The Trickster's Drum (Godsongs Book 1) Page 10

  “Mm-hmm. And you were just going to... parade her off down the street, hoping no one spotted you and called the authorities? Or is one of these cars yours, Huehue?”

  He opened his mouth like he’d answer, then frowned as if he realized she was trying to get his license plate to look up whom it was registered to. Which she was. “I took a Lyft.”

  She popped a hip, and her gaze traveled back to the fence. “Put that phone down or I’ll put an arrow through it,” she called, pulling an arrow from the slim quiver on her back.

  The phone was yanked away.

  Ande always looked so posh, even with weapons strapped. Under her silk blouse she probably had some form of high-tech armor that conformed to her skin and didn’t leave awkward lines—unlike the bulky battle garb Giselle had on—reinforcing who was the badass and who was the pupil. Giselle sighed. “You’re right. We have no idea what we’re doing.”

  “Pshaw, we got this!” Coyote insisted.

  “No, we don’t.” She looked up and down the street with fancy cars lining the road and her own thrift-store bicycle still stuck between a Mercedes and an Aston Martin. “We can’t get to her godstone while it’s activated. We have to hope she transforms back before she unfreezes—otherwise when she does unfreeze, we have to knock her out while she’s got her powers. Either way, somebody’s got to sit with her and wait without falling asleep, ready to, I don’t know, cudgel her? Unless your lair has a dungeon that’s conduit proof.”

  Ande burst into laughter. “Lair? Excuse me?”

  “Shut up,” Coyote growled before turning back to Freyja. “It’s complicated, sure, but we don’t need Bitchiness Prime over there to tell us what to do. We’ll figure it out.”

  “Look, we did great back there. I’m proud of us; we didn’t die. But I’m not sure what we do next. Ideas?” By the stubborn but unmoving set of Coyote’s jaw, she could tell he didn’t like what she was saying one bit. But he didn’t offer an alternative. “You don’t know what to do, either. Ande does.” She spun to her mentor. “Andromeda, Freyja and Coyote present—”

  Coyote snorted. “Freyote.”

  “What?” She turned back to the crazy man who was now sniggering away.

  “Freyote. I think it should be our ship name.”

  “We don’t have a ‘ship’ name. And if we did, that sucks.”

  “Huehueyja?”

  Was he determined to make her look as ridiculous as possible in front of her old mentor? “I’m not talking to you anymore. Ande, what do we do?”

  Andromeda nodded and strode forward, expression mostly neutral with a hint of patronizing. “You get Nemain in my trunk and come with me back to the apartment—”

  “No fucking way,” Coyote growled.

  “—where you’ll continue training until you’re actually ready for this.”

  Coyote straightened his back. “And let people get hurt in the meantime? No.”

  Ande scowled at him. “They’re following your godstone—fresh meat like you is open season for anyone hunting for power. If you really are looking out for other people, turn it over to me and nobody else will get hurt.”

  “No. It’s mine.”

  “Spoken like a privileged man,” Andromeda said.

  “Oh, like you’re not dripping in privilege.” He stuck a thumb at Freyja. “I’ll accept snide remarks like that from her, but not you.”

  “Hey!” Giselle said, not sure if she was offended or proud.

  But Coyote ignored her, looking hella serious all of a sudden as he pointed a finger at Ande. “You don’t get to arbitrate this. I have the stone; it came to me. I don’t know why you think you get to decide what’s done with it. Freyja found it, giving her at least some claim. You did nothing. Are you paying her? Because otherwise you have no right to her work.”

  Giselle turned to Andromeda, wondering what she’d think... because it wasn’t a terrible point. It had been one thing when she was living at Andromeda’s, eating her food and learning from her, but now, what did give the woman a right to take Freyja’s work for herself?

  Ande’s eyes narrowed. “Neither of you are ready to be out there as easy pickings for the Morrigan or some other more unsavory conduit to defeat and pluck godstones from. The Morrigan are angels compared to what else is out there.”

  “We weren’t easy pickings tonight,” Coyote countered. “And Macha belongs in hell, as far as I’m concerned. Angel my bare ass.”

  “You got lucky. And Badb Catha got away. Don’t count on that level of good fortune winging your way again.”

  Giselle didn’t exactly disagree with her there. But Coyote took a step toward her that didn’t have an ounce of contrition in it. “I think you’re power hungry, bending conduits to your will when you can and taking the power from those who stand up to you. But Freyja doesn’t need you.”

  “Oh, but she needs you?” Ande scoffed.

  Coyote glanced over at Giselle with an uncomfortable amount of admiration. “No. I don’t think she needs anyone. She’s a badass. But I don’t want to control her. I want to work with her.” He grinned. “I’m sticking with Freyote.”

  “Gods, you’re an imbecile. Come on, Freyja, let’s get Nemain into the trunk.”

  Warmth built in Freyja’s chest at Coyote’s praise. She was bound to disappoint him at some point—he had way too much faith in her. But it felt good to be recognized. She was trying so hard, dammit. She bent down and picked up Nemain’s feet.

  “Freyja?” Coyote asked, sounding nervous for the first time since he’d started his diatribe.

  “Let’s get Nemain into her car. We don’t have another way to get her out of here, because I’m not manhandling her frozen ass down the street.”

  “But—”

  “And then she’s leaving with Ande, and I’m staying with you.”

  Coyote’s grin as he heaved Nemain’s shoulders up could ignite a thousand bonfires. “That’s a compromise I can live with.”

  “What?” Andromeda declared in a tone of outrage. “I’m not your disposal service.”

  “Oh please,” Freyja said, undaunted. “Like you and I both don’t know I’m giving you a godstone.” Coyote grunted like he hadn’t connected that and wasn’t thrilled. “This replaces the Huehuecoyotl that I lost—”

  “It’s not lost. It’s standing right there.”

  “—so we’re even.”

  Coyote cleared his throat. “You do realize that giving this maniac a godstone is going to come back and bite us in the ass, right?”

  Before he’d gotten halfway through that, Ande started talking over him. “So, my little foundling chooses the good fuck over good sense. How many times are you going to get yourself in trouble before you wise up, little girl?”

  Coyote spun on her. “Back off, you fucking harpy! That’s not what’s happening.” He tossed Nemain none too gently into the trunk and put a hand on Freyja’s shoulder. “How long have you been putting up with this bull—”

  “Enough! Both of you!” Giselle dropped Nemain’s feet into the undersized trunk and slammed the overpriced lid down to shut it. “Coyote, we have nowhere to put her.” She turned to Ande. “And I think you underestimate me.”

  “I know she does.”

  She held up a finger for him to keep quiet but stayed focused on Ande. “I’m not a kid. I don’t need you or anyone else telling me when I can exit the playground. I’m sure you know that I’m missing, like, all my gear. But did you tell me that? No. I learned it from Macha—a villain. I need information, all the data I can get my hands on. And I need you to believe me when I tell you Huehuecoyotl chose to roll the godstone to him.”

  Andromeda shook her head with a look of long-suffering annoyance. “So what?”

  “Huh?”

  “You heard me. So what if Huehuecoyotl picked him? The gods are crazy, have you noticed? You want Crom Cruach picking his host? He’s a monster; he’ll give the next Jeffrey Dahmer divine strength. Should we allow that? You’re telling me the Aztec
trickster, a promiscuous god of music and partying, wants this idiot? That’s not a recommendation—that’s a potential disaster. We match people carefully. We don’t just—”

  “Who’s ‘we’?” Coyote asked.

  Ande looked him up and down like she’d squash him with her heel. Then she told Coyote something she’d never told Giselle. “The Magistrates.”

  “What?” Giselle asked.

  “Get in the car. I’ll explain.”

  A sudden rush of anger made her stomp her foot in petulance. “No! This is what I’m talking about! Omigods, he’s right! You were trying to control me.”

  “And he’s trying to fuck you.”

  She narrowed her eyes at Ande and yelled, “At least I’d get something out of that!” Without even seeing it, she could feel Coyote’s grin behind her. “Don’t you say a word. Not one damn word.” She pointed an accusing finger at Ande. “Get out of here with Nemain before I decide stumbling around in the dark with no transportation and a frozen witch is a better idea than giving her to you.”

  Coyote raised his hand. “I think it is.”

  She rubbed her forehead.

  Ande opened her car door and hesitated, her shoulders stiff in anger. “Out of respect for your mother, I’m going to give you a little time to hare off on whatever tantrum this is. Then you need to come back. I understand your complaint that I haven’t been entirely forthcoming, but when I first found you, I didn’t know a thing about your character. I can’t have a selfish thief with no self-control and no class running around with Freyja’s gifts.”

  There it was again—terrible assumptions because she was a foster kid. No money. No class. No family. She scowled, barely hanging on to her temper, but losing it would just confirm Ande’s point that she had no business wielding a godstone.

  Uncaring, Ande continued, “It isn’t like I have your things. They went missing during the slow slog of the last Freyja’s downfall—something I had nothing to do with.” She narrowed her eyes at Coyote. “So have your little fling with the pretty boy. When you’re done, come back and we’ll talk. But don’t take too long, Freyja. I won’t wait forever for your good sense to kick in. Eventually I’ll lose hope that you have any and take matters into my own hands.”

  Chapter 13

  COYOTE BARELY WATCHED the Tesla drive off as he focused on Freyja. Anger made her tremble as she stared at the ground, fists clenched at that ridiculous dressing down. He lifted a hand, wanting to reach out to her, but unsure if that was a good idea.

  She growled in angry frustration, the sound halfway to a scream. She’d been so happy a few minutes ago. He dropped his hand lightly on her shoulder, intending to turn her gently to face him. But she sprang away, fists moving up in a boxing defense as her eyes went wide in fear. He threw his own hands in the air in the universal sign for “I’m not fighting,” and she deflated, covering her face like she was embarrassed.

  A million questions ran through his mind. What had Andromeda meant by the “downfall” of the last Freyja? The way she’d said it sounded pretty damn ominous. And how had she known his Freyja’s mother? Clearly Andromeda had liked, or at least respected, her.

  And the million dollar question, had Freyja’s mother been the last Freyja? That would explain some things but leave a lot more to be answered—like why Freyja didn’t know what she was doing or have most of her goddess shit if she was a legacy. And the front lawn of a kegger was not the place to ask about any of it. “Lemme show you our lair. I’m going to... borrow a car,” he said and turned back to the house, debating whether or not she’d figure out who he was if he drove his own car, because he’d lied to that nosy know-it-all about taking a rideshare.

  “You can’t steal a car!”

  He placed a hand across his heart, trying to lighten the mood with a little silliness. “I would never steal!”

  “When you take a rich person’s things, it’s called stealing.”

  That was an odd caveat. “When you take anyone’s things it is, but when you use your friend’s thing and leave a note, it’s called borrowing. I’ll be right back. Don’t leave.” She wouldn’t know what car he drove, would she? People were crazy stalkerish sometimes, but that was extra-level crazy. Hell, sometimes the best disguise was to hide in plain sight.

  With that thought in mind, he rounded the corner of the house in the other direction from whence they’d carried Nemain, and he cringed again at the thought of Andromeda with that godstone.

  The gnawing feeling in his stomach that told him he needed to change back grew to more of a nauseous pain, and he scowled. If he released the magic and then transformed back to Coyote immediately, it’d take a lot of blood. Even twenty minutes of rest would make a difference; he’d figured that out through much trial and error this week. But he needed to grab his keys and get back to Freyja before she spooked and bailed.

  As he glanced at his reflection in a dark window, a random thought occurred to him. He was a shape-shifter. What sort of shapes could he shift into?

  Taking a deep breath, he visualized his manager, Trevor. As his skin darkened further and his face shifted into the tired softness that Trev always seemed to carry around, Rafael grinned. The transformation wasn’t perfect, although he couldn’t quite put his finger on what was wrong, but the image in the glass looked close enough to fool a casual acquaintance.

  With the new outlay of magic, nausea twisted into him with punishing force, nearly making him bend over in pain. Okay, okay. He’d learned what he needed to know. He could hide in plain sight. “Fine, go!” he muttered to the spirit—or god, or whatever—and the magic lifted from him like mist, gentle and a little dizzying.

  He missed it immediately. But after reapplying his contacts—that was going to get really fucking annoying—another glance in the window reflection told him his face was his own again. Now he could go inside and grab his keys.

  Would Freyja even know who he was? She seemed like the kind of person who would be above things like fame. He slipped back into the piano room and collected the belongings he’d stupidly left on the bench in his hurry.

  On the other hand, Freyja knew the song he’d written in memory of his sister—his biological one—singing it along with him in the forest in a thready voice that he wished he could hear more of. But the song had gotten enough play that it didn’t mean anything other than she had access to a radio or occasionally went out in public.

  He headed for the door, then turned back to the party. Should he check to make sure everyone was okay? He’d never smelled blood—and Coyote had a shockingly good sense of smell—but with the mist, he hadn’t been able to see anything. Something could’ve happened.

  Lyssa charged through the door and, seeing him, pressed her hand to her heart in obvious relief. “Where have you been?”

  “I, uh, took my phone call and came back here. Why, did something happen?” He held his breath, hoping that alibi worked.

  She shot him a dirty look and collapsed onto the bench. “Did you art-coma and miss everything? I should’ve known.”

  He nodded his head, relaxing. “Yeah, I was playing in here. Is everyone okay?”

  Lyssa launched into what sounded like it was going to be a long-ass description of what he’d just been through.

  He threw a hand up. “Whoa, whoa. I’m heading out—meeting someone—and I need to leave. I just want to know if everyone’s all right. Anyone missing or anything?”

  She scowled. “Other than you?”

  He patted his chest as if to reassure himself of his own presence and raised his hands. “Not missing.”

  She shrugged. “Nobody’s seen Darcy—or Lance for that matter—but I think they split when things got weird.”

  He nodded. Darcy, he didn’t know. Lance was probably passed out somewhere—he’d looked for him too many times at this point to be overly worried at his absence. And it was entirely possible that Lyssa had the right of it—nobody had disappeared, they’d just left when things got weird. Because tha
t was the smart thing to do.

  “Could you do me a favor and make sure both of them are found by, I don’t know, tomorrow?”

  She frowned. “Darcy’s not... your girl, right?”

  “My girl? I don’t have a girl, I just don’t like to think of people going missing from a party I was at. Or in general.” He grinned. “If the woman who called me disappeared when there was a... god battle, did you say?... outside, I would not be this calm. But she’s not my girlfriend. Yet.” He winked at his sister and headed back for the door.

  Lyssa folded her arms over her chest. “Are you leaving to meet this mysterious woman?”

  “Bye, Lyss.” He shut the door on her next question and jogged back to Freyja as quickly as he could in the dark without Coyote’s senses.

  Sure enough, he rounded the house to find her marching away with a... bicycle? She’d pedaled herself to fight evil? That was sad and unacceptable. And brave and awesome. With a burst of speed, he caught up to her, calling, “Hey! Wait!”

  She turned with the high-strung belligerence she always had. “I’m leav—holy fuck, Rafael Marquez.”

  Okay, so she did know who he was. He gave her a smirk. “Yeah... Rafael Marquez is chasing you down. Not, oh, your fellow conduit the shape-shifter who just grabbed keys out of a party.”

  She blinked at the key fob he held out. Then reached for it.

  He snapped his hand closed. “Hell no. I’m driving. Come on.” He nodded his head toward his car, parked just a bit down the street, and leaned like he would move, but she just stared at him.

  “You’re not Rafael? You’re using your magic to look like him? I didn’t know you could mimic people.” She reached up and almost touched his face. “You still have the cut...” From Nemain’s nails. It was small enough he could hide it with stubble until it healed. Glasses and not shaving. Note to self, avoid cameras.

  For Freyja, he just shrugged. “I figured a debauched rock star would blend in at a party better than an aardvark. You coming?” This time he did take off toward his Porsche, hoping she’d follow.