Godtown

Chapter Twenty-One

I drove my sedan up the winding road to Hephaestus' garage. I opened the door, expecting to be overwhelmed by the smell of oil and rust, and not expecting to see seven heavily armed individuals standing in the center of the room. Ares turned to me and smiled, with none of the tension I had received over the phone.

"Late to the party, as usual, uncle," he said at the center of the group. "You remember my boys and girl?"

I did, unfortunately. Ares rarely worked alone and had his own personal clan backing him up. Timos, the one-time god of fear, grinned like a jackal beneath a mess of brown hair. His brother, more traditionally named Deimos, fitted a black vest over his jagged, blocky body. A tall, skinny girl who looked no more than fifteen stood shoulder to shoulder with them both, her eyes affixed on a tall long knife. It shined brightly in the eyes of Nemesis, the goddess of revenge.

"Cupid couldn't make it?" I asked.

"I left the runt at home to clean up and dry up," Ares spat. "Not like I want him shooting Luv arrows everywhere."

"We're walking into a den of angry Norse warriors," I reminded him. "I can't think of a better place for a Luv arrow."

"They haven't seen angry yet," Ares said. He slung back his jacket to reveal a holster. "Don't forget about your party favors."

"Are you kidding me?" I asked Hephaestus. He peered down to a tray filled with metal items, large, rounded and straight, of various sizes and lengths. But they had one thing in common: they were all guns.

"Fight fire with fire," Hephaestus shrugged as he limped to his toolbox.

"Yes, because that always ends well," I replied. I could not shake the chill running down my back. These were only intended to incapacitate the Norse during the sting, or at the very least, slow them down. Still, the thought of using the same weapon which killed Hermes hung over me like a dark cloud of smoke.

"Say what you will, but it's effective," Hephaestus said.

The weight of gun hung limply in my hand, heavy enough to do some damage and light enough to keep moving. When I entered Valhalla, a den of angry, bloodthirsty warriors, I planned to keep moving until I found Loki. Not that I expected it to go that smoothly. Nothing ever did.

Poseidon settled in beside me, looking over the selection. He looked up at Hephaestus. "I don't suppose you have one that looks like a trident?"

"Afraid not," Hephaestus shrugged. "All I got is a double-barreled shotgun."

"Oh well," Poseidon sighed. "I suppose it will have to do."

Hephaestus handed him the large bronze barrel. He looked over at me. "Zeus is fine, by the way, so stop blaming yourself."

"Do I look like I'm blaming myself?" I said.

"No," he said. "You look worse. So let it go. Zeus has a lot of enemies. One of them took a shot at him. It's bound to happen."

"We're about to walk into a bar full of angry warriors looking for the son of a bitch who killed Hermes," I said.

"That's the spirit," Poseidon tapped me on the shoulder. "Always look on the bright side."

"Listen up!" a voice rang out. A short bald man with sharp, hawk-like features, District Attorney Osiris addressed the crowd, flanked by two other gods.. One I recognized as Set. The other I didn't know, but he looked like a young Ray Ennead.

"You are all deputized by my office for this operation," he said. "You will act in accordance with our laws, or you'll be prosecuted to the fullest extent of them."

He glared at Ares with he spoke, and though the god of war dwarfed him, Osiris didn't step down. He kept his eyes level on Ares as he spoke.

"Understand." He said. Not a question.

"Deputized," Ares chuckled. "More like heavy lifting. You'd be back in the office licking your balls without us."

"I need a godkiller brought to justice for this to work," Osiris replied. "I don't care who gets justice first. Hermes . . . or Adonis."

Ares bristled at the name of his victim. He walked away growling. Osiris turned to the rest of us.

"No mistakes. My people will accompany you in this operation. Anything goes south, they'll know," he said. He gestured to the young, dark-haired man. "Horus will continue the briefing.

"Just so we're clear," Horus stepped forward. "We're here for Loki and only Loki. Permanent collateral damage will not be tolerated."

"Then how are we s'posed to deal with those angry assholes?" Timos said.

"By growing a back-bone," Ares growled. "He said permanent. Gods have a tendency to heal. Ain't that right, chief?"

I wasn't sure if this last point made me feel better or worse. Even in the hands of coldblooded psychos like Ares and his clans, these guns weren't likely to do any lasting damage to the denizens of Northland. On the other hand, Loki had brought down Hermes with a gun and tried to do the same to Zeus. I wasn't looking forward to facing down with a godkiller with mistletoe bullets.

"Again, we are here for a murderer. Not to make more murderers," Horus leveled his gaze at Ares. "Or to give murderers more work."

Ares scoffed. Horus opened the palm of his hand. In an instant, light sparked from his hand like a firework. Sparkling dust Conjured to form the image of the face of Hermes' killer: a small man, cascaded with blond hair and ruddy, boyish features.

"This is Loki. We believe he is kept somewhere in the lower levels of Valhalla," Horus explained. "Loki is a trickster of the first order. He's started wars and nearly brought down all of Asgard. He is to be considered extremely dangerous."

"But we want him alive," Poseidon spoke up. "Right?"

"That's where Seth comes in." Horus pointed to the dark man in the corner. "He'll sedate Loki for easy transport."

"Questions?" Horus said after a pause. There was silence.

"Good. We should be in and out in five," Horus said. "If all goes according to plan."

"Sure thing boss," Poseidon said, loading another shell into his shotgun. "We're kidnapping a guy in a bar filled with angry, drunken warriors. What could possibly go wrong?"

We loaded up silently into the back of a black truck. Everyone focused on the mission at hand, and I was no exception. At least, I didn't think so at the time. As someone who descended into the underworld for a living, I couldn't shake the feeling that something was seriously wrong, and this was all before the shit hit the fan. After that, there was no going back.