“What does that mean? Use your words.”
Twin droplets of sweat traced downward from his temples. His clenched smile looked like it would crack a molar.
“How about you show me?” I suggested.
He nodded, stiff as a shadow puppet, before he walked off to the furnace.
“It’s...not as bad as it looks.” His hand hesitated on the latch.
“Just open the oven, Crow.”
“I called you.” As if making that point was important. “I calledeveryoneas soon as I realized.”
“Realized what?”
He pulled the old metal door open, hinges grinding.
The furnace was empty. Cold. No god powers flickered there like flames made of crushed stars. No god powers sang there in the voices and orchestras only I seemed to be able to hear.
The furnace that should be filled to roaring with the power of each and every deity in this room was empty.
“Where are they?” I said into the hush. “Where are all the powers?”
Crow shook his head. “I have no idea.”
~~~
Little known fact: a room full of angry gods sounds a lot like a bingo hall fight. There was a lot of finger-pointing, insults, charges of cheating, grudges, moral lapses, and bad fashion choices. None of it had anything to do with the matter at hand.
“Enough!” I yelled from near the empty furnace. Crow was hiding behind me.
Coward.
Not that I was much of a shield against a couple dozen pissed off deities, but frankly, I was probably the only one in the room who didn’t want him dead.
“Let’s take this one step at a time. First, can any of you sense where your power is?”
A few of them shook their heads. A couple got far-off looks in their eyes as if they were trying to unsuccessfully pull up an old memory.
“No one?” I asked.
Zeus, who was dark-haired, tan-skinned, and kept his goatee trimmed and gelled, lifted one hand, long fingers spread. He was dressed in an elegant charcoal suit that probably cost more than I could get for my Jeep. He ran a high fashion and fancy decor shop for clientele who liked that sort of thing. Even here in this little beachside vacation town on the edge of Oregon, he did brisk business.
“Let me explain,” he began, and I braced for a lecture. “Each of us knows that our powers are here. Within the boundaries of Ordinary.” He didn’t stop and look around the room, but I did.
No one nodded, but they weren’t arguing either.
Progress.
I gave Odin the eye. He always argued with Zeus. But even he was silent, thick lips pressed in a tight, thin line.
His silence sent a roll of dread through my stomach. When Zeus and Odin weren’t arguing, things were really going to the dogs.
“We know the powers are still together,” Zeus continued. He took a breath, considering what to say next. “But without breaking the contract we have all signed to become citizens in Ordinary, there is no more we can do to find our powers.”
The only deity who seemed minutely surprised by that was Death, who simply made a small, curious sound in the back of his throat.
Yeah, I had the contract memorized too. There was no drawing upon god power for any reason, for any emergency, life, death, or otherwise while the deity remained within the confines of Ordinary. When a god wanted his or her power back, that transfer was handled by a member of the Reed family. Specifically, me.
