I take a moment to appreciate the unattractive scrunch of my stepmothers’ noses. I kind of hope Dad notices it. I mean, it’s rare to catch a god looking so shitty. Part of me wants to lift my phone and see if I can take a picture and text it to Devin. But that won’t go over well. My friend, Asteio, told me about a demigod whose mother tried to have him jailed for sending out photos of her without a glowing aura. I can only imagine the consequences for truly embarrassing photographs.
I glance over at Dad, who’s rubbing his red beard and shaking his head as he looks at me.
“Sigrdrifa, what have you done now?” Dad asks wearily.
“Father,” I huff in pretend outrage and toss a hand on my chest, “you wound me! Why is it always my fault? You know I didn’t start it.”
The mighty Thor sits down at the head of the table and rests his head on his palm. He stares at me with the worn-out affection of bedraggled parents everywhere. That shit doesn’t go any different for humans or gods, at least not in my experience.
“I know, my daughter, but I am sick of ending it. Is it too much to ask for everyone to get along?”
I snort.
“It is for your other wives and their kids. You know me well enough. If they treated me decently, I’d be happy to reciprocate. Instead, they treat me like trash and I refuse, absolutely refuse, to let them continue,” I hiss in a fierce whisper. I was raised in Asgard after my mom died, but since I’ve been living more on Earth, I’ve learned about a lot of things. Like human rights. And dignity.
My dad smiles sadly.
“You’re so much like your mother,” he comments, surprising me by talking about her.
My mother was the love of his life, even though she was human. She passed away twenty years ago. We never speak of it, but I’m fairly certain that she didn’t die by normal, human means. Personally, I think one of my step moms had her killed, but that’s just conjecture on my part. Dev and I have searched for clues, but there’s nothing amiss in her human obit and no autopsy was done. That, coupled with the fact that my father refuses to talk about her passing, gives me zero cause to think that she was murdered, but I can feel it in my gut.
A Valkyrie knows when death is natural or not. And even though I’m only part Valkyrie, with no actual powers, I still feel a twinge. Like the time this customer tried to steal a saw at Home Depot by stuffing it under his shirt and I told him one day he’d end up cutting his own dick off for being that stupid … who did I see in the paper the next week? Dead? With his dick cut off? Front page stuff.
So, while I don’t have powers, I have inklings.
“Val,” Dad begins, surprising me by using my chosen name, “you know that I think you’re wonderful, right?”
“Ugh—getting mushy on me already?” I tease, but I soften at his tone. Unlike a lot of gods, he doesn’t shun me or any other demigods. Under it all, my father is truly a great guy. “I know. I just get ... tired of all of this. It hurts, Dad,” I confess in embarrassment.
Valkyries don’t talk about their emotions—or admit to having weaknesses.
“I’m sorry, daughter. I know it doesn’t seem like it, but I’m always in your corner, fighting for you; however, I can’t outwardly show favoritism.”
“So, you’re admitting I’m your favorite?” I perk up a little.
Dad lets out one more sigh and shakes his head fondly. “I don’t have favorites.” He winks and then releases his hold on time.
Everyone unfreezes and movement begins again. Instantly, Skanky is rushing toward me, but my father raises a hand and lightning arcs across the table and into my sister, who immediately goes down. She lays there, twitching for a few seconds, until she recovers.
It’s a brilliant couple of seconds.
Immediately upon recovery, Skeggjöld scrambles back to her seat, bowing her blonde head meekly.
“One dinner!” Dad shouts, “One dinner, once a week—is that too much to ask for?! No one in this room is a child. For Mjölnir’s4 sake, my goats are better behaved.”
I make a face at the mention of his beloved Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr, the two goats who pull my dad’s chariot. Dad loves them, but I spent enough time in my childhood herding the little shits to never wanna see them again. Tanngrisnir is okay, your typical smelly eternal goat and all. But Tanngnjóstr? He’s a kinky jerkwad who likes to try to chew on my panties while I’m still wearing them! No wonder his name means ‘teeth grinder.’
Dad’s voice amps up, like he’s raring for battle. “I am done. From this moment on, if no one can behave civilly, they are not welcome in my house or on my land. They are undeserving. Am I understood?”
Everyone stares at him in horror.
Thor basically just said that, in addition to disowning their selfish asses, he would strip them of their powers. I cover my mouth to hide my smug grin. This threat isn’t for me—I don’t have any powers.
No favorites, my ass.
While his declaration weighs the rest of them down, I’m not bothered at all. I certainly don’t care about his home or land. Dad knows that I would much prefer to live in the human realm than in Asgard, but he guilts me into staying one night a week because I’m his only link to mom. Nope, this threat is for everyone else because they are practically useless, even with their powers. Gods are used to having someone cater to their every whim, whereas I prefer to do shit myself. My siblings and step moms wouldn’t last a day without Thor’s generosity.
Or their powers.
Because among the gods, power is what defines you.
Another reason that I’m persona non grata.
I’m powerless and half-human.
After several seconds of tense silence, my father raises his hand for the servers to bring the food and we eat, golden utensils clinking softly in the uncomfortable silence. The rest of dinner is fairly uneventful, but I take the opportunity to chew with my mouth open when looking at my step moms.
Childish?
Absolutely.
Watching them nearly barf at the sight of my half-masticated Gellur5?
Fucking priceless.
When dessert is whisked off the table, I rush over to Dad and kiss his cheek. Then, I run from the room before he can command me to stay. I need to escape. I need normalcy. Friendship. Kindness. Laughter and fun.
I need to connect with my humanity once more.
I need Dev.
2
Dev
I click done on a project that has nothing to do with work—a project that could get me in a shitload of trouble if anyone ever found out, but it’s worth it.
Then I send off a text: Project complete. Awaiting payment.
The responding text is a single emoji: a heart.
I narrow my eyes. If that jerkwad is gonna try and cheat me ... well, there’s nothing I can do about it. You don’t fuck with a demigod—any god, really. That’s how you end up deader than the Wicked Witch of the East. Getting crushed by houses isn’t really on my kick-the-bucket list.
Luckily, a second text comes through a minute later: Payment on its way.
‘On its way.’
What does that mean? I wonder.
I lean back in my company-issued desk chair and swivel side to side, trying to figure out how payment could be on its way so soon.