CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Kera walked into the overpriced LA gym. She’d tried to get a job at one of the chain’s other locations. Everyone had been very nice and seemed more than happy to get her a gym membership—as if she, fresh out of the military, could afford the two-thousand-a-month cost—but she’d had the distinct feeling that the fact her thighs touched meant she’d been too fat for a job there. Even picking up used towels or mopping floors.
She’d never forget walking out with a membership application and passing some guy yelling at sweaty rich people in an attempt to simulate a “boot camp.” Kera had actually gone through boot camp and could tell instantly that none of these people would have survived five minutes with a real drill sergeant calling the shots.
At that moment, she’d sworn never to bother going back into a place like this, but desperate times and all that . . .
“Are you sure she’s here?” Kera asked Vig.
“That’s what my sister told me.”
“But why?” She glanced around at all the people trying to desperately stay thin or get abs they weren’t genetically meant to have. “She’s a god. Would she really need to come to some pretentious gym to get in shape?”
“I don’t think she’s here to get in shape.”
Vig stepped in front of Kera, his brown eyes scanning. A few employees began to walk toward them, but one look at Vig and they all dropped their heads and walked away.
Kera had seen it before and it never failed to entertain her. Little did they know . . . Vig was the sweetest guy on the planet. He just didn’t look it.
“This way.”
Vig walked off and Kera followed after him. He led her all the way down to the back of the first floor and into a darkly lit room.
And there she was. Freyja—goddess of fertility, commander of the Valkyries, and a god of war because Odin tricked her—leading everyone in the room through an indoor cycling session.
“Come on, everybody!” she shouted above the tech music, colored strobe lights flashing, a giant screen at the front of the room taking them through Icelandic vistas. “Push it! Last hill! You can do it!”
Kera wasn’t so sure. There were people falling over their handlebars, slipping off their bikes, vomiting.
“What the hell is she doing?”
“Uh . . .”
Blinking, Kera looked up at Vig. “What kind of answer is that?”
“You’re not going to like my answer, so I paused.”
“She’s killing them, isn’t she?”
“I don’t think she’s using them as actual sacrifices, but . . . more like temporary offerings.”
“Oh, my God!”
Freyja, her eyes glowing gold, looked over her shoulder at Kera and grinned.
Kera started to march up there so she could tell the goddess her very pointed thoughts about what was happening here but Vig grabbed her, placed his hand over her mouth, and his other arm around her waist.
“We’ll meet you outside,” he told Freyja before carrying Kera out of the room.
Polly loved her job. How could she not? She made a lot of money doing exactly what she enjoyed. And every day was new and exciting. She never knew who was going to come walking through their glass front doors. The biggest stars. Important politicians. Billionaires!
The best of the best.
Except when, like now, it was not the best of the best, but people like her.
And even worse, this time she’d brought friends.
“Ms. Lieberman. How nice to see you again.” And unable to help herself, she added, “How’s business?”
Lieberman went for her, nearly clearing the glass counter, but one of the women with her yanked her back.
“And Ms. King, I am so happy to see you again,” Polly said with real pleasure.
“Hi, Polly.”
“So what brings you here today?” Polly asked.
“I need to see Efram,” Lieberman barked.
“May I ask what’s this is in reference to?”
The woman’s brown eyes narrowed on Polly, but before she could say something about “ruining your very existence, perky tits”—as she had said many times before—one of her friends cut between the two.
“It’s business,” the woman said. “Private.”
“Of course. I’ll see if Efram’s available.”
Polly turned her back on Betty Lieberman even when she saw the woman raise her fist, ready to throttle her.
“So what do you want?” Freyja asked. She had a towel around her neck and was drinking heavily from a water bottle.
“Well—” Vig began.
“What were you doing to those people?” Kera demanded, and Vig cringed. Not so much at the question, but at her tone. Freyja wasn’t as comfortable being questioned by mortals as Skuld and Odin were. In fact . . . she kind of hated it.
“Giving them the ride of their lives.”
“Yeah,” Kera muttered back. “I’ve heard that about you.”
Vig quickly stepped in front of the woman he loved with all his heart but was suddenly afraid he was going to lose forever, and said to the god, “We need your help, Freyja.”
“My help?” She pointed at Kera. “I gave you one of my magnificient weapons and you gave me nothing back. And now you come to me asking for more?”
“Do you want your necklace or not?” Kera snarled.
“Watch how you speak to me, human. I’ll rip that haggard soul from your body and turn it into dust.”
“Ladies, please,” Vig begged, doing his best to keep the pair separated.
The door to the exercise room Freyja had been in opened and the participants began to stumble out. She’d drained most of them very close to death. Probably taking years of their lives just so she could get the high she once got when seasonal sacrifices were all the rage.
Some made it out on their own steam, although they tripped every few feet and some had to stop and lean against the wall, panting desperately. A few, though, had to be helped by others.
One of them, a woman, with her arms around the shoulders of two men, stopped when she neared Freyja. There was such love in her eyes as she gazed at the goddess.
“That session was amazing,” she gasped out to Freyja.
“Why, thank you, sweetheart.”
“Marry me. I’ll give you anything.”
“Aren’t you just darling?”
Laughing, Freyja waved the woman off before informing Kera and Vig, “If I snapped my fingers, she’d be on her knees in a second . . . and she’s not even gay.”
“Are you?” Kera asked.
“If you insist on using labels, I prefer flexible.”
“I just bet you are.”
“Anyway,” Vig quickly cut in, “we have a way to get Brísingamen back to you.” The powerful torc had been stolen from Freyja in order to assist in the return of Gullveig. Freyja had given Kera a rune-covered axe to help in the retrieval of the item, but in the confusion of that day, they’d forgotten about it and now they were sure Gullveig had it.
To Vig’s surprise, though, Freyja had not demanded the return of her axe due to Kera’s failure to do what she’d promised, and now he understood why. She really wanted that necklace and she wanted the Crows to get it for her. She wasn’t about to risk one of her precious Valkyries on such a petty mission, but she’d risk all the Crows in the universe.
The whole thing annoyed Vig, but if they could use Freyja’s obsession with that damn torc to get what they needed, then fine. That’s what they would do.
“What do you need from me?” Freyja asked.
“Your power.”
Freyja gazed at the pair for a moment, then admitted, “Well . . . I am incredibly powerful.”
“And humble!” Kera barked sarcastically before he managed to cover her mouth with his hand again.
Jace slapped Betty’s fist down. “What is wrong with you? You’re acting like me just before I snap.”
“She was pissing me off,” she snarled, eyes locked on Polly’s retreating form.
“Everyone is pissing you off,” Erin noted. “Calm the fuck down. We’re here for a reason.”
Leigh looked around the store, her mouth hanging open.
“Nice, huh?” Yardley asked.
Diamonds and rubies and every other kind of rare, expensive gem glittered at them in the perfect lighting of the store.
“This stuff is amazing,” Leigh gushed. She randomly pointed at one of the jewels in a stand-alone case in the middle of the floor. “Like, how much does something like this cost?”
“More than you’ll ever be able to afford,” Erin told her.
Yardley pointed at another beautiful necklace. “I wore this to last year’s Oscars.”
“I forgot,” Annalisa lied, “did you win anything then?”
Jace cringed. Annalisa knew well enough to never ask an actor that question unless one already knew the answer was going to be “yes.”
Honestly! The woman never stopped testing the mental health of everyone around her!
“No. But I’m ever hopeful,” Yardley replied. A practiced phrase she’d used with reporters who’d asked similar questions.
“You should do one of those movies where you pretend to be unattractive or plain,” Erin told her. “That usually wins a hot girl like you lots of awards.”
Efram walked out of the back. Unlike Polly, who clearly loathed every breath Betty took, Efram’s smile was warm and very real.
“My sweet Betty!” he said, throwing his arms wide. “I am so glad to see you!”
The big man hugged Betty tight. “I’d heard such terrible things. I should have known everyone was lying to me.”
“Of course they were.” Betty pointedly looked at Polly before telling Efram, “We need to talk. Alone.”
Seeing Yardley with Betty, Efram gave Polly and the rest of his staff the day off.
Once they were alone, the doors locked, and the windows electronically darkened so no one could look in, Efram returned to Betty.
“What do you need?” he asked.
“We need your store.”
“It’s yours!” he said, arms thrown wide. “Tell me what you’re looking for.”
Betty shook her head. “No. We need your store. All of it.”
“What are you talking about? For a film?”
“No. To get a god.”
Efram stepped back, eyed them all. “Is this about Gullveig?” he finally asked.
Erin’s body tensed. “What?”
“Ladies . . . I’ve been in this business a long time. You think she’s the only god who loves her jewelry? I just sold Ares a Breitling watch. You know, something that can take a serious beating.” He glanced at Jace and explained, “He is the god of war.”
Betty shrugged. “Then I guess we don’t have to explain anything else.”
Efram raised a finger. “No, no, no. I said I do business with the gods. But I’m not about to let you ladies use my store if it involves that psychotic bitch.”
“Efram—”
“No, Betty. I love you to death despite the way you terrorize my staff. But there’s no—”
“I have an offer.”
“There’s nothing you can offer me that would make me change my mind. Nothing.”
Betty blew out a breath. They’d all hoped not to have to use this, but it seemed there was simply no choice.
“Odin!” Betty called out. “Odin!”
Odin appeared behind Betty. Eye patch and grin in place, dressed in a perfectly tailored Italian blue suit.
“You bellowed, sweet Betty?”
“Odin, this is Efram. Efram, this is the god Odin.”
“What am I supposed to do here, Betty? Fall to my knees? I’m Jewish. He doesn’t exactly terrify me.”
“I’m not trying to terrify you. I have an offer. You give us your business and, no matter what happens, we rebuild and replace.”
“Betty—”
“And,” she continued on, “you get the next twenty-four hours to hang out with Odin.”
“Wait . . . what?”
“You heard me. Twenty-four hours, around the world, Odin-style.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
Betty glanced back at the god and realized he was now standing with two beautiful, if somewhat used, women.
Betty didn’t even bother to hide her disgust. “Ech.”
“Valkyries?” Leigh asked Jace, slightly confused. The LA Valkyries, chosen by Freyja herself, were all beautiful girls next door. Like a bunch of sorority girls with lethal weapon skills and winged horses. The ladies Odin chose for the Tri-State Valkyries, however . . .
“From Jersey, I think,” Jace whispered back. “So I’m guessing they’re all former strippers.”
“A whole twenty-four hours of uninhibited, out-of-control, Odin-style entertainment, with the god himself,” Betty crooned in that voice Jace was sure she used when trying to get a producer or studio head to do what she wanted because threatening him or her was going to be ineffective.
Efram handed the store keys he held over to Betty.
“Go with God,” he told Betty before disappearing with Odin and his hook . . . er . . . Valkyries.
Betty shook her head. “I told you, ladies. I told you. It doesn’t matter the race, the religious belief, how they were raised . . . nothing. All men are the same.”
“You came out of that coma feisty,” Erin noted.
“And hungry. Think we can get some pizza before our next move?”
“Nope,” Erin replied, suddenly looking at her phone. “Got a text from Kera. It’s all a go.”
“Are you sure about this?” Jace asked Betty, unable to hide her worry now that she knew her plan was moving forward.“I know this is all my idea, Betty, but our next move—”
“Don’t worry, sweetie.” Betty placed her hand on Jace’s shoulder and grinned at her. “I can’t tell you how much I have been looking forward to this.”
Gullveig finished bathing in the blood of a virgin—well, actually, in this case, an unemployed screenwriter who thought his idea of a musical version of Saving Private Ryan was brilliant, but there wasn’t really much of a difference in the big scheme of things—and took a quick shower. She finished dressing and went out into her office and, with a happy sigh, dropped into the chair behind her desk.
She put her hands behind her head and used the tips of her toes to move her office chair back and forth.
Life was good.
“Come in,” Gullveig called out when she heard the knock on her office door.
Her assistant, Jenna, walked in. “I got more calls. They’re having problems on the set.”
“Is he drinking again?”
“Most likely.”
Gullveig rolled her eyes and dropped her head back against the chair. “I should have taken his soul when I had the chance.”
Jenna’s head tipped to the side. She looked like a confused cocker spaniel. “Pardon?”
Before Gullveig could soothe her assistant’s concerns—she really should be more careful what she said around the girl—there was yelling and screaming from the hallway.
Her door flew open and Betty Lieberman stormed in, with security right behind her.
Jenna’s eyes widened, she lowered her head, and quickly backed away. It was as if she thought she could fade into the wallpaper, like some kind of chameleon.
Amazing that even after all that had happened, Lieberman still managed to instill fear in everyone around her. She’d make a hell of a god if she wasn’t a worthless human.
A worthless human but a brilliant agent.
Lieberman stopped in the middle of the office, turned in a circle to look over everything.
“Wow,” she stated, voice thick with mocking, “you like mirrors.”
“Welcome back, Betty. We’ve missed you.”
Lieberman’s head tipped down and she mouthed, Liar.
“Awww, Betty. You hurt me.”
“I don’t think that’s possible, sweetie. But nice try.”
“So what do you want?” Gullveig asked, putting her feet up on her desk and watching the corners of Lieberman’s eyes twitch.
“Jenna, honey.” Lieberman turned those sharp eyes on Jenna, who’d been trying to ease her way out of the room. “You’ve moved up.”
“Hi . . . uh . . . Miss . . . uh . . .”
“Why don’t you give us a minute, sweetie.”
Jenna made some sort of noise with her mouth before dashing from the room.
“That’s impressive,” Gullveig had to admit. “I’m a god, and I don’t get that kind of fear out of her.”
“I’ve been in this industry a long time. Worked my way up from the mail room. And you don’t get to where I’ve gotten by being nice. Or forgiving. Or remotely humane.”
“So . . . what? You’re here to take me out, Crow? You?” Gullveig laughed. She couldn’t help it. The balls on this woman!
“Of course not. Don’t be silly.”
“Then what? Why are you here?”
“You took from me. I’m here to take from you.”
“Take what?” she asked, laughing. “What do you think you can take from me?”
Lieberman laid her hands on Gullveig’s desk, leaned in. “Freyja’s necklace.”
Gullveig’s laughter died in her throat. “What are you talking about?”
“Brísingamen.”
“I know its name, idiot.” Dropping her legs to the floor, Gullveig stood. “And it’s my necklace.”
“Is it?” Lieberman smirked. “Because according to Freyja, it’s hers. And she wants her shit back.”
Gullveig started to go over the desk to get to the insolent Crow, but Lieberman pointed at the open office door behind her. “Now, now. Trust me. The entire staff is out there listening, and they’re enjoying every second of this. But are you sure you’re ready to out yourself as a god?”
Growling, Gullveig went through her bathroom to the small room she’d been using for her sacrifices and to call the Carrion to her. She kept all her jewelry in here but Brísingamen had its own special place on a bronze bust of Aphrodite.
But the bust now stood bare.
Screeching, Gullveig spun around, only to be hit in the face by a Crow. She’d wrapped the necklace around her fist and the power of it and her fist shoved Gullveig back until she slammed into the chest with all her jewels.
The Crow ran and, beyond angry, Gullveig tore after her, the walls peeling as she dashed by, her anger ripping away at the thin layer of this world.
She nearly had her hand on the Crow’s shoulder when the bitch tossed the necklace to another Crow standing on the far side of her desk.
“Erin!”
A redheaded Crow caught the necklace and Gullveig shifted her attention to her. The redhead ran, sliding under the desk just as Gullveig was going over it.
“Give it to me!” Gullveig bellowed, ready to burn the entire state down to get her necklace back.
She lifted the heavy desk and tossed it like so much hay, but the redhead was already near the front door of the office.
Gullveig cut her off there, but the redhead spun around while, at the same time, tossing the necklace.
“Betty!”
Lieberman caught the necklace in one hand and held it up. “This what you want, whore?” she asked. “Then come and get it, bitch!”
Done with this, Gullveig used a mystical doorway simply to go from one side of the room to the other, so she could wrap her hands around Lieberman’s throat.
But before she could yank the twat’s soul from her body and swallow it whole, talons dug into her from every side, and Gullveig quickly realized that the other Crows were holding on to her.
But why? What the mighty Helheim were they doing? They had to know they couldn’t kill her. They had to!
“Go, Jace!” a brown Crow yelled and her curly-haired sister began chanting in very ancient Norse. So ancient, Gullveig was shocked the little bitch even knew it. Almost no one knew that tongue because it was the language of the Vanir gods, not the Aesir.
It was a “call to the gold.” A spell so old and misunderstood that the Aesir had banned it from ever being used by their disciples.
What was so misunderstood about it? It was a spell that was often mistakenly used by those looking for wealth or bounty. But it didn’t bring anything to you. It brought you to it.
Something most people thought was a fine idea until they ended up at the bottom of the ocean where a long boat had gone down or in the fiery stomach of a gold-eating dragon or trapped behind the locked doors of a king’s gold vault with no way to get out.
But this . . . girl, she knew the spell. Knew it so well, she was using it to—