Slay

by Matthew Laurence

  It’s infuriating.

  I ransack my mind as Loki’s body cracks and contracts, realizing we’re almost out of time. Who cares if we’ve won this battle? If he gets away, I don’t like our chances of survival, and my hold on Ares will last only so long as it takes Loki to catch on that it’s there. Problem is, I can’t think of a damn thing in my meager arsenal that could so much as scratch him. Groaning in frustration, I hang my head and …

  … stare wide-eyed at the tray on the ground beside me.

  “Sekhmet!” I yell, snatching it from the floor. The blur halts, and I see my friend again as she snaps to attention, one hand holding a quivering chunk of Loki’s unwanted form and the other plunging a very long, very familiar dagger into his side. The ritual knife, I realize, having almost forgotten the blade she tried to pack in her carry-on, ages ago.

  I wrench my body and send the tray and its domed lid sailing toward her. “Seize him!”

  A housefly pops out of Loki’s splintering carcass as she drops the knife and snatches the serving set from the air. The tiny black dot zips straight up, seeking escape. Sekhmet coils her legs underneath her, does that little prepounce butt shimmy all cats adore, and launches herself skyward.

  I watch in awe as she ascends, arms held wide with the tray and its lid, a mad cymbalist in flight. She reaches out as she nears her prey, curving both hands through the air, and there’s a glorious clang! as she brings the glass top and serving platter together around the fly. She spins as she falls back, slapping onto the concrete floor with a perfect three-point landing, the tray clutched to her chest in one hand.

  The remains of Loki’s lunch touch down nearby with an abrupt splatter.

  I dash up, skipping around the pools of bleeding monster, and reach Sekhmet’s side as she rights herself, tray in hand. The fly is just off-center beneath the dome, frozen in time by the platter’s magic.

  “A fitting prison,” Sekhmet says, holding it up to eye level.

  “Oh, nicely done, Sara,” Samantha says, leaning in to examine the tableau. “You’ll want to lock that in place, of course.”

  “Hey, Samantha,” I say, patting her shoulder. “Glad you could make it.”

  “Wouldn’t miss it,” she says, grinning.

  “Been keeping busy?” Nathan asks, taking in my battered new wardrobe with an amused look.

  “Tried out their internship program,” I say, watching Sekhmet set Loki’s tray off to one side and recollect her blade before walking up to rejoin us. “Wasn’t a great fit. I’ll tell you all the details later, but here’s the important stuff: I cleared my name and found us a way out.”

  “Impressive,” Sekhmet says, returning her weapon to its sheath behind her back.

  “Damn, you’re good,” Nathan adds. “We’ve just been following Samantha since we found her. Figured she’d know where all the cool gadgets and artifacts were, anyway.”

  Samantha shrugs. “Was a good guess,” she says, then glances at Sekhmet. “Not that you were lacking in that department.”

  “It’s the thought that counts,” I say, and give her a hug. “So glad to see you, Sam.”

  “Still can’t believe you made it here,” she says with a laugh. “Brought you a little ‘welcome to Finemdi’ gift, too.”

  “Oh?”

  She nods, pulling over our suitcase so she can rummage through it. “Had these two retrieve your things so I could give you…” She pulls out a metal sphere studded with copper spikes. “… this!”

  “What—why?” I say, taking it from her.

  “Remember what I said in my e-mail?” she says, jabbing a thumb at Ares. “He’s all yours.”

  “Oh! Ohhhh,” I say, getting a nasty smile as I look to my old nemesis.

  “Sara, what’s—?” Nathan says as I start moving toward the cell. Beside him, Sekhmet frowns at the object in my hands, something like vague recognition on her face.

  “This is about to become the perfect day,” I reply. “Just watch.”

  “A fine battle,” Ares says as I walk up. “Though it pales before you, dearest one.”

  “You don’t say,” I mutter, looking over his cage and the spells laced around it.

  He nods eagerly, and I can’t help but smile at seeing him act the lovesick puppy. “I have an attack planned on a small enclave of rival deities for tomorrow evening,” he says, puffing up his chest. “Would you be interested in joining me?”

  “Oh, I’d love to,” I say, then sigh theatrically. “Aw, but … well…”

  “What?” he asks. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’m just not ready for a relationship right now,” I say, finding the right weaves at last—the fail-safes intended to incapacitate prisoners should the worst occur. I give him one last smile, then stab those spells with a burst of magic. There’s a brief, ominous hum, and Ares gets kissed by lightning.

  Massive, churning arcs of electricity blast through the cell, frying the god of war in one blinding, colossal strike. I shield my eyes from the explosion, and it’s so bright I can see the bones of my hand for an instant, silhouetted by the intensity of the light. When it fades, there’s a groaning, cracked barbecue of a god left behind that glass, lying stunned beneath thick wisps of smoke.

  I hold up the sphere, shooting a triumphant glance at my friends as I do. Nathan looks surprised but happy for me, Sekhmet seems pleased to see me take my revenge at last, and Samantha looks positively giddy. A little voice in the back of my head wonders at that, but it’s not enough to derail the Valkyrie in her moment of glory.

  I take a deep breath, point the sphere at Ares, and will it to activate.

  There’s a soft click, a sizzling spark of cyan, and that’s it—all it takes to damn the world.

  My eyes widen as weaves of magic unspool from the sphere, burrowing into the air around us. An illusion falls away from the device, revealing an ancient granite stone in my hand, its surface etched with hieroglyphics. My shock is consumed by dread as the weaves take hold, igniting a massive flare just beneath reality. It’s a message, a signal, a guiding light; something that screams, “I’m here!” At the same time, more magic billows and flexes from the artifact, snaking out to shred the wards around us. It’s not enough to break the colossal defenses of Meridian One, but that was never the intent. It’s meant to make this spot clear and safe for travel, for teleportation.

  Samantha tricked me; this isn’t a “dogmatic lance” or whatever the hell she called it—it’s a beacon, a siren to call anyone who knows enough to listen.

  And someone does.

  I drop the carving, backing away from it like it’s suddenly aflame, but it’s too late. Even as I start trying to figure out how to shut it off, there’s a shuddering flex in the air beside me, a bone-deep rattle that splits time and space. Branching onyx cords pour into the middle of the corridor, fractal fingers dividing, spiraling, pooling to create a portal in Finemdi’s heart.

  The effect spreads, congeals into a matte black hole in the world. Then it shimmers. A leg clad in well-fitted khakis pushes through the void, followed by a hand, an arm, a body, a woman. She’s wearing a simple, sleeveless white T-shirt. Her hair is done up in a bun, and little flyaway hairs trail from it, like she didn’t have a lot of time to put it up. A dark brown leather belt circles her waist, and one peach-colored bra strap peeks out from a shoulder.

  I think it’s the brazen normality of her outfit that makes the complete package so chilling, because beyond those soccer-mom styles, past the skin, the sandals, the little smirk at the corner of her mouth, and all the other trappings of humanity, you realize this is a shell—and the creature within is about as far as you can get from the body without.

  Dead eyes lock on me, and Samantha’s mother sketches a bow as the portal snaps shut behind her.

  “Lady Freya,” she says in warm, chillingly normal tones.

  23

  TILL THE END

  FREYA

  “ABOMINATION!” Sekhmet screams, pounding toward her with cl
aws bared.

  “Shh, this isn’t your job,” the woman says, executing a ludicrously quick spin. She even adds a little flourish with her hands, like some supernatural bullfighter.

  Sekhmet barrels past her, smashing into the cell’s glass with a heavy thump. Snarling, she spins, ready to pounce again—and stops in her tracks. Her expression shifts from wrathful to confused, and she reaches out a shaking hand, swiping at the air. I gasp, noticing her eyes are completely black. She jerks her head, trying to sniff out her prey, then turns and stumbles farther down the hall, away from us.

  “Emilia Drass,” the woman says to me, skipping forward a few steps. “Don’t think we’ve had the pleasure.”

  I back away, eyes darting to Sekhmet, who trips, picks herself up with a curse, and keeps going.

  Nathan yells her name, trying to call her back, but our friend moves on, oblivious.

  “Oh, she’ll be fine,” Emilia says. “Just a touch of blindness, a ghost of prey, nothing to worry about. Come now, let’s chat.”

  “Get away from me,” I say, jerking my head at Nathan, trying to get him to run.

  “Yes, yes, I’m also Apep, scourge of Egypt and such,” the woman says, waving a hand. “But you set me free. You’re safe, he’s safe, you’re all safe. I owe you, after all.”

  Somehow, that doesn’t reassure me. “What do you want?” I ask.

  “For you to have your moment,” she says, looking at me like I’m simple. “You get to watch Ares die, Sam gets her mommy back, and I—well, everyone goes home happy. Won’t that be nice?”

  “No deal,” I say, glaring at Samantha. It was her. She set me on this path, sent me the article about Ares. She’s been working with her mother—with Apep—since Impulse. Oh, what have I unleashed?

  “Deal’s done,” Emilia says, clasping her hands in front of her. “Enjoy it.”

  Ares groans from the floor of his cell, wounds already halfway gone. Emilia gives him a wry smile, then glances at Samantha. The traitorous girl nods and reaches over to the time-warping cell’s control panel. She flicks the appropriate crystal lever, sending Ares into the arms of infinity and freezing him in place—just like the cell’s former occupant.

  “Wouldn’t want to rush this,” Emilia explains, giving me an expectant look. “Now please, how are you, Lady Freya? I’m tickled to meet you at last.”

  “Furious, betrayed, and—”

  “Hateful?” she asks in a knowing tone, and I feel myself freeze.

  “You—Gods, you’re doing this just to piss me off, aren’t you?” I say, running a nervous hand through my hair. “If you went classic bad guy—started telling me how you’ll rule the world, bring endless misery and woe—that, I could handle. But you…”

  “What are you on about?” she asks, smirking. “I’m just trying to do a favor for a friend. You new gods are so confusing.”

  “Rrgh,” I mutter, trying to get a handle on my rage. Apep lives to be loathed, draws strength from suffering as much as being insufferable, and apparently knows just how to push my buttons.

  “Ah, but you’re fun,” Emilia says, sounding wistful. She turns, calling over her shoulder. “Sam, honey, how long until the guards make an appearance?”

  “At least another ten minutes before the off-site fail-safes kick in,” Samantha says, checking something on her phone. “Then they’ll realize what I’ve done to the security systems and call the cavalry.”

  “Goodie. Plenty of time,” Emilia says, folding her legs under her and sitting down in front of me.

  “For?” I ask, taking a step back. I watch as Nathan, still keeping silent, edges around Samantha and her mother to stand near Loki’s tray. Smart. Hopefully we can keep at least one divine terror out of commission today.

  “A chat,” she says. “I never get to do this. Everyone’s always … well … like her, I suppose.” She points at Sekhmet, still bumping off walls about fifty feet away. “Don’t you want to understand me? I’ve seen all kinds of delightful films; isn’t this what’s supposed to happen? The hero and villain talk, and it’s very momentous and such? It’s always my favorite part.”

  “Wh—this isn’t a movie!” I yell. “There are lives at stake, a world—I mean, isn’t that what you want? Destroy humanity, smother the earth in shadow?”

  “There you go again, all business.” She sighs. “Obsessed! Darling, everyone has their jobs. Tiresome, predictable jobs. Right now, the sun shines on the land and those dear little mortals cavort upon it. Perhaps the future promises otherwise, but is that any reason to fixate?”

  “Did you just tell an immortal not to care about tomorrow?”

  She laughs. “From one to another, believe me, it’s better to pace yourself. I was killed. Reborn. Killed again. Every day, for millennia. After a while, you learn to live in the moment.”

  “Just so we’re clear, this is me getting the ‘hakuna matata’ speech from a homicidal snake?”

  “Ugh,” she says, holding a hand to her temple, feigning a headache. “Yes, I was made to do something. Does that have to be all I am? I’m sure there’s more to you than sex and battle and playing matchmaker.”

  “That is kind of on a different level,” I say, feeling like I lost control of this conversation a few steps back.

  She frowns, lip twisting. “In the grand scheme, I don’t think so,” she says after a moment. “Where will we be when the eons pass, the skies grow dark, and this world is dead? Don’t think it’s not coming, regardless of what I do. The universe is old, frightfully old, and will last longer still. When mortals are gone, mountains erode, continents merge, and your precious star betrays you, is it really going to matter what kind of job we had?”

  She pauses, letting that sink in, and I return her frown. “If it doesn’t matter, why do it?” I ask.

  “Feh, the obvious question,” she says, making a face. “Better instead to consider this: If it doesn’t matter, why worry? Why fight it, why—”

  “Because I don’t want it to end!” I say, leaning over her. “I like it.”

  “But I like it, too!” she says, standing up. “I do! It’s fascinating and thrilling and different every day. You think I don’t see that? You think I don’t realize how empty this world will be when my task is complete?”

  “So why?” I scream, exasperated.

  She gives me a sad, resigned look. “Because it will happen. This world, its lives, its sun … they all have expiration dates. I could sit back and wait for the inevitable, but to cause it is my purpose, what I was made to fulfill—so if it’s coming, if the only difference is an eyeblink in the face of eternity, well, better my hand on the trigger than cold, merciless fate. I am the end of things. Not because I want to be, but because it’s … my job.”

  “And that’s why I’m going to stop you,” I say, glaring. “Because it’s my job, too.”

  She stares at me, something odd in her dead eyes. “It’s very depressing, to be despised for what you do, rather than who you are,” she says at last, actually seeming sad about it. “So hey, can we please talk about something else? Anything, really.”

  Something twitches in the mind behind that mask, something horrifying in its familiarity, and my jaw drops as I recognize it. “Apep, Emilia, whatever you are … are you actually trying to make a friend?”

  She nods eagerly and without irony. “Yes! That’s it exactly! The best stories are like that. Love and hate can be so close, can’t they?”

  I connect the dots on that one, and my eyes widen in dismay.

  “Won’t we need friends, in the end?” she continues. “Win or lose, we will be all that’s left in the ashes. Better to enter extinction hand in hand than at each other’s throats.”

  I inhale sharply, gathering myself. “I want to make this very clear,” I say in the voice of the Valkyrie. “I am not, nor will I ever—”

  “Ah, but do take care with ultimatums,” she says, interrupting. “They have little place in the long game, after all.”

  “I am no
t your friend!” I scream.

  She shrugs, seeming unfazed. “I don’t expect you to invite me over for Netflix and popcorn next weekend. Though I am free,” she adds, arching an eyebrow. “I just want you to keep it in mind. Door’s open.”

  “You’re insane,” I say, shaking my head. “Mad. And why me? Why not get buddy-buddy with some other psycho-god who wants to kill the world?”

  “Because they want to do it. I have to,” she says. “There’s no desire here—only duty. So yes, I’d rather be friends with a creature of love and life like yourself. Even better, I know you understand the conflict; what it’s like to be torn between who you are and who you’re expected to be.”

  She shoots a finger at Nathan. “And what will he be, in the end? Can a memory keep you warm when the world grows cold?” For the first time since she arrived, I catch a touch of heat in her tone, a hint of ire.

  Nathan scowls at that. “Um, better a happy memory than a living reminder of awfulness.”

  Emilia fixes him with an arctic stare. “So perceptions cannot change? Is that the thrust of your mewling drivel? Pathetic. Look to your blind girlfriend over there and ask yourself how many she’s killed, the oceans of blood that stain those painted claws of hers.”

  She knows about their relationship, I think, eyes widening. But how…? Then my gaze darts to Samantha, and I remember Nathan’s story of their date at the Met. Of course.

  “I’d say she’s just a little choosier in who she kills,” Nathan spits. “How ’bout we call anything less than the entire world a good start?”

  Emilia barks a humorless laugh. “What ignorance. I suggest reading your myths more carefully next time you proposition a god.” She pointedly looks away from him, returning her attention to me. “Perhaps I am not some clever, carefree teenager, but I will be there for you in the ashes, Freya. He cannot.”