"There were of old certain men versed in sorcery, Thor, namely, and Odin, and many others, who were cunning in contriving marvelous sleights; and they, winning the minds of the simple, began to claim the rank of gods."

　　Saxo Grammaticus, Gesta Danorum, 13th century

　　When someone asks if you're a god, you say yes!

　　Those were the words going through my mind the first time I met Thor. In my line of work, they should have been words to live by... literally. At least they would have been had I remembered them in time. Unfortunately, Bill Murray's voice taunted me inside my head mere seconds too late. Thanks a lot, Bill.

　　My forgetfulness left me facing the distinct possibility of an early and creatively painful demise. If only I'd remembered the movie wisdom sooner. Yes, movie wisdom. Scoff all you want, but it may surprise you how much useful information is hidden in movie dialog. At least that's what I tell myself so I can feel better about thinking in movie quotes half the time.

　　"So, Thor."I smirked up at the giant, gladiator-muscled, Viking as he glowered down at me through a fall of his shimmering copper hair. "What's it gonna be? Hammer? Lightning? Fists of fury? Lightning might singe the rug a bit. Odin might not appreciate that; it looks kinda old."

　　Maybe it wasn't a good idea to taunt a god but hey, what did I have to lose? He'd caught me red handed, bent over the new Make War, Not Love campaign plans I'd found in the Human Relations room of Valhalla. I hadn't even heard the loud-mouthed God of Thunder coming in, if you can believe that. Loud-mouthed didn't automatically equate to loud-footed, evidently. Then to make matters worse, he asked me if I was a god. As if maybe I was a newbie or something, and what did I—the ever quick-witted one—say? I said no. Yeah; I wanted to smack myself silly for that one.

　　Then again, maybe I should cut myself some slack. It's a little shocking to be face-to-face—well, face-to-chest—with what had to be close to seven feet of gorgeous, vibrant, leather-clad Viking godliness. Did I mention gorgeous? And the leather? I don't mean that silky yuppie lambskin either. I mean hardcore, I'm gonna bust your ass if you look at me wrong, well-worn but still solid enough to wipe the floor with your face, leather. Just seeing the way it teased me by gripping all of that muscle, made me want to rip it to shreds and teach it a lesson. Bad leather; Viking gods should be naked.

　　"You wanna see my hammer?"Thor's eyes took on a wicked gleam as he looked slowly up and down my body; which took longer than it should have for all five-foot-three

and a half

of me.

　　"Whoa there, Viking."I leaned back further on the table he'd previously planted me on as if I were a misbehaving child. "Raping and pillaging days are in the past. You gotta catch up on the times."I snapped my fingers in his face. "Nowadays, there are laws on the treatment of prisoners."

　　"Not for gods."His lips twitched.

　　It was just a slight movement, but I caught it, and it gave me the smallest glint of hope that I might actually make it out of this mess alive. Get 'em laughing and then run while they're distracted. It's not the best plan, but it's worked for me before.

　　"Hey, like I always say; gods are people too."I smiled my best P.R. smile. Gods are great, they're not at all out to manipulate mankind, really, and I'm definitely not here to foil their evil plans. I smiled wider.

　　"No; we're not."The frown was back, and Thor set an intimidating fist on the table next to my hip for good measure; a fist that was nearly the size of my face.

　　The leather around his forearm creaked at me gleefully.

　　Okay; that was more like it. I could handle an angry god better than a horny one. I congratulated myself on the sharpness of my tongue until I felt his thumb scrape lightly over my jeans. I went still; listening to more creaky leather commentary as Thor leaned in closer, and I found myself wondering how much strain the stuff could take. Maybe he'd bust his seams before he had a chance to bust my face. I can't say that the prospect didn't have its appeal, even without saving me an ass kickin'.

　　The glimpse of chest I had through the V of Thor's leather tunic was something straight out of a male calendar. It was made for women to drool over; the kind of sculpted, smooth, perfect chest that looked airbrushed. It was also mere inches from my face—rising and falling with his deep breaths—and I had an overwhelming urge to lean forward and rub my cheek against it. Then there was that smell. Being this close to Thor, I was practically enveloped in it. It was like standing in the middle of a storm while lightning struck nearby; a wild, exciting aroma of rain and electricity—of freshly washed man.

　　"Now, now,"I chided him like a school teacher as I tried to focus on his face. "You mustn't forget your own history. Shall I refresh your memory?"

　　"Try me."Thor made a sound halfway between a sniff and a snort. "Let's hear what you think you know of gods."

　　"Well, for one thing"-I poked my finger into his massive chest—"I know that you aren't gods at all so you can just stop with the holier than thou attitude, buster."

　　A thick eyebrow arched up, and Thor's lips went into mini-spasms.

　　"For another thing"-yes, I was still poking him—"I know where you're from, Atlantean. I know that your god abilities are nothing more than technological and magical advances your kind kept from humanity in an attempt to rule the world. Advances that ended up destroying Atlantis, but still you all didn't think that was any reason to stop practicing them."

　　"Practice does make perfect."His eyes started to spark with the very magic I'd referenced, and I knew I had only one shot to get out of there alive and un-hammered, as it were.

　　"I know something else too,"I whispered and cast my eyes side to side conspiratorially.

　　Thor couldn't help it; his smile finally broke free as he leaned in closer to ask, "What's that?"

　　"I know that if I do this"-I kicked my leg out as hard as I could and caught him where no man likes to be kicked—"god or not; you're going down."

　　I jumped off the table the minute Thor landed; groaning and cupping himself on the thick carpet. Then I bolted past him and out the door; already chanting the spell that would get me through the wards of Valhalla and out into the Aether. I felt the magic rush over me like a hot, tickling breath as I ran down a long hallway to the tracing room. It sparked eagerly across my skin; urging me back to where I'd come from. Everything in its place and all that.

　　As I crossed the threshold, I was pulled through the tracing point and into the Aether. The tracing point sealed behind me with a low murmur of magic and a pressurized pop in my ears. But that physical sensation lasted only a moment before my body became a mere memory with a tingling, freeing ecstasy. I flowed through streams of pure magic; my spell propelling me along to my destination so that I didn't have to navigate the waters myself. With another pressure-pop that announced the reformation of my ears, I exited the Aether and felt my body reluctantly become physical again. Gravity was the worst; a jarring, sucking sensation that took a few moments to readjust to.

　　My momentum sent me straight into a wall. A dirty, alley wall. I pushed off it immediately and swung around to crouch into a fighting stance, just in case Thor had managed to follow me through. Tracing was a rush; add to it the adrenaline of the chase, and it left me panting for breath and shaking. My pulse beat heavily in my ears; the thudding drowning out the traffic I could see in my peripheral vision. I was holding my kodachi before me, and I hadn't even realized that I'd drawn the Japanese short sword.

　　Remnants of magic sparked blue and drifted to the ground in a roughly circular outline, but the wall across from me remained the same; no ripples, no blurring, no sign of Thor at all. I stood slowly, leaned back, and felt my heart rate start to decelerate as I slid the sword into its scabbard.

　　"God damn Buffy! Freakin' vampire slayer gets all the props,"I muttered. "Vampires; please! Bunch of melodramatic parasites. And werewolves? I'd fight one of those puppies any day instead of a god. At least they can't pull magic out of their furry butts. Now faeries; I might not be thrilled to meet one of them in a dark alley... a dark alley kinda like this one."

　　I shoved myself quickly away from the wall and power-walked towards the street; still bitching about a fictional vampire hunter under my breath.

　　"Vampire Slayer,"I grumbled, "Try killing a god sometime and then get back to me. Blondie wouldn't last a day. She'd be whining to her mommy about the unfairness of it all within minutes. Oh, and falling for your prey? Total amateur. You don't poop where you eat, and you don't kill where you sleep. Or sleep with who you kill. No, wait; that's necrophilia."I frowned and then shook my head. "Oh, whatever; it's just dumb to let your prey seduce you."

　　Thor's striking face flashed through my mind—his ocean eyes sparkling with magic—and I decided to just shut the hell up. That guy Spike was sweet to Buffy; in a psycho kind of way.

　　Ugh. I threw my hands up and shook my head at myself. Staring death in the face can have an odd effect on people; especially when death's face was that of a Viking god. I had to let it go and stop acting like a crazy person; muttering to myself about vampires and werewolves in an alley. This was just another day hunting gods; nothing special about it.