I hate waiting.
You see, I never thought about what to say to Nathan when I saw him again—stupidly, I just assumed I could spill it all, bring him up to speed with a whirlwind tale of skulduggery and adventure. What I’m holding on to is basically some of the best gossip I’ve ever had. The moment I rush to his side in Recovery, I so badly want to tell him everything. Then I remember where I am—remember there are cameras, microphones, suspicious staff—and realize I can’t tell him a damn thing. Fortunately, he’s still a little groggy, so he doesn’t ask too much. I shush him and tell him to rest for now.
I have to wait until we’re off-site and certain they haven’t bugged any of our things. It is killing me. The look in his eyes tells me he understands there’s definitely something going on, that I haven’t lost my mind while he was asleep, but to censor everything I say is completely at odds with my character.
I have to get out of here. I decide to skip dinner, which is, admittedly, another choice at odds with my character, but at this point it’s the lesser of two evils. I don’t even bother trying to navigate to the exits on my own, either—I flag down the first guard I see and have him escort Nathan and me off the property, flashing my permit and ID badge every chance I get. As we head out, I start to get an idea of their security systems and realize why it’s been relatively easy to go wherever I please inside the base; they have an outright ludicrous array of defenses, checkpoints, and armed personnel guarding the entrances.
X-ray machines, body imagers, and no less than three biometric scanners (hand, iris, and voice identification) form the frontline defense, but if someone manages to breach them—or trip an alarm—then the turret nests, guard stations, and pressurized bulkheads will probably make short work of any intruders. There’s also an off-key buzz in the back of my head, a distant thrum of hidden magic that tells me everything I’ve seen so far is probably just the technological half of Impulse Station’s defensive line. I have a hard time picturing an unauthorized god getting in here, let alone a mortal.
It takes us nearly five minutes just to leave once we reach these exits, guards checking us to confirm we’re not trying to smuggle anything off-site, but at long last, we step out into the waning Florida sunlight, free. I have to admit, I was worried they’d try to pull us back in at the last second. Since he’s an official “retainer” of mine, Nathan is supposed to have the same freedoms I’ve been granted, but I wasn’t about to trust Finemdi to keep their word. Now that we’re out, it looks like they were telling the truth. It’s early evening, the sky is still relatively bright, and only a handful of stars have begun to make an appearance. We’re standing outside a nondescript warehouse, clearly not even a tenth the size it would need to be to contain everything I’ve seen. The parking lot is filled with all sorts of vehicles, and I pray ours is among them. Just how thorough were they when they retrieved us from Disney? I brandish the keys to the CR-V like a talisman, holding them high above my head, and give a hopeful click. In the distance, there’s a flash of lights and a little beep.
“Yes!” I say, grabbing Nathan and striding toward our car.
“So, about, um, everything…” he begins, letting me guide him away from the building.
I turn and give him a look. “In a bit,” I say, gesturing at our clothing and shaking my bag. “I want to get home and get ‘comfortable.’”
He gives me a quizzical stare for a moment, then motions at the building behind us and holds a hand to one ear as if he’s on the phone, mouthing They listening? as he does. I nod as I give him an expression that says Obviously! and then grab his arm and continue my march to the car.
Once we get in, and he navigates out of the parking lot and onto the streets, I lean over and turn the radio way up. Over the din of some heavily Auto-Tuned pop music, I yell at him, “Sorry! I’m just worried we’re bugged!”
“I got that, yeah! When can we talk?” he shouts back.
“Let’s get home, change out of these clothes, leave the phones behind, and take a walk!” I reply.
“Sounds great!”
It’s fully dark by the time we get back, but the apartment complex is in a nice enough neighborhood that nobody looks twice at two young friends out for a stroll. It feels good to be out of Impulse Station, out of their clothes and away from gadgets I’m not certain I can trust. It feels even better to be doing all this with Nathan at my side.
“I was worried about you,” I say, giving him a hug.
“I didn’t even have time to worry,” he admits, smiling. “One moment we’re knocking out a lousy god of wine, the next I’m waking up in a hospital bed and there’s a nurse telling me everything’s fine and she’s calling your cell phone. What the hell happened?”
There are so many incredible things to talk about I feel like I might start drooling. “The organization Garen works for is called Finemdi. It’s this huge world-spanning company, and that was just one of their facilities back there. They’re beyond evil; we’re talking twisted, sadistic people, Nathan. Forget about Garen. We have to wipe them all out.”
“What?” he says, taken aback. “Wait—back up a step. We’re killing a whole company now?”
“Eh.” I waggle a hand. “Just most of it.”
He frowns. “Um, being anticorporate is topical and all, but isn’t that a bit extreme?”
“Hardly. You haven’t seen what I have.”
“Yeah, but … it’s like you’re talking about declaring war here.”
I nod eagerly. “Yes! Exactly like that.”
“Sara, this—I mean, how long was I out? Last I heard, you wanted to get away from these guys, not fight them. What’d I miss?”
“A lot of really sick things, Nate. The world will be a better place without them in it. Trust me. Let me give you the full story, and then you’ll—”
“Hang on,” he says, fidgeting. “I want to hear it, but I’m going to go out on a limb and assume the spoiler is that they’re really bad and deserve some serious smiting. Now, are you asking me what I think you’re asking?”
I spread my hands, feeling a little bashful. “War is part of who I am, Nathan. You don’t have to help me if you don’t want to, but this kind of opportunity? Oh, it’s good. Glory, vengeance, and a cause worth fighting for? Take it from a girl who knows: They don’t come around often.”
He considers this, gauging my obvious conviction against whatever misgivings he might have about getting pulled into a quest to destroy a global corporation. “Whatever happened to Disney princesses and life on the run?” he asks at last.
“They … well—”
“Can’t we just … disappear again?”
I pause, looking at him, feeling the concern and frustration bubble in his heart, and actually consider it. He’s not wrong. I didn’t start this adventure wanting revenge, didn’t intend to go to war with anyone. I wanted to be left alone. We could totally manage it, too, especially now that I know there are other ways to empower myself beyond worshippers. Freedom, power, and adventure. It’s all there, just waiting for me to take it, wrapped up in a choice that’s safer, smarter, and way less likely to get innocent people—like Nathan—killed.
I could do it. The Valkyrie would scream bloody murder, but I could still do it. Oh, how I’ve changed. Turns out I did myself a favor with all those years of apathy and self-doubt: I have free will, maybe more than any god before me, and I really could see myself bowing out of this whole mess to live life to the fullest with my new friend.
Then Nan’s room and its pitiful contents flash through my mind, and I know the truth.
“We could, Nathan,” I say, feeling like I’ve been strung up between two trees. “It’s certainly the wisest choice for us both. But there’s so much evil there, so much hurt. I can’t set it all aside, not in good conscience. This cannot stand, my priest.”
“Yeah, but … Sara, the world is full of bad stuff. Why does this have to be on us?” He runs a hand through his hair, conflicted. “No, I don’t think—”
“Nate, please,” I cut him off, feeling tension squeeze my heart. “Really consider this. Think about what’s important. Life is more than finding what you can live with—it’s about finding something to live for.”
He frowns, thinking it over, and, well …
Okay, you know that moment when you’re talking about really important stuff with a close friend? The one where you lay out your dreams and desires, then watch them as they weigh it all, standing on pins and needles as you dearly hope they’ll end up siding with you? That one?
Well, this is one of those moments, and as I’m waiting and worrying, all that anxiety gets the better of me. It’s barely a conscious choice, what I do—more a reflex than anything else—but it’s enough to change everything. It also makes me a horrible, awful friend, because as I watch him teeter between decisions and face the possibility he might really leave me, I find myself reaching out with my will and giving him the tiniest, faintest push. Just a little urging to join me, fight by my side, and risk everything for glory.
I know I could do this without him. He’ll be safer if I do. So why betray his trust like that? Why make the decision for him? Because I’m a shallow asshat of a goddess filled with selfishness of the purest, most damaging sort, that’s why. For all my bluster and arrogance, I’m too weak to let a friend even consider leaving me. The damage is done, too. I can see that little impulse ricocheting around his mind, building and snowballing, rising up as a Valkyrie of his own.
Then he snaps his head down in a nod, and I know I’ve taken away his choice. “Never thought about it like that. Well, all right. Guess we’re not hiding anymore,” he says, making it clear he’s with me. “That didn’t take long.”
I smile, even though I’m screaming on the inside. In practically the same breath, I’ve just marveled at how I can actually exercise free will, then stolen it from my only friend in the world.
I’m so sorry, Nathan, I think desperately. I’ll find a way to make it up to you. I promise.
I give him another hug, hiding my expression over his shoulder in case that little war of emotions made its way to my face. “Thanks, Nate,” I whisper.
He hugs me back, then pulls away after a moment, looking curious. “So how are we even talking about this?” he says. “I mean, last I heard, Garen was out for blood and it was either going to be him or you. One mini coma later, and they’re letting us walk out like we own the place.”
“I’m actually very proud of that,” I say, glad for the chance to focus on something else.
I use his question as a springboard to launch into my tale, beginning with the moment I woke in restraints and carrying on through my supremely unsettling conversation with Nan. When I’m done, Nathan looks suitably blown away by all the news, and we’ve probably circled the apartment complex half a dozen times. The moon is high in the sky, and even though most of the stars are drowned out by lights from the buildings around us, I think I can make out a few constellations. As I do, I feel an unexpected yearning for the old days, when the air was clearer, the night skies glowed with stars beyond counting, and you met your foes on the field of battle and hacked at each other with giant swords like civilized human beings. Now I get to watch myself bumble around in my best friend’s mind while my enemies commit crimes against nature and hide behind tailored suits.
“Unbelievable,” Nathan says. “Okay, so they’re evil squared. I get it. Do you have any idea how we’re going to take them down?”
“More than one, actually. It’s all a mess right now, but I have time. My official Finemdi schedule doesn’t have me doing any real dirty work until my training’s complete, and that will take months. Plenty of hours in those days to get stronger and plan.”
“Well, I don’t have to tell you I’m with you to the bitter end, right?” he says, glancing at me.
“No, but it’s always nice to hear,” I say with a shrug, trying to be all nonchalant and hoping my guilt doesn’t show on my face.
“Great, because when it’s time to invade these guys, I want to make sure you’re not going to leave me behind just because I’m a mortal.”
“When did you get so suspicious?” I say with a laugh.
“Sara, I’ve seen enough movies to know how this works—and I think you have, too. You’re going to need all the help you can get.”
I give him a pained look. I can’t do this. “What if…” I grimace. “Nathan, what if it wasn’t your choice?”
He frowns at that. “What do you mean?”
“Remember our kiss in the restaurant? That spillover effect I have on the people around me? Well, love’s not the only thing I was made to spread. What if you want to help me pick a fight with Finemdi because it’s what I want? What if I took away your choice just by being near you?”
I mean, I did, but I can’t bring myself to admit that to him, not so soon.
He shakes his head. “It was still my choice to be near you in the first place. Okay, not, like, when you stole me out of Inward, but after, in my apartment? I chose to follow you, Sara. This is just more of the same.”
“You don’t even know that,” I say, feeling miserable. “It’s not like I can turn love and affection off like a light switch. There was still a bunch of it left in your brain. You may have never made a truly free choice since you met me. Do you realize that?”
He tilts his head to the side and just stares for a moment. I rub my arms, watching as he weighs it all, and do you know what the worst part is? I want to do it again. I want to make sure he picks me, now and forever, even though taking that choice away from him is what started all this in the first place. My self-loathing peaks a little at that, and I turn away, trying to hide the oncoming waterworks. I suck, I suck, I suck.
“Nature or nurture, huh?” Nathan says at last.
“What?” I say, turning back to him.
He smiles ruefully and raises a hand to brush away one of my tears. “I’m not the same person I was when we met, I’ll give you that—but you’re not, either. We all change, Sara. That’s life. Everyone and everything we meet has a say in it. Friends, family, advertisers … If I’m making this choice because you played a role in it, then good; at least it was someone I trust.”
Oh, great. “And if I don’t deserve that trust?”
He shrugs. “Not your choice.”
“But it—”
“Look, I’ve made up my mind: I’m helping you,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Now tell me how.”
I sigh. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he would’ve picked me anyway, without my meddling. It’s cold comfort in the face of a deeply personal betrayal, but fine. Dwelling on this gets me nowhere, and right now, there is a lot to be done. When all this is over and Finemdi’s in ashes, then I can sort everything out and make amends … right? In the meantime, Nathan is my responsibility, and if he’s dead set on helping, then I will not have his blood on my hands. I got him into this, and I’m going to make sure he gets out. It’s high time I taught him how to survive in a god’s world.
“All right,” I mutter, wiping away the last of my tears and straightening up. “But you’re going to need to train. Get ready, because you’re about to learn what it means to be a true priest of mine.”
“Can’t wait,” he says, relaxing. “Though I think it’s customary for generals to high-five on the eve of battle.” He holds up a hand, expectant.
I can’t help laughing. “Is that what they do now? Knew I was out of touch…” I say, then haul back and slap his palm with mine.
And that’s that. Nathan is at my side, happy to follow me into the fire once again. The only difference is that, this time, we’re doing a bit more than starting new lives together—we’re kicking off a war.
* * *
There’s a strange routine to the following weeks. I have to admit, those years in seclusion at the Inward Care Center keep coming back to help me. This time, it’s in accepting a certain monotony despite every instinct telling me it’s time to act. I throw myself into my work at Disney, picking up as many shifts as possible and attending as many special events as they’ll give me. I’m going to need every scrap of belief I can wring out of these parks if I’m to have any hope of surviving what’s to come. At the same time, I have a schedule to maintain at Impulse Station. There are new “calibration” tests and character assignments to distort and lots of training sessions I need to attend. Every day is a jumbled mix of gleeful childhood innocence and skin-crawling corporate malevolence. Part of me wants to attack immediately, to cut loose and do what I can to bring the place down. It’s only through sheer force of will that I keep myself in check. I need to be patient, and, as I may have mentioned before, that never was my strong suit.
Finally, in the evenings after we return to our Finemdi-free apartment, there are the lessons with Nathan. Gods can’t be everywhere at once, you see, and for times when we need things done in distant places, our most trusted clergy can be sent to do the dirty work for us. To enable them to speak and act in our names, we can empower them with a fragment of our strength. It’s kind of like reversing the flow of belief, turning that spark of power back on its source. It’s draining, of course, but done carefully, it allows us to represent ourselves around the world. In short, we can grant our worshippers limited powers not unlike our own. For a lowly god like myself, it won’t be much, but if he can get the hang of it, it will still give him an edge over any normal human.
Besides these lessons in wielding my gifts, Nathan’s doing whatever else he can to help, researching Finemdi and the handful of gods my budding plans revolve around. With all these responsibilities between the two of us, it’s starting to feel like the only time I get to spend time with him as a friend is when he’s shuttling me around to various locations. Still, it’s not like we can step back and smell the roses—our quest is more important than hanging out together, and though it kills me to wait, there will be plenty of opportunities to relax when I’ve wiped this branch of Finemdi off the map.
I know I’m asking for trouble. I’ve seen every kind of relationship imaginable, and if I were being honest with myself, I’d focus on how often people come to regret passing up opportunities for fun with good friends. It’s just … impossible. It’s not in me to resist the siren song of adventure and retribution. Oh, I know the lessons, but if you think ordinary people have trouble learning from the mistakes of others, you should see how badly gods get it. We’re caricatures of you, after all, padded to the extreme with excessive personalities, vibrant flaws, and conflicting desires. One of the obvious (and unfortunate) results of this extraordinary pedigree is that it tends to set us at odds with ourselves. It’s infuriating, too, because we’ve all lived long enough to be able to tell sensible choices from terrible ones, and yet all too often we must follow our personal philosophies rather than choose what is best for ourselves—or those we care about.
I’d like to think I’m better at it than most, but I can’t resist everything. Maybe if I had a chance to distance myself from Finemdi, to spend some time away, I could calm my inner Valkyrie and go the slow and steady route instead of this fiery one, but my constant visits to Impulse Station only serve to reinforce my hatred. It feels like each session brings some new outrage against the divine.
You see, after the personality tests, there were the classes.
Apparently, Finemdi is under the impression that gods need to branch out, intellectually. Dionysus and I end up taking what I can only describe as a senior citizen’s community college sampler. Everything is geared toward practical skills and navigating the modern world. There are classes on using computers and the Internet. Current events, pop culture, and world history. Everyday technology (yes, I know how to use a microwave!) and financial advice. I have to take driving lessons, conversational etiquette courses, and modern style seminars, including makeup and poise. A rather imposing lady named Patricia Méreaux replaces Adam for the female-oriented sessions, and I thankfully don’t have to spend them with Dionysus.
Patricia is very knowledgeable about her areas of expertise, but it’s a distant, almost patronizing sense of intelligence. “When did you start doing your own makeup?” she asks during our first Practical Cosmetics tutorial.
“The fifties,” I reply. “Met a nice Avon lady who taught me. Before her, I had it done at salons, and before that, I had the help of ladies-in-waiting. Oh, and I had to learn how to do my own princess makeup for Disney.”
She sniffs. “The fifties, yes. That would make your techniques somewhat out of date.”
“Well, I’m over a thousand years old,” I say, feeling surprisingly defensive. “What’s fifty years here or there?”
She fixes me with a shocked expression like I’ve just asked what was wrong with drowning kittens, then says, “We’ll start with foundation.”
Don’t get me wrong, some of this stuff is actually useful. Learning how to walk in high heels, for instance, was a skill I’d been meaning to reacquire. The last time I wore them was in the French courts—it would have been social suicide not to, no matter how awkward they felt—and it’s always been something I’ve regretted not taking the time to relearn. So yes, Finemdi is helping shore up certain holes in my knowledge. Regardless, it’s utterly galling to be treated like a child. I didn’t ask for these lessons, and I don’t like the implications they bring. I got along just fine before I knew how to use a colorless lip balm with shimmer to create the illusion of larger lips, thank you very much.
I linger outside my classroom after we’re finished, stuffing my homework (style guides and makeup tasks, yay) into my purse as I wait. After a few minutes, Nathan arrives. He’s here for classes, as well. Some of it is just rules and regulations, but most of his time is apparently focused on making him the perfect mortal representative of the divine.
“How was it?” I ask as he walks up.
He grimaces. “Hope they grade on a curve.”
I frown at that. “That bad? You’re easily the best high priest I’ve had in centuries.”
That gets a smile out of him, but it’s quickly followed by a shrewd look. “Aren’t I the only high priest you’ve had in centuries?”
“Well, I’d love to stay and chat, but I have a Corporate Enrichment class starting in a few,” I say, grinning.
He rolls his eyes. “It’s just … apparently I have no idea how to be a priest. I mean, they started asking about your pantheon and things like sacrifices, divine rites, offerings, and on and on, and I was all, ‘Dur, she likes chocolate.’ You know?”
I shrug and start heading off down the hall. “I’m not big on rules; we were always a fairly lawless bunch. Sorry it’s made your classes awkward, but I just want merry little worshippers—all the other stuff is noise.”
“So long as you’re happy,” he says, falling into step beside me.
“With you? Absolutely, Nathan. I mean, you could always stock more ice cream, but nobody’s perfect.”
“More?” he says, legitimately shocked. “At this rate, I should open a Ben and Jerry’s franchise. Could make it the world’s first combination Church of Freya and ice-cream parlor.”
“Done,” I say, actually delighted by the idea. “When do the doors open?”
“Soon as they finish testing the new Freyaberry flavor,” he says, and I laugh with him.
We walk in silence for a minute, still smiling, and then he gets a thoughtful look. “What did your religion look like, Sara? I mean, your worshippers and everything, back home.”
I sigh. “Oh, Nathan … you’d have better luck with a historian there. It’s been so long and I’ve forgotten so much. Anyway, even if I did remember it all, what would it matter? I made the choice to leave Europe behind a long time ago, and that includes the old ways.”
He looks at me, obviously curious, but I shake my head. I don’t mind telling him about my past, but it’s not something I want to get into here. “Story for another time. Anyway, I wound up in America and decided to stay put. Seemed safer.”
“Okay, that’s fair.” He frowns as a thought strikes him. “Though it doesn’t explain what everyone else is doing here. There’s, like, a zillion gods hanging around this place. Did everyone just happen to make their way stateside?”
I stop walking. I hadn’t really considered it before, but he does bring up a good point. “No, I don’t see why they would…” I say after a moment. “Finemdi must have brought them over. Many of their power bases are still in the Old World, after all. It doesn’t make sense for them to be here, otherwise.”
“Besides Dionysus?”
“Ugh, yes.” I sneer. “He must’ve followed the trail from Euro Disney.”
“I guess that makes sense.” He looks around the hall, and I can see his mind wandering back to our current situation. “Is the entire place like this?” he asks.
“Boring and confusing?”
He pulls out his facility map and shakes it with a bewildered expression. “That, and a little terrifying. You’re not getting a sense of ‘death is near’? The whole place feels like a trap.”
“No, but I’m also a god. Death is very much a stranger to us.”
Nathan stares at me, surprised. “Sara, this place is dangerous, even for you. Like, see those plastic blisters near the ceiling?” He points, and I follow his finger to a little black half dome set into the wall. “There are cameras everywhere, guards watching, and freakin’ pantheons—plural—just itching for a fight. These guys know how to take down gods. We have to be careful as hell.”
“Huh,” I say, stopping to look at the camera. I give it a wave, then keep going. “Never really thought about it before. I mean, you’re right—if I actually stop and turn my brain on, it’s probably the scariest place I’ve ever been, but the way it’s presented … it doesn’t really register as a problem.”
He shakes his head. “Attack gods, industrialized blasphemy, a global conspiracy to kill or capture you … and it feels dull?”
I nod. “Profoundly. It’s not at all what I expected. I know it’s silly, but a part of me still hopes to raid imposing castles on stormy mountain spires. Instead, I get a stupidly large office building.”
“You should write a letter. ‘Dear Finemdi, please have a more evil headquarters for me to hate,’” he says, miming a handwritten note in the air as he walks.
“Yes, thank you! Would it be too much to ask?” I say, laughing again as we head to our next classes.
I’m glad for the humor, because that Corporate Enrichment session is minutes away, and I need all the lightheartedness I can get to keep my inner Valkyrie locked down. These are perhaps the most infuriating of all my required courses, as their entire purpose is to discern how my powers can benefit Finemdi. Apparently, most of the organization’s funding comes from the calculated exploitation of its divine talent pool.
All too soon, I’m listening to Adam tell me more harrowing things about how we can help the company. Dionysus, for instance, is getting tapped for his powers of wine-making and revelry. He will be responsible for producing a series of top-shelf vintages to be sold through a Finemdi-backed corporation at outrageous prices, and all he’ll need to do is visit a storage facility once a year to replenish their stocks. On missions, he will be called in to compromise and even topple key structures with a crushing bloom of grapevines, as well as distract guards and enemy staff with euphoria and the irresistible urge for merriment. Listening to these fledgling plans, I feel a strange mix of curiosity and disgust; part of me would love to know the true nature of such “missions,” but that’s tempered by the certainty that whatever benefits Finemdi can’t be good.
At least I’m off the hook for now. Since I’m currently deemed too weak for fieldwork, my responsibilities won’t be assigned until I have a few cycles of intensive belief therapy under my belt. Adam is, however, quick to reassure me that my likely duties will be corporate espionage and intelligence-gathering, since I can charm anyone into trusting me.
“Of course, this is just what we’ve come up with so far,” he says at the end of his presentation. “We’re always open to suggestions on making Finemdi a smarter, stronger place to work. After all, who better than yourselves to tell us how to use your abilities?”
“Who indeed?” Dionysus says, leaning back in his chair. “Well, no offense to our dear lady Freya, but I, too, am quite capable of twisting mortals around my little finger. I could just as easily perform these acts of espionage as her, without the waiting period.” He glances over at me and smirks.
Yeah, keep smiling, pal.
“Wonderful!” Adam says, making a little note on his smartphone. “That’s exactly the sort of thing we want to hear.” He glances up at me, suddenly seeming a little worried. “Er, that’s not to suggest you won’t be helpful, Ms. Vanadi—we’re well aware of your status in the myths as a spell-caster. Gods with full access to even one school of magic are very rare, and we understand you are skilled in enchantment, divination, and more. You may not be at full strength yet, but please understand how appreciated your talents will be in the months and years to come!”
“Of course,” I say flatly.
“Now, just to get you focused on other possibilities, we have a little slideshow of some of our deities and the interesting ways they’ve been able to help us over the years. This is intended to get you thinking outside the box! Remember, there’s nothing wrong with a little creativity!” Adam says, pocketing his phone and clicking his presentation remote.
A slide with a picture of a motherly woman appears on the screen. Even captured as a still image, she radiates security and affection. “Ah. Hestia,” Dionysus says.
Adam nods. “I thought you might recognize her.” He turns to me. “Hestia is the Grecian goddess of home and hearth, associated with the upkeep of one’s lodgings and ever-burning fires of greeting and warmth. For Finemdi, she keeps the lights on at all of our facilities. Every time we build a new base, Hestia comes by to bless it with unending ‘fire’—which, in these days, equals electricity. Basically, her gift allows us unlimited power consumption at all of our stations, letting us stay completely green and off the grid!”
Free energy from the gods. Hubris, thy name is Finemdi. The slide changes, this time to a burly, fair-skinned man with a bob of blond hair that makes him look like a medieval page. He seems like he should belong in my pantheon, but I don’t recognize him. “This is Ilmarinen, a Finnish blacksmith and artificer,” Adam explains. “Finemdi was able to persuade him to reproduce his most famous work, the Sampo. Though it took the assistance of several deities to provide enough raw materials and the extreme heat needed for the forging, the finished product is a magic mill that produces limitless quantities of grain, salt, and gold.”
He clicks the slide again, and an image of a vast underground vault appears, filled with stacked pallets of gold bars. I feel a pang of desire for them. I think of the jewelry collection I could commission from that place, then shake my head and try to focus. Stupid urges. “Essentially, Finemdi may now act as the world’s largest supplier of these three vital resources, reaping all the financial and political benefits one might associate with such a monopoly,” Adam continues. “Of course, we are careful not to overplay our hand, lest the markets collapse.”
Impressive and appalling, all at once. How many artifacts have they acquired over the years? I think back to Garen’s magic bracelets and those pearl-tipped spears at the prison and realize it’s probably a lot.
Another slide appears, this time showing a dark, terrifying man. His stringy black hair is thrown in disarray, hanging in front of savage, almost bestial features. He seems regal in his darkness, a leonine predator in human skin. I could easily see him opening his mouth to reveal a pair of curving incisors. His bloodshot red eyes stare at the camera through greasy lines of hair as if all the world’s misery makes its home within. He is rage and destruction personified.
“Even naturally unsupportive deities can be useful, like our friend Ahriman here,” Adam says, pointing at the screen. This gets my attention immediately. That was the name Garen mentioned when he threw that little satin ball at me, back at the Inward Care Center. I can still remember the images it burned into my brain. I doubt I’ll ever forget them.
“Ahriman is, for all intents and purposes, impossible to restrain. As the embodiment of evil, trickery, and darkness, he has proved capable of breaking out of any prison,” Adam says, flicking through a series of slides that show frayed manacles, bent bars, shattered slabs of granite, and similarly compromised means of confinement. “The only catch is that he must be whole for this to occur—apparently, his powers of escape function only to release his complete form. As anything less, he’s just another god.”
“So?” I say. “Wouldn’t he just regenerate anything you removed?”
“Constantly, yes,” Adam says. “And so we in turn must constantly fold, spindle, and mutilate him, if you will.” The slide clicks over to show a horrifying room, the contents of which look like a monstrous cross between a printing press and an industrial meat grinder. “Even then, we began having trouble as we realized severed parts of his anatomy over a certain size would attempt to coalesce into a new host for his spirit. This process was nearly instantaneous, and seemed to display a certain low-grade intelligence—we’d see pieces of Ahriman vanish from various repositories, teleporting to appear near larger concentrations of his flesh. When enough got together, the original body would simply die, and the new form would become him.” A video begins, showing what I can only describe as a pile of meat sprouting arms, legs, and a head before exuding a layer of skin, growing out a shock of greasy black hair, and opening reddened eyes to focus on the camera with a glare.
“Disgusting,” I say, fighting back the urge to retch.
“Incredible,” Dionysus says, shifting in his chair. He seems extremely interested in this power. I get the impression he wants it for himself.
“After that, it was a simple matter of incinerating any residue to prevent further reconstruction events, but once we discovered bits of him could teleport, we used some of our more mystically inclined gods to analyze the magic involved. Eventually, we discovered that any detached pieces of Ahriman are attracted to his divine signature—the aura that surrounds him. With the proper rituals and material components, we were able to fake this signature and begin testing its capacity for luring wayward parts of his body to a location of our choosing.”
“Why on earth would you want to do that?” I ask, now past the point of queasiness and outrage and fast approaching a sense of awed horror. Part of me also wants to ask just what they planned on doing with all those pieces of Ahriman they collected before they decided to start incinerating them. That part of me is quickly shouted down by the other parts of me that want to be able to fall asleep tonight.
“Simple!” Adam exclaims, seeming far too pleased with this entire scenario. “Testing showed us that a basic transference spell can be used to piggyback onto the transportation effect, allowing anyone willing to undergo a single quick ritual the ability to teleport alongside the piece of Ahriman to our chosen destination! Even better, since these pieces are semi-intelligent and, as a result of the transference magic, tend to regard their carriers as allied flesh, each fragment will act to prevent what it perceives to be fatal injuries to itself. In short, anyone willing to undergo the procedure and carry a piece of Ahriman with them gains the ability to teleport to a safe zone in the event of life-threatening situations!”
My jaw drops at the concept. They’re using pieces of a god of evil as grotesque “Get Out of Jail Free” cards. Well, that explains how Garen kept escaping.
“I know! It’s amazing!” Adam chirps, mistaking my shock for appreciation. “Now, unfortunately, this isn’t something we recommend for our divine teammates. Ahriman’s aura remains affixed to every part of his body, and while mortals and hybrids are unable to sense it, gods subjected to the field report rather unpleasant imagery and emotions.”
I’ll say. I shudder at the memories.
“I would like to attempt it, all the same,” Dionysus says.
Adam bobs his head. “Certainly, sir! As I said before, it’s not recommended, but we do have a handful of gods who are either able to ignore the effects or seem indifferent to them. I’ll make sure to set you up with a test piece in a few days,” he says, jotting something down on his smartphone.
I don’t know what’s worse: The idea that any god in their right mind would consider using this vile method of transportation, or the fact that Finemdi employs some who are indifferent to the images that come with it.
“Now, like I said, these are just a few examples of what gods have been able to do for us in the past,” Adam says, pocketing his phone again. “The point here is to get you two thinking about all the applications your powers might have for Finemdi. Remember, a great idea might take a bit of sorcery to pull off, but as you’ve seen here, the results can be astounding!”
Dionysus is nodding vigorously, clearly impressed, but I can barely speak. The way Adam’s presented it as some sort of infomercial about all the wonderful things gods can do for Finemdi just adds to the horror of the situation. As I leave the meeting, I am, with what’s approaching an apocalyptic sense of glee at this point, further convinced that this place needs to be destroyed.
Luckily, Nathan’s waiting outside to calm me down, leaning against the wall of the corridor. He makes a face behind Dionysus’s back as the god saunters away, off to do whatever professional twits do, I suppose.
I grin at Nathan and make a rude gesture at Dionysus, too. Adam, emerging from the meeting room with his little laptop, notices and gives me a shocked look, then scurries away in the opposite direction without a word.
“Aw, I think you scared him,” Nathan says, pushing off from the wall.
I laugh and start walking with him. “He really does mean well, I think. Just happens to be a clueless mouthpiece for Evil, Inc.”
“You should see if you can get him a job at Disney. He’s always so chipper.”
“Hah, he’d fit right in.” I smile, imagining Adam giving his little PowerPoint presentation about cartoon characters instead. Honestly, it would be a better match. “So, how was class this time?”
He gives a thumbs-down and blows a raspberry. “It’s like they’re trying to bore me. And I have homework. Homework!”
“You’ll never get into a good school with that attitude.”
“Har, har. They want a research paper on you—minimum ten pages, double-spaced, with references! ‘A high priest should know their god’s background,’ boo.” He lowers his voice. “Any chance you can destroy this place before next Monday?”
“Nathan, of course!” I say with mock seriousness. “I mean, they’re a crime against nature, but now that I know I can get you out of doing homework, too, I’ll have to pick up the pace.”
“So that’s a no?”
I laugh, and we joke a bit more before coming to another intersection. I jerk my head down one path. “Dinner’s about to start. Join me?”
He shakes his head, looking bummed. “Another training session with that French lady. They seriously want me to be able to help you with makeup and style choices.”
“It’s actually kind of thoughtful,” I say, surprised to be in the position of complimenting my sworn enemies.
“Yeah, no pressure like helping your god put on eyeliner.” He waves and splits off in the other direction. “Catch you later!”
I practically skip down the hall, eager to see the evening’s menu options. It’s not long before I’m going over the specials with gleaming eyes, tummy rumbling in anticipation. When I destroy this station, I’m going to have to figure out how to spare the chefs—I’ve never seen a place with better meals. Could they have a god of fine dining back there? Is there one? I’d ask, but that would only increase the delay before I get to enjoy the food. Tonight’s theme for immortals is the Far East, so when I exit the cafeteria line, my tray bears all manner of finely crafted dim sum appetizers, handmade sushi rolls, and a steaming bowl of fresh noodle soup.
I give the place a quick inspection, looking for usual companions and coming up short. It’s not surprising—I got to the cafeteria right as it opened, and the Hawaiian sisters are, like all nature spirits, notoriously bad with schedules. I’m about to grab an empty table when I stop short. Garen’s here, sitting on the far side of the room with his back against the wall, eating alone.
My first instinct is to shoot him a nasty look and sit on the exact opposite end of the dining hall, but then I think about what I’ve learned from Nantosuelta and wonder if it might be a better idea to talk to him. I’m curious about the man, and not just because I feel like it’s always a good idea to know as much as you can about your enemies.
I’m waffling between the two options when another thought hits: He’d hate to eat with me. That tips the balance, and I start heading toward his table with a confident stride. If all else fails, trust in spite to settle a tricky issue. After all, he’s ruined at least one of my dinners.
It’s only fair I return the favor.