Theta met me, lighting on my shoulder, her head tilting to rub her beak on my cheek. If only a hawk could heal.
But, what creature could heal a wounded heart? Geirolf was right. Our hearts didn’t lie. Not only did I have the hots for a mortal who could possibly end the world, I still carried a torch for a Divine Reaper I could never have. What did mortals called this? A hot mess?
I heard a rustling near the window and immediately went on guard.
“It’s just me,” Magna said as she stepped forward.
“Why did you come in through the balcony?” I asked.
A blush stained her face. “A certain reaper with the ability to fly—”
“Say no more,” I barked. “You’re getting careless. If Freya gets word that Orum is flying about with you, you’ll be demoted—or worse.”
“He knew I’d be safe coming here. Besides, it’s market day. Everyone is in Asgard for the weekly festivities.”
I shooed her. “Great. Implicate me in your love affair. It’s not like I don’t have enough of my own problems. Get out. I want to be alone.”
“Then, I guess you don’t want to hear some good news.” Magna sat on the end of the chaise, folding my cloak over the plush seat. Her head tilted. “Say what you will, but it looks like you could use a little cheer.”
“What?” My lips twisted. “You’re getting married? Eloping? Praying for death?”
Magna shook her head. “This is something you’ll like...like a great deal. But, you might be slightly mad about it.”
Like my day could get any worse. “Just say it. If I could get a headache, I’d have one. And it would have your name written all over it.”
Magna’s hands twisted in her lap. “Orum is privy to you showing Maxwell your natural form.”
I smacked my forehead. “And I thought I’d seen the worst of this eve.” I closed my eyes. “Who told him?”
“I don’t know. He didn’t tell me.”
“Brilliant.” I rotated my shoulders. “I’ll find that one out and have whomever flogged.” I stood up. “Now, if you’re done…”
“You didn’t let me finish.” Magna reached out and grabbed my arm. “He cleared his memory. Maxwell will think it was a dream. It will be like it never happened.”
Breath whooshed from my lungs. My brother could be such an idiot, but a kind one. “Why?”
“He said you’d get yourself killed if he didn’t intervene. He is your brother, after all. Despite what you think, he only wants to help. No one wants to see another soul cast into the veil.”
I looked to where she held my arm. Magna was a double-edged sword—a necessary ally. Just like Geirolf. I was stocking up on dysfunctional friendships. Orum had wiped the slate clean for me, but I had an inkling Magna had persuaded him to help. With everything that had transpired between Geirolf and me, this was huge. I’d get another chance to make Maxwell putty in my hands. My brother had hit the reset button. This was brilliant.
“You were right when you said that Maxwell isn’t a normal mortal.” Magna’s voice dropped as she released me. “Something is brewing in the nine worlds. Dwarfs, elves.” She stiffened as if she were cold. “Everyone is abuzz, but no one knows what about. But, we do. We know it has to do with this mortal. Something bad is about to happen and it must be stopped.”
First Geirolf and now Orum. Another being to throw into the mix of the chaos. Another being to protect. Magna was right. The marketplace had been simpering with fear, more so than normal. There had been hushed tones and people were watchful. It had to be for Geirolf, and now Orum, to be vigilant. Everyone was keeping secrets.
“Anything else?” I asked.
“Orum did ask that you leave the mortal alone,” she said hesitantly. “Let the gods handle this. I’ve heard that Thor was seen in Midgard near the place where Maxwell resides. There are rumors of Ragnarok floating about; surely you know that Odin and Freya are taking care of this. It’s why the boy is marked. To protect us.”
How noble of her to trust the gods. I’d trust the gods as much as I’d trust a snake. Instead, I’d make a new plan and with the help from unlikely friends, we would ensure that the nine worlds kept existing.
Chapter 10
Maxwell
The theater buzzed with excitement. Everyone was talking about the opportunity the Holloway family presented to the university. An opportunity to win the deed to the theater was the chance of a lifetime. As jubilant as I was concerning this, I had a niggling feeling that there was more to the story. I’d had a dream a couple of weeks back that I’d met with Oria in private and she’d been something unearthly—something terrifying. In fact, it was like a portion of my days had been erased, and I could hardly remember where I’d been that week. Even my meeting with Sandy was foggy. With midterms in full swing, I was off-kilter. I had a faint recollection of suspicion concerning Oria, but nothing was grounded. Just a bunch of foolish myths my grandmother had pumped into my brain and an odd dream. I was even beginning to doubt that I’d seen reapers the day I had wrecked my car. Did I really think that I had divine sight into the world of the gods? It all seemed so foolish now.
The theater group, along with Professor Teddy, decided to make a production of Les Misérables. It was popular among the students and residents. And it was the perfect production where one could shine. I was delegated as the overall producer; no small feat, but I accepted.
The deed for the theater would go to the person best equipped to handle the position. Out of fifty applicants, three were chosen; all of us were seniors who were graduating in the spring. Me, of course. Costume designer, Maggie Baker, who had a mile high resume. She’d been designing costumes from the crib as her mother worked on Broadway. Harry Spencer, a major in screenplay, had written the script for the stage. Two worthy opponents I’d never imagined going up against, but I was confident. The one with the strongest leadership skills would get the deed upon successful completion of our given majors.
“How much do you think it’s worth?” Sandy asked.
I rubbed my forehead as I read a portion of the script. “Haven’t a clue,” I mumbled.
“A million? More?” she persisted.
Sandy, my foster sister, had a way of being over excitable. Since we were children, she’d follow me around with constant chirping. As of late, her financial woes had become a frequent topic. I wanted to help her, but I was just as broke. If I pulled this off, I’d be set. But the deed came with a clause that stated under no circumstances could the theater be sold or mortgaged. If that happened, it reverted back to the Holloways. However, whatever profits the theater made from productions were left to the deed holder. It had the potential to be a solid money maker.
“I’ll have a steady income,” I sighed, closing the script. I couldn’t concentrate with her nagging. “From productions, I can imagine it will be substantial once we have the old girl running like she used to.” I looked around, proud of how far it had come. It was shining as it once had. Everyone loved the theater. It was a place one could go to feel cultured and refined. A place where dreams were spun and inspiration flowed. Oh yes, there was definitely money to be made. “This place will be magnificent again. I just know I can do it.”
“How much, though?” Sandy prodded.
I touched her shoulder. “Enough, and that’s all that matters. There should be plenty for me to help with your tuition.” I squeezed. “I can move out of the dorms and pocket the money from my boarding expenses. We can get an apartment close to the university. It will be like old times when dad and grams were still alive.”
Sandy was currently staying with friends. After losing her job, she’d also lost her apartment. I had a feeling there were things she wasn’t telling me. Her clothes smelled musty and were rumpled. Her face was pale and shadowed. I could only hope she was safe. If she could hold on, I’d win this for us and give her a home again. A life. She was all the family I had left.
“It will be grand,” she replied, but her expression w
as bland. Her eyes darted about. She shifted her purse onto her shoulder. “Hey, do have any cash? A few dollars?”
I dug into my pockets. “Have you eaten today? I have my student ID and I haven’t eaten lunch. I can grab something for you in the cafeteria.” A perk of working for the university was free room and board. I wasn’t very hungry, but I didn’t have much of a cash flow.
Her nose wrinkled. “I just need coffee.”
I handed her my last ten dollars. “Have you heard back from the coffee shop?”
She took the money and crammed it into her purse. “Yeah. They wanted to pay me minimum wage—can you believe that? I have two years of accounting under my belt. I’m not taking that. I’d be stupid.”
“Not stupid at all,” I said. “You’d have a job. Everyone has to start somewhere. Most college students hold minimum wage jobs. It’s a rite of passage. Poverty before success. The more ramen and tuna we can eat, the more we’ll appreciate filet mignon later.”
“No, thank you,” she said flippantly. “I have a brother who keeps me well caffeinated.” She gave me her prize smile. “I’ll see you later, ok? I’m meeting up with one of my roomies. She has a book I could use for that marketing class coming up next semester.”
“And you’ll be an enrolled student again,” I vowed. “Better get that book and be ready.” I leaned down to hug her. “I promise. We’ll make it. We always do.”
She squirmed away, her smile still in place. “Never doubted you.” She nodded her chin toward the stage. “Go break a leg. Show them what you’re made of. They’d be fools not to choose you.”
I smiled. “Get out of here.”
“See ya.” She bounced off, weaving through the sea of people. I waved idly, knowing she didn’t see. I took note that her shoes were overly worn and her jacket was dingy. It wasn’t like her to be disheveled. I sent up a silent plea that she’d be all right until I could make things better.
“I’m still hating those orange columns,” a voice said.
I turned to see Oria. She also looked like a ragamuffin, but purposeful. All ripped jeans, silver-lavender hair, and smiles. A rich ragamuffin and one who held my fate in her hands. Instantly, my head drummed when I heard her voice, and I was reminded of my silly fantasies. But that was ridiculous. The headache must be stemming from the fact that I hadn’t eaten all day.
“And I’m still loving them.” I grinned, liking how she frowned and became peeved. “You’ll be happy to know that the color of the columns have nothing to do with the production of Les Misérables.”
“I just have to look at them while I watch the play,” she pointed out. She propped a hand on her hip. “I could always put into the contract that a complete remodel would be in order.”
“What a waste of money,” I said. “You’d never do that. The funding means too much to the university. If we make this happen, this place will be restored completely to what it once was. A very valuable piece of real estate with a functioning position in the community.”
“Are you running for office, too?” she asked. “Maxwell for President? Can’t say you would be any worse than what we have now.”
“No politics for me,” I said. I held my hands up. “Just a lowly producer with big dreams of a picket fence and pie in the sky. Is this another interview?”
“I went through your proposed spending ledgers,” Oria said. “I like how you think. Not afraid to budget, but no cutting corners. It’s a bold move, but I think it would work.”
“Being forced to take accounting has its good points,” I said. “What did you think of my advertising proposal?”
She smirked.
“This is an interview. Might as well tell me what kind of grade you gave me. I’m used to being let down, just give it to me.”
“Using this theater alongside the university is what it was created for. The chance to tap into the novice talent without exploiting it. It’s why my family built it where it stands. Bravo. You won my aunt over with that. The other two idiots want to go wide.” She rolled her eyes. “Because this city needs another major theater. They’ll bankrupt this place before it gets off the ground. Without the use of the university, this theater will lose its charm. I can’t see the elite choosing to come here over one of the larger theaters, but they will come for support.”
I placed the script under my arm and dropped my eyes. My head throbbed when I looked at her. “I want it to run efficiently, as it had for years before the disrepair.” I touched my forehead. The pain was easing. “Wanna get some lunch? I’m starving. Can’t win this place on an empty stomach.”
“Will there be pumpkin muffins involved?”
“This is the part where I tell you we’re going Dutch if you join me. You can order whatever you want.”
“Starving college students,” she said snidely. “No worries. I can pay for my own lunch. I’m loaded.”
“So am I.” I flashed my college ID. “But only for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, and we have to eat in the cafeteria.”
Her nose crinkled. “On second thought, I’ll stick around here. I have two other people to interrogate. Go enjoy lunch.” She rubbed her hands together. “Better make it hefty. This race isn’t for the faint hearted.”
She didn’t need to remind me that my future was in her hands. It was a fact I couldn’t shake. While I wasn’t a suck up, I also didn’t want to be on her bad side. We had a weird chemistry between us, an unspoken attraction that I wouldn’t act on as long as I was in competition. If it ever amounted to anything...
“Are you all right?” She touched my arm.
I was massaging my forehead and hadn’t noticed she was still standing there.
“You look pale.”
I stepped away with a grimace. The pain had intensified when she’d touched me. “Like you said, this isn’t for the faint-hearted. I’m burning the candle at both ends, but it’s nothing I can’t handle. Food will fix me.” I met her eyes and smiled despite the pain.
***(Oria)
Whatever Orum had done to Maxwell had side effects. I couldn’t shake the feeling that it also had something to do with what he was. A simple mind-wiping wouldn’t make a mortal ill, but he was the color of a corpse. I watched as he left, stumbling on the way out, and then went to work on my other pathetic victims of this scheme. I was used to messing up people’s lives, but this was a new low. Stooping to mortal games was not my forte.
I gave the impression that I cared when I spoke to Maggie and Harry. If this were a real competition, they’d fail miserably, and I didn’t even know anything about the theatre and the arts. They were clueless. Maggie, the proverbial theater rat, born and raised to be in the limelight, only worried that she shined properly. This was a popularity and beauty contest for her. Harry, on the other hand, truly desired the theater, but lacked confidence. The parts of the play he’d managed were coming unglued. There was no flow, no flare when he was directing. Actors stood looking stupefied on stage while he barked aimless commands. It was embarrassing to watch.
Maxwell, though, was born for this. Even I could see the genius behind his work. His section of the play was flawless, down to the cues. Perhaps I should have just given him the theater and not made up a fake contest. We would’ve ended up in the same place. The place where I could get him to do just about anything I wanted.
I nibbled a pumpkin scone while flipping through Maxwell’s script. The scribbling in the margins caught my attention. He had impeccable penmanship and his thoughts were precise. The changes he was going to make to the screenplay would enhance the production. I closed the folder with a sigh. What was I doing here?
“Your face may stick that way if you’re not careful, darling.”
A low growl rumbled in my throat. “What are you doing here, Jord?”
The giantess peeled off her sunglasses and perched them on her carefully styled head. “Is that anyway to speak to your partner?”
I glanced around. The place bustled with energy. “Cut the act. Partner
, indeed. I know what you told Geirolf.” My voice lowered. “How dare you involve a Divine Reaper in this? He’ll go straight to Odin and we’ll both end up the veil. And so help me, if that happens, I will gladly feed you to the carnivorous plants.”
She sidled up next to me. “Stakes are high, so I aimed higher. The more ears we have out there, the better.” She nudged me. “Besides, I know he nurses a thing for you. Who better to have on our side if things go badly? The legendary reaper with skills beyond that of the gods? He’d slay Freya for you, darling. I’d say I made a sterling decision when I knocked on his door.”
“A giant daring to approach one of Odin’s henchmen? You’re lucky he didn’t kill you on the spot.”
“Me? Lucky?” She laughed. “I wouldn’t call it that. The matter of saving our universe is no small matter. Of course, Geirolf the Valiant wants to help. All I had to do is show him the possibilities of what could happen if we were to remain unengaged. If the nine worlds cease to exist, where would that leave you? And we both know how he feels about you.” She picked up the script. “What is this?” She flipped the pages. “I so love the theater. If I wasn’t a goddess, I’d be an actress.” She looked at me. “I’d win an Oscar.”
I snapped the script from her hands. “Be serious.” I fanned the script before her face. “Maxwell’s brilliant. We didn’t need a farce—he has this in the bag.” I tossed the script back onto the table. “We’re over here play-acting while decisions hang in the balance. This is ridiculous. I should be back in Folkvangr awaiting a reap, but instead, I’ve reduced myself to acting mortal on a daily basis. There has to be another way.”
“Being mortal looks good on you,” Jord interjected.
I fumed. “Why are you here?”
Her eyes narrowed as she reached into her massive Gucci bag. “You ruin everything with that attitude, darling.” She delivered a fisted group of papers. “There is no reason to be nasty.”
Fallen Mortal Page 9
