The Trickster's Drum (Godsongs Book 1) Read online

  He nearly groaned, wanting to reach out to her with every bone in his body. Particularly the magical one in his pants. She was amazing—fierce and witty and gorgeous.

  “Okay, lover boy, you ready to listen now? You got powers, you dope. And someone wants to steal them.”

  Focus, Rafe. Evil goddesses. A gorgeous goddess with a wicked sense of humor who wants to talk to you. “I’m listening. Andromeda wants to steal the stone.”

  “Uh, and Macha. Terror of the Border?”

  He snorted. “I’m sure she loves an illegal Mexican god running around Texas.”

  To his relief, she laughed at his joke. “I’m sure she’s extra thrilled. Which will likely translate to extra gunning for you. Are you sure you want to deal with this?”

  “Yes. So we’re looking for a book.”

  “I already found the book.”

  “You already...”

  “And now I gotta find another godstone—but you don’t need to worry about that.” She suddenly sounded tired and he might say daunted, if such a word could possibly describe someone as seemingly omnipotent as she was.

  “Of course I’m going to worry about that if you are. We’re a team.”

  “We’re not a team. Conduits work alone.”

  “Well, Coyote and Freyja are bucking the rules. We have a lair.”

  “Wait. What?”

  He grinned, excited to show her the sweet setup he’d rented. She was going to love it. “Yeah! Working alone when you could have extra manpower is stupid. Two on one versus Macha is way better. She’s a psycho.”

  “It’s just not done.” She sounded sternly irritated, and for reasons he could all too well fathom, he thought it was cute.

  “Who told you that? Ande of the miracle weed? Watch me completely ignore any and all of her rules. I’m a bard—that’s a backup position. I’m pretty sure the backup doesn’t work alone.”

  “I barely know what I’m doing! What are we going to do, barely know what we’re doing together?”

  “Sounds like a better idea than fumbling in the dark alone.”

  “I’m a work alone kind of person.”

  He exhaled quickly, hearing the words like a slap to the face. “If it’s me, you can just say that. I can take it.” He wouldn’t take it well, but she never had to know that.

  She hesitated, and he wished he could see her face to try to figure out what that pause meant. After a moment, she took in a shaky breath. “It isn’t you. It’s just... we’re not going to work in the long run, so there’s no sense in getting used to it. It’s not just the emotion we’re risking, like a romance or something—not that that’s what you were proposing. It’s our lives at stake. If I get used to you having my back, I’m not going to remember to watch it when you’re not there anymore.”

  He wanted to argue with her, but the painful conviction in her tone gave him pause. She believed what she was saying, and a few words from him weren’t going to fix a belief branded in through the wrong kind of experience. He chose his words carefully. “I’d like to go on record saying I disagree. But I’m not going to fight about it right now.” He just had to get them together regularly enough that she trusted him a little. Then they’d fight about it. “Can we meet to go over the book together? You may be a newbie of a few months, but that still beats my few days. I may not understand what I’m reading.”

  She groaned, and not the sexy kind. “You’re probably not going to understand it whether I’m there or not. It’s not in English.”

  Well, that was a curveball he probably should’ve thought about but hadn’t. “Is it, by any chance, in Spanish?”

  She huffed. “I wish. I could at least get some of it then. It’s not even in our alphabet. I don’t even know what the letters are. And the next problem, I also don’t have the whole book. I have snapshots of your entry, mine, Macha’s, and... yeah. So, not the whole book. And all I can tell from any of it is that while you and Macha look mostly like your book entries, my costume is totally basic compared to the picture. I’m the destitute Freyja missing all her swag. Go fucking figure.”

  “Huh.” He thought over their last fight. “Macha even mentioned that you were missing, like, a cloak and some shit? Maybe we can get it back.”

  She testily muttered something about his use of “we,” but once again he was no longer paying attention. This time was for a less sexy reason, as the birds around the yard all took to the sky, cawing in eerie unison. His back stiffened as foreboding slid through him.

  “Freyja, I think we may have a problem.”

  A red mist began to form on the lawn, coalescing into two human forms.

  “Definitely, definitely a problem. I’m going to change. If I give you an address, can you get over here? Now?”

  Chapter 11

  GISELLE PEDALED AS fast as her legs would go. “Superman, did he have to ride a bicycle to crime?” she muttered between breaths. “No. Captain America? No. Wonder Woman? Fuck this. Bring on the Batmobile, Don Coyote.” She huffed heavily and stood to take on the stupid hill between her and the glittering house with the kind of raging, Gatsby-esque party she’d never get invited to. Luckily the party was only a few blocks away from Shawn’s apartment—one rich apartment to one rich house.

  How embarrassed the goddess Freyja must be. Her conduit was the only known one who lived under the friggin’ poverty level.

  Coyote was at that party—or his human counterpart was. What was he doing there? Other than aural voyeurism... which she’d enjoyed, too. So much so she’d had to make a joke out of it so she could quit thinking about Coyote’s ripped abs and playful eyes. That was a disaster waiting to happen. She didn’t even like him that much, really. With their, what, three-day acquaintance, she didn’t know him well enough to have a valid opinion other than he was exactly the kind of pretty fuckboy girls like her got in trouble with.

  Hell, they didn’t even have to be that pretty. Any man—any person—telling her she had a home was trouble. That was all it took for Giselle the pathetic to latch on and not let go, no matter how toxic the relationship became. Ironic that Andromeda had been the one to point that hard truth out to her right when Giselle had been latching on to her.

  No more latching on.

  She stopped in front of the house just as the pounding EDM coming from the back clicked off—along with the rest of the electricity—leaving nothing but the cawing of crows. The nightmarish image from Shawn’s book of a woman standing among the corpses made her tremble as she walked her bike up the driveway and ducked between cars. It sucked, but this was the best hiding spot she could see, and with all the excitement in the back, hopefully nobody would be looking out the front.

  She pricked her finger on one of the lancets she carried around with her and rubbed it on Freyja’s godstone. Immediately the cold rushed through her, waking her up and making her shiver with excitement. Then her outfit morphed, shifting her to too damn hot in the hundred-degree night. She shoved her sleeves up past her elbows and plucked at the leather and chain mail, trying to drag it away from her skin. “Is it too much to ask for short sleeves?” she whispered at the sky as she kept low and headed for the back. “Sure, I’ve always hated the sexy chain-mail armor on fantasy book covers, but I’m starting to get it. Clearly they were all fighting during August in Texas.”

  She used her magic to unlatch a wooden gate and entered a backyard filled with dense fog.

  Fog?

  As she made her way around the house, the fog grew thicker, making it hard to see her feet or anything else more than a couple feet away. The house disappeared into the mist, along with the rest of the yard, until she felt like she’d entered an alien landscape. The low whisper of spell casting came to her, punctuated by bird caws, making the hairs on the back of her neck stand upright.

  “Oh, thank gods,” came a male whisper, and Coyote stepped out of the clouds to her side. “Thanks for getting here so fast.”

  “I was in the neighborhood. What’s going on?”


  He seemed to smell the air as he turned away from her and grabbed her arm like an anchor. “It’s someone different—but like Macha. Except she has a crow mask.”

  “Badb Catha, part of the Morrigan.”

  “I don’t know about half of those words.”

  “Badb Catha, Nemain, and Macha make up the triple goddess the Morrigan—a goddess that has, uh, three parts.” Shawn had been able to explain at least that much to her.

  He stepped forward like he knew where he was going—was he smelling the air like a bloodhound?—and she let him tug her along. “They’re a team?”

  “Yeah.”

  “So conduits do work together.” His voice was way too smug for the dangerous situation.

  “They’re a triple goddess. It’s different.”

  “Uh-huh. So, since I can’t handle this by myself and we have to work alone, they’re all yours.” They stepped through a wall of fog and into a clearing, where a woman with a crow’s mask—Badb Catha—stood next to the raven-haired nightmare woman—Nemain. No corpses yet. “I’ll hang here out of your way.”

  She glared at Coyote like he’d lost his mind, and he gave her a too-serious expression.

  “I’m all about consent in relationships.” He motioned at the two women, who were watching them with humorous interest. “But let me know if you change your mind. I’d be happy to get in on the action.”

  “How did our sister fail to destroy you?” Badb Catha snorted. “Lost an ax, I see? What are you, the goddess of missing things?”

  Giselle shot the awful woman the bird. She’d dropped one of her axes at Ande’s when Coyote had turned her into a spider. Now she had... one offensive spell and one ax. She was so fucked.

  Badb Catha turned a pitying look to Nemain, who shook her head and cackled out, “We’ll have some fun tonight, sister. I smell blood in the air.”

  Nemain sucked in a breath like she was about to scream, and the air seemed to prickle with fear even darker than Macha’s spell had carried.

  “You’re right, I’m wrong, play your gods-damn drum.” Freyja drew her lone ax, hoping Coyote would get his bard on before she felt like falling on her blade again. A long lunge put her in combat range. She swiped at Nemain’s feet—

  And was blocked by Badb Catha’s staff. Which didn’t even freaking chip, despite being wood versus metal.

  Nemain wailed, sending shockwaves of terror into her—and it was so much worse than Macha’s wail. She really couldn’t win this. That wasn’t the keening magic talking, that was her having no skills, no weapons, no talent, no nothing.

  Tears sprang to her eyes as she realized the terrifying futility of it all.

  Badb Catha swung her staff, aiming for Giselle’s head. Giselle was used to going on despite the futility of it. She would not give up—not yet, not even if finding the will to move was like swimming through bread dough—and she parried the blow with her ax. She kicked out, aiming for Badb Catha’s solar plexus, missed, and connected with her abdomen. The woman gave a whoosh of air and backed off.

  Coyote’s drum came in with an erratic beat, and her heartbeat jumped as if to find rhythm with his unrhythmic cadence. He didn’t sing anything familiar this time; it was more like a tribal cry—a primitive song from an age long past with more vocal machination than melody. But it did the trick, and her ax swing felt sure and steady as the mist around them began to dissipate.

  Beside her, Nemain—who was fucking levitating; what was with everyone else being able to get airborne?—dropped to the ground and stumbled back. Only then did she realize Coyote wasn’t countering Nemain’s wail. The smart man had created a “no-magic” zone, turning a goddess battle into a barroom brawl.

  Her kind of fight.

  The Morrigan twofer must’ve realized it just as she did. They looked at each other with the first hints of concern in their eyes. Giselle grinned and twirled her ax. “Find me lacking now, my bitches?” With the butt of the ax, she slammed Nemain in the back of the head and landed a roundhouse kick into Badb Catha’s jaw. The former went sprawling as Badb Catha wobbled backward but regained her feet—clearly a tougher opponent than Nemain.

  But Giselle had her on the ropes. She charged, slamming the woman to the ground. They rolled, partygoers screaming and squealing as they dashed out of the way, cameras out and videoing now that the fog had cleared.

  Giselle grabbed the black hair spilling out behind the woman’s ornate bird mask and yanked until Badb Catha ended up on her back. Giselle’s knees hurt as she dug them into the decorative rock landscape, and for once she thanked the leather pants for keeping her knees from getting shredded.

  Coyote’s song cut off in a smack and yell. Badb Catha’s eyes glittered as she opened her mouth to cast.

  No! No magic! Giselle punched her in the temple, hard, and Badb Catha’s head fell back as her body went limp—unconscious.

  Just in case, Giselle slapped a hand over her mouth, stopping her from talking, and turned to see what was happening with Coyote. His drum had rolled away, and Nemain had his head gripped in one taloned hand. His mouth was covered by some wispy magic that seemed to stop his voice. They were too far away for her to get to them, and Nemain was whispering something that had the aura of magic to it as Coyote tried to back up with his hands in the air and horror in his eyes.

  Neither of them were looking at her. Freyja called her own magic forth and, twisting to face them, flung it at Nemain using both hands. The ice slammed into her back, freezing her instantly.

  Coyote wrenched backward, and the talons scraped two lines across his jaw, drawing blood. The movement must’ve disturbed Nemain’s balance, as her rigid body fell face-first onto the ground.

  Coyote’s gaze found hers with a look of shock. “Did we just win?” he asked. “That fast?”

  She couldn’t help a little grin. “I think we di—”

  “Watch out!” he yelled.

  She spun as movement beneath her caught her attention. Badb Catha was awake, hands up like she’d cast. Another shot of adrenaline spiked through Giselle, and she whipped her ax around, shoving the handle into Badb Catha’s hands, knocking them away from whatever patterns she was making.

  The woman narrowed her eyes in a look of angry defeat and shifted into a crow the size of a large dog. Giselle’s ass dropped to the ground where Badb Catha’s human form had been. The crow rose on mighty wings, cawing loudly into her face before flying away.

  Giselle hopped up, checking around her for more trouble. Like maybe Macha. But the yard was clear, the last wisps of fog gone from the interrupted party scene. The music kicked back in with a chest-reverberating bass drop as the lights flipped back on.

  They’d... won?

  Coyote grabbed his drum and slung it on his back with a giant grin as Giselle ambled her way back to him. Sure, they hadn’t taken out both of the conduits, but this was a definite step up from last time.

  Someone in the crowd began to clap, then someone else, then applause began in earnest as partygoers cheered their appreciation. Somebody stuffed a cup that smelled like kerosene into Freyja’s hand. “Thanks?” she called backward, debating how rude it would be to just dump it out.

  She grinned with pride as she stopped beside Coyote. “You want that?” he asked.

  At a shake of her head, he tossed it back like a pro before crunching the cup and shooting it into a nearby trash can to much applause. Then came an awkward moment where his arm came out like maybe he’d hug her, but then instead he stuck his hand in the air. She gave him a quick high five. Then, thinking maybe that was too unfriendly after he’d basically just saved her ass, she bumped shoulders with him—which wasn’t any less awkward. “Thanks.”

  He smelled good.

  Not that that mattered. She pulled away with a blush, then whispered through a smile faked for the cameras that hopefully didn’t make her look crazy, “What do we do with the frozen goddess?”

  Coyote, however, had his photo-grin down, looking casually confident
even if his own whisper betrayed unease. “Uh... how long is she out?”

  “I have no idea.”

  “Okay. Maybe we start by getting her out of the yard?”

  “I’ll get her feet.” And now they were back to ridiculous.

  Coyote picked up Nemain’s frozen shoulders, leaving her facedown. The woman shouldn’t be dead—with the quick freeze it was more like “frozen in carbonite”—but it was still creepy. “Seems like there’d be a more regal way to do this,” he muttered.

  Giselle picked up the woman’s feet. “Nobody has ever accused me of being too classy.” She waved goodbye to the cameras as they carried the frozen body around the side and out the gate she’d come through, trying to ignore how terribly cold it was to carry a block of ice. For all its proficiency at making her sweat, her costume didn’t have a pair of, oh, gloves. Using her knees to balance the witch-cicle, she pulled her sleeves back down and over her hands as best she could. Poor Coyote’s fingers had to be turning blue, but he didn’t complain.

  People started to follow, but Coyote raised a hand and said with smiling forcefulness, “Go back to your party, or my partner here will start swinging axes again, get me?” Slamming the gate behind him and almost chopping off someone’s foot in the process, he breathed a sigh of relief as he smirked at the door. “That was satisfying.”

  She had the odd feeling he was, at the moment, talking about ridding them of amateur photographers and not about the ass whupping they’d just handed out.

  A lone figure waited for them in the driveway, and Giselle stopped, suddenly wary. “Coyote.”

  He looked where her gaze directed and rolled his eyes. “Great.”

  Chapter 12

  GISELLE HID A SCOWL as they trudged toward Andromeda. When they were maybe ten feet away, Coyote stopped forward progress by setting Nemain’s forehead on the ground. “Hey, mamacita, can’t live without me?”

  Ande rolled her eyes and waved a hand at the Nemain-pop. “What are you doing?”

  After feeling like a badass less than five minutes ago, Giselle was starting to feel like an idiot again. “Well, I froze her. And then we didn’t know what to do next. So we, uh, carried her out of the party.”