Freya Read online

  A heartfelt grin immediately cracks my divine facade. “Well, thank you, Nathan. I’m glad you got a chance to find out you were exactly right.”

  He returns my smile, and in that moment, I feel his belief spark to life within me. I know he’s had doubts ever since I told him I really was a goddess, but like all insidious thoughts, they were hidden on the edges of his mind. Now that he has a name, a cause to focus on and truly consider, he’s dragged those suspicions back into the light and found them wanting. Behind those bright blue eyes of his, I feel the last nagging shackles of disbelief crumble and rejoice in their demise. He accepts me. It’s a wondrous thrill, gaining his trust like this, one made all the more spectacular by the current scarcity of my worshippers. Whether he realizes it or not, Nathan has just joined the painfully exclusive ranks of my followers, and for that, I am endlessly grateful.

  “So where are the rest of the gods?” he asks, clearly unaware how deeply he’s just bound his fate to mine. “You know, Odin, Thor, Loki … all those guys?”

  “Oh, so those you know?” I say with a laugh.

  He gives me a nervous grin. “Marvel. You can’t pick up a comic or hit the theater these days without running into one of them.”

  “Ah, yes,” I say, remembering a few fun movie nights at Inward. “So how come I never got to be a superhero? Who do I talk to about that?” I wave a hand. “Never mind. You were asking about my kin?”

  “Yeah, are they still around? I mean, if they’re all famous, wouldn’t that make them stronger?”

  I give my head a forlorn shake. “Fame isn’t always a blessing. Everyone thinks of those three first, but there are reasons for that … and, sadly, it’s part of why they’re gone.” I frown as ancient memories bubble to the surface, some rather embarrassing. “Actually, I’m not all that broken up about Loki. I’m glad that slanderous little pest is dead.”

  “What happened to them?”

  “Ragnarök,” I say simply.

  “The end of the world? Wait, that actually happened?” Nathan asks, eyes wide.

  “No, no,” I say with a giggle. “But their deaths were foretold, and people believed in those prophecies. Remember, we are what you make of us, and, well, you decided some of us would die. Any god not mentioned by name in the telling of Ragnarök survived, but those unfortunate enough to get top billing—like my poor brother, Freyr, for instance—were disbelieved into oblivion.” I pause, thinking. “Well, ‘disbelieved’ isn’t the best word. More like ‘killed by conviction.’ The end result is the same, but there’s a difference in how it happened.”

  “I think I get it. That still leaves a lot of gods, though.”

  I nod. “Dozens. Many of them faded away completely, of course, overwhelmed by disbelief or injured badly without the worshippers needed to regenerate them. All my knowledge is decades out of date, but I know Frigg is still around. Nice lady—the ultimate mom. Used to be a midwife, then a nurse, but I think she runs a bakery now. Sif’s a marriage counselor. Bragi did a lot of poetry, and I think he became a newspaper columnist. Hel’s alive, too, I’m pretty sure. Used to be a nice girl, but the myths changed her in a bad way. Don’t know where she ended up. Baldur got resurrected—always liked that part—and I think he went into politics. There are probably others, too, but we all drifted apart after the believers dried up, so I can’t be certain who else is left.”

  “Gods among us,” Nathan says softly. “How cool is that? There are others, too, right? Greek, Egyptian, Hindu…?”

  I shrug. “Sure. If they managed to hold on to their believers, they’re still around. Some of them are going to be way more powerful than me, too, since they actually have real religions and worshippers. Jerks.”

  “Well, how many do you have left?”

  “You don’t want to know,” I say with a grimace. “I’m a minor player at this point. Let’s just leave it at that.”

  “Okay. So have you met gods from other pantheons? I mean, like, have you ever run into Shiva? Or Jesus?”

  “Oh, absolutely,” I say, smiling at the memory. “Incredibly kind man. I can see why he gets all the attention these days. Actually came to visit us, back when we were just starting to fade. Apologized for what was happening, said all he ever wanted was for people to be decent to one another. I get the impression he doesn’t always approve of what others do in his name, you know?”

  “Yeah. It’s something of a running joke on the Internet,” Nathan says, rolling his eyes. “Bump into any other big names?”

  I sigh. “Well, I used to run into gods a lot more often back when my pantheon actually mattered. After our fall, I’d just hear snippets of news—so-and-so is mad about what Zeus did to their wife and such. Now I’m completely out of the loop.”

  “Huh,” Nathan says, digesting this.

  “Yeah … you haven’t exactly hitched your wagon to a rising star,” I admit, feeling a little uncomfortable as I do. Why did I just tell him that? I feel a stab of fear begin to work its way through my guts. Now that he knows what a joke I am, I’m worried he’ll decide I’m not worth the trouble. It’s not that I can’t make it on my own, but to lose a new believer so soon …

  “Sara, I couldn’t care less how you rank in comparison to a bunch of random old gods,” Nathan says, cutting into my thoughts. “Where are those other deities and what have they ever done for me? You’re here, turning my life upside down, and I couldn’t be happier about it.”

  Just like that, the fear vanishes, and I laugh at how much I’ve underestimated this guy. “Oh, I bet you say that to all the pretty goddesses.”

  “Just the ones in blood-donation T-shirts,” he says, laughing with me.

  “Argh,” I groan, grabbing a pillow to cover myself. “After breakfast, you’re taking me shopping.”

  “Actually,” he says, pulling a hotel notepad off the nightstand, “we should really map out our day. We’ve got IDs now, so what’s next?”

  “Clothes, cash, a new car, and jobs,” I say. “In that order.”

  “Sounds like a plan,” Nathan replies, writing the items down on his little pad with a hotel pen and tearing off the sheet.

  I finish my breakfast while he takes a shower and gets dressed. Once he’s done, I switch with him, heading into the bathroom. It’s annoying, laying out my ratty clothes and knowing I’ll just have to get back into them again, but I tell myself this is the last time. The shower feels great. Inward wasn’t bad by any means, but a white-tiled community bathroom and stall isn’t my idea of luxury. They even have those fancy little shampoo and conditioner bottles here, which gives me a chance to do something about my hair. When I finally step out of the shower, I feel a thousand times better. Going back to my revolting rags (and those awful slippers! Ugh!) diminishes the feeling a little, but I refuse to let myself dwell on it. I have places to go and things to buy.

  Nathan drives me around town to every fashion hot spot I can remember, gleefully racking up credit card debt on plastic he’s going to abandon in a few hours. As soon as we begin our shopping in earnest, I’m struck by how out-of-touch I’ve gotten. The mall, for instance, is like nothing I remember. I’m used to low-ceilinged, crowded shopping centers and dingy food courts. The Mall at Millenia soars, its two levels opening across beautiful halls cast in glossy marble, steel, and glass. The central atrium is ringed in digital monitors, broadcasting shots of fashionable people and beautiful scenery while hordes of well-dressed teens, tourists, and business-casuals dash in search of merchandise. Where are the skater punks and dead-eyed shoppers? There isn’t even an arcade to be found, and the restaurants actually look appetizing.

  Most of the government offices I visited yesterday didn’t seem all that different from what I remember of the eighties, but outside the public sector, things have gotten slick. I’m liking this modern world. Now I need to up my style game to match it.

  Unfortunately, my first few attempts aren’t … well informed. Apparently, oversize tops, leggings, off-the-shoulder sweaters, and
acid-washed jeans are no longer in vogue. Not yet in the loop on that, I plow ahead with misguided stubbornness, managing to cobble together some truly hideous outfits and marveling all the while at the small selections available. Nathan doesn’t even say anything about them at first, the traitor. We make it through a few stores before he finally cracks.

  “How about this one?” I say, modeling another too-big shirt. “I think it needs a lot more jewelry to really shine, but—what?”

  “I’m sorry,” he says, clearly holding back laughter. “I thought you might be going for ironic at first, but I really should have said something sooner.”

  “Ironic? What’s wrong with this?” I say. “The jeans are even pre-ripped! How cool is that?”

  He tries to say something else, but it comes out as some kind of gargle-snort.

  I make a frustrated sound and turn to a well-dressed guy going through a nearby rack of clothes. “Excuse me? Sir?” I say, getting his attention. I gesture at my new outfit. “What’s your take?”

  He looks me up and down. “It’s not Throwback Thursday, hon,” he says at last, then returns to his own shopping.

  My mouth drops open. I return to Nathan, who’s sporting a rather telling shade of red. “How much has changed?” I ask. “Is it my hair? I know it needs volume, but once you tease it out—”

  “Oh god,” he chokes. “No, no, I can’t do that to you. Big hair is over. Like, way over. Haven’t you been watching television? Movies?”

  “It was a mental hospital, not a hotel,” I snap. “Sure, we got some new releases, but there were just as many reruns from the library. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve seen Flashdance?”

  “You poor thing,” he says, trying to compose himself. “C’mon, let’s get you some fashion magazines or something.”

  He leads me out of the store—after we return most of my purchases—and I spend the next hour or so flipping through a half-dozen issues of the latest magazines, pausing every now and then to glare at him over the tops of the pages.

  “All right, fine,” I say at last. “I think I get it now.”

  “Ready to try again?”

  “Yes,” I say, a sullen teenager. Then my smile returns. “But you’re going shopping, too. I’ve seen what trendy guys are wearing. Graphic T-shirts and unfitted jeans from Old Navy aren’t exactly hot, either. Get yourself something nice. Hon.”

  He looks down at himself. “I, but…”

  “You let me buy scrunchies, Nathan! Scrunchies!”

  He fakes a wince at that and holds up his hands. “Too cruel. All right, fine. I guess that’s fair. Meet you at the food court in an hour?”

  “Make it two,” I say. “I have three decades of fashion horror to unlearn.”

  He laughs at that, then waves as he heads off, making a beeline for J. Crew. I suppose there are worse places to start. As I go from store to store, it strikes me that there’s a bit of a gender gap in terms of outfit difficulty here. Nathan doesn’t seem like he’ll have much trouble finding something decent, but is it just me, or is everything that’s halfway stylish these days meant for starving stick-girls? It’s surprisingly difficult to find something that looks good and actually fits my hips. If I weren’t the divine embodiment of beauty, I might start thinking my hourglass figure wasn’t attractive. As it is, I just feel a little flabbergasted at the lack of good selections.

  My foam shoes are long gone, but I supplement the pale rose flats I used to replace them with a variety of heels, wedges, and sandals. I eventually gather a halfway decent selection of jeans, skirts, and dresses, as well as sweaters and shirts that actually stay on my shoulders. I even pick out a few upscale pieces in case I need to class it up, and once I’ve finished spending a king’s ransom on new outfits, I decide to show off a little and change into one of them.

  It was a real relief when I ditched my awful Inward clothes a few stores ago, but as good as getting rid of those hideous castoffs felt, there’s something even better about slipping into designer labels and date-night makeup. I choose tight jeans with a creamy off-white top, using the women’s restroom as my changing closet and applying some lipstick in the mirror. There, much better. I think it might come off as a little too nice for a random day at the mall (especially on someone who looks like they might still have to ask their parents’ permission to stay out late), but considering how long it’s been since I’ve worn anything approaching “decent,” it feels right.

  Nathan’s eyes pop when we meet in the mall’s food court. I do a little twirl for him as I walk up. “Actually look the part now, don’t I?” I say, flashing him a winning smile.

  “I’ll say,” he murmurs, looking me over with obvious glee. I get the feeling I’m drawing eyes from all corners, and that suits me just fine. After all, vanity’s part of my portfolio, too, and centuries of human hope, desire, and lust have crafted me into a rather fitting package for it. I feel bad for the mortal women with similar measurements, though. The bras alone cost a fortune.

  Next, we hit a series of banks on the outskirts of the city. I cover my hair with a scarf and put on an enormous pair of dark sunglasses before heading into each one. With a touch of my gift, nobody will question the outfit—it’s for the cameras, and the people watching their footage whom I can’t affect. Nathan waits off-property in the car while I go inside, make senior management fall madly in love with me, then ask for a donation. Minutes later, I’m walking out with wads of cash. It’s never a lot, just a few thousand each time, but it all adds up. I’m a little concerned Nathan may be having second thoughts about all this blatant thievery, but because we’re in a bind and gods don’t do cheap, there seem to be few legal solutions. Hopefully, it’s not weighing too heavily on his conscience.

  After a few hours of highly compliant robbery, we have more than enough to buy a new car. While I could charm a salesman at any dealership and get him to give one to me for free, that’s something that gets recorded. Someone will eventually realize an entire car just got handed away. Since Garen’s probably smart enough to look for reports of big-ticket items being turned into party favors, I don’t want to link Nathan or myself to a four-wheeled red flag.

  We end up getting a Honda CR-V, which is almost entirely Nathan’s decision since I don’t have a clue about cars and he’s always wanted that particular type, apparently. We get a very good deal on it, and any surprise the dealer might have at being paid in full—and in cash—is banished by his overwhelming affection for me. It’s getting late in the day as we begin transferring our purchases to the new car, and I’m definitely feeling the strain from all the romantic manipulation I’ve had to perform. Still, things are a lot better than they were a day ago, when I was reeling from having to torment Garen to distraction. I think the strength of Nathan’s belief is really helping. The confidence I feel from my new look probably has something to do with it, too.

  Once we’re done loading up the CR-V, the sun is beginning to set. “They’ll be closed for the night,” Nathan says, looking at our list. Everything’s crossed out but the New jobs entry.

  “That’s okay. It’s been a pretty full day anyway,” I say, glad to put this last task off until tomorrow.

  “We need to hit the DMV and get a new license plate for our car, too.”

  “Sounds good,” I say. He nods and adds the task to the list. “For now, though … dinner?”

  “Thought you’d never ask. I’m starving,” Nathan says, holding a hand to his stomach in mock pain.

  We settle on an upscale steakhouse. I immediately focus on the filet mignon, my mouth watering at the thought of high-quality beef for the first time in decades. Nathan’s wavering between a burger or pork chops when I give him a troubled glance. “What?” he asks, noticing the look on my face.

  “Go with the burger,” I say in a neutral tone.

  He sets his menu down and looks at me. “I’ve got another lesson in the care and feeding of deities coming, don’t I?”

  I smile. “Sorry. Pigs are
sacred to me.”

  “No kidding?”

  “I used to ride into battle on an enormous boar. He had golden bristles.” I sigh. “I miss him.”

  Nathan’s quiet for a moment—awed, I assume, at the image of a beautiful Norse warrior goddess charging enemy lines atop a massive battle-pig. Then: “Wait … does this mean no bacon?”

  He seems so appalled at the idea I feel like I’ve just stolen his puppy. “Um, if it helps, that wasn’t exactly a big menu item back in the day,” I say, trying to smooth things over a little.

  “Eesh. Talk about your sacrifices. Okay, well, burger’s on the menu for tonight, then. Anything else I should know?”

  “Hmm. I’m a fan of cats, but I don’t see them showing up in restaurants very often, so you’re probably in the clear there.”

  “Don’t hurt pigs, pet cats,” he says to himself. “I guess I can work with that.”

  “Glad to hear it,” I reply. The waiter arrives soon after, and we place our order. We chat absentmindedly for a bit as we wait for the food to arrive, until I decide to turn the question back on him. “So what do I need to know about you, Nate? What’s your story?”

  “Me?” he says, seeming surprised that I’m asking.

  “Well, yeah. If we’re going to start this new life together, I’d like to learn more about you.”

  “Okay.” He smiles. I think he likes the fact that I’m interested in hearing more. “Only child. Grew up an army brat, so we moved around a lot. Didn’t have many friends, but it gave me a chance to focus on computers. Went to high school here in Orlando, graduated a year ago, and took about that long to realize the freelancing gigs I can get don’t quite pay the bills, and nobody’s hiring full time.”

  “Which is why you started at Inward.”

  “You got it. Between that and making websites on the side, I figured I could start paying bills and, y’know, eat. Not perfect, of course, but it would only be until I built up my portfolio and finally got a job somewhere permanent.”