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Birdie knew this was going to be an absolute scream no matter what happened. Poor Shadow, he didn’t even know. She felt for him, she really did. Wednesday was a real piece of work. Not someone people could easily tolerate for long periods of time. It took someone with nerves of steel, or someone who found enjoyment in watching the shows he put on. Birdie was one of the latter. She took up position next to Shadow against the counter.
They had made it to Wednesday’s Slavic friends, if a little worse for wear. Birdie watched and tried to keep quiet while Wednesday was sweet-talking Zorya Vechernyaya. This was not the first time she’d met the sisters, but she didn’t say much at that time beyond a polite introduction.
Birdie snorted when Shadow shook his head at Wednesday laying on the charm, thick as molasses in winter. Shadow looked at Birdie and raised a brow curiously.
“Prettiest woman, prettiest lies.” Wednesday said.
Zorya Utrennyaya passed the small cups of coffee around. Birdie thanked her and took a sip.
“Black as night. Sweet as sin.” Zorya Vechernyaya said. A girlish smile appeared on the older woman’s face for a moment as she looked at Wednesday. Birdie thought for a second she could see the young woman inside her. A bit of starlight shining out from that smile. Birdie admired Zorya Vechernyaya. She was a tough woman. And Birdie liked having the respect of someone like her.
“You take coffee, then I read your future.” Zorya Vechernyaya said. “You want from me. My sisters are garbage.”
Shadow looked at Wednesday and Birdie dubiously.
“You do not believe in fortunes?” Zorya Vechernyaya said.
“I think we’re all fucked any way it comes out…Saying it before it happens is just playing the odds.” Shadow shrugged.
“You do not understand how fortune telling works, Shadow. That’s ok.” Birdie said inhaling the steam from her coffee.
Zorya looked at Birdie, sizing her up. “You know fortunes, girl?”
Birdie shrugged. “I know some. I know how to read them my way, but I also know you can’t make money with the truth.”
Zorya tutted. “Smart girl.” The older woman turned back to Wednesday. “Her I like. Maybe she stay and help make the grocery money.”
Wednesday grinned at that and gave Birdie a wink.
“That why he bring you along this time, eh?” Zorya waved her hand at Wednesday dismissively. Birdie thought this was an opportune time to pull her gift out of her pocket and hand it to the older woman. “What this? You bring gifts, too?”
Birdie handed over a box wrapped in brown paper and twine the size of a cigarette pack. “Well, I may be young in years, but I know how to treat a host.” Birdie smoothly passed two identical boxes to the middle sister, Zorya Utrennyaya. “It’s not much. But I hope you enjoy it. Here is one for Zorya Polunochnaya, too.” She tapped the second box.
Shadow moved a smidgeon closer to see what Birdie came up with in comparison to the odd assortment of things Wednesday had him collect. Birdie returned to her spot next to Shadow. Inside their boxes were delicate handkerchiefs with stitched red floral designs very similar to Russian folk-art Birdie found for inspiration.
“What are they?” Shadow asked while the women were inspecting their gifts.
“It’s needlework. A skill I picked up from a friend.” Birdie cleared her throat and looked away from everyone. “I uh, prefer to give gifts I make by hand. It’s the thought that counts, they say. I like to make my thoughts count as much as I can, you know?”
Shadow hummed. “That’s nice.”
“Yes.” Zorya Vechernyaya ran a finger over the tiny embroidered cloth, with a far away look in her eyes. “Is nice. And nice girl like you does not belong with this man.” She jabbed a finger at Wednesday. “Only bring you trouble.”
Wednesday made a sad sound. “My dear, you wound me.”
Birdie snickered. “Oh, I know. He’s very good at being bad.”
“Birdie.” Wednesday gasped and put a hand over his heart. “Et tu, Brute?”
“Oh hush, old man. Anyone with sense in their head knows it’s not smart to get involved with you.” Birdie grinned at him and crossed her arms over her chest, pleased with herself.
Shadow’s face scrunched in thought. “Then why are you with him?”
She snorted. “Pay attention, Shadow my friend. I never said I was smart, now did I?”
That made them all laugh. Zorya Vechernyaya told Shadow to get comfortable, but Birdie remained with them in the kitchen.
“He does not know our world.”
“I’m easing him in.” Wednesday said.
“You are worst man I have ever seen.” The older woman declared.
Wednesday smiled down at his cup and Birdie snorted.
“And you, nice girl.” Zorya Vechernyaya jutted her chin at Birdie. “How much of our world do you know?”
Birdie swirled her coffee and thought about her answer. “I know more than Shadow. Not much more, but still. And I know…” She looked at Wednesday. “I know your reflections. Or rather, I know you are reflections.” Birdie swallowed her coffee and sighed, then met Zorya Vechernyaya’s eyes. “I am more familiar with who you all are across the water and back in the past. Not as you are here and now.”
Zorya Vechernyaya gave her a narrow look. “Do I know you?”
Birdie shook her head. “No, ma’am. You don’t. But I know Odin. Just not, this Odin.” Birdie pointed at Wednesday.
Zorya Vechernyaya turned to Wednesday. “What she saying?”
Wednesday sat his coffee cup down on the counter. “Birdie here believes we are—what was it you said, my dear?” He snapped his fingers as if he was trying to remember. “Knock offs?”
“You what?” Zorya Vechernyaya whipped her head back to Birdie.
Birdie sighed. “Wednesday you could have worded that literally any other way.” She bowed her head to the Zoryas. “Please do not take offense. I know you are gods. I know you are old gods. I know there are younger gods than you out there. However, I also know that there is a god across the ocean in Europe who I call Odin and he is not this one here standing next to us.”
The Zoryas blinked at her confounded by her words. Wednesday gave Birdie a look one might give a child telling them a very amusing story.
“Be that as it may, Wednesday is still a face of Odin. Still a part of him. And so I am here.” Birdie felt a pang in her heart for the god she knew. The man who was and still is her husband.
Zorya Vechernyaya stepped around the kitchen island and up to Birdie. She put her cold, bony hands on Birdie’s shoulders and gazed into her eyes. She must have seen something there that satisfied her, because she nodded and let go. “You truly believe this. You believe in us? And also, this…This Other Odin, as you say?”
“Yes.”
“Why are you not with this Other Odin?” Zorya Utrennyaya’s question was whispered as though she were afraid to interrupt.
Birdie thought of Odin. Away across the sea. Deep in the Black Forest of Germany. “He’s busy. And I had to come home. He couldn’t leave. They need him there.” She laughed. “Odin can be in two places at once, but he cannot exist in the same space as Wednesday, you see? It sounds ridiculous I know. I was not happy with it when it was explained to me. Alas, that’s the way the mead is poured.” She smiled at Zorya Utrennyaya. “I miss him always. But in a way, I am always with him.” She turned to Wednesday and said to him, “You are Odin and at the same time you are not my Odin.”
“And what an amazing thing that is.” Wednesday’s face split into a grin.
Birdie huffed a laugh. “Indeed. Wednesday here likes to keep me around because I know how to treat a god better than your average bear. That is to say, I know a god when I see one.”
“Birdie has the unique ability to believe in us.” Wednesday sounded almost proud.
“Of course I believe in you. I want you in my life. That’s really all that matters.” She said finally.
Zorya Vechernyaya had a look of concern on her face for Birdie, but accepted her words it seemed.
Wednesday had made himself comfortable in the sitting room. Birdie was quietly standing in the kitchen. And Shadow had just returned from the bathroom, when footsteps came pounding up to the front door, drawing everyone’s attention. With all the presence of doomsday coming through the door, Czernobog entered the house.
“That smell.”
Czernobog’s voice was blunt and Birdie detected the strain of someone who had already had a long and upsetting day, and did not want to deal with anything unexpected. Which was what the three of them were. Unexpected company. Birdie tried not to let anxiety grow in her stomach like a lead ball. She didn’t know much about Czernobog. Slavic cultures and the various religions of that part of the world were not something she was well-versed in. But she knew Czernobog was given a terrible hand by foreigners who knew next to nothing about who he was or how he was worshipped, like many old gods whose identities were lost or destroyed over time.
“We have guests. We have three guests.” Zorya Vechernyaya addressed Czernobog.
The man was covered in sweat and blood and he stalked toward Wednesday.
“Nice to see you Czernobog, old friend. I brought a gift.” Wednesday lifted the box of cigarettes.
Czernobog walked over to the ashtray on the table across the room from Wednesday. “Yeah?” He snuffed out the cigarette that he’d been smoking. Then he grabbed the lamp next to the ashtray and threw it at Wednesday’s head. It made a horrible noise against the wall as it broke and Birdie jumped, letting out a squeak behind Zorya Vechernyaya.
“Shh. Is ok.” Zorya Vechernyaya stayed in front of Birdie.
“And I brought some of that herb Havarti you like so much.” Wednesday had dodged the lamp like it was nothing and soldiered right on, holding out the gifts.
“Why is he in my home? Make him not be here or I make him not be here.” Czernobog seethed.
Shadow had come closer, eyeing Cznerbog and Wednesday. He was making risk assessments in his head. Birdie could see it on his face. Given he was supposed to be Wednesday’s muscle, that made sense. She hoped to hell there wouldn’t be a physical fight.
“I already invite him to dinner. I cannot uninvite.” Zorya Vechernyaya said.
“I come here only to share bread and information. What you choose to do with the later is entirely up to you.”
“Already he’s spitting on my rug.” Czernobog said.
“Just a few moments of your time, while my man here helps the ladies prepare a delicious meal, I’m sure? For old time’s sake?” Wednesday pleaded and held out the gifts to Czernobog.
Czernobog gave Wednesday and Shadow the stink eye and took the gifts. “Make dinner fast.” There was no room for argument.
Shadow moved into the kitchen with Birdie and the Zoryas, who were efficiently making dinner while Birdie lingered over the dregs in her coffee.
“I’d be happy to help.” Shadow said.
“I murder you first.” Zorya Vechernyaya smiled at him.
Shadow laughed and Birdie fondly thought of her dear friend from Bulgaria who would have said the same thing to a guest in her home. The woman was a bit younger than Zorya Vechernyaya looked and a grandmother of two. Birdie once tried to pay for lunch while they were out shopping and nearly got her head bitten off. Rules of hospitality are different in every culture, but one thing remains the same. You treat guests better than family.
“I think your husband might beat you to it.” Shadow said.
“Czernobog is nobody’s husband. I am nobody’s wife. Relatives. We come over here together.” Birdie listened with Shadow as Zorya Vechernyaya told her story.
While she spoke, Shadow finished his coffee and handed the cup to Zorya Utrennyaya. The younger sister’s face pinched in worry. She whispered over the grounds with Zorya Vechernyaya.
“What’s wrong?” Shadow looked at Birdie.
“Hey, man. I don’t know how to interpret coffee grounds according to Slavic tradition. Do I look like a Slavic fortune teller to you?” Birdie laughed at him.
“You said you knew fortunes.” Shadow protested.
“I know how to do divination with cards, music, even books and pictures. However, reading coffee grounds is not my way. It would be like asking me to translate a language I don’t speak.” Birdie said. She then washed her grounds down the sink and turned the cup over on the saucer so it lay safely together.
“What, scared to get your grounds read?” Shadow teased her.
“No, you nerd. I don’t need my fortune read. You do, though.”
They both turned back to the sisters and listened to Zorya Vechernyaya say in a very unconvincingly sweet tone, “You will have long life and a happy one, with many children.”
Birdie winced.
“That bad, huh?” Shadow said. “Any good news?”
“Your mother die of cancer.” Zorya Vechernyaya said softly.
Birdie felt something like dread settle in her chest as Shadow confirmed that.
“You no die of cancer.”
Oh dear. That’s definitely not good if that’s the best Zorya Vechernyaya could give him.
In the sitting room Czernobog was yelling at Wednesday about Shadow in an unsettling way. Continuing with the grumpy old man theme, it seemed. Birdie thought perhaps it was time for her to maybe give Czernobog her gift before Wednesday got them all killed. Wednesday was going on about his business of recruitment, seemed he was trying to play on Czernobog’s ego. And then he surprised her and Shadow by suggesting they leave.
“No. Food is cooked. Zorya Vechernyaya invited you for dinner, right? So you stay and you eat, otherwise she will be insulted. Understand?” Czernobog and Wednesday were leaning into each other’s faces and Birdie was trying to find a good time to step in. “You want to leave after? I will hold open the door,” the man said with relish.
Dinner was gonna be swell, Birdie thought to herself. She took a fortifying breath and stepped past Zorya Vechernyaya and Shadow, into the lion’s den. Well, more like a cage with two wolves circling each other. Shadow tried to reach out for her, but she waved him off.
“Sir?” Birdie addressed Czernobog and he and Wednesday looked up from their pissing contest.
Czernobog squinted at her. His eyes scanning from head to feet and back again. “What you want, little girl?”
Birdie was a grown woman of twenty-six, but she let the little girl slide because anyone human would be little compared to the gods in this house. “I want to give you a gift.”
Czernobog snorted and turned toward her fully. “You want to give me a gift?”
“Yes.” She walked closer until she stood in touching distance from him. Wednesday watched her warily, but kept quiet. Sometimes she surprised him, and so he let things unfold naturally.
“Let have it, then.” Czernobog waved his hand.
Birdie inspected his face. Really looked at him. She saw a man—mean as a snake on the outside, dirty and tired from work, and frustrated that a man who he clearly had an unpleasant past with was in his home. Czernobog’s face slackened as he watched her take him in.
“What? I have something on my face?” Czernobog growled out.
“No.” Birdie shook her head. “I was just thinking, maybe you need a different gift than the one I brought…” She wondered, when was the last time someone had a kind word to say about Czernobog? He looked like a man who hadn’t seen kindness in an age. Maybe didn’t know the meaning of the word when applied to him. “And maybe I can give you that, too.”
Czernobog tilted his head at her in confusion that was warring on irritation. Yeah, it had been a long time since anyone was kind to this man.
“Birdie, my dear.” Wednesday said in a questioning tone.
“Don’t be a wet blanket, old man. You’ve pissed Czernobog off enough, don’t you think? Let me talk.” Birdie said primly, and turned back around to Shadow and the Zoryas. “Ladies, I’d like a moment with Czernobog if you don’t mind. Shadow, I bet Zorya Utrennyaya would love you to help set the table for dinner?”
“Uh…” Shadow looked to Wednesday.
Wednesday narrowed his eyes in thought and then said, “I think that’s a splendid idea. Shadow, we’re staying for dinner. Help set the table.”
Birdie heard Zorya Vechernyaya muttering as she returned to the kitchen, she almost laughed when she saw Zorya Utrennyaya glance at Shadow shyly and gesture to follow her. The woman clearly thought Shadow was the best thing she’d seen in years.
Wednesday returned to his seat and Birdie leaned her hip against the table separating the two old men, giving Czernobog her full attention. She pulled a final box from the inner pocket of her jean vest. “I gave the ladies of the house handkerchiefs I stitched by hand. I did not think the man of the house would want a handkerchief. So, I made this for you.” She held the box out to him.
He glanced at it and took it from her hand. “You made it?” He sounded like he didn’t believe her.
Birdie cleared her throat and leaned a little closer to him to whisper between them. Shadow didn’t need to hear this. “I know what you are, Czernobog. And I know what a difference it can make to offer a handmade gift to a god who hasn’t had one in a while.”
Czernobog sucked in a breath and then threw a look at Wednesday. “Who is this girl you bring into my house? Speaks as if she knows me.”
“She does know you, Czernobog.” Wednesday settled into his chair, a look of ease rolling over him. A new idea was forming in that mad head of his, Birdie could see it in the twinkle of his eye. She wasn’t doing this for Wednesday’s sake. He could wear that smug look all he wanted. This was Birdie’s decision and he didn’t have a damn thing to do with it, but he sure as hell would claim any help it could get him. She would be upset, except for the fact that she knew he knew a good thing when he saw it standing in front of him. And Birdie was indeed good. Good at being good to others.
“I don’t know this girl!”
“Czernobog,” Birdie held out her hand to him as though to shake his. “Don’t listen to Wednesday, he’s a dirty old liar.” She rolled her eyes at the offended sound Wednesday made. “You have never met me. I have never met you. My name is Birdie. I’m just a gal who knows gods are real. Wednesday finds me amusing and so he keeps me around.” She chewed her lip and hoped that he would hear the sincerity in her words. “It would honor me to know you.” She looked him in the eyes and hoped he would shake her hand.
The air was tense around them as Czernobog weighed her words. And then he took a step in her direction and grasped her hand in his. His skin was rough with callouses, and his hand dwarfed her smaller one, but it was warm. For some reason she expected him to feel cold. But given his temper burned hot, she could understand that he perhaps ran hot as well. If he were a human man, she might worry about his blood pressure.
With that handshake it seemed like something passed between them. Like the tension left the room. And suddenly he was not looking at her like she was an unwelcome guest in his home. “Wednesday very rudely did not tell me you were not expecting us. He doesn’t speak for me.” She squeezed his hand with hers, like one would a friend. “May I be welcome in your home?”
Czernobog grew less tense the more she spoke to him. He placed her gift on the table and pressed his other hand over the two of theirs. “You are not an idiot.” He said this in his clipped manner of speaking, but she knew it was meant as a compliment and not an insult. “I, Czernobog, welcome you to my home. I am,” he paused as if just deciding it, “pleased to meet you, Birdie.”
Birdie smiled at him and for a moment, just like with Zorya Vechernyaya in the kitchen, Czernobog seemed to lighten around the edges a bit. Not exactly like Zorya Vechernyaya’s starlight smile, but it was warm. More like the glow of a fire. And she knew that was his divinity. The energy of a god who had made a declaration. In this instance, a declaration of welcome.
She nodded at him. “I am very pleased to meet you, in a moment when Wednesday is not putting his foot in his mouth.” She gave him a wry grin and laughed. If there was one thing she knew they could bond over, it was poking fun at Wednesday, and she could work with that until she found more common ground with the old Slavic god.
Czernobog let out a bark of laughter and patted their hands. “You don’t take his shit! I like this about you.” He let go of her and pulled another chair to the table for her. “Sit! Sit! I will open this gift now, and you will tell me of the other gift you speak of before.”
His entire demeanor had changed as she took a seat next to him. Wednesday had an odd look on his face, no longer quite as smug now that Czernobog seemed to be warming up to her, but not exactly displeased either. If it were her Odin she was looking at, she would say he was pouting. This amused her.
Czernobog pulled his chair closer to the table and proceeded to pull the twine from the box she gave him. Inside was a velvet bag with his name hand stitched into it in red silk thread. He made an intrigued noise, pulled the draw string on the bag, and tipped the contents into his palm. It was a black handled pocket knife with a penny taped to it.
The corners of his mouth tipped down and he nodded like he was pleased. “A knife.” He turned to her. “You know is bad luck to give knife as gift?”
She grinned. “Ah, I have heard that. However, I was taught by my best friend, that if you give a knife as a gift, you must exchange money for it. That way, the knife cannot cut the friendship.” She pointed to the penny. “You will see, there is a penny taped to it for you to give to me.”
“Clever girl.” He pulled the penny away and handed it to her. “Why a knife?”
She rubbed the penny between her thumb and fingers. “I like giving gifts that are handmade, usually. I wanted to give you something you would use, though. Like how I know the ladies will use their handkerchiefs. I don’t know how to make knives, but I can do needlework. So, I got you a knife I know is good and I made you the bag to keep it in, that way it is a useful gift and a handmade gift.”
Czernobog laughed and opened the knife to inspect the blade and then looked at the red stitches on the bag. “Is good.” He closed the knife and put it inside the bag.
Birdie was glad he liked it. “I hear you are more of a hammer man, than a knife man. I do not blame you. I prefer knives and axes, myself.”
Czernobog was surprised at this. “Oh yeah? Little girl like you likes knives and axes? What do you use knives and axes for?”
Birdie looked at Wednesday and grinned. “Well, pocket knives and tactical knives are useful in my daily life. I just like axes because I think they’re badass. It’s not your everyday, run of the mill weapon. Not many people like to use throwing axes or battle axes. But, I mean, nobody fights that way anymore. Everyone uses guns. It would be unusual to see someone carry an axe for a personal safety weapon in this day and age.” She shrugged. “I can appreciate the beauty in them though.”
Birdie reached into her pocket and pulled out a knife identical to the one she gave Czernobog. “My father gave me this knife. Same as yours. That’s how I know it’s a good blade to give someone. He wouldn’t have given me a shitty blade. They are made to last and keep a sharp edge. I’ve had mine since I left for college when I was eighteen. Hasn’t failed me since.”
“Impressive. Wotan, where you find this girl?” Czernobog said delighted.
Wednesday shrugged. “Nowhere special.”
Birdie huffed. “I found him, more like. I ran into him in bum fuck nowhere, Oklahoma.”
“And you’ve been with me ever since, my dear. Without complaint, I might add.” Wednesday said it as if it were all part of his grand design.
“Eh,” Birdie tipped her hand back and forth in a so-so gesture, “with a little complaint. More about his methods than anything else.” She shared a look with Czernobog as if to say you know how he is.
Czernobog laughed and it turned into a hacking cough. He cleared his throat and got his breath back. “Yeah, methods not the best sometimes. What of the other gift?” He prodded at the air with a finger to encourage her.
Birdie could tell it had been a long time since someone showed any kind of sincere interest in giving him something he might like. Like Wednesday, she could tell he was starved of attention. And historically speaking, gods who go ignored can be very, very troublesome. Dangerous even. Sometimes, downright deadly.
“Its not something I can wrap in a pretty bag.”
“No?”
She shook her head. “It has to be grown.”
Czernobog leaned his elbows on the table and thought to himself. “Grown? Like a plant?”
Birdie looked at Wednesday and a spark lit in his eye. That was the spark of trouble. He folded his fingers together over his middle and a small smirk curled in the corner of his mouth. Smug old man. Thinks he’s figured everything out. Typical. His grin took on a leering quality. She wanted to roll her eyes.
“Lot of work goes into growing something like that. Planting the seed, watering it, nurturing it tenderly, encouraging it to grow and,” he looked at her with raised brows, “blossom under the care of wise hands.” The words were pointed at her, sharp as his wicked tongue.
Birdie pursed her lips together, unimpressed. She knew he thought she was talking about fucking. Or rather, he wanted her to be.
“What you mean, Birdie?” Czernobog squinted at Wednesday in confusion, trying to parse the underlying meaning to his tone.
Birdie let out a tired sigh. “Wednesday has a tendency to turn anything into an innuendo, because he is a dirty old man.” She shook her head at the innocent expression he put on at her accusation.
“Eh?” Czernobog waved his hand. “Explain.”
“Wednesday over there is trying to imply, with flowery words, that what I meant had something to do with sex.” That seemed to grab Czernobog’s attention. “And while I’ve got nothing against a good agricultural innuendo, that was not what I meant. I meant friendship. Something that must be grown. You can’t just hand it over like it’s a pretty bauble. Takes time to grow.”
Czernobog blinked. “Why would you want to ‘grow friendship’ with me, as you say?” The genuine confusion and undertone of suspicion in his voice was a little sad. Here was a god, a forgotten one at that, asking a human why they want to offer them friendship. As if it is something entirely out of the realm of possible offerings someone would give him. And that’s…well it was sad. And it really told Birdie a lot about his state of being as a god. A god that has been mistreated, misunderstood, and grown jaded and bitter and venomous against the world for it. “I am not a good friend.”
Birdie made a face at that. “How am I to know that you are not a good friend? We haven’t tried being friends yet, have we?”
“Little girl, do you know who I am? I am a killer. I kill for a living.”
She could tell he was about to launch into a listing of all the bad things he had done and all the death he had wrought and all the negative energy that had been dumped onto his name as the “Black god.” And he may have done bad things, and he may be a god of death, but Birdie knew well enough that death is not the same thing as evil. Death is just another part of life. You can’t have one without the other.
“I don’t know who you are, because you haven’t shown me yet. I know you’re a god of death, or at least that is a part of you. There could be so much more, but you would have to show me. You would have to show me the good parts of you…” Birdie looked at him. “Has anyone cared to ask you for that? Has anyone looked past the surface of you? So you are a killer. Ok. Killer of what?”
Czernobog look liked he’d swallowed a bug.
“What do you kill, Czernobog?”
He opened his mouth and said, “Cattle. I kill the cattle.”
“Ok. You work at a slaughterhouse? That’s probably a thankless job. Probably a job that is hard to do. Takes strength, and not just physical strength but mental strength too. It can’t be easy being the man who must kill every day to put food on the table.” Birdie took a deep breath and then said. “I wouldn’t be able to do that. Not because I think it’s wrong, but because I’m not built to withstand the emotional strain…it would make me depressed. It would steal all my joy. It would consume me until I was nothing but the memories of countless dead cows.”
The silence in the room rang with a note of solemnity. Birdie could hear the Zoryas and Shadow in the other parts of the house, but the stillness between the three of them at the table was far louder.
“How…” Birdie hesitated, because she didn’t want to overstep, but she’d said a lot already anyway. “How did people worship you before? Before this was your life. What did people come to you for?”
Czernobog looked at her with an expression she couldn’t read. He wasn’t looking at her. He was looking through her. Seeing something else.
“They worshipped me in blood. They came to me to ask I not bring death upon them.” His voice was flat.
Birdie nodded. “Sounds to me like you were the god no one wanted to be on the wrong side of, yeah?”
He snorted. “Yeah.”
“…that doesn’t mean that there is nothing else to you.” Birdie said gently.
Czernobog shook his head in disbelief. “How can you say that? How can you say that when I tell you people feared me?”
“Because.” Birdie said. “People feared my husband, too. Said he was a murderer, a liar, a cheater, an oath breaker, and an evil-worker.” Birdie let her eyes roam up to Wednesday’s face. “And all of those things were true. But they were taken out of context. The worst parts of him, put on display and spread around as the only pieces of him anyone talked about. As if that was absolutely all there was to him. The end…But there was always more to him than that. I wouldn’t have loved him otherwise. I wouldn’t have married him.”
Wednesday looked away out the window.
“Your husband. Who is he?” Czernobog asked. “What does he do?”
Birdie’s mouth lifted in a half smile. “He’s got a lot of names he goes by. And he does a lot of different things. Jack of all trades, you might say. He likes to collect knowledge. Gathers skills like precious treasure. He’s a dragon whose hoard is wisdom. He’s an expert marksman and strategist. He’s a warrior. He knows how to take life.” She nodded her head. “But you know what?”
“What?” Czernobog turned in his chair toward her.
“He knows how to save lives, too. He loves just as fiercely as he fights. He’s a father, and a husband, and a poet. He tells the dirtiest most hilarious jokes, he holds me when I’m scared, and he helps me when I’m hurt. He builds me up when I don’t have confidence in myself. He encourages me to better myself. He watches silly cartoons with me. He sings me love songs. He makes me feel valued and doesn’t treat me as lesser.”
“He sounds like a man I would respect.” Czernobog said.
Birdie laughed. “You remind me of him.”
Czernobog’s face softened around his eyes. “Is good?”
“Yes.” Birdie took a shaky breath. “Is good.”