Going Thru Hell (2 page)

Chapter Three

Nashville
was a thriving city, busy streets, older English style architecture and no end to the available entertainment. I walked historical downtown, enjoying the feel of time passing slowly in the oppressive humidity. Wandering some of the better spots, I sensed immortals stalking me, tasting the different pantheons, like spices in a rack. They gathered slowly, invisible to the average human. The genetic mutation giving me the ability to change events in time also allowed me to see into the immortals’ preferred fourth dimension.

Children stare
d openly, adults trying to understand what held the little ones' attention. A subtle threat, the gods could remain hidden from children, from anyone but those like me.

Threatening the weakest among us? No wonder the bastards had so few followers in modern times.
The realization ruined an otherwise good day.

I turned a corner, finding myself alone.
Bugger
.

A loud roar filled the air, startling me and the little entourage. I turned, looking
for the source.
Oh, bless her.
Tiamat flew overhead, a dark shape in the bright blue sky, black eyes sparking with rage. I ran for the store a block away, hoping to keep from getting caught in the middle. I burst through the door, finding a crowd of adults staring at me.

“What?”

They began talking at once, pointing at the little dust-up between immortals outside.

“Wait, you can see them?”
Shocked, the immortals walked in the mortal dimension.

“Lady, we may be southern, but we ain't blind. That's a dragon
in our street!” An older man pointed at Tiamat, swiping Amun's chest open and trying to take a bite out of Magni. Smoke curled from her nostrils, a good indication a wonderful show of temper might be in the cards. Amun and Magni moved backwards, hands up.

I
mmortals couldn't die, but did feel pain. The two males must be desperate. Tiamat snapped her jaws, little flames licking the sides of her mouth in a chilling display.

The people in the store remained silent. I understood. A show like the one across the street would render most speechless and frightened out of their minds.

I thought it was a great.

I needed to make a decision. Amun and Magni weren't the only immortals, I could taste others waiting in the wings. The hair on my arms stood up, goosebumps tracking from my hands until they covered every inch of skin.

I walked outside, deciding to keep the people surrounding me from seeing the fight. Threads of time appeared, each with the consequences of braiding to undo the last twenty minutes. The turns to take, where to go, how to avoid the threat to innocents and prevent the battle. I pulled the ones I wanted. Concentrating, I weaved the dark blue, blood red and sun orange into the colors of a Rocky Mountain sunrise, complete with light purples and soft pinks.

T
he world changed. Reality blurred, the scene began to spin, gaining speed. Tiamat turned to me, before disappearing into the void of distortion, sadness marring the shining black eyes.

I lifted in the air, spinning, pain and heat wracking my body. The braiding continued, taking me through the motions of the last twenty minutes, showing results of new actions. Instead of walking around town, I return
ed to the hotel after eating lunch, removing memories of the innocent. I landed hard on the floor of the hotel room, clothes torn, sweating heavily, and muscles screaming from pain.

“I take the cost, I take the cost, I take the cost,” I whispered into the carpeting. Bracing, I lay still, letting the power take its price. Like a tiger's teeth with fresh kill, it ripped out a small chunk of my soul.

Pain wracked my body, forcing a scream. Feminine arms picked me up, soothing sounds filling the air. Clothes and all, she gently laid me in lukewarm water, stifling the overload of sensations. I welcomed the black of unconsciousness.

I woke covered by the fluffy duvet, tired, sore and hungry.

“Wake, my child.” Annie's voice soothed raw nerves.

“I can't feel.”

“I know. You have paid a great price to help the innocent. Let us see if we can bring forth emotions to cover the wound.”

“No.”

“Yes, Kylie. Perhaps we can repair the damage.”

“You know it can't be healed.”

She slid a palm over my head, gentle hands calming the mental chaos. The headache started, pounding to the rhythm of my heartbeat. I silently begged to faint, but the power demands payment. There is no credit card or forgiveness for changing the strings of time. It doesn't care I only braided a mere twenty minutes. The ledger must always remain in the black.

Chapter Four

Annie and Tiamat stayed for three days.

Annie ventured into Nashville, bringing soup and water. Too weak to care
for myself, she spoon fed every drop. I wanted to throw things, scream at the weakness, but lacked the strength.

“Come, Kylie, tell me how you feel,” Anahita asked early in the evening.

“Tired.”

“That is not what I meant. If you feel a little more, you might be able to cauterize the wounds,
perhaps heal.”

“It can
’t be done. Why do you continue to ask? It is a loss I accepted,” I turned away, scooting slowly under the covers.

“I don’t like seeing you in this condition.”

I waved her away.

At various times, I smelled the Norse and Egyptians. I heard arguments, vaguely realizing Tiamat remained in her human form. A ghost of a smile
appeared at the sounds of her punching Amun and his cursing. She laughed at his pain, saying something I didn’t quite catch.

I ignored the sounds of clashing swords.
Magni’s howl of pain meant Anahita dispatched his big butt.

I cowered in the bed.

The first morning of full brain capacity, I fell out of bed, faceplanting in the carpet. I stood and stretched, found I wore Snickers pajama bottoms and matching brown camisole. Annie and Tiamat were gone, and I couldn't taste a pantheon nearby.

Grandmother's stories flitted through my head. I loved when she'd put me on her knees, telling stories of ancestors who gave their sanity and souls.
The kind of courage I admired, facing fear even when the odds were stacked against winning. They probably wouldn’t have spent three days hiding under a duvet, wishing for a life other than the one they’d been given. I could almost feel their disappointment.

I dressed, pulling the curls into the usual ponytail standby. Grabbing purse and keys, I headed out.
I had my eye on a local BBQ restaurant, the thought of ribs making Niagara Falls flow in my mouth.

The sun moved upwards in a bright blue
cloudless sky. I smiled, letting the late August sun warm my skin. The humidity rose with the sun, causing a fine sheen of sweat. People scattered into air-conditioned buildings and I followed. The restaurant was small and crowded, with the smell of hickory and cooking meat. The walls painted a light beige, with overstuffed pleather booths and tables scattered in the middle of the room. Waiters and waitresses moved gracefully around the diners, carrying trays filled with a carnivore’s dream.

I ordered the baby back ribs smothered in Carolina ‘
que, and ate like a sixteen year old boy. The sauce covered every finger, and I suspected a good bit of my cheeks. The bones slid easily out of the meat, and I smacked loudly every time I sucked the vinegary sauce from my fingers. I ate until the thought of another bite made me ill. I paid the bill, leaving a healthy tip for the frazzled server, washed up in the crowded bathroom, and drove toward the hotel with a distended belly and satisfied smile.

The view out the driver’s side window was beautiful in a suburb kind of way.
I admired the homes built in southern plantation styles sitting at the top of hills, the lush green lawns and tall trees. Nashville was a city larger than life, filled to the brim with reminders of its past and moving quickly towards the future. The call of shops lured me to pause, and I wasted a few hours shopping. Mom and Pop shops abounded, with an abundance of offerings not found in Colorado. One eclectic little store showcased homemade arts and crafts. I bought with an eye to adding life to my barren home.

After returning to the hotel parking lot,
I grabbed the shopping bags, handed the keys to a valet and sauntered towards the elevators, catching the smell of fire and ice. I stood in the lobby, spinning slowly to find the source. Glancing at the crowd around the front desk, and watching patrons walk into the in-house restaurant, I detected nothing out of the ordinary, except the smell. I looked up, remembering a lesson from two years ago. Some immortals could fly.

Nothing waited in the wings.

The smell grew stronger before dissipating. I stood in the lobby, trying to make sense of it, but no visual confirmation. Taking a deep breath, and shrugging, I went to my room.

The sun began to set, the city line watered down from high humidity. I watched through the big picture window, thoughts wandering
without direction.

Determined to
enjoy the peace, I changed and flopped onto the little loveseat. The couch in the suite faced the window, and I watched the remaining light disappear as city lights created an artificial horizon. The transformation through the picture window of the hot, humid day to a cooler, humid night embedded in my memories. The moon peeked over the buildings, full and large, moving slowly across the night sky.

Having my fill of night sky and city lights, I turned on th
e TV, flipping through channels. I settled on
Breakfast at Tiffany's
, and lost myself to the movie.

*

Yawning, I turned the TV off and shuffled to bed. Plans to further explore Nashville floated lazily in my thoughts, although immediate needs meant snuggling deep into the comfy mattress and fluffy duvet.

Sleep washed slowly over me, thoughts calming word by word, muscles
turned into heavy weights, body relaxing into the extra soft bed.

A familiar childhood nightmare stole into the darkness of sleep. I couldn't have been older than five, my long, curly
brunette hair flying as a breeze made its way through a windowless house. All the walls washed in various shades of orange, with rounded corners of adobe, high ceilings and no doors. Fear filled my tiny body, the monster hid in the shadows. The only shield, a teddy bear I kept on the bed at home. The monster chuckled, its teeth making metallic
snicking
sounds. I ran from room to room, desperate for an escape route. The sound of heavy footsteps, growls and the smell of apples swam in the air as I cried, calling for my parents. Words uttered in the darkness, the feel of power, and an evil chuckle propelled me forward. One of the windows showed a sunny landscape, bright, shiny, and green with the blush of late spring. Clutching the teddy bear tighter, I jumped.

I slid across the floor, the burn of
carpet fibers scraping across facial skin a wakeup call. My lungs burned, muscles twitching in protest. I hated the nightmare. The message clear, it couldn't escape Captain Obvious. But the smell of apples always bumfuzzled me as well as an innocent teddy bear for protection. The dream never changed in the last twenty-three years since it began haunting my sleep.

The
pain on my nose and cheek became insistent. I walked into the bathroom, noticing the clock showed four a.m. Flipping on the light, I gasped at the image in the mirror. Apparently
,
I'd skidded across four acres of carpet. The entire left side of my face glowed a deep red
with open, oozing wounds. I gently washed with cold water, hissing at the sting, and continued until the skin was numb.

Rug burns on knees
good. On the face, not so much.

I dressed
, deciding to find an all-night diner. I noticed the quiet of the hotel lobby, a few employees moving on silent steps to prepare for the day. The taste of fire and ice slid down the back of my throat, and the feeling of being watched caused an itch between my shoulder blades. Eyes closed, I spun in a small circle, to see if my spidey senses could locate the source. They failed. I shook it off and left the hotel in search of food.

An
all-night diner recommended by the desk clerk proved to be all she promised. Large windows along the front façade, allowing for people watching, the inside significantly cooler to the Tennessee hot summer night. The walls of the restaurant shone a sunny yellow, the seats a dark, contrasting blue. Stainless steel covered the kitchen area, and behind the front counter. I sat in a booth, the diner empty except one cook and a waitress. The smell of strong coffee permeated the air, along with fresh baked cinnamon rolls, biscuits and bacon. My stomach growled.

The waitress looked young,
copper colored hair pulled into a tight bun, highlighting the high cheekbones, a heart shaped face with a strong jaw line, and light green eyes. She wore a t-shirt with the diner’s logo, a pair of worn jeans and well-loved running shoes. The smell of fire and ice rolled off her in waves.

“What can I getcha to drink?” she smiled, pen and pad poised.

“Uh, coffee.” I glanced at her name tag, the name
Brunhilde
etched in the plastic.

“I'll be right back, Kylie.”

Her voice bright and enthusiastic, I watched as she filled a large mug with the dark brew, wondering how she knew my name. Brunhilde moved like a warrior, every muscle ready for battle, even pouring something as mundane as a cup of coffee. The lively waitress with pretty green eyes could pass as a mortal among the general population, but her graceful movements were a dead giveaway.

The steaming mug of bitter brew landed gently in front of me and I gazed into her green eyes.
They glinted in the fluorescent lighting, her humor and warrior mind there for all the world to see.

“Who are you?
The Norse House?”

She sat across from me, laid her arms flat on th
e table and leaned forward, “I’m Brunhilde, the Forsaken Valkyrie.”

“And you follow me why?” I blew on the hot liquid,
and took a careful sip, humming approval.

She
sat back, watching me closely. “I need to determine your worthiness.”

I frowned, performing a quick
memory search. My eyes widened as it struck me what she meant. Valkyrie are known to be exceptionally loyal. Some had the unique ability to decide battles, mortal or immortal, making gods and goddesses alike fear them.

Brunhilde had her own story, cast out of Asgard by Odin for disobedience. Something clicked in my head, and several threads appeared, brilliant greens and blues. Goosebumps rose, the hair on my neck and arms standing on end. I shoved the urge to touch her, to connect, deep down. She called to the power, and soothed my soul, yet I’d never met her before.

“Am I the only one who can see you? Or do I look like a moron talking to myself?”

She laughed. “No, others see me. It is a choice, as you know.”

“Why me?”

“Y
our true question, yes? Various pantheons are going to war and want to use you. It’s been a long time coming.”

“You didn’
t answer my question.”

“I don’
t have issue with their going to war. I do, however, have problems with cheating. If any of them manage to use your ability, my beloved humans will pay a price far greater than they can bear.”

“I see.” I spun the coffee mug slowly, trying to think in a logical manner. Annie
talked about wars between the gods, and history recorded the damage when it spilled into the mortal world. Only my ancestors knew the truth about Hitler. An ancestor lost herself to change the ending of the American Revolution. My great-great-great grandmother lived the last of her days in a horrific asylum after interfering in the Battle of Gettysburg. All sacrificed their lives and souls to save humans from the horrors of immortal indifference.

She reached across the table, hand gently squeezing mine. “Fear not, Braider, I have chosen to pledge my loyalty to you.”

“What of your own pantheon?”

“They disowned me centuries ago.” She rose from the booth in a graceful movement, standing next to me, pen and pad ready.

“I'm not hungry now.”

“You must eat. I will bring something hearty. Gather your strength, Kylie.”

I watched her hand in the order. My thoughts seemed unable to find an anchor. Over and over, they flitted to the conversation with Annie a week ago, the words echoing the Valkyrie's.

While I loved and respected Annie and Tiamat, I never lost sight of the fact they were goddesses. The same for Brunhilde. I wanted desperately to believe they wouldn't use me, but the cynical side scoffed.
Fifteen years of interference taught long standing lessons.

A plate appeared, the smell causing my stomach to growl. Pancakes, scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, orange wedges and
... salad?

“A salad, Bru? Really?” My mind apparently made a decision
, I'd nicknamed her.

“Fiber is always good for the digestive system.”

I swear I heard her snicker.

“Funny.” Shoveling food
down the hatch, I narrowed my eyes before giving a closed mouth smile. A good sense of humor always came in handy.

Breakfast complete, we chatted about the mundane and found we carried the
same girlie obsession with boots. She hopped up and down, serving the customers as they trickled in. I watched carefully, forming the impression she liked mortals. Her expressions flowed naturally, eyes lighting with joy at each interaction.

I
couldn't find a good reason why she wanted to ally with me. History proved it was a rare thing for an immortal to take sides with a mortal.