Damaged Gods

And if I had any doubts that this place is made up of magic, they’re all gone now.

“OK.” I don’t know why I’m whispering. “I’m suddenly nervous. And how do we know which door goes where?”

“We don’t,” Pell says. “That’s kind of the fun of it.”

“But—we could end up somewhere terrible. Like in the middle of a battlefield.”

He sighs. It’s sort of a wistful sigh. “One could hope.”

“You want to be in a war?”

“Not any of the modern ones, no. But I would not mind going back to my real life. I would not mind getting another chance to see it from another perspective.”

“You were a… what? Like a gladiator?”

“No, not really. I was someone’s property. Someone important. But I was a child back then so I did childish things.”

“Like what?”

“Maybe you’ll see?” Perhaps sensing I’m about to chicken out of this little adventure, he pulls me down the hallway. “Relax. It’s not real, remember.”

And then, before I can respond with any more objections, we’re standing in front of a set of double doors that look exactly like the ones I came through that first day.

I panic. And I’m about to pull my hand away and just go back downstairs to the world I somewhat understand when he pushes the doors open and we find ourselves staring into the banquet room of a medieval castle. There are hundreds of people here all dressed up like actors on the set of Game of Thrones. And when I look down, I’m dressed that way too.

Gone is my light-blue sweater dress and knee-high boots. Now I’m wearing a dusty-pink velvet gown with an empire waist and a corset that is trying its best to suffocate me.

And when I look over at Pell, I gasp aloud. “Your legs!” Then I look up at his head. “No horns! And your hair!” He’s not a monster anymore. He’s a man. Just a man. But wow. He’s way more than just any ordinary man. He’s like a very fucking sexy Viking warrior. And his clothes. The pants are black leather, worn and well used like his black boots. And his upper body is covered in a leather coat that fits tight to the waist, then opens up in a V for ease of movement.

He grins. “Pants. I knew you’d like that part.”

I feel a little guilty about this. So I tsk my tongue. “I’m over it now, Pell.”

“When in Rome…” He shrugs. “Anyway, I don’t know where we are, but this is what they wear here.”

And he’s right. Everyone is dressed like us. Or we are dressed like them. Women are all floating around the middle of the room in their elaborate gowns and all the men look like they are about to fight in a fancy war.

Pell leans down and whispers, “I think it’s a wedding.” He’s still very tall, much taller than me. But he’s not nearly as towering as he is in real life.

I study the room. The middle is filled with dancers, the edges with happy people, drinking and eating. Servers flit in and out of the crowd carrying trays. And at the top of the room is a long table of men and women wearing clothing that clearly indicates they are the hosts here. The young couple in the middle must be the bride and groom. He looks drunk, she is blushing profusely, but also looks like she’s having some wedding-night jitters.

Pell squeezes my hand. “Ready?”

“Ready for what?”

“To join them, of course.”

“Uh… no,” I say. He laughs at me. “I mean, we don’t even know these people. Won’t they get mad?”

“They don’t see us. We have to participate to make them see us.”

“And what do I say when they ask if I’m with the groom or the bride?”

“They won’t. Trust me. I’ve crashed thousands of parties like this. Besides, I’ve got man legs, Pie. Tell me that doesn’t delight you.”

I look him up and down. His blond beard is longer than the scruff he wears in real life. But it’s neatly trimmed. And his hair is long and thick. He really does look like a fucking Viking.

He grins down at me, waiting to see what I will say next.

“I am… delighted,” I say. He huffs at my word choice. “But I don’t know how to dance like that.” I point to the people in the center of the room. It’s a very coordinated dance with lots of turning, and changing partners, and all kinds of moves I do not have.

“Should I teach you?”

“You know that dance?” I snort.

He leans down again, so far down, his mouth is right up next to my ear. His whisper is loud and the hum, in combination with the light breath of air, makes my stomach go all soft and fluttery. “What part of ‘I’m two thousand years old’ aren’t you getting?”