“What? What is it?” Nathan asks. The terror engulfing my body has obviously registered on my face in some way.
Garen moves a little farther into the restaurant, and his eyes slide down to some device in his hands. It looks like an oversize version of Nathan’s cell phone. Is that what he’s using to track me? But how—
I gasp and glance back at Nathan. The phone. Of course. He hasn’t gotten rid of it yet—used it to find this restaurant, even. I want to be annoyed at him for not being careful enough, but first I need to figure out what to do about my gray-suited stalker. I look up again, and my jaw drops in dismay. I’m too taken aback to be certain, but I think I might’ve even released a small squeak of alarm.
Garen’s looking right at me, that oily grin of his creeping across his face as he moves forward. The waiter stops by my table, and even half a restaurant away, I can see Garen glancing at our order, appraising it, and then looking back at me with a smug expression, as if to say, The filet? Nice choice. Then, while the waiter moves to set Nathan’s plate down in front of him, I watch as Garen smoothly extracts a long sliver of metal from his pocket.
The needle. He’s about to put the restaurant to sleep. I can’t let that happen.
I lunge up, bolting out of my seat. My stomach screams in outrage as I wrench the serving platter from the waiter’s upraised hand, hurling my dinner away. With one smooth motion, I whip the metal disk around and send it tearing through the air on a tight arc.
Garen’s expression changes in an instant to one of surprise as the platter crashes into him, knocking him back and sending the needle clattering to the floor. I don’t waste a second, snatching my steak knife from the table and dashing across the restaurant. Dumbfounded waiters and shocked patrons blur past me, screaming and shouting as I pick up speed.
I leap into the air at Garen, knife upraised, closing the last fifteen feet between us in one giant bound. I’m literally an eyeblink from plunging my blade into the man’s heart when he brings up his wrists, locking them together in an X. I catch a moment’s glimpse of metal bands covered in delicate silver filigrees on his forearms before there’s a staggering flare of light. A brilliant golden explosion catches me in midair and sends me flying away like a piece of paper in a gale. There’s a brief flash of the entire restaurant as I rocket backward before colliding with the far wall with enough force to splinter it. I topple to the floor, dazed and winded, hair spreading onto the tiles around me like a golden net. The steakhouse is spinning; I can barely roll myself onto my back.
Distantly, I’m aware of more screams and stamping feet as the restaurant’s patrons panic and run. Glass litters the floor from shattered windows and drinks, crunching under panicked footsteps. There’s a ringing in my ears, and I can’t seem to get my bearings. Then Garen looms over me, looking down with that awful smile of his. “Fool me once, shame on you,” he says, kneeling and flicking me in the head, right between my eyes.
I moan and try to bring up an arm to bat him away, but succeed only in flopping around like an infant. Garen chuckles and extracts a syringe from his jacket, an antique thing of brass scrollwork and handblown glass. He holds it up to the light, and I see it’s filled with some sort of pale milky fluid. He taps it, then looks back at me. “Fool me twice, shame on—”
There’s a resounding clang that cuts him off midsentence, his head shuddering as if he’s just experienced a very brief and personal earthquake. I have the perfect view as his eyes cross and he tumbles to the floor beside me, unconscious. Nathan’s standing there, panting, a dented serving tray clutched in his hands.
I smile, still dazed, and manage to cough out, “Get me a knife.”
By the time Nathan returns with another steak knife, I’ve managed to pull myself up to a kneeling position. He places the weapon in my hand, and I feel my fingers wrap themselves tightly around its handle. No more messing around with chairs and bludgeoning. I am going to stab this evil freak right between the eyes, split his skull open, and make confetti out of his—
His limbs twitch and lurch inward, spiraling around his torso for the briefest moment before his body folds in on itself and disappears. My knife crashes into the tile right where his head used to be. Garen’s gone again, his form compacting into a pinprick before winking out. I toss the blade away from myself in a fury, unleashing a litany of Nordic curses as I do.
“Damn, was that him?” Nathan asks.
The question brings me out of my rage, and I bite off the rest of the insults as I turn to look at my savior. “Yeah,” I grate, still angry. I take a breath and compose myself. “Yeah, that’s Garen—and you just saved me from him. Nathan, I could kiss you.” Part of me thrashes to the surface, obviously energized by the recent battle, saying Oh yes please do you realize how patiently I’ve waited, and bathes the room in desire before I can cram it back down.
He grins, clearly pleased with himself, and, in a stroke of brilliance I suspect isn’t entirely his own, says, “What’s stopping you?”
I laugh at that and find my footing, levering myself back to a standing position. The warrior goddess in me screams that we should be running, that this isn’t the time for romance. The urges of beauty, vanity, and love call to me as well, though, telling me just how long it’s been, just how pathetic my available dating pool has been lately. They win out in the end.
“Not a damn thing,” I reply, throwing my arms around him and covering his lips with mine. I clutch him tightly, pressing our bodies together for several warm, wonderful seconds before I pull away. Nathan has a faraway, almost mournful look on his face, as if he’s just been rudely awakened from a rather pleasant dream.
I feel a sense of delight bubbling within me and realize I’ve just had my first real kiss in almost thirty years. And I call myself a god of love? I’m about to kiss him again and start making up for lost time when I finally manage to get a hold of myself. We need to get out of here. Garen recovered far too quickly from our last encounter, and I handed him a much worse beating that time. The sooner we make our way onto the open road and toss that stupid phone of Nathan’s, the better. I glance at him and see the dreamy look has faded along with my unanticipated wave of desire, bringing him back to the reality of the shattered restaurant. He looks confused, anxious, and—surprisingly—embarrassed. I think he wouldn’t normally have kissed me out of the blue like that, and now he’s wondering if he’s made things awkward. Well, no time to worry about that now.
I grab Nathan by the hand, and I’m about to lead him outside to join the panicked crowd of fleeing diners and staff when I notice a glimmer at my feet. The syringe. I waver between leaving it, destroying it, and taking it, before finally deciding on the latter. If Garen thinks it can put down a god, it might be useful. I scoop it up with my free hand, drop it into my bag, and hightail it out of the building, joining the crowd of shocked onlookers and staff.
From the chatter around us, most of them seem worried about bombs, gas leaks, and so on, but a few begin darting glances my way, no doubt recognizing the girl who got launched over their heads in the initial blast. I start edging Nathan through the swarm, taking care not to look too suspicious, but when I spot the flash of police lights in the distance, I drop that approach, grab his hand, and make a dash for our car.
“How did he find us?” Nathan asks as we peel out of the restaurant’s parking lot and onto a back road before the cops can cordon the place off.
The question brings my annoyance back in full force. “Your stupid phone is how. I told you to get rid of that thing.”
He pulls it out of his pocket, cradling the glossy rectangle of metal and glass in one hand as he keeps the other on the steering wheel. Seeing him so obsessed with the trinket simply irritates me even more. “It’s just a phone. Destroy it now, or I will.”
Nathan sighs. “But I have all my contacts on here. Let’s hit a store first so I can at least transfer them to a new one.”
“No!” I shout, thumping the dashboard. “Do you realize how quickly he found us before? And now you want to go and make a record of the transfer? Get. Rid. Of. It.”
He hesitates again, so I grab it out of his hands. “Hey!” he barks.
But it’s too late. I start lowering the window, ready to chuck the thing onto the pavement.
“Okay, okay! Stop!” he says, slowing down the car. “We need to get it wiped, whatever we do. They might be able to recover stuff from it that’ll lead them to us.”
That halts me. I raise the window with a reluctant tap of my finger. “Fine. How do we do that?”
He shrugs. “Take it to a store?”
I narrow my eyes at him. “We can’t just mangle it beyond repair?” This is, incidentally, the traditional method of solving problems in my pantheon.
Nathan stops the car and looks at the phone in my hands, then at me. “All right, yeah. That ought to do it, too.”
I glance out the window. Strip malls and occasional houses. “Great. Find me an empty lot,” I say, still holding on to the phone.
In a few minutes, we drive up to a sandy parcel of land with a sign proclaiming it to be the planned site of a sprawling mixed-use commercial and residential complex. Considering the weathered look of the place, I get the impression that some economic issues have put a prolonged hold on the construction. I get out of the car and stalk into the undeveloped land, looking around.
“Here we go,” I say, spotting what I’ve come for and moving toward it.
“What are you doing?” Nathan calls out, following me.
“Putting an end to this device,” I reply, showing him the large rock I’ve found. It’s not the cinder block I was hoping for, but it’ll do.
“Well, just make it quick,” Nathan says. “Don’t want the poor thing to suffer, after all.”
I roll my eyes at that, then turn and place the phone on the ground. I raise the hunk of rock over my head and bring it down onto the gadget with crushing force. The screen cracks. It takes a few tries, but eventually I manage to bash the thing into oblivion, pieces of circuitry and glass flying everywhere. All the while, I imagine what I’m really hitting is Garen’s face. It’s surprisingly cathartic. A field of splintered phone fragments surrounds me when I’m done. I toss the rock away and stand back up.
“Better?” Nathan asks beside me.
“Much,” I say. “Now, let’s get something to eat. Killing phones is hungry work.”
We head back to the car. “Can we risk staying in this city?” I ask as we get in, concerned that Garen’s finding us at a restaurant instead of, say, an international airport might lead him to assume we’re not fleeing for safety in foreign lands.
Nathan shrugs. “I don’t think he’s seen anything so far that would tip him off about our plans. Plus it doesn’t seem like the government’s on his side or anything—it’s not like he can put your picture in front of cops and federal agents. The first time he found you, it was probably because of a whole bunch of research. Just now it was a cell phone. A poor, innocent cell phone.”
I stare at him.
“Okay, not ready to joke about that just yet,” he murmurs. “Point is, Garen strikes me as a reactive sort—he probably has a lot of gods to deal with and limited resources. He’ll follow up on a lead when he comes across it, but canvassing an entire city doesn’t seem his speed.”
That makes sense. If he really had a bottomless budget and government connections, after all, he’d have brought a SWAT team to the restaurant, not a pair of magic bracers. “All right,” I say, nodding. “Orlando it is.”
We end up hitting a late-night taco place with a giant mustache for a sign in the heart of the downtown area. If there’s the slightest chance Garen is canvassing upscale steakhouses, this should be as far as we can get from one. Nathan gets a giant quesadilla, I settle for an assortment of fish tacos, and we split an order of nachos. It’s not my poor lost filet, but it’s still quite delicious. Our conversation is casual, focusing on the things we purchased and our plans for the next day. Subjects like his father, Garen, and even our kiss are set aside. On that note, I’m pretty certain I prompted that moment; my powers can get away from me when I’m keyed up. At least he’s not taking it badly—things don’t feel awkward. I wonder if I should apologize, or at least try to explain what happened, but it seems like we’re already past it and I don’t want to be the one to bring it up.
We spend the evening in another free hotel room and then head out bright and early the next day on our errands. Nathan’s credit cards, old driver’s license, and phone have been destroyed. With his Camry abandoned in a parking lot, everything tying him to his old life is gone. Our first stop is the DMV, where we find out we’ll need to wait forty-five days for a new license plate for the car—and it needs to be mailed to our home. Our current IDs only have a fake address on them, but we manage to persuade them to mail the plate to a PO box we set up at the downtown post office the day before.
That just leaves the job. Nathan and I pull up outside the Walt Disney World Casting Center in the early afternoon. There had been some discussion on which park to go with, but Nathan assures me my ideal career is here, not at Universal. I take his word for it. That, and I have encyclopedic knowledge of Disney’s entire archive—the Inward Care Center didn’t allow R-rated movies, so family-friendly films were on almost every day. I saw a lot of Disney, let me tell you, and I liked pretty much all of it, except maybe the one about Hercules. Talk about whitewashing the past. None of the Greek gods were that nice, not even Hades.
The obstacles arise as soon as we walk through the doors. It’s quickly made clear that becoming a face character is normally a difficult task. They hold mass auditions for roles like that; I need references, relevant experience, blah, blah. I barrel through it with overflowing amounts of love and adoration. It seems like I have to charm a lot of people, too. There’s a pretty extensive bureaucracy at work here, and as soon as I have one level completely convinced I’m the most deliriously amazing hire they could ever hope for, I need to move up to their manager so I can get something on such short notice.
The process takes the whole day, and along the way, we learn that Nathan was wrong about the employee housing—it’s only available to college interns. My new friends at the casting center are only too happy to inform us that there are apartment rentals that cater directly to Disney’s workforce, however, so Nathan takes the CR-V and leaves partway through to get us a place.
By the time he returns a few hours later, I have just about everything squared away except our mailing address, which he provides. He informs me he’s put down a security deposit and paid a month in advance at one of the nicer apartment complexes in the area, right near a central bus line to the parks. I start training in a few days as a face character—a princess, of course—and from everything they’ve said so far, I’m cheating. A lot. There’s no way a brand-new addition like myself would be allowed anywhere near such a prestigious role, as they’re usually reserved for professionals and longtime cast members. Everyone wants to be one, and vacancies are incredibly rare.
Pulling this off has taken a lot out of me. I might be feeling better since my “escape” from Inward, but I’m still far too weak, especially considering how much I’ve been relying on these meager powers. Abusing my birthright is just as effective here as it was elsewhere around town, and it’s really becoming clear to me just how hard it would be to get anywhere in this society without it. I need to get stronger, and fast. If you think about it, my only marketable skill is getting people to fall madly in love with me. Without it, I have a hunch that the battle between my hunger for belief and need for safety would end up getting me in a lot of trouble.
Well, more than it already has, I guess.
In the end, the final stumbling block is, like most of life’s challenges, clothing-related. Princess dresses only go up so many sizes, and I’m hovering right around the cut-off point. I’m also pushing five seven, which is the upper height requirement. My new friends here assure me it’ll be no trouble at all, but I have a feeling their wardrobe department is going to hate me soon enough. After signing a huge stack of documents and confirming my training session times, I’m finally done. Nathan and I walk out, carting a pile of documentation and pamphlets to the car.
“So what do you think?” he asks as we drive to the new apartment.
“Seems like they’re dead set on preserving the ‘magic’—if I didn’t look like a princess already, well…”
“All the love bullets in the world wouldn’t keep the heat off you?”
“That’s about the size of it, yeah,” I say before silently mouthing his turn of phrase to myself. Love bullets? “I’d probably have had to spend a good chunk of each day ‘convincing’ people that I should be allowed to work there. Yech.”
“Good thing that won’t be a problem. And you’re much prettier than any princess I’ve ever seen.”
“Flattery will get you everywhere,” I say, grinning.
“Oh, I’m counting on it,” he replies.
You know, I think he has a bit more self-confidence than I gave him credit for. Of course, I might just be rubbing off on him. I tend to have a variety of interesting effects on people if they’re around me long enough. Think of it as a bit of “divine overflow”—aspects of my personality tend to bleed into my surroundings, particularly when I’m using my abilities.
“That’s the spirit,” I say. “I might make you my high priest.” That would mean he’d be my chief worshipper and expand my power by his belief alone.
Nathan laughs, and I can’t help but join him. I’m in a good mood. This new job feels like it’ll be a breath of fresh air, and the danger posed by Garen and his organization seems a thing of the past. “So how’s the pay for your priests?” he asks.
“Terrible, but the benefits? Spectacular.”
“Any chance of a little immortality in that package?”
Kid, give me the worshippers I deserve, and you’d be amazed at what I can do. “There might be a taste,” I say in an even tone. I’m still wary of getting his hopes up, so I decide to change the subject. “In the meantime, though, what are you going to do? I don’t think I can rush you through casting as easily, especially with my powers as weak as they are.”
“I thought about that. We’re not really short on cash right now, and it seems like you can just get us more whenever you feel like as long as we’re careful. With that and the small paycheck you’ll be drawing, I figure I can focus on Web design.”
“Fine by me,” I say. “Just remember, gods of love and beauty have expensive tastes.”
“I seem to recall they’re also very good at getting free stuff.”
“True enough,” I say, hiding my discontent. I won’t say anything yet, but eventually, I’d prefer not to have to use my gifts to weasel complimentary goods and services out of people. It’s not because it feels immoral, either—it’s more that the deific side of me rebels against the notion I am somehow undeserving of such gifts in the first place. The idea that I have to use my powers to trick mortals into giving me what I desire is an insulting one. Centuries of abandonment have muffled those urges, but every now and then, the ancient, battle-scarred goddess within me stirs. I’m smart enough to repress those feelings, to keep them from meddling with the reality of my situation and making things worse, but each time I’m forced to act as if I’m not the god I am, it rankles.
So for now, I keep it to myself and do what I must to persuade those around me to give what I want … all while knowing it should be mine by rights.
The apartment Nathan has chosen is prefurnished, and it’s not half bad. Certainly better than Inward. “We’ll need to have the cable and Internet hooked up,” Nathan says as we get situated. “And get ourselves a phone plan together. But it’s pretty nice, isn’t it?”
“It is,” I admit. “Let’s try to keep it that way, too. Can you arrange some sort of local maid service to come by every week or so?”
He gives me a questioning look. “I saw your last home,” I explain. “We’re not living like that. I might be adrift in the modern world, but I’m still a goddess. We don’t do chores.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, giving the only right answer. Smart boy.
* * *
We settle into a comfortable routine over the following days, putting things in order so we can begin our new lives. My thoughts of Garen grow distant as it seems our precautions have finally given us a measure of peace. Nathan gets himself a replacement phone and a new computer, dumping all his important files onto it from an external hard drive he brought with him. I end up with a phone, too, but it takes hours before Nathan’s able to teach me the ins and outs of the little gadget. It helps when he does some research on Norse mythology, then comes back and has me think of it as a digital Mímir. Odin once enchanted the head of a decapitated seer of the same name to whisper wisdom and counsel to him. It all clicks into place after that.
And suddenly my phone, my “Mim,” becomes a link to the sprawling knowledge of the Internet. I’ve heard about this vast information network from the television at Inward, but nothing has really prepared me for the sheer scale of the thing. It’s all available here, anything and everything. Whatever I desire is instantly at my fingertips, a schizophrenic world of facts and entertainment, education and debauchery. I’m addicted in a heartbeat, to the point where I have Nathan get me a computer of my own so I can browse without the constraints of my Mim’s tiny screen and keyboard.
The days left until my first training session pass in an eyeblink. Through the Internet, I can see the latest fashions, learn what the world thinks of my kin and me (not much, unfortunately, beyond comic books and fantasies), and stare openmouthed at the incredible diversity—and perversity—of its pornographic archives. No wonder we’ve been left to rot in the past. The Internet is the new god of humanity, and why not? It can provide anything for anyone. Why pray to me in the name of beauty and fertility when millions of websites with enticing ads can promise all you’d ever want and more?
They seek you out, after all, while I sit here and wait for you to come to me.
It’s troubling, what I’m beginning to understand here. I see now why we’ve faded. Our pride, our power, our distant strength—they’ve all been twisted over the years into crippling flaws. Humanity created us to answer its prayers, to protect bodies and souls alike. Now you’ve grown up, put us away like old toys, and built our successor. Worse, it’s our better by far, because it’s something you can see and touch and identify with. This realization of mine is a sobering one, but I’m no fool—I can smell the opportunity here, the chance to claw my way back on top. I can offer real magic—true power amid a downpour of deception. With my gifts and the global audience the Internet could give me, I might just be able to turn the world on its head.
It’s food for thought, anyway. For now, I have a job to get to.
The training materials and classes are downright adorable. I was more concerned with just being a princess in general, so I left it to my friends at the casting center to pick which one I’d be. They chose Cinderella on account of my blond hair, blue eyes, and fair skin, and an opening at the Magic Kingdom, and while I suppose I could be a little annoyed they didn’t give me Elsa (I mean, a Scandinavian princess? Come on!), at this point I’m just happy to have a role.
With my character decided, all my time goes into studying how to act like a proper handmaid-turned-princess for boys and girls of all ages. I learn how to write her signature, interact with kids, stay on message, deal with unruly guests, and, in general, keep the magic alive. It’s absolutely spellbinding, to be honest. A thousand years ago, you people were praying to me for victory in battle, strong boys, and fertile wives. Now you’ve created these elaborate fantasy worlds and built an empire around them. I’m hooked and can’t help wanting to learn more. The whole process takes several days, and at the end of the Traditions class, I get my cast ID, which gives me free access to the parks. Spectacular.
Finally, there’s the on-site costume fitting. I enter the park through one of its hidden employee entrances after Nathan drops me off. The entire place was built over a network of tunnels, loading docks, warehouses, and utility rooms, turning what was once the ground level into a subterranean city. It’s all in the service of immersion, a clever bit of engineering, and foresight to hide the machinations of the park from its guests. I’m given a brief spiel about the ins and outs of the corridors, then sent to get fitted. I soon find I was right about the costume—I narrowly manage to fit into Cinderella’s biggest gown, and even then it’s uncomfortably tight on me. Luckily, I get it into the heads of the staff that they should take pity on me and have some special alterations made, setting aside a dress that’ll be all mine.
There’s a bit more training, more costume and makeup tests, and even a few short character quizzes. Finally, the day comes when Nathan drops me off at the park and I’m actually going to go out there and perform in public. My heart is pounding. Adrenaline sings in my veins, and it feels like I’m about to go into battle, not sign autographs and smile. I’m sent to the dressing room to get ready. As soon as I arrive, I’m ushered in front of a long mirror, where dozens of princesses and face characters are transforming themselves from cast members into living legends. I’m soon stuffed into my outfit, long white gloves are pulled past my elbows, my hair gets bundled up underneath a wig and light blue headband, makeup’s applied, and I’m ready to go.
As I make my way out of the dressing room, I’m paired with a character host who’ll assist me with visitors and make sure I can focus on my job. I’m giddy with excitement, all set to begin my first day in earnest. We’re both sent topside, emerging in the bright Florida sunlight. A beautiful castle that’s apparently mine looms in the distance. Brilliant flowers bloom in carefully manicured beds, children and families dash over freshly cleaned paths, and bright colors and enticing architecture call to my eyes from every direction. I follow my guide in a daze, ready to begin winning hearts and spreading magic. I have a brilliant smile plastered on my face—one I intend to hold all day. From listening to some of the chatter back in the dressing room, the constant grinning begins to sting after a while, though I doubt it’ll ever be an issue for me. Who knew I’d be using my superhuman stamina and pain threshold to play the perfect Disney princess? Considering how hot it is outside, it’s even better that I don’t sweat.
It’s a short distance to the character-meeting site in the courtyard of my castle, but as I walk, I notice something odd about the park. There’s a crackle of energy in the air, and an odd tickle begins to run up my spine. My smile almost slips as I realize with a shock what I’m sensing: it’s the unmistakable scent of divinity.
There’s a god here, somewhere.
He’s powerful, too. I’m positive it’s a “he”—there’s a vibrant sense of masculinity to the aura, a certain distinctive charge that pulses on the underside of reality. I’m trespassing in someone’s domain. Would he even consider a gnat like me a threat? I need to find this god and let him know who I am, and soon. Maybe he can tell me more about Garen, or at the very least, tell me how he got so damn powerful in the dry, faithless desert our world has become.
I give my head a little shake, trying to focus on the task at hand. There’ll be time later; I can return as soon as my workday has ended and snoop around. I carefully arrange my character and her background in my head as I settle in. In no time at all, my host begins shepherding eager families into a line to meet me.
“Cinderella!” a young girl in braids shouts as she gets close. She can’t be older than six. She’s clutching an autograph book to her chest and giving me this gleeful, breathless look.
“Well, hello there!” I say happily. I notice her parents just beyond, standing at the front of the line. Their faces carry an odd blend of hope and worry—this is obviously something their daughter has been looking forward to, and I understand they dearly want it to go well.
The girl beams at me, then gets a hesitant look. She’s not sure what she should do next. I kneel in front of her and hold out my arms. Excited, she rushes forward and wraps me up in a hug. I feel a rush of confidence stir inside her mind, mixed with—
“I love you,” she whispers, holding me tight. And she does. This girl has formed a bond with this character as strong as any parent or caregiver could hope for, and here I am, in the flesh, justifying its existence for her. But that’s nothing compared to what happens next, because just like that, a tiny flare of energy hums to life in my body, and I realize this girl actually believes in me.
For the second time in minutes, the integrity of my smile is threatened by a staggering realization. The only difference is that, this time, it’s coming from within. How is this possible? She’s never heard the name Sara, let alone Freya. What prayers for a Norse goddess could she have unleashed by thinking about Cinderella, of all things?
“I love you, too,” I reply softly. Then I draw back and look at her. I search for clues, some sign behind her eyes that could point to how she knows who I truly am, and find nothing. “Are you having a good day?” I ask, at a loss.
“Mm-hm!” she hums through a smile, closemouthed. Then she seems to remember the autograph book in her hand and thrusts it out at me. I unclip the retractable Sharpie from the book, open it to the first blank page, and sign my character’s name with a flourish.
I raise myself back to my full height and hand the pen and pad to my assistant, who takes it to the girl’s mother at the front of the line. Her father pulls out a large digital camera, and I pose for pictures with the little girl, who happily clutches my side the entire time. The belief she has for me is real—I can feel it. But how? She just thinks I’m a Disney princess. That’s who she loves, not some ancient goddess from the howling North.
Then it hits me.
The girl loves me. She believes in me. I’ve never thought about it like this before, never considered that someone’s direct belief in me, no matter the guise, could count. It seems like it shouldn’t work. She clearly thinks she’s hugging Cinderella, after all. But whatever mystical scales balance the fortunes of the gods, they don’t see a difference. Her belief is strong, and it’s currently being channeled straight at me, a creature born to catch it. The spark is small, of course; she obviously hasn’t dedicated herself to a lifetime of worship. What’s important, though—incredibly, insanely important—is that there’s something there.
The next child is a little older, maybe eleven, and while she’s obviously happy to see me, the belief is missing. The same is true for the following three kids, but the fourth, a little boy, has that same glimmering spark of adoration the first girl did. My mind whirls with the possibilities. Sure, they’re not all would-be followers, and even when they are, it’s just a distant flicker of belief. But it all adds up, and it’s not like I’m in a hurry. Every day I’m here, I’m going to get just a little bit stronger. I can feel it.
I’m going to be a god again.