Modern Goddess: Trapped by Thor (Book One) (11 page)

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.

Thor deemed to tell me the plan. It was an
exciting, exhilarating, genius plan. Not.

We walked along the corridor of the
floating god hospital and out into an open-air garden. He peered
over the side, right down into the billowing clouds below. This
god-hospital didn't have a railing – health and safety was less of
a concern in building design when all the occupants were
immortal.

Watching him, I knew Thor had every
intention of jumping over the edge in a furl of golden hair,
hammer, and beard.

I didn't know where I fit in. I couldn't
fly, and although the drop to Earth wouldn't kill me, it wouldn't
thrill me, either. I'd wind up in a giant crater in the side of
some snowy Himalayan peak, and it would take weeks to walk to
civilization. Hey, maybe that was Thor's plan – get me out of the
way so he could do some monster smashing solo.

When Thor didn't immediately grab my arm
and throw me off the side of the building, I began to be drawn in
by the details. He stood with one foot on the side of a small stone
wall – small enough to offer no protection against the sheer drop,
but large enough to constitute a tripping hazard. His hammer was
held gently at one side, and the majority of his torso was twisted
forward so he could stare down at the world below. The sunshine
glinted easily, and happily, off the metal of his breast plate. It
played along the wings of his helmet, the movement making them look
like they were in full flight.

His stare was... engaging. It was the kind
of stare you could imagine a shepherd would give while watching his
flock grazing below. His lips were pressed into a tight line, his
eyes narrowed, and his brow furrowed enough to show his eager
concentration.

Without turning around, he pointed his
hammer at me. “You are staring at me, Details.”

I sighed through my teeth, rolled my eyes,
and stood my ground – several thankful meters away from the ledge.
“I hope you don't plan on throwing me down there,” I admitted. “I
can't fly,” I pointed out with what I hoped was a righteous
sniff.

Thor snorted. “That doesn't surprise me.
No. You go home. I fly.”

“
What?” My lips kinked up
with surprise. “I thought we were meant to—“

He turned around, resting his hammer on
his knee. “You are meant to not die – a function you can fulfill
while at home with your bake wear, books, and cat,” he said with
enough disdain to impress a class-full of surly, authority-hating
teenagers. To Thor, bake ware, books, and cats were about as
welcome as Loki, Seth, and Hades.

“
Home?”

“
Home,” he repeated, voice
strong. “I will track down who is responsible. You,” he pointed
Mjollnir right at me, “Would just get in the way.”

I opened my mouth to protest, but closed
it. He was right. I would just get in the way. Not because I was
weak – because I wasn't a macho, god-fighting goddess. If solving
this problem were up to me, I wouldn't do it the same way. I would
gather every detail I could find and construct the reality of
events from them. That way I would be sure to reach the correct
conclusion.

Thor, on the other hand, would
run around, smash any monsters he could find, and hope
that at least one of
them was the bad guy we were after.

We were different, irrevocably so. If Thor
wanted to take charge, then yes, it was better that I stayed at
home.

I leveled my gaze, meeting his. “A good
plan. I will go home and bake muffins,” I reveled in the word.
“I'll feed my cat. Hey, I might even do some ironing.”

Thor snorted, and before I could offer him
a ring for that bull-nose of his, he stepped backwards off the edge
of the building. When you were a god, that was how you finished
arguments. Not suggested for humans, though.

I watched him go, and when he was out of
sight, I glared at him. I put all my godly powers into it,
squinting my eyes and gritting my teeth. While I couldn't stop time
with my gaze, like he could, I was still capable of a mean
stare.

Then
... then I went home.

Fortunately, my home was like a temple.
That didn't mean I treated it with all the reverence of an acolyte.
It was a technical term. While on Earth, as the goddess of details,
I didn't have any churches, temples, or shrines set up for me – I
was too complex a goddess for those types of things. It meant I had
to build my own. Some of the older, more established, more powerful
gods like Anubis or Venus still had functioning temples they could
call home (and by functioning, I meant ruins). When they visited
Earth and found themselves in a spot of trouble or were hankering
for some free accommodation, they could hang at their own temples.
Me, I had to build my own, replete with a white picket fence, white
roses, a white cat, and multicolored cupcakes.

The temple, shrine, or church was an
important part of a god's existence. It was their home turf. When
they were in trouble, they could retreat inside the walls of their
homes, and said home would offer protection against whatever
afflicted them. They were far more effective than a bunker, armored
car, or highly-defended castle. The belief that kept the god or
goddess alive was deeply woven into their place of
worship.

A cottage in my case.

Thor was correct in thinking I would be okay
at home. It was unlikely anything could walk up to my front door
and force its way in. Unless it was wearing a skirt and insistently
selling Girl Guide cookies. My shrine – my cottage – would, or
should, protect against immortal attacks, for a time.

It would take considerable effort to break
through my front door. While some of the more powerful gods could
manage it, they would still have to put up a noisy fight.

Once I walked in my front door, I was sure
to lock it securely, sliding the bolt to the side. I ensured my cat
was inside, and went around securing all the windows. I had enough
food, considering I didn't need to eat in order to live, and I
could rustle up enough reading material to keep me happy. I didn't
think this whole thing would take too long. As much as I hated
Thor, I had to admit he was powerful and also suitably brash. Two
things that should work in my favor. I could easily imagine him
taking several minutes to track down the bad guy, another couple of
seconds to knock him out, then a couple of hours to drink to
victory. I'd be let out to go back to my ordinary life. If I was
lucky, I'd only miss one day of work.

I set about cleaning my already spotless
house in order to give myself something to do. I made muffins –
chocolate chip and raspberry ones. I decorated them with
exquisitely detailed icing. I didn't bother eating them,
though.

After several
hours passed, I
wondered whether it would be a smart idea to go out into the garden
and mulch the roses. Technically, although the garden was outside,
it was still behind my picket fence. The fence was still part of my
cottage-temple.

I stared out of the window, watching the
afternoon settle over my garden. I got caught up in watching the
bees zip over my flowers. I had a bank of lavender, verbena, and
cornflowers right next to my kitchen windows. The small, brightly
colored finches usually rested in the sturdier branches of the
verbena and tried to peer in through the glass, in the hope they
could spy something more appetizing than bugs.

I leaned down on the spotless kitchen
bench, resting my chin in my hand. With my other hand I gently
brushed a speck of something off the glass.

The mulberry tree in the center of my garden
was casting a long shadow over the wooden bench seated underneath
it.

The grass looked like it needed a cut.

Thor was such an idiot – from that
arrogant pose, to the way he treated me.

I blinked. I had allowed myself to get
distracted, by Thor of all people. I pushed air through my teeth. I
wasn't going to sit here and moan about that Nordic nong. I was
going to push him from my mind. Soon this would all be over and I'd
be back to my old life, and I'd only have to put up with the
arrogant bull whenever he wanted entry into Earth.

I stopped noting the details on each petal
of each stalk of lavender as they played in the gentle wind that
swayed past my window. I stopped noticing the bees, too.

It was the way he looked at you, it was
the way he treated you. None of the other gods did that. Not even
Odin – though he wasn't exactly a cuddly bear of warm and generous
godliness. Still, he seemed more stable and reliable than
Thor/Zeus/Jupiter.