beauty and war, and Apep … is it chaos he craves, or something else? It burns, this ignorance of mine.”
“Look, we’re dealing with something really old and really strange,” I say, aiming to calm her down. “I think it’s okay not to have a clue what he wants. I mean, how are we supposed to get inside his head? This is a god that isn’t really a god, right? No prayers, no religion, he’s nothing without—Oh.”
“What?” Sekhmet says, pacing closer.
“It’s just … oh, crap,” I murmur, thinking it over. “How does a god without a religion get stronger? For us, it means gathering belief where we can and trying to do things that call to our natures, right?”
“Yes…”
“So Apep never had a religion to begin with. He just had people who hated him so much they made a religion out of that. They didn’t worship him—they worshipped the hatred of him. So what does a god who’s made to be hated do?”
“He, well, he’d have to find a way to…” She pauses, the truth hitting her. “Aah, he goes looking for it. He does not yet possess the strength to make mankind hate him, so he chooses us instead. He’s trying to return to the old ways, to foster loathing and fight the gods.”
“All the more reason to stay put and get stronger, right?”
She nods. “Absolutely. I doubt he possesses the power to taint the dreamlands in this way each night, but whenever he manages it, we must hold fast and resist his vile call.”
Something tells me that’ll be a lot harder for her. “I wonder who’s going to take the bait.”
She shrugs. “Fools. They will spend themselves and achieve nothing but his empowerment. We must rest, conserve our strength, and draw plans against this creature for another day.” She pauses. “You … do intend to include Apep in your trials to come, yes?”
I nod, getting the feeling she won’t take kindly to any other answer. “He’s our responsibility. We let him out, so we’ll settle that debt when we can.”
So Finemdi, Ares, and now … Apep? I think, sighing inside. Why not?
“Agreed,” she says with a sharp flick of her head. She stands there awkwardly for a moment as her breathing steadies, and I realize she’s feeling embarrassed for bursting in here all panicky. Then she sighs, shakes herself, and begins to leave. “Well. Very good. Rest,” she says as she reaches the door. “Tomorrow, our battle begins anew.”
I smirk at that after she’s gone. One day, I’m going to sit her down and figure out why she still talks like a Star Trek extra. It’s the twenty-first century, sweetheart; nobody will judge you for easing up a notch. A minute after she leaves, there’s another knock at my door, this one much lighter and more tentative. I open it to reveal Nathan, wearing boxers, a borrowed hotel bathrobe, and a worried expression.
“Everything okay?” he asks. “I heard—”
“Sort of,” I say, motioning for him to enter. He takes a seat on the edge of my bed, and I fill him in on Apep’s little invitation. When I’m done, he looks relieved to hear I’m not tearing off on a snake hunt anytime soon.
“Ha, you were worried I was going to drag everyone across the country again, weren’t you?” I say, plopping down next to him.
He laughs at that. “You? Impulsive? Never.”
I elbow him, grinning. He gives me a playful bump with his shoulder, then yawns and rubs his face. “Gah, sorry,” he mutters. “So tired. I swear I’m not bored hanging out with gods in Hollywood.”
“Not for another few weeks, at least?”
“Yeah, that sounds about right,” he says with a smirk. “Then I’m taking up drinking.”
“You’ll be a Norseman yet,” I say, turning to look at him. “Now we just need to get you facing your fears and staring death in the face.”
His smile takes on a rueful cast, and he nods. “Okay, yeah, I’ve been dodging this one long enough, haven’t I?”
I shrug. “It’s nice to have a hobby.”
“Mm. Well, I’m getting sick of it. I need—I don’t know. I can’t keep waiting; it’s torture. So, yeah. Sekhmet. I’m crushing on the Egyptian goddess of vengeance. How does that even happen?”
“Have you seen those legs?”
“Right? Astronauts on the ISS are probably staring,” he says, pointing upward. “It’s not just that, though. She’s so damn confident and different and scary and—I like her.”
“More of a cat person, huh?”
He laughs. “Yeah, I’d rather not think about that part. The whole ‘lioness’ thing is really freaking weird. Gotta say, though, ever since she started wearing that illusion twenty-four seven, it’s been easy to forget. ‘Out of sight, out of mind.’”
Huh. That seems a stretch, even for a laid-back guy like Nathan. “Seriously?” I say, trying not to make it sound judgmental. “When did you get so adventurous?”
He opens his mouth, witty answer all ready, when he catches himself and stops. A puzzled look creeps over him, and he cocks his head to the side, thinking. “I don’t … really know, Sara,” he says at last, frowning. “You’re right. It’s not me. At least, not the old me. It kinda feels like—y’know, when I wanted in on your whole Finemdi thing? It’s like that. I feel … different. Like I can do things now. Like I should do things. And getting caught up on Sekhmet being an ancient cat god when there’s all kinds of really cool stuff about her just seems weak.”
Oh, hell, I think, a wave of cold comprehension rising in my chest.
It’s me. I’m doing this to him. Gods may be thought given form, but it goes both ways; we kind of “bleed” into the world around us, and that includes the people in it. Confidence, a devil-may-care attitude, and a touch of lust? Sound like anyone
you know? Yeah. And now it’s happening to Nathan, just because he fell in with a very weird crowd.
But there’s no way I’m telling him his crush might be a symptom of divine radiation, because he’s in love, dammit, and I was made to fan those flames wherever I find them. So instead of going all Debbie Downer on him, I say, “That’s the spirit! So what else do you like about her? What’s that ‘really cool stuff’?”
Note to self: I’m going to regret this later.
He grins. “Lots. I mean, yeah, she has that whole ‘hair-trigger violence’ thing, but set that aside and you see she really cares about the people she trusts. Goes adorable whenever she’s around animals, funds women’s shelters in her free time, and is a total sucker for action movies.”
He gets an exasperated look, like he’s having trouble putting something into words, then continues with a frustrated sigh. “She’s—you know, she’s this close to being a walking stereotype of some outdated berserker, but those little moments where you realize part of her is having fun with it all … it’s hard not to like her, Sara.” He groans. “I’m sorry. Idiot mode on. Why am I babbling about her to you like this after what—I mean, those stupid things I said on the terrace. Agh! Are you actually okay with this?”
“I—well, yeah,” I mumble. Smooth, Sara. “Yes, you surprised me a little, but I exist to see love grow wherever it can, Nathan. I want to help. I’m totally okay with this.”
All right, so I have no idea if that’s a lie or not. This whole situation is messing with my head, but hey, if I say something often enough, maybe that’ll settle the issue for me. At the very least, getting some direction here might help me focus on this divine war I’m trying to win. Priorities!
Nathan cracks a genuine smile, saying, “That’s great, Sara. Thank you.”
Well, at least he’s convinced. Either I believe in my words a lot more strongly than I thought, or he’s way too trusting. Which could it be…?
“Aw, what are gods for?” I say with more cheer than I feel. “So how can I help?”
“Man, I don’t even know. Where do I start? I mean, could it ever work out? Should I even try?”
“Nonsense. No high priest of mine is going to chicken out on a relationship. Love and war, remember?”
“Love is a battlefield,” he says softly, grinning. “So what do I do? Ask her out for drinks? ‘Hey, gut any heretics lately?’”
“I think you should just be upfront and honest with her, Nate. Tell her how you feel, what you’re looking for, see if she feels the same. Don’t forget, she’s literally impossible to lie to, so she won’t just appreciate the straightforward approach—she’ll know when you’re being anything but.”
“Good point. Is she—? Um, wait. Now that I think about it, here’s a better question to ask first: Is a relationship something she’d actually want? Has she ever had a boyfriend before?”
“Ehhhh,” I say, wiggling a hand back and forth. “She’s had lovers, yes … even a husband at one point, but who hasn’t? Trouble is, those words could mean something entirely different to her. Think of how relationships have changed in the past century. Huge differences, right? Okay, Sekhmet is over five thousand years old, and unlike me, she actually remembers most of her past. Trying to second-guess her is impossible. I really think your best bet is just asking and taking it from there.”
“Man,” he says, rubbing his eyes. “Okay. Fine. Tomorrow night. Get ready, ’cause your high priest is going to make a move.”
“Just make sure he fills his god in on all the juicy details afterward, all right?”
He laughs. “Is that your version of a Hail Mary? Romantic gossip?”
“Heck of a lot more interesting, at least,” I say with a snort. “You know we actually hear every prayer, right? They’re … like these soft, wonderful little songs. The faintest music, right in the back of my head, and I can hear the words if I concentrate. Thing is, even the catchiest beat in the world can wear thin; any idea how boring it gets to hear the same tune over and over again?”
“Never thought about it like that,” he says, frowning. “Wait, does that mean I can contact you anywhere? Just … pray and you’ll hear me?”
“Seriously?” I say, genuinely surprised. “You do realize that’s the deal, right? You pray, we answer? And if the high priest of Freya can’t talk to her, who can?”
“No, no, that makes complete sense. It’s just … you have this image of gods being these distant, all-powerful beings in the clouds, and then you meet one and she’s this cool girl who likes chocolate and fashion magazines. I guess I figured being able to hear every prayer was more of the myth, too.”
I grunt a negative. “Nope. We hear them. Every. Last. One. It’s who we are, Nathan. We were made to hear your hopes, your pleas, and your praise.”
“Does it ever get annoying, listening to that all the time?”
“Nah,” I say with a shake of my head. “Most of the time it’s just background noise, but it’s not distracting, not any more than the sound of blood in your veins, the whisper of air in your lungs. Prayer’s part of our biology.”
He spreads his hands. “My goddess,” he says. “Coolest damn thing in my life. A few months ago, my goal was being able to afford a graphics tablet. Now I’m helping Freya land a film career and hoping for a date with her awesome five-thousand-year-old friend.”
He reaches out and pulls me into a hug. “Why would I need to pray?” he says over my shoulder, giving me a friendly squeeze. “You’ve already given me more than I’d have ever known to ask.”
“Uh, you’re … welcome?” I say in a silly voice, hugging him back. He laughs at that, then pulls away and stands up.
“Thank you, Sara,” he says, and I can tell this conversation has unburdened him of a rather deep-set stress. “Business as usual tomorrow, and then in the evening … well, I’ll let you know how it goes!”
“All I ask,” I say with a forced giggle, feeling a strange brand of awkward. We hug one more time at the door and then he heads off to sleep, leaving me alone to think about things I’d really prefer to avoid acknowledging in any way, shape, or form.
I groan, throw myself onto the bed, burrow underneath the covers, and flip off the lights. I spend another minute shuffling my pillows, trying to get the perfect arrangement, then do my best to drift off and leave all this nonsense behind for a few hours.
Then I catch a faint, familiar voice joining the meager chorus in my mind. I focus, pulling it out to listen, and of course it’s Nathan, praying to me. Thanking me for all I’ve done. Praying for success with Sekhmet. Telling me how wonderful I am. Saying all the things we gods love to hear.
And so instead of resting, I lie awake for the next two hours, teasing apart all my recent interactions and feeling like I’ve done something wrong in every last one of them. What is with me? Do I have feelings for this boy? No, not “good friend” feelings—I know we share those. I’m talking about the “let’s bounce around naked, then conquer the world” ones. It would be easier if I knew for sure. I could march in there, head this off at the pass, and let the good times roll.
But I could be wrong. This could be jealousy, or confusion, or just the result of a decades-long dry spell for a god of love and … Damn, I’m bad at this. What if I step in, mess with what’s happening, and it turns out all I wanted was to keep Sekhmet away from a toy I hadn’t played with first? I could ruin two friendships and potentially even derail my plans for empowerment. I’ve seen this happen before, seen every imaginable relationship success and failure, and I simply am not sure enough of what I want to make a move.
So I won’t. I’ll sit back, help Nathan where I can, and focus on the many other problems at hand, no matter how weird it feels.
“I so do not need this right now,” I say to my ceiling, which has been a very good listener so far. I send it a quick, snarky prayer of thanks and roll over, hoping sleep will find me at last.
“Boo,” Samantha Drass says, sending me thrashing ou
t of bed with a scream.
8
TAKE ONE
FREYA
“W-what … H-how did…” I stutter before composing myself enough to yell, “Samantha, what are you doing here?”
She giggles, standing up from the bed, and as she does, I realize she’s outlined in pale indigo motes of light, making her easy to see in the darkness of the hotel room.
“Sorry,” she says. “But if it helps, I’m not actually here.”
I blink, taking a tentative step closer.
“Go on,” she says, holding out a hand. “Give it a try.”
Still feeling off-balance, I reach out and try to grasp her offered palm. My fingers fall through it with a soft azure flare. “An illusion?” I say, frowning. Beneath the image she’s presented, the weaves of magic I can make out don’t exactly line up with my guess.
“Close. Modified divination effect from an artifact of mine. Whatever you point it at turns into a reverse scrying window, so instead of showing me distant places…”
“It shows distant places you,” I finish, smiling. “Neat.”
“Really neat,” she says. Then her demeanor shifts, a hint of nervousness working its way across her face. “Didn’t swing by to show off, though.”
“Something happen?”
“Not exactly.” She sighs. “It’s Ares. I wanted to check in, make sure you got my message.”
“I did!” I say, the Valkyrie within stirring at his name. “That’s why I’m here in LA—I need a lot more strength to take him on, figured a career in show biz might do the trick.”
She beams at that. “Excellent idea, Sara.” Then her smile falters. “Although…”
“What? What’s wrong?”
“Do you know why Finemdi brought him on board? Ares?”
“They’re Greek fanboys and wanted the full set?”
That gets me a giggle. “Ha, no. It’s you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah. And Impulse. Oh, they haven’t a clue it was really you, so don’t freak, but losing a station doesn’t happen every day. They’re taking it seriously, and the current theory is that there might be a rival group of gods working against them.”
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