"I honestly don't know why I let you try to talk me into these things." Wicker shook her head tiredly, and tried not to meet the overly hopeful stare of the shop keep across from her. If it hadn't been for an extra set of arms he could pass for a living, breathing statue of Hercules. All nine feet of him. She crossed her arms and leaned against the pockmarked wall the shop huddled against. The wall's eyes blinked several times in quick succession. Pick wrung his second set of hands. It was a nervous habit he had when he really wanted something. Wicker doubted he even knew he did it. More often than not his other hands had a mind of their own.
"Come on now, it'll only be for few days. A week at the most."
He practically vibrated in his want. "You know I wouldn't ask just anybody." He dropped his head and peeked at her through the rich chocolate color of his hair. His hazel stare glittered at her, a mix of earth and sage. "Please."
Wicker rolled her eyes. Oh good grief…
However in the world a walking wall of muscled four armed demigod ever managed to pull off a puppy dog stare would eternally confound her. Had to be Aphrodite's blood, cause those boyish good looks sure didn't come from grandpa.
Wicker sighed heavily. Damn it, she was beaten and she knew it. Worse yet Pick knew it too. The soft spot she had for her cousin was far too large.
"Fine."
Pick's smile shone brighter than the forge behind him. He moved to hug her but she waved him off. If he grabbed her now she'd never get the soot that coated him out of her cloak. "Give Gisele my love." His smile softened at his ladies name.
In moments he had his satchel stuffed. Pick made no mention of the matched silver gauntlets he'd wrapped so carefully in his best shirt and tucked inside. Wicker wanted to wish him well but she held her tongue. If he had officially wanted his intentions toward the Valkyrie known he'd have petitioned her family. He'd let Wicker glimpse his betrothal gifts and that was enough for her. Her cousin wanted this moment to be between him and his love alone, and no one else. It was a human custom.
Which was just fine with her.
Wicker watched her cousin's massive form stride through the crowd with not a small spot of pride. Shoulder to shoulder with some of the larger trolls she smiled softly when they made way for the metalsmith. Wicker had worried for him when Pick decided to step down from the Titian Line. But, he'd done well for himself here. Her smile bloomed fully. Actually he'd done better than well, he'd found love. Something Pick never would've had the chance at if he'd stayed guarding Olympus.
Her glance roved the faces and noted the hungry stares roaming the shop. The spark of greed already blooming in the absence of Pick's formidable shadow. She could feel the speculations already.
May as well get it over with sooner rather than later.
Wicker unclasped her cloak, letting it fall to the table behind her.
Every eye watching her widened in disbelief.
Clad only in blue jeans, sleeveless T-shirt and black leather work boots a human stood in the troll market. The steel eye patch that stretched from her right brow, to her cheekbone glinted wickedly bright in the forge light over a dainty smirk.
Faster than most would believe later when told, Wicker reached behind her and pulled a pair of twin hammers from their holsters at her hips. With an insane cackle she jumped up and brought the hammers down on the anvil with a flourish. The ringing boom of iron and steel colliding raced off in wave, like ripples in a pond. One that just happened to knock over anything man sized within forty paces of the forge.
Wicker smirked. Oh how she loved that sound, there was nothing else like it.
Homemade thunder.
She pulled her hammers back to peek at the iron. Waving away the smoke from the cataclysm she found what she'd hoped would be there. A pea sized azure globule smoldered against the anvil. Wicker struck the icy spark with both hammers. The blue exploded into a whip of light and then fractured into arcs of electricity. Twisting the hammer in her left hand she pinned the bolt to the iron and brought the right one down onto the squiggling flash of light, flattening it. The shape stilled into a flickering solidity, hot enough to scorch, cold enough to burn and bright enough to blind.
Wicker slipped on one of Pick's heavy leather gloves. Her hand nearly vanished in the cavern of the spelled leather. Gently she reached out and picked up the glowing white streak lying patiently on the anvil.
She couldn't help herself, she should have better manners after all. It wasn't polite to gloat, but a heard of horses couldn't keep her in check right now. It wasn't everyday she got to play somewhere where this wouldn't raise eyebrows. Wicker spun on her heel and launched the freshly forged lightning bolt across the market, laughing like the devil himself.
Human though she may be, they might as well get it through their heads right here and now.
Nobody messed with a God's granddaughter. Especially one that knew every trick her granddaddy taught her.
