The Fox and the Falcon (No Other Gods #2)

Chapter Nineteen

September 10, age 26

“I’m back!” Fauna cried as she threw open the front door to Poppy and Dorian’s home. In her left hand, she clutched a cardboard tray with four coffees. Her right fist was pumped into the air like John Bender at the end of Breakfast Club.

“Did you go somewhere?” Dorian gave his newspaper a dramatic flick, not bothering to look up from the lip of its pages. The morning light bathed the paper, the table, and the man in gold as if the gods themselves had blessed his unimpressed sass.

Then again, I supposed at least one of them had.

“Where the hell were you?” I crossed my arms, grumbling, “Drag me to Greece and leave me to wake up to a ‘see you at breakfast’ note.”

Fauna plopped the cheap corner-store caffeine on the table amidst the array of pour overs, French presses, and Turkish coffees. I could smell her contribution of burnt bean water from three chairs away.

“It’s the strangest thing,” Fauna said in a theatrically conspiratorial tone. “I was simply walking to get coffee when a fae approached me. How peculiar to see another one of our kind in corporeal form, am I right? Anyway, he had an urgent message for you, Merit. Apparently, the Phoenician gods have invited you to their realm for a banquet.

Her acting needed work. Still, my mouth formed a perfect, silent O.

I’d been furious that some stupid oath had delayed our progress. I’d been clawing at loopholes to find a way to get to Caliban. Now that the moment was upon us, I wasn’t sure if I could play pretend. I knew I was meant to act shocked, but only dust came out when I searched for words.

Poppy and her acting swooped in to save the day. “Our sweet human friend has been invited to a Phoenician banquet? What ever for?” she said, face wrought with worry.

Beams of morning light sliced over the cliff, cutting through the purpling vines that arced over the glass doors to their seaside estate. Each golden light illuminated Hades and Persephone—Dorian and Poppy, I corrected myself—at the lavish breakfast table like the gods they were. Gods who were terrible stage performers.

Fauna spun a quick tale connecting my confessions from the previous night about Caliban and our love to Astarte and her death, before singing for the walls to hear that it was a great honor for them to host me after an angel had killed their goddess and the Prince of Hell and his bride-to-be had intervened to save the day.

“I don’t love this,” I said, not quite under my breath.

“Hush. Our plan is perfect and we’ve all done our song and dance flawlessly. Now, Merit, it’s time to prepare for our arrival.”

Dorian rolled his shoulders in a half-amused shrug. He was no longer in black-on-black, but the white linen shirt did nothing to dissuade me from thinking he was the ringleader of an underground crime organization. Perhaps I’d read too many mafia romances, or maybe it was just how one looked when they were the god of the Greek Underworld. “I’m going with the Norde on this one. This is the only idea that makes sense. You and Fauna will go meet them for the banquet alone. Anything else will be met with outright suspicion.”

It was hard to picture dark Underworlds and impending doom while sitting at Poppy and Dorian’s breakfast table, no matter how high the stakes or dire the ticking clock.

Their home was even more splendid in the light of day. Everything I’d found breathtaking the night before was covered in twisted, flowering vines that I didn’t know enough about botany to name. Their wooden trunks looked like dead driftwood, but they wove through one another, draping into a lavender flower that hung delicately from the end of each branch. The wall of windows and their multimillion-dollar view put my floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the river to shame. Poppy and Dorian looked out onto their lovely patio, their infinity pool, then the sparkling expanse of the sea as it glittered in the morning light. I could just barely catch the curve of the Grecian coast and the white and cream buildings that dotted its cliffs before the shapes were lost to the custard-colored rock and disappeared into obscurity.

The ache in my chest was akin to the one I’d felt in álfheimr. Perhaps there would be another day, another breakfast, another sunrise, where I could return to truly enjoy something so marvelous when the world wasn’t coming to an end.

The click click clack of Fenrir’s steps against the flooring preceded his arrival. The fabled world-ending god of Ragnarok ignored the breakfast spread, the Grecians, Fauna, and me, as he plopped down in a beam of light in front of the glass doors. He stretched like a cat in the sun, and I wondered how long he’d lived in Hafna’s mist without true, golden daylight. Perhaps if I’d spent centuries in fog, I’d do the same.

The Apocalypse Dog’s arrival was a reminder that the world would always be coming to an end from this moment forward. I may never get another peaceful moment to simply soak up a good pastry and a beautiful view.

Fenrir looked ever the part of a happy housedog, if only for a moment. Even I looked different in the light of day. It seemed that I couldn’t switch realms without being dressed by my host, which made me feel a bit like a doll as I was passed once more from one fabulous owner to the next. I preferred my own clothes best. Fauna’s thin white T-shirt had put me on display. Estrid’s tied tunic had been utilitarian, but I’d been comfortable. The upscale bohemian clothes Poppy provided were excellent for the Mediterranean coast, but not something I’d wear anywhere else.

Fauna loved flowy clothing, but I’d never seen her in a dress. She’d crinkled her nose as she’d slipped into the forest-green number that circled around her neck and draped loosely down her back, exposing her from her neck to the scandalous space just above her tailbone. It hung to her ankles. Had it not been for the braided leather belt that she’d wrapped three times, there would have been no evidence of a waist. I, on the other hand, felt like I was stepping into a rather immodest nightgown rather than a dress as I changed into the cotton attire. Poppy had left a white, spaghetti-strap, above-the-knee shift for me. She’d made a comment that had reminded me loosely of Ianna’s reference as the demon had styled me from head to toe in the metropolis’s most fashionable design. Instead of calling me a future princess, Poppy had said something a bit more ominous.

For the Bride of Hell.

Our conversation paused as a housekeeper popped into the kitchen to refill our coffees. She bustled about the table to remove empty plates. Fenrir had been served steak and chicken in a silver bowl with a side of distilled water. The woman seemed to know she was interrupting, given her rapid apologies in a language I didn’t speak, but Poppy was quick to assuage her guilt.

They exchanged niceties back and forth before the room was ours once more.

I tilted my head curiously.

“Tagalog,” Poppy said politely, answering my unspoken question. “Tala is a darling. She was already in Athens, and it’s convenient for our line of work to keep staff with whom we can speak. She’s fluent in Tagalog and Greek, but can’t overhear our business exchanges if we switch to English. Should you dip your toes into questionable practices, love, I recommend learning a few new tongues. Multilingualism is a useful skill, dear. You should put it on your to-do list.”

I pursed my lips to keep myself from speaking my mind. The gods had eternity to learn every language they stumbled across. If I had access to infinity, I’d spend it reading every text and learning every language. Perhaps, given enough years, the earthlings would see me as a goddess of wisdom simply because I’d been alive long enough to be well-read and silver-tongued.

“Mar’s already something of a polyglot,” Fauna said appreciatively, touching my hand with her own as she defended me. Given how often she enjoyed ragging on my intelligence, I appreciated the gesture. “It’s not common in the Americas, you know that. She’s gone above and beyond for her cycle. You speak what, Mar, three languages? Four?”

“I speak three. I read four,” I answered while feeling distinctly uncomfortable.

“Mar, or Mer?” Poppy raised a finger as she chimed in with her question. “I don’t care for your birth certificate, darling. What would you like Dorian and I to call you? When we speak to you, and about you in front of others, that is?”

“Mer…call me Merit,” I said, swallowing. I’d picked the pen name on a whim, appreciating its significance of working for that which I’d achieved. I’d never considered its importance would boil down to breakfast with the gods. “May I ask an ignorant question?”

“Is there any other kind?” Dorian asked, smiling into his eggs.

Poppy made a lofty gesture, tossing her pink and blond hair over her shoulder. “It’s only ignorance until the moment it’s answered. Be our guest. What can we help you with?”

I tried to maintain eye contact but found it challenging. Looking out over the glaring expanse of sunlight on the sea was no better. I frowned into what remained of my breakfast as I said, “It’s about names. I know they all matter to…all of you. All of us.”

Poppy took a dainty sip from her mug while she waited for me to spit out my thought.

“Well.” I swallowed, uncertain as to how I’d phrase the garbage churning through the disposal of my mind. “How do your…how does…umm…?”

“She’s a writer.” Fauna winked, mocking me. “Real wordsmith, this one.”

I straightened my shoulders. “Power comes from worship, doesn’t it? How does power get to you if you’re always changing your name? The Hellenic pantheon is overflowing with followers. You’re thriving. But if you live by aliases…” My words joined a slope of liquifying jam as it disappeared over a scone.

“Do you want to take this one, or should I?” Poppy asked, looking prettily at her partner.

“You glow, baby. I’ll box.” He grinned, chomping into whatever he’d shoveled onto his fork.

She kissed him on the cheek, then returned her too-intense eyes to me as she asked, “Who gave us the names Hades and Persephone? Was it him or me?”

My brows met in the center.

“They’re human names by human men writing human accounts,” she said. “Homer and Hesiod for the Grecians, Ovid for the Romans. Dorian and I know one another’s true names, but that’s rare. Most gods won’t share what belongs to them and only them. Whatever they say—Poppy, Persephone—they’re channeling my energy. It’s little more than a funnel.”

Whether tired of the topic or trying to save Poppy from human ignorance, Dorian dusted his fingers off, clapping them together as he said, “Back to the task at hand. While you’re welcome to stay in Greece with Pops and me as long as you’d like, I see no use in wasting time. You said you have two war-ready Nordes?”

Fauna confirmed. “Estrid is a valkyrie—”

“I’ve never met one!” came Poppy’s excited response. The morning light caught on her pale blond hair as it melted into rose-colored strands. Her skin was even more divine in the golden morning beams. I couldn’t help but feel that her undertones looked utterly inhuman. If I’d met her on the street, she would have lived rent-free in my head as I pondered her curiously anomalous features on sleepless nights for the rest of my life.

Fauna’s face tightened at the interruption before completing, “And Ella is one of the most alluring deities in our realm. She can procure anything, save for a god-killer, apparently. I don’t doubt her ability to charm her way into Canaanite hearts and good graces. Fortunately, if we have both Fenrir and you, Dorian, on our side…”

Dorian leaned back in his chair, draping his elbow over the back as he observed the table. I’d recognized the ghosts of his ease in human men I’d seen before, but they had been imitations of him at best. True wealth, true power, true money relaxed at the far end of our breakfast table. The sun caught on his black hair, his strong jaw, the curves of his muscular shoulders, the glisten of buttons on his well-tailored shirt. The morning light over the sea caught on what remained of the curving glass of the French press, the meticulously arranged array of breakfast breads and sweets, the trays of fruits dotted with fresh-cut blossoms, and the meats, cheeses, and saltier bits that complemented the meal so well. He looked perfectly at ease amidst the evidence of his prosperity, his otherworldly wife, and his conversation of the dethroning of ancient powers.

“You’ll arrive in the Phoenician realm under the guise of a bride seeking her betrothed,” he restated. “Fauna will pass easily as your Nordic escort for obvious reasons. She’s been spotted with you about the mortal realm, and with your blood, it won’t raise brows. Fenrir might be received with curiosity, but I think you need to play the human card on that one. Dogs are wildly important to their humans.”

It appeared that whatever message Fauna had received en route to the café had freed her from her oath, as everyone was comfortable plotting in the open. I was certain Fauna had known her contact was somewhere in Athens and her trip had been just for show, if only because each of the cheap, burnt corner-store coffees remained black. There wasn’t a legitimate version of Fauna in any realm who wouldn’t have put an undrinkable sludge of sugar into her cup before returning.

Fenrir made a huffing sound of displeasure, though it was probably Dorian’s reference to humans and their pets, rather than Fauna and her erratic moves, that had made him puff. Dorian made an apologetic gesture, but pressed on.

“Your contacts, the goddess and the valkyrie, should arrive next.”

I nodded along, agreeing. “Yes. Perhaps they received word that their Nordic friend was in the Phoenician realm, and they are simply there as a political envoy. Like—”

“Ambassadors,” Poppy provided.

Dorian conceded, using Poppy’s supplied word as he said, “I’m confident Phoenicians won’t be thrilled with the development, but they also won’t have their hackles up when two lower-level Nordic ambassadors show up in support of their brethren. It’s nothing like the alarm bells of Loki’s arrival. With these two…it’s an excellent guise. You’ll have to hold down the fort on your own for a day or two in order to make Poppy’s and my appearance believable. We don’t have eyes or ears on the inside, but I think with Fenrir on your side and the Prince within their walls, you can stay alive for forty-eight hours.”

“Topside or their time?” Fauna asked.

“Hard to say,” Poppy replied. “Hopefully we can dig up an antiquity in Dorian’s pile of ancient pieces set to Phoenician time.”

My thoughts fluttered to old-fashioned train stations and their twelve-hour clocks displaying the time zones of major cities around the world. I wondered what the clocks and calendars at a train station at the intersection of realms would look like. As interesting as the thought was, I hinged on hearing Caliban referenced from Dorian’s mouth.

“The Prince,” I repeated. A fairy-tale nightmare of a dragon’s castle surrounded by moats of lava filled my mind. It pained me to picture him anywhere against his will. I knew he was powerful, but I didn’t have a clue as to what those powers looked like.

Poppy looked between Fauna and I, concern still playing on her lovely features. “I just don’t like the two of you showing up at their gates not knowing how they will receive you. You’re expected, Merit, but as an honored guest? I’m not comfortable with your departure until we know whether you await fanfare, or the sharp end of a spear. You’re too important to be mistreated.” She looked at Fenrir and amended, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to imply that the three of you are differently weighted—but the fact remains, Fenrir, they don’t know who you are. Fauna may be welcome, but she’s still unexpected. I just…”

Dorian waved a hand, not to silence his partner, but as if to scatter the worries to the wind. “It’s written in the stars, Pops. What will be, will be.”

“I don’t like leaving so much to fate,” she grumbled. She and Fenrir exchanged glances for such a long time that I began to wonder if they were having the same sort of silent conversation that he and I had shared.

As if in answer to my question, my mind filled with his words. I could tell from the contemplative look on everyone’s face that he was speaking to everyone in the room.

Fenrir’s posture was both rigid and noble. His ears twitched slightly, head cocking like a curious dog. “Poppy’s fears are not unwarranted. However, Merit and I left Hafna with certain understandings. The terms of our agreement will remain unfulfilled if I allow harm to befall her.”

He didn’t disclose what I’d promised him, though I suspected divulging the reason for our union would only strengthen Poppy and Dorian’s allegiance, particularly given what Poppy and Fauna had shared. If they were hungry for the toppling of kingdoms, then helping a human get her Prince back was a small price to pay in the bigger picture. I tried to imagine the man in the linen shirt sipping espresso from a tiny cup on the Mediterranean cliffs tackling gods and blood and gore. I did my best to see Poppy, her happy smile, her pink hair, her white teeth, her effortless beauty in the throes of conflict. Perhaps Fauna—her chaos, her grins, her candy—was the biggest surprise of all. The fate of the world would boil down to unsuspecting freedom fighters who championed equality over comfort. Nothing about their lives was so terrible that they should trifle with the order of the world. They could continue with their forevers in their roles, amidst their homes and gifts and titles of the realms, and live an inarguably blessed life.

But what virtue was there in that when the cards were stacked against so many?

I selected a flaky piece of sugary baklava if only to have something to do with my hands. I bit down, speaking through the crumbs. “So, Fauna will spirit me into the Phoenician realm. We’ll approach their gates and—”

“They aren’t gates, my sweet,” Poppy said, correcting me gently.

I looked up from the pastry.

She and Dorian exchanged looks. She sighed and continued, “The Phoenicians haven’t received major mainstream worship for some time. At least, not outside of the negligible few devoted practitioners held by all deities. Not only have they been more or less forgotten, but they’ve been…uninvolved. There’s a multitude of reasons Astarte and her compatriots were motivated to relocate to mortal lands. Things haven’t been good in their realm for thousands of years.”

I could feel the way my forehead wrinkled into something between worry and puzzlement. I didn’t want to jump to conclusions, but it sounded like she was implying the Phoenicians were in shambles.

“If not gates, then what?”

Poppy twisted her mouth to the side before saying, “Fauna will bring you to their outer bridge, if I’m not wrong.”

Fauna nodded in confirmation.

“Have you been there? Either of you?” I looked between the divine women.

“Word gets around,” Fauna supplied quietly.

Poppy continued, “You won’t arrive to gardens or crops or centurions or fanfare. Dagon has been held hostage for centuries, and with him, agriculture. Astarte, her sister, and a favorite consort of Baal’s have abandoned their realm. That left Baal and Melqart—his son and equal. Melqart, like”—she cleared her throat—“like Dorian , is a god of death and the Underworld. Father and son without any checks and balances, without their natural order, without prosperity or fertility or femineity left to reign over the ruins of their realm.”

“Did they like Astarte?” I asked.

The others looked at me as if they didn’t understand my question.

“I mean: Why would Anath bring Caliban and the others there in the first place? Why would she expect a warm welcome after she abandoned her realm to live in Bellfield? Unless the gods there didn’t like Astarte, and maybe Anath was a prisoner, the same way Dagon was.”

“Who cares if someone likes a top deity?” Fauna said.

Poppy corroborated her statement. “Liking someone has little to do with it. Name, honor, pride are at the wheel. The realm’s image is more important than anyone’s individual feelings. I’m sure that’s why Anath knew she could return with prisoners no matter what.”

I looked down into the dregs of my honey-sweet coffee, then looked between Fenrir and Fauna. Both eyed me curiously, but I had nothing to contribute. I was a mortal playing the game of gods. I returned my gaze to Poppy before asking, “When do we go?”

She shrugged. “How much coffee do you have left?”