by Devon Monk
“Gotta call,” I said. “Zeus. Myra and I got it. Hold down the fort.”
He nodded and made his way between desks to the front counter.
Crow had jogged around us, and held the door open. When I strode through it, he jogged after me.
“You’re not coming.”
“I’m coming.”
Myra opened the cruiser door and ducked inside. I slid behind the wheel of my Jeep.
Crow popped the passenger door and got in beside me.
“This isn’t a game, Crow. You stay behind.”
“Do you know what Zeus’s weapon is, Delaney? The one he locked away before coming to Ordinary?”
“Lightning bolt,” I said.
“Lightning bolt,” he agreed. “Zeus’s weapon is a lightning bolt. So let’s get there before the fire department arrives.”
Since I was losing time as it was, I threw on the lights and hauled out of the parking lot.
Chapter Six
We found Zeus lording over his garden, a magnificent landscaped area with topiary and fountains and sparkly lights. Zeus had a trim build, copper-bronze skin, and dark hair. Even in this nice weather, he wore a three-piece suit that was tailored to enhance the width of his shoulders and narrow waist. Sitting there with a martini sweating in one hand, he fit the Hollywood, rich playboy stereotype to a tee.
The luxurious garden around him only added to that image.
Jean was perched on the edge of one of the thick, pillowy outdoor couches scattered around a centerpiece that was both a fire pit and a water feature. As soon as she saw us, she stood.
“You got here fast. Hey, Crow.”
Crow gave her a little wave.
“Zeus,” I said. “Where’s the weapon?”
“Exactly where I left it. What is Crow doing here?
“He’s acting as a consultant.”
He puffed up his chest.
“On a trial basis.”
His chest deflated.
Zeus’s eyes cut to him, weighing Crow’s worth. From the look on his face, Crow came up short. But he nodded. “Of course you would be a part of this, Trickster. How much a part is what interests me.”
Crow bit off a smile. It was hard and bright. “Something you want to say? Something you want to accuse me of?”
The air crackled with tension and the ear-popping pressure of gods not using their power, but using their godly presence to push at reality a little.
“No fighting,” I said. “Save it for outside Ordinary, boys. Crow’s with us on this part of the investigation. End of story.”
“I see,” Zeus said. “Well, then. Would anyone care for refreshments? I have tea, coffee, drinks?”
“Nothing for me,” I said.
Myra shook her head, and Jean held up an ice-cold bottle of imported CC Lemonade.
“What kind of beers ya got?” Crow asked.”
“All of them.” Zeus waved long fingers toward the outdoor kitchen.
Crow strolled that way, stopping only long enough to pluck a flower from a bush and tuck it behind his ear.
The corner of Zeus’s eye twitched, but he otherwise acted as if Crow wasn’t even there.
“The weapon?” I asked.
“I left it where I found it,” he said.
“I thought you both might want to see where it was delivered,” Jean said. “So I didn’t move it either.”
“Good,” I said. “Did you take care of the car from this morning?”
“Yep. Frigg put it up in the garage beside her shop. Whenever we want to go look at it, it’s ready for us.”
“Good, thanks.”
“Car?” Zeus asked.
“It fell from the sky,” I said. “Down the beach a way toward 50th. Did you see it?”
“I did not. Do you think it has something to do with my weapon being stolen?”
“We don’t know yet. We do want you to come see the vehicle just in case it is familiar to you.”
“Later.” He stood. It always surprised me that, close up, he shed the god-like bearing and was, to all appearances, a regular sort of man, albeit a beautiful and powerful one.
Every god went about hiding their godness in different ways. Odin’s barely contained wild nature tucked beneath his gruff disposition, Crow’s chuckling confidence hidden in his sense of humor, and Zeus, well, Zeus looked like he thought he owned the universe. But importantly, he looked like a man who thought he owned the universe.
“I found it twenty minutes ago,” he explained as he led us through a maze of topiary that would have made the Red Queen happy and Alice very curious. “I was taking my drink out to the balcony to enjoy the fresh air in privacy.”
I couldn’t help but look around us. “We’re not in the fresh air? This isn’t private?”
He made a soft humming noise. “No, this is my parterre. Many people have been here. My balcony is a...for me.”
He took a left through a hedge that was a clever blend of braided tree branches and masonry work which created an archway only visible if you came at it from the right angle.
Well, it was definitely private.
“Step through carefully,” he warned.
I did, and so did Myra and Jean behind me, though Jean just grinned at me when I shot her a look.
I didn’t see Crow. I hoped he wasn’t casing the joint.
The arch led to a balcony.
If the parterre had been extravagant and cultured, this was something else entirely. The balcony was an arched platform situated at the top of the cliff side, looking down upon beach and the ocean beyond.
Oh, the railing was polished to a dull glow that gave the little space a bit of shine, but this was clearly a place to watch over the quiet stretch of beach with nothing more interesting to see than an occasional seal or the low, slow processions of pelicans pumping their way southward above the tattered waves.
A set of stairs spiraled down a central column attached to the side of the balcony. The steps ended at big rocks and tangled whitened driftwood that had been rolled against the base of the cliff like dice tossed by winter’s stormy hands.
Myra walked to the railing and studied the beach below.
I studied the balcony and the god who owned it. The god looked unflappable. He even gave a small toast with his glass before taking a drink. But his eyes were judging me, watching me. Watching what I thought of this space.
There was only one chair made of the same wood as the railing, bent into the perfect shape to lean back and rock in, or maybe lean back another way and sleep in. On that chair was a thick wool Pendleton blanket, striped in the red, green, yellow, and black of the Glacier National Park pattern, and two pillows.
A table took up the corner, a little cooler at its feet, three thick hardback mystery books on top.
This small space, no more than eight by eight said more about the god in front of me than all the lush extravagance we’d left behind. I wondered if he came out here barefoot. I wondered if he came out here to stare at the stars at night.
I wondered if this was the reason he stayed in Ordinary, if this tiny space was what he craved when he was out amongst the cosmic and unfathomable. If this simplicity was balm to his soul.
“I like it,” I said.
“Thank you.” He pointed his glass at the package resting at the very top of the stairs. “I didn’t open it.”
Myra crouched next to it without touching it.
“You found it and then immediately called Jean?” I asked.
“Yes.”
“Why didn’t you open it?”
“I am very aware of what it contains. I thought an officer of the law should see it. Record the event.”
Myra took a couple photos, stepped back, and took a few more.
“I got some shots of it too,” Jean said.
Myra nodded but finished with the set she wanted to get. It never hurt to get as many angles on a problem as possible.
Perspective, different ways of looking at things, diff
erent ways of coming at a problem were the best skills a detective could have.
“What’s the chance of you opening it so we can see what’s inside without something exploding?” I asked.
He tipped his head to one side. “It’s…contained. If I open the package Ordinary won’t cease to exist.”
That sounded like he was being a little overly dramatic, but I knew he wasn’t. God weapons were pure, blazing vessels for their power. If Zeus wanted to vaporize a beach town out of existence, he could.
Although Ordinary would be a tough nut to crack. It had been built by all the gods joining powers to create the space and the laws and the rules of it. One god alone could not bring it down. Not even Zeus.
“All right,” I said. “Let’s see what’s inside.”
He set his martini on the little table, then bent and lifted the package. I knew, even before he opened it, that it was exactly what he said it was. There was something about his demeanor, about the shift in his body language that screamed, god god god power.
He calmly propped the box on the railing and produced a very slick little retractable razor blade. His day job here in Ordinary was buying, importing, and selling fine furnishings, so he knew his way around a box.
The cardboard top rocked back on its hinge and suddenly there was more light here, blue and burning.
Jean was at his elbow, excitement turning her face ten years younger, and even Myra was breathing a little faster as she peered at the contents.
It wasn’t every day, really, any day that we got a good close look at a god weapon.
“Delaney?” He shifted the package so I could see the interior from where I stood.
And oh, the magnificent fury of it. Even as my mind tried to shove it into something human, something this world, something earthly, it was none of those things.
A lightning bolt, but none like this world had seen.
It glowed like a chunk of ice, glacial blue, cold and burning. Deep iron fissures cracked through it, throwing off red and violet sparks. All of it was liquid as water, but burning, burning, burning with white-cold electricity.
It would fit in my hand—it fit in the box which was maybe two feet long. But my brain rejected that. Somehow, just like Odin’s spear, this weapon did not follow the rules of space. I knew if Zeus pulled it out of that box it would be as wide as the sky, it would stretch the heavens.
“Is that it?” I asked. “Is it your weapon?”
“Yes.”
“And where did you last see it?”
“Where I left it before coming back to Ordinary after Crow lost our powers to that demigod and forced us all to leave.”
Grudge much?
“No,” Crow said, emerging from the hidden arch. “I think you’re remembering that wrong. I’m sure it was Poseidon getting murdered that made us all leave town.” He didn’t step onto the balcony, but remained there, on the path, just on the edge of this private place.
Zeus did not invite him farther, and he didn’t ask to be invited.
“Peaceful,” Crow noted, his gaze taking in the place.
“It is,” Zeus said.
“Nice view.”
Zeus looked out over the waves, and I wondered if he saw more than any of us mortals could. I wondered if he saw across universes.
“It is.” His words were softer. Not awe, not reverence, but something like relief.
Crow didn’t say anything else, but when I glanced at him he just gave me a small inscrutable smile.
Gods. They might be drama queens but they were also a relatively small group of beings. And I knew that no matter how long I lived and no matter how many times I contained each god power to allow it—through me—into Ordinary so that it could be put down into rest, I would never understand what it was to be a god.
“Big bolt you got there,” Crow noted. “Though not the biggest I’ve seen.”
Zeus’s jaw locked, and when he turned, there was nothing wistful about him. He just looked like a rich, annoyed, businessman. A businessman with a god weapon.
“So the lightning bolt was left in your god realm?” I asked.
“Yes. Which is heavily guarded and locked while I am gone.”
“The realm is locked or the weapon is locked?” Myra asked.
“Both,” he said. “This isn’t something anyone could access.”
“Locks are made to be picked,” Crow noted.
“So you have always said,” Zeus agreed.
“Has this happened before?” I asked.
He paused, thinking. He cast a quick glance at Crow, as if asking something. But whatever that question was it didn’t appear Crow had an answer.
“No one has ever stolen my lightning bolt and then mailed it to me ground shipping.”
“I don’t think it’s ground,” Jean said. “There aren’t even any stamps on it, or addresses.”
He gave her a quick wink. “Just a turn of phrase.”
She nodded. “The point I’m making is not only did someone know where to find the weapon, and how to access it, they knew how to handle it. I’m guessing not everyone can touch that without…. What did you say it would do?”
“Vaporize.”
She nodded. “Vaporizing. And whoever handled it also knew to leave it here in your private space. Not say, at your front door, or in the garden.”
“Parterre,” he corrected.
“Right,” she said. “Fancy garden.”
“Who can do that?” Myra asked. “Or let’s start here: Is it something a human could do?”
I could tell Crow was suddenly very interested in Zeus’ answer and had a moment to worry that Zeus wouldn’t want to answer.
“With the favor of another god,” he said slowly, “with the right spells,” his eyes flicked to Crow again, who was holding very, very still, “or armor. With some combination of assistance and magic of their own, there is a very—an extremely—small possibility a mortal could have done this.”
“Okay,” Myra said in her calm way that also said thank you for being honest. “How about supernatural beings? Are there any who might be capable of pulling this off?”
He shook his head. “You’re asking me to weigh and measure thousands of different sorts of living beings with millions of combinations of abilities. So in general, those who are either more powerful or, alternatively, more resistant to power might have an edge. It is still an extremely small possibility.”
I knew where Myra was going with this. I knew what her next question would be and I braced for it.
“How about gods?” she asked. “Could a god do this?”
He scowled at Crow. “Perhaps.”
“And demons? Are they capable of finding the weapon, stealing it, and delivering it to you?”
The scowl deepened. “I would like to think not. But no matter how carefully any of us lock away our weapons, the very act of setting our powers down and living in Ordinary can create complications.”
“What kind of complications?” she asked.
“Each god and goddess bears their power differently. But setting it down does create possible vulnerabilities.”
“Like the fact that you becoming almost mortal while you’re here,” I said.
He nodded. “It is possible I underestimated the vulnerabilities of my realm. No living creature should be able to breach my protections.”
Crow didn’t say anything. Not a jibe, not a tease. It was a rather amazing display of self-control I wasn’t used to him possessing.
“But there are things in this universe even a god cannot control,” Zeus said.
“Is there an impression left on it?” Crow asked.
“What does that mean?” I asked.
Crow, still standing there in the shadows of branches and leaves, shrugged. “Sometimes gods leave behind…well, not fingerprints, but power prints. One power brushing another can leave behind a scent, or taste, or impression of that power.”
We all turned our attention to Zeus. He still hadn�
��t taken the lightning bolt out of the box, but his hand was near it, close enough I could see the radiance flaring toward his fingers, as if it were asking to be picked up, as if inviting him to battle.
His gaze was in some middle distance, cast north over the sea. The wind lifted, warm from the sun-heated sand, then cold and damp from the ocean spray. It tasted of sunlight, and salt, and the promise of summer.
“Magic,” he said. “Though I cannot discern what.”
Which was fair. He couldn’t use his power, not here in Ordinary. Asking him to do godly stuff—any godly stuff—was pushing that boundary pretty hard.
If a god used their power in Ordinary, they were required to pick their power back up and leave town for a year. So any god who enjoyed their vacation, or say, buying, importing, and selling furnishings in a quiet little beach town while they lorded over their very private slice of sand from both a fancy garden and also a humble wooden deck, would be wise not to so much as touch their power while here.
Maybe that was all it was. A test. A dare. Maybe whoever was behind the thefts and mailings was just trying to tempt the gods into picking up their power and leaving town.
Who would want Ordinary godless? A chill ran down my spine at that question. I could think of a few people. Mithra, the god of contracts didn’t like that he couldn’t rule Ordinary. He’d been fostering a grudge against my family for generations.
Demons were taking more notice of our town. Particularly the King of the Underworld who, if the demons who had escaped to and now lived in Ordinary were to be believed, might be very unhappy with our little sanctuary.
Monster hunters. That was more of a stretch, but the Department of Paranormal Protection had recruited Ryder to search Ordinary for signs of supernatural beings to hunt and study.
Ordinary was stuffed with all sorts of magical beings: vampires, werewolves, shifters, bigfoots, and more.
There were books out there too. Ancient, magical, powerful things. Someone could have found an old journal, a magic book, an ancient tablet that contained a spell to steal god weapons, although I didn’t know what kind of magic would be strong enough to break the locks on a god’s realm.
“Okay,” I said. “We need to deal with the weapon. How would you like us to handle this?” I asked him.
