Gilded

by Kendall Grey

  As the Norns planned it, however, the man was actually a mountain giant who had a magical horse named Svadilfari that did the heavy lifting of stones from the quarry. When the Æsir realized he’d finish the project in time and that an angry Freya would soon be married off against her wishes, they appealed to me for help.

  Okay, fine. They cursed me for screwing up the deal and threatened my life if I didn’t fix things. Whatever.

  So, I did what I do. I shapeshifted into a mare and led the stallion Svadilfari away to a field. One thing led to another, and I ended up pregnant with an eight-legged gray colt, Sleipnir, who Odin would later claim as his steed. After the Æsir recognized the giant for what he was, they declared all oaths related to his “work” invalid. I bravely saved Freya from the evil mountain giant, but naturally, Thor won the glory for that story when he came bounding home from battling trolls like a foolish puppy, flung his hammer Mjolnir at the giant, and smashed his skull in, sending him to Niflheim.

  On reflection, mating with Svadilfari wasn’t so bad, probably because I actually became a mare.

  Not so different from your current situation, Laguz reminds me.

  Technically, the rune is right. But maintaining the intelligence of a god whilst trapped in the body of a woman is different. I’m still having trouble reconciling the feelings coursing through these veins with the male identity that’s dominated the bulk of my existence. Gods, the emotions run high in this body. One minute I feel like weeping, and the next, I can’t stop laughing. Freddie says it’s “hormones.” I don’t know what moaning whores have to do with my emotional problems, but I’ll take his word for it.

  Will I ever free my eternal soul from this body and regain my old one, or am I stuck in here forever? And if I’m stuck, how long will it take to rid myself of the discomfort I feel at every turn?

  Laguz provides no answers.

  Freddie grabs a handful of popcorn and stuffs it in his mouth. He chews and talks at the same time, gesturing to the television. “You know, the sets from the early seasons were pretty lame, but once the show started taking off, they really upped their game with the CGI and shit.”

  “They used shite to play games on disabled sets?” I ask incredulously, scrunching my nose. “Did they bring in catapults or fling it with their bare hands? Or was it the computer making the shite?” That would certainly be preferable to actual shite lobbing.

  He bursts into laughter, showering his lap with half-chewed popcorn. The black and white cat gobbles up the bits.

  Speaking of cats …

  “Anyone seen Sparky? He was here when we got home …” I sit up spear-straight and fire my gaze around the apartment. My gut spasms.

  Huginn never came for his sunflower seeds.

  “Huginn?” I call with a quiver in my voice.

  Sparky wanders out of Gunnar Magnusson’s room, stretches, and sits on the floor in front of the TV. He yawns. Blood edges the inside of his cheek. My heart trips over my heaving lungs as I leap to my feet. One of Huginn’s feathers tumbles from his mouth. A sadistically sated grin settles on the murder-cat’s face.

  Chapter Five

  “HUGINN!” I trip over the low-slung coffee table, scattering popcorn in a geyser of puffy snow.

  I tear through the apartment looking for Huginn, knocking chairs over, lifting curtains, ducking to look under furniture.

  “Huginn, where are you?” I cry.

  Sparky licks a paw and washes his face.

  Gunnar Magnusson and Freddie get up and help me search. My heart pounds painfully against the undersides of my ribs as I dart into the bedroom. I drop to the floor and peer under the bed. No Huginn. I throw back the shower curtain in the bathroom. No Huginn. I raid Gunnar Magnusson’s closet. No Huginn. But I do find a nice collection of flannel shirts that smell like Gunnar Magnusson.

  I’ll come back.

  “Huginn!” I shout, tremors coursing through me. Why am I so wound up about finding this stupid spy bird, anyway? Mere hours ago, Odin disrupted our uneasy truce by reestablishing his hold over Huginn through Muninn. My mortality is on the line, and Huginn is likely running around with a pair of very sharp scissors, eager to cut my life thread in exchange for some empty promise the old man surely made him.

  “There’s no sign of blood,” Gunnar Magnusson says behind me.

  I whip around. “Other than what’s on Sparky’s face?”

  He shrinks back, holding up his hands in surrender. “I only meant that if the cat … ate him,” he says the offending word delicately as if it’s a flower whose petals might fly away if he breathed on them too hard, “there would be lots of blood and feathers.”

  I sigh disgustedly and resume my frantic search, flinging pillows off the bed. “If he’s still alive,” please be alive, “he can’t have gone far. It’s not like he has hands to turn door knobs.”

  “Found him,” Freddie calls from the other room.

  Gunnar Magnusson and I race into the kitchen where Freddie cradles Huginn in one arm and playfully spins a WeedPop sucker in his mouth with the other.

  “He’s fine,” Freddie says. “He was hiding in the pantry. I guess we missed him when we unloaded the groceries.”

  Without thinking, I grab Huginn and hold him tightly to my chest, inspecting him for fresh wounds as I cuddle. “You goat-shite-for-brains fool! Are you all right?”

  SQUARK!

  I pull him back at arm’s length and press a stare into his opposite-pointing eyes. “So, you’re not talking to me now?”

  He looks away and scratches at the air. He plays the victim well. I actually feel a little guilty.

  “I’m sorry for leaving you alone with Sparky,” I say.

  He quirks his head as if to say, And?

  “And I won’t do it again.”

  He’s still waiting.

  “And next time I’ll bring you along.”

  This seems to satisfy him. “You mentioned something about food?”

  I rummage through the pantry and produce the bag of sunflower seeds. But before opening it, I say, “How’d you get in the pantry?” I’m sure it was shut when we left, and the door handle is definitely out of Huginn’s wingspan’s reach.

  “I have my ways,” he replies with a stretch of his neck toward the seeds.

  The bandage around his middle loosens as he leans over. The angry gash from the car accident a couple days ago is gone. While Huginn’s distracted with his treat, I casually brush the dressing down under the guise of petting him. Not even a slight flinch. The feathers beneath have grown back, and there’s no sign of trauma.

  I consider dropping and punting him into the wall but decide against it. I’d hate to mess up Gunnar Magnusson’s kitchen. Instead, I grab Huginn by the neck and turn him toward me.

  “Listen to me, you little double-crossing worm,” I grit out between clenched teeth. “I know you cut a deal with Odin. Tell me what it is or I’ll—”

  “There’s no deal,” Huginn croaks between chokes. Sunflower seeds fall like rain from his beak.

  “Really?” I say. “Then how come you’re completely healed after the accident?” I yank the bandages down and strip them off, revealing freshly growing plumage and not so much as a scar.

  Freddie’s jaw swings open, and he drops his WeedPop. “Whoa.”

  Eyes wide, Gunnar Magnusson steps forward and hefts Huginn with his good arm. Running his fingers over the bird, he inspects Huginn’s nonexistent injuries and marvels at the transformation. “Magic is real,” he murmurs.

  I point at Huginn. “This is Odin’s doing. He sent Muninn here this morning. The two brothers made an agreement I didn’t hear the details of.”

  “Okay, the truth is, yes, Muninn did offer me healing in exchange for information, which I didn’t give him, by the way,” Huginn admits.

  “What did he say?” Freddie asks, fishing his sucker out of the carpet. He picks off a few cat hairs and stuffs it back in his mouth.

  I translate the squawks for Gunnar Magnuss
on and Freddie and turn back to Huginn. “You’re telling me the old man gave you a freebie after he had Heimdall throw you out of a truck? Spare the trickster your lame attempt at tricks. Allfather doesn’t give two plague rats in a dunny about you. Unless you offered him something he can use.”

  “I didn’t give him anything!” Huginn insists, shrugging off the remaining bandages. “I swear I didn’t.”

  “Then what does he want in exchange for healing you?”

  Huginn squeezes his eyes shut. “I can’t tell you.”

  I cross my arms over my chest and lean back. “Then I suppose we’ve reached an impasse. This is where we part ways. I value my neck too much to trust your lies. Figure out where you want to go, and I’ll ensure you get there, but you’re not welcome in my presence anymore.”

  It hurts to shun him, but Huginn’s betrayal inflicted heavy damage. He was my only contact with Odin, my only chance of staying a step ahead of him. Worse? Huginn was my friend. Or, so I thought.

  My heart squeezes painfully. I rub my sternum. I’ve never been good with loyalty, and this incident proves why. Everyone hates Loki.

  Gunnar Magnusson lifts his head and meets my gaze. His fingers stroke Huginn’s feathers. “Let him stay. I’ll take care of him,” he offers.

  Huginn’s round eyes plead with me. I turn away. “Do whatever you want with him. I’ll leave tomorrow.”

  Of course, I have no idea where to go, but Freddie said he’d join me, so at least I won’t be alone.

  But I’m not sure I’m ready to give up Gunnar Magnusson’s company. Or Huginn’s.

  You must, Laguz says gently. Your immortality depends on it.

  I head to the bedroom to gather my few possessions, cursing the brine stinging my eyes.

  Ever since I woke up in the twenty-first century, my best ideas have come in the shower. With Laguz’s raging powers of primal intuition spurring me on, I decide a twenty-minute dance with hot water and soap are in order. My only regret is that I left my impressive collection of vibrators on the floor of the hotel ballroom last night. Though, the loss was worth the pleasure of watching Heimdall tripping on them and busting his face as I retreated.

  The soothing streams from the faucet pour over me, loosening some of the tension in my chest. I consult with Laguz about next steps.

  “Where do we go from here?” I ask.

  I sense the other runes, yet I know not where they hide, Laguz admits.

  I shake my head. “I can’t stay here any longer. Not with him. Her. Him. If he finds out …”

  Sigyn does pose a bit of a quandary. Yet she and Freddie are the only ones who haven’t let you down.

  “You don’t think it’s wise to leave her and Huginn behind?”

  I cannot speak to Huginn’s motivations. Your heart already knows where Sigyn’s loyalties lie.

  “Thanks a lot, pussy.”

  Perhaps the internet would be a good place to look for leads.

  Of course. The internet knows everything. Who needs a prophetess or a seer when you have a Google at your fingertips?

  “The internet it is,” I say and turn off the spray. I quickly dress in a pair of torn jeans Freddie bought me and sneak into Gunnar Magnusson’s closet to steal one of his huge flannel shirts. I like how his clothes smell.

  When I return to the living room, Freddie’s watching Asgard Awakening with a sucker stick poking from the corner of his lips and Sparky curled in his lap. Gunnar Magnusson sits at the bar, pecking away at the laptop keyboard, his brow furled. I feel his frustration.

  I walk over to him, ignoring the brooding Huginn squatting at his feet, and perch on the stool beside him. I plant an elbow on the countertop and rest my chin in my cupped palm. Gunnar Magnusson is a very handsome man. I still can’t believe Sigyn is hiding somewhere under all that burly muscle and facial hair. I push thoughts of my wife aside and focus on the man before me. Until Muninn reveals Gunnar Magnusson’s true identity to him, he’s just that. Gunnar Magnusson. When I frame him in this light, it’s easier to talk to him and to deal with the emotions plaguing me.

  From behind his glasses, he glances at me and straightens. “Are you really going to leave tomorrow?”

  “Yes.”

  He turns and faces me full on. The regret sparking in his blue eyes pierces me like an arrow. How did everything flip from the best party ever last night to a catastrophic day of mourning? Zero to shite storm faster than I can blink. All the more reason to leave him alone. He’s got enough stress on his plate with his so-called “graduation.”

  “Did we really have a three-way with Freddie last night?”

  I laugh. I can’t help it. Of all the questions to ask, he’s worried about losing the rights and privileges associated with his hetero card?

  And you’re not? Laguz asks.

  Touché.

  Maybe the fact that I’m a god buried under swaths of femininity bothers Gunnar Magnusson as much as it bothers me. I wish things were different.

  I ignore his question. “Let me help you write your manuscript. Then you can come along with Freddie and me.”

  Despite being torn apart by my feelings, I really want him to go on this adventure with us. “Ask me anything. I know all about Norse runes. I can tell you how to use them, what is each rune’s power, what the runes mean, how they’re used in battle—”

  “I appreciate your offer. And I believe you,” he says. My heart swells at the last bit. “But my parents raised me to believe that hard work pays off. I don’t take shortcuts. Once I graduate, I have to get a job. If I don’t understand my own field of study inside and out, there’s no chance of me finding and keeping work. This isn’t about you. It’s about my future.”

  It’s about mine too, but he doesn’t want to hear that.

  “I’ve busted my ass to get to this point,” he continues. “Maybe a trickster god like you has no problem swindling your way through life, but I’m not that kind of person.”

  Well, that struck a little close to home. He couldn’t have used some lard to ease the spear in a little more gently?

  “Fine,” I say, standing up.

  Huginn looks at me from the floor with sad eyes, but he doesn’t say anything. Maybe I should leave now. I start toward the bedroom, but the television snags my attention. I pause to watch the dazzling commercial playing across the screen.

  “Visit the newest attraction in Las Vegas. The Nine Realms Resort and Casino is an Asgardian’s dream. With plenty of fun for the whole family, Nine Realms will take you on a journey through time to an era where magic thrived and Norse gods reigned. Visit us at www.ninerealmsresort.com today to book your stay. Nine Realms Resort and Casino—where all that glitters is gold!”

  Didn’t Muninn say almost the same words a few hours ago?

  At my hip, Laguz springs to attention with a vibration that shifts my entire being into action mode. I brush the spot with my palm. This is the lead I’ve been waiting for.

  Grinning, I look at Freddie and say, “We have a destination for our road trip.”

  Chapter Six

  Freddie searches the Nine Realms website for hotel availability as Sparky and I pace anxiously beside him. Gunnar Magnusson pretends to be working, but I can tell by the subtle twists of his head every time Freddie curses that he’s listening. The thick, lush blond hair falling in waves down his wide back keeps distracting me. I have an urge to run over and wind my fingers through it. Maybe yank his head back and kiss him hard, right on the lips. With tongue.

  Stop it, stop it, stop it, I tell myself. I try to focus on Freddie’s phone, but it’s a struggle. Stop being so broody and hot, Gunnar Magnusson!

  “Still nothing,” Freddie says, absently stroking the black and white cat, whom he’s dubbed Sir Archibald Wigglesworth, or Wiggles for short. “Nine Realms is booked solid for the next six months. Not even a single bed for one night.”

  “But you’re rich,” I say. “Just give them extra American dollars.” From what I’ve observed, that strategy
works pretty well on most Midgardians. Past or present, money is the universal language. Some things never change.

  “It’s not that easy,” Freddie says. He taps a button and scrolls through another website. He inputs some information, frowns, and falls back into the couch in a most dramatic fashion, arm over his eyes with the sucker stick drooping from his lips.

  “Every other hotel on the strip is booked too,” Freddie groans. “I’ll bet all the people who couldn’t get a room at Nine Realms sold out the other places. They probably just want to see it.”

  I’m not surprised. The website reveals an edifice even more stunning than the real Asgard. I’m a little jealous of the Midgardians’ talents with stone and metal. The place looks like a wonder of architectural engineering. I can’t wait to see it in person either.

  “Then we shall stay nearby too,” I declare.

  “Not if we can’t find a room,” Freddie counters.

  “We can sleep outside. I saw people sleeping on the streets in New York.”

  Freddie shakes his head. “They were probably homeless people.”

  “I’m homeless.”

  “Yeah, you kinda are. But you can’t sleep on the street. Give me a few minutes. I’ll check some hotels off the main drag and see if there’s something close.”

  “Fine.” I mosey over to Gunnar Magnusson.

  With a heavy exhale, he grabs a fistful of the hair that makes me drool and flips it on top of his head. The lingering heat between us draws me closer. Standing behind him, I examine his search terms while Huginn frets back and forth among the four legs of Gunnar Magnusson’s stool. I start to ask what his problem is, but then remember I don’t care. Huginn has resumed his position at the top of my no-trust list.