Cry Werewolf (Godhunter Book 20) Page 16

“Here you go, Dad,” Trevor picked up a leather lounger, similar to a La-Z-Boy (but made through my territory transmutation magic), one handed, and brought it over to the dining table for Fenrir.

  “Thanks, Son,” Fenrir sat back in the padded leather chair, and sighed. “This is nice.”

  “Vervain made it,” Trevor said proudly.

  “Well done,” Fenrir said.

  “You haven't even seen the best part,” Trevor bent down and pulled the wooden lever on the side of the chair. Fenrir's legs shot up with the foot of the chair, and he let out a surprised whoop. “How's that?”

  “Miraculous!” Fenrir declared as he looked over the lever. “I must have one!”

  “Take that one with you, Dad,” I offered.

  “Oh I couldn't,” he frowned.

  “I can make more,” I shook my head. “Just take it.”

  “Thank you, Little Frami,” Fenrir beamed.

  “I won't tell him it's just a La-Z-Boy,” Emma whispered conspiratorially.

  “That's a La-Z-Big-Boy,” I snickered.

  “No kidding,” Emma chuckled.

  “What are you two tittering about?” Fenrir called over to us.

  “Just telling Vervain how you like your coffee,” Emma shrugged.

  “Oh,” Fenrir leaned back and sighed. “Thank you, my beauties. You're both a blessing to these ancient bones.”

  “Oh dear, here we go again,” Emma rolled her eyes.

  “What's this now?” I asked as I poured Fenrir's coffee. I already knew how the Werewolf God liked it, lots of cream and sugar.

  “He thinks he's old,” Emma said loud enough for Fenrir to hear.

  “I am,” Fenrir sighed dramatically. “Ragnorak approaches, I can feel it.”

  “Ragnorak?” Trevor scowled. “What are you talking about, Dad? That's a human myth.”

  “Ah, but you saw what happened to Odin,” Fenrir said sagely “Those myths have a way of fulfilling themselves. It may not be as predicted, but there will be a Ragnorak. I can feel it coming.”

  “You're supposed to eat the Sun at Ragnorak, aren't you?” I smiled gently as I handed him his coffee.

  “Perhaps I shall eat a sun god instead,” Fenrir offered. “You know how the myths get twisted.”

  “If you ever get hungry, I know the perfect guy,” Trevor smirked.

  “Shut up, Trevor,” I said. “Dad, I don't think you should talk about this stuff. It will just give it more power.”

  “Maybe you're right,” Fenrir sighed, “but, I don't know how to shake this. I feel... hungry.”

  “I'll make you a sandwich,” I started to get up.

  “You know what I mean,” he chuckled as he waved me back into my seat. “But that's not why we came. I have some news for you.”

  “Is it about the Froekn businesses?” Trevor asked.

  Trevor had gone to see his father after Hygieia had determined that I would be fine. Fenrir had been livid, vowing to handle it.

  “Yes, but first I need to tell you about Freyr,” Fenrir sipped his coffee, smiled, and sipped more.

  “Freyr?” I instantly went alert. “What about Freyr?”

  “My sister has informed me that she's given him refuge in Niflheim,” Fenrir said. “I'm sorry, Little Frami, I tried to talk her out of it, but she said it's already done, and she won't reject him now.”

  “It's fine, Dad,” I sighed. “I don't really care where Freyr is, so long as he stays out of Alfheim.”

  “I'm glad you're not worried,” Fenrir said, “but I am. Balder is still in Niflheim, if you'll recall, and he hates you. Hate compounds hate. There's no limit to the trouble those two could cook up together.”

  “Well it's not like they can start Ragnorak or anything,” I chuckled.

  Everyone else laughed too. Everyone but Fenrir. He frowned deeper.

  “Sorry, Dad,” I was instantly contrite. “I didn't mean to make light of your feelings.”

  “No, it's fine,” Fenrir shook his head. “I just need to ask a favor of you, and I'm loathe to do it.”

  “What favor?” Trevor narrowed his gaze on his father.

  “I know who ordered the vandalism on Froekn businesses,” Fenrir shared an annoyed look with Emma. “It was Amaterasu.”

  “Amaterasu?” Trevor scowled. “So it was the Yakuza.”

  “Isn't Amaterasu the Japanese Sun Goddess?” I was baffled.

  “Yes,” Trevor took pity on me, “but she's also worshiped by the Yakuza, and she's become much stronger through them than she ever was with her previous followers.”

  “Not just her,” Fenrir added. “She's banded the branches together.”

  “Branches?” I asked.

  “The Yakuza actually has two branches,” Trevor continued giving his dad a grim stare for a few moments before he finally faced me. “There's the Tekiya, who are descended from street vendors. They were originally itinerant merchants, but they started sticking their fingers into all sorts of shady dealings, everything from fortune-telling to crime.”

  “Sounds like gypsies,” I blinked in surprise.

  “A little, actually,” Trevor frowned. “They became gangsters, charging money for protection, running prostitutes, smuggling goods, those sorts of things. But these days they also have their claws in real estate and construction.”

  “The other branch is the Bakuto,” Fenrir took over. “They are the gamblers. They run illegal casinos, gambling pits geared towards fleecing people. Nothing fair about their games.”

  “Okay, so there are two types of Yakuza,” I crossed my arms over my belly. “What does that have to do with gods?”

  “The Tekiya worship a god who they took from the Chinese,” Trevor explained. “As sometimes happens with Atlanteans, the original god had a son, and the son put on this new mantle of shifted godhood. The father is Shennung, the Chinese God of Agriculture, Music, Medicinal Herbs, and the Market. His son inherited those magics in theory, but he is really a twisted version of his father. He's the only purely Yakuza God. His name is Shinno.”

  “Shinno,” I let out a huff. “Okay.”

  “Then there's Hachiman,” Fenrir said. “Hachiman was once the patron God of the Samurai. He's the Protector of Japan and an all around honorable guy. But his worship dwindled until he was adopted by the Bakuto. Now he's in an uncomfortable relationship with the gamblers. He doesn't approve of what they do, but he is honor bound to support them because of the energy he receives through them.”

  “Amaterasu,” Trevor picked up where his dad left off, “is worshiped by both branches, and so, in times of need, she can unite them.”

  “And they feel needy right now?” I lifted a brow.

  “Evidently,” Fenrir pushed the lever down with a huff, and sat up. “Amaterasu won't meet with me. She says she doesn't trust me anymore. She has requested that I send a mediator in my stead. You.”

  “Me?” I pulled back in shock. “Why me?”

  “She's heard stories about you,” Fenrir sighed. “And she likes you. She thinks you're a 'straight shooter'... her words. She asked for a meeting in Hawaii.”

  “Hawaii?” I gaped at him.

  This just got better and better.

  “The Yakuza has a large presence in Hawaii,” Trevor gave me a grim look. “They use it as a midway station between Japan and the Mainland US, importing drugs into the states and exporting guns back to Japan.”

  “Sweet succubi,” I shook my head. “How have I lived there so long without knowing that?”

  “They don't exactly advertise,” Fenrir grimaced. “My point is, you have Moonshine to think about. I'm afraid that if we don't at least try to talk to her, she'll take out her fury on the club. It's half Trevor's after all.”

  “And I suppose that's where she wants to meet?” I grumbled.

  “No,” Fenrir's face started to relax. “She wants to meet you in Waikiki, somewhere called the International Marketplace.”

  “Go figure,” Trevor rolled his eyes. “Damn merchants.”


  “I hate Waikiki,” I groaned.

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Fenrir was on his way out when Kirill walked in. The Wolf God turned out to be a big chicken, and ran off as soon as Kirill started arguing with me.

  “I'm going,” I headed downstairs.”

  “Tima,” Kirill growled and followed me. “Hygieia said no stress.”

  “She's just going to talk to them,” Trevor rushed along, by my side.

  “Zat is stressful,” Kirill narrowed his darkening, cerulean eyes on Trevor.

  “I'm doing it,” I got in the elevator, and glanced down at my cotton dress. “Dang it,” I got out of the elevator, “I can't go meet a goddess in this. Hold the door.”

  I rushed back into the bedroom, and then into my dressing room. I shrugged off my dress and cast off my little, furry house slippers. Running a finger over the hangers, I finally found a modest, but elegant, black dress with red slashes curving down the sides. Classy and a little sassy. I yanked it on, then stuffed my feet into red flats. There was no way I was going to totter around on heels when I was pregnant.

  I rolled my eyes as I headed back to the elevator. I used to be into the latest clothing trends, but now when I looked through a magazine, all the clothing looked silly. I ended up going with my old stuff usually. Once in awhile I would turn a leaf into a new dress, but it was rare. Ironic, since my old self would have killed for the ability to change pieces of dead foliage into fashion.

  I pondered all this while I stepped back into the golden cage of the elevator with my glowering Ganza. Kirill's arms were crossed, his face set in a stern, Russian expression. His Tzar heritage really came through when he got angry.

  “I don't like zis,” Kirill huffed. “Ve should at least vait for Azrael and Odin to join us.”

  “Azrael may be gone for days,” I shook my head. “You know how his work is. And Odin is spending time with his sons. I don't want to disturb their family camping trip.”

  Odin spent a lot of years mourning me, after I died in my last life. And the time he didn't waste on grief, he used to plot human wars. His relationships with his children had suffered, especially the one with Thor, who had formed a sort of rebel alliance to oppose manipulating gods like his father. Now that Odin was over his issues, and on the right side of the God War, he was endeavoring to patch things up with his boys. All four of them were roughing it the woods outside Valhalla for a few days.

  “Zis is bad idea,” Kirill followed us into the tracing room.

  “It won't be stressful,” I promised him. “I'm just talking. It's a meeting and it's in a public place.”

  “Uh huh,” he glowered more.

  I took Trevor's hand, even though we all knew where we were going. We would trace directly into an alley in Waikiki, one I'd used many times in my early godhunting days. I knew it would be deserted, and it was even close to the International Marketplace. Perfect.

  “Kirill?” I held my other hand out to him.

  “As you vish,” Kirill sighed.

  “Thank you, Wesley,” I rolled my eyes and nodded to Trevor.

  We stepped into the Aether together, our bodies turning into pure thought and rushing along the streams of energy like electricity down a wire. We reformed in a fairly clean alley. The Hawaiian sun was bathing us in heat, a nice change to the cool environment at Pride Palace. I sighed as I took a moment to languish in it, just as any cat would.

  I opened my eyes to find my husbands staring at me with soft expressions.

  “What?” I asked as I took their hands.

  “You look beautiful like that,” Trevor smiled. “With the sun on your face.”

  “And your expression like angel,” Kirill added.

  “Sweet talkers,” I laughed as we exited the alley, and made our way through the crowds of Waikiki.

  Honestly, I wasn't sure why anyone would go to Hawaii, and then spend all of their time in the obvious tourist trap. There were so many more beautiful spots on the island. Granted, some of the best restaurants in the world were in Waikiki as well as the best shopping. You could buy anything from Prada to pizza on the main strip, and Waikiki just kept getting grander.

  The International Marketplace was one of those grander enhancements. It had once been a murky, slightly scary, maze of street vendors, none of whom spoke proper English, all hawking their wares to passer-by with strident voices and crazy eyes. “Five dollar! Five dollar! Five dollar!” would be screamed at you while some chintzy statue from China was shoved under your nose. The best part about it was a massive banyan tree, which had somehow managed to survive the bulldozers. It's root-draped branches had spread over the seedy stalls and stretched upward through the looming hotels around it. Walking into the International Marketplace had felt like entering a Third World Country. Ah, the good old days.

  The Marketplace had gone through a massive makeover. All the stalls were gone, replaced by ritzy shops and restaurants so expensive, the average person would faint when they received the bill. They did not have a food court. The best you could get was a coffee shop, and that was hidden at the end of a twisting avenue like an embarrassing step-child shoved in a corner.

  I strolled with my husbands beneath the only survivor of the makeover, the historic banyan tree. There had once been a bar wedged up in its branches. Now there was only a sleek walkway, leading to a Lush store. The shopping center surged up three stories in shining glass and perfectly white stone, the top being reserved for those previously mentioned restaurants, and the lower floors holding everything from Jo Malone to Christian Louboutin.

  A koi pond meandered beside us, full of brightly colored fish, all bobbing along peacefully through a labyrinth of mini waterfalls and fake ponds. The odor of coconut oil and suntan lotion wafted off burnt tourists, but it was overpowered by the cynical scent of extravagance. We reached the center of the marketplace, where a stage was hidden amid a jungle of plants. A statue of Queen Emma lifted its chin disdainfully at the opulent display. Emma had been much more than a Hawaiian Queen, she was a philanthropist who had funded a hospital for her people by going door to door, humbling herself by asking for charity. I stared at the imposing bronze figure, thinking how similar the Froekn Queen Emma was to this Hawaiian ruler.

  “Minn Elska?” Trevor directed my attention to a trio of Asians.

  A circular, enameled surface, depicting constellations, the Celestial Pool was covered in about an inch of water. I'm not sure if that was enough water to label it a pool. Children perceived the piece of art as a splash zone, and their parents seemed to agree with them, because no one stopped their young from jumping around in it. It was a little startling to see in the middle of such a luxurious shopping center. What was even more startling was the stunning Japanese woman who sat, flanked by two men, near this mayhem.

  The woman was dressed in a simple, beige shift which nonetheless looked as if she had paid a fortune for it. Her slim, pale legs ended in dainty feet encased in camel colored heels. Her shiny, black hair was pulled back only at her crown, so that her perfect, ivory face was displayed with a frame of stick-straight, ebony locks. Her make-up was impeccable, as was her posture. She was the most beautiful Asian woman I've ever seen.

  On her left was a Japanese man dressed in a somber, gray suit. He looked almost austere, his features stern and proud. His skin had a golden tint to it, and his sable hair was long enough to be pulled back into a ponytail. He was well muscled for an Asian man, with wide shoulders which would make the obvious tailoring of his suit a necessity. Dark eyes stared at me steadily as I approached, cool calculation swimming in their shadows.

  On the other side of the woman was another sharp-dressed man, but this guy's suit was much more flashy. Deep cerulean pinstripe, with a crimson necktie, and gold cuff links. The man had gold rings on his fingers and expensive sunglasses over his eyes. His skin was a slightly deeper shade than the other guy's, and I could just glimpse the edges of a tattoo peeping above his collar. He smiled at me, but it felt more
like a warning than a welcome.

  “Godhunter,” it was the woman who stood and addressed me. “Thank you for coming,” she bowed her head slightly to me.

  “Fenrir is like a father to me,” I nodded back. “I'd like to settle this for him. But first,” I extended my hand. “Call me Vervain, it's a pleasure to meet you.”

  “Vervain,” the woman smiled brightly, and it transformed her face from the ethereal to the sublime. “I am Amaterasu, but you may call me Amy.”

  “Amy,” I smiled, “this is my husband, Trevor, Fenrir's firstborn,” I waved a hand to Trevor and he nodded to Amy. “And this is my husband, Kirill, Ganza of the Intare.”

  “Nice to meet you,” she nodded to them. “This is Shinno,” she indicated the flashy guy, “and Hachiman,” she leaned in to whisper conspiratorially, “They don't like nicknames.”

  I chuckled. “Shall we sit?” I waved my hand back to some strangely shaped benches. They kind of looked like cement mushrooms.

  “Let's find a quieter spot,” she glanced at the giggling children.

  “Agreed.”

  The six of us made an odd group, and we attracted a lot of attention as we snaked our way through the wide avenue of shops. Trevor and Kirill were dressed casually, but their looks alone garnered attention, combine that with three Asians who looked like movie stars, and I was surprised we didn't cause a stampede. Fortunately, we made it to a pair of modern, curved slat benches at the end of one of the koi streams, without being accosted by fans.

  “Please,” Amy waved a hand to the open seat beside her, and I sat. “Shinno,” she looked to the guy on her left.

  Shinno was carrying a leather briefcase, from which he pulled a tablet. A few taps turned the tablet on. He handed it to Amy, then lifted his shades so I could see him give me a bold wink. With the sunglasses off, his mixed heritage became more apparent. It can be difficult for most Westerners to spot the difference between Chinese and Japanese, but I'd lived in Hawaii for most of my life, and I could see it easily. Like a sixth sense, I just knew there was something unusual about his face. After closer inspection, I saw the downward turned eyes typical to the Chinese, combined with the slimmer face which was more of a Japanese trait. I think it was my staring which had prompted the wink, but whatever it was, my husbands didn't appreciate Shinno's cheekiness. They both growled.