Gilded

by Kendall Grey

  I swallow. “Three … what?”

  He flashes me a playful look. “I’m a magician. Watch me make magic.”

  Alexander slinks away, melting into the throng. The pulsating crowd sways as if it’s a collective being rather than a couple hundred individuals. My arms are still cold. I rub them and scan the room. A strange but seductive vibe perches over the air like oppressive humidity, sucking the oxygen from it. Erotic heat lightning races among the dancers, guiding their movements.

  Laguz throbs along with it.

  Alexander reaches Freddie and his new friend, and in three seconds, the duo transforms into a trio of male bodies, swinging and writhing in time to the gothic music. Alexander’s eyes shift to mine. They’re not black anymore. They’re gold.

  Panic swirls inside my head, and I grab the nearest chair to steady myself.

  My first thought is of Heimdall, the guardian of the Bifrost who killed me at Ragnarok centuries ago and whom I was recently reunited with in Atlanta at the Asgard Awakening convention. We got into another tiff, but this one ended with my boot heels dangling from his pretty-boy golden eyes. Later, Huginn released the dildos of war at him from my remote-controlled skull suitcase. Last time I saw Heimdall, he was flat on the floor with dozens of hopping vibrators buzzing around his head.

  But I don’t sense the immortal hum I did with Heimdall or Odin, which makes me think Alexander’s trick is just that. An illusion he’s perfected for his magic show. That must be it. Freddie is a master at designing robots and drones and other electronic wonders. Seems logical that a magician could make his eyes turn gold with similar sorcery.

  Alexander drags his lips away from Freddie’s and the other guy’s and beckons me with a crooked finger. Freddie follows his line of sight, and his jaw drops when he sees me.

  Busted.

  He recovers and excitedly waves me over. Dodging the black and white bodies threatening to bury me, I make my way to the men.

  Freddie hugs me sloppily and shouts over the music, “This is my friend L—Astrid. Astrid, meet John and—what did you say your name was?”

  “Alexander,” I answer for him. “We’ve met.” I shake John’s hand and say, “Pleased to meet you.”

  He gives me a once over. “Love your dress. I’m surprised they let you in like that.”

  I ignore his backhanded compliment.

  “Where have you been?” Freddie asks. His eyes are bloodshot. A headless WeedPop stick pokes out from behind his ear. “And why didn’t you reply to my texts? I have big news!”

  I furrow my brow. “I forgot to check my phone. I have some news too. I won the poker game, and they gave me a suite.”

  John’s eyes light up. He runs his fingers through Freddie’s wavy locks and musses them. Freddie tears his gaze away from Alexander to say, “Perfect! I knew you could do it. We won’t have to sleep in the—”

  “Yeah, it’s great,” I interrupt, not wanting to give anything away to his companions about our current housing predicament. “What’s your news?”

  He looks past my shoulder, scans the room, and points. “There it is. Right behind you.”

  I turn, and the world screeches to a painful halt.

  Dressed in black and white, minus glasses and the arm sling and looking good enough to drench in a gallon of honey barbeque sauce and throw on a spit, Gunnar Magnusson laughs beside a tall, beautiful woman. Except she’s not just any tall, beautiful woman. She’s Saga Leifsdóttir. And her boobs with the gaudy feather pendant nestled between them are pressed to his chest like he’s made of iron and her nipples are electromagnets.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Saga looks at Gunnar Magnusson the way he used to look at me. Worse? He doesn’t seem to mind. Always the gentleman, he keeps his attention on her face. She laughs and peers over the rim of her wine glass at him, flaps her lashes, wiggles her shoulders, and touches his arm.

  Blood pounds against my ears. My face heats to the brink of pain. Where are his spectacles? He only takes them off when he’s trying to impress someone. He rarely removed them before when I was around. It’s clear where Saga Leifsdóttir stands in his estimations: much higher than me.

  In a club mired in black and white, I see only red, and I’m not talking about myself.

  Shite.

  Myself.

  I look down at my bold color choice and shove my drink into Freddie’s hand. I dig through my clutch. I find the extra room key and give it to him. “Himinbjorg Suite on Asgard, level 9. I gotta go,” I shout over the music.

  Alexander pouts. “So soon?”

  “I’ll be playing in the tournament tomorrow night. Find me there.”

  He nods and waves. Freddie gulps my dark wine. Some of the liquid escapes the corners of his lips. John licks the line of black. I picture Gunnar Magnusson doing the same to me and drop a hand to my stomach. The butterflies there have staged a revolt.

  Yep. Definitely need to get out of here.

  I strip off my heels, duck through the crowd to the gate, and slip away without looking back.

  The journey through the tunnel up to Midgard is punctuated with several starts and stops as I try to catch my lost breath.

  Gunnar Magnusson is here. With Saga. He didn’t even tell me he was coming.

  Check your text messages before you leap to conclusions, Laguz says.

  Point taken. But I doubt any messages would explain why he’s schmoozing it up with a Loki lookalike who has the power to evict me from her hotel if she decides to get jealous of my previous relationship with Gunnar Magnusson. Which isn’t really a relationship. More like a friendship with a few added benefits.

  Gods. I sound like a lovesick girl. I flatten my back to the wall and rub my sternum. Feels like I’ve been impaled by Odin’s spear Gungnir and left to die a long, painful death in the winter snow.

  Check your messages, Laguz urges.

  I tighten my grip on the handbag and open it. The phone has been off all night. When I power it up, I find several texts from Freddie:

  How’s it going? Are you winning?

  I’m bored. Come down to Hel and party with me.

  Okay, not bored anymore. I met a guy. A delicious guy. Also, I’m half drunk and half high.

  Shit, girl, do I have a surprise for you!

  HURRY UP! I need you down here, like ten minutes ago. The cats are getting restless and so am I. I NEEEEEEEEED YOU.

  ANSWER MY TEXTS, BITCH!

  I sigh. So, Freddie did try to reach me.

  I hurry to the elevator. On my way, a flashing gold sign on the World Tree catches my eye. The ticker rolls through upcoming events:

  Forged in Fire Restaurant: Breakfast 6:00 a.m. – 11:00 a.m. Lunch 11:00 a.m. – 2:00 p.m. Dinner 5:00 p.m. – 10:00 p.m. MUSPELHEIM 4

  Hot Springs Spa: 8:00 a.m. – 8:00 p.m. MUSPELHEIM 4

  Nine Realms Menagerie: 10:00 a.m. – 8:00 p.m. SVARTALFHEIM 6

  Runemaster Tattoo Shop: 10:00 a.m. – 1:00 a.m. HEL 1

  Snorri Sturlusson Museum of Viking Antiquities: 10:00 a.m. – 8:00 p.m. JOTUNHEIM 3

  Ragnarok: End of Days: 10:00 a.m., 12:00 p.m., 2:00 p.m., 4:00 p.m., 6:00 p.m., 8:00 p.m., 10:00 p.m., 12:00 a.m. IMAX Theater, JOTUNHEIM 3

  Vanir’s Gold Gentlemen’s Club: 4:00 p.m. – 5:00 a.m. HEL 1

  Frost & Firewater Ice Bar: 5:00 p.m. – 5:00 a.m. NIFLHEIM 5

  Live entertainment - Gullveig: The Æsir-Vanir War: 8:00 p.m. Tuesday – Sunday, VANAHEIM 7

  Jarl’s Luck Texas Hold ’Em Tournament: 8:00 p.m. Thursday – Saturday, MIDGARD 2

  Seidr: Dark Magic with Alexander Alfheim: 9:00 p.m. Wednesday – Monday, ALFHEIM 8

  Hel’s Bells Nightclub: 10:00 p.m. – 5:00 a.m. HEL 1

  It’s nearly midnight. Runemaster sounds promising, but I’m in a warlike mood. Might be better to go there with a clear head. Ragnarok: End of Days also sparks my interest. If nothing else, it would keep my mind off Gunnar Magnusson and Saga.

  “I’m leaning toward the movie. It might provide some
clues as to where to look for my runes in this gods-forsaken place. What do you think, Laguz?”

  I agree, it replies. Tomorrow, you should send Freddie to check out Gullveig while you’re playing poker. Perhaps Gunnar Magnusson would be willing to take a gander at the magic show. And we should pay a visit to the Runemaster Tattoo shop, though I doubt Odin would be so obvious as to hide any runes there.

  “Movie it is.” I ride the crowded elevator to Jotunheim and flash my gold key to the man behind the ticket counter. He nods me through, and an escort leads me up to a boxed-in area sequestered from the other seats. There are a few couples here in the “VIP” section. I sit by myself in the last row. The attendant asks if I’d like a drink or something to eat. I politely decline.

  As the movie begins, people quiet their conversations. I hear a low hum somewhere nearby, but it’s hard to pinpoint its source over the roar of clashing armies echoing through the theater.

  “How’s it hanging, chippie?” Muninn asks in his thick voice beside my ear.

  I look down at my red-swathed breasts. “I’d say they’re hanging pretty well.”

  “You lookin’ mighty fine in that dress.”

  The hummingbird hovers a few inches away. I fix my eyes on the massive screen and speak quietly out of the side of my mouth. “I came here looking for clues about my runes, and lo and behold, you show up. Coincidence? Or fate?”

  Muninn scoffs. “Are you still stuck on that? Grow up and hop the bypass to Mortalityville, bitch. You ain’t never gettin’ them runes back. You ain’t gettin’ your old life back. Not if the old man got anything to say about it.”

  “Then, how do I shut him up so he doesn’t have anything to say about it?”

  Muninn rumbles a deep laugh. “It’s not my place to power play that kinda shit. I’m just a broker. I meet with clients on behalf of my boss. I make deals.” He shrugs his wings midflap. “I get to live forever.”

  “Is that the deal you cut with Huginn? You tricked him into delivering me to Odin’s precious little resort, and now he gets his immortality rune back?

  “He hasn’t delivered anything yet.”

  “I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “We’re all here.”

  “Speak plainly, bird. I grow weary of your riddles.”

  Muninn alights on the empty seat in front of me and stares pointedly at me. “We’re all here.”

  I straighten my spine and lean forward. “All of us? As in the Asgardians?”

  He crosses his wings over his gleaming green chest and sucks his beak.

  So, it’s true. The other Asgardians are alive, probably in states similar to Gunnar Magnusson’s: present but robbed of memory. Which is where Muninn comes in.

  “Allfather wants everyone in the same place so he can knock us down in a single swipe,” I say incredulously. “Has he lost his gods-damn mind?”

  “Seems like a legit plan to me,” Muninn says. “What better way to take out your enemies than to yank the life out from under them before they realize they had a shot at immortality in the first place?”

  “You approve of this?” I hiss.

  A couple sitting a few rows in front of me turn their heads to the side and scowl as if to hush me. I throw out both middle fingers. They return to the movie.

  “My approval doesn’t matter,” Muninn says. “I have my runes. Huginn will soon have his too. Who lives and dies beyond us is irrelevant.”

  So, Muninn regained his immortality. What a disappointment.

  “Why bother telling me, then? You could’ve fulfilled your mission much faster if you’d stayed away and never woken me to begin with.”

  “I may have accidentally given back your memories, but I didn’t wake you.”

  “Then, who did?”

  “It’s a mystery. One not even Heimdall could see.”

  I reboot my brain for the millionth time, scanning it for possible suspects, which is a joke since everyone from Asgard is a suspect. They all hated me equally. It could literally be anyone.

  “You’re a physical representation of memory,” I say. “You know everything that’s ever happened. Tell me who else is awake.”

  “Look, I don’t make the rules. If I happen to stumble into the presence of a former god, they remember shit. I don’t do it on purpose. It just happens. Like breathing.”

  “Is Saga Leifsdóttir awake?” My stupid voice cracks over her name. I hope Muninn didn’t notice.

  He shrugs. “I only know what Odin tells me. Allfather may be aware of others, but he, you, Heimdall, Huginn, and I are the only ones I’m positive about. Odin asked me to observe a few other suspects, but I don’t have proof of their identities yet.”

  “Why don’t you just flit over and make them remember?”

  “He wants me to keep my distance until he’s sure. I can’t help that y’all bitches fall so hard for me every time I fly into a room. What can I say? I got swagger.”

  “Stay away from Sigyn,” I warn.

  He tilts his head to the side. “Bitch, you threatening me?”

  “Yes.”

  “You’d be wise to keep your nose outta my business. The boss man tells me to get in someone’s way, I’ma get in someone’s way. I don’t give a shit whether you like it or not.”

  “You don’t care about me? Fine. What about Huginn? Do you care about him? What does he have to say on the subject?”

  He hesitates. “Doesn’t matter. Only Odin matters.”

  “Why? Because he treats you so gods-damn well? Please. He’s using you like he uses Huginn. You’re less than flushed toilet paper to him.” I roll my eyes, shake my head, and refocus on the movie. Of course, the actors who play the Asgardians from Asgard Awakening are in this one. Barf.

  “I am one of Odin’s noble ravens. How dare you disrespect me!” he bellows.

  I laugh. Muninn thinks he’s the bully boss? I’ll show him a bully boss. “You’re not a raven. You’re a hummingbird. You weigh, what? A gram? Get out of my face with that shite.”

  “And you’re a woman,” he fires back.

  “Is that supposed to offend me?” It does. “You realize women are superior to men, right?” I’m not sure if this is true, but in the heat of the moment, I feel it down to my marrow.

  Why am I defending this gender I despise? Because it’s who I am, like it or not. Now that I’m one of them, I can criticize women. Men and arsehole hummingbirds cannot.

  “Women are weak,” Muninn goads.

  Using Laguz as my guide, I backhand the bird into the wall with a splat. He slides down and crumbles to a little ball of feathers on the sticky floor. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t hear you over the sound of my own awesomeness.”

  I can’t believe I actually hit him. Thanks, Laguz!

  The pleasure was all mine.

  Muninn shakes his head. His eyes point in opposite directions. Reminds me of Huginn. How I miss that cock.

  “Don’t you ever hit me again.” The threatening tone he failed to deliver turns his deep voice into a high-pitched warble. Muninn gets to his wobbly, delicate little feet.

  “Or what?” I challenge, sticking out my chest.

  He doesn’t answer.

  Not so tough when he gets jack slapped into next week by the dainty hand of a mere human woman. I smile. “Is there anything else? I’d really like to watch this fascinating movie,” I lie.

  He shakes his head like a wet dog and straightens with a quick plump of his feathers. He hovers in front of me at eye level. “I’m here to deliver a message.”

  “I’m not interested in anything Odin has to say.”

  “It’s not from Odin.”

  That gets my attention. “Who, then?”

  “Huginn.”

  I tense and cross my arms over my chest. “What’s the message?”

  “He says to dial 911 if anything bad happens.”

  A chill creeps up the rungs of my spine and tickles my nape with the hot breath of fate. “What is 911?”

  Muninn shrugs. �
��Figure it out.”

  He’s gone before I have a chance to question him further.

  I remove my phone from my bag and google “911.”

  Television show? No, I don’t think he means that. A government website has a Frequently Asked Questions page. Apparently 911 is the number you dial on your phone if there’s an emergency. The site says you should be able to tell the operator what the emergency is and where you are so they can send help.

  I lower the phone to my lap and stare blankly at the screen where Damien Drakkar, dressed in black as Loki, captains the ship from Hel, guiding it through permanent night and falling snow toward golden Asgard shining in the distance. The vengeful smile on his face strikes a chord inside me. I remember the surge of power, the thrill of victory over enemies who did me wrong when I set Ragnarok in motion. I miss it. And part of me is ashamed of that fact.

  Not all that glitters is gold. Truer now than ever before.

  Odin appears on the screen, carrying his spear, his face grim with disappointed acceptance as he faces Loki. His ravens Huginn and Muninn flit around him, occasionally landing on a shoulder.

  What does Huginn know? And where is he? I didn’t see him with Gunnar Magnusson. The gatekeeper at the club didn’t seem to mind Wiggles running around Hel’s Bells, so I can’t imagine she’d stop him from bringing a rooster inside. Why would Huginn send such a cryptic message through Muninn, who’s made it clear he cares nothing for me?

  The discomfort burning in my abdomen intensifies as a million scenarios coalesce before my mind’s eye. It’s clear Odin wants me dead. What if he’s seen my future? Maybe Frigg is alive. Maybe she or the Norns or Mímir shared a vision with him, and Huginn is trying to warn me.

  But even if Odin has seen my demise, Huginn telling me about it won’t change the outcome. Fate is fate. It won’t be denied its prize.