The Trickster's Drum (Godsongs Book 1) Page 3

  Giselle’s spell hit the bird, scattering feathers as the creature gave one caw and froze solid. Remnants of the wasted spell cascaded over the poor animal, slapping Macha with tendrils of ice and freezing spiderwebs across her cloak. The battle goddess shivered—she’d not gone unhurt.

  But the blocked spell wasn’t anything close to a win. Macha cocked her head and tipped her evil smile up at Giselle. “That the best you got?” Two strides forward, and Macha waved her hands, preparing her own spell.

  Shit-shit-shit, what did she do? Giselle was a Viking goddess. Defense was not her forte. She reached back for her holster and grabbed the two axes on loan from her mentor. They wouldn’t deflect magic, but maybe she could just knock her out. Or, ugh, cut off her hands or something? She spun, swinging the first ax up. Macha launched backward, her spell disrupted as she dodged the blow.

  Score one for the newbie. But Macha just grinned. “Not bad, baby girl. Looks like you have at least a little something in there.”

  Movement out of the corner of her eye reminded her that there were other people present—civilians who could get hurt. Like... a man in a coyote costume?

  “Ladies! A party without me? How could you?”

  Freyja and Macha turned at the same time in openmouthed surprise. Another conduit? Was there a convention in town?

  Did they have conventions?

  Giselle blinked in surprise. The man was bare chested—and what a chest it was, deep brown and perfectly sculpted—and wore the short white skirt with red-and-green trim of an Aztec god. A coyote mask covered the top half of his face, and a drum was strapped to his back. He should look like a clown, but if all clowns sported that body, then send her to the circus. His grin beneath the mask, however, was all braggadocio, the kind only a man and his giant head full of privileged success could have.

  “How did you get it to someone already?” Macha said, her magic lessening as she turned to the newcomer.

  “What? No. I still have the godstone,” Giselle lied. He couldn’t have the godstone she’d just grabbed, right? Even if this guy was an Aztec god too. There were a lot of Aztec gods.

  Fuck, she’d just gotten the damn stone! How had she already lost it?

  Macha put a hand on her hip. “Clearly you don’t. You, what’s your name?”

  His grin got even larger. “Huehuecoyotl.”

  Macha popped that hip and glared at Giselle like she was an idiot. Giselle felt her eyes get wide and her face get hot. “No! It’s in my... Dammit, are you sure you’re Way-way-coyote?” Andromeda had tried to teach her, but she still couldn’t pronounce the damn name.

  “Co-yo-tl,” he said. “Way-way-co-yo-tl. Yes, I’m sure.”

  “How?”

  Macha sighed. “Priceless fucking artifact with godpowers, and you drop it for this idiot to pick up.”

  Giselle slapped her head in a very un-goddess-like way, nearly knocking herself out on the wooden handle of her own ax.

  Macha checked her nails, her spell still glowing lightly in her palms. “Look, I’ll help you get it back from this moron. You give it to me and I won’t steal yours—this time. Alliance? For old time’s sake. Even if you are a brand-new, baby moron.”

  “No! I’m not giving you Huehuecoyoyo’s godstone.”

  In unison, the two other gods announced, “Huehuecoyotl.”

  “Whatever! That name is too hard for a stupid American to pronounce!”

  Coyote—she’d just think of him that way—snorted. “Oh, yeah, Ms. Viking, what’s your name? Sighildrgunsdottir?”

  “Freyja,” she said through gritted teeth. “My name is Fray-ya.”

  That trickster’s smile never left his pretty face—or what she could see of it, anyway. “Oh! I’ve heard of her. Thor’s stepmom.”

  “No, that’s Frigg. I’m the Vanir goddess. Freyr and Freyja? We’re twins.”

  Coyote sighed melodramatically. “My name may be hard to pronounce, but at least there aren’t three gods in my pantheon with practically identical names.” His face crunched in confusion. “I don’t know how I know that.”

  “Oh gods, save me from children. Bored now,” Macha said, and green light shot from her hands.

  Coyote threw himself in front of the blast.

  “No!” Giselle yelled as Coyote doubled over in pain.

  “Huh,” Macha said. “He’s not so noble in the stories.”

  “What did you do to him?”

  Coyote’s breathing came in harsh gasps as his eyes turned red, indicating some form of mind control. Great.

  “Battle frenzy. I meant to turn you—you may actually have rudimentary skills with those axes—but he’ll do. Guess I’m coming home with Freyja’s godstone today. Six of one, half dozen of—”

  Giselle barreled into her, taking the woman down by brute strength. A somersault, and Giselle was back on her feet, sprinting between buildings in the dire hope that the other two would follow her, more interested in stealing her godstone than causing wanton destruction.

  A barking howl chilled her from the inside as the pursuit was on, with her as prey. She risked a glance behind her to find Coyote was now, well, an actual coyote, racing after her on tan paws and yipping and howling in pursuit. Behind him, Macha freaking floated, her red skirts and hair billowing behind her in a way only animated characters should be able to do.

  Giselle skidded around a corner and headed into the treed park outside campus—the better to avoid casualties. And, hopefully, escape.

  With a coyote and his nose tailing her.

  No way. Okay, she had to deal with him. And Macha? Giselle hopped over a downed tree and rounded a boulder to skip down into a creek. A litter... pack...wing...whatever of grackles cawed in eerie unison and took flight from the heat-dry grass in front of her. The first dove at her, and she swung her ax in reflex. The blade whomped into the creature, killing it, and she squealed in despair at what she’d done. “I’m sorry!”

  But more flung themselves at her, beaks and claws looking scarily sharp. Giselle dove between two small trees and, using an ax, quick-carved a bind-rune into the dirt. Magic pulled through her, weakening her tie to the godstone once more, but not enough to frighten her yet. The grackles flew off, cawing in confusion as the magic controlling them broke.

  Macha threw around power like she had an infinite supply—blowing her through a window, partially transforming, creating a raven, mind-manipulating a god, and controlling birds. She probably had a lot, but even an old connection wasn’t infinite. The more power Macha used, the more it would dwindle until the goddess’s powers left, leaving Macha her normal, human self.

  If she didn’t run away before that point, her godstone would be easy pickings. It was the way to defeat a conduit in battle without killing anyone—outlast them.

  What a score that would be for Giselle to bring to her mentor—better even than Huehuecoyotl.

  As if to announce how ahead of herself Giselle had gotten, the coyote burst into the clearing, snarling and yipping. Bloodred, rabid eyes gauged her in madness as his lips drew back, revealing surprisingly sharp canines. The coyote leaped. Giselle flipped her ax around, wielding the blunt side, and swung for the animal’s head. She connected with an elbow-jarring wallop, and the canine went flying into a tangle of roots. “Sorry!”

  The coyote tried to stand up and immediately fell over.

  She cringed, feeling awful for the poor guy who’d just gotten in over his head. But Macha’s battle lust was nothing to take lightly. Parents had murdered their children under its power, or so the stories claimed.

  Macha entered the clearing, still levitating above it all. “Now. Where were we?”

  Giselle, still sitting on the damn ground, grabbed her boot knife and flung it.

  Instead of dodging or countering the poorly aimed attack, Macha whipped her hand forward, and a rock flew up to block it—more magic spilled.

  Giselle grabbed a rock and hopped up, flinging the makeshift weapon like a baseball. With more telekinesis
, Macha changed the trajectory. “You fight me with rocks? You insufferable creature. You don’t deserve Freyja. Fight me like a goddess!”

  Giselle gave a hollow laugh. “Pride is not my problem.” She tossed a handful of dirt, which got blown away on the breeze, flung a small branch, lobbed moss—she wasn’t even trying to hit the goddess anymore. Just siphoning power.

  Each time, the goddess wiped the object aside with another little hit of magic and an increasingly frustrated howl. “You mangy little bitch! Fight me!”

  With that, a spear appeared in the goddess’s hands, and she flung it like she knew what she was doing. Giselle dodged behind a tree, suddenly afraid.

  The spear passed her, then spun around, like a heat-seeking missile, and headed for her.

  “You stupid girl! Where are your weapons? Your cloak? Your shield? What have you done with Brisingamen? You’re nothing without them! A scared urchin flinging rocks at a battle queen.”

  A shield? A shield would be fucking handy about now. Giselle scooped up a tree branch and swung, batting away the spear with a crack that severed the weapon’s shaft. Relieved when the spear disappeared as easily as it had been made, she rolled back around the tree to face Macha, grabbing her axes as she went. Macha might have magic coming out her ass, but for a battle goddess, she hadn’t been much of a fighter so far.

  Giselle might not be fancy or well equipped, but after being on the streets as much as she’d been growing up, she was a bare-knuckle brawler of excellent caliber. A year of training weapons with an experienced mentor had only given her more confidence. So what if she couldn’t compete as a goddess? Get her close enough, and Macha’s face was toast.

  She charged, screaming an incoherent war cry as she ran, axes swinging.

  Macha blanched, pale face paling even more as she realized Giselle’s inelegant strategy. Her body rose another foot into the air—that was all right; Giselle could still reach her kneecaps—and she opened her mouth in a keening wail that stopped Giselle cold.

  Terror rose from her feet through her body, wracking her with shivering nausea at the thought of blood and dying. Giselle screamed again, this time in horror as the black murk of her mind made the shadows darken and the ground a patchwork of blood. How many people had died here? Their ancient bones buried... Why did she even come here? She’d die in the woods, unmourned and useless, another unwanted orphan the world wiped away.

  Giselle dropped to her knees, trying to control the tears welling and the sobs shuddering in her chest. It was pointless, all of it. Death came for everyone. That great nothing might be terrifying, but it was still better than the miserable life she led.

  She stabbed her ax handle into the ground, securing it for the fall. It would split her chest and she’d be rid of this torment—no more sorrow or pain or fear.

  No. No no no no no. She’d been down this road. Life was worth living. There were things worth fighting for in whatever time she had, no matter how brief.

  But her mom was waiting—both of her moms were.

  The faint patter of a drumbeat snuck into her thoughts in a simplistic mimic of one of her favorite songs. She latched onto the sound, holding it as tightly as the ax as she tried to make a choice through the thick ink of magic.

  A voice kicked in, a pale, drunken imitation of Rafael’s. “New day’s coming with the sunrise, and my shadows rise and fly.”

  She joined in, her lips barely moving as she forced the words through her mind and out her lungs on a thin breath. “Light twists back the darkness despite the tears I cry.” Coyote’s strappy boots padded up next to her, and she realized who was playing. He was back, free from Macha’s power. Giselle straightened her spine and joined her voice to his as she clung to the song and the hope it extolled.

  The pain will stay, but I know the day can still beat back the night.

  You rise above and still your love will guide me through this fight.

  I’m gonna be all right.

  Strength flooded through her again as the mystical darkness faded, leaving her feeling powerful—or at least feeling like herself again. She hefted her ax and glared death at the witch who’d taken hold of her darkest self and turned it against her. “Imma take your ass out, bitch!” She charged, her rage an odd counterpoint to the sweet confusion in the song Coyote still sang.

  “Damn bards,” Macha huffed.

  Just as Giselle reached her, the woman bent over. Her body elongated as she morphed into a winged black horse, and she took flight, ending the fight.

  “She’s a fucking Pegasus?” Giselle yelled as she watched the goddess go, furious that her quarry had escaped. But exhaustion whisked in, sapping the dark emotion, and she dropped to the ground thankful to be alive.

  The music stopped. “Did we win?”

  She looked up at the man. His expression was dazed, but he looked excited, like this was some sort of fun game. New problem. He had the godstone, the one she’d collected for Andromeda, who was going to be all kinds of pissed if she didn’t take it from him right now.

  He already had it. He’d helped her. But that was a lot of power in one random stranger’s hands, and Ande already had a plan for it.

  So what did she do?

  Chapter 5

  THE CRAZY-ASS WOMAN who’d just defeated the Terror of the Border by throwing forest debris stared up at Rafael—no, Huehuecoyotl; yeah, that was so fucking awesome—like he’d lost his ever-loving mind. Her nose wrinkled in the most precious way—amazing how she could be so fierce and cute at the same time—and he couldn’t tell if his dizziness was from the head wound or just from her presence.

  Or maybe it was because his lungs were at a shallow gallop from being next to an actual fight. That was new and breathtaking. He forced himself to inhale deeply, from the diaphragm like a good vocalist.

  “Sorry I hit you on the head with an ax,” she said, her voice shaky.

  He shrugged. “I was trying to kill you at the time. So, no hard feelings.” He reached a hand down to help her up, and she stared at it uncertainly. “I don’t bite.” He frowned. “Well, I don’t when I’m not under the mind thrall of a psychopath. Not a state I recommend to anyone, by the way.” He said it lightly, even though anger burned hot through him. He’d learned long ago to mask anger with jokes.

  Her wary expression cracked a bit as if she found that amusing—good—and she took his hand—even better. He pulled, and she was on her feet. She swiped her hands on her tunic-length armor and made a face before grabbing the hemline. “And here I thought you’d drop some silly pickup line about only biting when asked.” The leather-and-chain-mail medieval extravaganza came off over her head, nearly taking the cotton tunic underneath with it. “I hate this thing.” The whole production knocked the helmet off her head, and it went rolling. She sighed at it. “Your costume is way better than mine.”

  “We can switch.”

  She dusted her hands off again, this time on her cotton undershirt, and looked his naked torso up and down with a lopsided expression, like she couldn’t decide if she was amused or offended. At her lingering gaze, he couldn’t decide if he should preen or hide as embarrassment made his ears hot. “To be honest, I’m a fan of shirts and me wearing one around strangers, so...” Her gaze jerked up to his, and her own cheeks flamed around the golden mask. He smiled at how flustered she looked. “You wanted a silly pickup line. I figured I’d deliver.”

  That amused crack in her personal armor worked its way into a half grin he really liked. “I didn’t say I wanted one. I just assumed you’d have one.”

  “Why? Because I have, I dunno, a ten-pack or something? I wish I could say this was all me, but the reality loses at least four of them.” Her half grin turned to an actual smile, and he relaxed. He could make her smile. They were going to be fine.

  “Oh, only a six-pack, huh? You must beat ’em off with a stick in your day job.”

  No, Peter—and now Mia—did that. “You know it,” he said casually, like it was a joke. “You chang
e a lot too with the costume? I notice your mask didn’t come off with the helmet. I think mine is actually stuck to my face.” He tugged on it, and sure enough it stayed put.

  “Yeah, the mask is stuck, but everything else is removable.”

  “Woohoo!”

  An actual laugh came out of her mouth. “Stop it! We’re channeling gods. This is serious. And what I look like in real life is nobody’s business. For real. How much do you feel like disappearing into a government containment facility?” She grabbed her knife off the ground and sat down on a tree trunk before shoving it back into an ankle holster. “So, where did you find the stone?”

  She cringed away as she said it, like she felt guilty. She must’ve been transporting it to someone. Based on what he’d just seen, she could probably kick his ass to get it back, too—a possibility he was not excited about.

  Several far-fetched tales sprang to his mind, clouding his thoughts like a peyote-fueled fever dream and making him wonder if Huehuecoyotl was sending him wacky ideas. But he ignored them all and went with the truth. “It literally rolled to my feet. It seemed to... to call to me. I know this sounds crazy, but...” He paused and laughed at what he was about to say before she could. “This feels like destiny.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “Dammit. I’m in so much shit.”

  Yup, she had been taking it to someone. Now, how to convince her to let him keep it? He wasn’t going to win a fight, but he could be damn persuasive when he wanted to be. He sat on the pecan stump next to her, their bodies crowded on the chair-sized trunk. “Why?”

  A tingle ran over his skin, and a hint of nausea made him uneasy, then backed off as quickly as it had come on. “Sorry, wait...” He took a deep breath. “Concussion, I think.” He held a hand up. “Not that I blame you for concussing the rabid coyote trying to eat you.”

  “Concuss... Did you feel a shiver and then like you’re going to throw up?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But now you’re fine?”