Freya Read online

  Nathan frowns. “C’mon, you look great.”

  Don’t get me wrong, I still appreciate his words, but I want to feel great. How I think I look is just as important, and right now, outside the Inward Care Center, I’m starting to realize how unflattering this outfit really is.

  I think he can tell I’m unconvinced, because the next thing he says is “Well, I can try to get you something on the way to wherever you’re going. I wish I’d kept some of my ex’s clothes, but I, um…”

  He stops, and I cock my head, curious.

  “Kinda burned them,” he mumbles, embarrassed.

  I laugh at that, and he seems grateful my reaction is one of amusement instead of criticism. I don’t think he quite grasps the whole “god of love” thing just yet. I’ve seen every relationship, every kind of heartbreak and affection possible. Even if it didn’t last, I’m just glad he had that kind of connection, that experience. It means there was love and passion there once, and I choose to focus on that. It’s my nature.

  “Anyway, you still need to figure out where to go,” he says, clearly trying to steer the conversation elsewhere. And he’s right—we’re no closer to a plan of action.

  “Okay, so clothes can wait,” I say. “But money shouldn’t be a problem. I might not have glittering riches anymore, but you still have banks, right?”

  “Right…” Nathan says slowly.

  “Then I’ll just ask for some over-the-counter handouts. I can be very persuasive.” I wink at him. “So that will give me the means to get wherever the hell it is I’m going.”

  “Sure is nice to be a god,” he murmurs, thinking. “Money’s no object, then? We could always get you a hotel room somewhere far away.”

  I shake my head at that. “Too public. Hotels have a pretty high turnover on guests, and I’d stick out soon enough. I need someplace more secluded.”

  “Some kind of cabin-by-the-lake deal?”

  This is the part where he finds out gods are rather particular. Oh well. Had to happen sooner or later. “No, no, I need to be somewhere I can interact with people, maybe even gain a new worshipper or two.”

  “Wait, so it can’t have too many people because you’re worried you’ll get discovered, but it can’t be empty, either.” He pauses. “Is your true name Goldilocks?”

  I like this guy. “Got the hair for it, don’t I?” I say, giving my blond tresses a fluff. “Sorry, but it’s just how I’m wired. If I didn’t care, I could bury myself underground and wait a few years for the heat to die down.”

  “You don’t need to eat?”

  “Or breathe, or any of that stuff. Immortality and all that. I enjoy doing both, though, so I’d really prefer not to go with the whole ‘shallow grave’ approach. It’s kind of like how you don’t need to have a job, listen to music, or fall in love, but you’d rather not go without.”

  “Gotcha,” Nathan says, thinking. “Man, a mental hospital really was a good idea.”

  “Thanks. They’ll probably be watching them now, though,” I say, feeling a little dejected. I’d been rather proud of the scheme, back when I committed myself. Now that path is closed to me. The next time I see Garen, a chair’s not going to be nearly enough to satisfy my bloodlust. I eat another piece of chocolate and contemplate murder.

  “Old folks’ home?”

  “Boring.”

  “Island resort?”

  “Not bad, but dangerous if they find me—I’d have nowhere to run.”

  He snaps his fingers. “Hey, are you against hotels because they get a lot of visitors, or because you’d get noticed more easily in a place like that?”

  “Not following.”

  “What I mean is, are you okay with getting lost in a crowd?”

  “Oh. Well, yeah, of course I am. Gods are pretty social by nature. We like being around you little dreamers.”

  “So a lot of people is a good thing, so long as you don’t get noticed?”

  Where’s he going with this? “That’s what I’m saying, yeah.”

  “Then how about a theme park?”

  A what? Geez, when was the last time I went to one of those? Maybe that World’s Fair back in Chicago? How long ago was that? “You mean the places with roller coasters and rides and such?”

  “Exactly,” Nathan says. I give him a puzzled stare, not feeling up to speed just yet. “This is Orlando,” he explains. “It’s practically the tourist capital of the world. Get a job working at one of the parks, and they’ll never find you.”

  I like the “never being found” part, but I still feel like I’m missing the full picture. “Okay, but where would I live? They close eventually, right?”

  “Employee housing.”

  “Worshippers?”

  “Several million starstruck, impressionable children a year.” He holds up his hand and begins ticking items off on his fingers. “Safety in numbers, anonymity like nowhere else, and believers aplenty. Beat that.”

  I get it now, and he’s right. I love this idea. The only way Garen could have found me the last time was through my files; a patient who’s been claiming she’s a god would probably raise a few red flags. I can start all over in one of these parks—a new life in the most unlikely place.

  “Nathan, it’s perfect,” I say. “Let’s do it.”

  He shares in my joy for a moment, then something clicks behind his eyes. Slowly but surely, his smile fades. “Wait. ‘Let’s’ … as in let us?” he says in a wary voice.

  I fight to hide a grimace as I realize just how much—intentional or not—I’ve asked of him with that little word. “Oh. Yes…?” I say, feeling awkward.

  “I mean, I want to help, but, um, all of it? Together?” he asks, clearly uncomfortable with the drastic pileup of change my presence will bring. “This isn’t just a road trip anymore, is it?”

  I shake my head sadly. “It’s a new life, Nate.” I’m really starting to like this guy, but I don’t want to rip him out of everything he’s built here (not that it actually looks like much) or endanger him more than I already have. Seriously, divine follower isn’t the safest of career picks. “You don’t have to come with me, you know. It might not be too late to act like we never met. I could knock you out and leave you in the bushes back at the Inward Care Center. Tell them I stole your car—I can probably teach myself to drive again—and that will be the end of it.”

  Nathan considers this for a moment, looking around his rental apartment as he does. The place isn’t exactly a disaster, but it’s obvious a guy’s been living here alone. Mail is piled on the counter, plates are climbing their way out of the sink, and the carpet’s begun to gather a nice collection of stains. I can sense the conflict taking shape in his mind, fear of the unknown warring with the thrill of adventure, disenchantment with his current lot in life, and, to my embarrassment, a little leftover adoration for yours truly.

  “Screw it,” he says at last. “You know why I needed that job? Because it’s the only one I could get. Nobody’s hiring Web designers fresh out of high school, and it’s not like a degree will do me any good. My girlfriend’s gone, my mom kicked me out as soon as I graduated, and my friends are all in college or busy getting jobs wherever they can, too.”

  He looks me in the eyes and smiles. “Following a goddess … That’s pretty much like following your dreams, isn’t it?”

  A silly grin creeps across my face. “The wildest ones, Nate. Bring whatever you need, and let’s start that new life.”

  He nods and begins dashing around his apartment, gathering his most important possessions. It takes a depressingly short amount of time. Minutes later, we’re back in the car, pulling out of his complex’s parking lot and heading for the highway. As the place disappears behind us, I feel like I’m waking up. I should have done this years ago. Leaving Inward isn’t as scary as I thought it would be—it’s more like I’m coming out of retirement, shaking off three decades of dust, and taking the first steps down a new path to glory. It’s definitely not what either of us expecte
d when we got up today, but somehow, I think we’re both happier for it.

  The future calls to me, and for the first time in years, I don’t know what it holds.

  3

  FALSE LIVES

  Getting a fresh start is just as easy as ever. The Social Security office isn’t where it was back when I needed a new identity for Inward Care, but Nathan has one of those ridiculous smartphones with all the answers, including the new location. He seems a little sad he’ll need to ditch it to keep my pursuers off our trail, but I assure him we’ll get an even better one soon enough.

  I know the idea of creating a brand-new life at the drop of a hat these days seems impossible. It’s certainly gotten harder, I’ll give you that. There was a time when it was as simple as walking to a new village and giving a different name to anyone who asked. Now society’s managed to put all sorts of roadblocks in place. Forms, numbers, licenses, birth records—it’s enough to make your head spin. I’ve never bothered to learn any of it. I just do what I’ve always done: march straight into the place where they hand out those IDs and make a new friend who knows how to get me everything I need.

  Nathan seems stunned by how simple it is. He still has all those roadblocks in his head, a lifetime of movies, books, and experiences telling him just how hard it is to disappear, how many hoops you have to jump through to bypass the system. What he doesn’t realize is that all those obstacles were put in place by people. I understand technology has made things faster and more impersonal, but in the end, it all comes down to the decisions of another human being, and with a touch of my talents, any one of them would bend over backward to give me what I want.

  The clerk lovingly slips me new Social Security cards, explaining the next steps we’ll need to take to get driver’s licenses and such. We spend the rest of the day racing all over town, collecting new forms of identification and forging new lives for ourselves. Nathan spends a while obsessing over what his new name will be, but I don’t particularly care about mine. I still intend to go with Sara for those close to me; I’ve had this one for hundreds of years, and I’m not about to change it outright. Even so, I need to pick something, so I snag a set of names off some street signs: Amelia Robinson. That should be fine.

  By the time we stop for the night in a luxury hotel downtown, I’m completely drained. I haven’t had to push myself like this in ages. I barely have enough juice left to persuade the clerk at the front desk to set us up with a complimentary room, and even then it’s something of a struggle.

  “Couldn’t get the suite,” I mumble unhappily as we make our way upstairs. I find myself leaning heavily on Nathan, concentrating on just putting one foot in front of the other.

  He laughs and throws an arm around my shoulders, propping me up. “I think you did just fine, my goddess,” he says with a cheesy grin. I’m too weary to elbow him for the silly line, though I dearly want to.

  When we get to our room, I collapse onto the bed. Sure, I don’t need sleep, but there’s nothing like peaceful rest to recharge. I’m dimly aware of Nathan climbing into the other bed, and then I’m out like a light.

  Glorious, vivid dreams come to me, like they always do. A charming doctor in Germany once told me they were expressions of my subconscious, filled with symbols he could interpret to reveal my innermost hopes and fears. What he couldn’t know was that it’ll never work like that for me. I am the dream. My kin and I, we’re humanity’s wishes and nightmares given form.

  And so when I sleep, I dream of you. All of you.

  In my dreams, I see what the human race thinks of love and beauty, fertility and magic, vanity and war. I see whole continents of insecurity and doubt, a world wrapped in worry. It’s a strange development. The anger, the mistrust, the violence … of course they sadden me, but they’ve always been there; man has killed man since the beginning of time. It’s the anxiety that’s new, that sense of reservation.

  Where is the confidence, the pride? At every turn, you underestimate yourselves. But I suppose it’s not surprising, not if you consider what’s happened to the world since my heyday. Now that you have a global audience, you can measure yourselves against the best among you. The most beautiful people, the smartest scientists, the greatest musicians … all of them are just a news article away, ready to tell you that no matter how good you are, there will always be someone better.

  I wish I could tell you it doesn’t matter. I wish I could hold you close and tell you that you will be loved for what you do, that you are incredible and unique. I wish you knew how much you were needed, how much I miss you. I wish. You dream of desires and hopes, and that is why I dream of you—because you are my desire and hope.

  * * *

  I wake refreshed and wistful, the Florida sun streaming through cracks in the curtains. The ache has returned in full, that longing for worshippers and lovers, high priests and hopeful peasants. There’s so much hurt out there, so many prayers I could answer, if only their owners believed someone was listening again. I cram a pillow over my head to shut out the light and sigh into the mattress. Things were stable back at Inward. I’d managed to find a way to balance my cravings with reality and shut out the pain of yearning for what once was. Now that I’ve left that little safety net behind, it’s all creeping back. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea.

  Then again, it’s not like I had much of a choice.

  “Sounds like someone’s awake!” Nathan’s voice cuts into my musings. I don’t care what time it is; he sounds far too chipper for any morning hour. “I guess you’re ready to rise and shine at last.”

  There’s a clink and a gurgle, and I crack open an eye as I recognize the sound of coffee being poured. The smell wafts through the room, and I groan and disentangle myself from the little nest I’ve made of my blankets. I love coffee. It always perks me up, which I find a bit odd, considering my divine nature. I couldn’t begin to tell you how it works.

  “Lots of sugar, no cream,” I mumble, rubbing one eye and stretching.

  “Thy will be done,” Nathan says after a moment, bringing a steaming cup to me. “I took advantage of room service, too. Want anything? Toast? Eggs? Waffles?”

  It’s been far too long since I’ve had breakfast in bed, not to mention having it hand-delivered by a cute guy. I could get used to this. “Yes to all three. Eggs, buttered toast, and definitely the waffles,” I say, taking a sip of my coffee.

  “Coming right up,” Nathan says, moving to the tray. There’s a buffet of food here, far more than either of us can eat. I get the feeling he’s having a bit of fun with an unlimited budget. I watch as he puts my meal together. He’s wearing a shirt and a pair of boxers, letting me get a better look at him. Just out of high school would put him in his late teens, though his high cheekbones and five-o’clock shadow could let him pass for a few years older. He’s certainly no gym rat, but he has an athletic look that implies he at least attempts to exercise on a regular basis. Cute. Not exactly my type, but cute. I look down at myself and wonder who I am to judge anyone at this point: I’m still in the Give Blood T-shirt and ill-fitting jeans from Inward.

  “So,” Nathan says, bringing over a heaping platter of food, “you ready to tell me who you really are?”

  I dive into the meal with gusto. I have no idea what happens to the stuff inside my body, but just like sleep, it helps me recharge. “Sure, why not?” I say around a mouthful of eggs. I can’t imagine wolfing down several servings of food makes the most dignified participant for this sort of discussion, but now’s as good a time as any.

  “Ready when you are,” Nathan says, plopping onto his bed and looking at me with curiosity.

  I wash things down with a slurp of coffee, clear my throat, and turn to him. “Well, you understand the whole ‘god of love’ thing, right?”

  “Yep,” he says, nodding. “So who does that make you? Aphrodite?”

  I make a disgusted sound. “That simpering, oversexed tart? Please. Don’t make me vomit.”

  “Okay, okay,”
Nathan says, holding up his hands. “Then who are you?”

  I draw myself up and straighten my back, trying to look at least halfway regal. It’s probably undercut by my ridiculous appearance (I don’t even want to think about how my hair looks right now!), but it’ll have to do. “I am the daughter of the wind and seas, the giver, the flaxen, the Lady of the Slain. Lover and warrior, wielder of the sacred mysteries of seidh, most glorious of all goddesses.” I pause, pleased by his rapt attention, then deliver the answer he’s been waiting for: “I am Freya.”

  “Freya,” he repeats, nodding slowly. My high and mighty posture fades as I watch desperation race across his face. He’s clearly ransacking his memories, frantic to make a connection. “I—um, yeah! Freya! Huh!”

  “You have no idea who I am, do you?” I ask, incredulous.

  He at least has the good grace to look embarrassed. “It sounds familiar. I mean, I took a classical mythology class in college, but it was all Greek all the time.”

  I roll my eyes. “I hate those guys. When did they hire a PR firm?” I sigh. I guess it’s not his fault—there’s a reason I don’t have worshippers, and I can tell he’s kicking himself for not knowing me. “Asgard?” I prompt. “Yggdrasil? Valhalla?”

  “Oh!” he says, clearly thankful for the hints. “Norse! Okay, yeah! I totally know those myths. So you’re, uh…”

  “I am of the Vanir,” I say with a wistful smile. “Love is my domain, yes, but so, too, are war and beauty, fertility and death, sex and gold. I might not have made the headlines like some of my kin, but I am the greatest of them, for in the world of men, what shapes life more keenly than the touch of a lover … or the edge of a blade?”

  “Wow,” he whispers after a moment, looking suitably impressed. “You know, it’s going to sound like a pack of lies after I blanked on your name, but I really do know some stuff about Norse mythology. Always thought it was the coolest, too.”