False Gods (Sins of the Father 2)

Wow, great job negotiating, Mace. But I figured getting out of the warehouse with my nuts intact was a safer bet than incurring the wrath of a god who loved to lie, run an all-powerful mega corporation, and stab people in the chest, not necessarily in that order.

Technically, Loki was vulnerable here. Happy, Inc. constituted a part of his godly domicile, the place where he could reform and regenerate if killed. Out there in some random warehouse, very likely in the shittiest, crime infestedest part of town, a bullet through the forehead or a blade across the throat could end him. Of course, the challenge was actually hitting him before he squashed me like a bug. A god is a god, and in a world that worshipped fast food and celebrities and oligarchies, Loki was king.

He bared his teeth and slashed his hand through the air, snarling. “I don’t care about those others. The demons, the celestials, they can keep their bloody swords. I need you to find a different set of weapons for me.”

“Sure,” I said, sweat forming on my nape despite the cold. “Yeah, okay. Say the word.”

A slow, satisfied smile crept across his lips, and he raised his chin even higher, staring down at me across the bridge of his nose. “Bring me the legendary armaments of my homeland.”

9

My muscles strained as I helped Florian transfer the last of the jars of wine into Beatrice’s wonder bag. I’d stripped down to my waist by then. If Valero was hot, Artemis’s domicile was even hotter. It was al

l that humidity. I cupped my hands to either side of my mouth, calling out to where she was, once again, lazing in a bikini on a hammock.

“Can we turn the air conditioning up, just this once? It’s hot as balls out here.”

Artemis picked her magazine up off her face, frowned as she angled her head in my direction, then made an extremely rude gesture with one of her fingers.

“That was childish and completely unnecessary,” I shouted. Artemis dropped her magazine back over her face and ignored me. She was still mad about the Snacky Yum-Yums.

“Never mind that,” Florian said. “You can cool off with a shower once we’re done here.” He wrinkled his nose and sniffed. “You could really use one.”

I rolled my eyes. “Got it. Smell like garbage. Message received. I can’t believe you were just hanging out with those frost giants.”

That was how I found Florian, after Loki had so kindly allowed me to leave the very large room where he’d discussed the three things he wanted me to find for him. I went through the one door that the frost giants used as an exit, only to find them sitting around a folding card table and drinking beers. With Florian, of all people.

“Traitor,” I grumbled, scowling.

“Hey,” he said. “It’s not my fault that all these gigantic, scary dudes are weirdly nice to me. Must be my height, makes them feel like I’m one of them. Those angel bodyguards weren’t so bad, and the frost giants, they had really interesting things to say about craft beer.”

“Ugh,” I grunted, slowly lowering the last jar of wine into Beatrice’s bag. “Spare me.”

“Fine, be that way.” Florian pushed his fists into his hips. “Tell me again, in plain English, what Loki wanted from you.”

I sighed. “Well, first off, it’s hardly English. He wanted three legendary weapons.”

Florian clucked his tongue and shook his head. “None of which I’ve ever heard of, I have to admit.”

“Not that I’d expect you to.” I plunked down on the ground, stretching my legs and my arms, reaching for one of those coconut shells Priscilla loved to ply us with. “So, he wants his sword back, first of all. It’s like his signature, you know? Thor has Mjölnir, Odin has Gungnir, and Loki has Laevateinn. Point of pride, that.”

Florian shrugged. “I mean, I get it. The guy runs a corporation, sounds like the type who wants to uphold his reputation.”

“Right. It’s his brand. But I’m not so sure about the other two. Gambanteinn, and Mistleteinn. One’s a staff, and the other is also a sword. He says they belonged to him, back in the old days.”

And I wasn’t going to argue, because at the risk of repeating myself, I very much wanted my twigs and berries to stay where they were, thanks very much. You might wonder about my obsession with keeping my body parts to myself, but the last time we saw Loki, he made some pretty explicit threats about barbecuing our entrails on a fire made out of our own bones, then feeding them to us. Something to that effect. I wasn’t about to give him a reason to whip out the nephilim gelding knife.

“They all end in that ‘teinn’ sound,” Florian offered helpfully.

“Very observant. And frankly, that’s all we need to know about these weapons. If it means I can get him out of my hair, then I’m good. I’ll find him a nuclear bomb if he wants.”

Florian grimaced. “Please don’t.”

There was also talk of a reward, by the way, which only boded well for us. More money, contrary to that one popular song, does not necessarily mean more problems, at least in my humble opinion. I had bills to pay, Snacky Yum-Yums to buy, and what my hut really needed was one of those portable air conditioners. A bead of sweat trickled from my forehead down to the tip of my nose, like a wet, smelly little taunt from the universe.

I could imagine how Raziel would lecture me, see him wagging his manicured finger in my face. Craving material wealth was bad, he’d say, which was really rich, pardon the pun, for a celestial being who was obsessed with wearing designer clothes. Hey, it wasn’t like I was going to turn into the Prince of Greed or anything. I had needs, and wants, and Maslow’s pyramid will not be denied.

Am I a little obsessed with money? Nah. Just trying to be resourceful. Comes with the territory of losing your parents young and having to grow up too fast. But also, yes, I do love money.