Urban Mythic: Thirteen Novels of Adventure and Romance, featuring Norse and Greek Gods, Demons and Djinn, Angels, Fairies, Vampires, and Werewolves in the Modern World

by C. Gockel

  As Anganboða complies, Loki stares at the logs in the fireplace, concentrates just a moment and the logs leap into flame.

  Anganboða gives a small gasp and she backs away from Mimir and the roaring fire. Loki just stares at her silently, his mind an uncomfortable jumble.

  “Now, Miss,” says Mimir, “Loki did ask a very good question out there. Do you have a plan?”

  Anganboða lets the blanket covering her shoulders fall away. Beneath it is a thick satchel. “I was thinking, I have heard some wealthy families will hire a young lady to educate their daughters and young children.” Opening the satchel, she pulls out a large and well worn tome. “I have no experience, but I am well read.”

  Curiosity getting the better of him, Loki says, “That doesn’t look like a book for children.”

  Anganboða sighs. “It isn’t, but it is one of my favorites. I couldn’t leave it.” She hands it to Loki. He opens the dust jacket and smiles. “Ah, it is Hellbendi’s, Magic: Mathematical, Scientific and Philosophical Inquiries Beyond Practical Applications.” Shaking his head he says almost to himself, “This is a very, very, good book.”

  Although the Aesir can sense magic and bend it to their will, few have tried to understand it like Hellbendi, a sorcerer from ancient times. Loki has found that understanding the science of magic has greatly improved his practical abilities.

  “You’ve read it?” says Anganboða. She sounds impressed, not bored or mildly disgusted.

  He should reply with confidence; however, all that happens is that his jaw drops open.

  Fortunately, Mimir comes to Loki’s aid. In his most courtly tones he says, “Loki has read that and more. When he isn’t causing mischief for his or Odin’s amusement, he is often ransacking Hoenir’s library.”

  “Library?” says Anganboða, her face visibly brightening. She looks at Loki expectantly.

  Pulling himself together, he says, “Yes, Hoenir’s rivals Odin’s.” Going to retrieve Mimir, he steps towards a wall lined with several doors. “Come, we’ll show you,” he says.

  “Are you sure you know which door? Even I can’t keep them straight,” Mimir whispers.

  Loki isn’t sure, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he smiles as confidently as he can at Anganboða, who smiles back wildly. Lifting his eyebrows at her, he opens the first door just slightly. The sound of claws on metal and a furious screeching fills his ears. Loki peeks in the opening. It is a room he has never seen before, lined with giant cages, inside of which are velociraptors as tall as him. Their heads swivel as one towards the doorway. For a moment they just stare, and then they jump against the bars of their cages, shaking and screeching with all their might.

  Loki closes the door quickly.

  “What were those?” says Anganboða, eyes wide.

  “Errrr....” says Mimir.

  “Nothing but harmless hadrosaurs, gentle herbivorous dragons,” says Loki.

  “They didn’t look gentle,” says Anganboða.

  “Let’s try the next door,” says Loki, quickly moving on. Fortunately, that door does lead to the library.

  Perhaps an hour later, they are still there. Mimir is leaning against a wall, sound asleep. Loki and Anganboða are sitting at a table, two stacks of books in front of Anganboða. One stack for her to read, the other a stack of children’s books Loki is insisting that she borrow from Hoenir.

  Leaning on his elbows, Loki says,“You are so well read, and yet you do not use magic yourself. I don’t understand.”

  Anganboða looks down. “I would love to use magic. But I can’t. I see magic but am unable to bend it to my will.”

  She frowns a little. Upset that his line of questioning has made her unhappy, Loki reaches forward and pulls an illusion of a flower from her nose.

  Anganboða laughs, and Loki smirks and lifts an eyebrow. He waves his hand and the imaginary flower turns into butterflies — he’s more a fan of spiders, but they seldom go over well. The butterflies flap their wings, fly up towards the ceiling and disappear.

  Still smiling, Anganboða looks to the books. “Do you really think Hoenir won’t mind if I borrow these?”

  Loki waves a hand. “Of course he won’t mind.” He leans back in his chair and puts a hand to his chin. “What’s more of a worry is how Baldur reacts to your not coming to see him this evening. Falling out of favor of the crown prince is a sure way to find yourself unemployable.”

  Unless of course, you are Loki. Odin insists Loki remain in Asgard, no matter how Baldur complains.

  Tapping his chin, Loki says, “You were supposed to meet him somewhere in the palace, were you not?”

  Anganboða’s face falls and she nods.

  “Don’t worry,” says Loki. “We will tell the court I transformed myself into Baldur and nearly led you astray, but the fine Mimir saw what I was up to, put an end to my antics, and protected your honor. Eternally grateful, you helped him find his way back to Hoenir’s hut.” Loki straightens and smiles mischievously. “Your honor is preserved, and Baldur can’t possibly be mad at you because everyone knows what a horrible prankster I am.” He narrows his eyes. But somehow he has to find a way to keep Baldur away from her in the future.

  “I don’t like that plan,” Anganboða says.

  Loki raises an eyebrow. “Why ever not?”

  “What of your honor, and how it will be damaged by such a lie?” Anganboða says.

  Loki smirks. “Everyone knows I have no honor.”

  Anganboða’s eyes narrow. “Yes, if it wasn’t for the eagle eyes of Mimir over there, I’d be ruined by now.”

  Mimir chooses that moment to release a giant snore.

  Loki flushes. His jaw tenses. Pretending that Mimir is protecting her is one of the little mental games he plays to keep his oath to her. “It is not for lack of desire, my Lady.” His words sound too cutting, and too cruel, even to him.

  Anganboða’s gaze moves away. She looks at the books in front of her. “After I am employed, will I see you again?”

  Her voice is soft...almost hopeful. Or perhaps he is imagining it. “That can be arranged,” he says cautiously.

  She smiles, and he feels his lips threaten to pull up.

  “But first,” he says, “we must make sure you can be employed. You must lie to the court.”

  Shaking her head, she puts a hand on his. “I won’t tell them that story. It is unfair to you.”

  It’s ridiculous how arousing her soft fingers are against his knuckles. He sighs and brings her hand to his lips. “My Lady,” he says. “At court you must lie. It is how you survive.”

  “Loki, Loki, Loki!”

  Loki’s eyes open to darkness. It takes him a moment to realize he is on Midgard curled up on Beatrice’s couch. He puts his hand to his temples, closes his eyes and sees Anganboða’s face.

  “Aggie....” He sighs. Was there ever a time he was so hopelessly romantic? “I could not protect you...” Or even the much more formidable Sigyn.

  “Loki, Loki, Loki!”

  Loki feels a chill pass through him. Red mist creeps along the edges of his vision. “What do you want?” he whispers.

  “I need your help,” the mist says, as usual in Russian.

  Loki scowls. “And why would I do that?” The mist swirls around him and the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

  “I know what I am,” the child’s voice says.

  Loki says nothing, just narrows his eyes.

  “Cera,” the child’s voice whispers.

  Loki raises an eyebrow at the word. Cera means power.

  “And I can be your Cera,” the red mist says. It is so dense around Loki that he has to blink his eyes to see. His whole body hums and his skin starts to turn blue. Scowling, he fights back the illusion concocted by his obviously slipping sanity and grief.

  He blinks again. The thing, Cera, is right. Loki’s pulse starts to race. He’s been delving into mortal magics these past few weeks looking for some way to exact revenge. Humans are so close to being able to g
ive him what he needs — yet still decades, maybe centuries away. But Cera...if whatever Cera is, is as powerful as Loki thinks, vengeance may be very close.

  “What do you want?” Loki whispers.

  “Be my Josef!” Cera wails. “Save me from the God people!”

  Loki throws his legs over the edge of the couch. “Where are you?”

  He feels an anxiety in the pit of his stomach and knows it isn’t his own. The thing is projecting emotions now. He scowls.

  “I don’t know where I am,” Cera wails. “But I know where I’ve been...”

  It is way too early in the morning after Loki and Amy’s Apple TV discussion, but Amy is dashing down the stairs. The vet clinic called. They are short handed for the day; they asked her if she can be there in half an hour for a ten hour shift. She tears into the kitchen in her scrubs and finds Loki staring out the window, a frown on his face. She runs to retrieve her change apron from the next room. When she gets back in the kitchen, apron in hand, she says, “What’s wrong?” She doesn’t really have time for the answer, but she remembers him murmuring in his sleep the night before, his fingers twitching, and it makes her physically ache for him.

  “I need money,” he says, shooting her a look like a challenge. “And I am forbidden to steal while I am under your roof, so — ”

  “You could ask to borrow some,” says Amy.

  Loki’s frown vanishes. “Ask?”

  “Of course,” says Amy. She heaves a breath. “Look, you lost your family, your friends...your world. Of course you’ll need some help getting back on your feet.” She takes two tens out of the change apron, slips them in the pocket of her scrubs and drops the apron on the table. The change rattles in the pockets. Loki follows it with his eyes.

  “Take as much as you need; everything if you need it,” Amy says.

  “I don’t think I could....” says Loki. His eyes have gone wide, and he has the expression of a surprised puppy on his face.

  His earnestness surprises Amy, and makes warmth bubble in her stomach. “Look, you know where it all is. Take it. Everything. It’s okay. Really.”

  Loki comes forward and drops to one knee in front of her. “Amy Lewis, I am in your debt. You have my oath that I will pay you back with interest.”

  “Ummm...” she says. “Well, if you think that is necessary,” she says, looking at her change purse. What is it, forty six bucks and some change maybe?

  Kissing her hand, he says, “I do think it is necessary.”

  Amy swallows as warmth rushes through her limbs at his touch. “Okay...” Loki looks up at her, his face shining with something close to happiness. “I wondered why I heard you in the forest, I wondered how your voice came to be in my head, and how you intersected with my higher purpose. Now I know. My gratitude is eternal, and you have my oath, I will pay it back with interest!”

  He kisses her hand again, and Amy’s mouth drops open. “Ummmm....” is all that comes out. She feels her face go red, and then Loki looks up at her like he might actually kiss her — really kiss her. That is appealing and scary. “I have to go,” she squeaks and runs out the kitchen door.

  She nearly crashes into Beatrice on the back walk. Clutching a watering can to her chest, Beatrice says, “Did you talk to Loki this morning?”

  Amy blinks. “Yes.”

  Beatrice’s eyes narrow. “I heard him talking in Russian.” Beatrice learned Russian as a child in the Ukraine — under less than ideal circumstances.

  Amy’s bites her lip. She has to run, but she doesn’t like to rush away from her grandmother. Not when she’s talking about her life before.

  Shaking her head, Beatrice says, “Something about Cera and Tunguska.”

  “What?” says Amy.

  “Cera is power, dear,” says Beatrice. She purses her lips. “I think Tunguska is a place.” And then Beatrice starts walking towards the front yard. “Well, I better go. My impatiens are thirsty.”

  Amy watches her go, her stomach tying in a knot. But then she shakes her head and makes a beeline for the bus stop, waving to the little Mexican man on a bicycle ice cream cart that always seems to be around their house as she goes.

  Later that evening when she comes home, her change apron is lying on the table. She peeks in. Loki has left her with $20. A note is on top, written in an oddly near perfect hand.

  Miss Lewis,

  I must leave for a while and do not know when I shall return; but rest assured, I never forget my oaths. We never discussed terms of my loan, I hope 33% per annum will be sufficient.

  Again my gratitude is eternal,

  Loki

  Amy’s heart falls at the “leave for a while” bit. She rubs her hand over the note and sighs.

  After a few minutes she picks up the change apron and shakes her head. All that gratitude for what could have only been about $26 bucks?

  About a week and a half later, Amy is walking up the sidewalk to her grandmother's house. It's dusk, and the windows are all dark. The day was hot and muggy, and the evening isn't much better, but she sees Beatrice out watering her flowers in the relatively cool air. Her grandmother nods without smiling, and goes around the back of the house, watering can in hand. Her grandmother's expression, the darkness of the house, she doesn't have to ask; Loki is still gone. She bites her lip, and the magic is gone with him. Bowing her head, she trudges up the steps.

  Going in the door, she picks up the mail that's been thrust through the mail slot. She rifles through the envelopes, purposefully not looking at the couch where Loki slept.

  Her eyebrows rise. There is a letter from her school. Opening it, she finds that the check she sent in to pay for her miscellaneous school fees has bounced. Shaking her head, she goes to her laptop to check her bank account. She's never bounced a check in her life; there must be a mistake.

  A few minutes later, Amy's sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the computer screen, face in her hands. There is only $1 left in her checking. She feels cold, even though the room is warm. Realization hits hard and fast. Loki stole from her, after giving her his precious oath. And he hasn't come back, and she won't be able to go back to school.

  She swallows and scoots back from the table feeling sick.

  How will she get the money? Should she borrow it from Beatrice? Is it too late to apply for financial aid?

  She looks up and her gaze goes to the kitchen window. She's vaguely aware of Beatrice standing up and lowering the the watering can in her hands. Amy closes her eyes, remembering Loki's words, “I will pay you back with interest.” Maybe it's all been a mistake? He'll come back, it will all be okay... But it won't be, because she needs the money now.

  Outside, Beatrice must see Amy, and her face must look stricken, because Beatrice comes running. And then Beatrice just sort of isn’t there.

  Amy bolts from her seat, the sickening feeling in her stomach instantly getting worse. She runs through the door and finds Beatrice on the ground at the bottom of the stoop, her leg at an odd angle. Her head is tilted back and her eyes are closed. Blood is on the sidewalk.

  “Grandma!” Amy screams. Sinking to her knees, she pulls out her phone, and dials 911. As the phone rings, she takes her grandmothers hand in her own. She looks down at the delicate veins visible through her grandmother's aged skin. Beatrice does not stir. Amy swallows, her eyes hot. Now everything is gone.

  A few hours later she is at the hospital, sitting in the waiting room in a daze. On the periphery of her vision she sees several men approaching.

  “Miss Lewis?” Amy turns her head, and her brow furrows. There is the older man with the too-square jaw in the too conservative gray suit who she saw in her neighborhood eating ice cream. He’s still in a gray suit. Next to him are two other men. The first looks Mexican, and vaguely familiar. She blinks. It’s the ice cream vendor, but now he’s in a suit, too.

  The last man is young. He’s wearing a suit too, but he looks a little more rumpled. Looking down at a little device of some kind, he says, “She’s
clean.”

  Holding up a badge, the older guy says, “Miss Lewis, I’m agent Merryl and these are agents Hernandez and Ericson. We’re from the FBI. We need to bring you in for questioning.”

  “Am I in trouble?” Amy stammers.

  The old guy just tilts his head.

  ~FIN~

  Monsters: I Bring the Fire Part II is available at your favorite retailer.

  Learn more on the author’s website, or click here to sign up for her mailing list.

  CHOSEN

  Book 1 of the Djinn Wars Series

  Christine Pope

  When a fatal fever nearly wipes out the entire world's population, the survivors of what became known as "the Dying" believe the worst is in the past. Little do they know…

  In the aftermath of the Dying, survivor Jessica Monroe searches for sanctuary in a world unlike any she's ever known before. As fear and isolation envelop her, Jessica encounters the sensitive and helpful Jace, who she believes is another survivor. But Jace has a past and secrets of his own that's he not ready to disclose. Soon she realizes that the destruction of humanity might actually be the first step in a larger, more complicated plan — a plan that may very well involve her. Struggling to discover her role in a terrifying new world where everything has changed, Jessica must decide who she can trust. But is the price for that trust just too high? (Book 1 of the Djinn Wars)

  Chapter 1

  The Dying began on my twenty-fourth birthday. Even now I truly believe that was nothing more than a sad coincidence, but if nothing else, the synchronicity helps me to remember when the end began. September twenty-sixth. There was a certain crispness in the air, a bite after the sun went down that told me fall was on the way, and winter soon to follow. We didn’t get as cold in Albuquerque as they did in Santa Fe, but we could feel the shift in the seasons even so.

  I was out with friends doing tequila shots at Zacatecas when the first reports about a strange illness in New York showed up on the evening news. Maybe I caught a glimpse on the TV in the bar, but I don’t think so. To be blunt, I was pretty wasted. Getting plowed like that wasn’t in my usual repertoire, but my friend Tori kept ordering round after round, and since I wasn’t driving, I didn’t try too hard to stop her. Maybe in the back of my mind I was thinking that this year I was twenty-four, and twenty-five would come sliding along soon enough, and I might as well party with abandon while I still could. Sooner or later I’d have to be a good, responsible adult, but not on my birthday.