“Indeed,” Sekhmet purrs. “A fine instinct—if, as you said, it comes from a place of support.”
“It does, honest. I’m not trying to be a wet blanket for fun. I just want to make sure she’s aware of the dangers. I mean, Ares … he beat her once, right?”
“Profoundly.”
“And since then, he’s gotten stronger and she … well…”
“Hasn’t,” Sekhmet finishes.
“So how is going after him not a horrible idea? I’m not crazy, right?”
“It is … tactically flawed, yes.”
Nathan frowns. “Then why—I mean, you seem totally on board with this whole plan. I get that you live for vengeance, and to help women, AND you vowed to see this whole thing through, but I—I know how smart you are, how much you care about her. All that stuff is good, but is it enough?”
“No, it is not,” she says, thoughtful.
“So help me understand.”
Sekhmet looks at him for a moment, her face unreadable. Finally, she inclines her head and says, “I would like to tell you a story. May I?”
Nathan blinks at that. “Hit me,” he says after a pause.
“I found myself in India, once,” Sekhmet says, her gaze distant. “Lush, thriving land. So much life and splendor, and their gods, ah … they are power, Nathan. Like nothing you’ve seen. The worship they receive…” She trails off for a moment, caught up in longing, then shakes herself and continues.
“I came into conflict with one not unlike myself. Her name was Kāli. A goddess of change, of destruction and life. I do not recall her offense, but my attempts to ‘rectify’ it were … ill-conceived. I was defeated.” She gives him a wry look. “Quickly.”
“Hard to picture,” Nathan says.
“Imagine my surprise,” she says, smiling. “But then something curious happened. She healed me. Honored me as a guest. Told me if I still desired retribution, that was logical, but she bore me no ill will for my actions and would treat me as a friend until I chose otherwise.”
She chuckles and fiddles with her napkin. “I was astounded, of course. Asked her why she would accept a foe so readily. I have never forgotten her reply. Would you like to hear it?”
Nathan nods.
“She said, ‘You are of vengeance. I am of destruction. Of these realms, perhaps you believe mine a means to your ends.’ She shook her head and laughed, and to my ears, it was sad.
“‘To quest for vengeance is to be unchanged,’ she continued. ‘It is a state, a desire—not an act. The needs of vengeance can stretch for an eternity, always as fresh, as painful as the day they were forged. Destruction, then, is an answer, because destruction promises change. In your mind, you may desire one, but in truth, you long for the other.’”
Sekhmet stops, watching Nathan. “What … does that mean, exactly?” he says, fidgeting under her attention.
“I asked as much,” she replies. “And she did, in fact, explain, but allow me to answer in a different way. Consider your god’s quest. Think of where it began, and where it led. Think of the choices she made, the journeys from the Old World to the New, from despair to apathy and now revival. Without it, would her path have crossed yours, or mine once more? Would we be here now, enjoying each other’s company, if she had not chosen this course?”
“I … no. Probably not,” he says, getting it.
“I do not support Freya’s cause because I believe it wise, Nathan. Nor even because I vowed I would. I do it because it holds, as Kāli said, the promise of change, and after nine hundred years, I am eager to see it find my dear friend.”
“Huh,” Nathan says, turning Sekhmet’s words over in his head. “You think more good will come out of all this? Really?”
“Has it not already?” Sekhmet says, reaching out to entwine her fingers in his. “If the path you walk has brought you joy, then you must accept it may hold more, no matter how much you fear its end.”
“You know,” Nathan says, heart pounding at the caress of her hands, “for someone who claims to be a few thousand years out of date, you’re sounding pretty on top of things.”
She smiles at that. “Tell me more of my qualities, mortal,” she says, and her laughter mixes with his, and Nathan realizes he’d hunt a thousand monsters like Ares if it meant he got to hear that music every day.
Their meals arrive, and as they eat, their conversation turns to simpler things, though with someone like Sekhmet, that still means tales of war and wonder. For Nathan’s part, he tries to stick to stories from a mortal perspective, focusing on things she might find interesting or surprising about the future in which she lives.
“These are great,” he says after she finishes describing an escapade in New Orleans. “I could listen to you all night. Still up for that cocktail bar afterward?”
“Absolutely,” she replies, caressing one of his legs under the table with her foot. “And I must add that your experiences are just as fascinating. I find this”—she waves a hand at the restaurant around them, then at him—“important. You are my window to a world.”
A bit of Nathan’s glee fades at that. “Always happy to play tour guide,” he says, trying to make it sound upbeat. He really is glad she finds him interesting, but “cultural ambassador” isn’t quite what he’s going for.
Sekhmet’s foot pauses, and she leans in to peer at him with wide, wondering eyes. “You seek to hide pain from me,” she says, tilting her head. “I have caused you hurt.”
Nathan tries to play it off, smiling and shaking his head. “No, no, really, everything’s—”
“Yes, you—Aah, you fear my interest is self-serving,” she says, concentrating. “You dread a hollow pairing, a relationship of give and take and little else.”
Nathan looks at her, his smile slipping. “Kind of, yeah,” he says at last. “I’ve had a great night, and I really like you. I think we could—I mean, I just want—”
“Fine, foolish creature,” she says before darting out a hand to snatch one of his. “I am a god,” she says, capturing him in those deliciously intense eyes of hers as she runs her fingers across his palm. “The world is mine by rights. You cannot offer me riches I cannot take. You cannot offer me information I cannot learn. You cannot even offer me your faith, as that already belongs to another.”
He stares at her, distracted by what she’s doing to his hand, but also feeling pinned by the power of her scrutiny.
“And yet I delight in your presence,” she says. “You represent something I have never had: a partner, a mate with no illusions, no ulterior motives, no influences beyond desire and the hope to experience this world at my side.” She drops his hand and stabs a finger at him, the speed and violence of the motion undercut by the silly smile she wears. “You have more to offer me than any. Never doubt the power of that.”
Nathan leans back, understanding. Now this is a promise he can lose himself to, can love her for. He grins and draws closer. “I’m confused,” he says. “Are you saying you like me just because I like you, or…?”
Her eyes glitter. “Mm, is that what you heard? You are suggesting I seek another, then? One I do not find quite so enjoyable?”
“It’s probably for the best,” he says with mock resignation. “I mean, a relationship built on desire? The betrayal!”
“If only there were some way to make it slip your mind,” Sekhmet muses.
“Shame, right? I really thought—Wait!” He snaps his fingers. “Quick, kiss me and I might forget your treachery.”
Sekhmet laughs, says, “Mortal, nothing about me is forgettable,” and then, to their waitress’s dismay, sweeps across the table once more to press her lips to his.
11
SEE THE LIGHT
FREYA
“Garen?” I whisper into the night air, feeling little flutters of panic.
“Who? No,” the voice says. “I’m here to talk about your … career.”
I breathe a sigh of relief. A random mortal with a gun, I can handle. In fact, my evening just got a wh
ole lot more interesting.
“What do you want?” I ask, leaning a hip on the promenade’s outer wall.
“Nothing drastic. Just turn down the job with HBO.”
I laugh. “Or you’ll shoot me? Seriously? Okay, where are the cameras?”
“This is not a joke, Ms. Valen,” the voice snaps, all steely and grim. I notice he’s positioned himself so the lights of the city are in my face, but he’s in total darkness. Nice setup. “Find another show.”
“Aw, but I like this one,” I pout, really starting to enjoy this.
“I don’t want to have to kill you, sugar, but—”
“Chicken,” I say.
“I’m sorry, did you—”
“Where are you from?” I ask, trying to place the voice. He sounds familiar. “I’m guessing Kirsten sent you, so—Harv?” I gasp. “Oh, Harveykins, is that you? Personal assistant and gun for hire! Love the flexibility.”
There’s an exasperated sigh from the shadows. “What is wrong with you? Do you want to die?” Harv asks. I stifle another laugh. Hearing frustration strain those deep tones of his tickles me to no end.
“Oh, because I know who you are? Pfft, whatever. I’m not leaving the show. Tell Kirsten she can cram her inflated sense of self-importance up her ass and, while she’s at it, kiss mine.”
Stunned silence follows. “Can you go now?” I ask after a few seconds. “I’m kind of having a moment here.”
“You’re not—I have a gun!” he stammers, moving out of the shadows so I can see it—and him—more clearly. Those well-defined, almost-but-not-quite beautiful features of his are deadlocked between unexpected fury and stunned disbelief. The weapon in his hand is comically large, a high-caliber bear stopper probably chosen for its intimidation factor. Obviously, I’m not following the script.
“And I have … this!” I reply, giving him the finger. “Scram.”
His jaw drops. “I’m warning you, I will—”
“Shoot me?” I say with a sarcastic twang. “Go on! Make sure you double-tap! I’m worth two bullets, aren’t I?”
Rage cascades from him in waves, but despite the strength of that anger, I can tell he never actually intended me harm. He’s probably so used to dealing with spineless socialites that even the barest hint of defiance would’ve thrown him for a loop, to say nothing of my brazen replies. To be fair, I’m sure he’s very threatening if you don’t happen to be immortal.
“You’re insane,” he says. “I’m giving you one final chance—drop the gig or I will—”
I cut him off by sticking out my tongue and blowing a raspberry at him, then closing the distance between us in two quick strides, clasping his upraised hand in mine and pushing the gun barrel against my heart. “Do it. Dare ya,” I hiss, moving with him as he tries to back away.
“Get away from me, you stupid—!”
“Shoot me. C’mon. Coward,” I snap, pushing him back a step with every word.
“Let go of my damn hand!” he shouts. His back legs hit the promenade’s wall, and I start leaning into him, forcing him to bend backward over the edge.
“Stop!” he yells, eyes widening as he realizes how close he is to the void. It’s not a terribly huge drop to the mountainside below, but it’s probably more than enough to kill or seriously injure someone unlucky enough to take it.
“Bye, Harv!” I say, grinning as I add just a little more pressure. I don’t actually intend to go through with it, but putting the fear of, well, me into this bruiser seems a just comeuppance for the stunt he attempted tonight.
Unfortunately, Harv doesn’t quite see the humor in it.
“No!” he screams, panicking. He drops his weapon, twists his body, and uses one knee and both hands to lever me up and over his head, tossing me off the observatory in one unexpectedly fluid motion.
I yelp in surprise as I pinwheel into open air.
For a moment, it’s just that once-peaceful breeze whooshing around me. Then the slope of Mount Hollywood zooms up impossibly fast and I smash into it face-first with all the agonizing momentum of a four-story drop. My body bounces once and my shoes fly off as the impact rumbles through me with all manner of snaps, crackles, and pops. I roll down the cliff face, the world a blur of sky and sand. I’m a tangle of flailing limbs and pain for a good hundred feet before a nice, scratchy patch of scrub brush halts my momentum.
I lie there hurting for a moment, wishing I were in Sekhmet’s nonairborne shoes for the second time tonight, then get to work righting myself.
“Freaking ow,” I say with a groan, rolling over onto my back. My limbs don’t exactly have all the usual joints or angles one would normally prefer, making every movement difficult. At least my bag stayed with me—even if the shoulder it’s on isn’t seated quite right.
I wait for my body to reshape itself according to the vision of its long-dead designers. It’s not particularly fun; I find myself wincing every so often as something important clicks back into place. The view is nice, though. Finally, when everything’s roughly where it should be, I get myself to my feet, stumble out of the scrub, and begin dusting off my clothes.
“Note to self: Do not taunt hit men,” I mutter, batting briars from my jeans.
I’m picking some scraggly twigs out of my hair when a noise draws my attention. There’s a steady crunch of footsteps approaching, accompanied by occasional glimmers of light; someone’s picking their way down the hill toward me, using a flashlight to guide their way. I can make out snatches of conversation as they approach.
“—was I supposed to know she’s crazy?” Harv is saying. “I just … Yes, I know she’s Hollywood. Haven’t met one with a death wish, have I?”
He sighs, listening to someone I can’t hear. I’m guessing he’s on the phone.
“Look, I know it’s a mess. Either way, your daughter gets what she wants, right? Isn’t that my job?”
Another pause. When he speaks up, it’s in a frustrated grumble. “Gene and Vitty never come to you with this crap because this crap isn’t their job!”
His footsteps stop as he listens to whoever’s on the other end, and I sneak to one side, crouching behind a nearby tree.
“Uh-huh. Yes, Mr. Riley.… No, Mr. Riley.” He lets out another sigh. “All right. Yes. Yes, I’ll try to think next time! Right now, I’ve got a dead or hurt girl to … No, I haven’t found her yet.”
He groans, and I can almost hear him grit his teeth from here. “That’s what I’m doing!” he snaps, picking up his pace with big, angry strides. “Now, if she’s still alive, what do you … Yes, if. It’s a slope, she might’ve—look, I don’t know! What should I do if she is?”
I hear him whistle. “Cold. I mean … Yeah, I understand, it’s just … Right, but she didn’t … Fine,” he says, drawing close to my hiding spot.
“Yeah, thanks, boss. Yeah, I’ll call when I—”
I lunge as he pulls even with me, knocking away his flashlight with one hand and grabbing a fistful of his shirt with the other. I know how fast he is, so it’s no surprise when he drops his phone and manages to magic a gun out of his jacket. He swings the weapon in a tight outward arc, trying to pistol-whip me in the jaw. I lean back, dodging the blow and smirking as its momentum leaves him wide open for a split second.
I tighten my grip on his button-up, tense my neck muscles, and bring my forehead smashing into his face with one staggering crack. His knees buckle and he tumbles to the dirt, dazed but not out. I take the opportunity to relieve him of his firearm. It’s much smaller than the hand cannon he used to menace me, and probably his actual weapon of choice.
He moans, holding a hand to his head, and curses softly. “Weird night?” I ask, frisking him for more weapons. “Aw, poor baby. We’re just getting started.”
“How—?” he mumbles, trying to get his eyes to focus on me as I root through his clothes.
A moment later, I sit on the ground in front of him, cradling the bigger gun I saw earlier, a folding knife, and a collapsible baton in my la
p. “For me? On the first date?” I say, shaking my head before tossing everything but the blade downslope. “Just not that kind of girl, sorry.”
“I saw—Ohh.” He tries to get up as he speaks, but a wave of dizziness sends him back onto the slope, where he clutches at his head. “I saw you hit,” he says in a weak voice after a few seconds. “Your neck. Think I heard it. Arms, legs, everything twisted on the way down. You can’t be walking, can’t be—”
“Kicking your butt?” I suggest. “You’re right, of course. I shouldn’t be alive.” I lean over him, smiling down. “Wanna guess how I managed it?”
He just stares at me, still disoriented.
“Hmm … maybe it’s the part where I can’t be killed,” I say, flicking open his knife and drawing it across my arm.
“You crazy—!” he gasps, trying to scramble away as my blood starts dripping onto him.
“Oh, would you look at that,” I say, ditching the blade and giving the gash in my arm a pointed stare.
The wound’s already begun to close, and I’m delighted to see it’s going a lot faster than the last time I did this to prove my divinity to Nathan. I really have been getting stronger these past months. I glance at Harv when it’s halfway done, smiling to see him hopelessly focused on my limb, fascination and horror mingling on his face.
“And gone!” I say after it’s healed, turning my arm so he can see there’s no trace of the injury. “Got another theory?”
His hand twitches behind his back and he brings out another gun I missed, aiming it right between my eyes. “Stay back,” he says. “Just—just stay right there.”
“Oh, like that worked so well before.”
“I mean it! I’ll—”
“Kill me? Ooh, scary!” I say, wiggling my fingers. “Now hand me that thing, little man, before you hurt yourself.”
He hesitates, eyes darting from me to the pistol like he’s torn between obedience and assault. “I said now,” I snap in the voice of the Valkyrie.
His fingers seem to move on their own, dropping the weapon into my waiting hand. He looks at them like he’s wondering how that happened, then stares at me with a face full of fear. “What are you going to do?” he asks in a croak.
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