Gods. Always ready to screw you.
When the goddess of the Norse Under World summons Bix from exile a hundred and seventy years early, the former Dark Ops agent knows there’s a catch. There’s probably a cargo ship full of them. The terms of the deal are simple. Someone attacked the pantheon’s ambassador to the Mid Worlds. Bix needs to find the perpetrators and drag their souls to Hel. In exchange, Bix gets early parole.
It’d be a sweet agreement, if not for the details. The ambassador is Bix’s ex-girlfriend, but the ex’s brain has been turned into pudding. The lead suspect is the prosecutor from Bix’s trial, but he’s gone missing. The crime scene is in Centralia, Pennsylvania, Primary Mid World; but the guild leading the official investigation is the same one that disavowed Bix when a covert op went pear-shaped. To demonstrate their enmity, Bix’s former employer outs her from the shadows and publicly brands her a terrorist.
Bix relishes the challenge. Hel wouldn’t have retrieved her from the vast nothingness of the ether for an easy mission. Bring on the mercenaries, the psychopomps, the Valkyries, and the Berserkers. Enforced solitude gave Bix a lot of time to level-up her skills as a gatekeeper; now she can open portals as small a capillary or as large as a continent. All those years alone with her hate, compounded by mind-shattering pain and debilitating starvation, honed her wrath. With her freedom on the line and revenge within reach, this highly-trained operative will cut any deal, call in every marker, and exploit all the dirty secrets to get exactly what she wants.
Hel hath no fury like a burned spy…