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    Modern Goddess: The Complete Series
    Modern Goddess: The Complete Series
    Modern Goddess: The Complete Series
    Ebook1,081 pages18 hours

    Modern Goddess: The Complete Series

    By Odette C. Bell

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    About this ebook

    Modern Goddess: The Complete Series contains all three instalments in the Modern Goddess series. Sprawling fantasies intertwined with mythology, adventure, romance, and philosophy, pick this boxset up today and soar free with an Odette C. Bell series.

    Trapped by Thor:
    Yes, she's a goddess. And, oh yes, he is most certainly a god. You can tell from the fact he marches around in glimmering armor, picking fights with titans and picking up divine broads. But she didn't sign up for this. Sea monsters, kidnappings, evil plots, and the end of the world? Are you kidding? She spends most nights reading the weather report and icing cupcakes.
    It’s all his fault.

    Trapped by Atlas:
    Jeanie’s just an ordinary goddess holding down an ordinary job in these hard economic times. But when an actual legend wades into her life one day, making way more mess than she can clean, she quickly learns there's something extra to her ordinary.
    It'll take her deep into the golden age of the gods, deep into universe-ending danger, and even deeper into a love that’s waited eons for her.

    Trapped by Apollo:
    The first casualty in every war is the truth. Which is terrible if you happen to be Truth herself.
    In the golden age of the gods, Veritas was one of the most celebrated deities. These days she sits on her couch, suffers from panic attacks, and shouts at the news. Modern times have not been kind to the truth, and now she’s more elusive than ever.
    But when mysterious cracks begin appearing through her temple, Veritas is forced to act. Someone is attacking the truth, and there’s only one person she can turn to. A god she'd rather push out a window than rely on. Her ex-husband, Apollo.
    Modern times killed their love, but if it kills the truth one last time, all will lose – none more so than Apollo.

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherOdette C. Bell
    Release dateAug 4, 2016
    ISBN9781370360000
    Modern Goddess: The Complete Series

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      Modern Goddess - Odette C. Bell

      Chapter 1

      I’m afraid the rules are non-negotiable. If you don’t like them, you don’t get to go to Earth. I stared at the mountain of teeth, stone-carved skulls, and grass skirt in front of me.

      What? I’m god!

      No, I corrected, hands arranged on the desk, You are a god. Look around, I gestured to the building around us – the one made of flickering, glistening glass and diamond, We are all gods here. The rules are the rules. If you want to go to Earth for a vacation – or whatever you have planned. I flicked my gaze at him over the top of my glasses. I didn’t have a vision problem – I was a fully-functional goddess – but the glasses added something to my demeanor cheaper and easier than lightning bolts and tidal waves. Then you have to play by the rules. No god, goddess, or demi-god can be cleared for entry into Earth unless they agree to uphold the rules and to be held accountable to them should they… I traced a finger down the file on my desk, Decide to get creative.

      He clenched his jaw. The necklace of actual skulls around his neck jittered to the side, and each of the skulls turned their hollow glares on me.

      I stared back over the top of my unnecessary glasses.

      I have killed warriors, the god growled, the runes and symbols painted across his face (in what looked like permanently fresh blood) glistened as he shifted in the light, I have killed men, I have killed gods—

      Really? I leaned back and pretended to be impressed. I suggest you go hand yourself in to the Divinity Police. Times have changed, Mr., I glanced back at his file, Balang, and we tend to frown on that type of thing these days. Plus, if you are trying to convince me that you are a stable and reliable enough sort of fellow to be let loose on the streets of Earth, I suggest you tone down the murder talk. If you want to be let in, I smiled wanly, Sign the damn contract. I refrained from asking him to sign the goddamn contract, though the word was on my lips. Goddamn had a different meaning when you yourself were a god.

      Balang looked ready to kill me.

      I didn’t react. I’d seen this type of thing before. I’d been looking at godly tantrums for centuries.

      I’m afraid unless you sign that contract, you will not be allowed through customs, I pointed out one final time. If the details are not in place, you will not be allowed entry.

      Balang settled. From his file, he was one of those composite gods. Death, destruction, war, crops – you name it – he stood for them all. A lucky thing, for now he was stepping aside from the warring side of himself and falling back on the crop-growing side – the side that appreciated the logical, methodical, sensible approach to growing maize, potatoes, and signing necessary divine contracts in order to process his visa application.

      He didn’t mutter a Fine, or an Okay then. He grabbed the scroll and scribbled his name across it using the pen propped in an inkwell on my desk.

      I let out a small sigh. Thank god for that. I smiled at the thought. Thank god, because it was a god who’d presided over this victory – me.

      What was I the goddess of? What particular skills did I have to bring to this situation? Details. That’s right, facts. No fancy elements or abstract concepts for me, thank you very much – just the parts that constitute the whole.

      Throughout all the pantheons that existed, there were all sorts of extraordinary gods and goddesses – creatures who stood for and symbolized the greatest forces of the galaxy. In the human pantheon alone, you had gods of thunder, death, war, wisdom, and love. They lived their lives through and commanded those forces.

      They were the big guys.

      Then there was me. I stood for details. I couldn’t call the denizens of the dead from the underworld. I couldn’t command the oceans to rise up. I couldn’t inculcate wisdom into a man’s soul. I could, however, dot my i’s and cross my t’s, which made my job perfect for me.

      As soon as Balang signed his scroll – which bound him physically to the rules of the Integration Office – he stood, his necklace of skulls indignant. He marched away immediately without as much as a Goodbye.

      I watched him go, the light streaming in from the sun behind me catching each leaf in his grass skirt. When he disappeared down the great glass stairs that led through customs down to planet Earth, I gave a hearty sigh.

      I cleared my throat and glanced at the clock. It was time to go home.

      I scanned my office one last time, nodded in satisfaction that everything was where it should be, then closed and locked the door.

      Knocking off then? one of the cleaning gods asked from down the corridor as I headed for the stairs.

      I nodded.

      See you in the morning, he mumbled back.

      Yes, I confirmed. I walked for the glass steps and took to them gingerly.

      He would see me in the morning. This was my job, and I took my job seriously. I had to. I was the sole immigration officer at the Earth Division of the Integration Office. It was up to me to sign and stamp the visas that allowed gods and goddesses to transport to Earth. It was up to me to keep the riff raff out. It was up to me to ensure every visiting divinity knew the rules and accepted to abide by them. It was up to me to ensure Earth stayed as it was while the various gods and goddesses of the universe secretly took their vacations there.

      Oh yes, it was an important job, and one I took very seriously. I was Officina, goddess of details and facts.

      …

      I stopped past the shops on my way home to pick up some cat food. I lived in a nice but modest cottage on the edge of a city. I had roses, a well-kept lawn, and a nice white clean kitchen where I baked things like muffins and pies. I spent my time – when I wasn’t working – poring through books and catalogs of data. I was never more at home than when I had information before me, and the more specific, the better. Numbers, calculations, variables, patterns – I didn’t watch television like some of the entertainment gods when I got home from work, I studied.

      Surrounding myself with hundreds and thousands of facts made me feel alive. It made me see the divinity in the universe and, importantly considering what I was, the divinity within. The universe literally opened up for me when I had my nose stuffed into a book of weather facts or an almanac or a catalog of engineering tools.

      By the time I made it through the front door, the sun was already setting. It was strange seeing it from far away again. The Integration Office was located, of all places, right next to the sun. It was made of diamond and glass. It didn’t, however, melt or burn to a cinder. It was constructed and run by gods, not humans. No one complained of being blinded by the light streaming in through the great glass windows – though they offered an unshielded view of the sun’s bubbling corona. Only gods bothered going through the Integration Office.

      After work, each night I would come home to my Earth cottage. Unlike some of the other divine permanent-residents on Earth, I didn’t bother living in the abandoned ruins of some temple, castle, or palace. I’d gone for an affordable delicate cottage on the outskirts of a large city. I had a small pond with tadpoles and frogs, and rows of neat white roses along the fence. I wouldn’t trade those for all the semi-abandoned sacred ruins on Earth.

      I had a library, too – a great, grand, wide library. Mundane things like frogs and roses aside, my library wasn’t… ah… normal. Technically, when you stepped into the room between my lounge and bedroom, you came upon a rip in the space-time continuum. A rip that took you to any library that had existed on Earth: the Library of Congress, the Library of Alexandria, and every public library you could think of. I would grab a great handful of books after making my dinner and before sitting down in my lounge room, and every night I would read through them all.

      It was how I liked to live my life. Or rather, it was how the divine quality of details and facts established itself within me.

      Not all gods were like me. There were a few gods and goddesses who had been granted permanent residency on Earth. Some of them chose to live like hermits in the forest, flitting through the darkened ruins of their once great temples. Still others abandoned the old for the new and became rich – but apparently ordinary – women and men of power and play.

      They didn’t, however, break the rules. While using your godly powers to create small space-time rifts in your living room didn’t break them, the rules forbade direct interference with the human populace. That would break the rule of Freedom of the Will. The rule which stated all creatures – all beings, from slime molds to birds to humans to non-corporeal energy entities – had the freedom to choose the ultimate direction of their lives. Break that rule – interfere in such a way that a person loses their freedom – and you go straight to Divinity Prison.

      There were other rules, too. The business of keeping Earth safe was an important one. There were a great many burgeoning life forms on this planet, all trying to figure out their place in the universe. Despite a god or goddesses’ ultimate predilection – be it to wisdom, death, or war – they had to safeguard the sanctity of life. These days that meant staying out of things and letting all those entities figure it out for themselves.

      Us gods and goddesses were still creatures and still had rights, though. If a god of war wanted to visit a temple of peace on some far-off planet, he could – as long as he didn’t get creative halfway through his holiday and start carving up the monks for some light exercise.

      As long as people respected the rules of integration – and people included gods – they were free to go anywhere and explore whatever experiences they may.

      All you had to do was accept to live and behave in accordance with the rules. Yes, that often meant leaving the golden chariots pulled by man-sized scarabs at home, along with your marching army of dead and angry warriors. But it wasn’t all bad. You could bake pies, you could read books, you could walk on a street full of humans and watch their expressions, emotions, and lives – all without anyone knowing who or what you were.

      I did love to watch. Some of the other gods – like the ever-irritating Thor/Zeus/Jupiter – would prefer to be sitting on a mountaintop throwing lightning bolts at goats, but they had to find other ways to indulge their creative passions these days.

      Thinking about Thor/Zeus/Jupiter brought an angry flush to my cheeks, and I took a hearty sniff as I turned the key to open my front door. My cat appeared around my ankles. It meowed with all the force and passion of a warhorse eager to go into battle. The battle it intended was some nice prolonged meowing until I fed it, but the sentiment was there.

      Yes, yes, I said softly, You’ll get your food, Chia.

      I took one last glance at the sky and the rays of sunlight filtering down. They were long, purple, and orange – rich with the colors of dusk. I smiled up at them.

      If I’d had the time, I would have counted them – though it technically isn’t possible to count rays of light. I would have noted the exact hues of each ray. I would have noted the way they interacted with the objects they hit – how they shined off the clean white of my picket fence and the glorious pearly-color of my roses.

      It was always in the details for me – everything was.

      Chapter 2

      I considered the collection of files on my desk. It was a popular time of year for gods and goddesses to visit Earth. It waxed and waned, but whenever the constellations aligned, you could bet every god worth his toga and wreath would hop a golden chariot to Terra.

      Now was one of those times. I had fourteen various divinities to get through today. They ranged from gods of battle to a god of plumbing. All of them wanted to go to Earth, be it on business or pleasure.

      I sighed into my steaming cup of cocoa and waited for the clock to strike nine. I always made it to work precisely ten minutes early. That gave me enough time to make a drink, straighten the files on my desk, and wipe away any streaks on the glass wall by the side of my chair. It also gave me a chance to memorize the details of whichever divinity wanted to visit today. While I sometimes pretended to check back to the files every time I wanted to intimidate a potential godly immigrant – it was an act. I made a point of memorizing every single detail of their files. Their powers, their height, their reason for visiting, their dental records. I was the goddess of facts and details – paperwork was my champion never my tormentor.

      I glanced at the clock several seconds before it ticked over to nine, then straightened the ice-white blond bun at the back of my neck. I pushed my black-rimmed glasses further up my nose and tugged down my no-nonsense navy-blue blouse.

      I looked at the door in haughty anticipation of the next godly arrival. That was the thing about working at the Integration Office – every single entity you dealt with, from the cleaners, to the clients, to the cafeteria ladies, were gods, and they all came with a certain attitude. A god was used to being worshiped, lauded, and cherished. Having a building full of gods all boasting about how good they were while they waited around for their worshipers to clean the temple and prepare them dinner wasn’t going to happen. Up here in the Integration Office, gods and goddesses – at least the smart and efficient ones – had to take a deep breath and realize they weren’t all that great. In other words, if you want tea and a biscuit, get it yourself. If you notice a spot on your shrine, go fetch a sponge on your own time.

      When everyone around you is equally as divine, things tend to even out.

      Well, mostly. In the realm of divinity, there were those gods and goddesses who had personalities and egos the size of the universe. I hated them.

      The first god to walk in was a thin chap in a dingy toga with a scraggly beard. His watery gaze darted around the room as he sat at the desk. I already knew who he was, but nonetheless I leaned in with an eyebrow raised and patted his file. Who are you, why do you want entry to Earth, and have you read your rules?

      His eyes watered more at my curt tone. Ah, great madam, I’m Tolus, God of Barely Enough.

      I raised my other eyebrow and cocked my head to the side. God of Barely Enough? I have never heard of that. I was lying. What with working for the Integration Office, having read Tolus’ file, and being the goddess of facts – I’d heard of most things. Admitting that would ruin the tough-immigration-officer act I was going for here.

      Yes, great madam, I’m the god who embodies, he brought a thin hand up to his chest, the skin so meager his knuckles protruded like balls, Having only barely enough. When a peasant has but enough food to survive or a man has but only enough breath to live – I’m the god they worship. Tolus’ eyes flickered and watered as he spoke, and his dirty toga hung off him with all the limpness of a dead flower about to lose its petals.

      I softened my expression. Though I wasn’t about to give anyone any breaks, I wasn’t heartless, either. I’d been doing this job long enough to form opinions – however work-inappropriate – about the various divinities who walked through my door. While I harbored a genuine dislike of the outrageously powerful and egomaniacal gods, I liked the more understated ones. The gods and goddesses who stood for humble things like the way buttercups dot through the grass in spring, to the first rains of autumn, to divinities of things obscure yet necessary like knitwear. They were all different, those gods – they were far humbler, far nicer. They were also far less likely to take a chunk out of your desk or threaten you with a lightning bolt.

      I offered a twitching smile then hid it with a cough. What is your reason for visiting, God of Barely Enough?

      I’m visiting a refugee camp.

      My heart quietened. Work, then?

      Work, Tolus confirmed with a nod that saw his thin head jut forward too fast.

      You agree to obey the rules? I asked softly.

      Oh yes. I respect the right of every being to choose their own path. I will offer comfort and solace where they are sought – I will not intervene directly, as Tolus spoke, his eyes widened, his lips spread a touch, and his thin hair brushed against the top of his head. It was always the details like those I noticed.

      Details made the picture. If you noted – if you immersed yourself in every second, in every line, in every color, in every stroke, in every feature – you could reconstruct reality from the bottom up.

      Very well. Please sign this binding contract, and you will be on your way. I pushed the sacred scroll toward him.

      As Tolus signed it in his shaky scribble, the scroll came to life. Every time a god or goddess put their name down to a binding contract, they breathed life into it. They signed their name to it, and in doing so, everything that god stood for poured into the contract. They ratified it with their own divine power.

      Good luck. I smiled at Tolus as he got up to leave. I meant it, though I shouldn’t have been saying it. To me, every god should be a detail on a contract. If the facts aligned, I let them in. It was a simple system. I should treat them all the same and have no particular like or dislike for any one of them.

      I stowed the freshly signed contract in one of the drawers of my desk and watched the god of Barely Enough walk through the door, back hunched, but head held forward, his watery eyes staring ahead with determination. For all the gods of victory who passed through my office, the difference in Tolus’ gaze was so distinct it sent a shiver down my spine. Tolus stared at the world with the determination and knowledge that whatever came, he wouldn’t defeat it – he would survive it.

      It left a chill in my belly and a thoughtful expression playing across my face – an expression which froze as I heard a commotion in the hallway.

      Make way, a triumphant voice boomed.

      I knew that voice, oh god (and any god would do), I knew that voice!

      I jumped up from my desk, my half-full cup of cocoa spilling, and I ran to the door. My worst suspicions were confirmed when I saw a god marching down the corridor toward my office. Thor, Zeus, Jupiter – whatever you wanted to call him. The god of lightning. The god of victory. The god of being a bloody, self-righteous annoyance of divine proportions.

      He sauntered toward my door dressed today like Thor – his Viking helmet glittering as if trapped within was a galaxy of stars. His chest puffed out so much the sparkling golden breastplate appeared to pop from his torso. His footfall was heavy, his boots clapping against the glass floor with all the dramatic commotion of an army of beating horse hooves.

      Tolus, unfortunately for him, didn’t get out of Thor’s way fast enough, and soon the Nordic god of thunder crashed rudely right into his back. You there, Thor thundered, literally, Get out of my way.

      I gritted my teeth and walked forward, pushing my thick black-rimmed glasses up my nose. Excuse me, I said officiously before Thor had a chance to whip out Mjolnir – his sacred hammer – and bop Tolus right on the head. We do not permit… I paused, not sure what I was going to say next. Running in the corridor? Shouting like a football coach outside of people’s offices? Carrying a hammer with you to a meeting with your immigration officer? The truth was, I couldn’t say any of those things because they were all permitted – this was a distribution point for gods. We didn’t and couldn’t have rules about carrying weapons or booming at people with a voice that sounded like a century’s worth of thunderstorms. That’s what gods did. They couldn’t help it.

      Ha, Thor laughed so heartily his breastplate looked as though it was going to pop off, Details!

      He always called me that. My name was Officina. It was a nice name. It was lyrical. My name was not, however, Details.

      I pursed my lips and crossed my arms over my blouse. If I hadn’t already pushed my glasses up my nose, I would have done that, too. Is there any reason you are shouting in the corridor, Thor? I said his name with as much disdain as I could get away with – I did know whom I was talking to, after all. You are not on my books today, why are you heading toward my office?

      Tolus looked from me to Thor, then did the wise thing and scuttled off. Being the god of Barely Enough, he was adept at keeping alive. He would know not to stand in the middle of a fight between the god of victory, thunder, and general angry outbursts and the unremitting goddess of facts.

      Thor laughed again, his wide jaw dipping open and his blond hair flicking over his shoulders. I’m Thor, and I have chosen to visit Earth, he said as if those facts were enough to explain why he’d decided to show up at the Immigration Office without first putting in an application for a visa.

      I kept my lips thin and my expression unimpressed.

      You look like a wet fish or a dead man, Thor pointed out with another gruff laugh.

      Several of the other gods waiting in a respectable line outside my office snickered.

      Thor was like the boisterous bully challenging the teacher, much to the delight of all the sensible students. I knew my role as immigration officer made me unpopular with most divinities. Still, laughing at one of Thor’s less-than-humorous jokes was low even for them.

      I pursed my lips. You do realize we have a process, don’t you? I have explained this to you before. You can’t swan in here whenever you feel like visiting Earth. You have to put in an application first, and you will be seen in a timely manner when it is your turn—

      I do not wait in lines, goddess of details, Thor boomed at me, his eyebrows descending sharply. When he wanted to – which was most of the time considering his outrageous personality – Thor could look more menacing than any god of death or chaos.

      I kept still. I’d seen this act often enough, though it always made me suitably nervous to be stared down upon by one of the most powerful gods of the Nordic pantheon. In that case, if you go to the end of the line, I might be able to see you by the end of the day— I tried, knowing it wasn’t going to work, but not wanting to lose the edge of my indignation. As the god of victory – among other things – Thor knew how to win all the time. You had to fight hard when you were with him to prolong that inevitable victory for as long as possible.

      I’d dealt with him enough times over the past several centuries to be able to put up a good fight.

      Thor grabbed Mjolnir from his pocket, and as soon as he touched the great hammer, it sang. It was a single note, but it was so sharp, clear, and powerful it resonated right through me.

      He played with it.

      He pointed to the goddess at the front of the line – a forest divinity who was a stunning green with patterns of flowers flecked all over her skin. You, Thor smiled dashingly, Great goddess of the forests, Thor requests to take your place in this line. He smiled again. It was the kind of smile that told everyone that a) he was going to get his way, and b) everyone was still going to adore him anyway.

      It worked as planned on the forest goddess. She puffed out her substantial green chest, her eyes sparkling like morning dew on new foliage. Great god of victory. She bowed.

      It’s thunder today, Thor replied with another intoxicating dose of his dashing smile. Continue.

      I would be honored, the forest goddess kept her keen, glittering gaze on Thor, Honored, her plush lips molded around the word with all the warmth and pressure of a kiss.

      Thor kept Mjolnir at his side, nodded – though not nearly as low – then promptly skipped to the front of the line.

      I watched in annoyance, but there was nothing I could do. If this forest bimbo wanted to give up her place in the line to everyone’s least favorite blond-bearded arrogant nong, she could. There was nothing I could do. Likewise with the fact that Thor hadn’t put his paperwork in yet. Being an official god worshiped on Earth, the process was simpler for Thor/Zeus/Jupiter.

      Thor marched to the front of the line and flashed a triumphant look at me. The look was rightly triumphant because he’d rightly won.

      For my part, I watched the way each strand of his golden hair glinted in the light from the sun beyond us. I noted the way Mjolnir sat in his grip as if it were an extension of his own body – neither his skin nor his arm was under any pressure from the great hammer. I watched the way his towering form cast a long shadow over the other gods and goddesses behind him.

      Thor caught my gaze and crossed his powerful arms across his chest plate, his biceps rippling. Stop watching me, Details, he spat. Hurry up – you have a whole line of divine beings, and you have a job to do.

      I didn’t need him to remind me what my job was. Rather than point this out, I turned and marched into my office. I’m ready to see you, Nordic God of Thunder, I said through a tightly clenched jaw.

      Thor sauntered in behind me, and I could feel the presence of Mjolnir with every reverberating step.

      He sat in the chair opposite my desk with such a thud the thing’s feet grated against the floor. I was sure there was a scratch there now.

      As the sun filtered in from the glass wall beside me, it played against the gold of his helmet, of his chest plate, and of his hair. It lit him up until he shone, and yet it plunged one side of him into shadow. A stark contrast between light and dark that made him all the more real and imposing.

      He rested one hand over the edge of the chair, Mjolnir held loosely. He used the other hand to tap on his armrest. Make this quick, Details.

      I stared at him coldly. I fancied the only reason he treated me with such disdain – other than the fact I was the one who always stood between him and his less-than dignified exploits on Earth – was that I was immune to his particular set of charms. Unlike the forest bimbo out in the hall, I wasn’t about to fall for the smile of some victory god – I wasn’t about to get sucked in by those wondrously blue eyes that sparkled like the clearest ocean, or that physique that was more chiseled than a marble statue of a god.

      Because I saw beyond the impression to the details underneath: the way the fabric of his belt didn’t sit flush with his torso, the way his hair was messy on the left side of his head, the way the fine lines at the corners of his eyes gave away his true age. Noticing these details – paring Thor back to the lines, shapes, colors, behaviors, and words – stopped me from becoming overcome by the god himself.

      Details, he growled, Less staring, more stamping.

      I took an obvious sigh and was annoyed when a tendril of ice-white hair popped out of my near-perfect bun. Thor always had a way of making me come undone. Patting my hair back into place, I tried to regain my immigration-officer stare. Why might you be wanting to visit Earth, Nordic God of Thunder?

      Thor grinned, his golden beard hardly hiding the obvious mirth locked in his jaw. That would be for pleasure – if you know what that is, Details.

      I stared back at him. You are intending to maintain your identity, are you? You are going to be Thor today, I suppose?

      He stared back at me, one large finger tapping against the handle of his hammer.

      I’m sure you can remember that one of your alter-egos – Jupiter, was it? – got into a messy fight in Rome the last time he visited and has been banned from touring Italy for at least a month. I pushed my glasses up my nose and settled back into my chair. I was going to play this card for all it was worth. For several sweet seconds, I was going to enjoy a victory over the embodiment of victory himself.

      Thor ran a hand through his beard, anger starting to trace across his brow. I’m Thor.

      Yes, but you are also Jupiter and Zeus. You have three functioning divine entities, God of Thunder. A fact you exploit to the utmost. While I cannot hold your current form to charge for the crimes of Jupiter, I can point out that you are rapidly running out of chances.

      Thor dipped his head down. It was the smallest of moves, but it had all the gravitas of an army standing right in front of you and cocking all their guns at once. Are you threatening me, Details?

      I took a sharp breath, trying to ignore his glare and the rising song of Mjolnir. Threatening? No. I’m pointing out that you are rapidly running out of identities. I suppose you remember that incident last summer with Zeus, where you – in your own words – accidentally destroyed an entire bar after a spectacular brawl? After that mishap, Zeus can no longer visit bars, alehouses, pubs, clubs, or any establishment that serves alcohol. You’ve been banned from Italy with Jupiter, too. Your current identity as Thor is the only one you have left. A word of advice, God of Thunder: don’t go breaking any more rules. I tried not to smile too much. I was playing this scenario for all it was worth, though I knew I was going to pay for it later. This was Thor/Jupiter/Zeus I was taunting here. He was powerful, arrogant, and usually held one hell of a grudge. He was also extremely connected.

      Thor leaned forward in his chair, his grip fastening on his hammer until his knuckles whitened. I couldn’t stop my gaze from flicking over to it. With every second his knuckles popped up further against his skin and the song of Mjolnir grew louder.

      I do not need your warning, goddess of details – grant me the contract, and I will be done with you.

      I tried not to swallow as I reached for a fresh contract from my top drawer. I handed it over to him without another word.

      Thor grabbed the pen on my desk, disturbing the inkwell until it tipped and sent great puddles of ink soaking over the wood.

      I let out a sharp breath but didn’t jump back in time to stop the ink from pooling over the desk and dripping onto my skirt.

      Thor laughed slowly and deeply as he signed his name.

      Patting my skirt, my jaw so tense I could have chewed through a small moon, I stared up at him. Do you agree to be bound by this contract, Thor?

      He waved me off. Yes, Details, I will be bound by it. Before you take the time to remind me of what those rules are – I have heard them before. Save your breath. He stood up – not a splash of ink anywhere on him though I was covered in the stuff.

      How long do you plan on staying on Earth? I remembered I hadn’t asked nearly enough questions, though more questions at this stage would lead to Thor throwing me out the window and right into the heart of the sun.

      For as long as I feel like. Thor swung his hammer onto his shoulder and rested it there as if the thing weighed nothing more than air and light.

      I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes. Fine. I stopped short of saying the usual Please enjoy your stay, divinity speech, and stared pointedly at the door.

      Thor glared down at me. He was a towering titan of a man with a winged Viking helmet, a glittering breastplate, and a giant hammer resting easily on his shoulder. Me – I was a small ordinary goddess with large black-rimmed glasses and a stained skirt and blouse.

      A triumphant smile spread over his lips.

      He turned on his heel and left – not before Mjolnir gently struck the door frame and caused a massive crack to appear from the tiny impact.

      He didn’t turn around to say sorry. He was Thor. He half-marched half-sauntered down the corridor, not before he made quick and distasteful plans to meet up with the forest bimbo later.

      I leaned out of my door – tiny fragments of glass drifting down on me – staring at his back. My eyes naturally narrowed, and my mouth instinctively pressed together. If I’d had something near me to throw, I would have pitched it at him. That would, however, not be in my job description, nor would it be a good idea. Thor tolerated me while I worked for the Integration Office. He had to at least not kill me while I was in uniform. If I, however, breached the rules or acted outside the confines of the office, Thor could treat me however he liked. In here, I was an official god immigration officer – out there, I was just the goddess of details. The great god of victory and lightning versus the goddess of details would be a short and demoralizing battle.

      I took a deep breath and tried to steady myself. I glanced at the crack in my door frame and tried to count the fractures in the glass. Then I tried to distinguish the exact colors of the stains on my skirt. Letting myself sink into details settled me down.

      Um, excuse me, a small voice said from behind me.

      I turned to stare down at a tiny radish-like creature who was about half-a-foot tall.

      Yes? I asked politely.

      I do not mean to hurry you, it said in a high, but nonetheless earthy tone. I have a harvest to get to.

      I see, I said professionally. I noted the detailed patterns on the toga the radish-god wore, and I felt ready to press on with the day. Thor, for all he was worth, could go hang. I only had to deal with him in the Immigration Office, and our run-ins were usually short enough that I could not bother about them.

      I tugged on my ink-stained blouse and led the radish god into my office. I had a job to do. This radish god had to get to a harvest.

      Chapter 3

      I was tired. Though I was a goddess, I still felt fatigue and weariness.

      I might not age like ordinary humans or animals, but I shared their ability to get worn out.

      I decided, uncharacteristically, to pick up take-away on the way home. Though I loved to cook – as I relished the sight of seeing tiny bubbles form and build in a boiling pot of water, or that certain sound crackling hot oil makes as freshly cut vegetables are thrown into it – today I didn’t have the energy.

      I decided the best thing was pizza, a small tub of boysenberry-swirl ice cream, and a film. Though I preferred a good book or a meteorological assessment as a wind-down from work, a movie would do. Anything that contained information set me at peace. Though I couldn’t get pulled into the story of a movie – the colors and shapes and forms could pull me in, instead.

      I walked along the street, my simple handbag held primly before me. As I walked, I watched the people. I saw what they were wearing and how they were moving and noted each and every expression. I also watched the buildings, the sky, and the street. There was always more to note. The harder you looked at something, the more the details of its reality unfolded, and the more that occurred, the more real it became – and in turn, the more real I became along with it.

      I patted a hand against my tight bun and let a smile spread across my lips. I may not have had the power of Thor, nor the victory, nor the smile – but what I had was still divine. At the end of the day – or the era, or time, or however you wanted to put it – divinity was all equal. It might express itself differently, but there was something germane to all gods – they are all god-like, all divine, all supreme.

      Thor could keep the hammer and golden hair, and I’d keep the facts and figures. Oh, and the cottage with the cat and roses.

      As I walked farther along the street, I settled back into myself. It was like walking back home after a lifetime of being away. My arms wrapped around me with all the warmth and welcome of a long-lost family member.

      The warm, happy, I’m-a-goddess feelings didn’t last. As I tried to count the rays of the dying sun, I stupidly walked into the back of someone. One of the things about dazedly staring up at the sky was you forgot to look where you were going.

      I mumbled a quick sorry and went to move around the man – who was abnormally large.

      Details, the man grumbled as he turned around. Sure enough, Thor stared down at me from his considerable height.

      My jaw could have dropped off – and would later on when Thor socked me in the face for having the hubris to walk into him.

      He was no longer dressed in his full godly garb – that would break countless rules. Walking around in a helmet that glistened with the trapped light of thousands of suns and carrying a hammer that sang a distinct and trembling note of victory wouldn’t go unnoticed on a normal street. Though the people around me no longer believed in gods – not as they did 2000 years ago – they might adjust that belief at the sight of thunderous Thor.

      It was forbidden to reveal your god identity to mortals. That meant no swanning around in impossible armor with singing weapons.

      I didn’t have that problem. None of my powers were of the overtly obvious kind. My power came from within – and while I used my senses to gather information, the true divinity of it sat within my ability to hold on to facts with all the power of a god. Yes, I had ice-white hair that could – if I wanted it to – glitter like Arctic tundra under full sun. Apart from that, I was normal looking. I had glasses – and how normal are they? Very normal.

      Thor, though he wasn’t dressed in his armor from Asgard, hardly looked normal. He was around 6’5 and was built with all the obvious strength of a warrior of old. He had his golden beard and shoulder-length hair – though they didn’t glitter at the moment.

      He was dressed in jeans and – of all things – a Led Zeppelin T-shirt (he was going for a grunge-god thing).

      He still drew everyone’s attention. Jeans and a T-shirt were not enough to hide his powerful proportions, nor the powerful look in his eyes. A look that grew sharper as it met mine. Details, Details, he clicked his tongue, You have attacked me from behind – an undignified and cowardly move.

      I stared up at him, almost having to crane my neck. I didn’t attack you, I said quietly, not wanting to launch into a full-blown god-domestic on an ordinary city street. I bumped into you.

      Thor kinked a lip and snickered coldly. I assume this is all the attack you could muster – while some gods wield a fiery sword of doom, you bump into people from behind to command their attention.

      I stared back at him, looking purposefully dumb. For all his god-like power, Thor often didn’t make sense. His booming voice and predilection for powerful prose combined to make his speech odd. He couldn’t ask you for a pen – he had to point dramatically at it and request A sword of writing, or a Means to enable victory over the scroll.

      I shook my head. I didn’t on purpose accidentally bump into you, Tho— I stopped myself from saying his name in time. I bumped into you. You realize that can happen on Earth, don’t you? I crossed my arms and stared up at him. I hope you don’t accuse old ladies of attempting to mount vicious rear assaults on you with their rods of power when they knock into you with their walking sticks. I kept my expression challenging.

      They are human. Thor crossed his own arms – and it was a far more impressive move than mine. I could make out the detail of every bulging muscle along his forearms – from the change in skin tone, to the varying shapes, to the way they caught the light. You are not.

      This wasn’t the first time I’d stupidly run into Thor down on Earth – though this was the first time I’d literally run into him. He was always the same – though depending on which god he was, he’d be dressed differently. The man – the god – behind the guise was always the same. Zeus tended to swan around – hilariously – in a white set of pants and a polo shirt like some sort of Greek yachting tycoon. Jupiter would wear an impeccable black suit with a simple gold chain around his neck like an oily-haired Italian mob boss.

      Thor was the most sedate of the forms: jeans, a T-shirt, and big boots.

      Details, Thor tipped his head back, the dying rays of the sun glinting off his hair, You are staring. And staring does not win battles – only action does. If you are going to follow up on your pathetic attack, I suggest you do more than blink at me.

      Thor, stop it, I said firmly. I sucked in a quick breath when I realized what I’d done.

      A grin spread across his face. Isn’t that breaking a rule, Details?

      I groaned. I’d broken a rule, he was right. It wasn’t such an important rule, but it was one nonetheless. You were not meant to draw any attention to an under-disguise god while on Earth, which included not using their real name. The people around me were hardly going to pick up on it – they would assume it was a fun and appropriate nickname for the Nordic giant with the golden beard and flowing hair – but it was still not something I was meant to do.

      Thor could get away with calling me Details because it wasn’t my name.

      Will they take away your job for this? Thor said with a wide and victorious smile.

      I dearly wanted to smack the blighter in the face, though I’d have to run into a café and get a stool to help me reach high enough. I will be reprimanded, I replied. If you are done pretending I’m trying to engage you in glorious battle on a quiet city street – I have things to do.

      Thor considered me, and I could tell he was dreaming up insults. Things to do? You mean go home to feed your cat, correct?

      I glared at him.

      Details, what an exciting life you live. A small house without any battlements, turrets, secret treasure rooms, or warriors. Instead of a mighty white steed, you have a small meowing creature that smells of fish. You are a credit to your kind. Thor kept his arms crossed but looked pleased – at himself. He smiled in that private way people do when they are sharing a joke with their best buddy, Ego.

      Fine, I said firmly, not wanting to be drawn into this conversation. Yes, I was aware that when Thor wasn’t being Janus, Urs, or Sven – or whatever normal human name he had adopted this time – he was living out his time in Asgard or Olympus. Me, when I wasn’t in the office, I was in a simple cottage with only one measly space-time rift and one un-horse-like cat.

      Don’t tell me, you have an exciting night planned eating a plain dinner, sitting on a plain chair, and reading a plain book. Thor chuckled to himself.

      I was growing less and less patient with this conversation. I dearly wanted to pick Thor up, roll him into a ball, and throw him into the rubbish. Fat chance, though.

      Details, what a boring life you lead, he noted again, tone far colder. You shun your own kind for the comfort of a weather report.

      His words cut sharper than they usually did, that, or what he was saying resonated more closely this time.

      I didn’t shun my own kind. I was a goddess, and day-in-day-out I dealt with other gods and goddesses. While I might not frequent any of the god bars or other divine gathering places, I didn’t shun the others. I led a quiet life of solitude – not drunken parties and debauchery.

      I backed off. Goodbye, I said curtly and made to walk around the Nordic giant.

      Thor snorted but didn’t stop me.

      As I walked past him, I could feel his eyes on me. For someone who lost herself in the details, I had the presence of mind to notice when others were doing the same. It was the other side of my power. Not only did details live and come alive for me, I stood for that effect in other people. Every time a scientist or an artist found themselves drawn into the lines of data or the fine play of shadow on a canvas, a part of me was there.

      So, paradoxically, I shared a moment with him as I walked past – not that the great big, blond-bearded lug would notice. Axes, wine, women, and victory were all he resonated with.

      As I walked the rest of the way home, I tried to forget Thor’s admonishment that I shunned my own kind. The more I tried to suppress it, the more it rose in my mind. I could remember the exact quality of his tone, the exact feeling of his words as I heard them.

      I was happy in solitude – that was the correct answer. This was my life, and it was how I lived it. For every god of power and victory, there was a god of weakness and defeat. Then there were all the in-between gods – like me – who were neither. If I chose to spend the night with a cat on my lap and a small china bowl of boysenberry-swirl ice cream, that was my prerogative.

      I became lost in thought, and I walked straight into someone again. This time I didn’t bounce back like I’d struck an immovable object. I walked into this man as though he were nothing more than paper flapping in the wind.

      He stumbled forward but managed to keep his balance.

      Oh my gosh, I stuttered, putting out a hand to stabilize the man, I’m sorry, sir.

      He looked up at me with a set of watery eyes, and I realized he wasn’t a sir at all – he was Tolus, God of Barely Enough. Oh. It’s you.

      Tolus nodded low. I’m sorry for being in your way, he said, sounding unmistakably genuine.

      Not at all – I was the one who wasn’t looking where I was going. My fault. I let go of his arm when it was clear he wasn’t going to fall over – yet. The continually sickened, weakened look of his body hardly gave you confidence he could bear something as simple as standing for long. Please forgive me, I added with a smile.

      It was getting old-hat for Tolus to be walked into by gods today, but I was eager to be more polite to the guy than Thor had been. Not all gods were arrogant jerks.

      Tolus nodded and teetered on the spot as if he were about to fall over. Thankfully he didn’t, and he returned his head to an even level, patting a thin hand down his dirty shirt. He was wearing an old pair of beige pants and a frayed gray shirt. He still had his scraggly beard and dark hair and those watery, watery eyes. Please, do not worry. I forgive you. He managed a smile.

      I couldn’t help but smile back – and I knew for sure that both our smiles were qualitatively different from the harsh grin that usually spread across Thor/Jupiter/Zeus’ arrogant visage. Ours were genuine, light, friendly.

      Tolus nodded a second time, then stepped back gently. I should not take up any more of your time.

      I was the one who’d walked into him and interrupted his time, and yet he was the one apologizing for it. I shook my head. It’s not your fault at all. You aren’t wasting my time. I was off to get some food, I said the word food carefully, looking at Tolus’ starved form. If there was anything this guy needed, it was food. That, and a shower, a new set of clothes, sleep, some money, some sunlight, some friends, and a place to stay. He was the God of Barely Enough – there was a lot he could do with.

      I hardly fraternized with the gods I dealt with through the Integration Office while I was on Earth. To me, being on Earth meant living amongst the humans and doing precisely what they did: getting takeout, painting your picket fence white, and planting roses in your garden. But Thor’s accusation came to mind: my willingness to integrate with the humans led to the appearance I was shunning the company of my own kind.

      I bit my lips. What are you doing? I was about to grab a bite to eat – you are welcome to join me.

      Tolus’ watery eyes grew more watery. They reminded me of rain dribbling down glass. Food?

      I nodded, wanting to tell him that, yes, it was okay to eat. But that wasn’t what he was the divinity of, was it? He was hardly the god of Let’s go out and get some nice pizza and ice cream. He was the god of Let’s go find what food we can from the bins behind shopping centers and restaurants.

      I… I suppose I’m new to this city. It is my first time here, you know, he admitted with a lost look.

      Yes, I did know that. I’d read his file. The fact it was his first time here was hardly a good thing. I stopped short of asking him what business he was on – he was probably intending to visit the homeless people living in the storm drains underneath the city before heading off to whatever refugee camps he planned on visiting.

      I could show you around, I offered uncharacteristically. Thor was right about me in one respect: I was the goddess who went home every night to bake herself a simple meal and enjoy a few hundred books by the fireside. Yet here I was offering to spend the night showing around a gaunt god of Barely Enough.

      Oh, that would be nice. I get lost sometimes. I have many people to visit tonight.

      I realized what I had agreed to, but it was already too late.

      If we go collect the food you spoke of, we can hand it out to the needy. Tolus’ gaunt face took on an other-worldly glow as he spoke.

      Tolus was the god of Barely Enough, and he lived in the moments of giving people enough to survive. The thought of it, the action of it made him divine.

      While I was not the goddess of Barely Enough, I could hardly back out. While it was true that I found peculiar comfort in the weather report, skipping it for one night to hand out food to the needy was hardly going to kill me.

      Plus, it would show Thor I didn’t shun the company of my own kind. Far from it. I assisted where assistance was needed. While Thor would be swanning around some god-bar with any number of goddess bimbos hanging off his arms, I would be helping the needy.

      Sure, I said gently, Where do you need to go?

      We can begin with the storm drains – from what I feel, there are many in need down there, some critically. There are also various shelters and alleys…. The look on Tolus’ face hardened with determination – an odd, strong, different determination worlds apart from the arrogance of victory. Though he was hunched, thin, gaunt, and sickly looking, he looked like a god. The appearance no longer mattered. The form seemed inconsequential. The energy behind it was divine.

      Okay, you let me know where you need to go, and I can take you there. I could easily take him anywhere. I wouldn’t need to look at a map, either – I knew the details of this town. I knew each street, each storefront, each alley, each tunnel. I could remember the details of every city map I’d seen, and the places I’d been were logged in my memory with perfect clarity.

      Oh, thank you, goddess of— he began.

      I put a hand up to silence him before he could break a rule. Call me… I searched around for a name. Details, I said without properly thinking about it. It happened to be fresh on my mind, unfortunately. But the more I thought about it, the more I realized the idiotic name Thor taunted me with wasn’t such a bad thing. This way I could take the name back and own it.

      Details? I suppose you can call me… Tolus appeared to think hard.

      I could tell he was racking his brain for a suitable name, going through everything from Aid, to Charity, to Survival. How about Jeff? I offered. It was hardly god-like, but that was the point.

      Jeff? He appeared to roll the word around in his mouth as if it were food he was savoring the flavor of. It was the closest thing he got to food judging from his gaunt appearance. I’m Jeff, and you are Details. Are you sure that you wish to accompany me? I understand you must have your own duties to perform—

      If by duties he meant poring over a sheet of mathematical calculations and trying to remember each number and equation, I could get away with shirking those for a night. I’m flexible. I can work anywhere. Which was true – wherever there was experience, there were details. Wherever there was something to see, it could be divided into colors, forms, shapes, lights, and shadows. Wherever there was something to hear, it could be split into tones, pitches, and hums. All were details, and details were all around.

      I suggest we get a sack, procure sustenance, and hand it out where it is necessary.

      Easy enough. Though I have no idea where you buy sacks these days. People tend to use boxes and bags more than sacks and swags.

      Boxes it is then.

      For the first time in fifty years, I set off to spend a night away from my books and fireside. One of the things about being the goddess of details was I tended to get stuck into a routine. Though technically all gods faced that problem. One of the things about being the divine embodiment of some quality was it drove your actions more than you did. If you were the god of death, most of your days revolved around death. The same with gods of war and harvests – they would spend every day in battle or shucking ears of corn.

      Tonight I would break the mold.

      We procured our boxes and food. I stopped Tolus from paying for them with what was literally his life savings, and we set out to work. First, we went to some of the darker, colder, and more out-of-the-way alleyways on the outskirts of the city. Tolus instinctively knew when there was someone in need around him. He would wander off down an alleyway only to find a homeless person curled up under a makeshift blanket of newspapers.

      It wasn’t only people he helped. Tolus didn’t seem to mind what the creature was – from a stray cat, to a cockroach, to an injured bird – if the thing was in need, Tolus was there.

      He didn’t act obviously charitably. Rather than handing the food out, he left it somewhere the needy could find it. Tolus was the god of Barely Enough, not the god of philanthropy. When he came across an entity on the edge of survival, he would leave the food – barely enough for the creature to survive – somewhere close by, then he would offer a gaunt smile their way and disappear into the night.

      I felt the chill of the evening descend around us as we worked, though I didn’t dare complain. I wasn’t here for myself. I was here to help Tolus. I plunged into the details of the cold sensation

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