And on and on the artifacts went, each one more terrible and deadly than the last. Daggers and spears and staffs that would let you inflict cuts that wouldn’t stop bleeding or shoot lightning at your enemies or even let you break their bones without ever even touching them. Every single shelf held those sorts of horrors and dozens more.
And those were just the weapons. Far more insidious artifacts lined the shelves, things that would mess with your mind and heart without your even realizing it. Like the Tears of Venus, the Roman goddess of love. Venus had once cried over a lost love, and her tears had hardened to opals, which had later been fashioned into a beautiful necklace. As long as you were wearing Venus’s Necklace, you had the power to make anyone fall in love with you and do whatever you wanted.
I shivered, thinking about Logan Quinn and how he had almost killed Gwen when he was under the influence of the Apate jewels. I had always thought that losing control, losing your own free will, losing yourself, would be the worst thing in the entire world. Like being a mindless doll acting out someone else’s whims and desires.
I reached the end of the last shelf and had started to head back to the center of the room when a glimmer of silver caught my eye. A small glass box was sitting behind Venus’s Necklace, and I pulled it out to the edge of the shelf where I could see it. A silver bracelet lay inside, along with an identification card:
The Bracelet of Freya, the Norse goddess of love. When her husband, Odin, sacrificed one of his eyes for knowledge, he almost died from the grievous wound he inflicted upon himself. In order to save him, Freya cut her hand and used her own blood to help heal Odin. Blood from that cut also dripped down Freya’s wrist, solidifying into this bracelet. Legend has it that whoever wears this bracelet will be protected by Freya’s love, just as Odin was, along with the love of the person(s) who bestows the bracelet upon the wearer. However, what real power the bracelet has, if any, has never been conclusively proven…
I looked at the bracelet. Venus’s Necklace and most of the other jewelry were large, ornate pieces made of dazzling jewels and gleaming gold, but Freya’s Bracelet was a plain silver chain. I liked its simplicity. It looked a lot like the charm bracelet my parents had given me, the one I was still wearing—
“You might as well put me on one of these shelves,” a sad, mournful voice muttered.
Startled, I looked around, wondering where the voice had come from. Then I realized it was Babs, who was belted to my waist. I slid the sword out of her scabbard and propped her up on one of the shelves so that I could talk to her face to face. The sword had been surprisingly quiet today, just like she had been last night after the fight with the chimeras. But now her green eye was open, although her metal features were twisted into a miserable expression.
“What do you mean?” I asked. “Why would you want to stay down here?”
Babs sighed. “I don’t want to stay down here. But it would be better for everyone if I was locked away in a glass case, collecting dust on one of these shelves, never to see the light of day ever again.”
“Why would you say that? You’re a perfectly nice sword, as far as talking swords go. Not that I’ve had much experience with talking swords, mind you. I only know Vic, but you’re much nicer than he is. He’s all the time crowing about how many Reapers he wants to kill.”
I didn’t mention Babs’s own tendency to babble on and on whenever she got riled up. Sure, the sword’s chatter could be a bit annoying, but it was also part of her unique charm.
Instead of cheering her up like I’d hoped, my words only made Babs look more miserable. “As well he should. Vic might be a blowhard, but he can at least be helpful, useful, to his warrior. Me? I’m nothing but an albatross, dragging you down, down, down.” She let out a long, loud sigh, but for some reason, I didn’t think she was being overly dramatic.
“What do you mean? You’re a sword too. Of course you’re useful.” Another thought occurred to me. “Wait a second. Does this have something to do with the chimera attack? You didn’t even want me to pick you up last night, much less actually wield you in battle. Did I do something wrong?”
“Oh, no! You didn’t do anything wrong. It’s me—it’s always me.”
“What do you mean?”
Babs sighed again, but she rolled her eye around to look at me. “I mean that I’m cursed.”
I frowned. “Cursed? What curse?”
She sighed for a third time. “My curse. The one that Macha, an Irish war goddess, placed on me long ago.”
Shock zinged through me. My muscles tensed, and I wanted to lurch away from the sword. But I knew that would hurt Babs’s feelings, so I forced myself to stand still.
For a moment, I thought she was going to stay silent, but Babs looked at me again.
“I used to be Macha’s sword, and for centuries, she proudly wielded me in battle. Even among the gods, Macha is a very strong, fierce warrior, and she never lost a fight with me in her hand.”
“So what happened?”
An embarrassed blush colored her metal cheek. “I got a little…arrogant. I started bragging about how I was the best sword in all the realms, how no one could ever defeat me, and I started challenging other beings to fights. Gods, goddesses, warriors, even creatures.” Babs winced. “If there’s one thing that you don’t do around the gods, it’s talk about how awesome you think you are.”
I nodded. Myth-history was full of people who claimed they could do things better than the gods, and most of them got punished as a result of their boasting. Like Arachne, the mortal woman who was turned into a spider after she’d claimed she could weave better than Athena, the Greek goddess of wisdom.
“So what happened?” I asked.
“Macha got tired of my constant bragging and all the fights that went along with it. We were in the middle of a sparring contest with some of the other Irish gods one day, and my boasting distracted her. Another goddess managed to slice her arm, making her lose the contest. Macha was furious.” Babs’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Absolutely furious. Trust me. You do not want to see a war goddess when she’s angry.”
I nodded again. I had seen Loki’s rage during the academy battle, so I could well imagine Macha’s wrath.
“Anyway, since I’d made her lose the contest and embarrass herself, Macha decided to curse me,” Babs continued. “And any warrior who dares to wield me.”
“Curse you how?”
“Everything’s fine for the first two battles that any warrior fights with me. But during the third battle…” Her voice trailed off, and she dropped her gaze from mine, as if she couldn’t stand to look at me right now.
“What happens?” I asked. “What’s so important about the third battle that someone fights with you?”
The sword focused on me again. A tear shimmered in her eye, but she still didn’t answer me.
Dread curled up in the pit of my stomach. “Babs, what happens during the third battle? You need to tell me. Please.”