by Kira Brady
Outside, scattered clouds drifted across a ghostly moon. Grace loved that wet earth smell. Not the sewer of the city streets after a storm, but this clean scent of the countryside growing. Green plants and fertile dirt. She could image the rain releasing their magic, washing off the suffocating ash, restoring them, making them grow. She took a deep breath of pine and clean air.
Leif paused at the edge of the cave mouth. The moon lit the mountain crags. The shadows of the clouds chased over the rock like the Wild Hunt. Grace shivered. “Longren, you never said how dragons lost their souls.”
“I didn’t, did I?” Longren said. “With the Tablets of Destiny, Marduk cursed Tiamat and the losing army. Dragons, the monsters in Tiamat’s own image, were shown no mercy. Marduk decreed that since Tiamat’s crime had been an act of love, no dragon should ever have reason to give similar offense. Dragons were doomed to walk the earth for eternity, forever alone, forever without the solace of knowing their heart and soul.
“But Ishtar, the goddess of love, was moved by Tiamat’s passion for her husband. She felt sorry for the dragons, and after Marduk had laid his curse, she worked one of her own. A small sliver of grace into a grim sentence. If a dragon can convince a mortal woman to love him, she can choose to bind her soul to his forever. The dragon will no longer need to feed from the souls of others, for he will share in his love’s life force. Together, they will be one body, one soul, just as Tiamat and Apsu were. They will break the curse. Lovely tale, isn’t it?”
Longing speared Asgard’s face. “But what if his soul mate is human? What about his immortality?”
“That’s the clincher. He gives up his immortal life for a mortal soul. He will pass from this world into the next when she does. Together. Whole. Love is true immortality.”
Grace squirmed. This talk made her very uncomfortable. Longren and Asgard sounded wistful, damn it, like they weren’t evil, selfish creatures but lonely, heartsick men. Poor, cursed dragons? She almost felt sorry for them, and if she did that all her protective hatred would crumble like dust in the wind.
“Forever is a long time to search for one’s soul mate,” Longren said. The ghost of a smile chased across his mouth, mirroring the clouds overhead. “I would ask you again, Regent. The darkness calls. Let me find peace—”
“No.” Asgard cut him off.
Grace felt like an intruder on a private conversation. What did Longren want? To die?
The moon emerged, casting Longren’s face in sharp relief. His eyes were two pits of black against bone-white flesh. “You deny me twice.”
“I need you. You’re old, wise, and more powerful than you let on. You can hold off the madness a while longer.”
“Don’t make an enemy of me, boy. I’ll take what hurts you.” His eyes flashed to Grace.
She pulled in on herself. Leave me out of it, she wanted to scream. There is nothing between us.
But Asgard moved to stand in front of her. “Remember who you speak to.” The thunder of command rumbled in his voice. Feet planted, shoulders back, his aura seemed to grow. Grace felt her breath hitch and her heart pick up speed. She had never seen him look so menacing, or so in charge. Maybe she’d been wrong about him. Asgard had it in him to be a fearsome king. He just had to want it.
Kingu floated on the tide, riding the whitecapped waves as they tumbled over each other to crash upon the seawall. The salt water revived him. He could almost taste Tiamat’s tears. In the water below he sensed blacker spirits hovering in the deep. He needed to dive down and see if they had what he sought, but for now he left them alone. They saw him but left him alone too, for which he breathed a sigh of relief. He wasn’t the most powerful being beneath the sea. Not yet.
Rising from the salt water, he slithered over the seawall and perched on the crumbling cement wall. A crow watched him crawl out, and he took great joy in seizing the little creature’s mind. Slipping inside the bird’s body, the world sharpened. A moment of disorientation, then he flapped his little black wings and took off. He jerked sideways as he got his air legs and learned to steer.
Along the seawall he flew. The crow’s mate followed him, crying. His army was combing the city. He’d searched elsewhere, but kept coming back here. The Heart was somewhere close. He could only feel it when it woke from slumber.
Kingu drifted on a current of air until he spotted two people in the rubble below. He descended to watch them. They had been young, soft things, he guessed, but the strain of the world picked them slowly apart. Careworn. But they had that glow he had such fascination with. They were locked together in an amorous embrace. He was at turns fascinated and ragingly jealous. Once he had known that, hadn’t he? It was so long ago. So many millennia locked behind the Gate, cursed to be parted from his love forever.
Soon he would be reunited, and their glow would put this paltry human light to shame.
He left the crow in a burst of power, letting the tiny body fall to the hard concrete below. Its mate screamed and flew to it. The pitiful cries fueled his building rage. Why did these fragile creatures get to burn with such brilliance, when his own kind was cursed from knowing their soul’s other half? Why did mortals deserve to know that warm embrace, when he, Kingu, destroyer of worlds, was always an outsider?
Tiamat had never given him her Heart. Her body, her Tablets, her army, but never her Heart. That had belonged to her husband, Apsu, and when he died, she’d torn the fabric of the worlds in agony.
Kingu had savaged the earth for her. He’d given everything, and still he’d never owned her as fully as these two sad little humans whose lives were less than a pinprick on the tablets of history owned each other. They were wrapped together, lost in their embrace, ignorant of the crust of dirt, of the rat two paces away, of the decaying bones buried far beneath their feet, of the dark water spirits and even him, Kingu the Great, nearby.
Ignored.
Tiamat might not have given him her whole Heart, but now he would take it for himself. They would be united together, as they should have always been. Their light would set the world on fire. Together they would mold the earth in their own image.
No one could stop them.
The humans broke for air, and as they did he slipped inside the breath they took. Their eyes widened, and in their last moment they clung more fiercely together. It enraged him. He squeezed their hearts until they burst.
The sound of the grieving crow was a blink to stop too, and he soared from that blighted spot, leaving behind four broken bodies. He felt the Aether gathering some distance away and soared off to investigate. Perhaps his love woke once more. He would be ready this time.
Grace woke up to a face full of fish breath and big, soulful yellow-green eyes. A heavy weight compressed her chest. For a moment she didn’t know where she was, and then a cat paw landed in her mouth, and she knew she was home in the little shop that housed her tattoo parlor. The familiar lime-green ceiling beams stared down at her. Across the room, a potbellied stove whistled softly as it powered a few seismograph and Aether readers. A spring in the corduroy couch dug into her back. She’d crashed after Asgard dropped her at Thor’s Hammer, a converted carriage house squished in a dark, Aether-twisted alley near Pioneer Square.
Alone. Just the way she liked it. The cat didn’t count; he didn’t talk much.
Bear meowed.
“All right, I’m awake.” She pulled herself off the couch and fed him from the dwindling supply of cans she had stockpiled after the Unraveling. She’d fought off Black Friday crowds to raid pet stores just like everyone else. “Soon you’ll have to get your own food,” she warned. He blinked at her. “Just a heads-up.”
He had left her a hairball in the middle of her chalk circle. “Thanks,” she said. “Best birthday present ever.”
If her parents had still been alive, she would have woken up to the smell of hot batter and maple syrup. A party hat would have been waiting at her bedroom door. Her mom would play “Happy Birthday” on the piano as Grace slid down the s
tairs in her Tigger pajamas. Her dad would join in, singing from his place at the waffle maker in the kitchen. It would be the same celebration were she six or sixty. And now, at twenty-one, she missed their presence something fierce.
Today, October beat down the door in grey, isolating sheets of water. Brown leaves scattered against the door. The nude branches of the trees scraped against the outside wall.
Today there would be no waffles, but if she got to Butterworth’s before curfew, Hart or Oscar might buy her a drink. Drinking gave the memories teeth, and noise and people chased them away. She couldn’t sit around and nurse her self-pity. She had to start canvassing for Kingu rumors.
Today was also the anniversary of her pledge. The golden bands on her arms tingled. She hadn’t seen her naked biceps in four years. She wanted to curl up in a dark corner and forget, but Asgard wanted her report in the morning.
She made a mental to-do list: One demigod—check. One wraith Heart containing god-powers—check. One Tablet to rewrite destiny—damn and triple check. It was going to be a long day.
Selecting the cleanest black shirt and jeans from her remaining three outfits, she examined herself in the square mirror over her sink. What did Asgard see? Her face was symmetrical with big serious eyes and too thin lips. She hadn’t had a haircut in five years. The ragged edges brushed her lower back. Maybe she should put a little extra effort in for her birthday. She combed out her hair with her fingers and rebraided it.
Bear finished his dinner and came over to wrap around her legs.
“I like you, Bear. We understand each other.” She petted his head. He sniffed her fingers and walked away.
Outside, iron and glass lanterns lit the storefronts of Flesh Alley. Early afternoon signaled the start of the day in this small patch of abnormal. The apothecary and occult bookseller had already hung their shingles in the rain. Next door, a patron huddled beneath the striped awning of the Ishtar Maidens while he waited to be let in.
In front of her stood a large, pink beach umbrella. The rain scattered like rice across the top. Sheltered beneath, out of the rain, stood a shiny new silver bicycle with a large pink bow. The front tire was twice the size of the back. Both were thick enough to off-road or ride over street debris. A customized plastic windshield and rain splatter shields made it dorky, but practical. A large metal box was welded to the back pannier rack.
Grace pulled on her worn rain jacket and headed into the downpour. She examined the metal box. On the backside was a door, and inside she found a thick red pillow sheltered from the elements. Velvet covered the walls. Someone had painted PRINCESS in pink across the top.
She found a card sitting in the box addressed to “Miss Mercer.” Someone had left her a new bike. On her birthday. Someone had gone to considerable trouble to dig up her past and find the right date. The card was good cotton with the Drekar emblem embossed on the cover. Inside, large loopy handwriting read, I’ve removed the death trap.
Romantic. She could hear Asgard’s pompous tone now. She couldn’t accept the bike; she might as well add a million dollars to that IOU.
The metal of the bike was such shiny silver. She reached out to stroke the smooth lines. Bikes cost a premium. This one looked sturdy, but fast. The frame was light enough to be titanium, but he’d reinforced parts of it with something stronger.
“We can’t accept this, Bear.” Pulling it out from beneath the pink umbrella, she swung one leg over. The fit was perfect. She put one foot on the pedal. It had twelve speeds and a glow light. Pushing off, she rode it through the rain and across the street. She looped back around. Even in the rain, the bike was a dream to ride. The traction tires didn’t slip on the slick brick. She stopped in front of Thor’s Hammer. Bear watched her from the dry doorway. “We can’t.”
Braving the rain, he jumped into the cat carrier on the back, turned around twice and settled down. He wasn’t budging.
Crap.
Leif found Grace at Butterworth’s fighting with Maidens of Ishtar in an alley that reeked of fish and salt and the tang of unwashed bodies. He watched her, because he could. She pulled her punches and moved slow, not like the last time he’d seen her with the aptrgangr. This time there was no danger, so he could take pleasure in the simple act of watching her move. She danced over the asphalt and brick, spun on her worn heel, and planted a fist in the blond woman’s belly. With a grunt, the blond crumpled to the ground.
“Ishtar take you, Elsie,” Grace said, kneeling by the woman. “You’re supposed to block. Keep your middle and your head protected. Your limbs are expendable, but one good stab at those internal organs and you’ll bleed out.”
“I thought they’d crush us to death,” said a shorter, freckled girl in a bright pink pantsuit.
“Yeah, so don’t let them get a good lock on your head or belly.”
The blond woman, Elsie, moaned. Grace patted her shoulder.
On the opposite side of the alley, a thin woman in a long blue cape watched from the shadows. A man with a black armband stood behind her. Kivati. Leif felt his irises narrow, and his world descended into dusky blues.
“That’s enough for today, I think,” Grace said. “You gotta practice.”
“We’ll keep an eye out, Reaper.” Elsie pulled herself off the ground. Her voice was a little breathless. “But if Ianna had an object of power, she wouldn’t have hired you. No offense.”
Grace nodded. “I want any mention of aptrgangr or supernatural activity. Your clients so much as sneeze at an aptrgangr, I want to know about it.” She caught sight of Leif. “Class dismissed. Thanks, ladies.”
The Maidens slipped past him through the mouth of the alley, each pausing to curtsy on their way out. They had changed from their confining silk gowns and geisha wraps to wide silk pajama pants in fuchsia and saffron and lime green. Lace-up boots with pointed toes, black gloves, and small pie bonnets completed the look. He wondered if Ianna knew what they were up to. The new styles were hot enough to please Ishtar, but better suited to fight.
Grace examined the brick wall next to her.
“Taking that civilian army idea into your own hands?” he asked. The dusk swirled around her black ensemble and black hair, seducing her into the shadows and the night. She didn’t move like any human he’d ever met. She walked apart, alone, on the edge of this world and the next. He needed to take her to Birgitta. The heathwitch might make some sense of her. “Walk with me.”
He led her out of the alley and along the narrow edge of the crater that had swallowed half of downtown when the Gate broke. Deep in an underground cavern, a crevasse had opened up, allowing a twister of souls to escape and break through the ceiling, sucking in dirt and detriment and the roots of the buildings above. The earthquakes had finished the job. The piers had been the first to go. The steep hills on soft mud infill slid down next.
He waited for her to say something. Behind them, music, light, and smoke from the biodiesel lamps spilled from Butterworth’s open windows. Bells jingled constantly as patrons pushed through the door, sounding like street corners at Christmas.
“Did you like the bike?” he finally asked.
“Bear is a boy.”
“Ah.” He’d guessed wrong. He would have to repaint the PRINCESS sign on the box for her. “Who was that girl with the bodyguard?”
“Lucia Crane.”
He stilled. “Corbette’s fiancée? Trying for an interspecies incident, are you?”
“Hey, you wanted intel. She owed me a favor.”
“You think like Zetian.”
Grace thinned her lips. Prickly woman.
“It was a compliment. I don’t like using minors—”
“She’s eighteen.”
“—but we have few options. What did she tell you?”
“I asked her about the Tablet of Destiny. She remembers it.” Grace hesitated. “Rudrick used it as a knife to cut her veins to open the Gate.”
Leif watched as Grace’s hackles rose. Her shoulders tensed, the muscles in he
r jaw flexed, and her eyes flashed silver. If Rudrick were still alive, she would gut him on a sharpened stick and hang him on the edge of the crater as a warning: This is what happens when you mess with the Reaper’s friends.
It excited him, her aggression. She would never be cowed by the dragon. She was Joan of Arc and Boudicca and Fu Hao all in one.
“Does Lucia know where it is now?” he asked.
“Corbette had Kivati digging in the crater for months. All his water tribes—Salmon and Whale and even Turtle—dove in the flooded tunnels. They had a few incidents with some of the less friendly deep water creatures. One of his Thunderbird generals was in charge. He found the Tablet along with Rudrick’s crushed body. Corbette let him keep it. He wears it around his wrist as a memento of what the Unraveling took from him.”
“Which Thunderbird?”
“Lord Kai Raiden.”
“Ah. Same one who was in charge of guarding my coal shipment.” Leif cleared his throat and looked over the edge. The black water crashed against the foot of the cliff. “Sven killed his twin brother.”
“So he’s not going to let you have it.” She followed his gaze over the side. Concrete and steel stuck out along the sharp drop-off. The sea churned in the crater bowl, hungrily nibbling at the land beneath their feet, undercutting the buildings and streets. It was only a matter of time before the whole place slid into the sea.
But what city wouldn’t? Time stretched out before him; civilizations rose to thumb their nose at Mother Nature, but she took them all back to her bosom in the end. Longren was right: the mountains and the continents would vanish until only he and his immortal kin remained. Alone with the chilling darkness.
“I bet Kingu is looking for the piece of the Tablet too. He used it to attack the gods. Marduk fought him with a web of light, thunderbolts, and fire, but he didn’t win until he took the Tablets away. I bet Kingu needs the Tablet to restart his war. Could explain why he’s stalking Kivati, if Kai Raiden has the Tablet. Maybe they don’t have the Heart at all.”
