Gilded

by Kendall Grey

  I shift uncomfortably and nod. Yep, Loki’s a real arsehole. In the past and present.

  Sparky and Wiggles slink out of their hiding places in the cat condo. I offer my right hand for them to sniff. Wiggles rubs his cheek on my knuckles, and Sparky scrapes his rough tongue along my thumb.

  Gunnar Magnusson leans around his seat. “They missed you.”

  I shake my head and laugh. “No, they didn’t. They miss Freddie.” Which makes total sense now. These two little feline demons used to pull his chariot when he was a goddess.

  “We all missed you.” Gunnar Magnusson beams a shy smile. I want to lick the cuteness right off his furry face.

  Steam rises like dawning sun in my cheeks. Yikes. Here I go again with my … urges. I really am going to have to find more vibrators. And an endless supply of batteries.

  The door opens, toppling the tension, and Freddie wiggles his butt into the driver’s seat. He throws some papers on the dashboard, starts the van, and pulls away from the curb. “Everybody good?”

  “Great,” I say. “Freddie, did you happen to grab my poker chips before I got booted from Nine Realms?”

  “I did.”

  “Did you happen to cash them in?”

  “I did.”

  “Excellent. Keep the money. Except …” I pause and lift a finger. “Might we be passing a vibrator trading post on our way to wherever we’re going?”

  Gunnar Magnusson turns his red face toward the window. Freddie bursts out laughing. “Anything for you, my lady.”

  “Then keep all the money except whatever it costs for a vibrator. Or nine. Nine is a magic number in Asgard, you know.”

  An invisible arrow of realization pierces my brain.

  Magic, Laguz and I think at the same time.

  A thrill dances up my spine as I remember Skuld’s words: You want your runes, but you don’t know where to look. I can help you solve your problems.

  Laguz chimes in with another pair of lines from our visit to the Norn. Words create reality, Loki, son of Farbauti and Laufey. Not the other way around.

  Paying Skuld another visit would be a huge gamble. “She’s a last resort,” I say.

  “Who?” Gunnar Magnusson asks.

  “I think she’s talking to her rune again,” Freddie says.

  “Skuld,” I say.

  “You mean that crazy unhygienic tattoo chick?” Freddie asks. “I thought we weren’t using her.”

  Interesting choice of words. “If anyone’s getting used, it’s me,” I say.

  “There are plenty of other artists around who can accommodate our body modification needs,” Freddie says solemnly. “I’ll find us a place.”

  “Who’s Skuld?” Gunnar Magnusson asks. “Aside from one of the Norns.”

  “One of the Norns,” I crack. Then I clarify, “She has a tattoo parlor in Hel.”

  “Oh.” Gunnar Magnusson sounds a bit dejected. “I guess I missed the invitation to the tattoo party.”

  “You were writing your manuscript. Or perhaps slipping your credentials into a certain Saga’s slot,” I add under my breath. I immediately regret the swipe.

  He turns around. Anger chisels deep furrows into his face. His top lip curls just enough to let me know I’ve stepped over the line. Again.

  I’ve never seen Gunnar Magnusson really angry. Until now.

  “What’s your problem with me, Loki?” he demands. “I’ve gone out of my way to help you, but you keep pushing my buttons, digging in with comments about insignificant things. Why are you so hung up on Saga? What has she done to you?”

  I’ll keep the spellcasting accusations to myself until I can figure out Saga’s motives and what exactly she knows, but the rest is fair game. “For starters, she’s hiding my runes somewhere in that museum. She clearly hates me and adores you, which is why she kicked me out of the resort.”

  “She kicked you out for being disorderly and biting a dude,” Freddie interjects.

  I snap my gaze to him in the mirror. “Both were warranted. And thanks for your vote of support.” I return to Gunnar Magnusson. “To add insult to injury, she’s all up in your pants—”

  “Why the hell would you care if she’s in my pants?”

  “Because I—”

  Careful, Loki, Laguz cautions.

  I smash my lips shut to block the emotions rushing toward the exit and scream inside my head instead. I care because I like you and I want you to like me even though you’re a man who used to be my wife whom I treated badly and I’m ashamed of how I behaved toward you and our kids and how I ran off with Angrboda every time I couldn’t deal with my own shite and I have no control and wish I did and if I had my druthers, you and I would run away to Iceland and start over but it’ll never work because Muninn is bound to show up and blow everything so I have to keep quiet and pretend I don’t care even when I really do or risk losing you permanently.

  “Did you ever stop to think maybe I don’t want to be your rune whore?” Gunnar asks when I don’t reply.

  Ouch. That winger stings as bad as the pain in my shoulder. I wonder how many times Sigyn wanted to say such things but bit her tongue instead.

  “No.” My voice sounds small. As it should.

  “Did it ever cross your mind that I don’t want to sleep with my boss?”

  So, the spell didn’t work? What a relief!

  But Saga is pretty, smart, and powerful. She’s everything a heterosexual man would desire and respect. If she wasn’t intentionally keeping my runes from me, concealing the fact that she and Odin are in league against me, and using magic against my friends, I might consider jumping her myself. So, why isn’t Gunnar Magnusson interested?

  “Maybe there’s someone else I—” He snips the string of harsh words and shakes his head angrily.

  What does he mean, “someone else”? He can’t mean me.

  Can he?

  “You should consider other people’s feelings before you spout off at the mouth. It might get you farther. The world doesn’t revolve around you or your runes.” He collapses into the seat, folds his arms over his chest, and stews in silence.

  I am properly smitten. In the good and bad ways.

  After a few tense moments of heated silence, Freddie flips on the radio. Like Freya, nothing rattles him. Not even a mini Ragnarok between friends in his van. “Well, I for one am very excited to be returning to Nine Realms.”

  I take his bait to avoid confronting the shame coursing through me. “I’m not allowed back there. They banned me.” I’m careful not to use Saga’s name since it appears to be verboten at the moment. No thanks to me.

  Ugh. I’m a toad. Gunnar Magnusson—Sigyn—is far too good for the likes of me. If I didn’t need him so much, I’d take Huginn and find my way without him. As soon as my runes are safely in hand, he’ll be free of me.

  “You can go back,” Freddie says. “You just need the right attire.” Without looking, he points toward the arse end of the van.

  I crane my neck around and spy the scattered piles of clothing we bought from Wal-Mart in Alabama.

  “Disguises?” I ask.

  Freddie grins. “You know I love to dress up.”

  Gunnar Magnusson shakes his head again. This gesture has become a real habit whenever I’m around. I seem to elicit disapproval from him at every turn. At least I’m consistent.

  “Gunnar was kind enough to supply us with diagrams of the building,” Freddie says. “Floor plans with locations of closets, storage—the entirety of the seedy underbelly of Nine Realms is at our fingertips.”

  I gasp. “Where did you get this information?”

  Keeping his attention fixed on the passing neon jungle, Gunnar Magnusson shrugs. “You knew how to find things for my research. I found some things for you. We’re even.”

  Nowhere close to even, but I’ll take it.

  “Thank you, Gunnar Magnusson. I’m indebted to you.” I quickly tack on, “Your friendship means a lot to me. And yours too, Freddie. And Huginn. And Spark
y and Wiggles.”

  Freddie grins at me in the mirror. “One big happy family.”

  Gods, how right he is.

  “While Gunnar’s at work today, he’ll nose around the museum storage and whatever behind-the-scenes spots he can weasel into,” Freddie says to me. “You, Huginn, and I will study the blueprints and determine the best places to look for the runes. We’ll regroup to form a plan of attack tonight and execute it tomorrow. If all goes well, Loki will be laden with runes and blowing goodbye kisses to Las Vegas in another day.”

  I nod. “That sounds good.”

  “Okay,” Gunnar Magnusson says.

  “Squark!” Huginn says.

  I don’t ask what will happen to everyone else once I have my runes. I don’t want to hear the answer.

  Freddie pulls into the circular drive of Nine Realms, and Gunnar Magnusson gets out. I consider warning him about Saga’s attempt to lure him into her bed with sorcery but decide against it. He resisted Saga’s charms before. He can do it again if he wants to.

  Just before he closes the door, our eyes meet. His are softer than they were before but weighted down by emotion I can’t decipher.

  “You look handsome, Gunnar Magnusson. Thank you for the sacrifices you’ve made for me.” I try to sound submissive and apologetic, which is hard for a blustering, alpha fool of a god. But the sentiment is true and very real. Without him, I might still be in Iceland without any runes.

  He nods, straightens his tie, and walks into Nine Realms. Saga waits for him on the other side of the glass, the golden World Tree beaming behind her. She steps into his personal space and adjusts his crooked suit lapel. He stiffens. Saga tosses a knowing glance at the van, hooks her arm through his, and trots off with a fake smile, balanced on her high heels, and swinging her arse like she owns the place.

  Chapter Twenty-Six

  Hours later, Freddie, Huginn, and I pore over floor plans in our hotel room a few miles away from the Vegas strip. Sheaves of paper decorated with crudely reproduced images of several spaces at Nine Realms scatter over one of the beds. We’ve pinpointed six spots we believe are ideal for concealing the runes. The problem is, the targeted areas are hard to get to and covered up with cameras, security guards, or both.

  “We need access to someone on the inside who knows the security systems,” Huginn says.

  “I know someone on the inside,” Freddie says. “Intimately.”

  Curiosity triggered, I tip my head at Freddie and point at Huginn. “Did you understand him?”

  Huginn watches Freddie closely. Freddie barks a laugh. “No. What did he say?”

  “That we need help from an insider at Nine Realms who understands security.”

  Freddie throws a one-shouldered shrug between us. “Great minds think alike.”

  A shiver darts up my back. That was too close for comfort. If Freddie understands Huginn, then I have a fresh problem to get to the bottom of.

  “I assume your ‘insider’ is Alexander Alfheim,” I say.

  Freddie’s brow bounces suggestively. “All day, every day.”

  “Can you see if he’s willing to help us tonight?”

  “It just so happens he has Tuesday nights off,” Freddie answers. “I’m sure I can talk him into some mischief with the girls.”

  I look around for other girls. It’s just Freddie, Huginn, the cats, and me.

  “He has a soft spot for queens,” Freddie continues, “and I’ve got a hankering to bust out my crown tonight.”

  “This bisexuality and its associated lingo confuse me,” I say.

  Freddie snorts. “Says the former god wearing a woman’s skin.”

  “Not the same thing,” I say, though, maybe it is. What do I know?

  “Touché,” Freddie concedes.

  I guess not.

  Freddie dials Alexander. The conversation goes like this: “Hi, Alex. It’s Freddie. I have two questions for you: How much do you like your job, and are you free tonight?” Giggle. Freddie actually giggles like a child. “I see. So, Loki’s not the only one who isn’t fond of her. I trust you’re both good judges of character, so I’ll ask a third question. How would you like to be a part of an epic heist that’ll make Ocean’s Eleven look like puppies taking their first swim in a kiddie pool?” A pause. “Ooh, I like it when you talk dirty. We’re at the Silver State Sleeps Motel. See you soon.”

  He hangs up and turns to me. “Alex is coming over. He says the security manager who’s working tonight has a thing for blowies in the booth while he’s on duty. Gives his superiority complex a triple shot of octane. So to speak.”

  I start to ask what “blowies” and “octane” are, but he lifts his hands in surrender. “Hey, it’s not for me to judge other people’s kinks. I just report the news, kids.”

  I ignore his strange jargon and ask, “When does Gunnar Magnusson get off work, and what time should we execute our scattered and highly problematic plan?”

  “I told him I’d pick him up at nine.” Freddie fiddles nervously with the papers on the bed.

  “Why so late?”

  “Saga wants to keep him for dinner.”

  “Oh.”

  I wait for Laguz to pipe up with a smart-arse comment, but the rune has been quiet for most of the day.

  A knock disrupts the relative quiet of the room. Freddie opens the door, and Darryl Donovan strides in. My butt cheeks clench.

  He nods to me. “Loki.”

  “Darryl Donovan.” I mimic his tone.

  “What are you working on?” he gestures to the papers.

  I push them into a messy pile and scoop the lot into my untethered hand. “Nothing.”

  “You bring me all the way out here from Atlanta to post bail for some shady shit you got up to and don’t let me in on the action? That’s cold, Loki. Real cold.”

  “We’re plotting some criminal activity,” I tell him. “You’re a lawyer. I don’t want to get you in trouble with your boss, the king of the United States.”

  He chuckles and palms his sternum. “I’m crushed. I can’t even be your getaway driver? You know, my momma used to call me ‘lead foot’ when I was first learning how to drive. I couldn’t keep my toes off the gas to save my life.”

  My stomach gurgles at the thought of having to rely on Thor for anything, let alone whisking me away from the scene of a crime. But I’ve taken a shine to Darryl Donovan. And he seems to like me too.

  “What would you say if I told you I am the actual god of mischief, Loki?” I ask.

  His lips split, revealing perfect white teeth. “You’ve already said it many times, and I’ve responded that you’re a crazy bitch on each occasion. You do you, babe. If taking on the persona of a low-life, conniving rat gets you through the day and up before your rooster crows the next morning, go for it. I’m just looking for a little fun.”

  I crack a grin. “Darryl Donovan, if I didn’t know better, I might think you were unfurling your freak flag for flying.” Freddie taught me that alliterative colloquialism on our road trip. He says he flies his freak flag wherever he goes to remind curmudgeons, haters, and the downtrodden that life is meant to be lived. It’s a solid maxim.

  “Oh, girl, you’ve seen but a glimmer of my freakdom.”

  “Let’s not forget, you dressed as Thor at an Asgard Awakening convention and took the role pretty seriously by the looks of it. What would your king say if you got caught?”

  “First of all, we don’t have any kings in this country unless you count the King of Pop, now deceased, and I don’t. We have a president, and he’s not my boss, at least not directly. Besides, no one’s going to find out if I get up to anything shady.”

  “Because …?” Freddie prompts.

  “Because it won’t be me tripping any triggers. It’ll be Thor.”

  Freddie laughs. My sphincter pinches.

  “You’re gonna cosplay the god of thunder and prance around Nine Realms, digging for runes?” Freddie asks.

  Darryl Donovan shrugs. “Why not?” />
  “You don’t think you’d look a little … conspicuous?”

  “Why?” Darryl Donovan asks, twisting his thick, yummy-looking arms into a knot over his wide chest. I mentally slap my face for gawking at the god who made my life pure Hel in Viking times. “Because I’m a black Thor?”

  Freddie holds up his hands. “Hey, I’m totally digging the black Thor. Maybe a little too much.” He swipes his tongue over his lips with an appreciative flourish. “But it might be a bit obvious considering the clientele at Nine Realms is so unimaginatively white with redneck overtones.”

  Darryl Donovan’s grin widens. I like his new, conniving twist on an old Thor.

  “I know some guys,” Darryl Donovan says. “Tell me where to be and when, and I’ll not only help you find your ‘runes,’” he makes air quotes, “but I’ll also provide you with a distraction you’ll never forget.”

  I arch a brow and smirk. “Darryl Donovan, you make my heart go pitter-patter.”

  “Let’s ratchet down the cardiac gymnastics,” Freddie says. “You just had surgery on the old ticker. We don’t need any repeat trips to the ER.”

  Darryl Donovan winks at me. Now my heart really does go pitter-patter. Much faster than it should. For a few terrifying seconds, I wonder if the thing they put inside me is working. Doesn’t feel like it. The out-of-control sensation I had at Vegstasy envelops me.

  “Loki?” Huginn asks. “Are you okay? You look pale.”

  Freddie jumps up and runs to the bathroom. He returns with a cup of water and encourages me to swallow a few gulps.

  “I’m just gonna have a quick lie down,” I say, flattening my back to the mattress.

  Freddie crosses his arms and eyes me warily. “Maybe you should let us boys handle this.”

  “You seem to have forgotten I’m one of you boys.” I want to add that neither Freddie nor Gunnar Magnusson is a boy under their skin cloaks, but I hold my tongue. “And if anyone’s finding my runes, it’ll be me. Even if it kills me.”

  “It might very well, by the looks of things,” Huginn says with a worried cluck.