Modern Goddess: Trapped by Thor (Book One) (6 page)

“
Oh,” Tolus turned his
watery gaze on me, “I was hoping I could thank you – buy you a
drink.”

I stopped from saying “What with?” I got the
impression he wanted to thank me for my help. Sometimes you had to
let people offer their thanks – a lesson a god or goddess had to
live by.

I tried not to sigh – I didn't want Tolus
to think he was a burden – but accompanying him into the Ambrosia
wasn't a good idea. Going home and reading the weather report was,
however, a great idea. Yet as I looked across at Tolus, I realized
I couldn't say no.

Gods and goddesses had to support each
other. Great, raging god wars were frowned upon these days. If we
all wanted to live together, we had to learn how to cooperate. A
lesson I knew, but one I never affirmed through action. I stayed
out of other gods’ ways. I didn't bake them muffins and pat them on
their backs when they had a successful sacrifice. I remained
uninvolved.

I took a second to damn Thor for pointing
out I shunned my own kind. I took another moment to damn myself for
letting his words affect me so much. “Okay,” I agreed with a great
big breath. “Why don't we just have water, though?”

“
A wonderful
plan.”

Oh lord, it was too late to back out – I’d
said yes. Though I knew walking into the Ambrosia would get me more
than a drink. I could categorically guarantee a certain arrogant,
ale-loving, me-hating god would be there to put on a show.

Great.

I walked up to the door and
knocked once. It opened.
That was all it took. There wasn't a secret rune
you had to scratch into the surface of the paint or some mystical
chant you had to utter. There wasn't an ogre you had to kill. Nope,
you knocked. It opened.

The door, from the outside, appeared to lead
into a dimly lit brick room. As soon as I closed the door behind
Tolus, the place changed. The brick wasn't so much brick as
glittering and gold-encrusted marble. The room wasn't so much small
as cavernously large and lit with great burning lanterns hung along
the walls.

As the room
formed
, so
did the noise, the chatter, and the other gods. Before us was a
formidable-sized hall filled with great hewn tables, all packed
with gods of varying sizes and descriptions. It was a heck of a
sight – and though it wasn't one I’d wanted to indulge in, it was
one I couldn't help but gape at. All the color, all the shapes, all
the forms, all the power.

There were gold wreaths on the tables and
great glistening chandeliers hanging from the ceiling. There were
pillars with beautiful winding vines wrapped around them, and each
table had its own themed decorations ranging from swords to
glistening carvings of wild boar and deer.

Any god could find something here to make
them feel at home. There was a table made from gravestones stuck in
a dark corner replete with deep dark shadows and several cloaked
figures. There were even a couple of scythes leaning against the
wall next to it.

I couldn't stop as my eyes scanned the new
sight and took in the details. It wasn't in me to ignore them. All
the movement – the gods tipping back their heads and laughing, the
sloshing of ale-filled glasses, the lithe forms of the wait staff
nipping through the crowd – was intoxicating in a way only I could
appreciate. To everyone else, the atmosphere, the company, or the
reasonably cheap beer might be what pleased them. For me, it was
the fold in the fabric of the sun goddess’ dress as she sat at the
table opposite me.

I was getting so caught up in the details
I didn't notice when Tolus found his friend and waved at him. It
wasn't until Tolus tugged on my arm that I paid attention to him. I
let him lead me along without question.

Whenever I saw a visually rich, novel
sight, I became overpowered. The true power within me – that noted,
reveled, and lived for details – grew. With every detail I drew in,
I drew in power. Come love or money, you couldn't drag me from
something new I hadn't seen before.

I was still in a daze when Tolus stopped
pulling me along – an impressive fact, as Tolus looked incapable of
pushing a cockroach or lifting a single sheet of paper.

“
Details!” someone shouted right
by my elbow – and that someone was Thor.

I snapped my head to the side so fast
tendrils of ice-white hair fell loose from my bun. My glasses also
slipped several notches down my nose.

There he was – bloody Thor. He sat at a
giant carved table as you might expect befitted a Nordic God. There
were all sorts of gods and goddesses around him, including the
forest bimbo from earlier this morning. In usual Thor style, there
were several gaudy, trashy goddesses hanging off both of his arms
and several more next to him who seemed overly proficient at
tittering for purportedly divine beings.

There was also an assortment of other gods
from all across the various pantheons of Earth. The one thing
Thor/Zeus/Jupiter could be credited with – the only thing other
than an insane ability to make husbands jealous and cause riotous
bar fights – was he brought the pantheons together. There were many
gods and goddesses who stuck to their neck of the woods and mingled
only with divinities from their local area. Coming from three of
the most powerful and influential pantheons, Thor had a unique
ability to draw gods together. Yes, in his current guise as Thor he
wasn't technically Zeus nor Jupiter, but that didn't stop him from
having the keys to their houses.

Here he sat amongst an impressive variety of
Roman, Greek, and Nordic gods. There was such an assortment of
helmets, togas, and sandals as you wouldn't get this side of a
high-school historical production.

The table was overflowing with food, ale,
and gold laurels. Why there were so many gold laurels, I didn't
know, but it led to the impression this was a table where the gods
were letting their hair down.

Fun aside, as soon as most of the gods
glanced up at Thor's roar of “Details,” I noticed everyone start to
recognize me. I noticed, because their expressions became
progressively less friendly.

Tolus walked past me and waved at a
pasty-faced Roman god at the end of the table. How Tolus had a mate
on the Thor table, I didn't know. Now was not the time to find out.
Now was the time to back away from the mischievous look in Thor's
eye.

The Nordic god took a mighty sniff that
might as well have sucked his beard up his nostrils. “You do go
out, Details. Dressed in a stained set of human clothes,” he noted
with a loathing but lecherous look. “You are less of a goddess and
more of a pathetic excuse for a mortal.”

This drew the usual round of tittering
guffaws from the amassed divinities at the table. The two goddesses
hanging off Thor's arms tipped their heads back and laughed so
emphatically I could see their tonsils – a detail that made their
attempt at cruel humor all the less effective.

“
Please, girls,” I pushed my
glasses further up my nose, “Close your mouths before a giant walks
in there.”

The goddesses snapped their mouths
shut.

Thor closed his mouth and shifted his jaw.
It was a move hardly worth noticing were it not for the way it
changed the shadows under his eyes and across his cheeks. It made
his face look more alive and yet paradoxically stiffer. It also
framed his less-than-pleased gaze. “Do you enjoy belittling your
own kind?”

I was about to open my mouth to point out
he'd been the one to start the belittling, then I noticed the
silence spreading over the table like a pool of toxic waste. It was
nasty and deadly.

This, this was why I didn't go to Ambrosia.
I was the least popular goddess around these parts, and having
verbal cat-fights with other divinities was not how I liked to live
my life.

Also, there was the niggling fact that
while I was in my office working officially for the Integration
Office no one could touch me – or no one who didn't want to end up
in Divinity Prison. Out here – in the real world – I was the same
as the rest of them. While it was frowned upon to fight other gods,
it wasn't illegal. Gods like Thor got away with it all the
time.

Thor loosened his arms from around his two
twittering golden goddesses and slowly ran the back of his hand
over his mouth. It wasn't to wipe anything off – there was nothing
there. For someone who ate as graphically and enthusiastically as a
pig at a trough, the guy always remained clean.

He stood up.

Damn,
he stood up.

He towered over me. He towered over
everyone. He also had this unique ability to cast people into
shadow even if they were standing directly by a light source. No
matter who you were, Thor always blocked you out.

“
You hate your own kind,” he
said in a low, menacing tone.

The sentiment rang true with the rest of
the guests at the table, with several gods nodding so vehemently
their helmets came loose and jolted down their faces.

The other tables around Thor were also
starting to grow quiet as various divinities turned around for the
potential fight. Not that there would be a fight. Thor would bang
me on the noggin with Mjollnir, and I'd wake up in god hospital in
a week or so.

“
She rejected my application
for a working visa last week,” one of the gods said from further
down the table.

He was right: I'd rejected it because he was
the god of famine and he wanted to tour Africa for several
months.

“
She stopped me from
visiting Egypt – my homeland,” one goddess mentioned emphatically
as her black cropped hair brushed against her shoulders.

Too true. She liked to make her followers
sacrifice cats, and as a proud cat owner, I frowned on that. Plus,
it always upset the cat goddess.

Thor spread his arms, his muscles clear and
present as they blocked out more of the light. “Look around you,
Details – do you have friends here?”

I wanted to point out to him he was a
golden-bearded idiot for thinking the assembled gods were his
friends. They were the divine equivalent of groupies. They sat at
his table and laughed at his jokes because he was one of the most
powerful gods on Earth. If Thor fell from grace, they wouldn't
offer him a helping hand. They'd find some other table to sit
at.

I couldn't point that out considering I
didn't have any friends to call to my own side.

“
You consistently tread on and
get in the way of your own kind,” Thor rumbled, sounding like a
clap of thunder. The glasses on the table shook and trembled at the
sound of his voice. “You are a blight.”

Before he could finish his sentence with
something suitably Thor-like, like “And I will rid you from the
Earth with the power of my magical hammer,” or “And I will strike
you down with a strike of lightning,” something inserted itself
between Thor and me.

Tolus. Tolus stared right up at Thor – at
the giant menacing Nordic god who looked as though he was preparing
for a righteous and violent fight. Tolus’ eyes didn't stop
watering, nor did his frame look anything less than feeble.
Standing right before Thor brought home how tiny, weak, and humble
Tolus was. The contrast was stark, the difference as plain as black
on white.

Yet the look Tolus gave Thor made up for
the difference in size. It was that determination I'd seen before.
The one that told you that no matter what, he'd find a way to
survive and a way to help others survive, too.

The look had an effect on Thor, though the
golden-bearded brute was incapable of noting the exact
watery-detail of Tolus’ eyes or the way his face glowed despite the
shadow Thor cast him under.

“
She has never trod on me,
nor gotten in my way,” Tolus said plainly.

“
What?” Thor looked down at
the tiny god before him.

“
You said that Details treads on
her own kind and always gets in their way – she has not done this
to me. You also called her a blight. I have seen blights, great god
of thunder, and she is not such a thing. She is a goddess,” Tolus’
tone was so plain and simple you couldn't help but be drawn in by
it. It offered a gentler, easier alternative to Thor's booming,
belly-shaking voice. One that promised less violence and a whole
lot more peace.

Thor stared down at Tolus, expression hooded
by shadow.

Knowing Thor, he was deciding which window
he was going to throw Tolus through.

I slowly reached out a hand, latched it
all the way around Tolus’ bone-thin arm, and pulled him back. “It's
okay,” I said through a clenched jaw. “You can leave this to
me.”

I wasn't being brave and suggesting the
small-time goddess of details and full-time divine immigration
officer to Earth was going to be a match for the triple-god of
thunder and victory – I just didn't want Tolus to get hurt. And
hurt he would get – badly, judging by the look on Thor's face.

Still, the fact Tolus was willing to stand
up for me was nice. It was more than nice: it was comforting. Thor
was right, due to my job, I tended not to get on with all the other
divinities. They saw me as a hindrance to their grand and
inappropriate holiday plans. They couldn’t appreciate I had a role
to play: I kept Earth safe from them. I kept the people and the
planet free from the devastating god-wars that once raged here.
Back in the bad old days, the human and animal population had been
forced to put up with all sorts of outrageous situations and
punishments. Having their livers picked out by eagles, rolling
rocks up hills for eternity, having their crops and villages
trampled and destroyed by giant wars – you name it. Letting gods
run amok was always a bad thing.