Gods and Mortals: Fourteen Free Urban Fantasy & Paranormal Novels Featuring Thor, Loki, Greek Gods, Native American Spirits, Vampires, Werewolves, & More (40 page)

“What do you want?” Loki whispers.

“Be my Josef!” Cera wails. “Save me from the God people!”

Loki throws his legs over the edge of the couch. “Where are you?”

He feels an anxiety in the pit of his stomach and knows it isn’t his own. The thing is projecting emotions now. He scowls.

“I don’t know where I am,” Cera wails. “But I know where I’ve been...”

I
t is
way too early in the morning after Loki and Amy’s Apple TV discussion, but Amy is dashing down the stairs. The vet clinic called. They are short handed for the day; they asked her if she can be there in half an hour for a ten hour shift. She tears into the kitchen in her scrubs and finds Loki staring out the window, a frown on his face. She runs to retrieve her change apron from the next room. When she gets back in the kitchen, apron in hand, she says, “What’s wrong?” She doesn’t really have time for the answer, but she remembers him murmuring in his sleep the night before, his fingers twitching, and it makes her physically ache for him.

“I need money,” he says, shooting her a look like a challenge. “And I am forbidden to steal while I am under your roof, so — ”

“You could ask to borrow some,” says Amy.

Loki’s frown vanishes. “Ask?”

“Of course,” says Amy. She heaves a breath. “Look, you lost your family, your friends...your world. Of course you’ll need some help getting back on your feet.” She takes two tens out of the change apron, slips them in the pocket of her scrubs and drops the apron on the table. The change rattles in the pockets. Loki follows it with his eyes.

“Take as much as you need; everything if you need it,” Amy says.

“I don’t think I could....” says Loki. His eyes have gone wide, and he has the expression of a surprised puppy on his face.

His earnestness surprises Amy, and makes warmth bubble in her stomach. “Look, you know where it all is. Take it. Everything. It’s okay. Really.”

Loki comes forward and drops to one knee in front of her. “Amy Lewis, I am in your debt. You have my oath that I will pay you back with interest.”

“Ummm...” she says. “Well, if you think that is necessary,” she says, looking at her change purse. What is it, forty six bucks and some change maybe?

Kissing her hand, he says, “I do think it is necessary.”

Amy swallows as warmth rushes through her limbs at his touch. “Okay...” Loki looks up at her, his face shining with something close to happiness. “I wondered why I heard you in the forest, I wondered how your voice came to be in my head, and how you intersected with my higher purpose. Now I know. My gratitude is eternal, and you have my oath, I will pay it back with interest!”

He kisses her hand again, and Amy’s mouth drops open. “Ummmm....” is all that comes out. She feels her face go red, and then Loki looks up at her like he might actually kiss her — really kiss her. That is appealing and scary. “I have to go,” she squeaks and runs out the kitchen door.

She nearly crashes into Beatrice on the back walk. Clutching a watering can to her chest, Beatrice says, “Did you talk to Loki this morning?”

Amy blinks. “Yes.”

Beatrice’s eyes narrow. “I heard him talking in Russian.” Beatrice learned Russian as a child in the Ukraine — under less than ideal circumstances.

Amy’s bites her lip. She has to run, but she doesn’t like to rush away from her grandmother. Not when she’s talking about her life before.

Shaking her head, Beatrice says, “Something about Cera and Tunguska.”

“What?” says Amy.

“Cera is power, dear,” says Beatrice. She purses her lips. “I think Tunguska is a place.” And then Beatrice starts walking towards the front yard. “Well, I better go. My impatiens are thirsty.”

Amy watches her go, her stomach tying in a knot. But then she shakes her head and makes a beeline for the bus stop, waving to the little Mexican man on a bicycle ice cream cart that always seems to be around their house as she goes.

L
ater that evening
when she comes home, her change apron is lying on the table. She peeks in. Loki has left her with $20. A note is on top, written in an oddly near perfect hand.

Miss Lewis,

I must leave for a while and do not know when I shall return; but rest assured, I never forget my oaths. We never discussed terms of my loan, I hope 33% per annum will be sufficient.

Again my gratitude is eternal,

Loki

Amy’s heart falls at the “leave for a while” bit. She rubs her hand over the note and sighs.

After a few minutes she picks up the change apron and shakes her head. All that gratitude for what could have only been about $26 bucks?

A
bout a week and a half later
, Amy is walking up the sidewalk to her grandmother's house. It's dusk, and the windows are all dark. The day was hot and muggy, and the evening isn't much better, but she sees Beatrice out watering her flowers in the relatively cool air. Her grandmother nods without smiling, and goes around the back of the house, watering can in hand. Her grandmother's expression, the darkness of the house, she doesn't have to ask; Loki is still gone. She bites her lip, and the magic is gone with him. Bowing her head, she trudges up the steps.

Going in the door, she picks up the mail that's been thrust through the mail slot. She rifles through the envelopes, purposefully not looking at the couch where Loki slept.

Her eyebrows rise. There is a letter from her school. Opening it, she finds that the check she sent in to pay for her miscellaneous school fees has bounced. Shaking her head, she goes to her laptop to check her bank account. She's never bounced a check in her life; there must be a mistake.

A few minutes later, Amy's sitting at the kitchen table, staring at the computer screen, face in her hands. There is only $1 left in her checking. She feels cold, even though the room is warm. Realization hits hard and fast. Loki stole from her, after giving her his precious oath. And he hasn't come back, and she won't be able to go back to school.

She swallows and scoots back from the table feeling sick.

How will she get the money? Should she borrow it from Beatrice? Is it too late to apply for financial aid?

She looks up and her gaze goes to the kitchen window. She's vaguely aware of Beatrice standing up and lowering the the watering can in her hands. Amy closes her eyes, remembering Loki's words, “I will pay you back with interest.” Maybe it's all been a mistake? He'll come back, it will all be okay... But it won't be, because she needs the money
now
.

Outside, Beatrice must see Amy, and her face must look stricken, because Beatrice comes running. And then Beatrice just sort of isn’t there.

Amy bolts from her seat, the sickening feeling in her stomach instantly getting worse. She runs through the door and finds Beatrice on the ground at the bottom of the stoop, her leg at an odd angle. Her head is tilted back and her eyes are closed. Blood is on the sidewalk.

“Grandma!” Amy screams. Sinking to her knees, she pulls out her phone, and dials 911. As the phone rings, she takes her grandmothers hand in her own. She looks down at the delicate veins visible through her grandmother's aged skin. Beatrice does not stir. Amy swallows, her eyes hot. Now everything is gone.

A few hours later she is at the hospital, sitting in the waiting room in a daze. On the periphery of her vision she sees several men approaching.

“Miss Lewis?” Amy turns her head, and her brow furrows. There is the older man with the too-square jaw in the too conservative gray suit who she saw in her neighborhood eating ice cream. He’s still in a gray suit. Next to him are two other men. The first looks Mexican, and vaguely familiar. She blinks. It’s the ice cream vendor, but now he’s in a suit, too.

The last man is young. He’s wearing a suit too, but he looks a little more rumpled. Looking down at a little device of some kind, he says, “She’s clean.”

Holding up a badge, the older guy says, “Miss Lewis, I’m agent Merryl and these are agents Hernandez and Ericson. We’re from the FBI. We need to bring you in for questioning.”

“Am I in trouble?” Amy stammers.

The old guy just tilts his head.

W
hen God offers
the Devil a chance to redeem himself if he can make a woman fall in love with him, Lucifer is confident it’s a done deal…until he meets Christa Simms, the woman hand-picked by the Almighty to be a part of the cosmic wager. 

If there’s one thing Christa knows, it’s how to recognize Mr. Wrong when she sees him. Between Christa’s sexy best friend, her blundering ex-boyfriend, and a pair of interfering demons with a stake in the outcome, the Devil has…a
devil
of a time…wooing the woman who can save his soul by stealing his heart.

T
he Devil paused
on the street outside a café and glanced in the window. God already sat at a table inside, blowing on a cup of café au lait. After stopping to brush some snow from the shoulder of his coat, the Devil entered the building.

“You’re late,” God remarked, not looking up from His coffee.

“An unavoidable delay, I assure you.” The Devil waved a waiter over and ordered a double espresso.

“Sticking to the dark side, I see,” said God.

“That stuff,” the Devil retorted, pointing a gloved finger at God’s café au lait, “is entirely too frilly for me.”

God didn’t bother to reply, but instead took a small sip from His maligned coffee and then shut His eyes momentarily. “You don’t know what you’re missing,” He said. “But no matter. We’re not here to discuss coffee, are we?”

“Hardly.” The Devil drew off his gloves and laid them on the scuffed tabletop. The waiter reappeared and placed an espresso at the Devil’s elbow, then retreated toward the kitchen. Without bothering to blow on the steaming liquid to cool it, the Devil tossed back a healthy swallow, after which he set the cup down on the table and said, “I want out.”

“Out?” God inquired, in a tone of mild curiosity.

“Out of Hell. I’m done. Eternity’s gotten to be too long.”

For a moment God regarded the Devil over the rim of His coffee cup. He sipped again, then put down the café au lait. “Any reason for this change of heart?”

“The world doesn’t need the Devil anymore. These people can manage quite well enough on their own.”

God considered that statement for a moment, then said, “Any other explanations for this sudden onset of angst?”

The Devil drained the rest of his espresso and signaled the waiter for another. “Does it matter? Isn’t this what you’ve wanted all along — for me to come crawling back on my hands and knees?”

“Penitence is laudable, of course, but balance must be maintained. Hell must have its guardian.”

“So promote Beelzebub,” the Devil growled. “He’s been grousing about ‘glass ceilings’ and all that lately. I knew I should have canceled that subscription to
Inc.
magazine.”

God smiled. “Very well. But I’m afraid it’s not quite that simple.”

The Devil made a sound of muffled anger in his throat. “What, then?”

Still smiling, God waited until the waiter had placed another espresso on the table and moved off to take an order from a portly gentleman a few tables away. “To re-enter the Kingdom of Heaven, you must prove that you’re worthy of it.”

“And how the hell — if you’ll pardon the expression — am I supposed to do that?”

“Love.”

“Excuse me?”

God finished off the rest of His café au lait. “Ah, excellent. Truly the best on Earth. Anyhow, if you can prove that you’re capable of love —
true
love, not simple lust or infatuation — then you may become mortal, live out a span of years, and die. At that point you should have redeemed yourself sufficiently to return to Heaven.”

“I have to die to do it?”

“I’m afraid so.”

The Devil let out an exasperated sigh. “It’s never easy with You, is it?”

God lifted His shoulders. “How badly do you want to be quit of Hell?”

“I see your point.” There was a pause as the Devil took a more modest sip of espresso. Frowning, he asked, “Who is this person I’m supposed to love?”

“Ah, that.” God traced a finger along a particularly deep scar on the tabletop. “She’s just been born, as a matter of fact.”

“Is she pretty?”

God lifted an eyebrow. “Typical. If I wanted to make this particularly difficult, I could have made her plain, but — yes, she will be pretty. Not,” God added, giving the Devil a stern look, “outstandingly beautiful.”

“I suppose it would have been too much to request another Marilyn Monroe or Sophia Loren.”

“Some of My best work,” God said modestly. “But yes, of course. Nothing like that. Still, she should be pleasing enough.”

“All right,” said the Devil, after drinking more espresso. “What else?”

“She must love you for yourself. This means she must know who you are.”

“I have to tell her I’m the Devil?”

“Yes.”

The Devil frowned but said nothing.

“You will retain all your powers, but you may know nothing of her — nothing more than you would learn from observing her as any mortal man might. It would give you an unfair advantage for you to know everything of her life as you do with other mortals.” God picked up a sugar packet and considered it, then put it back in the wire rack that held its companions. “And you must accomplish your goal in thirty days.”

“Why thirty?”

God raised an eyebrow. “It seems a good round number.”

The Devil looked away, gazing through the window at the town square outside and the bulk of the cathedral that loomed up through the twilight. He asked, “But I am allowed to keep my powers?”

“Up until the time you meet the strictures of our agreement. Then, of course, you will be as mortal as anyone else. Oh, you won’t be cut off completely,” God went on, His voice somewhat amused. “If nothing else, you’ve earned a very good retirement package, but how can you expect to live out your life as a regular man if I allow you to retain your powers?”

The Devil tapped his fingers on the table, considering. “All right,” he said. “I suppose You have a valid point. So I simply have to fall in love with her, and have her fall in love with me? Then I live my life, go to Heaven, and am finished with Hell forever?”

“The fact that you used the word ‘simply’ in that sentence proves how little you know about love.”

“Hmph.” The Devil set his empty espresso cup down on the battered tabletop. “We’ll see about that.”

“Yes,” God said mildly. “I suppose We shall.”