I’d wondered how Maxwell had gotten out of a DUI charge. I should’ve known Odin was behind it. “Continue,” I urged.
“Odin’s undoing will be the discord he’s sowing among the reapers. He’s playing with fire and we must stop him before all Ragnarok breaks out. We must uncover how the boy fits into our worlds. But the only way we can accomplish this is if we get Maxwell to make a mindful decision to turn from the path he is on. Only then, the gods might talk. He’ll sell his soul for the chance to own that crumbling bit of stone. He’d do anything to own his own theatre.”
“His mother was an actress,” I said lowly. “Her career ended when she married and began a family. She died when he was just a boy. It’s more than just a dream to him.”
“Boo hoo,” Jord retorted. “Even easier for us! Humans will sway to emotions and sentiment. He’s as good as Freya’s.” She tsked. “My heart bleeds for mortals who want to live through dead relatives. If I had a dime for every fool, I’d be richer than Odin.”
I laughed, but quickly covered it up with a cough.
“Play into his silly little fantasy. Barter the theater for his place in Valhalla. He’s a Norse boy. He’ll get the picture.”
“You want me to make a deal? Like, the real thing? Put it all out on the table. Tell him who I am?”
“High treason, I know,” Jord said. “Only written of in books. You’d be the second in our great history to dare such a feat.”
She was right. One legend of our worlds was of a reaper, Aslaug, who showed herself to a mortal with the intention to reap him for Folkvangr. She believed she loved the mortal and wanted to spend eternity with him. Freya found out and sentenced Aslaug to the veil before ordering the final reap of the mortal. It was rumored he’d been sent to Hel instead of the veil. Even in death, Freya had kept them apart.
“I won’t do it. It would be suicide.”
“No one would know and only you can do this. I won’t tell anyone and it isn’t as if you like him.” Jord paused. “Well, he is nice to look at, but I think you can get past that and secure the reap. If you do this, I’ll ensure your safety. You’ll have the backing of Jotunheim. I give you my word. Freya and Odin will never find out as long as you get him to sign the contract.”
I believed her, but only because she’d cover herself first. She was involved now and that made her an accomplice. She’d move Asgard and Jotunheim to protect me.
“Besides,” she continued. “I think he already suspects. Have you seen the way he looks at you? As if he’s in pain? The boy gets a nasty headache every time you’re around.”
“Absurd,” I breathed. “It’s not possible. That would make him…”
“Immortal? No. No, no. He’s mortal, but bares the mark of Odin.” Jord tsked again. “But, wouldn’t that be interesting? Perhaps a halfling? Half mortal, half giant? Half mortal, half elf? That would be rich. We’d have to ensure he wouldn’t be damned to the veil. That would be exciting; a real challenge.”
I had to cut into her musings. “The mark of Odin wouldn’t give him the sight; just protection. But you’re right. The way he looks at me—it’s as if he can see the dew of Folkvangr.”
If Maxwell was half giant, elf, or dwarf, he was fair game. Odin held no favors to any of them. But, if he was the son of a god, things would get tricky.
“Interesting,” she purred. “All of the Norse heavens are screaming with the dawning of this mortal and no one knows why, because no one wants to talk about it and he’s been hidden until now. Perhaps his existence will usher in Ragnarok? Interesting and terrifying at the same time. What first attracted you to him?”
“Excuse me? Reapers do not answer to a goddess of earth.”
“But a goddess nonetheless. Just remember that reapers are stripped of their divine powers, so you’re nothing but a puppet on the strings of Freya and Odin. You’ll mind your manners or I’ll blow the whistle on your sick little game. Lusting after a mortal and using your brother to aid in your rebellion. Gah! I can smell the mortality seeping from you, and you dare to threaten me? At the rate you’re going, you’ll give yourself away. Then, you won’t have to play nice at all.”
“Fine,” I clipped. I took several steps away from the stage. Maxwell had taken to conversing with another student. “This is embarrassing.”
“Out with it, girl. Auntie is getting restless. It’s time for her afternoon stroll and I’m tired of holding this piece of glass to my ear.”
“You’ve really involved her? Another mortal? We’ll have a mess to clean up after we pull this off. I thought you were joking when you claimed to be in the woman’s presence. Good Folkvangr, Jord. What are you thinking?”
I could hear the smile in her tone. “I’m the voices in her head, darling. We speak every day. You know I’m good at what I do. How else could I pull off this master plan? Someone had to get her to sign the deed to the theatre. Now, end my suffering and tell me what drew you to that ghastly boy.”
“He made me feel.”
“What?”
My shoulders slumped. I’d have to give information to receive it. “He made me feel emotions. I was pissed that he showed no interest in me when we first met. He treated me like an average mortal. There. Are you happy? I was weak from lack of reaps and he got to me.”
“It had nothing to do with that suffocating eau de Odin surrounding him?”
I shook my head. “No. I didn’t notice that until later.”
“Poor kitty cat,” Jord cooed. “Struck with a blow delivered by vanity. Imagine if this makes it into the legends. Better turn the tables quickly, unless you want to go down as the idiot reaper.”
I walked a few steps more. “Why should I trust you? You hold no allegiance with the pantheon. Your only worries are earthly ones. The only time I hear from you is when I break one of your ridiculous rules while on a reap in Midgard.”
“Here we go again,” Jord sighed. “Did you listen at all, darling? Our entire pantheon is a buzz with Maxwell. I think you should be asking me why should I trust you? A reaper with feelings?” She snickered. “And you dare bring up ranks. I’m the mother of Thor. I don’t need you. I could go to Odin himself and demand he tell me the truth of this mortal.”
It was my turn to snicker. “Yeah. Good luck with that.”
“Precisely. It would bring upon a war. Odin and his little secrets. I may not be fond of mortals, but I do watch over them. It would be dreadful if Odin destroyed earth all to cover up a nasty, dark secret. I’d be unemployed. Where do jobless goddesses go to apply for another job? Valhalla? Folkvangr?”
“So, you chose me?”
“You’re already neck deep in it, Oria.”
It was the first time she called me something other than darling. I could see her rationale and she was right. Together, we could get to the bottom of Wells’ identification and turn this reap for Folkvangr. A reap like this would keep me strong, and an agreement with Jord would keep Orum safe for now.
“All right. Let’s do it. Let’s shake up Valhalla.”
Chapter 6
I was jazzed beyond words.
Making this type of deal took stealth. Flying under the radar of Freya and Odin would be difficult. I told no one. If things went badly, only Jord and I would be on the chopping block. Even though Jord was a lesser god, she was the mother of Thor. Thor wouldn’t allow Odin to mortally hurt his mother. That left my fate. Things could get ugly.
Maxwell was having dinner with a female companion. A petite blond girl with an overly large smile. I watched them through the window of the coffee bar. They sat next to each other, but weren’t touching. No leaning, no small touches, but I could sense an intimacy. I lifted my chin as my lungs expanded. I could smell the bold scents of coffee and pastries and I was instantly hungry.
I should leave. I needed to reap. Unwelcome human senses invaded my body. Smells, noises, feelings. Orum correctly worried over my current lapse in judgement. Even at my strongest, this would be a hard reap. A dangerous one.
Reapers didn’t just go against the mark of Odin nor did we reveal our true forms. To do so was treason. Standing here, in this moment, though—I didn’t care. I was bored of reaping without challenge. Being told by Freya who and where. I wanted the chance to redeem Jasper. I couldn’t free him from the veil, but I could be sure some other innocent soul didn’t end up there. I couldn’t shake the idea that I’d stumbled onto something bigger than a mere reap. The gods were up to something.
I reached for the door and walked into the bistro.
“I’ll take a cinnamon latte and that large pumpkin muffin.” I pointed to the best of the pastries. “Extra whipped cream on the latte, please.”
My mouth watered as I watched the barista prepare my order. This was the way of humans. Insatiable cravings that had to be tended to day after day. I couldn’t stop. I wanted that muffin now. The immortal essence of my soul wanted to hurl, but I pressed onward. Becoming more like a mortal was a chink in our reaper’s armor. The gods put this clause in place to keep us from rebelling and not doing our jobs. The more we reaped, the stronger our immortality. The less we reaped, the more mortal we became. I could never be fully mortal, but the pains of being close kept me loyal to my nature. No immortal desired to be weak as mortals.
“Oria,” Maxwell called.
I pretended to be surprised when I turned and saw him waving at me from his table. “Wells. It’s bizarre to see you not surrounded by ancient artifacts and props. So, you do have a life outside of the theatre?”
He smiled a genuine smile that did something to my near mortal insides. Did he really need to look as good as he did? “I get out,” he said. “Every once in a while.”
I looked at his guest. She smiled at him and reached out to squeeze his knee. I gripped my latte so hard that the cap halfway popped off.
“Are you just grabbing something or staying?” he asked.
I balanced my muffin in my hand, trying to readjust the lid on my latte. “This is a great place to unwind.” My chin jerked in the direction of the public bookcase. “I come here after listening to my aunt whine about budgets and why I should go back to New York. Classic put me at ease in an instance.”
“Bad day?” he asked.
I nodded. Awful, horrid day. I wanted to fall face-first into a muffin and smother myself. But only after I sent this smiley girl to Folkvangr.
“Please,” he said. “Sit with us.”
“Thanks.” I guess.
“This is Sandy,” Maxwell introduced us as I pulled out a chair and sat across from the pair. He patted her hand that remained on his knee. “My foster sister.”
My eyes roved between the two of them. Siblings? That explained things.
I set my food down and accepted the hand she extended. “Oria. I’m the thorn in your brother’s side.”
Sandy laughed and held up her hands. “He hasn’t said a word, I promise. I’d remember the name. It’s lovely. So original.”
“It’s Norse,” I said, sipping the latte. My head tilted. “Well, I am, but my name is Spanish in origin. My parents had a wicked sense of humor.” I bit into the muffin and nearly swooned. I should have tried pumpkin decades ago.
“Norse?” Maxwell asked.
My chewing slowed. Damn. “Yep. A very pure lineage.”
“But, Holloway?” he asked with a smirk.
“So, foster sister?” I asked, returning his smirk and his nosiness. I took another bite, not caring if my mouth was full. “Tell me more.”
Maxwell grinned. “My grandmother believed in helping the less fortunate. She and my father helped many foster children. Sandy was with us the longest.” He turned to her. “Ten years?”
“Eleven,” Sandy replied.
My eyes narrowed. In my haze of hunger and mortal silliness, I’d ignored my instinct. Sandy’s eyes were shadowed, her skin a pasty white. The smile on her face faltered as she glanced around and then back to Maxwell. I may have more mortal coursing through my being at the moment, but I knew someone marked for death when I saw it.
“What’s your last name, Sandy?” I asked.
“Belmont.”
French. “Any relation to the Belmonts of upstate New York?” I asked.
“New York, no. Never been that far east.” She shook her head. “I don’t have a drop of blue blood in my body.” She smiled. “But, don’t I wish. I wouldn’t have any money problems.”
Maxwell cleared his throat and clasped his hands in his lap. “Sandy has recently decided to get back into school and study law. We were just talking about how hard it is to make it if you go to college. She applied for a grant and didn’t get it. Freaking sucks.”
“What a shame,” I said, licking icing from my fingers.
“Some people don’t have infinite resources,” Maxwell said.
I looked at Sandy. “Watch and learn. Here is where the thorn comes in.” I turned to Maxwell. “Some of us can’t help the fact that we were born into certain families and situations. It’s called life. You play with cards you’re dealt. It’s not like I’ve squandered my lot. I’m actually doing something with my life. I can’t deny that I have more privileges than most. Does that mean that I just sit back and cry about the injustices of the world?”
Here I was, speaking as if this were my truth and yet, it rolled off of my tongue as if I believed every word. How easy it was to play the mortal game, to be the little rich girl from New York. I could sympathize with someone like Oria Holloway. Born into privilege. It wasn’t like she asked for it. It wasn’t like I requested to be a reaper. I hadn’t asked my parents to get busy. It wasn’t my fault the joining of two gods resulted in a set of twins.
“Right,” Maxwell snorted.
“I’ll have you know,” I said. “I’ve talked my aunt into gifting the theater to someone less fortunate. Everyone knows she has the money to spare an act of donation.”
“What?” Maxwell leaned forward. “When did this happen?”
I shrugged. “Yesterday. That’s why her financial advisor contacted me. I’ll be the one to decide who gets this lucky break.” I shoved the remaining muffin into my mouth, curse manners. “Have any suggestions?” A piece of muffin hit Maxwell in the face.
“Wow,” Sandy breathed. “That theater is worth a lot.” She glanced at Maxwell. “At least a million, right?”
I nodded. “It can never be sold. Whoever gets it will sign a contract stating it will revert back to Emma in the event of a sale or mortgage. It’s free and clear as we stand. The only thing good ol’ auntie has that isn’t tied into stocks and assets.”
Sandy deflated, while Maxwell puffed up.
“Have you considered the professor?” he asked.
“University employees are not eligible. I want it to go to someone who has potential. Say, a student. It’s like a lottery and one student will hit it big. One with enough drive and determination to make it a great theater again.”
“I want it,” Maxwell stated boldly.
I look at him sideways. “Really? I would have never guessed.”
He scoffed. “You know I do. That’s why you keep snooping around? You’re looking for candidates?”
“Bingo,” I said, pressing crumbs into my mouth. I needed another muffin. Thank Freya I couldn’t gain weight. This eating thing was addicting.
“Unbelievable,” Maxwell breathed. “Does anyone else know of this?”
I shook my head. “You’re the first. I wasn’t going to say anything until you attacked those of us who are ‘privileged.’”
“That’s why you came to California,” Maxwell said.
“Smart, too. Why, Wells, you have unending talents.” I smiled at Maxwell’s frown. “I’m just glad my aunt went for it. it took quite a bit of convincing on my part. The deal wasn’t final until yesterday, however. Of that, you can be certain. It’s gonna happen.”
I owed Jord big for this one. The expression on Maxwell’s face was practically a signature on the deed.
Sandy’s phone chimed.
> “How many candidates will you consider?” Maxwell asked.
“As many as it takes to find the right one. I’ll know when I find them.”
Sandy stood up. “I have to go.” She leaned to kiss Maxwell’s head. “Thanks for the coffee. I’ll talk to you later, all right?”
“Hey,” Maxwell grabbed her arm. “About tuition. Don’t worry. It’ll work out. I’ll make a few calls.”
She smiled. “Sure.” She looked at me. “Nice meeting you.”
“Same,” I replied, before guzzling my latte.
The place was filling with people out for lunch. No chance I would be able to convince Maxwell that I was here to unwind, but I didn’t have to. He was scribbling on a napkin and rambling about being needed back at the theater.
“I’ll catch up with you soon,” I said. “I’m staying for another muffin. Those things are wicked good.”
Maxwell slid the napkin to me as he stood. “We will definitely meet up again. Very soon.”
I watched him leave.
Flipping over the napkin, I received what would be my first jolt of surprise as only a mortal could. There, written in Maxwell’s precise, blocky handwriting, were five words:
I know what you are.
Chapter 7
Maxwell lived in the substandard dormitories of the theater department. Classic college life. There was a common room, a coffee bar, and ear-blasting music. I could see the draw. The attraction to this type of life had a hard pull. If I were younger, I might even desire it.
I signed the guest book and accepted the pass to visit the co-ed dorms. Maxwell lived on the third floor. The building was as old as the college and in need of renovation, but that added to its strange charm. The smell of books and ink was in the air. Busy students scurried about, backpacks in tow. I never thought a mere investigation would lead me to this. Making an unbreakable deal was forbidden. As Jord had graciously pointed out, I’d be the second idiot in history to attempt it.
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