Modern Goddess: Trapped by Thor (Book One) (26 page)

His face was right next to mine.

He didn't say anything, just stared down at
me with his eyes narrowed.

I hit him. It was a spur-of-the-moment
thing. I balled up a hand and struck him right on the chest. It was
a pathetic move, and it wasn't one that was going to achieve
anything. The tiny fist of a tiny goddess against the full-body
armor of a mythic god.

But sometimes the smallest of moves have the
largest of effects.

Thor softened his expression. “I’m not doing
this, Details – you are.”

I balled up a hand and hit him on the chest
again.

How could I be doing this? How could this
be my fault? Thor was... ahhh!

I hit him again.

He was useless. He was a nightmare. He was
insufferable.

“
You are the goddess of
facts, and yet you do not know the facts of your own beginning. How
can this be?” he asked, voice close enough to boom right through me
like a clap of thunder.

“
I don't know all facts,” I said
through clenched teeth. “I don't know every detail – it doesn't
work like that.”

“
Then how does it
work?”

I had no idea, so I hit him again. With
every pathetic, desperate lashing-out, my determination was cut in
half. It withered up and curled in on itself until my hand limply
hung there, resting against the armor I couldn't hope to dent let
alone break.

There was a moment of silence.

“
I'm Officina, goddess of
details and facts,” I said weakly.

The truth was, with every passing second, I
knew less and less about who I was.

Thor grabbed a hand around my limply
balled-up fist as it rested on his armor.

“
There are more details in
this universe than you can imagine, and yet you must rule them all.
How?”

What? The frustration surged in me again.
The question hung in the air. I was the goddess of details – all of
them – and yet I had the apparent power of the God of Knit Wear. I
could see where Thor was going here, but I didn't like it.

“
Everything, all – there are
details to be had in each and every thing. There are facts
innumerable and infinite that can be drawn from every single
process. You embody them, and yet you hardly have the power to dent
my armor. How?” his voice hit that shaky note again.

The note was unsettling, unsettling in
that way that shook parts of me I hardly knew existed.

He was still holding onto my hand, and
though I didn’t want to accept the feeling, it held me in
place.

“
I don't know,” I admitted. “It
doesn't work like that,” I tried to protest once more. It was a
last ditch effort to hold onto the me I had always thought I
was.

“
I'm afraid it does,” he
replied.

Oh god, I thought appropriately. It was the
most fitting, logical, rational, wisest thought I’d entertained all
day. I didn’t know what god I was. All I could do was generalize to
whatever divinity would hear me.

My shoulders deflated, and in a snap, I lost
all my fight.

Thor didn't let go of my hand, demand to
know who I was, and smash some of my stuff to give me an incentive
to tell him.

He didn't let go of my hand at all. As he
held it, he took a heavy and noticeable sigh. As his chest moved up
and down, so too did the hand that held mine. I was pulled along by
every detail of the move.

“
Right,” he said, letting go
of me and taking an almighty and rattling sniff. “We need to get to
work. No more wasting my time, Details.”

Snap: he was back to being the Thor I knew
and mostly hated.

He looked over at me and he looked me up and
down. “You are filthy.” He reached a hand forward and grabbed a
tendril of my sand-caked hair.

I shuddered at the unexpected move.

Thor chuckled. “You look like a swine that
has been rolling in mud. You are not the goddess of muck, Details.”
He let the tendril of hair go. “Not that we know of.” He shrugged
his shoulders and enjoyed another laugh.

Snap: he could change personalities just
like that. One minute he stared me down, questioning the life out
of me as he searched for something dear to his soul. The next, he
was cracking unfunny jokes only he could laugh at.

If Thor wasn't a god who – for divine
cross-pantheon purposes – had a legitimately split identity, I
would start to suspect the guy had a personality disorder.

I shook my head and tried to ignore the
bare warmth that remained on my skin from where Thor's fingers had
brushed across my cheek.

He pointed right at me. “Are you going to
bathe? Are you going to change out of your ridiculous,” he snorted
as he looked at my outfit, “Inappropriate clothes? I cannot promise
you will not get dirty again – you most certainly will. But please
have the dignity to do it in a toga.” He clamped his hands on his
hips and posed heroically, though his last statement had been a
pitch for a dress that both men and women could enjoy – not
something that required the spruiking of a Nordic god in body
armor.

I ran a hand through my hair (or tried to)
and shook my head.

“
We must investigate this,
Details,” Thor said with his hands still on his hips, then he
pointed my way. “We must investigate you.” There was a wicked
flicker in his eyes as he finished his words.

I ignored it and tried to look dignified
while standing around in my smashed-up bedroom in a dirty trench
coat and dirtier PJ’s. “What's the big plan, then?” I flicked my
hair over my shoulder. “Going back to the Ambrosia so you can have
at least a hundred beers between each thought?” I crossed my arms,
not wanting to let him dominate this conversation through his
ability to switch between caring and being a complete nong. “You
know, just so you don't tax yourself.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You attempt
sarcasm, Details. Where are your priorities? I would have thought
that you – of all people – would enjoy the prospect of getting
clean.”

I snorted, not wanting to admit how
tantalizing that prospect was.

“
The plan, Details – which I
will continue to call you until we can replace it with a more
appropriate name like Paperwork, or Goddess of Getting Kidnapped by
Sea Monsters while Climbing Ladders.” His eyes sparkled.

I looked at him with my lip twitching.

“
The plan, Details, is to
head to the Immigration Office. There, you will open up a file on
yourself.” He kept posing, trying to underline with his tight
posture how tight he thought the plan was.

“
Right.... I don't see how that
will help. I have seen my own file, and I remember all the
details—“

“
I have access that you do not.
Also, in your current state,” he nodded towards me, “I do not trust
you to be able to pick out the important facts.”

What a jerk. What a total jerk. He'd gone
from holding my hand to happily shrugging and admitting I was mad
and untrustworthy.

“
Plus,” he let his voice
echo and a mischievous grin spread across his face, “While you are
in your office, Details. You can do us both a favor.”

I narrowed my eyes suspiciously. A favor
for Thor? What would that entail?

“
Because of the seriousness of
this situation, it is clear to me that I cannot allow myself to be
hindered.” He took another rattling manly sniff.

Hindered? What? He wanted me to lock myself
in a cupboard so I wasn't a liability to him while he ran around
Earth smashing up the goons and bad guys? “What do you want, Thor?”
I asked when I realized he was too busy enjoying the moment to fill
me in on the plan.

“
You are going to grant full
working visas to every single one of my divine identities,” he said
with finality, and boy did he mean it.

My mouth froze in place, then I shook my
head firmly. “Not on your life, sunshine,” I snapped. Grant full
working visas to every single one of Thor's identities, all at the
same time? Dear lord (literally), that would be a nightmare. That
would mean Thor would have access to every single power, visage,
personality-trait, and belonging of Zeus and Jupiter at the same
time. It would be a total, and destructive, nightmare.

Thor ignored me. “While you are there, you
can remove all restrictions on Jupiter and Zeus. I will need the
ability to travel freely everywhere.”

I snorted. This god was a fool.

A part of me realized that while I ran
through the reasons why I wasn't going to grant Thor what he
wanted, I was more of myself than I’d been in days. The prospect of
getting back to work was reminding me of who I was.

“
Also,” he brought up a hand and
appeared to tick off his wish list on his massive fingers, “I would
like to ensure that no retaliatory actions can be taken against me
for...” he stuck out his bottom lip, “Any indiscretions that might
occur on my behalf.”

I snorted again. The prospect of denying
Thor's idiotic application was bringing me back to myself in such a
comforting, reassuring way. Clearly all I needed was a great big
pile of ridiculous visa applications and a rejection stamp. I
lifted a hand to push up the glasses I wasn't wearing. “There is no
way—“

“
There is every way,” he let his
voice bottom out in that same tone he always used to threaten me
when it came around to his visa assessments. “You will make it
happen.”

“
Let me get this right,” I
crossed my arms and stared up at him, “You think I’m not only going
to give you three visas, but I’m going to ensure you don't get in
any trouble if you break any rules. Wow.” I made the word pop with
my lips. “How about no.”

“
Tie my hands, Details, and
you might as well offer yourself up to your kidnappers. I’m doing
this to protect you.” He kept his arms crossed and one eyebrow
raised.

Sure, he was doing it for me. If doing it
for me meant he was doing it for the prospect of having as many
drunken brawls as he could with impunity.

“
If you want to find out
what is happening to you, how to stop it, and who you are,” he
added the last one in a quieter, more thoughtful tone, “You will
need my help. If you handicap me,” he shrugged his shoulders and
trailed off.

He was, presumably, attempting to tell me
that if I handicapped him by refusing to wave the rules, he'd be as
useless as a soggy old rag when it came to battling gods. Which was
a total lie. Up until now, he'd been fine at saving me – if a
little slow. Being Thor, and having Mjollnir or course, was enough.
He didn't need the ability to wear yacht pants, carry around
gold-plated guns, and be generally and hairily above the law
too.

“
You'll do fine as you are,”
I clicked my tongue. “Plus—“ I began.

He put up a hand and shook his head.
“Please don't pretend to think in your current state, Details. I
saw you when I came in – you are breaking apart,” he said the words
without a hint of sympathy. “You are beginning to doubt who you
are. You are having visions. Flashes of things you do not
understand.” He still had an eyebrow raised as he stared down at
me. “In your current state,” he thumped a hand on his breast plate,
“Let me make the decisions. Your last decision saw you curling up
on your bed like a...” he paused to search for a word.

What was he going to say? Like a girl? Like
a frightened child? Like something abjectly foolish and
pathetic?

“
Like someone who,” he
clicked his fingers, “Cannot win.”

“
You mean a loser,” I
supplied with a stony look.

“
Yes.” He clicked his fingers
again, excited that I knew what he was talking about. “Somebody who
cannot know victory through their own general weakness and
inability to try.”

My nostrils flared. He was such a bloody,
freaking, god-sized turd.

“
Details, we will go to the
Integration Office, and you will grant me all that I ask. In
exchange, I commit to keeping you safe,” he gave a bow, “And
finding out who you are.” He flicked his gaze up at me.

I gave a small shudder but tried to ignore
it immediately.

“
For now you will bathe.” He
flopped a hand at me. “You smell of an unsavory mix of sand,
seawater, and general filth. You offend my nostrils. You also look
unappealing.” He noted with a genuine nod of his head.

Words couldn't express how much I hated this
guy.

“
Go, bathe. You will be safe in
your own temple,” he said the last word with a look that suggested
he'd swallowed something nasty. “As long as I’m here, no vagabonds,
gods, or evil creatures will assail your walls.”

I glanced over at my bullet-hole-covered
walls. They were already assailed.

But I realized that a bath was what I
could use right now. A quick one – enough to get this awful gritty
sand from my hair. Thor, though I hated to admit it, was right: I
would be safe as long as he sat on my porch with Mjollnir, sneering
at potential attackers/ women walking their dogs late at
night.

I still wasn't going to grant his visa
applications, though.

“
Go bathe.” He flopped a hand at
me again, shooing me out of the room. “Unless you need a hand, that
is?” he asked with a curled-lip smile.

I sneered at him and walked from the room.
“You want to do something handy, Thor? Fix my bloody door.”