Mythverse (Book 5)

There are worse things than a bad hair day...like having a crown taken right off your perfectly styled head.

I'm Brandee Jean, and I managed to win the biggest crown of all. I was an Amazon Princess and Queen of the Gods.

For like, two seconds.

Now, though, Zeus is back from the dead and everything I went through to win was for nothing.

Well...almost nothing. I got a hot British boyfriend who is half fae out of it, even if he does correct my grammar, like, constantly. He's not a big fan of my Mama, either. But I don't know if that's because she's kind of trashy, or it's because she's a zombie.

It's nice to have Mama cheering me on again, even if she is undead. Cause everywhere I turn there's a fight. I've got to get my crown back by competing against my boyfriend and my best friend, convince Mama her Hades hookup is just another in a long string of bad boyfriends, and stop the humans and paranormals from destroying each other.

But first...a hot oil treatment for my hair. Cause there's no way I'm saving the world with split ends.

Previously published as Amazon Queen.

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Excerpt:

The king of the gods looks down at me through Sora’s eyes. A rumble of thunder booms across the stage.

“That’s right, kids,” Zeus says. “It seems that the news of my death was greatly exaggerated.” He looks directly at Edie. “You can’t get rid of me quite so easily. I’m here to take back my powers.”

Reaching down, he grabs Rada’s body, tearing it away from me. Then he hefts her over his shoulder, as if she were garbage.

“One down,” he says. “Who’s next?”

I stand, shakily, drenched in the blood of my friend. “I won the competition,” I say. “I am a Queen, and you are in serious trouble.”

I look to Athena to back me up. This is her school. And Rada was her student. An Amazon. Instead she’s watching with an expression that can only be described as calculating, while a god with winged ankles—Hermes—whispers urgently in her ear.

No help there, I guess. Great. Having a goddess on your side is always a positive… especially when you’re facing down a god.

This is probably the point where I should quickly backpedal. Tell him I love how he’s wearing Sora’s face—though maybe a little blush and bronzer could help with the zombie pallor. But I can’t play nice when Rada’s blood is on my hands.

Instead I simply push my shoulders back, lift my chin, and repeat again, “I am the Amazon Queen.”

He scoffs, such an ugly look on such a beautiful face. “Do you think that crown makes you a Queen? You are nothing. You are dirt beneath my feet. You have nothing. I am again alive, and I demand my powers back. Give me that crown now,” Zeus orders in the sort of tone that silently adds, or else I will kill you.

Seeing as how he just killed my BRF (best roommate forever) by reaching into her midsection and tearing her nearly in two, I don’t doubt his follow-through.

Zombie Sora is a real asshole.

Which is sad, because the real living Sora seemed like a pretty good guy. At least from what I could tell before he died.

I didn’t know him long. He arrived here at Amazon Academy around the same time as me and eight other teenagers. We’d all been recruited to compete against each other in a series of weird tasks devised by the Greek gods. Last man—or woman, we were evenly matched —standing would become the new Zeus.

They needed a new Zeus because the old one was dead. And apparently the moment he kicked it, the whole world started crumbling to pieces. Literally. Massive earthquakes will do that. Everyone panicked and society melted away faster than the butter carving of my face Mama paid for one year at the Wisconsin State Fair. That was a damn shame, because the sculptor really captured the twinkle in my eye. And doing that with dairy products couldn’t have been easy.

’Course the end of civilization was a damn shame too, although the end of the pageant circuit might have been the first thing on my mind, since that’s how Mama and I made our bread and butter. Like, literally. They gave us what was left of that sculpture and we plopped it in the freezer. Ate off that thing for like three months.

So, a contest to get things back on track with a new Zeus seemed like a good idea, especially if I had a shot at being the winner. Too bad Mama didn’t hang around long enough to see it pan out…she had taken one look at the Dollar Store being looted and said, “Brandee Jean, when people are fighting over Slim Jims, it’s time to call it a day.”

And she did, although she waited for it to be night, at least. Maybe she thought it’d be easier for me if I found her in dim lighting. Or maybe she just knew that, at her age, she looked best in the rose gold of sunset. She was positioned so that her good side was showing when I found her, so I do think some thought went into it. I popped her into the freezer next to what was left of my butter face and decided to worry about burial at a later date.

That later date hasn’t come yet; competing to become the next leader of the gods has had all my attention, right up until two seconds ago when one of the supposedly dead contestants came onto the stage during my crowning and murdered my roommate - which definitely goes against his character. It does, however fit right in with what I know of Zeus. The god that’s supposed to be dead, but apparently—with the assist from his brother Hades—plopped himself into Sora’s body.

Which, let’s be honest—good call. Sora’s body was way too nice to let go to waste. Too bad the personality inside could use an attitude adjustment in the form of a sledgehammer to the head.

“Don’t make me repeat myself,” Zeus says. “Give me that crown, or more will die.” He tosses Rada’s body onto the stage floor, apparently done using it as a prop in his strutting parade.

“I heard you,” I say, my hands reaching up to the crown. My fingers close around the delicate gold filigree, my thumb rubbing against the huge ruby the size of my fist. A weird rush fills me.

This is straight up old-fashioned Midwestern beauty queen anger kicking in.

Instead of removing the crown, I push it further down. Giving up a crown is just not something I can do. I won this, fair and square.

“You know, this was sized for me and it would get all bent out of shape if you tried to put it on your head. You’d look like the god of the scratch and dent sale, know what I mean?”

Zeus leans toward me and exhales angrily. His breath is so stank my eyes water. Poor Sora. He had such good hygiene. “That ruby on the crown came from the sword used to kill me. It contains my own blood. Ichor.”

“Yeah, that is icky,” I agree.

“Ichor!” He repeats, angrily, stomping one of Sora’s feet. His big toenail splits down the center, and a maggot crawls out. Then his toe immediately heals itself. Anger fills me at the power—and the life—he took from Rada. “It’s my blood! And it will never be used against me again!”

With that he grabs the crown, happy to tear my scalp right off along with it, if I don’t do as he asks. Before I can even say, “Don’t mess up my hair!” he flies backwards, landing on his ass.

I look behind me, wondering who came to my aid. But everyone on the stage is restrained. All the remaining contestants, my mentor, Edie, Alaric (my kind-of-guy-I-might-kiss-again-sometime-maybe and fellow contestant), as well as Lilliana—an Amazon sister and no bull-shitter who is fighting against the zombie who holds her. His forearm is shredded to the bone and he hasn’t even blinked, but she’s still digging away at him with her nails.

Trevor—a contestant, and Alaric’s half brother—is holding Alaric back from helping me. He was part of this whole mess, helping Zeus and Hades to recover the crown.

Artemis and Athena are oddly still, along with all the other gods there to perform the ceremony. Hermes still stands beside Athena, a hand on her arm now. None of them are interfering, only watching intently as the drama plays out onstage. Why aren’t they helping? The audience, comprised mostly of Amazons—and all of them armed to the teeth—have been efficiently flanked by an army of the undead streaming down the aisles.

We’re pretty evenly matched, number-wise. But if this goes wrong—and it’s looking like it will—Amazon blades don’t stand a chance against bodies that don’t die. I’ve got to walk this back, and fast.

“What the Hades?” Zeus sits up, clearly rattled by the blow that someone dealt him when he tried to take my crown. “Who hit me?”

Suddenly, I feel it. Mother Hippolyta. The spirit of the Amazons. She entered me during the final contest, like a sort of blessing. She recognized me as a true Amazon, which means I’ve got to protect my sisters-in-arms.

Or fight and die with them.

And, let’s be honest, by the look of the zombies around here, I’m not in a big hurry to rot and die. Especially if that means Hades gets to tell my dead body what to do. I mean…ew.

“Stop!” I cry out, just as Zeus is coming back to his feet. Hippolyta’s strength rolls through my voice, and he obeys as if he were a dog. It only lasts a second, but it’s enough. Athena’s head snaps in my direction, the voice of Hippolyta spurring her to action. She stomps down on one of Hermes’ ankle wings, and it breaks like a baby bird hitting an eighteen-wheeler at sixty-five miles an hour. The god howls in pain as Athena easily sidesteps around him.

“The contest has finished, Father.” Athena declares. “We have a new Queen.”

Artemis steps beside her. “You cannot come here, kill our Amazons.” Her voice actually catches when she looks at Rada. “You died.”

“You should have stayed dead!” I add, but no one looks at me.

“My brother, Zeus, stands here before us. Alive. Athena, you called him Father, so clearly you recognize him despite the change in form!” Hades exclaims, his voice bellowing throughout the amphitheater. “It’s a dangerous precedent, giving away a god’s powers. If Athena lets this mortal girl from Milktown, USA have Zeus’ powers, whose powers will she strip next?” Hades addresses this to the gathered gods. A low murmur sweeps through them and a few heads even nod in agreement.

“Absurd,” Athena says, but even she doesn’t sound as certain.

“I declare this entire contest moot!” Hades says, taking charge. “All in agreement, say aye.”