Modern Goddess: Trapped by Thor (Book One) Read online

  Chapter 2

  I considered the collection of files on my desk. It was a popular time of year for gods and goddesses to visit Earth. It waxed and waned, but whenever the constellations aligned, you could bet every god worth his toga and wreath would hop a golden chariot to Terra.

  Now was one of those times. I had fourteen various divinities to get through today. They ranged from gods of battle to a god of plumbing. All of them wanted to go to Earth, be it on business or pleasure.

  I sighed into my steaming cup of cocoa and waited for the clock to strike nine. I always made it to work precisely ten minutes early. That gave me enough time to make a drink, straighten the files on my desk, and wipe away any streaks on the glass wall by the side of my chair. It also gave me a chance to memorize the details of whichever divinity wanted to visit today. While I sometimes pretended to check back to the files every time I wanted to intimidate a potential godly immigrant – it was an act. I made a point of memorizing every single detail of their files. Their powers, their height, their reason for visiting, their dental records. I was the goddess of facts and details – paperwork was my champion never my tormentor.

  I glanced at the clock several seconds before it ticked over to nine, then straightened the ice-white blond bun at the back of my neck. I pushed my black-rimmed glasses further up my nose and tugged down my no-nonsense navy-blue blouse.

  I looked at the door in haughty anticipation of the next godly arrival. That was the thing about working at the Integration Office – every single entity you dealt with, from the cleaners, to the clients, to the cafeteria ladies, were gods, and they all came with a certain attitude. A god was used to being worshiped, lauded, and cherished. Having a building full of gods all boasting about how good they were while they waited around for their worshipers to clean the temple and prepare them dinner wasn't going to happen. Up here in the Integration Office, gods and goddesses – at least the smart and efficient ones – had to take a deep breath and realize they weren't all that great. In other words, if you want tea and a biscuit, get it yourself. If you notice a spot on your shrine, go fetch a sponge on your own time.

  When everyone around you is equally as divine, things tend to even out.

  Well, mostly. In the realm of divinity there were those gods and goddesses who had personalities and egos the size of the universe. I hated them.

  The first god to walk in was a thin chap in a dingy toga with a scraggly beard. His watery gaze darted around the room as he sat at the desk. I already knew who he was, but nonetheless I leaned in with an eyebrow raised and patted his file. “Who are you, why do you want entry to Earth, and have you read your rules?”

  His eyes watered more at my curt tone. “Ah, great madam, I’m Tolus, god of Barely Enough.”

  I raised my other eyebrow and cocked my head to the side. “God of Barely Enough? I have never heard of that.” I was lying. What with working for the Integration Office, having read Tolus’ file, and being the goddess of facts – I'd heard of most things. Admitting that would ruin the tough-immigration-officer act I was going for here.

  “Yes, great madam, I’m the god who embodies,” he brought a thin hand up to his chest, the skin so meagre his knuckles protruded like balls, “Having only barely enough. When a peasant has but enough food to survive or a man has but only enough breath to live – I’m the god they worship.” Tolus’ eyes flickered and watered as he spoke, and his dirty toga hung off him with all the limpness of a dead flower about to lose its petals.

  I softened my expression. Though I wasn't about to give anyone any breaks, I wasn't heartless, either. I’d been doing this job long enough to form opinions – however work-inappropriate – about the various divinities who walked through my door. While I harbored a genuine dislike of the outrageously powerful and egomaniacal gods, I liked the more understated ones. The gods and goddesses who stood for humble things like the way buttercups dot through the grass in spring, to the first rains of autumn, to divinities of things obscure yet necessary like knit wear. They were all different, those gods – they were far humbler, far nicer. They were also far less likely to take a chunk out of your desk or threaten you with a lightning bolt.

  I offered a bare smile then hid it with a cough. “What is your reason for visiting, god of Barely Enough?”

  “I’m visiting a refugee camp.”

  My heart quietened. “Work, then?”

  “Work,” Tolus confirmed with a nod that saw his thin head jut forward too fast.

  “You agree to obey the rules?” I asked softly.

  “Oh yes. I respect the right of every being to choose their own path. I will offer comfort and solace where they are sought – I will not intervene directly,” as Tolus spoke, his eyes widened, his lips spread a touch, and his thin hair brushed against the top of his head. It was always the details like those I noticed.

  Details made the picture. If you noted – if you immersed yourself in every second, in every line, in every color, in every stroke, in every feature – you could reconstruct reality from the bottom up.

  “Very well. Please sign this binding contract, and you will be on your way.” I pushed the sacred scroll towards him.

  As Tolus signed it in his shaky scribble, the scroll came to life. Every time a god or goddess put their name down to a binding contract, they breathed life into it. They signed their name to it, and in doing so, everything that god stood for poured into the contract. They ratified it with their own divine power.

  “Good luck.” I smiled at Tolus as he got up to leave. I meant it, though I shouldn't have been saying it. To me, every god should be a detail on a contract. If the facts aligned, I let them in. It was a simple system. I should treat them all the same and have no particular like or dislike for any one of them.

  I stowed the freshly signed contract in one of the drawers of my desk and watched the god of Barely Enough walk through the door, back hunched, but head held forward, his watery eyes staring ahead with determination. For all the gods of victory who passed through my office, the difference in Tolus' gaze was so distinct it sent a shiver down my spine. Tolus stared at the world with the determination and knowledge that whatever came, he wouldn't defeat it – he would survive it.

  It left a chill in my belly and a thoughtful expression playing across my face. An expression which froze as I heard a commotion in the hallway.

  “Make way,” a triumphant voice boomed.

  I knew that voice, oh god (and any god would do), I knew that voice!

  I jumped up from my desk, my half-full cup of cocoa spilling, and I ran to the door. My worst suspicions were confirmed when I saw a god marching down the corridor towards my office. Thor, Zeus, Jupiter – whatever you wanted to call him. The god of lightning. The god of victory. The god of being a bloody, self-righteous annoyance of divine proportions.

  He sauntered towards my door dressed today like Thor – his Viking helmet glittering as if trapped within was a galaxy of stars. His chest puffed out so much the sparkling golden breastplate appeared to pop from his torso. His footfall was heavy, his boots clapping against the glass floor with all the dramatic commotion of an army of beating horse hooves.

  Tolus, unfortunately for him, didn't get out of Thor's way fast enough, and soon the Nordic god of thunder crashed rudely right into his back. “You there,” Thor thundered, literally, “Get out of my way.”

  I gritted my teeth and walked forward, pushing my thick black-rimmed glasses up my nose. “Excuse me,” I said officiously before Thor had a chance to whip out Mjollnir – his sacred hammer – and bop Tolus right on the head. “We do not permit...” I paused, not sure what I was going to say next. Running in the corridor? Shouting like a football coach outside of people's offices? Carrying a hammer with you to a meeting with your immigration officer? The truth was, I couldn't say any of those things because they were all permitted – this was a distribution point for gods. We didn't and couldn't have rules about carrying weapons or booming at people with a voice t
hat sounded like a century's worth of thunder storms. That's what gods did. They couldn’t help it.

  “Ha,” Thor laughed so heartily his breastplate looked as though it was going to pop off, “Details!”

  He always called me that. My name was Officina. It was a nice name. It was lyrical. My name was not, however, Details.

  I pursed my lips and crossed my arms over my blouse. If I hadn’t already pushed my glasses up my nose, I would have done that, too. “Is there any reason you are shouting in the corridor, Thor?” I said his name with as much disdain as I could get away with – I did know whom I was talking to, after all. “You are not on my books today, why are you heading towards my office?”

  Tolus looked from me to Thor, then did the wise thing and scuttled off. Being the god of Barely Enough, he was adept at keeping alive. He would know not to stand in the middle of a fight between the god of victory, thunder, and general angry outbursts and the unremitting goddess of facts.

  Thor laughed again, his wide jaw dipping open and his blond hair flicking over his shoulders. “I’m Thor, and I have chosen to visit Earth,” he said, as if those facts were enough to explain why he'd decided to show up at the Immigration Office without first putting in an application for a visa.

  I kept my lips thin and my expression unimpressed.

  “You look like a wet fish or a dead man,” Thor pointed out with another gruff laugh.

  Several of the other gods waiting in a respectable line outside my office snickered.

  Thor was like the boisterous bully challenging the teacher, much to the delight of all the sensible students. I knew my role as immigration officer made me unpopular with most divinities. Still, laughing at one of Thor's less-than-humorous jokes was low even for them.

  I pursed my lips. “You do realize we have a process, don't you? I have explained this to you before. You can't swan in here whenever you feel like visiting Earth. You have to put in an application first, and you will be seen in a timely manner when it is your turn—“

  “I do not wait in lines, goddess of details,” Thor boomed at me, his eyebrows descending sharply. When he wanted to – which was most of the time considering his outrageous personality – Thor could look more menacing than any god of death or chaos.

  I kept still. I’d seen this act often enough, though it always made me suitably nervous to be stared down upon by one of the most powerful gods of the Nordic pantheon. “In that case, if you go to the end of the line, I might be able to see you by the end of the day—“ I tried, knowing it wasn't going to work, but not wanting to lose the edge off my indignation. As the god of victory – among other things – Thor knew how to win all the time. You had to fight hard when you were with him to prolong that inevitable victory for as long as possible.

  I’d dealt with him enough times over the past several centuries to be able to put up a good fight.

  Thor grabbed Mjollnir from his pocket, and as soon as he touched the great hammer, it sang. It was a single note, but it was so sharp, clear, and powerful it resonated right through me.

  He played with it.

  He pointed to the goddess at the front of the line – a forest divinity who was a stunning green with patterns of flowers flecked all over her skin. “You,” Thor smiled dashingly, “Great goddess of the forests, Thor requests to take your place in this line.” He smiled again. It was the kind of smile that told everyone that a) he was going to get his way, and b) everyone was still going to adore him anyway.

  It worked as planned on the forest goddess. She puffed out her substantial green chest, her eyes sparkling like morning dew on new foliage. “Great god of victory.” She bowed.

  “It's thunder today,” Thor replied with another intoxicating dose of his dashing smile. “Continue.”

  “I would be honored,” the forest goddess kept her keen, glittering gaze on Thor, “Honored,” her plush lips molded around the word with all the warmth and pressure of a kiss.

  Thor kept Mjollnir at his side, nodded – though not nearly as low – then promptly skipped to the front of the line.

  I watched in annoyance, but there was nothing I could do. If this forest bimbo wanted to give up her place in the line to everyone's least favorite blond-bearded arrogant nong, she could. There was nothing I could do. Likewise with the fact Thor hadn't put his paper work in yet. Being an official god worshiped on Earth, the process was simpler for Thor/Zeus/Jupiter.

  Thor marched to the front of the line and flashed a triumphant look at me. The look was rightly triumphant because he’d rightly won.

  For my part, I watched the way each strand of his golden hair glinted in the light from the sun beyond us. I noted the way Mjollnir sat in his grip as if it were an extension of his own body – neither his skin nor his arm were under any pressure from the great hammer. I watched the way his towering form cast a long shadow over the other gods and goddesses behind him.

  Thor caught my gaze and crossed his powerful arms across his chest plate, his biceps rippling. “Stop watching me, Details,” he spat. “Hurry up – you have a whole line of divine beings, and you have a job to do.”

  I didn't need him to remind me what my job was. Rather than point this out, I turned and marched into my office. “I’m ready to see you, Nordic God of Thunder,” I said through a tightly clenched jaw.

  Thor sauntered in behind me, and I could feel the presence of Mjollnir with every reverberating step.

  He sat in the chair opposite my desk with such a thud the thing's feet grated against the floor. I was sure there was a scratch there now.

  As the sun filtered in from the glass wall beside me, it played against the gold of his helmet, of his chest plate, and of his hair. It lit him up until he shone, and yet it plunged one side of him into shadow. A stark contrast between light and dark that made him all the more real and imposing.

  He rested one hand over the edge of the chair, Mjollnir held loosely. He used the other hand to tap on his armrest. “Make this quick, Details.”

  I stared at him coldly. I fancied the only reason he treated me with such disdain – other than the fact I was the one who always stood between him and his less-than dignified exploits on Earth – was that I was immune to his particular set of charms. Unlike the forest bimbo out in the hall, I wasn't about to fall for the smile of some victory god – I wasn't about to get sucked in by those wondrously blue eyes that sparkled like the clearest ocean, or that physique that was more chiseled than a marble statue of a god.

  Because I saw beyond the impression to the details underneath. The way the fabric of his belt didn't sit flush with his torso, the way his hair was messy on the left side of his head, the way the fine lines at the corners of his eyes gave away his true age. Noticing these details – paring Thor back to the lines, shapes, colors, behaviors, and words – stopped me from becoming overcome by the god himself.

  “Details,” he growled, “Less staring, more stamping.”

  I took an obvious sigh and was annoyed when a tendril of ice-white hair popped out of my near-perfect bun. Thor always had a way of making me come undone. Patting my hair back into place, I tried to regain my immigration-officer stare. “Why might you be wanting to visit Earth, Nordic God of Thunder?”

  Thor grinned, his golden beard hardly hiding the obvious mirth locked in his jaw. “That would be for pleasure – if you know what that is, Details.”

  I stared back at him. “You are intending to maintain your identity, are you? You are going to be Thor today, I suppose?”

  He stared back at me, one large finger tapping against the handle of his hammer.

  “I'm sure you can remember that one of your alter-egos – Jupiter, was it? – got into a messy fight in Rome the last time he visited and has been banned from touring Italy for at least a month.” I pushed my glasses up my nose and settled back into my chair. I was going to play this card for all it was worth. For several sweet seconds I was going to enjoy a victory over the embodiment of victory himself.

  Thor
ran a hand through his beard, anger starting to trace across his brow. “I’m Thor.”

  “Yes, but you are also Jupiter and Zeus. You have three functioning divine entities, God of Thunder. A fact you exploit to the utmost. While I cannot hold your current form to charge for the crimes of Jupiter, I can point out that you are rapidly running out of chances.”

  Thor dipped his head down. It was the smallest of moves, but it had all the gravitas of an army standing right in front of you and cocking all their guns at once. “Are you threatening me, Details?”

  I took a sharp breath, trying to ignore his glare and the rising song of Mjollnir. “Threatening? No. I’m pointing out that you are rapidly running out of identities. I suppose you remember that incident last summer with Zeus, where you – in your own words – accidentally destroyed an entire bar after a spectacular brawl? After that mishap, Zeus can no longer visit bars, alehouses, pubs, clubs, or any establishment that serves alcohol. You've been banned from Italy with Jupiter, too. Your current identity as Thor is the only one you have left. A word of advice, God of Thunder: don't go breaking any more rules.” I tried not to smile too much. I was playing this scenario for all it was worth, though I knew I was going to pay for it later. This was Thor/Jupiter/Zeus I was taunting here. He was powerful, arrogant, and usually held one hell of a grudge. He was also extremely connected.

  Thor leaned forward in his chair, his grip fastening on his hammer until his knuckles whitened. I couldn't stop my gaze from flicking over to it. With every second his knuckles popped up further against his skin and the song of Mjollnir grew louder.

  “I do not need your warning, goddess of details – grant me the contract, and I will be done with you.”

  I tried not to swallow as I reached for a fresh contract from my top drawer. I handed it over to him without another word.

  Thor grabbed the pen on my desk, disturbing the inkwell until it tipped and sent great puddles of ink soaking over the wood.

  I let out a sharp breath, but didn't jump back in time to stop the ink from pooling over the desk and dripping onto my skirt.

  Thor laughed slowly and deeply as he signed his name.

  Patting my skirt, my jaw so tense I could have chewed through a small moon, I stared up at him. “Do you agree to be bound by this contract, Thor?”

  He waved me off. “Yes, Details, I will be bound by it. Before you take the time to remind me of what those rules are – I have heard them before. Save your breath.” He stood up – not a splash of ink anywhere on him though I was covered in the stuff.

  “How long do you plan on staying on Earth?” I remembered I hadn't asked nearly enough questions, though more questions at this stage would lead to Thor throwing me out the window and right into the heart of the sun.

  “For as long as I feel like.” Thor swung his hammer onto his shoulder and rested it there as if the thing weighed nothing more than air and light.

  I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes. “Fine.” I stopped short of saying the usual “Please enjoy your stay, divinity” speech, and stared pointedly at the door.

  Thor glared down at me. He was a towering titan of a man with a winged Viking helmet, a glittering breastplate, and a giant hammer resting easily on his shoulder. Me – I was a small ordinary goddess with large black-rimmed glasses and a stained skirt and blouse.

  A triumphant smile spread over his lips.

  He turned on his heel and left – not before Mjollnir gently struck the door frame and caused a massive crack to appear from the tiny impact.

  He didn’t turn around to say sorry. He was Thor. He half-marched half-sauntered down the corridor, not before he made quick and distasteful plans to meet up with the forest bimbo later.

  I leaned out of my door – tiny fragments of glass drifting down on me – staring at his back. My eyes naturally narrowed and my mouth instinctively pressed together. If I'd had something near me to throw, I would have pitched it at him. That would, however, not be in my job description, nor would it be a good idea. Thor tolerated me while I worked for the Integration Office. He had to at least not kill me while I was in uniform. If I, however, breached the rules or acted outside the confines of the office, Thor could treat me however he liked. In here, I was an official god immigration officer – out there I was just the goddess of details. The great god of victory and lightning versus the goddess of details would be a short and demoralizing battle.

  I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself. I glanced at the crack in my doorframe and tried to count the fractures in the glass, then I tried to distinguish the exact colors of the stains on my skirt. Letting myself sink into details settled me down.

  “Um, excuse me,” a small voice said from behind me.

  I turned to stare down at a tiny radish-like creature who was about half-a-foot tall.

  “Yes?” I asked politely.

  “I do not mean to hurry you,” it said in a high, but nonetheless earthy tone. “I have a harvest to get to.”

  “I see,” I said professionally. I noted the detailed patterns on the toga the radish-god wore, and I felt ready to press on with the day. Thor, for all he was worth, could go hang. I only had to deal with him in the Immigration Office, and our run-ins were usually short enough that I could not bother about them.

  I tugged on my ink-stained blouse and led the radish god into my office. I had a job to do. This radish god had to get to a harvest.