The therapist cocked her head slightly to one side: tell me more.“You’re probably going to think I’m crazy, but I feel like a caretaker for this. Like it’s my charge. Someone abandoned it here and I had no choice but to take it in, and now I’m responsible for caring for it. It can’t do anything on its own. Without me it just sits there. I open my eyes in the morning and it’s leaning against the chair by my bed and I imagine it feeling sad and lonely and just wishing that I would wake up already.”“You’re right,” said Callie. “You are crazy. Come on, eat a scone. They’re feeling sad and lonely too.” Her vibrating cell phone woke her. What time was it? The morning was overcast and filled her bedroom with a gauzy, mouse-gray light. She answered.“Hey, are you okay? Is everything okay?” The caller was Callie.“Yeah,” she said breathily, trying to clear the sleep from her voice but not succeeding. “I’m still... I overslept a little again.”“Well, that’s what I figured,” said Callie. “I’m just. His helmet was made of gold, as were the braceletson his arms and the decorative inlay on his tunic.In his right fist he held a hammer, one whose headand shaft were a seamless whole, formed from somestrange substance that was neither stone nor metalbut a weird hybrid of the two, blue fire dancingacross its surface. I knew who he was."Donar, Lord of the Thunder, God of Storms," I said.He lifted my hand and kissed it, an oddly courtlygesture for a supposedly barbarian god."Eden," he replied, in a voice that was the mostmanly I had ever heard, a smile on that handsome,chiselled face. I took his hand and he pulled me tohim. I gulped, as giddy in his presence as a teenagegirl. He was like some Platonic, idealized versionof what a man should be, some perfect representationof distilled maleness. I felt strange stirrings inmy chest and groin, and found my heart was racingand my breathing getting shallower. Dear gods, mybody was reacting to him, the first time I'd reactedthat way to a man.
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