“You talked to me about realms and fires. Why?”
“You were in the mortal plane, then Pandemonia, now here, and soon . . . there. You really are the cutest wittle devilkin of a catalyst!”
“Catalyst? You’ve been steering my portals! You—you rigged my subconscious.” Hadn’t Lanthe felt like this journey was bigger than just her and Thronos? Had Nïx wanted them in Pandemonia to shake up those demons? To bring peace to hell? After all, what could those armies fight over now?
Or did Nïx want the dainty keys Lanthe now wore? Not without a fight, Valkyrie.
Nïx murmured, “In one realm, hurt. In one realm, leave. In one realm, cleave. In one realm, shine.”
Lanthe had hurt in Pandemonia, as if the festering wounds of the past had been sliced open. At last to heal? “So here, I’m supposed to leave?”
Nïx smiled blankly.
“What are you playing at, Valkyrie?” Thronos sounded like he was struggling not to lose his temper. He must be regretting their actions as much as Lanthe did.
Ignoring him, Nïx asked Lanthe, “How’s your power coming, sorceress? You look at it as if it’s a pot that needs to be filled. When in fact, it’s a muscle that has been flexed very little.”
This news was exciting! “So the more I use it, the stronger it’ll be?”
“Use, use, rest. Use, use, use, rest. Use, use, use, use, rest—”
“I get it!”
To Thronos, the Valkyrie said, “How did you like your vacay in Pandemonia? Glad you saved up sick days? Did you feel all . . . liberated? And swagger-y? I bet that plane made your soft parts tingle.”
“Once and for all, tell me, woman: Are Vrekeners demons?”
“Tell me, man: Does it matter?” she said with a roll of her eyes.
“Yes! Absolutely. Are we a demonarchy?”
“What would be the difference between your life now versus if you were a demon? You’d be able to trace. Big deal.”
Lanthe could sense his steep disappointment. Because he still didn’t have the conclusive answers he sought? Or because Nïx hadn’t denied Vrekeners were demons?
“I’ll make you a deal, Thronos,” the Valkyrie said. “I’ll tell you where you really are if your mate stores something for me.”
“Stores what?” Lanthe didn’t even have a bag with her.
Nïx plucked up a curl of her lustrous dark hair, peering down at it. “This is the one, you know.”
Lanthe didn’t know. “Which one?”
“The one that enslaves all the Valkyries. The tipping point with the Scourge.”
“Okay,” Lanthe said slowly. “Your hair enslaves?” She turned to Thronos, as if he could make sense of Nïx’s ramblings.
The Valkyrie nodded. “Quite.” Baring her foreclaw, she sliced off the curl, then glanced around, muttering, “What to tie it with?” She beamed at the bat, who now had a length of string in its creepy little maw. “Why thank you, Bertil!” Nïx tied the end of the curl tight, handing it to Lanthe. “In your pocket, if you please.”
Lanthe patted down her outfit. “I don’t have a pock—” Sure enough, there was a concealed pocket in one of the leather bands of her skirt. “Okay, give it over.”
“I’m ready for an explanation, soothsayer,” Thronos told Nïx. “Melanthe and I both felt the influence of this place; there was no denying it.”
The Valkyrie’s eyes flashed like her lightning. “Or maybe you two simply wanted an excuse to have each other. Here, you were able to get around your premarital sex rule. Here, Lanthe reasoned that you couldn’t think badly of her because she would have no control over her actions.”
“Then where are we?” Thronos demanded.
A sudden rank smell wafted over Lanthe, like . . . vomit. Where had that come from?
“Very well. I’ll tell Thronos alone.” Nïx sauntered up to him, standing on tiptoe.
When he leaned down to accommodate her, putting their faces close together, a spike of irritation hit Lanthe. Jealousy? No, of course not. Still, she pointed out, “Hey, I’m part of this too!”
Whatever Nïx was whispering made Thronos’s eyes widen. When she’d finished, he straightened, looking paler than Lanthe had ever seen him. His scars whitened.
Nïx turned to her. “As much as I’d like to stay and discuss my plans for the Accession—hint: there will be wearable party favors!—I have a meeting that was penciled in one hundred and twenty-five years ago. Do take care with my lock, Lanthe.” Then the Valkyrie gazed up at the sky, her eyes swirling like mercury. A split second later, a bolt of lightning struck her.
When the smoke cleared and their eyes readjusted, Nïx was gone.
Loreans had long wondered how Nïx traveled the world(s). Lightning bolts. Who knew?
Thronos hastened to Lanthe, grabbing her shoulders.
“What’s going on?” She winced as that pain in her side flared up again. She began to feel more burns up and down her legs.
“You need to wake up with me.”
“What is wrong with you? I’m not asleep.” She glanced past him. Had the fields of flowers wavered? Her nose was now burning with that ghastly smell.
His hands tightened on her. “None of this is real. It’s a shared hallucination—so that we don’t fight our captivity.”
“Captivity?”
“That last portal took us to . . . to a treacherous place. Into the belly of a beast. It will want to keep us—immortals are a source of constantly replenishing nourishment—but we’re going to fight.”
Was he saying she was something’s food? One of her worst fears. “Y-you’re scaring me.”
“I’ll get you free, but you’ll have to create a portal directly after, or we’ll be drugged and trapped once more.”
“This isn’t funny!”
In a gallows tone, he said, “No, Lanthe. It isn’t.”
THIRTY-EIGHT
Thrymheim Hold, Northlands
Home of Skathi, goddess of the hunt
Goddess council convening
Agenda: Petition for godhood submitted by Phenïx the Ever-Knowing, firstborn Valkyrie
Nïx, you’ve known about this meeting for decades and decades,” Riora, the goddess of impossibility, said. “Couldn’t you have prepared better?”
Nïx blinked at Riora as they made their way through the rumbling halls carved into Godsbellow Mountain, a peak continually shaken by thunder. “I don’t take your meaning.”
“You’re wearing a T-shirt and flops, you’re carrying a sleeping bat, and you reek of what can only be gastric acid.” The bat burped in its sleep, expelling a puff of green mist. Then it smacked its lips. “This is a formal affair. Kali is wearing twelve skulls.”
Nïx’s eyes went wide. “I should’ve vajazzled!” Her excitement woke the bat. It clawed its way up her T-shirt to perch on her shoulder. With a shrug, Nïx opened her backpack, retrieving sheets of paper.
Riora looked approving, expecting a résumé of Nïx’s great works and deeds, a divine CV to advance her cause—then frowned when the Valkyrie turned to post a flyer for a “barely used” Bentley on one of Thrymheim’s sacred walls. “As your friend, I have to tell you that the atmosphere in Skathi’s meeting hall is contentious. Most of the deities think you reach above your station. The questioning will be intense.” From within the hall, they could hear goddesses debating whether Nïx had “the juice.”
“Who’s here?”
“Most goddesses. Standing, levitating, and astral projection room only.”
“How’re you liking my chances?” Nïx asked.
Riora tilted her head. “Nothing is impossible with you, which is why I’ve always liked you.”
Nïx nodded thoughtfully. “Aside from a few other deities, you’ve always been my favorite.”
Riora pursed her lips, and she and Nïx entered.
The focus of the room was a grand wooden table with three concentric rotating disks. One disk measured all times. The second was a perpetually changing map of the mortal world and connecting domains. The third monitored celestial acts taking place across all realms. The center of the table was hollow, with a dais in the middle.
A number of goddesses, or their dimensional likenesses, were in attendance. In the flesh were the witch deities Hekate and Hela; Lamia, the goddess of life and fertility; Wohpe, goddess of peace; Saroh, the goddess of the Jinn; and the Great She-Bear, protectoress of shifters. Among many more . . .
With a nod of encouragement, Riora left Nïx and took her saved spot at the table.
The legendary Skathi presided. She looked exasperated, not bothering to hide her feelings about Nïx’s petition.
The Valkyrie didn’t seem to notice the goddess’s displeasure. With that bat on her shoulder, she nonchalantly made her way toward the dais in the center of the rotating table. As she approached, a path opened up, the wood disappearing, then reappearing behind her, like a wake.
Atop the dais, Nïx turned to Skathi. It was known that if one gazed into that goddess’s eyes, he or she would experience all the fear and sorrow of Skathi’s prey over the ages; yet Nïx boldly met her gaze. Which appeared to surprise the goddess.
Clearing her throat, Skathi called the meeting to order, then took her seat. “We will dispense with formalities to limit the duration of this meeting. We convene because Phenïx the Ever-Knowing is petitioning to join our ranks in the pantheon of goddesses.” Skathi steepled her fingers. “Tell us in your own words: Why should we welcome you into our blessed number?”
Bright-eyed and breathless, Nïx said, “Well, I can mime”—she demonstrated as Riora dropped her forehead to the table. “I’m a mistress of keg stands”—Nïx looked around for a keg with which to demonstrate—“two of my three parents are gods, and I have a goddesslike power.”
Skathi raised her brows. “Your talent for mime notwithstanding, you have an obvious mark against you: human blood. One of those three parents of yours was mortal.”
“Doesn’t seem to slow me down.” Nïx hiked a thumb at herself. “After all, just this Accession, I orchestrated the death of Crom Cruach.” The god of cannibalism. “Hmm, Skathi, wasn’t he your curse to deal with? Right, then.” She brushed off her hands matter-of-factly. “We’ll settle up at the bar.”
Skathi glared, and the flames of her temple climbed higher. Yet then, a bout of thunder shook the mountain, seeming to soothe her. “A goddess is measured by the company she keeps. Yet you’re close to Loa, the voodoo priestess, a mere shopkeeper who grows to be a practitioner of the darkest arts?”
“Loa prefers to be known as the Commercenary.”
“You do realize the power she wields?”
Nïx sighed. “Counting on it.”
Seductive Lamia observed, “Under your direction, La Dorada the Queen of Evil has arisen.”
“Dora and I are like this.” Nïx spread her arms wide. “Now, I’ll be the first to admit she’s not without faults. Very grumpy when she wakes up. And with Dora, it’s always me me me, ring ring ring.”
“Why would you resurrect her?” Skathi demanded.
“No one else was going to do it!” Nïx said, just as her bat leaned in beside her ear. The soothsayer nodded to it, then murmured, “Meet me at the lightning bolt.” She gazed on fondly as the creature flew away with a screech.
“Your attention!” Skathi snapped.
“What were we talking about? Let’s be quick, then. It’s past Bertil’s bedtime.”
Jaws dropped at Nïx’s temerity.
Speaking to no one in particular, Nïx said, “And because we’re going to need her.”
“Who?” Lamia asked.
“Dora.” As if speaking to a child, Nïx said, “You asked me why I’d resurrect her, and I’m answering your question.” She narrowed her eyes. “Are all of you inebriated?”
“Continuing on,” Skathi intoned. “You claim a goddesslike power, styling yourself ever-knowing, yet you can’t even find your sister Furie.”
“Find? As in bring to light?” she asked, leaving the pantheon to puzzle over her words.
Hekate said, “You’ve been working to ally factions of immortals for the Accession, assisting Loreans of different species to find their mates. From what I understand, we’re to have a rash of halflings in future generations.”
“Halflings are formidable,” Nïx pointed out. “Think of Queen Emmaline of the Lykae, Queen Bettina of the Deathly Ones, and Mariketa the Awaited, leader of your House of Witches. Plus, Valkyries have a soft spot for halflings, since we have three vastly different parents. I guess you could call us triflings.” Broad wink.