Hear No Evil: Book 27 in the Godhunter Series

by Amy Sumida

  The magic in the music began to sink into my skin. It didn't contain the peace Vainamoinen offered in the Portland Sampo's main area. This music was closer to what I'd heard in Lempo's room, though not as sexual or as powerful. I tasted it carefully—rolled it over my mental tongue—and zeroed in on the individual ingredients. Although there was a smidgen of sexuality to it, the enchantment wasn't specifically focused on that. It was the equivalent of musical alcohol; a shot of tequila for the ears. It lowered inhibitions and made the listeners feel free.

  I waded through the crowd warily; easing around men and women who randomly stripped off pieces of their clothing and dodging men who dove in to attempt to steal a kiss from me. People spun and gyrated wildly, with an exuberance I'd only witnessed once before; at a Vodou ritual. In fact, this reminded me a lot of the unbridled, liberated way that the Voudisants had celebrated their Lwas. As I mentioned, a sexual aspect was definitely there, but it was a safe one. All I had to do was hold up a hand to ward off any unwanted attention and the man or woman would spin away to another target. This wasn't about force or mindless need; it was simply freedom of guilt and shame and whatever else holds you back.

  And it was heady stuff. I could see why people became addicted to it. I admit that I enjoyed the weightlessness of the feeling. You don't realize how much shame your subconscious carries until you're free of it. I had to conquer a lot of personal issues to be comfortable with my sexual relationships. I thought I'd gotten over them completely; I sure as hell didn't feel any regret or hesitation when I laid beside my husbands at night. But guilt and shame are pervasive emotions; diabolical and tenacious. They inhabit you thoroughly; set there by your parents, your community, your friends, and social media. As open-minded as the world is becoming, it still has a ways to go, and the concept of what is good and proper is drilled into us until it has saturated our very DNA. It shocked me to discover that there were still pieces of myself that were embarrassed by my life. That every time an enemy called me a foul name or mocked me for how I lived, I had let it affect me just a tiny bit; wearing away at my mental armor like water over rock. All this time, I had believed I was beyond being hurt by mere words, but the right words can make you hurt yourself.

  The music took all of that away.

  I closed my eyes briefly to enjoy it and as I did, a hand slid around my waist. A man's voice whispered something in another language in my ear.

  I jerked away; shocked out of my bliss. “Back off!”

  “English?” He asked in surprise as he lifted his hands in surrender. “Are you a tourist?”

  “Yeah. So?”

  “Definitely American.” He chuckled.

  The man was so blond that his hair was practically white. It made a shocking contrast to his tan skin; dripping over his broad shoulders like ribbons of rain. I couldn't tell the color of his eyes in that pulsing dark, but they crinkled at the edges with amusement and interest. He reminded me of someone, and he also had a tingle of magic hovering around him.

  Great. Leave it to me to attract the attention of the resident god.

  I needed to get away from this guy before he realized that I was a god too. The last thing we needed was for the Finns to know that we were still investigating their clubs. Not just the one in Portland but all of them. Which meant that I had to act human until I found my husbands.

  “Hey, you grabbed me, buddy,” I huffed; hoping I could keep him distracted enough that he wouldn't sense my power.

  “True,” he agreed. “You were lacking a partner, and I thought you might like to dance.”

  “Maybe ask before you touch next time,” I suggested as I tried to walk away.

  “Hold on.” He grabbed my upper arm and swung me back to face him. “Let's start again. My name is Tursas.”

  “Ver... onica,” I stuttered. Damn my weird name; if I gave it to this guy, he might recognize it.

  “Veronica?” His grin widened. “This is my club. Perhaps I could give you a tour?”

  I hesitated. If I played this right; I'd get a look behind the scenes without having to go invisible and sneak around. If I got into danger, I could always trace away. But then my cover would be blown and my husbands would be—

  My phone vibrated in my jeans pocket. I pulled it out and read the text. It was from Trevor; Where are you?

  I texted back; Meet me out front in five; not safe here.

  “I tell you I own this club, and you ignore me to text someone?” Tursas asked with more amusement than anger.

  “Sorry; it's my boyfriend,” I explained. “We got separated in the crowd.”

  “Yes, it's congested here.” He eased me to the side of the room. “Come with me; I'll take you upstairs where you can look for him from above.”

  “That's okay; I told him I'd meet him out front.”

  Tursas frowned.

  “But you can still give me that tour,” I suggested. “I told him I'd be out in five minutes.”

  “It might take longer than that.” He grinned wickedly then turned to unlock a door.

  Before I could say anything more, Tursas whisked me through the doorway and shut the door behind me, locking it with an ominous click.

  “That doesn't make me feel safe.” I crossed my arms and glared at him.

  “There's another exit at the end of this corridor.” He waved his hand forward. “It will let you out along the side of the building. Head to the right, and you'll find the club's entrance.”

  “Oh, okay.” I pretended to be convinced.

  “Would you like to see my office?” Tursas asked. “It has a great view of the club.”

  “What's in these rooms?” I waved at the doors lining the corridor.

  “Storage.” He shrugged and took my hand. “This way.”

  Storage; my big white butt. I could pick up sounds of movement behind the doors. But I let it go. For now.

  Tursas led me to the end of the corridor where there was indeed a door with an Exit sign above it. He turned to the left and took me up a staircase to the second floor. A few humans passed by us, all bowing their heads deferentially to Tursas, and then we came to another door. Tursas had to unlock this one as well, and the muted music of the club grew louder as he opened the door and ushered me inside.

  It was an office, just as he'd said, and it did indeed have a long picture window along one wall that overlooked the dance floor. The décor looked as if it had been specifically chosen to convey an air of rock-star wealth; leather and metal furniture, a massive desk, and a sleek bar poised beside a tower of electronic equipment. After shutting the door, Tursas went to a panel near the window and pressed a button; the music cut out.

  “There; now we can hear each other better,” Tursas said as he looked me over. “And see each other better.”

  His eyes were blue; pale and clear like shallow seawater. They were also full of mischievous menace.

  “You're starting to sound like the Big Bad Wolf,” I teased him as I tensed slightly.

  Tursas grinned with bared teeth as he moved closer. “Fairy tales. Do you like fairy tales?”

  “Only the real ones.”

  Tursas stepped up to me but kept moving past, brushing my arm with his chest as he shifted at the last second. I turned to watch him as he headed toward the entertainment console. He was going to put on some music. Hell, no; that wasn't happening. I hurried after him and grabbed his hand. He looked at me in surprise.

  “Let's keep it quiet,” I said. “It's nice.”

  Tursas pursed his lips in irritation but nodded. “Very well.”

  “So, tell me about your club.” I moved back to the window. “The girl who brought us here told my boyfriend that you have special music here.”

  “It's unique,” he murmured as he stepped up beside me. “We feature only one artist, but he has a wide range of styles.”

  “Where is he?” I asked as if I didn't know.

  “Not here tonight, but if you come back again, I can introduce you.”

 
“I won't be in Norway for long.”

  “That's a shame.”

  My phone beeped; Trevor texting again. Where the fuck are you?

  Give me a few more minutes, I'm talking to the owner.

  “Boyfriend?” Tursas asked as he edged closer.

  I could feel his body heat... and his magic gathering.

  The owner?! What's his name?

  “Sorry, one second,” I said as I typed; Tursas.

  “Take your time,” he purred.

  I looked up at Tursas and smiled. “People sure do seem to enjoy this music, but I have to tell you”—my phone beeped—“I don't understand how you can get away with playing only one artist's songs, even if he does has a wide range.”

  I glanced down at my phone. The message read; Get out now!

  “Um, it looks as if my boyfriend is antsy.” I slipped the phone into my pocket. “I have to go.”

  “I don't think so, Veronica.” Tursas grinned evilly as his eyes shifted from pure blue to acid green. “Don't worry; I'll send someone to bring your boyfriend back in. He can join us. We're going to have lots of fun together. For days, if you last that long.”

  Tursas lifted a manicured, metrosexual hand as I gaped at him. In the seconds it took for him to move it up to my face, it shifted into a putrid, dripping, gooey mess. He lurched forward, and I punched him in the nose. Hard. I've heard that when a shark attacks, you should punch it in its nose. Supposedly, it startles the predator enough to send it packing. Putting aside the massive brass balls it would take to do such a thing, it sounds plausible. If for no other reason than it would amaze and baffle the shark. Tursas had felt like a shark to me, and it turns out that I have a pair of brass balls; they just sit a bit higher than a man's.

  Tursas went sailing onto his desk; scattering pens, a lamp, and other desk detritus across the floor. He slid right off the slick surface and into the wall behind it as I ran for the door. I fumbled with the handle but it was locked. I turned it roughly and broke the lock but those few seconds had given Tursas enough time to leap up and come after me.

  His whole body was turning into a bruised, jaundiced, patchwork of pus and blood. Gunk dripped all over his fancy suit and stained his pale hair as it started to slide off his skull in clumps. His lips pulled back in a rictus and his eyes bulged from their sockets. He'd gone from suave, sophisticated club-owner to plague-victim in seconds.

  “Damn!” I huffed as I looked him over. “Where's Daryl Dixon when you need him?”

  “You're not human,” he snarled as he slid his arm across the door, leaving a greenish-yellow slug trail.

  “Neither are you,” I shot back as I moved away from him... and the door. No problem; I didn't need it. Just give me five free seconds, and I could trace away.

  “You shouldn't have come here.”

  “What are you doing to these people?” I countered.

  “Giving them what they need.” He grinned.

  “And they need”—I waved my hand at his oozing body—“to be grossed out? You're gonna make me puke. And, lemme tell you, that's a feat.”

  He chuckled wetly. “I'm a god of the seashore; I raise the tide and give humans the calm of ebb and flow. This”—he indicated himself—“is just my demon magic. This is what I do for myself; for a bit of entertainment.”

  “Demon, eh?” I grinned; I know all about Demons. “This doesn't look like any demon magic I know of.”

  “Come here, and I'll show you how it works.”

  “I don't think I like your idea of entertainment,” I protested. “So, you give some humans calm and others get... ? What is that anyway? Plague? Cancer? Chlamydia?”

  Tursas chuckled. “You got two out of three.”

  Before I could fish for more information, a terrible roaring echoed through the door moments before it blasted in as if blown by a tornado. Two gods and one dragon-sidhe came bursting into the room with murder in their eyes and teeth bared. They took one look at my standoff with Tursas and leapt for him.

  The gooey bastard didn't stand a chance.

  By the time my husbands were done, there were plague-ridden pieces of Tursas all over the room. It was going to be a nightmare to clean. I was about to suggest that we burn his little bits, just to be safe, when the body parts shifted back to normal as the magic dispersed. Even the gunk that had got on my husbands vanished.

  “I had it under control,” I grumbled petulantly.

  “I told you to get out!” Trevor growled at me.

  “One of Tursas' titles is the Demon of Disease,” Odin explained.

  “Yeah; I figured that out.” I rolled my eyes. “I'm immune to disease, remember? We learned that when Xi Wangmu infected me with the Black Plague.”

  The men went still and looked at each other with a little embarrassment.

  “Well, at least we had some excitement,” Arach muttered.

  The other two grimaced at him.

  “Tursas was telling me about the club. He said something about being the God of the Seashore and... oh, that's why he looked so familiar,” I cut myself off. “He reminded me of Poseidon; same coloring. Although, Donnie wears it better.”

  The men stared at me blankly.

  “Anyway.” I cleared my throat. “Tursas said he gave humans calm and ebb and flow or something like that. But he also liked to play with them.”

  “Play?” Odin asked.

  “Infect them, I guess.” I shrugged. “We didn't get that far. But whatever he does, it's not pleasant. Either Ilmarinen doesn't know what some of the gods in his pantheon are up to, or he lied to us, and he doesn't care if humans get hurt.”

  Odin sighed deeply.

  “Let's talk about this somewhere else,” Trevor suggested. “Tursas' employees may have already called the other gods. We didn't exactly come in quietly.”

  “There are some rooms on the first floor,” I said as I hurried into the corridor. “I want to check them out before we leave. Tursas said they're storage, but I heard shuffling sounds coming from some of them.”

  “Make it fast, Vervain,” Odin said anxiously.

  “Let them come,” Arach huffed. “We'll just kill them too.”

  “We're trying to keep our investigation a secret,” Trevor reminded him.

  “But we've just left body parts all over that room,” Arach pointed out. “I think the secret is out.”

  “Anyone could have killed him,” Odin said.

  I gave him an incredulous look over my shoulder.

  “Okay; any god could have killed him,” Odin amended. “But if they find us here, they'll know it was us.”

  “Fine,” Arach grumbled.

  The first door I came to was locked. I simply turned the knob until the lock broke. I pushed open the door and then pulled back in horror.

  “I think we know what Tursas has been doing for fun,” Arach said dryly.

  Bodies in several states of decay and stages of disease lay strewn over sofas and the floor. The room reeked of rot and noxious fluids. A normal human would need a hazmat suit to enter the room.

  A weak voice called out in another language, and we all flinched.

  “She's still alive,” I whispered as I stared at the woman who had spoken.

  Odin went to the woman without hesitation; stepping over puddles of stuff I didn't want to contemplate. She tried to lift her hand to him but pieces of flesh fell from it as she did, and she whimpered.

  Odin said something in Norwegian as he laid his hand on the woman's forehead. She closed her eyes in relief and let out her final breath. Odin checked the other bodies and then strode out of the room with a hard expression on his face.

  “She was too far gone to save?” I asked gently.

  Odin nodded briskly and went to search each of the remaining rooms with the rest of us trailing behind him. They were all full of Tursas' playthings. Odin mercifully killed those who were holding on, and then we traced out of that horror show as fast as we could.

  Chapter Thirty

 
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