by Kendall Grey
“You’d find something else to hassle me for,” Huginn lobs back. “You two hate me.”
“Nah, bruh,” Wiggles says. “We don’t hate you. We just want to eat you.”
“Well, I’m sure my insides are very stringy and tough and not at all tasty,” the bird says.
Sparky curls his lips back in a devious grin and licks them. “Where do tough chickens come from?”
“Hard-boiled eggs,” Wiggles answers.
The cats smack their tails together like a high five. If I weren’t so depressed, I’d laugh.
I turn to Gunnar Magnusson. “Do we have more rooms or just this one?”
“I got three,” Freddie interrupts. “Whatcha need? Privacy? We’ll leave you and Gunnar alone for some boot knocking. Come on, boys.”
I hold up hand to stop him. “I’d like to have a word with Alex if you don’t mind.”
Alex visibly shrinks at the mention of his name.
Busted.
Freddie frowns and glances to his partner. “Why? Whatever you have to say to him, you can say to all of us. We don’t keep secrets.”
That’s where you’re wrong, I think guiltily. I’ve kept so many secrets.
“It’s okay,” Alex says, deflated. “Let’s take a walk, Loki.”
The ridge between Freddie’s eyes flexes as I follow Alex into the lobby. The main level is crowded with drunk people having the fun I would be having if I hadn’t just betrayed the man I—
If I weren’t within forty-eight hours of my expiration date.
Alex and I avoid the party and find a quiet table among the trees in the hotel’s courtyard. We sit facing each other. The cool night air is a welcome balm on my hot face.
No point mincing words. My time tank is edging toward empty. “I know about the deal you cut with Damien Drakkar.”
He nods and looks away. “I figured as much.”
“Why did you do it, Alex?” I ask, genuinely hurt.
He exhales a full breath and seems to collect his thoughts before speaking. “You ever been in love, Loki?”
The question catches me off balance. “I—I don’t know.” I sincerely don’t. Nor do I know where this line of inquiry is heading, but I’m eager to hear.
“I have.” Alex shifts his gaze to a nearby tree laden with fat pink cherry blossoms. A few petals drift lazily to the ground. One lands on the table separating us. Alex picks it up and sniffs it. “Love is a beautiful, terrible, deadly emotion. It can make us do things for others we wouldn’t do for ourselves. It can also trick us into making awful mistakes.
“I was in love with Freya a long time ago.” He glances to me. “Don’t worry. I haven’t told Freddie who he was. But when I saw him at Hel’s Bells, I instantly recognized him.”
“How did you know?” I whisper, awed by his ability to see through flesh and time back to the spirit of who Freddie used to be.
“How could I not? Her soul practically beamed a beacon in my face.”
I keep my incredulousness to myself. I didn’t recognize Gunnar Magnusson or Angrboda. Does that mean I didn’t love either of them? Or was I too wrapped up in myself to notice the beaming beacon?
“I’ve been searching for her since I recognized who I was,” he continues.
“And who is that?”
“Alfheim should’ve tipped you off.”
Realizations fill in the empty spaces in my brain holes. “You’re an elf.”
“Yes.” His smile is terse. “But not exactly from Alfheim.”
My eyes widen. “A dark elf?”
He nods and studies the flower between his fingers. “Afraid so. My name used to be Kolatoframadr.”
Doesn’t ring any bells. “What’s wrong with being a dark elf?” I ask. “I quite liked your kind.”
“Aside from being the scourge of the Nine Realms? Cursed to live underground and never see sunlight? Hated and mistrusted for our coal-like coloration and secretive dealings?”
“I never saw the dark elves that way.”
“You might not have, but the rest of the Asgardians thought us ugly and low. Certainly not fitting for the likes of a shining goddess like Freya.”
“Did you pursue her?” I ask.
“No. She was married to Odr and had plenty of other lovers to keep her attention. I wasn’t worthy.”
“Maybe you thought you weren’t,” I say, “but there’s nothing to stop you from telling her how you feel now.”
“I’m working on it.”
“For what it’s worth, I think Freddie really likes you. A lot.”
“I like him too. Her soul hasn’t changed, despite the centuries.” He meets my eyes. “She’s a good person at her core. She was just a little wild back then. Mild, compared to modern Midgardians.”
I nod. “I’m sorry you missed your opportunity years ago, but the two of you seem to have found your stride now. Perhaps love takes time.”
You’re getting philosophical, waxing poetic on tender topics. It’s a good look on you, Loki, Laguz teases. And I notice you used the L-word.
I mentally shush the stupid rune and return to Alex. “I’m all for the two of you staying together, but in the interest of self-preservation, I must ask. Why did you sell me out to Damien Drakkar? Did you know who I was? Who he is?”
“I wanted to impress Freya,” he says. “I thought if I had money, I could buy her things and woo her the way I couldn’t before. I had a new body, a new century, a new place. I thought it was the perfect opportunity to start over. Her old husband is nowhere in sight, and Freddie seemed completely unattached to anyone aside from you and Gunnar. So, when Drakkar’s email came through and ten grand appeared in my checking account, I caved.
“You must understand. It wasn’t about you. It was about me trying to impress the one who got away. Drakkar asked me to ensure you saw the billboard with him on it. That’s it. The request seemed innocuous enough. Obviously, it wasn’t. For that, I deeply apologize.”
I sink my teeth into my bottom lip and gnaw. “I appreciate the apology, but you screwed me six ways to Svartalfheim, Alex.”
He lowers his head. “I’m sorry.”
I stand and pace. Everything is a mess. The sad thing is, he did it for love. I can’t even be mad at him. Because I may have done some dumb things for similar reasons.
I drop to a crouch, bend over, and grab my hair.
Alex kneels beside me, laying a hand on my back. “What can I do? I want to make things right.”
Frustration and a gush of uncontrollable emotion batter me like a wave. Tears well at all the lies I’ve told, all the mistakes I’ve made, all the opportunities I’ve wasted.
“I want to make things right too,” I cry, “but I fear I’ve messed them up beyond repair.”
A big, stupid drop of saltwater plunges to the ground between my feet. Maybe it’s Sannleikur working overtime or my guilt finally catching up with me, but I sit on the ground, leaning over bent knees and pour out my confession like mead libations to forgotten gods.
“Damien Drakkar is Angrboda, and Gunnar Magnusson is Sigyn,” I blubber.
“What?” Alex sits beside me and stares, mouth agape.
I nod. “I found out about Gunnar Magnusson a while back, and ever since, I’ve been trying to make amends for how terrible I treated her. Then Damien comes along, and … well, some things happened at his hotel that shouldn’t have, and I’ve ruined everything. For once in my life, I tried to do the right thing, and I still couldn’t.”
“Loki, I’m so sorry,” Alex says. “I had no idea Drakkar was Angrboda. If I’d known, I wouldn’t have accepted his money, and not just out of respect for you. Angrboda wasn’t kind to my people in our day.” He works his jaw as if holding back something he wants to say. “She killed many dark elves. Said we were trash that our parents should’ve left on the side of a mountain to die. She stole and tortured our children—used them like lab rats to test her transmogrification spells.”
I wipe my blurry eyes and look at
him. His jaw quivers with rage.
“That’s terrible. I didn’t know,” I eke out and draw a sleeve across my snotty nose.
“I’d like nothing better than to take Angrboda down—for you and for the ones my kind lost to her evil,” Alex says. “I don’t have much, but my magic could be useful against her. How can I help?”
I gather my courage and look past the mess I’ve made to the end goal I need to achieve. “We have to turn the tables on her.”
“Yes,” he agrees. “But how?”
I start to stand, but he beats me to his feet and helps me up. We dust off and consider each other. Before this moment, Alex was a mystery to me, but the story about his love for Freya strums a sympathetic chord inside me I didn’t know I had. Love does make you do dumb stuff. It also helps you figure out how to forgive.
“I need to come clean to Gunnar Magnusson about what happened in Damien’s hotel room tonight,” I say. “Once that’s done, I’ll have a better idea of how to proceed.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning, if Gunnar Magnusson rejects my apology, I’ll leave and find Othala on my own.”
“And if he forgives you?”
“Then, we’ll make a new plan and tell Freddie the truth about his sordid past with Freya. I need his—both of your—magic if there’s any hope of defeating Angrboda.”
The weight of these implications drops with the force of a calving iceberg and shatters between us. If I leave, Alex can do as he likes with Freddie, I’ll keep quiet, and no one will be the wiser. If I stay and tell Freddie who he really is, I risk losing not only his friendship but his—and Alex’s—help on my quest to recover my runes. Revealing his past is very risky, but I can’t beat Angrboda without magic.
Alex nods once. “I hope you’ll stay. I think some truth on my part is overdue too. Since the first night I saw him, I’ve worried about how he’d react to finding out who I am. Maybe it’s time for both of us to take a chance.”
I lift a finger. “There’s something else. Damien had his assistant break into your room and steal your top hat.”
“Shit.” Pain flashes in his eyes, and he scrubs his face. “There were magical stones embedded in it.”
“Onyx.”
“Yes. Rhodonite, amber, peridot, and a few others too. I relied on the onyx for my binding spells. Perhaps he plans on using the gems to boost his magic. We both know Angrboda was a powerful witch.”
“He’s already used it. On me.”
He closes his eyes for a second and sighs. “Double shit.”
“I’ll help you look for the hat. Anything to thwart Angrboda.”
“You don’t have to do that, especially after I sold you out to her,” Alex says.
I shrug. I like Freddie too much to deny him a shot at a happily ever after with Alex. Plus, that crap Angrboda pulled on the dark elves cannot go unanswered.
“We have a common enemy, and you’ve helped me plenty. Truce?” I hold out a hand.
He grasps my palm firmly and shakes.
“Let’s take this bitch down,” I say.
Chapter Twenty
Alex agrees to give Gunnar Magnusson and me the night to discuss my predicament. Darryl Donovan and Freddie have tomorrow off from pageant responsibilities, and I’m crossing my fingers that by breakfast, the eight of us will be sitting around a table, strategizing as a united front against Angrboda. A war room meeting is much preferred to packing my bags and hopping on the trolley to parts unknown.
When I return to the room, Gunnar Magnusson is holding Huginn and pacing. His hair falls around his shoulders in blond waves like a halo in the soft lamplight. He looks up, sets Huginn on the bed, and rushes over to me.
“What the hell is going on?” he asks.
I sigh and sit next to Huginn. “We need to talk.”
Gunnar Magnusson’s body stiffens and throws off tense signals. “Whenever I hear those four words, it never leads to anything good.”
He joins me, the mattress dipping with his weight.
“It’s not good,” I say. “I messed up. Again.”
He presses his lips together. “What did you do?” His voice is strained.
“Should I leave?” Huginn asks.
I pick the rooster up and settle him in my lap. “No, stay, Huginn. You need to hear this too.”
He roosts on my legs, but I can tell by the claws digging into my pants he’s tense too.
“Damien took me to his hotel. He used a sex spell on me again,” I say, looking Gunnar Magnusson directly in the eyes. I need him to believe me. I need him to know that even if I didn’t have a lie-proof rune stave carved into my back, I’d be telling him the truth.
Gunnar Magnusson’s Adam’s apple shuttles down and back up.
“I—I couldn’t resist him. His magic was too powerful. I could feel him inside me even though he barely touched me. He used a psychic assault to convince me to stay. He wooed me with promises of more if I came back tomorrow. I wanted to spurn him. I tried. Laguz tried. But I gave in to his power. I’m so ashamed.” I drop my head into trembling hands.
“You … had sex with him?” Gunnar Magnusson asks, his voice barely a whisper. I don’t have to look at him to know how hurt he is.
I glance at Huginn and slow down. “Not in the physical sense. But he did the thing he did in the auditorium, and I liked it. I mean, I really liked it. As in, earthquake-liked it.”
Gunnar Magnusson lifts a hand and chokes out, “I saw a news alert earlier about a ‘mild aftershock’ following the temblor on Friday. That was you?”
I swallow. “Damien Drakkar is Angrboda.”
“What?” Huginn squawks.
“What?” Gunnar Magnusson bellows.
“And technically, I didn’t tumble him,” I clarify. “Aside from some in-depth kissing, there was no physical contact. My broken rib wouldn’t allow it. But his magic did bring me to an earth-rattling climax.” The old Loki would’ve been proud of that. New Loki, not so much.
“You didn’t have sex with him.” Gunnar Magnusson’s expression morphs into a cross between a frown and a grin. It’s weird. But maybe … forgiving?
“No.”
“Would you have done it if you hadn’t had a broken rib?” he asks.
“I’d like to think I wouldn’t, but who can say? I’m a weak man who loves getting busy with evil giantesses.” I hold up my index finger. “But I do think if magic hadn’t been a factor, I could have resisted.”
“How?”
By thinking about you. My wife. The woman I should’ve taken better care of and paid more attention to. The woman I should never have stepped out on. The woman I owe my life to many times over. I’d have resisted by thinking about Gunnar Magnusson, the man who gives anything to ensure I’m okay. The man who protects me to the detriment of himself. The man I lo—strongly like and would much prefer having sex with sometime in the near future if he’s willing.
Those are the things I wish I had the balls to say, but as I’m currently ball-less and not ready to drop yet another bomb on my wife tonight, I refrain. “He’s not you.”
Gunnar Magnusson palms my hand and tugs it to his heart. I focus on its steady beat and draw strength from his touch.
He groans. “Loki, you make my life such a mess.”
I duck my head. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“You try my patience daily. Sometimes hourly.”
“I am really good at pushing your buttons. It’s nothing personal. I do that to everyone.”
“You drive me to want to drink.”
“It’s a gift. To some of my former worshippers, I was known as the mead fairy of a thousand delirium tremens.”
“And I wouldn’t have you any other way,” he says.
“You wouldn’t?” I ask. Hope riddles my weak heart with a thousand bullets.
“You know what happened between Saga and me. You never complained about it, and I was fully aware of what I was doing. Who am I to judge if you were under a spell you couldn’t
shake? Drakkar used magic on you. You resisted him enough for me. And even if you hadn’t, I wouldn’t blame you.”
I lift a finger. “Just to be clear, inside my head, I complained a lot about you and Saga.”
He smiles. “That doesn’t count. When it mattered, you kept your comments to yourself. I’m grateful you did.”
“So, you forgive me for climaxing under Damien Drakkar’s spell and triggering another earthquake?” I ask. “For the record, I don’t think it damaged anything. I must say, you Midgardians really know how to reinforce your buildings. Bravo.”
He blanches, kisses my knuckles, and cradles them to his chest. “I forgive you.”
I exhale a huge breath. “I thought this was gonna be much harder than it was.”
He shrugs. “It’s not like I’m Sigyn or anything. We might be having a very different conversation if I were.”
My relief stands corrected and now wants to swan-dive into a bubbling vat of misery and eternal damnation.
“Yes, we would.” I laugh nervously. Inside, I’m trying to recover my shaken wits.
Gunnar Magnusson can never find out about Sigyn. Not now, not ever.
You won’t have to worry about it if Ihwaz isn’t back where it belongs in your sternum by Tuesday, Laguz reminds me.
“I think you two have a lot to talk about,” Huginn says. “Maybe it’s best I sleep in Darryl’s room tonight.”
I smile down at my bird and scratch his neck. Almost forgot he was here. “Thanks, Huginn.” I turn to Gunnar Magnusson. “Be right back.”
I take Huginn next door to Darryl Donovan’s room.
“What am I supposed to do with him?” Darryl Donovan asks.
“Put on Robot Chicken, and you won’t have to do anything. I’ll pick him up in the morning.”
“So, you patched things up with Gunnar?” Darryl Donovan flashes a wry smile. “Congratulations.”
“I wouldn’t say they’re entirely patched, but I don’t think I’ll be blowing any tires between now and Tuesday.”
He quirks his head as I pass Huginn over. “What’s Tuesday?”
I scramble for a cover that won’t be a lie. “Well, the final round of the pageant, for one thing.” I don’t want to talk about the other thing.