by Amy Sumida
“What happened?” I asked him.
“Nyx attacked you with her Darkness, but I control the Dark as well.” Toby smiled.
“Focus, people!” Odin shouted.
Toby and I jerked apart.
“We need to get up there,” Odin said. “They're distracted; this is our chance!”
Forget freezing him, use the hourglass! Alaric shouted.
“Give me the hourglass,” I said as I unfurled my new wings.
Odin held it out to me with a worried expression, but before I could take it, Azrael snatched the hourglass and shot into the sky.
“Azrael!” I shouted after him.
That's when the castle gates opened, and Nyx's army rushed out. Screeching harpies came first; the half-bird women flying ahead of the others. They lifted their vicious talons and dive-bombed the gods in our army. More screaming women followed the Harpies out, but they didn't have wings. What they had were vampire teeth that they gnashed together as they launched themselves forward. They went straight for vulnerable throats and drank down the blood they spilled. Then came individual gods; their arms lifted as they cast their dark magic ahead of them.
Toby had to focus on battling a wave of dark mist that Nyx relaunched at me. Above him, magic brightened the sky with streaks of bright white, pale peach, acid green, and neon blue, but that Darkness blocked out the colors completely. Odin bellowed and lowered his shoulders as he transformed; he's a talented shifter and can become anything. This time, Odin chose the form of a massive rhinoceros and went barreling straight into the oncoming army. Gods were knocked aside like bowling pins.
Thor was doing nearly as much damage with his hammer; swinging it in a graceful and continuous pendulous motion. Nayenezgani blasted gods with condensed streams of sunlight, along with his father, while Estsanatlehi did something similar with water. Pan looked more savage than I'd ever seen him; lashing out with waves of Panic. Brahma had a scepter in his hand that emitted different kinds of waves; sound waves. The sound was strong enough to knock gods on their asses. Horus had both hands lifted; beams of silver coming from one while gold shot from the other. The only one who wasn't launching an attack was Teharon; who ran among the army; healing injured gods.
I saw all of this from the sky because as soon as Azrael had taken off with the hourglass, I launched myself after him. Az was only a few feet ahead of me, but he was also much faster than I. The distance between us grew, and he reached the castle within seconds. Azrael hovered above Aion and held out the hourglass; ready to crack it open.
“Aion!” Nyx shouted as she drew a curved sword from her belt and flung it at Azrael.
The blade gleamed; catching the colors of the magical attacks around it as it spun through the air. It moved so quickly that Azrael barely had time to look up before it hit him; slicing clean through his neck. Everything seemed to slow as Azrael's head separated from his body and blood began to gush from his neck. I screamed as Azrael fell onto the crenelations; his back cracking over the stone before he tumbled over the wall. The hourglass dropped to the ground beside Azrael's body and smashed into pieces; just like my heart.
The images seemed superimposed over another moment; a time when I had watched Azrael fall before. Our gazes had met; his looking serene as he simply closed his wings and let himself fall. But that wasn't now; this time, Azrael was dead. He hadn't caught my gaze to send me his love one last time, and there was no other flying god to save him. I should have saved him, but I had been too late. I had failed Azrael, and now he was dead.
I faltered; falling through the air as I sobbed brokenheartedly. Wind whistled past me as I lost control of my wings, but by the time I realized the danger I was in, I was falling too fast to recover. My muscles weren't strong enough to force my wings out, and I simply didn't have the experience to know how to counteract the wind. I heard Odin and Toby shouting and glanced down to see a naked Odin shift into a griffin. He leapt into the air right beneath me; catching me and stopping my fall just moments before I hit the ground
“Vervain,” Odin screeched out of his eagle beak. “We must kill Aion!”
“Do something!” Nyx shouted to Aion simultaneously.
He's accessing his magic! Alaric roared. Hurry, V, every time Aion changes history, it gets harder for your memories to return!
Aion had his eyes closed and a look of intense focus settled over his face. I reacted out of grief and fury; screaming the word that filled my mind.
“Die!”
A sword manifested above Aion and fell like the blade in a guillotine. But as it dropped, a new darkness enveloped me. It wasn't Nyx's magic; this was cold and consuming. The last thing I saw before I lost consciousness was Aion; staring at me with vicious triumph.
Chapter Twenty-Six
It had been a strange day. I woke up late and felt groggy even though I had gone to bed at my usual time the night before. Nick had been waiting at the foot of my Chinese wedding bed; giving me his I'm disappointed in you kitty look. I fed him in a haze that even coffee couldn't alleviate. It felt almost like a hangover except without the vomiting. Which was a plus; I'd rather be in pain than nauseous. But still; what the hell was wrong with me?
I tried casting a circle and grounding myself; that seemed to help a little. I felt clear-headed enough to get some work done. I had a gallery show in Chinatown that night, and one of my paintings still had to be framed.
I set the painting into its gilded frame and tightened it into place before I turned it around to admire it. The Norse God, Ull, stared up at me serenely. I'd done a lot of research for this collection, but it had all been for naught. I knew that Ull, also known as Ullr or Ullinn, was the God of Justice, but he was also a hunter, an archer, and a skier. He was the son of a grain goddess named Sif who was married to Thor, but his biological father was the hunter, Orvandil. As the God of Justice, Ull was the overseer of oaths, and the Norse Gods swore their vows on Ull's ring. This had given me a lot of inspiration that I could have used to paint him. But when I lifted my brush, my original concept had disappeared, and I had painted this.
Ull was seated in a massive, Viking throne with two unusual toddlers on his lap; one had blond hair and blue eyes like Ull, but the other had blood red hair and green eyes with slit pupils like a snake. It should have been an unsettling image, but it wasn't. All three of them had peaceful smiles on their faces, and I felt as if these were aspects of Ull. It was completely wrong; Ull was not a trinity god. Still, it felt right to me. And sad. Every time I looked at the painting, I wanted to cry. It was the reason I'd waited until the last moment to frame it.
I felt a little better once I had the painting wrapped in brown paper. I carried it out to my old Honda and packed it carefully in the trunk. Then I drove into Chinatown and dropped it off at the gallery. I still had to get my hair done before I could get dressed for tonight. Gallery shows meant schmoozing; I had to sell my art and myself. So, we both had to look good.
Hours later—primped and primed with flowery words about my art—I was glad that I had put some extra effort into my appearance. Because as I wandered through the throng of glitzy, gallery guests, the most gorgeous man I'd ever seen walked in the glass doors. He looked as if he could be Hapa—what we in Hawaii call people who are half Hawaiian and half Caucasian. But I wasn't sure; his features were too refined, and his skin was the oddest color. Beautiful, but odd.
“How do you get your skin to gleam like gold?” A woman asked him with adoration in her eyes.
“It's genetics,” he said in a voice like warm sugar; addictively sweet, seductively comforting, and sticky enough to cling to you long after he stopped speaking.
“Come on,” the woman cajoled as she played with her diamond necklace. “You can tell me; I'm very discreet.”
“I assure you,” he purred, “this is how my skin naturally looks.”
He took her hand and rubbed it slowly over his arm. The woman sighed as she wrapped her fingers around his forearm and lightly scratched hi
m with her long, red nails. The man smiled knowingly as he lifted her hand to show her that her fingers remained clean.
“See?” He said. “I'm not wearing cosmetics; it's all me.”
“How fascinating,” the woman practically swooned.
I frowned at the strange display and focused my witchy senses on him. Sure enough, there was more than the gleam of gold to his skin; there was also a distinct ripple of magic in his aura. He was some kind of other, but he didn't have the feel of a witch, he was too classically handsome to be a werewolf, and he wasn't pale enough to be a vampire.
He looked up and caught me staring at him; staring in a way that I'm sure he was unused to; more scientific than appreciative. This seemed to pique his interest, and he excused himself to saunter over to me. Oh, great; I could tell by his swagger alone that he knew how attractive he was. I hated that. I could appreciate all kinds of beauty, but once someone became cocky in their appearance, I lost my appreciation for it. The Golden Boy saw my distaste, and his eyes widened as his steps quickened.
I turned away and started heading for the bar.
“Now, hold on a minute, Miss.” He caught my arm. “You can't just look at me like that and then run away.”
“Can't I?” I looked pointedly at his hand.
He loosened his grip but only to slide his hand down to mine. In a move that seemed practiced, he lifted my hand to his lips and kissed it. My heartbeat picked up despite my irritation; this guy was handsome enough to make me excuse his arrogance. And that's past movie-star handsome, by the way. Living in Hawaii, I've had the opportunity to meet several celebrities, and the arrogant ones always become unattractive to me. But not this guy.
I glanced up and found his face mere inches from mine. His eyes were the most amazing shade; a metallic gold that matched his skin. From this proximity I could tell that they were real too; they had striations of amber, umber, and even pale blue in them. I blinked in surprise, and his sensual lips turned up into a smile.
“I'm Re,” he introduced himself as he lowered my hand but continued to hold it.
I just stared at him.
“Now, you tell me your name,” he prompted.
“I don't think so,” I whispered as I extricated my hand from his.
Re gaped at me as I slipped past him. The last thing I needed was some gorgeous man making me feel insecure on my big night. He was so distracting that none of my usual quips had come to mind; the man was actually making me boring. Which made me angry.
“Vervain, the turnout is fantastic,” Jennifer, the gallery owner, said as she approached me. “Oh, hello.” Her gaze went up and over my left shoulder. “Who are you?”
“I'm Re.” His hand came around my shoulder to shake Jennifer's.
I glanced over and noticed the dark undertone of his skin. I began to contemplate his ancestry again; not Native American, but possibly Middle Eastern. How strange that the sheen of gold made him look so much paler. I had assumed that he had some Caucasian genes, but now, I was certain that he didn't. This man was all kinds of exotic. Damn it; I really wanted to paint him.
“I'm Jennifer,” she said. “I own this gallery. Welcome, Re; thank you for coming.”
“Oh, coming is my specialty,” he teased.
Jennifer blushed to her blond roots as she giggled. “You're naughty,” she whispered. “I love it.”
“Does Vervain work with you?” Re asked.
I glanced up at him and grimaced; he had used my name as if we were old friends.
“Work here?” Jennifer lifted her brows. “This is her show.” She waved at the paintings on the walls. “Vervain Lavine's Divine Disasters.”
“You're the artist?” Re asked as he took my hand and wound it around his arm. “Then you must give me a tour; I'm here to buy pieces for my collection and nothing intrigues me more than hearing about what inspired the art.”
Jennifer widened her eyes at me; we couldn't pass up the opportunity for a sale. I sighed and waved my hand toward the end of the hall.
“Let's start at the beginning then,” I muttered.
“Indeed,” Re agreed with a wicked smile, “as we must.”
Jennifer winked at me as we passed her, and I rolled my eyes. This guy was arrogant and lecherous; two things that didn't appeal to me. But Jennifer was right; the whole point of the show was to sell paintings. I knew I'd have to blow smoke up someone's ass tonight, it might as well be a gold one.
I led Re to the first piece in my collection; a dark, stormy painting with a man set in its center. He had bright, strawberry-blond hair, a massive body, and held a hammer before him. But he was on his knees; bent over the broken hammer. His shoulders were hunched and his blue-green eyes wept.
“The whole collection is focused on gods,” I began.
“Yes; that's what drew me here.” Re smiled brighter. “Divine Disasters; I love the premise.”
“I wanted to show the other side of the myths; the darker aspects of Gods and their vulnerability,” I explained; beginning to feel more comfortable as I spoke about my art. “This one is of Thor with the source of his power destroyed.”
“It's an amazing resemblance,” Re said in surprise as he moved closer to the painting. He glanced back at me with a suspicious look. “You have...”—he narrowed his eyes and lowered his voice—“magic in you. What are you?”
“What are you?” I countered with a lifted brow. “I saw the haze of it on you as well.”
Re smiled slowly. “You've done all this research.” He waved to the paintings. “You should have guessed by now.”
“Re,” I whispered his name. “As in the God, Re?”
He smiled wider.
“No way; those are only myths. There are a lot of interesting supernatural races on Earth, but Gods are not one of them.”
“Aren't they?” Re cocked his head at me. “What type of supernatural are you that you don't know about the Gods?”
“I'm not a supernatural,” I protested. “I'm a human who works with magic; a witch.”
“Ah,” he murmured. “That explains it. Well, let me clear this up for you, my sweet witch; the Gods are real—all of them. Most of the supernatural races you're familiar with are children of the Gods; they're demigods.”
“Werewolves?” I asked dubiously.
“They're called the Froekn; children of Fenrir,” he said.
“Vampires?”
“Several gods have created blood-drinkers; I don't know all of them.”
“What about Faeries?”
“What do you know of Faeries?” He went serious.
“I... nothing really,” I stuttered. “I've had strange dreams about them. Is there such a thing as a dragon faerie?”
“There were.” Re stared at me pensively. “I believe they were hunted by humans along with true dragons, and they went extinct.”
“Jesus,” I whispered.
“No; he's not a faerie,” Re said dryly.
“Funny.” I grimaced at him.
“What's funny is how accurately you've portrayed Thor.” He looked back at the painting. “That is exactly what he looks like, although, his power is not in his hammer.”
“Really?” I asked as I looked at the painting with Re. “I just went with what felt right.”
“Do you have one of me?” He asked with a sideways look.
“No.” I started leading him down a corridor. “The only Egyptian I painted is Anubis.”
I stopped before the one painting that deeply disturbed me. Ull made me sad, but this one terrified me. Painting it had been a cathartic process; I actually felt unburdened when it was over. I have no idea why it bothered me so much. It was a dark portrait, but not exactly frightening. Anubis sat on a golden throne with the souls of the dead standing before him; waiting to be judged. But the souls were just hazy shapes; the true focus was on Anubis' eyes—black irises with swirls of jewel-toned colors over their surfaces. It was a mesmerizing picture that had drawn a crowd of people. Re and I stood at t
he back of the gathering, and when he got a good look at it, his mouth fell open in shock.
“That's my grandson,” Re whispered. “And that is his throne in Duat; it's a perfect rendition. You got Anubis' cynical expression down pat and the colors in his eyes are exact.” He turned to me sharply. “You must have met him; there's no way for you to have known about his eyes.”
I pulled Re away from the crowd and through a door that led to the back offices. After I shut it behind us, I turned to him.
“I didn't know the Gods existed until you told me,” I said. “I swear it. If I painted your grandson accurately, it must have been...”
“Yes?” Re lifted a cocky brow at me.
“Magic.” I shrugged. “I must have had a vision of him. Maybe I connected to the Aether and was subconsciously shown his image.”
“Show me the rest,” Re demanded as he pushed the door open and strode back into the gallery.
“You're really arrogant, you know that?” I grumbled as I caught up with him.
Re had stopped before a picture of Huitzilopochtli; the Aztec God of the Sun. The Sun God stood atop his pyramid with a river of blood running down the steps beneath his feet. His chin was lifted arrogantly, and his red eyes glared at the world defiantly.
“You asked about vampires,” Re said. “Here is one of their creators.”
“Really?” I gaped at the painting. “I suppose that makes sense.”
“I've never met Huitzilopochtli, but from what I've heard of him, this seems correct,” he said.
“What about her?” I went to the next painting; becoming as intrigued as he was. “This is Persephone.”
“Persephone,” Re whispered sadly as his hand hovered over the face of a beautiful woman with large, child-like eyes. “Yes; that's absolutely her.”
“She break your heart or something?” I teased.
