“Not before you used it on concrete.”
“I paid you to replace the blade.”
“You gave me store coupons. To your store!”
“Of which you should make immediate use. Your decor is hideous.”
“I make all my decor!”
Zeus gave him one slow blink. “I know. Destroying that chainsaw was a service.”
“Screw you and your damn service.” Odin curled his massive, scarred fists. “I’ll take my payment out of your face.”
“Finally!” Aaron cheered.
“No.” I stood, grabbed Odin’s arm. “You touch him and I’m dragging you to jail.”
“Worth it,” he growled.
Zeus was slouching a bit in his chair, relaxed, like he had no care in the world. “Let him go, Delaney. He couldn’t hit me if I carved a target on my forehead with a dull chainsaw.”
“I’ll carve you a target, right up your—”
“Bargain.” I pointed a finger at Odin and turned it on Zeus. They watched me. All the gods watched me. Nothing interested a god more than a juicy bargain. “In exchange for the excessive wear and tear on Odin’s chainsaw…”
Zeus made a short, offended sound.
“…which I am sure was unintended,” I amended. Odin growled. “Zeus will carry five pieces of Odin’s art in his shop on a sixty/forty commission until they sell.”
“Ten,” Odin said, his single gray eye lit almost silver. “Ninety/ten. And the owl statue is one of them.”
“Owl? That hacksawed lump of pine on your porch? That, dear sir, is not art,” Zeus insisted, offended.
I gave him the look. The one that said I could throw the book at him if I wanted to.
“One piece.” He sniffed. “Eighty/twenty. No owl.”
“Eight,” Odin said. “Eighty/twenty. Owl stays.”
I let go of Odin’s arm like a parent letting go of a child’s first ride without training wheels. Quibbling over numbers should keep these two on the up-and-up, but I wasn’t going to leave anything to chance.
“Too much like your father,” Crow said quietly. I glanced his way and thought I saw pride. “Peacekeeper.”
I shrugged and took stock of the gods around the table. Aaron stared raptly at the argument, like a starving man watching bacon sizzle. Frigg and Herri seemed uninterested in the argument.
Once the terms had been settled—three pieces, fifty-nine/forty-one, owl included—the two gods shook on it. And that was that.
Aaron sighed and leaned back in his chair as if he’d just consumed an amazing meal. “Marvelous.”
“Don’t get used to it,” Odin said. He patted my shoulder, then went off to raise a toast at the bar with Thor, Chris, and Death.
“Thank you,” I said to Zeus.
He plucked imaginary lint off his suit. “We all know who would have won if it had come to blows.”
“Odin,” I said. “He could have taken you to small claims court over the chainsaw.”
“That is beside the point,” he said.
