by Amy Sumida
“Hold on. You're married to the Angel of Death?” Austin gaped at me. “As in the Grim Reaper?”
“The original Reaper.” I nodded proudly. “He's retired now. His father is Lucifer. And don't start going on about Satan; he took on the role to save his friends. Luke is a good guy.”
Austin clicked his jaw shut.
“Too much?” I asked gently.
“No, Ma'am.” He shook his head. “Y'all go right on with your polyamorous family full of Angels and Jesus Christ and the Devil and whatnot.”
“Just to be clear; I'm not married to Jesus.”
“Yep; got that. He's your brother-in-law and Lucifer is your father-in-law.” He pressed his lips together and nodded. “Now, back to the worshipin'.”
“Oh, yes. I mean; no. They probably weren't occultists. It's more likely that a god with the power to manipulate human minds forced them to come after me.”
“Are you saying that I shot innocent men?” Austin asked in a low, careful tone.
“You and the fifty or so other Texans in line for barbecue. With their guns. At eight in the morning.”
“You got barbecue without me?” Lesya whined.
“We'll get some later, baby,” I promised.
“I shot innocent men,” the Lieutenant whispered in horror.
“Hey, you didn't have a choice.” I walked over and laid a hand on his shoulder. To his credit, he didn't flinch away. “They were going to shoot other innocent people. I'm sure their aim wouldn't have been precise. Those men were dead the moment that god caught them. It's not on you.”
“Do me a favor and stay out of my state until this is over, Vervain.”
“Sure thing.” I patted him and moved away; he was already sitting beside Kirill, I didn't want to crowd him.
“Six husbands?” Austin whispered.
“And one boyfriend.” I smirked at him. Then I winked and added, “Sorry, I'm not taking any applications. All positions have been filled. All and then some, if you know what I mean.”
Austin choked on his laughter. “That's okay; I don't think I'm your type.”
“What; human or Texan? Or Christian?”
He laughed harder.
“She's not your type.” Kirill took my hand and pulled me closer. “Taken.”
“You're absolutely right,” Austin agreed. “I don't mess with married women.”
“Smart man,” Kirill said in a way that made the words sound like; you get to live.
“Well, you know, good judgment comes from experience and a lot of that comes from bad judgment.” Austin winked at me then sobered. “I'm gonna need some sleep to wrap my head around this. It's been a long day for me. Time to heat up the bricks.”
I blinked.
“He's saying zat he vants to go home, Vervain,” Kirill translated the Texan for me. “Take him back. Let him rest. Zere's nothing more he can help us vith anyway.”
“He's right; I don't have anything more for you right now,” Austin agreed. “But give me your number and I'll call if I get anything I can hang my hat on.”
“If you get anything you can what?” I asked with a grin.
“Anything substantial,” he clarified. Then scowled. “Do Gods have cellphones or do I have to pray to you?”
I laughed; I'd once said something very similar.
“Yes, we have cellphones.” Then I added in a dramatic tone, “We are among you.”
“Mommy!” Lesya giggled.
“Yeah, that'll help me sleep.” Austin grimaced. “Lettin' the cat outta the bag is a whole lot easier 'n puttin' it back.”
“Da,” Kirill agreed. “But ve can always find someone to vipe your memory if you change mind.”
“Not happenin', Cat Daddy,” Austin drawled.
“Cat Daddy!” I exclaimed. “Oh, I'm using that.”
Kirill chuckled and shook his head, which, in Kirill-speak, means he'd be okay with it.
“Come on, sleepy Cowboy-Cop.” I waved him up. “I'll take you back to where it's warm. And night.”
“I'd appreciate that, Ma'am.” Austin lifted a hand to tip a hat he wasn't wearing then rolled his eyes. “This seems to have taken the spit out of me.”
“Eww!” Lesya declared then looked at her father as if he might interpret for her too.
Kirill just shrugged. “Zat one, I don't even vant to try to analyze.”
“Sorry, kiddo,” Austin said to Lesya. “Just an expression.”
“You've got a lot of zose,” Kirill noted.
“I'm a Texan.” Austin stood up and offered me his hand.
“Hold on tightly,” I instructed as I took it. “It should be easier this time.”
“Well, if it ain't, all I've got left to lose is a bellyful of coffee.”
“He's funny,” Lesya said to her father.
Kirill made a noncommittal sound and looked at me.
“I'll be right back,” I promised.
“Come back alone zis time, Arnold.”
“Aw, look at you; making a movie reference. I'm so proud of you.” I winked at my husband and traced back to Lexington with Cowboy-Cop.
Chapter Thirty-Four
I traced the Lieutenant to Lexington, made sure he got in his car safely, then traced back to Latvia. It only took a couple of minutes. Kirill breathed a sigh of relief when I returned unaccompanied. I got my cellphone out then slid onto the bench beside Lesya—now seated beside her father—and sipped at my coffee as I used my left-hand pointer finger to dial Jarilo. I hit the speaker button and waited while it rang.
“Vervain?”
“Hey, I just finished talking to our cop friend in Texas.”
“You talked to him?” Jarilo sounded horrified.
“Yeah, never mind that for now. I just wanted to tell you that those men who tried to shoot us were from here; Latvia. Conclusion; I don't think it was about me, after all. If it had been, the god would have just grabbed some locals to do his or her dirty work instead of going through the trouble of importing them. It looks as if someone is trying to stop us from finding your mother.”
“Or stop us investigating drownings,” he murmured. “I know you have your daughter vith you and you vant to—”
“It's fine, Jarilo,” I cut him off. “What do you need?”
“I thought maybe ve could search other islands in lake?” he voiced it as a question.
“I think Lesya might enjoy that.” I looked at Lesya, and she nodded eagerly. “Kirill?”
“It's fine. I can vatch Lesya vhile you track.”
“Where would you like to start?” I asked Jarilo.
“Meet me at docks again,” he said. “How long do you need?”
“Give us a couple of hours.”
“Great. Zank you both.”
“See you soon.” I hung up and looked at Lesya. “How about we go into town for breakfast?”
“Yay!”
Chapter Thirty-Five
After breakfast, we bought some new coats; I didn't want to risk anything nice on another boat ride. We opted for those puffy, quilted coats that I normally abhor. I think they make people look like pillows. But if I went for another swim, the coat would survive. I wore the same boots I'd worn before, with the rubber ones over them. I figured they'd already gone for a dunk and proven themselves. I had, however, traded my blouse for a sweater before we left the cabin.
The first island Jarilo took us to was Cepurite; Hat Island. Kirill followed Lesya through its meager woods as she explored; sniffing and snatching at things excitedly. Jarilo and I left them to it while we circled the island on its shore, and I did something similar to my daughter but without so much snatching or glee.
We searched two islands—Cepurite and Gara (Long Island)—without finding anything beyond the stones, eggshells, and driftwood my daughter collected. On the third and last island on our list; Tiklu—Net Island, we had much the same luck with one exception. Perun showed up.
“I only vant to know how the search fares.” Perun held his hands
up placatingly toward his son.
“I told you I vould contact you if I discovered anything,” Jarilo said stiffly.
“You truly have no news?”
“We spoke with Vodyanik,” I offered. “Jarilo searched his home and Mokosh isn't there.”
“And you zink he showed you everything?” Perun scoffed.
“I do.”
Perun blinked.
“He seemed genuine,” I added. “I don't believe he has her.”
“Vodyanik vants her for consort,” Jarilo seemed to take great pleasure in announcing. “Not captive.”
Perun stiffened, drawing himself up to an impressive height, and looked down his long nose at Jarilo. “Your mother vould never dare to debase herself in such a manner.”
“Vhy don't you go back to your other consorts and let me handle zis?” Jarilo snapped.
My eyes rounded. Not that I had any room to talk, but things were getting juicy. I looked pointedly at Kirill, and he ushered Lesya to the other side of the island.
“I don't have other consorts!” Perun hissed. “I'm here for your mother and I zink it's time you looked vhere you are failing to look.”
“He does not have her!”
“You cannot be certain. Underworld has many hidden places. Only ruler knows all.”
“Underworld?” I asked Jarilo.
“He's accusing my father of taking my mother,” Jarilo sneered at the other man. “Ridiculous.”
“I am your father!”
Jarilo shouted something back at Perun in Russian.
Perun shouted again, turning it into an argument.
The men advanced on each other and things escalated until their words sounded more like growls and their hands started to lift with menace.
“All right!” I pushed between them. “That is enough of that!” I glared at them both. “Do you think this is going to help Mokosh? Because I assure you; it will not. Now, can we work together or do you need to take a few swings at each other first?”
“Jarilo,” a low voice shivered over my back. “Vatch over lion and cub.”
A hand grabbed my upper arm as I turned toward the voice.
“Come vith me, Godhunter.”
I glimpsed a pair of dark, somber eyes before the Aether took me. We zipped through it and I came out stumbling, completely unprepared for the journey or the arrival. The dark-eyed man caught me. Steadied me. Leaning against his chest, I stared up into a perfect face; beautiful enough to make angels weep. Except it looked wrong. There should be blond hair falling around it, not dark, and its eyes should be amethyst instead of burnt sienna. Oh, and Loki never wore a beard. He preferred to be clean-shaven to show off his incredible jawline.
“You look remarkably like my grandfather,” I noted as I stepped back. “Well, grandfather-in-law. Volos, I presume?”
Volos inclined his head. “I've been vatching you, Godhunter. I had to know if I could trust you before I brought you past my vards.”
“Fair enough.” I didn't ask where here was, it was obvious after listening to Perun and Jarilo argue. Volos had taken me to the Russian Underworld.
Well, I could check that off my bucket list.
I took a look around. Then another. I'd long ago stopped expecting god territories to look a certain way. Some of them went traditional and some didn't but the ones that were referenced in human myths had to adhere at least loosely to human belief. Having been to Niflheim, which would be the Norse equivalent of the Russian Underworld, I had done something I hadn't in awhile; I'd made a few assumptions. I'd expected this place to mirror Niflheim; cold, bleak, and surrounding a city of the dead. But, as usual with my assumptions, I was wrong. Dead wrong. Get it? Sorry.
A lush paradise rolled out before me. Meadows dotted with exotic flowers became dots themselves; patches of space within the arms of a massive forest. Humidity thickened the air; enough of it to make the forest into a jungle, except it obviously wasn't. These woods didn't shelter monkeys and wild cats but instead, deer and rabbits. I couldn't even scent a predator; other than myself and Volos, that is.
Above it all, a bright sun bloomed, driving its light onto the verdant canopy and trying its best to penetrate the cover. It turned the woods into an emerald lake, mist frothing over it, and I felt as if I stood on a shore, elevated as we were on a low hill. In the distance, surrounding the forest, enormous shapes descended from the sky. I recognized them at once, having seen something similar in the Nine Worlds of the Norse Territory. They were roots; the giant roots of the World Tree that the Underworld was said to exist beneath. There wouldn't be a tree attached to those roots. Or perhaps there was but it was split horizontally and divided into separate god territories. You never know with magic.
Whatever the case, those roots should have felt ominous, they should have at least darkened the place and confined it. But instead, they were comforting. An embrace. A reminder that life mirrors itself from the great to the microscopic; roots containing a forest as bodies contain cells. Macrocosm to microcosm. And the Gods couldn't take credit for this poetry. It had been born in the minds of humans at a time when they couldn't have possibly understood its deeper meaning. At least not scientifically. It was art; miraculous art.
“Velcome to Underworld, Godhunter.” Volos waved a hand behind us.
I turned to find a castle that seemed to extend back forever. Ebony walls loomed aggressively, spreading out to either side for nearly as long as the castle beyond them went back. Far enough that the sight of them blurred even for me. I followed Volos up to an iron gate then passed right through it. A shiver of magic coasted over my skin like gooseflesh.
The courtyard beyond echoed with emptiness. Volos strode through it as if he liked it that way. He went up a set of steps to an iron door, nearly as black as the castle. I wondered if he'd step through that as well. But no, an elegant hand reached out from the folds of his cloak and opened the door before gesturing me through.
Inside, light dominated again, as if in defiance of the castle's color. Brilliant paintings hung on pale walls in frames that were pieces of art themselves, flowers overflowed ancient vases, and carpets of dizzying detail lay waiting for us to stride upon them. Above us, crystal stars hung suspended, emitting god light.
“It's an illusion.” Volos glanced at me as we walked. “The castle isn't endless.”
“That's good; fewer rooms for me to search.”
Volos lifted a brow at me.
“I assume you brought me here to prove that you aren't holding Mokosh captive.”
There I went assuming again.
Volos made a sound of mirth. “I cannot do zat, Godhunter. Perun is right about zat much; Underworld is vast and only I know all its secrets.”
“Then why am I here?”
“Please.” He waved me into a sitting room.
A fire burned in a pale stone hearth with an elaborate mantle. Statues supported the crosspiece, one to either side; a wolf and a bear. I stared at the wolf then back at Volos.
“It was you,” I whispered. “The wolf we saw in Alūksne.”
He nodded.
“Jarilo didn't say anything.” And I had completely forgotten to ask him about the Loki-lookalike too. In my defense, there had been a lot going on.
“Jarilo knew I didn't vant to reveal myself to you yet.”
“And I saw you at the lake too; my first day in Alūksne.”
“Da.”
“Are you investigating the drownings or trying to find Mokosh?”
“One, I zink, vill lead to other, but I am more concerned about Mokosh. She is strong voman. It vould have to be stronger god who took her. Or collection of gods.”
“Perhaps they're using these drownings to make themselves stronger,” I mused.
Volos smiled as if I'd proved myself worthy of entering his home. “Very good, Godhunter.”
“Please, call me Vervain.” I held a hand out to him.
“Volos.” He lifted my hand to his lips, kissed it, let me go,
then waved at a sofa; all with the same motion. “Please, sit down, Vervain.”
I sat on the stiff sofa, done in cream-patterned velvet, and waited. Volos took an armchair across from me and between us, on a low coffee table, waited a Russian tea set; cheerful scenes painted in cerulean blue over snowy porcelain. The color reminded me of Kirill's eyes. I hoped he wasn't too scared for me. I tried to speak to him, but Volos' wards were too strong for that; I could feel the link but couldn't push anything through it.
