by Jax Garren
EJ ran for his brother, and for a moment Giselle wondered if he was going to help him up. But Brian shoved his brother backward as he attempted to get up, then slid again on the slick seawater.
The gunman who’d given up crouched next to the sick one, and Giselle dropped down to them. “Can you pilot the boat?”
The gunman looked up, real fear in his eyes. “What’s wrong with my brother?”
The pair shared the same pale blond hair and wide-set eyes, and Giselle nodded. “He’s sick. But Coyote said we could save him if we got him to a doctor quickly. Can you pilot the boat, or do you see someone who can?”
The man nodded stiffly. “I can do it.”
“Then get up there and get ready to head back to the mainland. Nobody wants anyone to die—nobody on my side, anyway. We just want to get safely off this boat with the women.”
He nodded and ducked her gaze. “We didn’t know what they were doing, neither of us. And they would’ve killed us if we’d seen and not finished our job.”
She didn’t believe for a moment that they hadn’t known, but she nodded anyway and pointed him toward the side of the boat where she assumed the captain’s area was.
“Freyja!” Coyote yelled.
She popped her head up in time to see Zeus glaring at her with death eyes, a bolt readying in his hand.
Damn, that shield would be handy! The gunman tossed his brother over his shoulder and ran—so much for chivalry. She popped up to standing and grabbed her bow, but Zeus was already moving.
So was EJ. With a football tackle he took his brother over the railing of the boat and into the ocean. The lightning went straight down into the water, and several screams sounded from the men overboard—screams she’d feel a lot worse about if they hadn’t been trafficking humans.
Except EJ... “EJ!” she called. The ocean rose up in a terrifying wave. Her stomach heaved as the boat rode up on the starboard side, tilting it near sideways. Suddenly the floor was the wall and water poured over the railing with drowning intensity. She latched onto a table that was bolted to the deck, holding on so she didn’t get swept into the Gulf.
A few feet away, Sekhmet dug in with her claws, keeping her body stable as Cerberus scrabbled against the polished wood, less able to dig in. With a wave of seawater, the creature was lifted off its feet and into the depths.
Hades tumbled down the deck, his bleeding side dyeing the water around him red.
Coyote slipped past her, clambering for purchase with fierce determination, and she reached for him as the boat began to toss the other direction.
Their fingers brushed, hands just missing as he looked into her eyes—then started to slide the other way as the boat tipped aft.
“I’ve got you,” she promised, fear rising in her chest as he started to plummet past her again. He reached for her. She stretched as far as she could, hooking fingers, then brushing palms, then...
She had him. Her hand locked onto his wrist.
He clasped back as she strained to pull him up the slick deck to the shelter of the table.
“Wait!” he called, not quite letting her reel him in to her.
“Coyote!” she yelled, wondering what on earth could be so important.
His gaze was glued to Hades, who’d latched onto the anchor rigging where the dead woman had gotten stuck.
Giselle gasped. “I can bring her back. Brisingamen.”
Coyote shot her a saucy grin. “Good—you should. But also, let’s get his godstone.”
“What?” she asked, wondering if he’d lost his mind. They needed to get the girl and then survive this mess, not challenge an experienced conduit.
“You want a trafficker to have a godstone with insta-kill abilities? No way. I get the impression he’s had that stone for a while, but he’s weak. Let’s do this now. It’s our best shot.”
“On a tossing ship?”
“Yup.”
“How? Without killing him?”
Coyote shrugged. “If you insist—although I wouldn’t be too upset.”
Giselle looked back at Hades and noted a purple glow still emanating from the dead woman and traveling to him. More magic... “I wouldn’t be too upset myself. What’s he doing?”
Coyote sniffed the air, then his expression turned alarmed. “Death energy. He’s restoring the godstone from her soul. We gotta stop him.”
“Her soul?”
He frowned. “Mictlantecuhtli can feel the energy. I think... I think maybe he’s using her to lengthen a nearly used-up connection to the godstone. If you brought her back to life...”
Hope made her contemplate joining his crazy. “He’d lose the connection and become human again.” She took a deep breath as desire for more than just surviving this curled inside her. “We could grab the stone.”
Coyote nodded, giving her a determined look. “I’ll distract him. You get her. We got this.” Another swell shifted the boat, making a smooth diagonal down toward the pair. “I don’t think I have much longer, though, so we gotta work fast.”
He squeezed her hand, then let go. As he dropped, Coyote shifted into a black snake, slipping and sliding toward the death god and his victim.
The motor started up with a roar, and the boat rattled to life, the hull evening out to something like its normal position as they lurched forward, though the rocking instability continued to make movement a challenge.
Giselle let go of the table but stayed low as she army-crawled toward Rawan, who’d been beaten up pretty badly in her fight with Cerberus. “We’ve gotta get the dead girl away from him,” she yelled over the ocean and the motor. “I’m going to resurrect her, which’ll weaken Hades.”
“Okay!” her friend yelled back, her golden eyes glowing bright in the darkness. “What do I need to do?”
“Protect me during the spell—are you well enough? You look like crap, hon.”
Rawan hacked a laugh and gave her a weak but ready smile. “Thanks. I’m fine.”
“Okay. I’m going to change back pretty quick after it happens. Brisingamen syphons all my power. I don’t think I can turn Freyja on a third time, not after I’ve drained her like this.” She pulled Mictecacihuatl from her pouch. “But I don’t want to double up and risk Micte taking over too soon. Can you make sure I change to this after the woman’s alive?”
“Of course.”
She handed Rawan Micte’s godstone, then crawled for Hades, trying not to vomit from the nausea-inducing rock of the boat.
Rawan slunk past her, claws digging into the wood and propelling her forward quickly. Giselle shook her head. “Wings would be nice about now...”
Wings and a shield and a horn to call the rainbow bridge.
At the anchor, Dark Coyote, still a snake, reared back to strike as arrows appeared in midair and dashed for Hades. The conduit ducked and grabbed his sharpened staff, leaving the dead woman unguarded.
Hoping for the best, Giselle launched herself toward the girl.
The spear swipe blocked several arrows, but a few still hit their mark, thwacking the god in his shoulder, thigh, and forearm. Rawan pounced, claws digging into his chest.
Giselle dragged the dead woman away, just far enough to be out of the fight. She placed her hand on the woman’s head. “You’re not done yet.”
“No!” Hades yelled. He jerked forward, and Coyote-snake bit him.
Warm light filled Giselle from the torque at her throat and pulsed through her fingers to the woman. There was no wound to heal, and the magic flowed more easily than last time, as if reversing an unnatural death was simpler than fixing an ax through the chest.
“What did you do to him?” Rawan asked. Giselle wanted to see what they were talking about, but she didn’t dare look up from her task.
“Confusion spell,” Coyote answered.
Brisingamen’s light entered through the woman’s eyes and nose, filling her with golden energy as Giselle felt her own power drain. Within a moment, the woman gasped and sat upright. Her hand landed
on Giselle’s shoulder as she breathed heavily, eyes wide with wonder.
Nausea burst through Giselle in earnest, warning her that her magic was about to cut out. She curled over her knees and hid her face in her hands. “Sekhmet!”
The woman she’d healed scrambled up with surprising ease for the recently deceased and hopped between her and the others.
A power vacuum whooshed past her, and she tilted her head to watch as Hades’s awesome power exited, leaving a bearded, middle-aged man behind.
They’d won. Which was good, but just then her own power failed, leaving her rattled and—worse—exposed.
RAFAEL CLENCHED HIS hands in victorious joy as the dark energy whisked from Hades, leaving a thin man with salt-and-pepper hair and bright blue eyes. He looked up at the sky with a terrified gaze, the confusion spell still in place. Rafael wasn’t entirely sure what the spell did, but he didn’t think the older man would give them many problems as they searched him for the godstone.
Sekhmet gave a howl of joy and bumped his fist with her own.
A release of power behind him turned his own joy into concern. “Freyja!” He started to turn, but Sekhmet pulled his chin back around. “Get his godstone. I’ll take care of her.”
“I’m fine!” he heard weakly from behind them.
That was what she always said. It didn’t mean she was fine. The need to protect her warred with his promise not to seek out who she was. To give his hands something to do, he fished into ex-Hades’s pockets. “You can see her, but I can’t?”
“I already know who she is.”
Of course she did. They were real friends. And he was... jealous. Real mature, Rafe. His fingers closed around the godstone, the energy crackling mightily in his hand. Despite his rumbling envy, he started to smile as he pulled it out and held it aloft. “We got it!”
Sekhmet leaned forward, her next words chilling his joy. “And I know who you are too.”
“What? No way. You have no idea who I am!”
The patronizing look in her eyes made his teeth grate. “It’s so obvious, Freyja must be putting some effort into not figuring it out. You should consider telling her.” She pointed toward Hades, an order to watch him, and slunk backward.
He grabbed her wrist. “Don’t tell her.”
Sekhmet’s pleasant demeanor turned scathing. “Why not? Looking for a no-strings arrangement? She can’t interrupt your glitzy life if she doesn’t know who you are?”
“No!” He scowled, offended. “I can be a reckless dipshit sometimes, but not like that. I just want her to like me. Not...” He waved his hand in the air, trying to convey the mess of his life. “If anything happened between us, I’d... I’d tell her. And hopefully she wouldn’t dump me immediately. I’m well aware she hates my, uh, work.”
Sekhmet shot him an inscrutable look—or maybe it was just the lion mask. “I think you should tell her. But as long as you don’t hurt her, that’s between the two of you.”
He nodded, still tempted to turn and see what he could. But he refrained, instead grabbing rope from the anchor to tie up the former death god.
A moment later, power flashed behind him—dark power—and he looked up to find Mictecacihuatl, Aztec lady of the dead, not Freyja.
His own connection to Huehue, who he’d been channeling for hours, was dangerously weak. Leaving Mictlan in place, he let Huehue go, telling himself it was because he shouldn’t activate his stone a third time. Such a lie. He just wanted to be Freyja’s husband for a little while, even if it came with a shawl-skirt and a necklace made of eyes.
He gave her a wink and waved Hades’s godstone at her. She gave him a smile back, as beautiful with Micte’s deep red lips and dark hair as she was with Freyja’s blonde braids and naked smile.
Then she ducked her face, looking embarrassed. He scooted across the deck to her. Sekhmet had one arm around her shoulders, and he slid to her other side. “What’s wrong?”
She shook her head. “I’m just sorry I got you guys into this.” She picked at the ruffles on her skirt. “You weren’t supposed to see this.” Then her face wrinkled as she yanked up on the deep V of her blouse. “Or this. You can see my entire sternum. What the hell?”
He glanced down at his scanty costume. “You’re kidding me, right?”
She chuckled. “Yeah, I guess you’ve got it worse.”
He winked, and she bumped shoulders with him, making him feel included as her friend. He touched her jaw, turning her eyes to his. “I see you—all of you, from sternum to shitty exes—and all I get is more amazed. You’re an incredible human, Freyja, goddess or not.”
Chapter 35
RAFAEL SANG ALONG TO the Rolling Stones on a classic rock station—no chance of hearing anything he’d written—and stirred the queso, wondering if he should start the fries. Freyja had never bailed before when they’d set up a time, but they’d never had a purely social meet-up, either.
Yesterday, they’d gotten the whole boatload of injured humans to shore, then snuck away as the police they’d alerted en route arrived at the dock. After a late drive home, they’d called it a night and gone to sleep—unfortunately, in their own beds. But when he’d offered Freyja that movie and queso fries for the next night—now tonight—she’d bit her lip like she was thinking about it, then slowly nodded as a beautiful smile spread across her face.
She rarely smiled with such full-faced abandon, and it had taken his breath away.
Now she was a couple minutes late, which wasn’t much, but he’d been here for half an hour, just in case she was early, and the minutes were fucking crawling by. He wasn’t used to waiting for people—not since he’d become famous anyway, and it sucked.
Oh, what the hell. He dumped the waiting fries into an air fryer basket. If she didn’t show, he’d eat them. He’d also forgo the micheladas he had ready to go and head straight for tequila.
Because drowning your frustration in fat and alcohol was the responsible thing to do. The chorus came in, and he snorted as he chimed in with, “You can’t always get what you want,” and set the timer on the fries.
The door opened and shut behind him, and he spun. Freyja’s wide eyes looked him up and down as she held on to the doorknob behind her, still wearing full goddess regalia. For a moment, they just looked at each other, and to him anyway, the air seemed electric, the charge before lightning. Tonight was different.
“I feel overdressed,” she muttered, then bit her lip nervously.
Relief washed through him—she’d come—and he nodded at the clothing bin with a smile that he hoped was friendly and not too eager. He’d changed into jeans and a Bon Jovi T-shirt, and it felt oddly normal compared to his usual Coyote getup or the sweatpants he put on for planning at the lair. But it was normal—no recovery from a fight or planning their next move, just spending time to spend time, with not even a pretense of it being something else.
Normal was pretty damn awesome. All he said was, “Hey.”
She readjusted her pouch and pulled yellow cloth out of it—far more fabric than should fit in the little space. “I brought clothes. I’m going to...” She pointed at the bathroom and made a dash that way, a blush brightening her cheeks.
He grinned. She’d brought an outfit to hang out with him? This was going to be awesome. “How’s your friend?”
“Ariana? I’m not sure I’d call her a friend. But she’s going to be okay—from the bullet wound, anyway. Not sure she’s ever going to start making better decisions.” Her voice was sadly resigned.
He’d never thought about how hard it must be to watch everyone she knew crash and burn around her. Sure, he knew people who made crappy decisions, but money and connections tended to keep consequences, when they even happened, more inconvenient than dire. Everyone she’d known growing up was likely to fail in a major way—jail, homelessness, death. And here she was, in college and not just taking care of herself but saving other people. “I’m sorry,” he said, then, “You’re incredible.”
“
I’m lucky is what I am,” she said. He wanted to argue, but she changed the subject. “Have you heard from Shawn?”
He let it go—tonight should be fun, not a fight—and pulled out frozen mugs, a couple Tecates, and the michelada mix he’d prepared the night before. One beer each should be good—relaxing but not stupidity inducing. “He sent a text from Ibadan, Nigeria, this morning. So far he’s okay, but he said we probably wouldn’t hear from him for a while, as he’s going off grid.” When the quiet guy had announced he’d decided to find Osoosi on his own, Rafael hadn’t been sure if he should encourage him or stop him.
“I feel bad we didn’t find the godstone for him.”
“Maybe he wants an adventure.” He rimmed each glass with Tajín, careful to make it look nice, then poured mix into each. Freyja exited, looking extra lovely in a sunshine-yellow halter neck that showed off her cut shoulders, and it was all he could do not to look her up and down in leering appreciation. Her eyes zeroed in on his hands as he popped the tops on two cans of beer. He set hers down next to a mug, letting her pour her own, and mixed his drink. “Besides, not all of us can have a godstone roll to our feet.” He tried not to sound chagrined, comparing his own easy life to somebody else’s.
Freyja took slow steps toward him, mouth pursed and eyes still wide as she considered him carefully. Then she blew out a breath and loosened her shoulders, like she was choosing to relax, but the look she gave him was as serious as it was sincere. “You’ve more than earned it.” With that pronouncement she poured her beer into the mug, eyeing her drink until it matched his drink’s level with the same studied precision she did everything else. “Like this?”
