False Gods

by Nazri Noor

  “I suppose you’re wondering why I summoned you here.”

  “Let’s make one thing clear,” I said. “You had Brutus over there club me in the face with a frozen ham. Nobody did any summoning.”

  That was Loki’s role in the modern world, after all. To the general public, he was Theodore Thorpe, CEO and living heir of the Happy, Inc. empire, one of the world’s largest fast food conglomerates, responsible for all things unhealthy and, okay, admittedly, delicious. All those cheese puffs that Artemis liked so much, the ones I ate? Yeah. Loki’s company was behind the mass production of Snacky Yum-Yums.

  I glanced around us, frowning, then gestured at the crates. “What’s all this? Stacked high to the ceiling, too.”

  Loki’s face lit up, and he rubbed his hands together as he stepped towards one of the crates, extracting what looked like a plain wooden box in the shape of a perfect cube. He held it out in the palm of his hand, beaming as he showed it to me. “It’s my proudest invention.”

  My eyes flitted from the box, up to his face, then down again. “The hell is that supposed to be?”

  He drew up, the twitch in his eye telling me that he was very slightly offended that I wasn’t more impressed, but Loki composed himself quickly. He cleared his throat, an easy smile returning to his lips as he started his spiel.

  “This is a new Happy, Inc. product. I call it the Cube. It’s a home assistant that does all sorts of things – plays music, controls your house’s temperature, does your online shopping for you – and I couldn’t be more excited to bring it to the public.” He patted the top of the box like it was a little pet hamster, then settled it back down in one of the crates. “It’s going to be my most phenomenal launch to date.”

  “That’s a step up from hawking hamburgers.”

  Loki flinched, his lips drawing back. I almost chuckled.

  “So,” I said. “More money for you then? Hah. What else is new.” I waved my hand around us. “Why are we in a warehouse, anyway? Why aren’t we meeting in a fancy suite in your giant office building?”

  “Big talk coming from someone who is clearly dressed to impress,” Loki purred.

  I looked down at myself, then frowned even harder. Fine. He had me there.

  8

  “So what am I in for, exactly? Past few weeks alone I’ve rough and tumbled with demon princes, and earlier today I had to hack an angel’s head off. Might as well have the god of deception sending his goons to jump me.” I folded my arms and smirked at him, the simple expression hurting my jaw again. “Might as well fill out my bingo card, am I right?”

  Loki’s fingers fluttered delicately to his chest, and he drew in a sharp sip of breath, gasping dramatically. “My dearest nephilim, that simply isn’t the case. You aren’t being detained here. You are Loki’s guest.”

  “Your guest?” I looked around again. “This place is a dump. Kill me and get it over with. Just promise me that you’ll drag my body someplace where the rats won’t get to it.”

  The god rolled his eyes, then sprang to his feet. “Fine. There really is no getting through to you. I liked that Dustin Graves character more, you know. He was funnier.”

  Some might call me impetuous for doing so, but I scowled even harder at Loki just then, to his very visible delight. Dustin Graves was a different story entirely, and he was the reason I got into this whole mess. It was that whole thing with the five magical swords we needed to help Dustin perform a very important ritual. At least I knew that Mammon, the demon Prince of Greed, was temporarily off my case about losing its sword. Loki, on the other hand –

  “Allow me to refresh your memory,” he said, folding his hands behind him, pacing back and forth in the ground just in front of my armchair. His heels clicked with every step, his fine leather shoes probably costing more than my entire wardrobe. “The last time we met was on a mountain. Do you recall?”

  I nodded cautiously. We needed five swords to complete my friend Dustin’s ritual, to help him acquire enough power to thwart the elements that threatened our universe. And to get Loki’s sword, we had to track him all the way to a mountain in Malaysia, on this island called Borneo. Mount Kinabalu was beautiful, just fields and forest for miles around, and that was where we found Loki locked in battle with the All-Father.

  “How could I forget?” I said, covering my mouth with one hand as I started chuckling. “If I recall correctly, Odin was kicking your ass.”

  Loki rounded on me and hissed. “He was not. I had him on the ropes, as you humans might say. But I had my sword then, to use in a fair fight against his spear Gungnir. Now, I am empty-handed. Defenseless. And that is why we sit in this dusty warehouse.”

  He let the silence linger for a moment, long enough that I had time to swallow and anticipate what he was about to say next. It wasn’t going to be pretty. Loki slammed his hands into the armrests of my chair, pushing his face alarmingly close to mine.

  I leaned back in surprise, clenching my jaw to hide my fear. The curious balance of power in the modern world had made Loki an even match for Odin, the actual All-Father of the entire Norse pantheon. I was, in comparison, as good as vermin. I decided that holding my tongue was the best option.

  “Now, nephilim,” Loki said, speaking sweetly through a grin that was both meant to intimidate and ingratiate. “I’ve heard that you have also lost the blades of the other entities, the ones you specifically borrowed and acquired for the ritual.”

  Of course he knew. The gods talked. As Dionysus liked to put it, the gods were all gossips. I raised my finger. “Okay, technically, we borrowed those for Dustin’s ritual, and I didn’t lose them. The blades scattered and disappeared when he completed the ceremony.”

  Loki leaned even closer, so much that I had no more room to squeeze against the armchair without bumping foreheads. “Do you think I give a single fuck whose fault this was? What matters is that your friend and your fool master screwed me over. They promised that they would only borrow Laevateinn for the duration of the ritual, and that it would be returned to me promptly.”

  The god stood straight up, finally giving me room to breathe. I sighed, though not in relief. Loki folded his arms as he regarded me very much as a man looks at an insect.

  “This you will do for me, nephilim. This you will do, or die. Retrieve my swords.”

  I cocked an eyebrow. “Whoa, wait, wait. Swords? Plural? I get that you’re mad about your blade being missing, but this is only about Laevateinn, isn’t it? That’s your sword. Just the one. That’s the one I’ll get back for you.”

  Wow, great job negotiating, Mace. But I figured getting out of the warehouse with my nuts intact was a safer bet than incurring the wrath of a god who loved to lie, run an all-powerful mega corporation, and stab people in the chest, not necessarily in that order.

  Technically, Loki was vulnerable here. Happy, Inc. constituted a part of his godly domicile, the place where he could reform and regenerate if killed. Out there in some random warehouse, very likely in the shittiest, crime infestedest part of town, a bullet through the forehead or a blade across the throat could end him. Of course, the challenge was actually hitting him before he squashed me like a bug. A god is a god, and in a world that worshipped fast food and celebrities and oligarchies, Loki was king.

  He bared his teeth and slashed his hand through the air, snarling. “I don’t care about those others. The demons, the celestials, they can keep their bloody swords. I need you to find a different set of weapons for me.”

  “Sure,” I said, sweat forming on my nape despite the cold. “Yeah, okay. Say the word.”

  A slow, satisfied smile crept across his lips, and he raised his chin even higher, staring down at me across the bridge of his nose. “Bring me the legendary armaments of my homeland.”

  9

  My muscles strained as I helped Florian transfer the last of the jars of wine into Beatrice’s wonder bag. I’d stripped down to my waist by then. If Valero was hot, Artemis’s domicile was even hotter. It was al
l that humidity. I cupped my hands to either side of my mouth, calling out to where she was, once again, lazing in a bikini on a hammock.

  “Can we turn the air conditioning up, just this once? It’s hot as balls out here.”

  Artemis picked her magazine up off her face, frowned as she angled her head in my direction, then made an extremely rude gesture with one of her fingers.

  “That was childish and completely unnecessary,” I shouted. Artemis dropped her magazine back over her face and ignored me. She was still mad about the Snacky Yum-Yums.

  “Never mind that,” Florian said. “You can cool off with a shower once we’re done here.” He wrinkled his nose and sniffed. “You could really use one.”

  I rolled my eyes. “Got it. Smell like garbage. Message received. I can’t believe you were just hanging out with those frost giants.”

  That was how I found Florian, after Loki had so kindly allowed me to leave the very large room where he’d discussed the three things he wanted me to find for him. I went through the one door that the frost giants used as an exit, only to find them sitting around a folding card table and drinking beers. With Florian, of all people.

  “Traitor,” I grumbled, scowling.

  “Hey,” he said. “It’s not my fault that all these gigantic, scary dudes are weirdly nice to me. Must be my height, makes them feel like I’m one of them. Those angel bodyguards weren’t so bad, and the frost giants, they had really interesting things to say about craft beer.”

  “Ugh,” I grunted, slowly lowering the last jar of wine into Beatrice’s bag. “Spare me.”

  “Fine, be that way.” Florian pushed his fists into his hips. “Tell me again, in plain English, what Loki wanted from you.”

  I sighed. “Well, first off, it’s hardly English. He wanted three legendary weapons.”

  Florian clucked his tongue and shook his head. “None of which I’ve ever heard of, I have to admit.”

  “Not that I’d expect you to.” I plunked down on the ground, stretching my legs and my arms, reaching for one of those coconut shells Priscilla loved to ply us with. “So, he wants his sword back, first of all. It’s like his signature, you know? Thor has Mjölnir, Odin has Gungnir, and Loki has Laevateinn. Point of pride, that.”

  Florian shrugged. “I mean, I get it. The guy runs a corporation, sounds like the type who wants to uphold his reputation.”

  “Right. It’s his brand. But I’m not so sure about the other two. Gambanteinn, and Mistleteinn. One’s a staff, and the other is also a sword. He says they belonged to him, back in the old days.”

  And I wasn’t going to argue, because at the risk of repeating myself, I very much wanted my twigs and berries to stay where they were, thanks very much. You might wonder about my obsession with keeping my body parts to myself, but the last time we saw Loki, he made some pretty explicit threats about barbecuing our entrails on a fire made out of our own bones, then feeding them to us. Something to that effect. I wasn’t about to give him a reason to whip out the nephilim gelding knife.

  “They all end in that ‘teinn’ sound,” Florian offered helpfully.

  “Very observant. And frankly, that’s all we need to know about these weapons. If it means I can get him out of my hair, then I’m good. I’ll find him a nuclear bomb if he wants.”

  Florian grimaced. “Please don’t.”

  There was also talk of a reward, by the way, which only boded well for us. More money, contrary to that one popular song, does not necessarily mean more problems, at least in my humble opinion. I had bills to pay, Snacky Yum-Yums to buy, and what my hut really needed was one of those portable air conditioners. A bead of sweat trickled from my forehead down to the tip of my nose, like a wet, smelly little taunt from the universe.

  I could imagine how Raziel would lecture me, see him wagging his manicured finger in my face. Craving material wealth was bad, he’d say, which was really rich, pardon the pun, for a celestial being who was obsessed with wearing designer clothes. Hey, it wasn’t like I was going to turn into the Prince of Greed or anything. I had needs, and wants, and Maslow’s pyramid will not be denied.

  Am I a little obsessed with money? Nah. Just trying to be resourceful. Comes with the territory of losing your parents young and having to grow up too fast. But also, yes, I do love money.

  On an unrelated note, Loki’s reward would mean that I’d also have ample cash to invest in a good, solid electric razor, the kind that could work really well for shaving the heads of mouthy, know-it-all angels. Where was Raziel, anyway?

  “Anyway.” Florian stretched his arms out, sighed, then put on a dour expression. “I just don’t like the sound of it. You did say that Loki was a god of mischief?”

  I shrugged. “And lies, and deceit, and manipulation, the works. He’s a trickster god. There’s one in many cultures, and that’s kind of their thing.”

  Florian folded his arms, tapped his foot, and stared at me pointedly.

  “What?” I said, throwing my hands up. “I get it. He’s not exactly the most forthcoming entity we’ve dealt with, but come on. If I don’t do him this favor, he’s going to be on my ass forever, and the last thing I need is someone else obsessing over wanting to murder me.”

  Florian shook his head. “I just don’t like it. And when whatever goes down goes down, don’t say I didn’t tell you so.”

  “Noted,” I grumbled. “And don’t think I forgot what we were talking about before those frost giants showed up at Human Beans. Florian, I don’t want you to think that there’s stuff you can’t talk to me about.”

  He bit his lip, his gaze falling to the ground.

  I stepped a little closer, tilting my head. “Florian? Seriously, dude. No more lies, okay? No more surprises. If Beatrice Rex or whoever else doesn’t accept you for what you are, then that’s their damn problem. Not yours. The onus isn’t on you to impress anybody but yourself.”

  He smiled up at me weakly. Hey, it was a start. “Thanks for saying that, buddy. But here’s the other thing. When we were at her shop, do you remember her talking about her partner?”

  “Oh yeah, I definitely picked up on that. And you looked bothered by it, too. Don’t worry, it’s just a work thing, I’m sure. That’s what she meant. It’s just some random person with, uh, really questionable taste.”

  Priscilla loped over just then, helpfully offering us yet another pair of freshly split coconuts. We had other beverages in plentiful supply – Artemis loved her fruity cocktails, and I could brew all the coffee I wanted – but there was just something so refreshing about coconut water straight out of the shell. I accepted gratefully, chugging from the shell like a bowl, watching as Priscilla bent low to the ground, sniffed at Beatrice’s bag, then made a rasping, retching sound.

  “Aha,” I crowed, wiping at my chin with the back of my hand. “You see? Even Priscilla thinks it’s terrible, and she loves pink.”

  “Ook.” Priscilla straightened up, smoothing down the creases in her frilly apron and nodding sagely in agreement. Then she sniffed at the air, frowned, and shambled closer, bending her face towards me. She sniffed once more – then made the same rasping, retching sound.

  Florian chuckled. “Oh, Priscilla definitely knows when something’s off.” Priscilla ooked once more, then hopped upwards to meet Florian’s palm with her own, slapping him a high five.

  Jerks. My friends were all jerks. No exceptions.

  10

  It was so much nicer out in the afternoon, on our trip from the Nicola Arboretum to the Amphora. The sun was no longer so violently sunning it up in the sky, the air a little cooler.

  Be proud of me. I was dressed in a proper button-down shirt, one of only two that I owned, and I smelled good, too, this little bottle of cologne that I got as a gift from one of the Boneyard boys. And I’m not just saying that, because I passed the Priscilla test with flying colors. This time, when she sniffed me, she didn’t retch.

  It would have all gone so swimmingly, but as Florian and I turned the cor
ner to the Amphora – we were just a single block away – some asshole decided to make his presence known, right there on the sidewalk.

  “Mason Albrecht,” a voice called out from behind me, a voice that I recognized for its haughtiness. My blood immediately started simmering. I turned on my heel to find him leaning against a tree. I locked eyes with the magus who had so recently made an attempt to capture – or was it kill me? Neither would’ve made for a happy ending.

  “Quilliam J. Abernathy,” I said through gritted teeth, pushing my fist into my palm and cracking my knuckles. “I thought you self-immolated the last time I saw you. You’d have been better off dead. I hope you realize that.”

  This was the jerk who pretended to be my friend, even going through the motions of helping me earn some spare cash when all he really wanted was to knock me out and kidnap me for reasons I still didn’t fully understand. I did know a few facts about Quilliam, though. He worked with demons, had access to some extremely dangerous elemental magic, and was a douchebag of the highest order.

  He chuckled, holding his hand to his chest in a mock display of flattery. “Aww, you remembered my name. How touching.”

  “Of course I do. The J stands for jackass.”

  Quilliam raised his eyebrow, the curve of it matching the infuriating angle of his grin. It was a wonder he hadn’t burned himself to death, or at all, but he had to have cast some modified version of his signature fire spell to escape from my clutches. He looked just like the last time I saw him, dressed in sleek, expensive streetwear, his hair falling to his shoulders, the ends of his fingers slender and agile.

  The fingers were the most important detail, because those would give away whether he was preparing another spell. When fighting mages, it was always, always crucial to watch their hands, and in Quill’s case, his eminently punchable mouth. But that was the other problem with fighting mages. They had their favorite incantations, sure, but you never knew how many more they kept chambered in their brains. A mage is a dangerous thing, but an educated one is a nuke in the body of a man.