Our first stop is the aviary to talk to the ravens, but they turn out to be a dead end. All they offer is young man, blonde, tall.

"So very helpful," Ben quips when I translate Loki's guttural kwak kwak's. "That really narrows it down."

It could literally be anyone. Young, tall, and blonde fits the description of like 60 people back at the Temple. "Now what? We go door-to-door asking if they're the author? They're just going to lie and say no."

"There's no need to go door-to-door," Ben says, lost in thought for a moment before continuing. "I have a better idea."

Ben's voice booms throughout the stadium as he shouts at the unmarried men and boys down in the courtyard below.

"Earlier this morning, Lady Cora received a very disturbing letter. I'm not going to repeat what was written, but you know who you are and I'm only going to give you one opportunity to confess. Whoever wrote this. . . filth needs to step forward. NOW."

This was your plan? I'm so confused. If we agree they would never confess when confronted individually, why would they confess in front of all their peers?

"Alright, fine! We'll do this the hard way. Everyone line up single file!" Ben nods at me. "Okay, go ahead. They're all yours. Read their minds and tell everyone which of them is too cowardly to confess!"

What are you talking about?I don't read minds—wait, I see where he's going with this. I don't need to read their minds. I just need to make them believe I can. "Did he stutter?" I yell to the boys down below, and a few of them start to cry. Although, I can't tell for certain if it's because they're guilty or because they're scared little boys. "Everyone line up! Hurry. Single file. I don't have all day."

"It was me," a voice calls from the crowd and everyone's panicked voices silence. I watch as young men step away from the person who spoke, leading a trail in the crowd so I can see who it is.

Ben points at the young man. "My office. Now."

Thor Thorson the Fourth looks like he's two seconds from leaning back in his chair and falling asleep. He's the son of Ben's arch nemesis, Thor Thorson the Third, head coach of the Falcons. I remember meeting him. He's the tool that was about to fight Annie's only son over their shared proposal to the same girl. Judging from how bored he looks, he's not taking any of this seriously.

"Have you lost your mind?" Ben continues to rant, and I let him. There's no use trying to stop him when he's this committed to something. "Sending something this disgusting to your fiancé would be bad enough, but to send it to Goddess Freyja?"

Thor finally reacts to this by sitting up straight in his chair and shouting, "That stupid raven was supposed to give it to Pris, not her."

Ben doesn't respond to this, and I can only assume it's because he's seen the look on my face.

Why would Thor have sent this to my assistant? Pris doesn't even like men. Magic simmers just under my skin. My voice comes out low and measured when I say, "You're not engaged to Pris."

"Yeah?" Thor waves a dismissive hand. "Well, I'm not married to Helen yet, either, so who cares? Love loophole, Lady Cora."

I see my father in him, and then I see red. "I don't even know what to say to you," I tell him very, very calmly. "You've obviously not listened to a word I've said and instead focused on correcting me to which of the poor misfortunate women on all of Hydra was the intended recipient of your disgusting letter."

Looking bored again, Thor mumbles under his breath, "You married a mortal when you should have at least married a demigod from my family. What a waste."

It's as easy as breathing. Magic overtakes me. Without trying, I grow two feet taller. Then four. Then eight. The room darkens in shadow as I grow so tall I have to duck my head to keep from hitting the ceiling.

In the blink of an eye, I'm Thor's exact height, bending over his seat, mere inches from his face. He's so startled by the speed of my movement that he falls backwards out of his chair and scuttles away from me on his hands and knees.

"Did you say something?" I stare down at him, slowly shrinking back to my normal height. "Because it sounded like you said something." I wait for Thor to answer, but he only starts shivering. Sighing in bitter disappointment, I turn to Ben and ask, "Did you hear him say something?"

Ben walks up beside me so both of us are glaring down at him. "Yes, I believe he said something. What was it you said, Thor?"

"I didn't say anything," he whispers hoarsely.

"Thor?" I say much louder than either of us were expecting. Smiling, I take a deep breath and tell him, "Are you calling me a liar?"

The big oaf has to think about it for a second. "No," he whispers.

"Because it sounded like you had some opinions about who I can and cannot marry. Is that right? Is that what you said, Thor?" Darkness billows around me like smoke, black as a starless sky. "How dare you tell me what to do. You giving meorders? You're nothing but a misguided little man playing at being a god. Do you honestly think you're a descendant of Thor? Alright. Let's test your theory! Smite me down, Thor! I'm threatening your great-great-grandson! Come and stop me!"

I try to do my best to save him. He's still young and hopefully receptive to what I'm saying about the cowardice of breaking promises before they've even been officially made and what a pathetic excuse for a man he is and that physical strength is not what makes a person worthy of power.

"Your parents lied to you," I seethe, still conjuring a room of windy darkness. Thor's hair whips around as his eyes flit all over in paranoia, but to his credit, he doesn't run away. He sits curled up in a ball on the floor and listens as I shout, "I know Thor—the real Thor—and you and your family have absolutely nothing to do with him. If I were you, I'd be embarrassed to spread their lies further. Don't you agree?"

By the desperate way he's shaking his head, I wouldn't be surprised if he'd agree to anything I suggest. "Please," his deep voice wavers, and I realize he's crying. "Please don't tell my mom."

"You best believe I'm telling your mom, first thing when I get back to Hy—" Ben hurries to stand behind Thor, so I can see him wave his hands, pleading me to stop. "I mean. . . I mean, you'll be lucky if I don't tell your mother!"

"Please don't tell mom." Thor sobs so hard, I start to feel bad for him. "I'm sorry."

All at once, the smoke clears, and I'm back to my regular self. "I'm afraid an apology isn't good enough this time. You are no longer engaged, effective immediately. And I will not approve another engagement until you prove to me that you've done the hard work to completely rethink your place in this world." Thor starts to cry again in protest, but all I do is hold up a hand to tell him to quiet down. "I need to make sure you won't go back to the same misguided ways after the adrenaline runs out."

This mountain of a teenager, full beard and all, sniffles loudly and asks, "You're not going to kill me?"

"You've killed yourself," Ben answers. "You think anyone is ever going to speak to you again after finding out what you've done? You'll be lucky if your fellow Falcons can bear to look you in the eye."

"But. . . but you're not going to kill me?"

"You stupid boy," Ben snarls. "Social death is death. I would know."

"Was that too much?" I ask as soon as Thor leaves the room. "I feel like I took it too far."

Ben shakes his head. "You didn't take it far enough, if you ask me. Have you already forgotten what he wrote?"

"Yeah, you're right. Hey, what was with the mom thing? Talking to her would do a world of good."

Even though Thor is the detested son of his arch nemesis, Ben can't help but exhale sadly. "She was one of the rare women on Hydra who died in childbirth."

"Oh shit. Oh shit. I didn't say anything bad, did I?"

"No, and I think we've thankfully had an impact on him, if you can believe it. Let's just hope it sticks."

I look over to find Ben studying me, eyes narrowed, with a smile that twitches at the corners. "What?"

"Goddess of Death is mean." Before I can open my mouth to say sorry, Ben's already raised a hand up to cut me off. "Do not apologize."

I'm not too proud to admit that I've fully committed to stalking my husband.

Ben's baseline life-force is always a beating presence within me, but I can also sense when he's nearby, so I use that ability whenever I enter the permitter of his last known coordinates. If he's supposed to be in the Barracks, I'll head to the Barracks, and if everything goes well? I'll be able to sense when his presence is getting closer and pinpoint what direction it's coming from. All I have to do is look around without being suspicious and see if I can find where he is.

The problem is it never goes well. I've never once successfully snuck up on him, and when I'm caught, I always have to force a smile and wave and think, oh, hi, hello! Yes, I definitely just got here and haven't been following you around so I can watch you without you knowing! Oh, God, I hope he can't read my mind.

In the early days of our secret lovers meet ups, Ben used to exclusively wait for me to come to him, but that started to piss me off for some reason, so I wrote him a letter demanding he swim to Hydra if he has to, which made our game far more interesting.

Which is exactly why I'm trying to stalk him again. This is the closest I've ever gotten without being caught. Ben's house is within sight, and I can feel the pull of magic grow in intensity as I approach. Ducking near the windows, I make my way around the house, towards his bedroom. Ben must be inside his bedroom, because the closer I get to this room, the stronger the pull. I get right up to his window, practically suffering an anxiety attack from the intensity of the magic. I just need to reach up on my tiptoes and peek into his bedroom window and—

A familiar voice is low in my ear. "Who are we spying on?"

I whirl around, screaming up against the house.

Ben's eyes flit between me and his own house behind me as he feigns surprise. "Oh, we're spying on me? Wonderful!"

Realizing it's him, I laugh with relief. "I need to put a cowbell on you, so I know where you are at all times. You're too quiet."

"How do you think I survived this long? And need I remind you, you are stalking me."

"Then how did you know where I was just now? Looks like we were stalking each other. I'm just not very good at it."

"I'll concede to that." Ben laughs when I give him a playful shove, but the laughter fades into nothing more than a disdainful hmmmm at the sight of something over my shoulder. "Not this again."

"Lady Cora?" Artz approaches, and I feel my energy draining before he's even started lecturing. "I was doing some reading in the library and I found this interesting text on historically accurate textiles of your people."

Ben looks like he smells something rotten. "You say that as if we care."

I shoot Ben a look and whisper, "Be nice."

"I am being nice," he refutes loudly. For his credit, Ben remains silent as Artz prattles on and on until he pronounces something wrong and Ben is quick to jump in again with a snide, "It's not pronounced that way, you insipid chatterbox!" There's a moment where Ben doesn't do anything but glare at Artz. Then, he spins sharply towards me and asks, "Can I hit him?"

I bring a hand up to rub my eyes. "No."

Ben's so disappointed at my answer that he literally starts sulking.

Instead of backing off at the threat of violence, Artz's ego seems to inflate beyond the limits of sanity. "You don't need to protect me, Lady Cora. I'll fight him."

Ben doesn't look at me this time when he asks, "Can I kill him now?"

"Kill?"

Ben sighs, annoyed at the slip-up. "Maim, kill, whatever. You know what I mean."

"Ben? Go in the house," I order, and he fixes me with disappointed puppy eyes before finally relenting and aiming one final scathing glare in Artz's direction. I wait for him to close the front door behind him before saying, "Leslie, I'm very busy. Can you come back another time, please?"

"Oh, okay. Can you pencil me in?"

"Pencil you in?"

"Yeah, like a reservation. In the notebook you carry everywhere." For some reason, Artz thinks it's a good idea to reach out and touch my satchel. Whether accidentally or not, he misses and ends up poking my stomach.

"Okay," I proclaim loudly and take a big step back, "let me explain something to you. If you ever touch me again, he—" I wag a thumb behind me at Ben's house. "—is going to come flying out that door and stab you over and over and over until you're nothing more than a glistening pile of hamburger meat." Goddess of Love and War. Goddess of Life and Death. I feel it. Goddess of Death made a brief appearance to stop Erik from killing Ben, and then to teach Thor a lesson in what happens when you defy a Goddess, but I've been holding her back for a long time, and she's starting to break free. "And guess what?" I continue, smiling. "I'm not going to stop him. Because you're annoying. There, I said it. You are the most annoying mortal man I've ever met, and I loathe the way you talk to me like a child. Yap, yap, yap, yap, yap! Do you honestly think I have any interest in listening to you ramble? About my own damn people?! I do not care where you got your degree. I do not care where you work. I couldn't care less that your wife divorced you, and to be honest, I don't blame her!"

By the time I'm done ranting, Goddess of Death simmers down enough for me to start feeling bad for him. To his credit, Artz simply apologizes, bows, and leaves looking especially pale.

Ben is waiting for me by the door when I enter his house, and I can tell he's annoyed by the intensity of his sigh. He turns to look at me and says, "It's about time you started advocating for yourself."

That's twice in one week I've been Goddess of Death. This is getting out of control. I used to be able to suppress my rage. Why is it so difficult now? "That was a little much. Actually, that was way too much." I turn towards the door. "I'm going to apologize."

"No, you're not." Ben quickly situates himself between me and the door. "You're allowed to say no, and he needs to learn how to listen."

Great, now Ben's mad at me, too. "Sorry."

"You apologize too much."

I do? "Sorry."

Ben's expression softens with amusement. "Are you that incapable of saying no? What do you usually do when people ask you for favors?"

"Depends on the favor," I say.

"Okay, so let's say a child approaches and asks you to heal a scraped knee. You don't actually heal it, right?"

"How bad is the scrape?"

I realize that's the wrong answer when Ben looks disappointed and shouts, "Cora?!"

"That's important to my answer! How bad is the scrape?"

Ben scrutinizes me, and I realize there's no point in lying because he wouldn't believe me anyway. "You're telling me that you don't heal every minor cut or bruise on those children?"

"No," I say pointedly. "I mean, yes. I mean, wait. . . is it yes for a yes answer or yes for a no answer?"

Ben's voice comes out flat. "You're lying to me."

I immediately fold. "Okay, yes, I'm lying to you. I always heal their little boo-boos. I'm sorry! There're just so young and they need my help."

"Cora," Ben says gently, "they don't need you to heal every tiny injury. They need to let their own body heal itself. What exactly is your plan? To teach them there are no consequences for clumsiness? That no matter what insane activity they partake in, you'll always be there to take away the pain?"

Yep, that about covers it. "But I can't say no."

"Why not?"

I blurt out the truth before I can stop myself. "Because I would've wanted someone to do that for me."

"I know," he says, even more gently. "But you don't have to give away every part of yourself to be worthy of affection."

"You don't know that." I immediately regret letting the truth slip and hurry to correct my response. "I don't want to say no and disappoint them."

"What would disappointing them do?"

I had no one to run to when I was a child, and I like being that person for the children on Hydra. "I don't know. . . I guess I just don't want them to hate me."

"You're always so good with them," he says. "How could anyone hate you?"

I turn to shoot him an annoyed look at the tasteless joke—um, I don't know, maybe because 30 years ago I killed their parent or grandparent or sister or brother or cousin or uncle or dog or cat or some other important member of their family?—and find him swaying somewhat limply, like he's sleepwalking. "Ben, are you okay?"

Ben's head rolls up in slow motion, his dazed blue eyes lazily following suit. "Yes," his voice echoes through the room. "I think so."

"Do you need to sit down?" I think about how much I want his mouth against my neck, and then suddenly his mouth is against my neck. What's even more bizarre is when I start to lean away from him in surprise, I end up not moving at all because he's already removed himself. I feel the pull of magic as gravity shifts, and I begin to feel floaty without my feet ever leaving the ground. I am way out of my league here. On instinct, I reach out a hand to touch him, and he stills completely at the contact.

Like a sonar wave, his voice reverberates throughout my mind, but his mouth never opens. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to do this. It just happened. Do you want me to leave?

I jerk my head up to look at the ceiling, as if I can see his words. When I look back at Ben, I'm a little more worried about his current state. He looks disoriented.

Am I reading your mind? Hello? No, that's stupid.

How funny would it be if you slapped yourself across the face?

I'm not sure an expression has ever conveyed betrayal quite like Ben's the second before his body compels itself to lift a hand and smack it hard across his face.

"No! I'm so sorry," I squeal in horror. But, of course, since my embarrassment has exceeded well beyond the realm of mortification, I end up laughing until I free from the magic. "I didn't know it would do that! Im so, so sorry! What just happened?"

"I'm not sure. I think. . . I think—" A thought dawns on him and his expression quickly cycles through all the stages of grief before settling into a blank stare at the ground with wide, mortified eyes.

"What?"

"I. . ." Ben wasn't this nervous to lie to me about the war, or take Jane's place at the Holmgang. No. Whatever secret he's keeping is bigger than anything he's deceived me about in the past. Which just makes what he says next that much more surprising. "I think I just submitted to you completely. I couldn't move a single muscle in my body until you thought about slapping me, and then I couldn't stop my hand from slapping myself and—"

"I know," I interrupt, "and I'm sorry! It felt like. . . it kinda felt like you were my puppet. It was awful."

Of all things, Ben looks mildly disappointed. "You didn't like it?"

"Did I like having full control over you? No, not really. I mean, I didn't have control for ten seconds before the intrusive thoughts won over. I'm sorry again for slapping you. Or, having you slap yourself? You know what I mean."

"No. . . that's. . ." His words die off as he readies himself to finish his thought. "That's what I'm trying to explain. I don't want you to be sorry."

I'm confused for a little longer than I'd like to admit before it hits me like a brick to the face and I have to fight to keep my expression blank. "Ohhhh, I see."

Ben instantly pales and settles into a calm mask. "I don't mean to make you uncomfortable. Forget I said anything. I know it's weird."

"Hey, it's not weird. I promise I don't think it's weird." I hold a hand over my heart. Boy, you have absolutely no idea what weird is. "Honestly."

Ben still doesn't look like he fully believes me. "Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. But, to be honest? It's a lot of responsibility having all the control. I'm not sure I want to try that, you know, tonight. Eventually, just. . . not right now."

"No, of course not. I mean, yes, please take all the time you need." Ben shakes his head at the thought and then looks at the kitchen. "Speaking of which, I should probably get to work. Will you be wandering around until nightfall?"

"No, I'm hanging out with Charlotte and Jane until dinner. 8pm, right?"

"Eight sharp," he adds, gesturing to the door. "And please come in through the front door and not my bedroom window. Thank you."

"Damn, Cora, you are so getting laid tonight." Jane gives Charlotte the bobby pins she asked for and laughs with amusement. "Good for you."

"Annnnnnnnd you just made it weird," I respond. "Thanks, Jane."

Charlotte rolls her eyes at her wife and continues pinning my hair up. "Ignore her."

"I'm not going to tell anyone!" Jane crosses her arms and leans against the bathroom door in their shared barracks home. "Sheesh. I can keep a secret just as well as the next person."

"That's exactly the problem, darling," Charlotte says, laughing. "The next person can't keep a secret either. That's why rumors are so dangerous."

With Charlotte and Jane's help, I finish my hair and makeup and dress in one of my favorite gowns for the evening. The sun has set and the night is cool and loud with the sound of bugs as I walk the few feet separating Jane and Charlotte's house and Ben's front porch.

Ben opens the door, offers a hand to walk me inside, and then proceeds to try and have a conversation with me in French.

I stare back at him in confusion. "What?"

Ben's friendly expression looks slightly annoyed as he repeats himself in French.

"Ben, I don't speak French."

His annoyed expression falls into a deeply annoyed expression. This time, he speaks in English. Only, everything he says is in a strong Parisian accent. "Oh," he sneers. "American."

I finally get the joke and burst out laughing as I follow him over to a well-dressed table. Still looking annoyed, he pulls out my chair and offers an immaculately handwritten menu.

"This is so not what I meant when I said to give me the European experience." I can't stop laughing as I wipe my eyes dry of good-natured tears and glance at the menu. "What does this even say?"

"The disclaimer at the top says we do not offer french fries, so please do not ask. I am obligated to toss you out if you do." He raises the volume of his accented voice so I can hear him over the sound of my own laughter. "What would Madame like to order?"

"I don't know! I can't read any of this."

"That is good for me," he says, still accented heavily. "It means you will not know what you're pointing at. Everything we serve here is exceptional, so it does not matter what you choose."

I point to the first dish I see.

"Excellent choice." Ben pulls a dish out from behind his back and places it on the table in front of me. "This is what you ordered."

I can't stop laughing at how well thought out this joke is.

Ben stands silently nearby, but I don't realize he's waiting for me to try the food until he says, "Shall I send your compliments to the chef, or shall I have him disemboweled in shame?"

I have never, in my entire life, felt comfortable flirting with someone the way I feel safe right now. I could get up and walk out that door without an explanation, and he wouldn't attempt to hold me down and keep me here. He'd simply let me leave and then send me letters trying to apologize for something that isn't his fault. I don't have to fear him.

I don't have to fear him.

It's as if his body is my own. I hear and feel his heartbeat quicken as a rush of blood courses through his veins and into his arousal. But now I'm worried. All of my upper chest sings with overwhelming love, but for some reason I have zero desire to have him inside me. Goddess of Love, not Goddess of Lust.

But doesn't lust come with love?

I mean, I guess not. Lust without love leaves little incentive to stick around if something were ever to take sex out of the relationship. But love without lust? Love makes you want to stay regardless of what happens. The only truly pure form of love is love.

Shit.

I'm not lusting after him while I'm the Goddess of Love, but I hate disappointing him. I mean, he went through all this trouble to make me food and make me laugh, and I can clearly feel lust and love wafting off him. He definitely wants me, but he's not going to hurt me if I say no.

It dawns on me. A workaround.

Ben's confident smirk shrinks into something much less confident as I stand up from my seat and slowly slink towards him. "I'm sure what you made is delicious, but Goddess of Love was hoping to order something—" I place a hand against his chest and slowly run it up his shirt until it rests behind his neck. "—off the menu. Do you do special requests?"

His Parisian French accent is gone when he answers, "Depends on the request."

"I noticed a complete lack of meat on the menu." One of my hands starts to finger the collar of his shirt, while the other reaches down to cup the bulge in his pants. "Can you make an exception? I'm kind of a big deal."

"We're a strictly vegetarian establishment," he proclaims weakly. "I'll get fired."

Not where I thought this was going, and now I'm confused.

Ben catches on quickly and adjusts his answer to, "They can't fire me. I quit!"

In answer, I sink to my knees and reach for his zipper, pausing until he chokes out his answer. I free him from his pants and everything turns to dread in my gut. "I want to make you feel good," I admit nervously, "but I don't know what I'm doing." I sense him offer his mind, and I reach out, relieved at the chance to hear him guide me through this in real time.

Being inside his mind makes this easier than anything I've ever done before. I know exactly where to drag my tongue, how to situate my lips so I don't nick him with a tooth, how hard to suck, and where to put my hands.

Darkness surrounds me, as per usual when I'm inside his mind, but he's usually standing here beside me. I spin around, but I don't see him. Ben?

His voice doesn't echo overhead. His voice comes directly from inside my own head. Yes, dear?

Where are you? I don't scream this time, but I do flinch in fear. Did you go into my mind without asking?

"Stop," he says aloud, and I suddenly feel a hand on top of my head. "Cora, stop."

"I'm so sorry! Did I accidentally use teeth again?"

Whatever I've done is far worse than that by the look on his face and the amount of time it takes him to speak again. "Listen," he finally says, "I understand we're not equals. I get that. I accept that. But why is it whenever something bad happens, you automatically blame me?"

"I do not," I refute, instantly regretting it.

Ben doesn't look angry, he looks disappointed, and that's much worse. "Please just answer the question."

I don't automatically blame him for everything, right? I mean, I did blame him for that letter. And I accused him of some horrible things the morning after the wedding. And there was that one time I couldn't find my notebook and sent a less-than-polite message to him back on the mainland demanding he give it back, even though it turned out to be hidden under some paper on my desk. "You're right. No, actually you're right. I didn't realize until now that I . . . At every chance, I pull away at the last second." I think back on all the times I've attempted to initiate sex but panicked halfway through his acceptance. "I literally grope myself in front of you, and the second you show interest…I feel afraid."

"You're afraid of me?"

"No, that's the thing. It's not you. It's everyone. I'm afraid of everyone, and I trust no one. But I want to," I admit. "I want to trust you, I just don't know how."

Ben's pensive expression lights up at a thought. "You really where inside my mind just now. I can prove it. Go back in my mind and I'll give you full control to prove it."

"Prove what?"

"That you can trust me. If I give myself to you completely, you can control my every move. Make me do anything. If you take control of me, you'll always be safe by my very own hand. You need only think it and I will stab myself through the heart for you."

"Don't say that." I feel a deep-seeded wound heal itself inside me, and the Goddess of Love returns. "At least don't die before I get to apologize."

All the air in my lungs gets sucked out as he yanks me back in with an eagerness that makes me giggle. Within the dark expanse of his mind, I think about raising my hands and Ben's body mimics my thought without me ever speaking a word. Whoa, this is kinda weird. I don't know, Ben. Are you sure you're okay with this?

I have never been more sure of something in my entire life.

Okay. If you're sure. I start to wander around, but there are only a few doors in this expanse. Where are we? Where are all the doors?

These are only my worst memories, I'm afraid.

Do you want me to see?

Yes.

I pick one at random and walk out onto a street somewhere in 1970's America. Elementary-aged Ben walks home with his backpack slung over one bony shoulder, but a group of boys his age materialize out of nowhere and jump him.

"Hey, hey, hey, hey!" I hurry over and try to break up the fight. "Get off him! What the. . ? Did you just try and bite me, you little Gremlin?" I lift the offending bully up off the ground by his shirt and shake him around like a winning lottery ticket. "Whose feral child with the ugly haircut is this?"

I drop the boy onto the pavement, and the rest of them scatter, confused and frightened by the fat girl who so easily tosses them around like rag dolls. Ben hops up and brushes off his clothes, looking sheepish and embarrassed that he couldn't save himself.

"You okay?" I nod when he says yes. "Do you mind if I just kinda walk around? This is so cool. I always wondered what the 70's was like. Oh, let's get ice cream!" Taking his little hand in mine, we walk in the direction of the city's nearest ice cream parlor.

"Thanks," he says in his tiny child voice. "The real memory is those guys held me down and kicked three of my baby teeth in and I accidentally swallowed them, so I didn't even get any tooth fairy money out of it."

"Wow, that's so shameful of them. Being in a cowards cult like that? I wouldn't be able to live with myself. I mean, four on one? Pathetic." I look down at him and it's the same as when I'd comfort my siblings—I'm not exactly sure what to say, so I try to make him laugh. "I can't believe one of them tried to bite me. I hope I don't get rabies."

I make sure to shield him from aggressive drivers and suspicious pedestrians as we continue down the street. It's only now that I realize Ben's memory has fundamentally changed enough to make him a completely different person now that he has a big scary mother figure to look after him. This memory went from bringing him shame and fear to bringing him comfort and laughter as I continue to roast those little troglodytes. With my work here done, I leave baby Ben at the ice cream parlor with all the ice cream he could possibly want, and I walk back to the memory door to let myself out.

Of all the things I'm expecting to find when I pull away and wipe my mouth, Ben trying his best not to cry isn't even on the list, and yet here we are. "Are you crying because you're sad?"

"No." His voice breaks, and it makes him laugh at himself. "Quite the contrary."

I smile as he jerks an arm up to swipe away tears. I enjoy making him feel loved.

"Here." Ben offers me his hand and pulls me up off the floor. "Do you want to eat some real food?"

Time passes, the sub returns, and we host another raffle to see which lucky few get to go home next. Unfortunately for them, none of the core cast gets chosen. Fortunately for me, Ben rigged the raffle to ensure Leslie was selected.

Speaking of Ben, we've fallen into a system that ensures we're always prepared for the nights we're together. Even though he's never been inside me, fingers or otherwise, he's mastered the art of making me glow like the moon. Through trial and error, I've learned a lot about myself and what it means to be a Goddess.

I am the Goddess of Love and War, Life and Death.

Goddess of Love is a mother, encouraging and affectionate. Ben must submit to me fully for me to be able to help him through memories in which he desperately needed and wanted a mother.

Goddess of War is a subordinate all too eager to be led by the one I trust most. Unfortunately, I'm still way too scared of what Ben will think of me to let him have full control. As much as I trust him, it makes me recoil in shame to think of him ever finding out what I crave more than anything.

Goddess of Life wants children, so I can give them a better life than the one my parents gave me. Whenever I see Ben with kids, it takes all my willpower to stop this Goddess from slinging him over a shoulder and tossing him onto my bed so we can make some children of our own.

And the Goddess of Death? I'm scared of the Goddess of Death. She is unbearably dominate, controlling, and in a never-ending quest to punish those who would harm the ones I love. Rage needs to build for a prolonged time for her to make an appearance, and I have a troubling suspicion that she's secretly Ben's favorite.

At the end of the day, it doesn't actually matter which Goddess I am because Ben worships them all.

"More wine?" Ben asks, reaching back to grab a bottle when I nod yes.

This is our third date out of dozens of dates in which we've been comfortable enough to drink alcohol together. Turns out my issue with alcohol has little to nothing to do with Jesus and everything to do with not wanting to be like my father. The problem is, I think I like wine. Wine makes it easier to open up and talk to Ben.

The first time we drank together, I freaked out and had a panic attack because I thought I was officially an alcoholic and my soul was going to rot in Catholic Hell forever. Ben was able to talk me down from an anxiety spiral by asking me ridiculous hypothetical questions like, "Would you rather have a kangaroo tail or the power to also understand insects?"

The second time, I was comfortable enough to have way too much wine and Goddess of Death showed up. All night she wouldn't stop caressing herself and slinging insults at Ben if he attempted to come closer. I denied his request to touch me or himself, and yet he still eagerly elected to give me complete control of his mind. I made him kneel, motionless, in front of my seat on the couch while I spread my legs so he could watch me rub myself. Right when it starts getting good, I give him back the use of his hands, and he practically collapses in gratitude. "I didn't do it for you. I did it for me," I told him, never breaking my rhythm. "Go on. I want to watch, too." It wasn't at all embarrassing in the moment, but the second I got back to Hydra, it felt like I was literally dying from mortification.

But that was over a week ago.

Ben sits on the floor next to me, slumped against his couch. I've only had one glass so far, but he's had three, and now he won't stop swirling the wine around in his crystal glass while giving me bedroom eyes. "How is this vintage faring in your esteemed estimation, my sweet summer sunshine?"

I snort. "Just exactly how drunk are you right now?"

"Somewhere between please don't ask me to stand up and show me your—oh my." Ben breaks eye contract, staring holes in the floor, mouth open in shock. "Yes," he says, embarrassed, and takes another sip. "To answer your question, I am, indeed, drunk."

Laughter—real laughter—pours out of me like the wine he's offering. Turns out my real laugh is loud and breathy, like one long elongated HA that eventually dies and rebirths an entirely new HA.

We talk about anything and everything, and I feel myself growing warm—then hot—with desire the more stories he tells me about his life. As Ben continues to share his stories, I feel a desire to reciprocate. This desire only grows stronger when Ben gives me his full attention no matter what it is I'm saying.

"Oh, it was so cute." I smile just thinking about it. "So they're all gathered around him, right? Like a little flock of supportive birds. And he finally gets up the courage to approach her on the beach. Now, mind you, he's literally shaking in his boots as he approaches with the gift he made her. Listen to this," I add and reach out to touch his arm. "Ulf knows one of Freyja's daily chores is to milk the family cow, so he carved her a stool to sit on while she milks, and he painted the family cow on the seat. Is that not the sweetest thing? Meanwhile, Team Bear and I are just out of sight, watching everything unfold. He walks up to her, gives his little speech, hands her the stool, and she responded!"

Ben leans forward and touches my arm, so we're both holding onto each other. "She accepted?"

I'm already laughing at the memory. "He comes running back to us, and Team Bear is pressuring him to spill the beans, and he just looks down at me and says, She asked if I'm the person who yelled that she has good teeth, and I panicked and said yes. And then I tried to explain that I meant she has a nice smile, and she—Keep in mind that he's pale as a ghost and completely out of breath—she thanked me for the stool and asked if I want to meet their cow." I raise my glass in a toast and take another sip. "And then he bent over and vomited all over my boots."

Ben laughs so hard he knocks over the bottle of wine, and we both drunkenly attempt to stand and retrieve towels from the kitchen. Instead, we end up tripping over each other, wine soaking into the sleeve of my dress.

"Oh no, my dress! Ugh, oh well." I stare at the stain and thank myself for choosing to wear a dress I'm not entirely obsessed with. "Never really liked this one anyway. Oh, you know what? You know what I've always wanted?" Ben gives me his full attention, and I've never wanted to kiss someone more in my life. "I've always wanted a jumpsuit. Like, a legitimate disco jumpsuit. Isn't that totally lame? Doesn't matter. Clothing stores never have things for my proportions anyway. The legs are always too long."

"Full disclosure." Ben downs the rest of his wine in one final gulp. "But I am very drunk right now, so I'm sorry for what I'm about to admit. I know it's creepy." His usually steady voice wavers with ever-increasing insecurity. "You don't have to tell me it's creepy. I know it is."

"Ben, you haven't said anything yet."

"I may have. . ." It is an eternity before he continues, cringing. "I may have some of your old clothing."

Turns out Ben doesn't have some of my old clothing. Ben has all of my old clothing. Or, at least all of my old Dharma clothing. I step into the secret room behind his bookcase and run my hands over the fabric of dozens upon dozens of dresses hung up neatly in a row. There's an area dedicated to short dresses, long dresses, evening wear, work jumpsuits, and fashion jump suits. I wander deeper into the room and pull open a drawer to find bras, underwear, and socks. This is where he got my clothing from when we went to bury Margo.

"I regret showing you this. Can we leave?" By the way all the drunken humor has faded from his now paranoid eyes, it's safe to say he's worried I'm about to get angry and call him a pervert.

Instead, I say, "After my grandma died, I gathered up all her shoes and hid them in an abandoned lot near our house. Every free chance I had to sneak away, I would dig them out of their hiding spot, put them on, and use them to say everything I wanted to say to my father—everything I wanted to say but couldn't—because she was the only person who ever dared to stand up to him." I huff a fake laugh at the memory. "I was just a child in too-big shoes yelling at no one."

I must have a confusing expression on my face because Ben asks, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing, it's just. . . I've never told anyone that before." I watch his expression relax knowing I'm not angry, and it makes me sad because his grief is my fault. "I guess what I'm trying to say is grief is really strange and uncomfortable and I don't think it's weird you did this because grief itself is weird. Plus," I add, trying to sound extra cheerful, "now it means I get to wear them whenever I want, so you actually did me a huge favor."

"Thank you." Ben struggles to keep eye contact. "For being kind."

"About your secret sex dungeon dedicated in my honor? Yeah, don't mention it." Relief floods me when he laughs. This is incredibly messed up, and I should not find this hot. Because this is kinda hot, and I'm worried that makes me a bad person. "Exactly how many times a day do you come in here to jack off?"

"Odin himself couldn't get that information out of me."

I throw my head back and belt out another genuine laugh. "Oh! Oh, look!" I hurry over to a jumpsuit in a beautiful green pattern with a matching belt. "This is exactly what I was talking about! No way. No way! Okay, I'm gonna try it on." I practically scream when I zip it up and realize it's a perfect fit. "It fits! It fits!" Shocked at my good fortune, I start doing jumping jacks just to prove it's not too tight. "Oh my God, I'm actually going to cry. I've always had big stupid thighs, and they make shopping impossible, but this actually fits!"

"Big stupid thighs? Excuse me," Ben cuts in, sounding insulted. "I am not going to stand here and allow you to slander my favorite pair of earmuffs."

I slap a shocked hand over my mouth and try not to laugh because I'm drunk and I don't know if I'm supposed to laugh or take my clothes off. In the end, he starts laughing first and we both devolve into hysterics.

Still wearing my jumpsuit, I step out of the secret room behind his bookshelf and gasp at an idea. "Do you have a Bee Gees CD? Do you want to dance?" Before he even has a chance to answer, I break out the choreography to Single Ladies.

Two glasses of wine in for me, and four glasses of wine in for Ben, and the two of us become unstoppable dancing machines. Without wine, I'd never be able to move like this because I'd be too busy overthinking if I look foolish. Ben is right. Dancing is intuitive, and people have just forgotten its purpose. It's a celebratory custom in every culture.

Ben's CD rotates through all the classic Bee Gees staples as we dance separately and together. He tries to spin me around, but I stop halfway, with my back facing him, pressing my body against his and arching my spine. I dance against Ben until I feel him responding to my touch. Tossing my hair over one shoulder so he can see my face better, I reach a hand up to pull the back of his neck towards me until his mouth is against mine. I like being a tease.

Ben pulls away, panting, and rushes to shut off the music. "I'm sorry, Cora. I can't."

Ouch. So much for thinking this was going well.

"It's just," he continues, looking stressed out, "the temptation is too much."

Huh? "Wait. . . do you want me right now?"

I can tell he's drunk because he barks a laugh at the question. "I want you every second of every day." Ben shifts from self-conscious to hopeful, and I feel his heart thumping inside my own. "Why?"

"I. . . want you, too."

"You do?"

I take a step towards him, and I sense all the anxiety I should be feeling morph into an even stronger arousal. "Can I say something crazy?"

Ben takes a step in my direction. "Please do."

"Promise you won't get mad?"

Ben holds a hand to his heart. "Swear on my life."

Life. Yes. Goddess of Life. That's what I am. I try to fight it. I really do. But in the end, I trust him enough to not feel the need to lie anymore. "I want to give you a family. A big family. One I've always dreamed of."

Ben stills, only daring to look at me when I remain silent. "You do?"

"Is that okay?"

"Yes," he answers immediately. As if unsure I'm telling him the truth, he hesitantly walks closer, smiling when I don't move away from him. "Please. I. . . I want that, too."

"You mean it?" Desire flows through me, as if his hands were already running up both my thighs. "You want to give me babies?"

"More than anything."

"Really? But—" I shake my head, and the world spins from all the wine. "We can't."

"Why not? I have—" Ben scrambles to the far corner of the room, tossing aside books on the bottom of the shelf, and returns with a box.

I'm in love, but I'm also drunk, and I can't help but laugh at the condoms he's offering. "Why were these hidden in your bookshelf?" I whisper and then immediately break out into stifled giggles. "Did you hide these all over the house?"

"Maybe."

"That's. . . thank you. Resourceful, but—" I hold up the box and shake it. "—this is actually the whole problem. Goddess of Life is a mother. She's not just motherly, she's a literal mother. I require life, and you can't give me life with a condom on. But. . . if I'm a mother, you die." I think about the Goddess of Life having sex with a condom on and my arousal instantly dries up. "Agh! Why does this have to be complicated?"

"It doesn't have to be complicated. If I die, I die," he says, sounding more than a little desperate. "Everyone dies eventually. I'm not afraid."

I huff a scandalized laugh. "You're drunk."

"My answer would remain the same if I was sober. I'll do whatever you ask."

I no longer feel the need to hide my desire as it rushes back full-force. The love in his voice makes me feel safe enough to order, "Then come over here and satisfy the Goddess of Life. Put a baby in me." I want to choose, and he wants to be chosen. "I want it to be you. Only you."

It's a strange but wholly welcome feeling to pull him in for once and show him my memories. All the things I'd be too embarrassed to share if I wasn't so warm and comfortable from the wine.

Am I allowed to go into one of these doors? I can leave if you want.

No, it's okay. I want you to see.

Ben chooses a door at random and steps into my old apartment in Harlem. The memory of me stands alone at the small stovetop in the tiny kitchen within the even tinier three bedroom apartment I share with my roommates. "Cora?"

"Ben?" I spin around and blink at him. "This is the memory you picked?"

"I picked at random. Where are we, exactly?"

"Harlem. 2012."

"2012?"

"Surprise!" I wave around the spatula in my hand. "You're in the future."

"How are we in the future?"

"I experience time differently than you do. Oh! Here, look at this." I pull a smartphone out of my pocket and hand it to him.

Ben studies it, pensive. "What is this?"

"Cellphone."

Ben huffs a laugh. "You're joking."

Just then, my roommates come walking through the door, and I turn back to the stove in the hopes that they'll ignore me and go to their rooms. No such luck. I remember this night. They were tipsy and extra cruel.

But instead of allowing them to hurl hurtful comments at me, Ben steps in with an exceptionally dry, "You let fashion students who can't dress themselves bully you?"

Both my roommates take a second to reboot, since it's clearly obvious they're unfamiliar with men not fawning over them. "Who are you?"

Ben ignores the question and asks his own. This interrogation goes on until he's satisfied he's gathered enough intel. "Cora," Ben says loudly into the silence, "let me get this straight. Your roommates don't know how to cook, they don't pick up after themselves, and they're not at all charming, funny, or particularly interesting. And you were jealous of these women. . . because?"

"Hey," one of my roommates snaps, "what the hell, asshole?"

I ignore her and offer Ben a shrug in answer. "They're pretty."

His eyebrows scrunch in confusion. "Next to you? HA! Don't make me laugh."

Unable to think of an actual witty remark, my roommates resort to uncomfortable laughter. "Okay," they say, drawn out and sarcastic.

Ben never stops staring at them like he's embarrassed on their behalf. "If I could have just a sliver of your deluded self confidence, I could overthrow every major government by tomorrow morning. Just look at you. Fashion is inherently derivative, and yet you still disappoint in every way. And I don't know why you're laughing," Ben says, pointing to the other roommate. "You clearly don't understand color theory. Looking at you makes me feel like I've just woken from a lobotomy."

He's mean, and his comments are precise enough to actually hurt their feelings, but for once I don't feel bad. I never did anything to either of my roommates except play their surrogate mother, and how did they treat me in return? Loudly repeat their shared weekend plans without inviting me, eat all my leftovers in the fridge even though I'm the poorest member of the group, and continue to leave the apartment a mess for me to clean up no matter how many times I ask them to help.

So, no. I don't feel bad. In fact, the more intense Ben roasts them both, the harder I laugh. It's nice having someone defend me for once.

Outside this memory, our movements are drunken and sloppy and inexperienced, but nothing makes me feel more loved than wrapping my legs around his hips, our tongues swirling in each others mouth.

Back in my memory, Ben and I take a walk around the city, since he's never been to New York. We watch children play in the park and parents pushing their babies in strollers. I watch them, envious. In order for me to have that life, in order for the Goddess of Life to be satisfied, Ben must die.

I'm going to be a horrible mother.

How can I say this in a way that your Catholic mind can wrap around? You're like the patron saint of children. So, no, you're wrong. Ha! I got to tell a Goddess she was wrong. I'll try not to let it go to my head.

What?

Cora, you're better with children than most of their own parents. Where is this coming from, anyway?

Did I tell you I'm only just now finding out Christopher is a widower? We work together almost every day I'm on Hydra, and I'm just now asking him personal questions. I've only been a mother for a few months, and I'm already horrible at it.

Wait until you've been a parent for 16 years, then you can feel like a failure.

Oh please. You're not a failure.

Yes, I am. Alex can't stand me.

I make an affronted noise and raise an eyebrow. Alex is funny and creative and kind because that's who she is, but you helped give her a safe place to grow into that person. And I can tell you right now, she loves you more than you will ever possibly understand. You raised a human being by yourself. That's not something to write off. I had to raise my siblings, and I can tell you right now. . . that shit ain't easy.

You're already such a wonderful mother. I don't want to hear you say otherwise.

You're already a perfect father, and I don't want to hear you say otherwise.

If I could only feel this safe and happy all the time, there would never be war ever again.

But it doesn't last forever, and the beauty and wonder of it all is over too soon.

I feel him leave my mind and my body as I lay panting against the hardwood of his living room, staring up at the ceiling. As the endorphins settle, and the throbbing aftershocks lessen, my face crumples up into tears and I begin to weep.

He's immediately at my side. "Did I hurt you?"

I just killed him. How ironic that it was the Goddess of Life that kills him. The Norns suck. You hear me, Norns? You suck ass, and if we ever meet in real life I am absolutely rocking your shit with my bare fists.

"Cora," he asks again, "did I hurt you?"

"No," I croak miserably. Magic still leaves my muscles twitching like a drug withdrawal. "I'm just drunk and I don't want you to die."

"Oh," he exhales heavily in a shaking laugh, "is that all?"

"What do you mean is that all? That's a very big deal!"

"Yes, well, we might have an even bigger deal on our hands." Ben grits his teeth and hisses with pleasure as magic runs its course within his own body. "Because I need to tell you something."

"What?"

Ben fixes me with his blue eyes, and it's only then that I realize they're especially captivating right now because the irises are glowing brightly. "I think I just saw the future."