Chapter 5 A Request #2
Viviana snorted, not looking up from her book as she spooned a slice of plump grapefruit into her mouth. “Chaos at that. Of all the gods.”
Marina strolled over to the countertop filled with an assortment of beautifully prepared foods—breakfast pastries, fruits, crystal pitchers of juices, steam trailing out of a tea pot, and a press filled with fresh coffee.
She’d never been much for mortal luxuries, but the fresh strawberries dipped in chocolate piqued her interest.
She twirled the lush fruit between her fingers, grateful to have something in her grasp to focus on. “Thank you both…” She trailed off, and her chest grew tight. “For helping me.”
The clinking of their silverware halted.
Cheeks flushing, Marina bit into the strawberry, delighted by the flavorful burst of bitterness on her tongue from the cacao. It was reminiscent of her sunny walks as a child in Kaimana, along the bank of the River of Souls, popping dark chocolate shards into her mouth.
When Viviana and Mansi did not reply, Marina turned to face them.
They scrutinized her.
“Have you gone mad?” Mansi placed her teacup down. “Did his disillusionment fuck your head beyond repair?”
Marina eyed her friend, unamused by her exaggeration. “No.”
“You’ve never thanked us.” Mansi raised an eyebrow, not completely convinced, as she settled back in her chair, her dark cropped vest riding up her toned torso. Underneath it was a ruffled violet hem that came up just above her navel.
Marina tossed the top of her strawberry in the bin beside the cabinet and poured herself a cup of coffee. “I suppose I am turning over a new leaf.”
She sipped the hot silky beverage, holding the teacup on its saucer. The delicious flavor warmed her throat, and she took another drink, uncaring how the hot liquid melted the skin off the top of her mouth.
“Are you okay, Marina?” A fissure of concern cracked through Viviana’s stoic expression as she adjusted the collar of her white silk button up, the fit hugging her petite physique.
Viviana had always been the voice of reason when Marina was too harsh, or as a disciplinary to Mansi when she was too rash and made senseless decisions—like throwing explosives at villages in the Mortal Lands, where her enemy just happened to be hiding.
Their friendship of nearly three centuries made it impossible not to know each other better than they knew their own selves.
“Yes.” Marina poured cream into her coffee, watching it swirl on the surface.
“Really?” Viviana probed, her tone adopting a parental note. “Your father just died, and you have yet to see Mira—”
“I’m fine.” Marina pressed her tongue against the back of her teeth. The coffee crawled up her esophagus, but she swallowed it down.
Mansi snorted. “You’ve always been stubborn.”
“It would be okay, you know, if you weren’t okay,” Viviana said.
“But I am.” It came out like a sigh, hoping to convey the assurance they needed.
Viviana stared at her for a long second, and Marina’s skin itched under it.
“Okay.” Mansi let out a breath and picked up her fork. “When you feel the need to kick someone’s face in to let out all of those emotions you’re harboring, you know where to find me.” She took a bite out of her sausage and grinned wide, meat chunks sticking out from between her teeth.
“Wonderful.” Marina’s lips quirked at the sight, unable to hold Viviana’s intense gaze any longer. She took a final drink of her coffee and placed it on the table. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a High God to visit.”
Marina slid the medium-sized, black velvet box from the edge of the countertop, its frame wrapped in a red satin bow.
It was precisely where she’d placed it the previous night during conversation with Mansi while she cleaned her gun on the dining room table, all while Viviana lectured her for scratching the rosewood surface.
“You’re actually going to his realm?” Mansi asked, her opinion on the matter made clear by her incredulous tone.
“Yes.” Marina ran her fingers over the satin bow, a sadistic grin meeting her lips. “Though, I have someone to meet first.”
Marina twirled the slick knot of the gift box around her long, manicured fingernail, a pint on the table beside it, its frothy top close to spilling over the sides. Beer was never a beverage of choice for her, but the objective was to fit in with the crowd of the pub.
Honeyed morning light poured through the windows of the cozy atmosphere.
Antique portraits decorated the all-brick walls.
Deities over the ages, their attire evolving with the time periods.
Marina recognized their faces as the owners of the establishment.
The goddess worked the cash register, and the god ran the kitchen.
The pub was located in a rural sector of Isolde, tucked in a glade of evergreens—where the groundcover gathered twigs and pine needles, where mushrooms grew on the mossy bark of the trees.
Marina gazed up at the rafters. Lavender hollyhock looped around the beams and, tangled around each blossom, was a swirl of lemon-yellow lupine. Butterflies fluttered like clouds around the greenery.
It pulled up a memory: Father kneeling in front of her, grinning with a radiant, blue-winged butterfly in his palm.
Look, darling, isn’t it exquisite?
That familiar, unrelenting ache resounded in her chest.
She inhaled a stiff breath. The aroma of stew and earl gray mingled in the air. All the booths in the pub were taken. The melody of low, chattering voices didn’t overstimulate her, making the pub a perfect and inconspicuous meeting place.
Marina forced herself to take a sip, biting back the urge to make a face from the awful, yeasty taste.
A silhouette appeared in the shadows on the other side of her booth.
She lowered her pint. “I am impressed.”
He leaned forward, revealing his masked face under the hood of his cloak.
A sharp, steeled look shaped his eyes—ice blue, so light that it could have been stolen from the shallowest part of the ocean.
The Soren she used to know was a trickster, always teasing and pulling pranks on Viviana as a form of childish flirting.
The type to constantly grin so hard, it pushed his eyes into miniature grins of their own. He was loud and would never shut up.
Now, his energy felt different: less optimistic, off somehow.
“Do you think so little of me?” His masculine voice held amusement.
In front of him sat a half-empty pint. He’d more than likely arrived prior to her, keeping himself hidden until the time was right. Soren was as meticulous as ever—a trait of his that she always respected, and it was refreshing to see that much about him had not changed over the years.
Marina cracked a small smile at the playfulness in his tone, happy to see her old friend. “Nice to see you again, Soren.”
Soren removed his hood. His dark, wavy hair had grown longer, their ends glacial, as if they had been dipped in frost. “It’s been nearly a century.”
“Since you and Vivi broke up. Yes, I recall.”
He crossed his arms and rested his head back. “Is she well?”
“Yes.”
“And you?”
“I am also well.” Marina took another sip of her pint to evade answering his question truthfully. The taste was bitter in the back of her throat, and she was unable to resist making a face. “So how have you been?”
“I’m dying to know why you’ve called for my help, given you aren’t one to ever ask for such a thing.” He tilted his head, his gaze scrunching in a way that suggested a small smirk under his mask.
Her pride twinged at his comment, because she loathed relying on others. However, Soren was trustworthy. He’d helped her through a grim situation once. She’d considered him a friend ever since.
“The location is Hollow City, in the Mortal Land,” she said.
“Target?”
She paused, indiscreetly watching the god pass by their booth to the bar.
“Demigod.” She held her stein up to her lips, keeping her voice low. “Five years old. The Himura.”
“Consider it done.” Soren didn’t miss a beat.
Marina set her mug back down next to the gift box. “Name your price.”
The bartender popped the cap off a large glass bottle and handed it to the god. He took the mead and returned to his table.
“For a loyal customer such as yourself, consider this one on the house.” The friendly ire grew in Soren’s voice. “You can do the same for me one day.”
Marina let out a sound of disapproval under her breath. “Don’t be ridiculous. I will not owe anyone a favor.”
“Fine.” He ran a hand over his mask and down his jaw. “Then how about just for an old friend?”
“I don’t have it in me to argue.” Marina receded for the sake of her mental energy. Not that she would let him have his way, though.
Soren scoffed, lowering his hand back to his lap. “That’s a first.”
She shot him a look. “I do have it in me to slice your lips off.”
A chuckle shook out of him. “Still as feisty as ever, I see.” He ran his thumb over the condensation of his mug.
“I am counting on your skillset.”
“My skillset, huh?” he teased, then got quiet. “Or you could simply count on me.”
She didn’t miss the flirtatious lilt to his words. Though, she wasn’t foolish enough to lean into them, no matter how lonely she felt at the moment. Soren was just as cunning as she was. “Rule one: Don’t put your trust in an assassin. Especially when unpaid.”
“You have a point.” He scratched his chin through his mask, his eyes glimmering from what she assumed was a smile. “It’s nice to see you, Marina.”
“I can’t say the feeling is mutual.” A corner of her mouth lifted, proof she was capable of teasing back at him.
He popped his hood back over his head and dipped his chin. “I will be in contact.”
Before Marina could respond, a small thunk sounded against the wooden booth. Above his half-empty pint, the air filled with floating particles that glittered like velvet snow.