by Jax Garren
She narrowed her eyes and nodded slowly. “The trickster... yes.”
Freyja was going to kill him for this, but he pulled her forward. “She’ll need her other form as well.” His partner quit laughing.
Ereshkigal’s face turned downright nasty. “Ishtar—even her power channeling through you mortals—is not welcome in my home.”
He waved his hands in front of him, still striving for relaxed and entitled. “No, no. Freyja. Not Ishtar. We wouldn’t bring your sister here. No way. What a bitch.”
That seemed to mollify her enough that she tipped her head. “Granted.”
“Oh, and I may need pants. Or a skirt or whatever. I had to drop trou’ at one of your gates, and I’m not sure if they’ll reappear.”
Ereshkigal threw her head back and laughed at him. “You are a cocky one, demanding so much of a goddess—a real goddess.” Her finger curled until he could feel the unusual sharpness of her nail digging into his side, and she leaned upward and in, getting so close to his face he could smell what he could best describe as strong wine on her breath. She was petite, with brown eyes that lit up the underworld’s darkness, and he found himself leery of her but not hating her. “Best be wary, lest I decide to be equally demanding.”
He gave her his best star smile. “What kind of music do you like?”
Instead of answering, she put her hand on his forehead. Power like he’d never imagined startled him, as part of her essence, or whatever it was, wended through him, tugging at his connection to the godstones and making him hellishly nervous.
“Uh... what are you...”
He hadn’t spent much time thinking about how the powers inside him worked, but as she delved through his self-conscious, he could feel them, the trickster and the darkness, like two strings on a guitar. The dark god vibrated, playing its note while Huehue was present but silent. She wrapped her cold fingers—spiritual fingers—around the string, and he tensed, wanting to step away before she snapped it. Gods knew what would happen to him then. Her hand, her real one, latched onto his hip, holding him in place with the strength of ten humans.
“Hey! Hands off!” Freyja-Muerte yelled beside him. Her hand tried to slip between Ereshkigal and his skin but couldn’t make purchase.
For a moment, Ereshkigal’s spiritual grip vibrated with Mictlantecuhtli’s string, as if she debated whether to sever the connection, exposing him to everyone and leaving him helpless. For the first time, he realized exactly how much danger they were in. A real god could disconnect his power with a touch.
If you can’t beat them, join them. “Ma’am?” he said softly. “I’d like for us to get along. Freyja, stop.”
“But—”
“Just. Stop.” He looked into Ereshkigal’s face and saw a beautiful and miserable woman. Her job had probably sucked back when belief in her and her pantheon was alive and this place was hopping with new people every day. Now she ruled over a kingdom that was not merely for the dead, but really and truly dead itself. How awful. He gave her another smile, one less magazine quality and more real. “Let’s play music together.”
She scowled at him, and for a moment he thought sympathy might have been the wrong play. But then her magic flicked Huehuecoyotl’s string, leaving Mictlantecuhtli playing as well. He felt the energy transition and grow as both gods activated at once.
It wasn’t like before, when Huehue was on but sleeping, waiting for him to trade out. Both gods were awake. Power rushed through him, almost painful in its struggle, and he closed his eyes, trying to work out a jagged balance between two entities that were almost nothing alike. Huehue wanted to play a trick, to sing, and to get the fuck out of Kur. Mictlan felt peaceful here and disdained the frenetic immaturity Coyote represented. Rafael couldn’t contain the war inside his body as they bickered and fought for control. Meanwhile, Huehue’s drumbeat in his head grew louder and more percussive, giving him a headache that pounded like a sledgehammer. He crunched in on himself, convinced he was dying—or maybe just going insane—as the drums boomed on.
Aztec drums. Both gods liked the hollow bang of the teponaztli and the susurrus of the rattle. They were both Aztec. He clung to that unifying idea, giving them a place of common ground in the beauty and power of the music they shared.
And just like that, they integrated into a unit. He opened his eyes, taking in the world through Coyote’s improved senses and sucked in a breath with Mictlantecuhtli’s dark energy that matched Kur’s deathlessness in death.
“Impressive,” Ereshkigal stated. Then she turned to Freyja-Muerte like she would do the same thing to her.
“No! Stop.” She didn’t have two gods from the same pantheon, which was the only reason he wasn’t going crazy right now, with gods warring for control of his mind and body.
But Ereshkigal didn’t listen. She placed her hand on Freyja-Muerte’s forehead.
Freyja screamed.
Chapter 13
THIRTY SECONDS BEFORE, Coyote-as-Mict-whatever had been screaming, with Ereshkigal’s hand pressed to his forehead. Giselle had tried to break the woman’s arm, but apparently gods didn’t break so easily.
Then her partner had stopped howling and had shifted. His Coyote mask had returned, but it was a skull. His drum returned to his back, but he still wore the death god’s shawl around his hips and eyeballs around his neck.
It was like the best of both worlds—plus extra eyeballs—had merged into one conduit. She’d never heard of anything like it.
Then Ereshkigal’s hand was on her forehead, and Coyote was screaming for Ereshkigal to stop.
But why? Blending two gods into one was badass, even if it was—
Oh, gods, power and pain rushed through her with startling ferocity. The death goddess’s hold on her senses was jealous and grim, while Freyja’s more familiar wildness coursed through her, demanding dominance. But the math didn’t add up—two goddesses was too much for one body. She dropped down to a crouch, hearing her own screams as she struggled to balance the power coursing through her before it shredded her sanity. She could feel herself changing, then rearranging back—her hair, her body, her mind and magic.
Arms wrapped around her from behind, and Coyote held her up. “What do they have in common? What do they both want? Find that.”
Mictecacihuatl heard his voice, her husband’s voice, and leaned back into the dark god who shared the Aztec underworld with her. She could handle a life beneath the world because he was there. Freyja heard Coyote, her partner, and it reminded her that though they were nothing alike—maybe because they were nothing alike—they made an amazing team. It was their differences that made them unstoppable. Stronger together.
Freyja gave in a little. Mictecacihuatl felt the shift and sank further into her husband’s embrace.
“Work together. You’re a team now,” Dark Coyote whispered in her ear.
Mictecacihuatl listened to her husband and gave in a little.
Giselle gasped for air as she felt her body settle into a new form. She looked down to find the frilly dress had been toned down some, and her costume now had leather armor and boots. On her back, she felt the holster, and at her side was her bag of holding. Her hair was still dark, and what she could see of herself still had skeletal paint. The two goddesses settled inside her with an uneasy truce, but a truce she could work with. She leaned up, away from Dark Coyote, her mind buzzing with energy.
Ereshkigal smiled at them, clapping her hands in delight. “Well, now, we’re already having fun! To the throne room we go.” She turned, pointing up yet another staircase to the next level of the complex.
Somewhere nearby, Osiris groaned a protest. “More stairs.”
Rawan dashed over to Giselle instead of following the goddess. “Are you okay? What happened? Are you—”
Giselle nodded. “Both goddesses at once. I’m not sure I can do this for a really long time, though, so let’s try to make this happen fast.” She grabbed Coyote’s arm and whispered fiercely, “Why did you imply
I was part of your act?”
He shot her a look that said, “Duh,” and then said out loud, “Because you wanted your weapons and didn’t like wearing high heels.”
“Uh, okay, yeah, but what am I supposed to do? I can’t entertain her.”
He frowned. “You just did.”
She blinked, wondering what he meant by that. Then she slapped his bicep. “I can’t believe you offered to sing for our freedom. What if—”
He put his fingers against her mouth, looking more confidently casual than she could ever imagine feeling, and she stopped talking. “Look,” he said, his voice all swagger. “She’s been stuck here for thousands of years with nothing new. This isn’t auditioning for the Met, this is entertaining someone with an incredibly boring life. It’ll be fine.” Though his voice sounded super casual, a tiny swallow and the pinch to the sides of his mouth told her he wasn’t as confident as he sounded.
“I can offer her Brisingamen.”
He looked at her, the tiniest hint of doubt in his expression. “If this doesn’t work, go for it.”
Nodding, she started to think about exactly how she could phrase the offer.
“But until then, try to have a little faith in me.” He kept walking. “This will be a lot easier with you cheering me on instead of planning for my failure.”
She huffed and caught up with him. “Having a backup plan isn’t planning for you to fail; it’s just a good practice.”
“And your backup plan for coming here was...?”
“That was in my note! It was for you to find if there was a god in the bag that could get me back. I mean, if one god can send someone here, surely one can bring someone back, right?”
Anger, the same as she’d seen at the gates, reared back up in his eyes. “If that could be done, don’t you think they would’ve tried it already? You sent that note to give me something to do and make me feel better. It was fucking patronizing.”
She looked down because he wasn’t wrong. She hadn’t actually expected that to work.
“Mm-hmm,” he said, a million words in his tone.
They finally made it up the final set of stairs. Here, living green provided a break from the endless supply of sand. Two immense trees with thick trunks that looked like they were composed of dozens of smaller trees clumped together flanked the entrance to the garden. Their glorious, conical canopies stretched up into the mist above them. Past them, pomegranate, palm, and other flora dotted the space around the temple in what would be a sparse garden in south Texas, but amid the desolation of Kur was a gaudy display of life.
A simple rectangular building rose about two stories tall before them in pristine white. Small triangular windows decorated the second floor, but the bottom half was reserved for ornate carvings of fantastical figures. There was no door, but a path led around the building, and this was what Ereshkigal took. She looked all around her with sorrowful pride. “I love this time of year. Dumuzid brings the most amazing things to our realm.”
Giselle hid her scowl. The Sumerian god of spring brought amazing things to the part of the realm only the gods saw. What about everyone else?
“It’s beautiful,” Coyote said, and Ereshkigal smiled back at him in a way that made Giselle nervous. Was there covetousness in her eyes? Coyote didn’t seem to notice. If he wasn’t careful, he’d have a death goddess smitten with him, and that was not going to go well.
They continued around the building, and Giselle couldn’t decide where to look—at the plants, at the intricate details on the temple facade, or out into the land itself, which stretched as far as the eye could see in every direction, even past the gates, like the channel they’d been through wasn’t a physical passage but a portal to the mortal realm. The vast expanse of nothing made her shiver.
The courtyard below them was slowly filling with the denizens of Kur, setting her nerves further on edge and reminding her that this peaceful moment was not going to last. If they didn’t curry favor with Ereshkigal, getting out of here was going to mean facing literal hordes of the dead before hoping the portal worked both ways.
So maybe Coyote making a new friend was a good idea. The thought made her feel twitchy when Ereshkigal tossed another interested look his way as she pointed out aspects of the temple like a tour guide. Just not too good of friends.
Bryn dropped back a few steps to walk next to her and gave her a confused smile, like it was a hard expression to make. With careful language, she managed, “Do not eat or drink here. Trick.”
Giselle nodded, remembering the story of Persephone and the six grains or seeds or whatever that the myth said had gotten her stuck in Hades for six months out of the year. She took another look at her mother and the eyes she remembered so well, even if everything else seemed wrong. Tears threatened to push from her own eyes, and she sucked in a breath to stop them. “I won’t. Let’s make sure everyone knows.” She hurried to Rawan, feeling like a total shit as she left her mother behind. Coyote had accused her of running away. Maybe he was extremely right.
“Don’t eat anything,” she muttered, forcing her gaze from Bryn... and then once again staring at Coyote, who was now in deep conversation with a real freaking goddess who seemed real freaking interested in his ass.
“I know. Channeling Persephone here,” Rawan said with a smirk. Then she followed Giselle’s gaze. “I thought you said he was a bad musician. What he did with the galla was epic. I mean, not to hate on your idol or anything, but watching Coyote wrest the attention of a dozen demons was way cooler than watching our stoned classmate cover Justin Bieber at that party.”
Giselle looked up at the ceiling for patience. “I was a little busy subduing the god at the gate to give it my full attention, but yeah, he sounded better than I’d expected. He never told me he knew how to play a guitar. But you gotta admit the drama of the demon cavalcade following him adds to the picture.” She lifted her chin up in the air. “And, like you said, Rafael was high and playing covers on someone’s back porch—he even said it wasn’t going to be his best work—whereas Coyote had deadly incentive to be the best he could be.”
“True,” Rawan said. “I just think... I don’t know, now that I’ve spent some time with him? He’s really hot, he’s sweet to your mom—which, okay, she’s not dead, wow—and he’s nuts about you. I don’t want you to miss out on something cool because you’re...” She frowned like she was afraid of offending.
“Hung up on something that’ll never happen?”
Rawan shrugged apologetically.
“I’m not holding back on Coyote because I think I have a shot with a mega rock star.” She watched Coyote talking to the goddess and tried to release her jealousy on a breath. “The truth is, I really like working with him, and I don’t want to mess that up. We’re coworkers. Everyone knows you don’t date your coworker. I mean, it’s not like we could have a real relationship anyway—I have no idea who he is under the mask. One day he’s going to have a real girlfriend, one he can take on dates until he pops the question, and that girl won’t be me. I don’t want to blow up what we’ve got for something that can never be.”
“You could tell him who you are.”
“He doesn’t want me to know who he is, either. He’s surprisingly particular about it.”
Rawan pursed her lips thoughtfully, then nodded as if she’d come to a decision. “You’re right.”
Giselle’s expectation of an argument left her unprepared for that. “What? You think I’m right?”
“Well, yeah. I mean, I know you’ve seen Malik and me...” She blushed as she trailed off. “But we’ve been together since we were fifteen. We’re going to get married after graduation. It’s not like we’re having a casual relationship. I know a lot of people have those, and they need to do what’s right for them, but if you’re not into having a fling, I get that. I wouldn’t be, either. If you can only have a casual affair with Coyote, and that’s not what you want, then wait for what you want. You’re worth more than being someone’s gi
rl on the side.” Rawan squeezed her shoulder and gave her a smirk. “I think I’ve just been with the same guy for so long I’m trying to live vicariously through my friends’ exploits, but you don’t have to do stupid things so I can have romantic catharsis. That’s what books are for.”
Giselle stared at her in wonder. “You really are the best friend ever.”
Rawan laughed. “Thanks. You’re pretty awesome yourself. Except when you try to fight gods without us. Don’t do that.”
It was Giselle’s turn to laugh, and she looked at Coyote again, maybe with a hint of longing as he bent over to smell a flower. But Rawan was on her side. She was doing the right thing. Then something else Rawan had said sunk in. “Wait, you’re marrying Malik after graduation? Are y’all, like, engaged or something?”
“Not exactly, we just agreed on it. He’ll propose senior year. We have the whole thing planned—career, kids, mosque, charity, retirement. We’re pathetically predictable.”
Giselle shook her head, unsure how anyone could know that much about their life. “I don’t know what I’m doing next week—much less in four years.” She’d never had the luxury of knowing when she’d have to move again or what challenges she’d face when she got there. Now, as Freyja, she didn’t figure she had an extended life plan. But maybe now that she’d gotten into college and had at least a little more control over her life, she could start thinking more long-term. She bit her lip as she looked back at Coyote—Dark Coyote—a future that, after what he’d done for her today, would include him as a friend. A really good friend.
Then Ereshkigal plucked a pomegranate from the tree, and fear for her potential long-term plans with her long-term partner made her step forward. “She’s going to try to get Coyote to eat something.”
She strode over to the pair as Ereshkigal cut the fruit in half with a knife she’d pulled out of somewhere.
