He had become their friend, no matter what Odin wanted to call it.
“Yes,” Odin agreed, bringing me back into the conversation. “Especially when we seem to be worried about you.”
“Are you?”
“Worried?”
I waited.
“You are more than your ability, Delaney. I understand that. Many of the gods do. But just as many gods and creatures and mortals in town see you as your job. As the law. As the police chief. That is a dangerous position to hold. One of extreme expectations. One that could put you in the line of fire when those expectations are not met.”
A chill washed over my skin. Hera, who had gone by the mortal name Herri and run a bar here in town, had picked up her power to help me find Cooper too. Unlike Crow, she had left town for one year as required by the contract.
She had told me that there was a war coming. She had told me it was headed toward Ordinary. I’d been looking over my shoulder for three months. Other than the constant rain, Ordinary had seemed normal enough.
Until all the god powers had been stolen.
“What line of fire? If you know something about the war headed our way, I want to know.”
“War?” his eyebrows shot down. “Is that what you think?”
Hera had also told me to choose my allies carefully. That people might not be who I thought they were. I studied Odin and went with my gut. I trusted him.
“Hera mentioned a war headed our way. Do you know anything about that?”
He rubbed one calloused thumb over the corner of his mouth, his gaze on the floor. “Through the ages there have always been wars among gods. Just because we vacation doesn’t mean we give up our basic instincts. But war. Here.” He was silent for several minutes.
I listened to the cars hushing by the shop, wet pavement making tires louder than engines.
“What does your blood tell you, Delaney?”
His words flashed like fire across my skin, then sank deep into my bones where they pulsed. My blood. Reed blood. Protectors of Ordinary.
We were connected to this land, connected to all the forces and creatures and gods who walked upon it. Our roots ran deep, into the soil, the sand, the salt. And I knew, in that quick instant that something was coming for Ordinary. A storm. War.
But all I said was, “I don’t know.”
“You had better. And soon. Your father didn’t listen to the blood.” He shook his head. “You understand that, don’t you?”
I swallowed. What did our blood have to do with Dad, with a possible war? “What happened?”
“He chose sides. Too late.”
Crow stomped into the room. “All right. I’m ready.”
He wore a quilted canvas jacket and had shoved a gray beanie over his dark hair.
He was also wearing an umbrella on his head.
Neither Odin nor I moved. A hundred questions were spinning through my mind. Too late for what? Choose what sides? I wanted to ask Odin what he knew. It should have been second nature for me to grill him. I was a cop. I knew how to ask questions and get answers.
Also: umbrella hat?
As soon as Crow had walked back into the room, Odin had shut down. That warmth—no, heat—that had been in his gaze, in his words, was once again stowed behind the man I’d known for so many years.
A grumpy, accident-prone chainsaw artist.
The quick change must mean he didn’t want to talk in front of Crow.
Or he was just as baffled by the hat as I was.
Choose sides. Between the gods? Or was Odin just angry at Crow for losing his power and trying to make me turn against a man I considered my uncle?
“Everything okay?” Crow asked looking between us. “Delaney?”
“What is on your head?”
“My hair.”
“Over that.”
“My beanie.”
Really?
“Why are you wearing an umbrella hat on your head?”
“Where else should I wear a hat? Really, Delaney, you’re ridiculous.”
Odin hrumphed and headed toward the door. “I’ve wasted enough of my time today on you, Crow. If Delaney weren’t here I’d show you just how much I’ve enjoyed wasting my time on someone who couldn’t do one simple job right.”
Crow licked his lips and glanced at me for reassurance. I’d never seen him so nervous around another god before. No, strike that. I’d never seen him nervous around anyone before.
Either he was afraid of Odin, or he was playing me so I would take his side.
Okay, that kind of double-guessing everything was going to have to stop right now. I was not paranoid. I refused to become paranoid. Unless maybe I should be paranoid.
“Let’s go, bumbershoot head.” I waved at the door, telling them both to walk out in front of me so I could keep an eye on them.
Okay, maybe I was a little paranoid.
Crow stared at Odin’s retreating form, then trudged along after him, waiting at the door for me to walk through so he could set the alarm and locks. He patted the doorframe gently, like he was saying good-bye to an old friend.
Well, he wasn’t saying good-bye yet, but he would be. Losing the powers meant not only putting himself in jeopardy with the other gods, it meant putting the rules of Ordinary in jeopardy.
When the rules were broken, I was the one who had to answer for it. And I would.
As soon as we found his powers.
I gave him his moment at the door and dashed over to the Jeep.
I opened the Jeep and slid in, Odin taking the passenger side. He didn’t buckle the seat belt or look at me. He just scowled at the rain, lost in his own thoughts.
“Just so you know,” I said, as rain rattled against the metal roof and Crow jogged across the parking lot toward us, the umbrella hat a bright crazy blob in the gray light, “I appreciate what you said in there. I’ll be careful.”
“And will you call on me?” He still didn’t look my way, didn’t take his gaze off the gray and wet.
“Yes,” I said, not knowing exactly what I was agreeing to. I wasn’t close to Odin, not in a familial way, but the man here in my Jeep was steady, serious, and seemed to know things I wanted to understand.
“We need to talk. About Dad.”
Odin grunted, but the line of his massive shoulders relax minutely.
“You know where I’ll be.”
Then the back door opened and Crow bulleted into the seat, slamming the door behind him. “Can we stop for food? I’m starving.”
“No,” Odin and I said at the same time.
Crow gave an offended sound, and caught my gaze in the rearview mirror.
“I haven’t eaten since lunch yesterday.”
“If you behave yourself, I’ll stop for coffee before we head in to the station.”
“Fine.” He crossed his arms over his chest and frowned out the window like a petulant child. With a parasol on his head. Those things were never going to catch on.
“Suck it up, Crow,” Odin growled.
One grouchy god.
Check.
One pouty god.
Check.
Silver lining? Starting a Monday out this bad meant it couldn’t get worse.
~~~
It got worse.