The Lost Gods (18 page)

Freya saw a familiar glaring face lurking at the back.

‘Snot,' she said. ‘What are you doing out here?'

‘Woden has made me redundant,' said Snot. ‘Whatever that means. My services are no longer required, he said. Modernising, he said. I am one of Woden's berserkers. I am one of
the chosen warriors of Valhalla. How can I no longer be needed?'

Roskva patted his arm awkwardly. ‘Stay close,' she said. ‘The giants are coming.'

Snot's black wolf-eyes gleamed.

Freya, Roskva and Alfi pushed their way through the tightly packed fans to the entrance, guarded by two security men dressed as berserkers.

Freya's name was still on the approved list of visitors, and the electronic, wrought-iron security gates opened to admit them. More guards lurked inside, patrolling the frosty manicured lawns leading to the mansion's colonnaded threshold. Swivelling cameras tracked them as they walked through the massive front door.

‘We have to see Oski,' said Freya to the smartly-dressed assistant standing in the mirrored entrance hall. ‘It's urgent.'

Roskva and Alfi gaped at the opulence, the pink crystal chandelier dripping from the
second floor, the plush carpets, the bronze statues of boars pawing the ground. The hallway was bigger than her entire house, thought Freya. Several other people milled about, one man with bulging biceps wearing jogging trousers, the others in business suits. One woman pushed a large rack of designer clothes. Another lugged a suitcase full of make-up.

‘Join the queue,' said the assistant.

Thor's bellowing could be heard echoing through the building.

‘Who is trying to besmirch our bright fame?' he roared from somewhere in the house.

‘They're in a meeting,' said another assistant. ‘Take a seat,' he added, pointing to one of the sumptuous cream sofas.

‘No,' said Roskva. ‘I told you it's urgent. Tell them that Roskva and Alfi are here.'

‘He's expecting us,' said Alfi.

The assistant hesitated, then went upstairs and opened one of the massive closed doors.

‘He said to wait,' said the assistant, descending. ‘Can I get you a glass of water?'

‘
Wait
?' said Roskva. ‘
Wait
?! May the trolls take you! May your end be horrible. May you never enter Valhalla.'

‘There's no need to swear,' said the young man, frowning.

‘We don't have time to wait,' said Freya.

Roskva, Alfi and Freya leapt up, dashed upstairs and ran through the closed double doors before the startled assistant could stop them.

‘All-Father. We're back. The giants are coming,' they shouted as they burst in.

The startled Gods stopped pacing the marble floor of the sumptuous black, white and gold room. Freya caught a glimpse of extensive snow-covered gardens and iced pools through the floor-to-ceiling French doors.

‘Sit down and shut up,' said Veronica. Honestly. How was she supposed to crisis manage with all these interruptions?

‘But … but, we have—' said Freya.

‘Be quiet,' ordered Thor. Roskva and Alfi cowered.

‘Everyone, stay calm,' said Veronica. ‘First of all, we'll deny everything. I mean really, enslaving two children?'

Thor didn't look at her.

‘
What
? You did?' said Veronica. ‘No, stop, I don't want to know,' she continued, glancing at Roskva and Alfi. ‘We'll deny it anyway. Then we'll threaten libel and demand a retraction. Plus, I can make a deal with the papers. Offer them access to you, in exchange for sitting on any other stories.'

‘
More
stories?' shouted Woden. The ravens perched on his shoulders jumped in fright. His eye was impenetrable behind his aviator sunglasses. ‘Who defames us? Who is trying to kill us by destroying our reputation and soiling our names? Who? Why?'

A name floated unspoken in the room.

Roskva broke the silence.

‘Could it be the Wolf's father?'

‘The Wolf's father?' hissed Freya.

‘Loki,' said Alfi.

Loki.

Freya felt a stab of fear. Loki, the trickster, who had tried to thwart her in Hel, who had stolen Idunn and her apples of youth and almost caused the Gods to die along with her. No one had seen him since Freya had transformed herself into a falcon and left him behind in Hel, cursing her as she flew off. Had he followed her to Midgard?

‘We'll find him and shut his mouth,' said the Goddess Freyja.

‘We lost fame once. Now fate has given us a second chance, we will not lose it again,' said Thor. He was decked in his new lightning bolt tracksuit range with his name emblazoned back and front in huge block letters.

‘We now know the emptiness of life without fame and worship,' said Woden. ‘We can never go back to how we were before.'

‘I feel young. I feel rejuvenated,' said the Goddess Freyja. ‘We can't lose our fame again. I couldn't bear it.'

‘I said I could
make
you famous,' said Veronica. ‘I never promised I could
keep
you famous. People are fickle, and there are new celebrities coming all the time. That's the way of the world.'

‘I'll kill you if I don't get the cover of
GQ
next week,' snarled Thor.

‘No, because I'll kill her first if
I
don't get the cover,' snapped Woden.

Veronica backed away.

‘I'm much more useful to you alive than dead,' she said.

‘Lords, the frost giants are coming,' interrupted Roskva.

‘The other Gods need you back in Asgard right now,' said Alfi.

‘Loki is on the loose,' said Roskva.

‘Listen to them,' said Freya. ‘Please.'

Woden waved his hand.

‘In a minute,' said Woden, leafing through
the latest issue of
ICE
. His face flickered in annoyance.

‘Veronica,' he said. ‘Why is there a three-page spread about Thor, and only a small picture of me leaving that launch party?'

The Goddess snatched the magazine. A satisfied smile spread across her face. ‘My holiday snaps look good,' she said. ‘But maybe I should have worn a different bikini. What do you think?' she asked Woden. ‘The green stripes or the gold halter-top?'

‘Who cares about your bikinis,' thundered Woden. ‘I had two pages last month, a photo spread, and a featured interview, and now I have a paragraph about looking tired and jowly. Well, whoever made that decision will regret it. I will not be defamed. I'm taking my spear straight round—'

‘All-Father, please, the frost giants are coming,' interrupted Freya. ‘You must—'

Roskva poked her hard in the ribs.

Freya gulped.

‘Did you speak, thrall?' hissed the Goddess.

‘Did you say we
must
?' thundered Thor.

Woden waved his hand at her. ‘We'll deal with them,' he said. ‘And with Loki. But first things first. Veronica!' he barked. ‘I need a facial before the red carpet tonight.'

‘I'm not happy with the clothes they sent over for me,' said Thor. ‘I'm Thor, not some semi-demi D-list celebrity.'

Freya stared at the Gods gazing at their reflections and gabbling into their phones. Facials? Photo shoots? Their new fame had intoxicated them.

The Goddess glanced at her wrist. She was wearing, Freya noticed, a new, diamond-encrusted watch.

‘Must dash, my personal shopper is picking me up at 2,' she trilled. ‘I'm having a complete wardrobe makeover.'

‘Did you pay for that watch?' asked Veronica.

Freyja stuck out her newly plumped-up lips.

‘I don't have to pay, I'm the Goddess Freyja,'
she said. ‘Mortals pay me tribute.'

‘You can't just steal things,' said Veronica. ‘If that gets in the papers, your reputation.'

‘That's your problem, not mine,' said Freyja. ‘Are the photographers still outside?'

Veronica went to the window and peered out.

‘There's a huge crowd of them waiting,' she said. ‘And loads of fans, too.'

Freyja beamed.

‘Waiting for
me
, I expect.'

‘I think you'll find that
I
am the one they're waiting for,' said Woden.

‘Well let's just see,' said Freyja, sashaying to the window to an explosion of clicks and ear-shattering screams.

‘We love you, Freyja!' squealed a gaggle of giggling schoolgirls.

‘Over here, Freyja,' one photographer yelled.

‘To me, to me,' called another.

‘Look this way,' shouted a third.

‘How are you, Freyja?' hollered a man in the crowd.

‘Fabulous,' she giggled, leaning out of the window and pouting at the cameras, oblivious to the bitter cold.

‘What about those stories in the paper today – any comment?' shrieked a reporter.

‘Is it true about the shoplifting?' they chorused.

Freyja slammed the window shut.

She came back to the chaise longue, looking grim.

‘Now, I've been in discussions with a cable channel about doing a reality TV show about you all to tie in with the big reveal,' said Veronica. ‘Potentially
very
exciting.' (Though whether they will still be interested after all those horrible stories remains to be seen, she didn't add.) ‘
At Home with the Gods
or
Asgard behind the Golden Door
. It will be an incredible marketing tool for all your merchandise: we're thinking hammer amulets endorsed by Thor, so extra powerful, those will be luxury items, flax linen sheets –
Sleep like the Gods
– and we might think about
a diffusion range, and Woden raven soft toys, and some children's books – every publisher is interested, naturally, and charms—'

‘No charms,' said Woden. ‘I have to keep some exclusive powers for myself.'

‘You're right,' said Veronica smoothly, making a note, ‘and Freyja, we will need to have a separate discussion about a hair and make-up line – I think
Goddess
would be a great brand, and it gives us loads of taglines: ‘Look Like a Goddess!' ‘Smell Like a Goddess!' ‘Dress Like a Goddess,' etc., you get the idea. If you'll just take a peek at some preliminary sketches for your first perfume bottle, which we'd like to call, obviously,
Freyja
.' Something seductive, like ‘Je t'aime. Freyja.'

Woden snorted.

‘You know we hardly need the money.'

Freyja yawned.

‘Speak for yourself. I can't have enough gold.'

‘Yes, of course,' said Veronica, ‘but you
do
want fans, and your millions of fans all want a
part of you. It just spreads your fame.'

‘I'm feeling stronger and stronger,' said Woden.

‘Good, because I have to warn you … it won't last forever. There are always new gods, new idols, waiting in the wings. This month it's you, next – who knows?'

She let the phrase hover in the air. It was always good to keep clients on their toes, let them know they had to work hard to stay on top of the churning pile and kick away the fame-seekers scrabbling desperately beneath them.

‘And of course, we should release a calendar for the Yule Festival. Pictures of you with assorted baked goods. We can call it
Bringing the World Back to Woden One Biscuit at a Time
.

Woden made a face. ‘Isn't that beneath my dignity?'

‘You need to at least
fake
being humble and in touch,' said Veronica. ‘Keep it real.'

‘I have
never
been humble,' said Woden. ‘I am the All-Father. Don't ever forget that.'

‘What about the frost giants?' pleaded Freya.

‘I said later,' said Woden.

Dooda-loo Dooda-loo
honked one of Veronica's phones. She answered, walking into the corner to speak quietly.

‘Glory
want a story about who you're dating, Freyja,' said Veronica.

‘None of their business.'

‘I think we should find you a nice footballer,' said Veronica.

Freyja frowned.

‘Look, if you want to keep people worshipping you, we have to keep feeding them stories,' said Veronica.

‘Make something up then,' said Freyja. ‘I don't want to get a bad reputation.'

Thor snorted.

‘What?' said Freyja.

‘Bit late for that, don't you think?' said Thor, smirking.

‘You're just jealous because I'm more famous than you now,' said Freyja, tossing her
luxurious curls. ‘Did you know I'm going to be the new face of
Lustre
shampoo?'

‘Come on, focus, people,' said Veronica. ‘Thor, let's discuss the sponsorships and a possible appearance on
Desert Island Celebrity
.'

‘No way,' said Thor. ‘That show's for has-beens.'

Veronica paused.

‘I know, it's not
exactly
A-list stuff, but we have to do everything we can to keep you in the public eye for as long as we can. Look what it did for Peter Andre: once he couldn't open a supermarket; now he owns them. Woden, there's the interview tomorrow for the
The Times
, so I've prepared a list of possible questions and of course the movie premiere tonight—'

‘Can I just say—' began Freya.

‘What's the film?' asked Woden.

‘Uhhhm, it's called
Gross-Out Weekend
:
The Whole Salami,'
said Veronica.

‘
Gross-Out Weekend: The Whole Salami?
' repeated Thor. ‘That doesn't sound like a major release.'

‘Okay, it's probably not gonna win film of the year, but there will be photographers there, and we need to keep your faces in the papers,' said Veronica smoothly. She decided not to tell them that she'd had to argue hard for the invitations after the morning's disastrous headlines. ‘Anyhow, I've arranged for the limousines …'