Natalie Damschroder - Heavy Metal

She took another deep breath and nodded sharply. Okay. She was ready for this.

She headed down the steps and followed the walkway to the deck. Sam had left the door slightly ajar. After leaning the pipe against the wall outside, she used her fingertips to nudge the door open some more.

“Come on in,” Sam called. She stepped into a narrow kitchen rendered even smaller by an old Formica table…and Sam’s wide shoulders, now covered with a T-shirt.

Bummer.

The room was clean but old and worn, the linoleum curling along the edges, the walls a dingy tan that probably used to be white. The appliances might be older than she was, except for the fancy-looking coffee maker on the counter.

“How do you like your coffee?” He poured some into a gigantic, plain green mug.

“Black, please.”

He set it on the table. “How are your hands?”

Riley sat and palmed the warm mug. “They’re fine. Thank you.” She indicated the healing cuts on his face. “Those okay?”

He gave her a dismissive look. “Oh, sure. Hungry?”

“Starving.” She immediately felt uncomfortable. She meant it like anyone would at breakfast time, but given the circumstances, he might think she hadn’t eaten in a while. The burger I had for dinner didn’t last would sound defensive, so she held in her urge to say it. “I really owe you.”

“Not yet, you don’t.” He pushed away from the counter and opened the fridge. “How do pancakes sound?”

“I don’t want you to go to any trouble. Cereal would be fine.” There was an open box of Cocoa Puffs sitting on the counter.

Sam shook the box and chucked it in the trash. “Empty. Sorry. You should have something heartier, anyway.”

She laughed. He was kind of a mother, in a hot, manly way. “If you insist.”

“I do.” He bent and reached into the back of the refrigerator to pull out what looked like a whipped-cream canister, except taller and wider. “They’ll only take a minute.”

He took a flat pan out of the oven and set it on the stove, coating it with cooking spray as he turned on the gas. A few moments later, when the pan had warmed up, he shook the canister, aimed the nozzle, and squirted what looked like batter on the pan. The mix spread and bubbled.

“So,” Sam said.

Riley braced herself.

“How did you find me?”

Embarrassment warmed her cheeks again. “I saw a video of you on the Society website. I thought maybe you could help me.”

He raised his eyebrows. “That video didn’t tell you where I was.”

Why hadn’t she anticipated that he’d ask that question? Her cheeks went even hotter. “I did some detective work.” That sounded better than cyber-stalking. “Social media makes it pretty easy to find people through their contacts.” She hoped he didn’t ask more. From the little she gleaned from the Facebook comments, she wasn’t the only one who found him…appealing.

Luckily, he left it at that, but with his next question, she almost wished he hadn’t.

“Why me? Why not go directly to the Society? Especially if you’re in danger. They can assign you a protector.”

She wrapped her hands more tightly around her mug, not minding the sting of the heat against her raw skin. Her spirits sank a little. He’d been part of the educational program, so of course his first advice would be to talk to the Society. But because he was a guy and therefore not a goddess, she hadn’t expected him to be indoctrinated in their propaganda.

She sipped her coffee for fortification, and because the mug was big enough to hide her face for a moment. “I’m not a member of the Society,” she said after she’d swallowed.

He raised an eyebrow again but didn’t look up from the stove, quickly flipping perfectly golden pancakes. “Why not?”

It was a long, confusing story that ended in I have no idea , but that made her sound weak. “Not every goddess is,” she countered.

“Is your mother?”

Complicated pain squeezed her chest. “No. She wasn’t.”

“Wasn’t.” He looked sympathetic, obviously guessing the reason for the past tense.

That made it easier to continue. “My parents and younger sister were killed in a car accident at the start of my senior year of college. She was driving on her permit. They never figured out exactly what happened, but it was a two-car collision, four people dead.”

Sam set the spatula down and took the single step toward the table to reach her. His warm hand covered hers, leaving the rest of her chilled. “I’m so sorry.”

She shrugged one shoulder, only feeling half as cavalier as the gesture indicated. “I don’t bother asking ‘why me?’ It’s life.”

“Still.” He went back to the stove. “I’ve lost my family, too. Were they all you had?”

“My mother’s family was already gone, and I haven’t seen any of my father’s since the funeral. I kind of fell off their radar.”

He slid six pancakes from the skillet onto a plate and set it in front of her. “That had to be rough.” He brought a butter dish to the table, grabbed a bottle of syrup from the fridge, and handed her a fork and knife before turning back to fix his own plate.

“It was.” Riley’s mouth watered. She doctored her pancakes with a little butter and syrup, cut one in half, and folded a piece into her mouth. Surprisingly delicious for pancakes from a squirt can.

Sam joined her at the table. “What happened after the accident?”

“I had enough money from the insurance policies to finish school. Sold the house, found a job in marketing.” She paused. “I know I look like a vagabond.” She gestured at her rumpled clothing. “But I had that job for three years. Somehow,” she muttered.

“Somehow?”

She sighed and set her fork down, though she’d barely eaten anything. “About a year after my family died, something started happening. Something weird.” She hesitated. Sam had seen what she could do, and he obviously believed in it. But a lifetime of skepticism, of listening to her family’s disgust, was difficult to set aside. So was three years of feeling like a freak.

He waited for her to continue. When she didn’t, he gave her a nudge. “Stuff like moving things around? Making things disappear or burn up?”

“Yeah. Essentially.”

“You sound like it was a surprise, though. Your mother never told you that you were a goddess? Never showed you her abilities?”

“She didn’t have any.”

“You’re sure?” When she nodded, he said, “Huh,” and set his elbow on the table, hand covering his mouth and chin, to study her. “So you knew nothing before your abilities emerged?”

She shifted to prop her heels on the rungs of her chair, pulling her knees up and tightening her arms around herself. “Not really. It’s complicated.”

“Are you adopted?”

She shook her head. “Definitely not.”

Sam set his fork on his already empty plate and leaned back, bracing his hands behind his head. Riley barely noticed the muscles rippling beneath his snug T-shirt. Okay, she definitely noticed. But she didn’t dwell.

“So you lived your life not knowing you were a goddess. Your parents died before you turned twenty-one, when a goddess comes into her power. Your source is metal, obviously.” He waited for her to nod. “So you probably found out accidentally.”

She cringed at the memory. “It was silly, at first. I was walking down the street with a friend and kept bumping into parked cars. She laughed that it was like I was drunk, only it was eight in the morning and I hadn’t had alcohol in days. But I wasn’t off balance or anything—it was like the cars were pulling me toward them.”

“Hmmmm.” He looked thoughtful. “Every car?”