The Trickster's Strings: A Superhero Adventure-Romance (Godsongs Book 2)

by Jax Garren

  It didn’t work. Bryn frowned at her, then reached into the pouch at Giselle’s hip and pulled out a knife.

  “Oh. Blood, yeah.”

  Bryn helpfully held up her own arm, but Giselle shook her hand at it. Blood and bones appeared to be about all Bryn had holding herself together. “I got it.” Careful to puncture just the tip of her finger, she then drew the runes onto the back of her right hand with the blood from her left index finger, once again imagining a copy of herself.

  When the bind rune was complete on her hand, she took a step back, and her body—or an exact replica of it—stayed right in front of her. She opened her mouth in surprise, and the other stiffened her spine at the same time, as if copying her motions.

  Bryn smiled at her and put her hand out, palm up, as if asking for Giselle’s hand. Giselle did as requested and felt a tug at her senses, like Bryn was trying to pull something from her.

  The magic. Bryn wanted control of her doppelganger. She let it go.

  Immediately, the body double ceased copying Giselle’s motions. Bryn pinched the fire in her lantern and set a purple spark in the air in front of them, just below her navel. “Stored it,” she said simply—whatever that meant—then nodded toward the door they’d come through.

  At the front, Coyote’s song came to a close, and Ereshkigal clapped her hands in delight. “Yes, music has changed since the lute.”

  “Verdict?” Coyote asked, his voice carrying absolute confidence.

  “Whom would you like to grant safe passage to?”

  Giselle held her breath, unsure what he was going to say.

  He didn’t look back, just said, “The man channeling Osiris.”

  She let the air go. It was who she would’ve picked too.

  Ereshkigal bowed her head. “The man channeling Osiris is granted permission to leave. May he speak not of what he has found here.”

  “Next, how about some Queen?”

  “Queen of where?” she asked.

  “Everywhere,” he answered with another one of his lazy smiles. This song she did recognize, as he started “We Are the Champions.”

  She wanted to listen. How had she been so wrong about him? He’d berated her about how hard it was to play the assortment of weird instruments he’d been given so far. She’d thought he was just bragging. But no. And though the last song didn’t exactly show off a singing voice, more a husky purr with words, this one would, if she stayed long enough to hear it.

  “Daughter,” Bryn said gently, bringing Giselle’s attention back to the situation and away from the man.

  “Have you seen him without the mask?” she asked, suddenly wondering.

  Her mother nodded. “Pretty face. Go.” She pointed at the spark, which dipped in the air, then circled her, as if waiting for Giselle to follow.

  Chapter 15

  THE LAST PURPLE SPARK Giselle had seen had directed them toward Macha, which meant this spark would keep her from wandering around directionless, thank heaven. Giselle slipped out of the temple as she heard Bryn and Rawan come in with the chorus just on time. She could imagine Coyote’s smile as he appreciated the teamwork—because that was how he was. He liked working together; he naturally trusted other people to do their part and do it well.

  She so wasn’t used to that. But maybe she could learn. It seemed like a much better way to live than always scraping along on her own.

  Like she was doing again right now. She sighed as she exited the open temple doors and snuck into the garden, determined to find Macha as quickly and quietly as possible.

  Unfortunately, the garden wasn’t empty. A man with thick hair and a bushy beard that together reminded her of a lion’s mane plucked pomegranates from the tree, muttering to himself darkly. Before Giselle could duck back inside, he saw her, and a devious smile crossed his face. “Whom do we have here trespassing in the temple?”

  His bright eyes seemed to pierce right through her, and his skin glowed like he carried his own light.

  A god. Two lived here now—Dumuzid, the god of spring, and Nergal, the crazy-ass sun god. But which was he?

  She smiled, wishing she had Coyote’s charm. “Freyja. I was invited here. Pleased to meet you.”

  He took her hand and kissed it, giving her hope that he was the nice one. But when she tried to withdraw her hand, he squeezed it tightly.

  “Not so fast. I’m starting a collection.”

  “A collection?”

  He leaned in too close, and he smelled of fire and sand. “Of human whores who think they’re goddesses.” He twisted her arm and yanked on her so hard she jerked toward him, slamming her back into his front.

  She tried to reach back for her holster, but he already had her pressed tight. She slammed her head backward, going for his nose. He caught her hair in his hand and jerked her head to the side. “A fighter? I’ll teach you better.” Like a crazy person, he opened his mouth and moved in for her throat like he’d bite her.

  What the hell? She struggled, unable to get away. His teeth met her neck, and she squeezed into the smallest space she could, shoving herself back into him.

  And she stepped through him.

  “What the...” he muttered, looking around him.

  Giselle looked down at herself and realized she was standing behind the man she’d just been in front of. He whipped around to face her again and swiped for her. His hand went right through her.

  “Mictecacihuatl,” she muttered. She’d figured out one of her powers. But how easy was it to control? She focused on just her hand and threw a punch. Her fist connected with his jaw with knuckle-busting force, and he swung his head around.

  He roared in anger, then leaped at her in a football-style tackle. He sailed right through her and landed face-first in the dirt.

  “This is the best thing ever!” With her bare foot she kicked him in the temple, and his eyes rolled back in his head as he passed out.

  Quick as she could, she pulled rope from her pouch and tied the god up, then dragged him to the edge of the terrace and dumped him over. His body bounced against the side as it descended a couple stories and then crash-landed at the next terrace. She doubted that’d kill a god, but at least it gave her a chance to find Macha. He was going to be hella pissed at her when he woke up, though. She’d worry about that later—the story of her life. “Hey,” she told the purple light. “I can go through things. Can we just go straight down?”

  As if the light understood, it dove into the ground beneath them. Feeling like a ghost, she followed, sinking through the dirt into the building below.

  Giselle slipped slowly through the earth, then got into a hallway and fell, her stomach dropping like a roller coaster as she collapsed into a pile on the floor.

  Note to self, traveling through walls is not the same thing as levitating. She stretched her neck and stood up, realizing that though she’d fallen, nothing hurt. “Weird...”

  As soon as she got up, the light took off down the hallway, and she followed, dashing around torchlit corners and down hallways lined with increasingly intricate reliefs carved into the walls and painted. The colors were wildly bright—reds and greens and golds that popped and dazzled. It’d be interesting to study, but for now she chased the light toward their goal, sending a wish up to Coyote that he continued to knock the socks off the goddess.

  How couldn’t he? He was handsome and charming and way more talented than she’d realized. Danger, Giselle. Before she started thinking stupid thoughts, she brought to mind Rafael from this morning, how tired he’d been and how sweet he’d been about the coffee. The more she got to know him, the more she saw what a kind person he was. They were friends now, which was amazing. And somewhere out there was a complete idiot of a woman whom he loved but who didn’t love him back.

  Maybe one day he’d get tired of chasing that girl, and she’d have a chance.

  She gulped and tried to push that equally stupid thought aside. She and Rafael were friends. That was good enough—better than she’d ever
imagined things could be.

  She and Coyote were friends too, and as much as she might want to jump him, it wasn’t worth it. It was just that he was so hot, in that arrogant, rich—oh, shit—musician sort of way.

  The purple light slipped through a door, and using the badass powers of Mictecacihuatl, Giselle did too.

  Macha lay on a bed, staring at the ceiling. She was dressed in lavish garments that looked silky, and she seemed unhurt. When the light zipped over her and blinked, she bolted up to sitting. Seeing Giselle there, her mouth dropped. “Who are you?”

  Giselle debated for just a moment. If Macha didn’t know who she was, this might be easier. “I’m Micte-casey... No. Mick-teka-see... Fuck, I’m here to rescue you.” At Macha’s dubious look, she added, “Badb Catha and the military dude in charge at Fort Mitchell sent me.”

  “Well, you shut the door, which is locked. Great work.”

  Giselle rolled her eyes at her sarcasm and stuck her hand through the door. “I didn’t open it.” She knelt in front of the handle. “But I can.” A quick rune and a whisper under her breath made the lock click. “You coming or not?”

  “Where’s Nergal?”

  “I might’ve dumped him over the side of—” A roar of rage echoed through the building, making it shake. “I think he may be conscious again.”

  “Shit. Go! Go!” Macha dashed out of the room, the fringe of her silken dress fluttering as she hauled ass.

  Giselle followed. “Do you know how to get back to the temple on the top?”

  “Why would we go there?”

  “The rest of my party—”

  “Uh, not to rain on your party parade, but we don’t have time for side trips.”

  Freyja stopped. “Then get out by your damn self—and good luck stepping back through the gates into the land of the living.”

  Macha spun back to her, the torchlight reflecting dangerously in her eyes. “You’ve got a way to get us back, but you left it in the temple?”

  “I’ve got a person who can get you back, and she’s up there masking my absence while my other friend gains safe passage for the rest of us.”

  “What? Dammit.” Another roar made the halls echo. Macha gave the slightest flinch, and in that, Giselle read a whole horde of bad from the steely-tempered woman.

  She didn’t want to feel any compatriotic sympathy with the Terror of the Border, but it looked like they had something in common. “Come on, Macha. Let’s get everyone out.”

  Macha’s face screwed up, then she huffed, “This way.” Picking up speed, she ran the opposite way from whence Giselle had come.

  Hoping Macha wasn’t fucking with her, Giselle followed, running like the devil was chasing her. Nergal gave another roar that shook the building, and she wondered if the devil indeed was.

  Chapter 16

  “YOUR LADY FRIEND IS free to go,” Ereshkigal said with a light in her eyes as he finished up “Desperado,” a chill break from the frenetic energy of his first three choices. Despite his attempts to hide it, she seemed to have picked right up on which woman Rafael craved. He wished Freyja could’ve seen this, his triumph, as he’d played four songs and earned the freedom of every member of his party. One more song to go, one more life to earn.

  His own.

  He thought of all the amazing songs the world had offered, and he probably should pick one—the Beatles, Bowie, Prince, any one of the giants of music that humanity had produced. Maybe Freyja was right—probably she was—and he was too damn arrogant for his own good. But he couldn’t walk away with a vital question unanswered—Could he win with his own work?

  “Heresy” was the most popular song he’d ever written, and if he was really going to do this, maybe he should go with that. But the song he was the proudest of was “Searchlight,” something he’d written for a friend with a broken heart about keeping faith in shitty times. Now it reminded him of his classmate—his friend—Giselle and her claim that it’d saved her life. He wasn’t sure that was possible; she’d made the choice to be strong using her own innate goodness. But still, her belief gave him the extra boost of confidence he needed.

  Maybe it was stupid, but he couldn’t come all the way down here, win four times, and not bet his own life on his own work. Nerves in his throat, he picked the opening notes and closed his eyes, unwilling to look at her and see if this was an epic mistake.

  He had to know.

  As the stars appear you say the light is gone,

  Carrying chains you never put on.

  You repeat their words: We’re fed and at peace,

  We’re the lucky ones, and our misery

  Makes us ingrates for all we’ve been given.

  But if this is luck, then what’s the point of living?

  When the opening verse ended, he opened his eyes and met Ereshkigal’s questioning gaze. He gave her a smile, and the corner of her mouth turned up. He couldn’t tell if she was impressed or indulging him. Didn’t matter right now. All that mattered was music.

  The stars turn above us, their ancient glow still bright

  Giants dying slowly as they burn, despite their might

  And if there’s a destiny for us written in the night

  You won’t find it, friend, if you give up the fight.

  Embrace the dark, and you’ll become the—

  A roar shook the building with the might of an earthquake, and he slapped the guitar as he lost, then regained, his footing. “What the...”

  Bryn was on the ground, Freyja right beside her. He wanted to run to them, but they were shaking it off. He mouthed, “Are you okay?”

  Bryn nodded, and Freyja made a similar motion.

  Wait, why hadn’t Freyja gone to get Macha? Had she somehow snuck out and returned in the middle of a song? That horrible woman was the whole reason they’d come here to begin with.

  No questions. Trust that she did her job, and he would do his own. He turned back to the goddess, hiding his concern behind a pleasant expression. “What was that?”

  Ereshkigal looked alarmed at first, then turned to him with a wicked smile. “That started out well but ended rather abruptly, wouldn’t you say?”

  “What, the earthquake?” he asked, then laughed nervously as a shard of fear stabbed through him. He knew where she was going with this. “I’d be happy to finish the song—hopefully without interruption this time.”

  Another, angrier, roar shook the building, and he bent his knees to keep his balance. When he looked up again, Ereshkigal was in his space. She placed one talon-like nail on his chin. “Looks like I get to keep you for a while.”

  His stomach fell, and his mouth asked without permission from his brain, “Because you didn’t like the song or because I stopped playing?”

  She narrowed her eyes at him. “Don’t play coy with me, boy. It’s hard to whine about playing fair when one of your tribe has gone wandering. Wonder where she’s headed off to?”

  “Wandering?” He turned back to the group, where everybody was standing there staring at their argument with growing concern. Maybe Freyja had gone and just come back really freaking quickly. Bryn looked pale, though, and he wondered if he was missing something.

  Another roar, and Ereshkigal caught him as he stumbled, her hands sliding across his too-bare skin with uncomfortable familiarity. When he was upright again, she snapped her fingers, and Freyja disappeared.

  “What did you do?” he yelled, furious and worried.

  “What did I do? I dispelled the little illusion one of you created.” She glared at Bryn. “But that girl’s been gone long enough to steal my husband’s newest toy, and now he’s going to create a few wrinkles in our friendly arrangement.”

  A fourth roar was accompanied by the stomping of feet. A giant of a man whose skin shone like the sun bounded into the room. “Where is that little bitch? I’ll kill her!”

  Ereshkigal rolled her eyes. “Which one?”

  Freyja dashed into the room and nearly ran into the god’s back—but then she
flew right through him like a ghost.

  “Shit!” she yelled.

  Nergal—or so Coyote assumed—launched a punch at Freyja that should’ve crushed her. He tried to jerk forward to get to her, but Ereshkigal held him back.

  But the punch didn’t connect. His attack passed right through her.

  A ghost. Mictecacihuatl’s power. He breathed a deep sigh of relief.

  “You will not get in the middle of this, my new friend,” Ereshkigal hissed in his ear, making his skin prickle in distaste. “Your face is far too nice the way it is.”

  “You’re not playing by the rules we set.”

  “Neither are you. There’s an exit this way.” She tugged on him, and he tried to hold his ground, but she was stupid strong. His feet slipped against the tiles as she dragged him backward.

  “My friends—”

  “Are free to go—if they make it past my husband. They angered him, not me.” His feet continued to slip forward with her insistent pull. “Play more music like that, though, and I assure you I’ll keep you satisfied here.”

  Gross. No way. “You liked the last one?” Shut up, you arrogant twit...

  “Delightfully hopeful. Next I request you write something deliciously dark for me.”

  In his surprise he stopped struggling for a moment. “How did you know I wrote that?”

  She shrugged. “It has all the innocence of a young dreamer who hasn’t lost... yet.” Her expression turned affectionate as she patted him on the cheek. “You’re quite a talent, young man. Your time here will make you better than you ever dreamed you could be. And who knows, one day you may curry enough favor with me that I return you and your gifts to the mortal world—as long as you can find me a replacement, of course.” Her expression softened back to the lost look that had made him feel sorry for her before. “I’m tired of being alone.”