Modern Goddess: Trapped by Thor (Book One) Page 5

  Chapter 5

  I awoke in god hospital. Unlike ordinary hospital, there were no nurses or doctors. There weren’t clean white walls or shiny expensive equipment either. Nope. I was on a plain slab of stone in a room with all sorts of candles and incense burning. There were potions lined up alongside me and a pleasant breeze was blowing through the place.

  I felt... better.

  I also knew the incense, candles, potions, and breeze weren't what was making me better – they were all for show and tradition. Nope, one of the healing goddesses had done the majority of the fixing up, and the rest had been my own regenerative powers.

  To boost them along, I sunk into the details of my surroundings: the way my hair fluttered gently across my face from the breeze, the way the incense puffed in great rings of smoke, and the way the candlelight flickered to and fro. It was all peaceful and all thankfully slow. After the speed of the – I'll admit – one-sided battle with the sea monster, I needed to take things slowly.

  Here was where I could do that. I was safe, there was nothing I had to do, and I could indulge in my power all I liked. The more I indulged, the quicker I would heal.

  I felt strong enough to glance further around the room. Lined up on the ledge to my side were various statues, stones, and trinkets of amazing and intricate detail. There were tiny brass boxes with enameled pictures of various scenes. There were also pots and earthenware depicting everything from battles to mundane chores like mucking out the sea-monster pit.

  I breathed again – though I didn't need to. I felt the air swell around me. I felt my lips part gently.

  I rose, pushing up until I sat squarely on my allotted slab of stone.

  A god swanned in. “Oh, dear, you are up then.” He clapped his hands – which were covered in rings and bangles – and they jangled and clinked. “You had me worried for a moment there. Such a tight grip that nasty sea monster had around you.” The god made a face as if he were gasping for air, then he flopped a hand at me. “It must have been terrible.”

  “It wasn't pleasant.”

  “Now look at you, all better. Heard you were the goddess of details,” he said, hands moving as he spoke, jewelry moving more. “I surrounded you with all the details I could.”

  “Thank you.” I sighed and pushed off the slab. My feet touched the marble of the floor, but it wasn't cold. Nothing about this place was cold. Or, more likely, I was now so accustomed to my god-like powers that I was failing to note the mundane and human notion of warmth.

  “As far as I’m concerned, you are all healed – you can take a look for yourself, if you'd like.” The god gestured towards my middle.

  I looked down to see I was in a toga. I patted my middle and felt assured it was still there. Then I went back to the fact I was wearing a toga. I hadn’t worn a toga in at least two thousand years. I’d worn skirts, pants, dresses – you name it. But it had been millennia since I'd dressed in the usual garb of my kind.

  I patted my hair and realized it was being held back by some kind of laurel. Wow, it had been longer since I'd worn one of those.

  The god noted my surprise. He gave a pressed-lipped grimace. “Oooh, you don't like it? I tried to look up the files to see what you wore – but I couldn't get the details. So I popped you into the standard toga and laurel. Pale white isn't your color? Though with that gorgeous white hair of yours, you can pull off white better than most of the ice goddesses.”

  “Ah, thanks. The clothes are fine,” I lied. The clothes weren't fine. They were odd. They reminded me of a history I’d abandoned long ago. I was a woman who lived in a cottage with white roses, a cat, and a pantry stocked with everything you needed to make any type of muffin you could think of. I was no longer the kind of goddess who milled around in white togas and golden laurels and stared down on humanity from atop heaven.

  “Now you are up, you might want to....” The man pressed his fingers together and looked mildly concerned.

  He wasn't going to say duck, was he? Thor wasn't waiting to thwack me on the head, final payback for my earlier insult, right?

  “Calm yourself. You are going to have to answer some questions, you see.” He scratched his nose.

  I frowned at him. “The Integration Office will want to get my side of the story so it can close the case on this. Those details will be vital to helping prevent future incidents,” I recited the company policy easily, and with the usual monotone voice I used as Immigration Officer.

  “Oh, that's okay then, I thought you'd be worried, see. It's just that sometimes goddesses and gods get nervous when they know they have to speak to Him.” The god flopped another hand at me.

  My eyebrows descended in a twitch. As far as I was aware, the god I would be dealing with was Tremulous, god of Law Enforcement. Yes, he was a brusque fellow, but nice enough once you got to know him.

  “Sometimes gods get a bit put-off by the one-eyed stare and the generally foreboding countenance.” The god laughed it off now he'd confirmed I had no problem with the whole thing.

  “Sorry? One eye? Tremulous has two eyes,” I noted. A detail I was hardly likely to forget.

  “Who? You'll be talking to Odin.” He chuckled. “He's going to be overseeing this one personally. That sea monster was one of the old ones trapped under the fjords or something. Anyhow, it sounds as if some wayward divinity let it loose. What, with those fjords being his territory,” the god leaned in conspiratorially and pressed two ring-clad fingers together, “He is a little angry.”

  A little angry. Odin, a little angry. There was a reason Thor had a temper like a super volcano. He was Odin's son. There was a reason Odin was feared, more than any other god on Earth. There was a reason all the other gods and goddesses avoided him like the divine equivalent of the plague.

  That god had a temper.

  The notion I would be recounting my sea-monster adventure directly to Earth's most tempestuous god was not a comforting one. I would rather walk right back into that tunnel and take my chances with the creature again. “Oh. This should be an Integration Office matter. I work for the Immigration Office – I know the procedure. I should be talking to Tremulous.”

  “Oh – that's right, you do work for the Immigration Office,” his smile stiffened, “You refused my application to go sunbathing on the top of the Eiffel Tower several years back.”

  Oh, I had, hadn't I? Because applying to go sunbathing in public while strapped to the top of the Eiffel Tower was never going to get approved. It was bloody ridiculous. But you could never outright tell gods and goddesses that. You couldn't look them in the eye and tell them they couldn't enflame a war between France and Germany because they wanted old-fashioned Gaul-on-Barbarian fighting action. They always assumed it was their right, and I was the pesky idiot stepping all over their wishes. None of them stepped back to appreciate the world was different now – you couldn't parade among the people anymore. You couldn't sit on top of a cliff, throwing lightning bolts at peasants and cheering with your god mates. Doubly, triply no could you sun bake while strapped to the top of the Eiffel Tower.

  “Anyhow,” he said, voice a touch cooler, “He's waiting for you. I wouldn't keep him waiting long either – he hates that.”

  Yep. I imagined there was a long list of things Odin hated: everything from frost giants, to leaking taps, to meddling immigration officers.

  Dejectedly, I followed behind the medicine god as he led me through the halls of the hospital. The place was peaceful and had that otherworldly feel that confirmed it was a non-man-made structure. It was floating right in the clouds, which was a dead giveaway.

  I caught glances into rooms as we walked along the wide corridor. I wondered – by way of distraction – what the other divine patients had done to see themselves in god hospital. Had they also had run-ins with sea monsters in flood tunnels? Or – more likely – had they gotten into some riotous bar fights with other equally riotous gods?

  It wasn't enough to distract me from where I was going. While it was
true I thought Thor was the worst Nordic god out there, I had to qualify that. Thor was rude, brash, violent, boisterous, indulgent, and hairy. But nothing compared to Odin. Odin was the equivalent of a god-like Christopher Lee. He had a voice with more gravitas than a planet ripping asunder, he had a beard whiter than the brightest light in the cosmos, and he had all the presence of the galaxy wrapped up on itself and concentrated down into the form of an ordinary-sized man.

  Oh dear. What a day.

  We soon turned a corner and straight into a cavernous hall. Old-school divinities loved the megalithic when it came to architecture. It reminded them of fighting giants, so they built their homes and palaces with the correct proportions should a giant pop their head through the window and suggest a god-battle.

  It was circular and had great big marble pillars all around the sides. In the center was a single throne set upon a raised marble plinth. There weren't any steps leading to the throne, and the distance was greater than a meter – meaning either Odin had to scramble up and down into the thing when no one was watching... or he just flew up there.

  This hospital wasn't equipped with its own Odin-suitable throne, so the king of the Nordic gods had obviously brought one with him. Which would have been humorous were it not for the fact Odin stared at me while I walked through the hall.

  He was not as large as Thor was, though he was still big for an apparent human. He was in full, shiny, silver-white armor that matched the color of his beard. Beside him, floating on its own, was his magical spear. He had a long white beard that cut down to the center of his chest, and white hair to match. He had a simple golden eye patch (well, as simple as solid gold could allow) that covered the eye he’d legendarily given up in exchange for wisdom.

  One arm rested heavily on the solid side of his throne, the other propped up his head as he stared fixedly my way.

  I wanted to put my hands up and point out this hadn’t been my fault. I also wanted to foolishly ask him whether he could tell his magical spear to stop floating so darn threateningly.

  There were other gods standing demurely before him at the foot of his throne. It took me until I stood alongside them to realize who they were. They were the gods who'd saved me from the sea monster. Yes, Thor was there too. He was no longer in jeans and a T-shirt. He was wearing his full battle armor. It was as shiny and imposing as Odin's.

  Thor stood respectfully at the foot of his father. Well, one of his fathers.

  Just as Thor had multiple identities, so did Odin. Once upon a time, Odin had also been Saturn and Cronos, the fathers of Jupiter and Zeus respectfully. Both Saturn and Cronos were no longer technically alive. Or, to put it another way, they were no longer functioning divine identities as far as the Integration Office was concerned.

  When Thor was Jupiter or Zeus, he was the bona fide leader of his own pantheon. When he assumed his Nordic persona, he had to kowtow to his father. He was like a boy who'd grown up to assume responsibility over only two-thirds of the family business while his dad still held the most important chunk.

  A part of me wondered how odd it must be for Thor to be standing before Odin. Before I could get into the complex daddy-issues a triple-identity god would have, Odin cleared his throat.

  “Goddess Officina, ruler of details and facts,” he addressed me by my full title.

  It sent such a shiver down my back. It had been years since someone had bothered addressing me like that. I was usually plain Officina or Details.

  It was the tone Odin used – it was so god-like. Which wasn't surprising considering he was a god. But that didn't capture how important it was. It was truly god-like – it wasn't like the petulant whines I'd get from rejected small-time crime gods, or the light and fluffy tones of mildly annoyed cloud gods. No. Odin spoke with the authority of a ruler of gods. It was something I hadn’t dealt with in a long time. Since the Integration Office had taken over divine administration, gods like me had been distanced from the bigwigs. We did the work while they sat in their ivory towers.

  I nodded low, my bunched hair – which the medical god had bothered to curl and tassel while I was regenerating – brushed over my shoulder. I didn't address Odin in return – I knew this was going to be a one-sided conversation until he gave me permission to speak.

  I caught Thor glancing at me as I straightened up again. It was odd seeing him contained like this. Rather than expressing himself in his usual loud, boisterous way, he just stood there, straight and tall.

  I wondered fleetingly if he'd been the one to take me to god hospital, or whether he'd left me there and Tolus had found me later.

  Now wasn't the time to ask.

  Odin leaned forward. “Tell me.”

  I did. I told him everything. I put in all the details I could remember – which meant my account wound on for a long time. I told the king of the Nordic gods precisely how heavy I believed the sea monster to have been and how much pressure it had exerted around my middle per cubic centimeter. I described the quality of the thing's breath. I did, however, leave out some – okay, most – of the considerable number of details I'd noticed about Thor. As I recounted the tale, I realized I’d paid way more attention to Thor than I had to my would-be killer.

  When I finished my story, Odin sat there silently. Briefly, I worried my fact-filled tale had sent him to sleep. “Do you have any enemies?” he asked me.

  I blinked. “Um,” I said stupidly. “I... that sea monster... it was an opportune attack. Tolus and I merely accidentally disturbed it. I don't think—“

  “I didn’t ask you what you thought,” Odin said, voice tight and oh-so authoritative. “I asked you if you have any enemies.”

  One of the other gods beside Thor gave a slight snigger.

  Yes, it was mildly funny – or at least it would be to a macho, groupie, sidekick god. The fact was, I could safely say I had a world-full of enemies, heck, a universe full. This was easily evidenced by the fact the medical god had turned from friendly and supportive to icy upon realizing who I was. I was the immigration officer who told all those gods and goddesses what they couldn't get up to on Earth. I was the one who – in Thor's words – trampled on and got in the way of all those divine wishes.

  Odin's gaze shifted to the snickering god, and the snickering died quicker than a fly falling into a pit of molten lava.

  “I.... I have some enemies,” I said diplomatically.

  “Who?” Odin asked.

  I didn't see why this line of questioning was necessary. I also didn't see how listing every single potential enemy I could have was going to help – it might be easier to get a list of all registered divine identities and safely assume the majority of them had it in for me to varying degrees.

  “She is the Immigration Officer,” Thor cut in. “Listing her enemies would take too long, father.” The way Thor said father gave his tone an edge. For a man usually full of himself, his deference to Odin was obvious. I'm sure it evidenced daddy-issues of god-like proportions.

  “I see,” Odin said. “You have many enemies then.”

  I nodded. “You could say that.”

  He leaned forward, his white beard resting against his knees, his single gold eye glittering far brighter than any star or constellation. “One of those enemies is trying to kill you, Officina, goddess of details and facts. Or capture you,” he added, as if that were meant to make me feel better.

  Academically, I knew my job made me unpopular. But there was unpopular, then there was being told by the king of the Nordic gods someone was out to get you.

  I was a controlled goddess. Unlike some of the other more emotional gods and goddesses, I tended to hold my feelings in check. Now I was close to falling over.

  It was the way he'd said it. It was the way his mouth had barely stretched, had barely moved as he'd intoned his cold words. It was more in the details than the statement. Those details hinted at a violent and frankly perilous future.

  Odin didn't cut in with a “Don't worry, though, I'll send my skull-cr
acking son after those goons, and we'll catch them.” He didn't offer me any solace at all, he just stared on at me with his single golden eye.

  I barely stopped myself from whimpering like a trapped and doomed dog.

  “I would hand this over to your Integration Office,” Odin said the phrase with the usual disdain it elicited, “But I’m afraid this is personal. That sea monster was mine.”

  “Yours?” I squeaked, wondering if Odin meant the thing was his personal sea-monster pet – the god equivalent of a gold fish.

  “I’d trapped it under the fjords. Someone un-trapped it. In doing so, they broke into one of my personal undersea facilities.”

  I didn't feel like laughing – though Odin's admission that he owned a personal underground facility was very Bond-villain.

  I got the gist. Someone had broken into one of his numerous cribs and stolen from him. Why Odin had a trapped sea monster, I didn't know. Gods – especially the old ones – were odd fellows. Maybe it was a vestige of some long-lost war, or he liked the way it looked as it floated around in its undersea prison.

  The fact was clear, though: Odin was going to take this situation personally. His sea monster; his case.

  I hoped in taking it personally, he didn't reject me as a useless side note. It was clear he was after the complete idiot who'd stolen his questionable pet, but did that include keeping me safe from the same ambitious fool?

  Standing around and waiting for his answer – if he was going to give it – was torture. What I wouldn't give for Tremulous with his bustling mustache and blue-gold hat. Alas, this case was going to be solved in-house and old-school. The kind of old-school that included giant beards, terrifying gazes, magical weapons, and an outrageous number of god-on-monster fights.

  I wanted to ask what would happen to me, but I stared at my toes instead. It didn't help.

  “You will help to find who stole that creature. They are after you – you will bring them out from the darkness.” Odin abruptly shifted his head back into a neutral position and stared off into space.

  I swallowed. Was Odin suggesting that I – alone – go out there and bait my attacker with a chicken dance on a deserted street corner?

  “Thor, you will help her,” Odin added.

  I felt relieved for a single second before I processed what that meant. Thor, bloody Thor was going to help me? I would have to put up with the giant gold-bearded buffoon as he tied me to a mountain and waited in the bushes to catch my attacker before it leapt on me and pulled my head off.

  I couldn't trust Thor! Nor could I go on the god-equivalent of a manhunt with him.

  I could see the same thoughts crossing Thor's mind – his chest stiffened, and he blinked. He tried to stand straighter, too, though if he stood any taller, he'd start floating.

  Before I could plead my case to Odin – and suggest any other god but Thor accompany me on my fatal mission – I noticed the quality of his gaze had changed. He was no longer staring at me, though his single eye was opened. The attention was there, but it was also clear it was no longer penetrating the outside world.

  I’d heard that in sacrificing his other eye in return for wisdom, all Odin had done was to have that eye turned around in his skull. It no longer stared at the world around him, but within at the world inside. Which, apparently, was all it took for true wisdom to take hold.

  When the gods beside me turned on their heels to leave, I realized that regardless of whether Odin was engaging in a little self-reflection, this meeting was over. There would be no chance of convincing Odin to assign another god to this – it was done.

  Though I didn't belong to Odin's pantheon, I still had to follow his orders. As king of the Nordic gods, and the last true god of old with a functioning divine identity, he held considerable weight. I couldn't ignore an order from him. Neither could any of the other gods.

  Nope, I was stuck on this one. I could lodge a complaint with the Integration Office that I'd been given an unsuitable command by a divinity not directly related to my pantheon, but the paperwork would take weeks to process. Also, there was that pesky problem that Odin was technically Cronos and Saturn too, and therefore, by proxy, had all the rights of the Greek and Roman gods.

  My heart fell as I turned on my heel and made for the door far away. This room was cavernous. One of the problems of being a small god in a big-god building – you had to walk blasted far to get anywhere.

  I took one last glance at Odin as I left. The sight of him with one eye turned inside was a quieting one. How other gods amassed their power and felt the divinity within was always a question that intrigued me. So I noted every detail of Odin's breathlessly still form.

  Soon I reached the door and made it out into the corridor. Immediately, the laughing started. The other god groupies who'd been at Thor's side erupted into guffaws. One playfully clapped Thor on the shoulder, though he had to stand on his tippy-toes to reach.

  I didn't laugh.

  “Ha,” one of the gods guffawed, “You have to protect the immigration officer.”

  They all thought it was stupendously funny.

  There were a couple of “Why don't you tie her to a wall and wait for the enemy to come – then you can leave her there afterwards and get rid of two problems at once.” And “We could dangle her over the wall and see if any eagle monsters swoop in to catch her, then we can clock them on the head and drop her off the side for good measure.”

  It took me several hot-cheeked seconds to realize Thor wasn't joining in with the laughter. He paused there, manipulating his jaw with his free hand as Mjollnir rested on his shoulder with the other.

  The laughing died off. It confirmed that these gods were Thor's groupies. Now he wasn't joining in with their humorous hardly-veiled threats, the groupies weren't finding things funny anymore.

  Thor just stood there, and I started to wonder if he was so bored by the whole idea of protecting me he was considering a nap instead.

  No, that wasn't right. The way Thor played with his jaw wasn't out of boredom. The movements of his fingers were too stiff. The fine lines at the corners of his eyes were bunched up, indicating there was more tension there than his casual stance belied.

  He flicked his gaze over to me. “Stop staring at me, Details.”

  This elicited a laugh from his groupies – though it was a stuttering one. They were still unsure about what was funny – because what was funny to them, was what was funny to Thor, and Thor didn't seem in a fun-loving mood.

  I sighed at the dumb pet name, shifting my gaze off him, settling it innocently on the shadow he cast on the wall behind instead.

  I was waiting for him to tell me what was going to happen next. I’d never – surprisingly – been on a god-hunt before. I was the goddess of details, not the goddess of tracking bad divinities and bringing them to justice. I didn't know the fine details of catching dodgy divinities – although, ironically, I would soon enough. I would know each and every exquisite fact of what it felt like to accompany Thor as we found the god who both wanted to kill me and had stolen Thor's dad's questionable pet.

  Details, details. Usually fine things, but I knew these details were going to be of the unpleasant, frequently-fighting, loud, golden-bearded variety.

  I took a needless breath and tried to weather the storm.

  Without a word of explanation, Thor began to stalk off in the other direction. Mjollnir was held stiffly at his side and his shoulders were so tight they looked ready to pop.

  I wasn't sure whether I was meant to follow, and nor did I want to when he looked that angry.

  His groupies didn't appear to know what was going on, either. A couple of them exchanged glances and looked fleetingly after him.

  “Details,” Thor rumbled.

  I was vaguely impressed by how he could make his tone roll like a clap of thunder. When I realized the thunder was directed at me, I hopped, skipped, and jumped into action.

  I scurried after him, ignoring the several snickers I received fro
m his groupies. As far as I was concerned, what I was doing – following Thor around at his rumbling beck and call – was at least a tad more dignified than these divine hangers-on. They stood there like lost sheep waiting for their butch shepherd to come back. Their stuttering laughs were their pathetic equivalents of bleating.

  I angled my chin up as I passed them – even if I was scurrying at the same time. I was a goddess, they were gods, and as far as I was concerned, I had no intention of being belittled by their laughter.

  “Details!” Thor boomed, the great clear windows on either side of the corridor shivering ominously.

  I scurried faster. It wasn't my fault – I was doing my best to keep up. Thor was striding around like a bloody god in full swing. Couldn't the man ever just walk somewhere?

  Once I caught up to him, which took a full run on my behalf to his simple walk, I stopped myself from asking what next.... For about a second. “Right,” I puffed, even though I didn't breathe, “Where are we going? Why do we have to get there so darn fast?”

  He turned on me, somewhat like an unexpected clap of thunder on a clear night. “You think I don't have better things to do? I came to Earth for a holiday, not to escort you around while small-time monsters try to do away with you once and for all.”

  I glared back at him. “You always come to Earth for a holiday.” I clamped my hands on my hips. “Some of us have to work here, you know – work I won't be able to do while we're running around looking for whatever idiot stole your dad's sea-monster pet. If you think I don't have anything better to do, then you are wrong. It just so happens that while you will be missing out on drunken parties, I won't be able to complete my important job of keeping this planet safe.”

  Thor snorted. I saw his nostrils flare in perfect detail. I knew from history that one of his alternate identities – Zeus – was fond of turning into a magical bull. Over the years the habit of looking like one when he was a man had become ingrained. Soon he'd probably produce a salt lick from his pocket and nuzzle up to it.

  “Listen, Details.” Thor leaned down, eyes flaming so brightly I was surprised they weren't sending out sparks to catch his beard alight. “More keeps this Earth safe than you stamping bits of paper.” He pressed two of his giant fingers together to indicate how small those bits of paper were, and how small I was at the same time.

  “I know that.” I crossed my arms, noting the unusual bunching of my toga underneath them. It was an off-putting feeling. It reminded me of a time long, long ago. “The police—“

  He snorted again. He straightened up. “You small-time gods never get it.”

  “Small-time?” I stressed the words. While I was aware many gods used the term, including me, it was profoundly insulting to hear Thor use it. “It's not just how big you are that matters.” I raised an eyebrow but resisted the tried and true comeback of “It's how you use it.” Instead I pointed a finger right at him. “It's who believes in you. An apparent small-time god today can turn into one of the big guys tomorrow. You big-time gods tend to forget that. You are not powerful in and of yourself – you stand for something.”

  Thor turned his snort into a gruff laugh. “I’m the leader of two pantheons.” He began to lean in again, and this time his eyes sparked with something that could only be described as timelessness. “I’m one of the most powerful gods on Earth. I do not need to be told about what it is like to be a god, especially not by an insignificant goddess of details. Now,” he twisted his head to the side, “Stay out of my way while I sort this out.”

  That look in his eyes – the one that threatened to cancel out all of creation in a single instant – trapped me in place. It was like turning a mirror up to the universe and watching it reflect itself in its entirety.

  Then he just turned his powerful gaze off, as if it were as simple as flicking a switch.

  I shook off the lingering effects of his power, then opened my mouth to continue.

  He shook his head once, turned, and strode away.

  What a total arrogant idiot. I managed a comeback, but I didn't dare say it out loud. Some uncomfortable truth was making itself known with an unpleasant tingle at the base of my spine. It was telling me that, yes, Thor was rude, blustering, violent, and often idiotic. He was also fundamentally powerful. As much as I wanted to dismiss the latter as plain god luck – what, with him being born into the right pantheons at the right time – I was having trouble justifying that conclusion. Thor was right. He did know secrets I didn't.

  Secrets about the universe, secrets about the heavens, secrets about the history of the gods. Because of his position, he would be privy to information I would never be allowed to see.

  As goddess of details, the knowledge that some facts were off limits was as annoying as it sounded.

  It took me a moment to realize I was still gaping at him as he strode off down the corridor. I began to scurry after him again.

  I knew deep down this was all going to end in the divine equivalent of tears. My tears. Giant, golden-bearded, magical-hammer wielding head gods don't cry. They hit things.