by Kendall Grey
“You heard what Damien said. He knows where Ihwaz is,” I say. “Ihwaz is more important than Othala. It’s my immortality. I don’t have a choice. I have to be his baby mama.”
Gunnar Magnusson flings a disgusted look at me. “No. I’m putting my foot down. He’s extorting a baby out of you, Loki. That’s not right. On so many levels.”
“Doesn’t matter,” I say sadly, peering through the window to the passing city lights and skyscrapers penetrating the night’s curtain. The Golden Gate Bridge shines in the distance, reminding me of the Bifrost. Would that I could cross the rainbow bridge to Asgard now.
“Of course, it matters! What the hell is wrong with you? I get that you two used to be an item, but this is ridiculous. Let Alex and me handle it. We can jump him, tie him up, and get the ring, no problem. I’m taking you home. With you out of the equation, he can’t exert his influence on you. We nab the ring, you keep your uterus a baby-free zone, and everyone’s happy.”
“You don’t understand,” I wail. “If I don’t find Ihwaz today, there won’t be a Loki tomorrow.”
Gunnar Magnusson slams the brakes, and the minivan screeches to a halt. The driver in the car behind us lays on the horn. Traffic creeps around us like skittish deer unsure of how to react to a barrage of headlights.
“What do you mean there won’t be a Loki tomorrow?” Gunnar Magnusson’s voice is as cold as an iceberg and just as hard.
I look away. “Skuld said I’m going to die on Tuesday. Norns don’t lie. I have to do as Damien asks if there’s any hope of me finding Ihwaz.”
Gunnar Magnusson stares at me for a long time, his expression grim. Then he resumes driving amid a flurry of honks and thrown middle fingers. “He has Othala. What makes you think he’s telling the truth about knowing where Ihwaz is?”
“I have something he wants—a uterus for growing more of his spawn. He’s dangling Ihwaz over my head in exchange for more of what he wants. This is how Angrboda operates.”
“So, she just showed up at your hut or wherever the hell you lived in Asgard, flashed her boobs, and you followed anywhere she went?”
“Pretty much.”
“Doesn’t sound like the Loki I know.”
“Yeah, well, the Loki you know has changed.”
“Maybe Angrboda has too.”
“I don’t think so.” I disagree. “Again, none of this matters. If Damien doesn’t share his lead on Ihwaz, I’m dead tomorrow. If his information is correct, I’ll at least have a chance—a very small one, but still a chance—to track down Ihwaz before death finds me. This is all I’ve got, Gunnar Magnusson.”
He bites his lip angrily. “I refuse to accept that bearing him a child will solve anything. He’s a lying, womanizing, piece-of-shit bastard.” He punches the steering wheel, setting off the horn. “And why didn’t you tell me your life was in danger? I thought we were done hiding secrets.”
Ouch.
“I didn’t want to upset you.”
“Epic fail. I’m upset,” he growls. “If you’d clued me in to what was happening, maybe I could’ve done something to help you sooner.”
“I wanted to prove I could handle myself.”
“To whom?” he demands. “Who do you have to impress? Odin? Frigg? Drakkar?”
“You. It’s always been you.” Hidden in the echo of his anger, my voice is small.
“God damn it, Loki.” He barks a humorless laugh. “I’m the one person you never have to impress.”
Silence unwinds between us for a few seconds. Then Alex says, “It’s not my business, but there’s one more person who might be able to help. It’s a nuclear option, though.”
“Who?” Gunnar Magnusson says.
Alex and I exchange looks in the rearview mirror. I barely shake my head.
“In the interest of protecting the innocent, I’d rather not say. Give me until morning, and I’ll see what I can do,” Alex says.
I swallow. Alex is right. Freddie is my last hope. If Freya’s magic can’t get me out of this predicament, nothing will.
When we reach our respective rooms at the hotel, Gunnar Magnusson opens our door and stomps inside, letting it fall shut behind him. He’s mad at me. Again.
For a long, painful moment, I consider running away for the thousandth time. It would be so easy to disappear into the mists hugging the city. Gunnar Magnusson might assume I’m pouting or taking a walk to blow off geyser steam. Under the guise of “giving me space,” he won’t wait up for me. Alex and Freddie will be too busy having a serious conversation about past lives to notice my absence. Huginn is probably already roosting beside a snoring Darryl Donovan in his bed.
I could run and let Tuesday do whatever Tuesday’s gonna do.
But that wouldn’t be you, Laguz whispers.
No. It wouldn’t. Not anymore.
Standing outside Freddie and Alex’s room, I dip my fingers into my purse and sift through the runes inside until I brush Freya’s chip. The door opens. I curl my fingers around the bone, take Alex’s hand, and drop it into his palm. “Good luck.”
He pats my arm and nods with a glance toward my door. “You too.”
Come tomorrow morning, I’m going to have one less friend than I do tonight.
Chapter Twenty-Two
After a fitful sleep filled with horrific dreams of death, I wake to the sound of banging.
“Loki, open up,” Freddie shouts from the hall.
Gunnar Magnusson lifts his head from the other bed (as expected, he was asleep when I returned from my walkabout last night). I pretend not to notice he’s shirtless and throw the covers off. I plod to the door, bracing myself for what’s to come.
The knob turns, and Freddie flies into the room like a raven divebombing his first meal in a month. “What. The. Hell? I can’t believe you’d hold back information as important as this. All you had to do was tell me, and I might’ve understood your reticence. I mean, according to Alex, you treated me like shit back then, but I don’t remember any of that, so I’m not sure why it’s such a big deal to keep it a classified secret. And why did you make Alex me? You should’ve been the one to break the news. It’s not his responsibility, even though he told me who he was, but I don’t remember him either. Regardless, it could’ve been easy, but as usual, you made it hard.”
After the initial shockwave of his tirade ebbs, he stops long enough to catch his breath and resumes the rant full force. “And another thing. I don’t know what the hoopla with these stupid runes is about, but I demand a refund. This thing hasn’t done shit, and I’ve been trying all night.”
Shaking his finger in my face with one hand, he brandishes his rune like a weapon with the other. “I put it in my mouth. I laid it across my forehead. I rubbed it on my stomach. I stuck it in my sock. I’d have stuffed it where the sun don’t shine if I thought it would work, but Alex talked me out of it. I’ll tell you what I think. I think you’re full of shit, and this rune is nothing more than a chip of bone you nicked off a goat you ate.” He catches his breath again. “Well? What’s your excuse? I’m dying to hear it.”
Gunnar Magnusson gets up, grabs Freddie by the shoulders, and relocates him from the threshold into our room. He calmly shuts the door and points at the bed. “Sit.”
Freddie huffs, folds his arms, plants his butt on the mattress, and crosses his legs, kicking the top foot like he’s trying to punt a Loki-shaped ball.
Meanwhile, Kenaz has sprung a leak, and it’s dripping into the sex center of my brain. I wipe the corner of my mouth to catch the drool about to escape. Gunnar Magnusson had better put on a shirt before I lose containment in more ways than one.
“What the hell are you raving about?” Gunnar Magnusson asks, towering over Freddie’s wiry form.
Freddie juts his chin at me. “Ask her.”
Gunnar Magnusson turns to me. I sit next to Freddie, careful not to jostle the bed or ruffle his feathers further. The peacock looks like he’s about to flap them in my face and then chase me around the r
oom, biting my ankles in the process.
“Loki?” Gunnar Magnusson prompts. He’s staring down at us like we’re two children who got in trouble for stealing apples. It wouldn’t be the first time. Not for me, at least.
“I think what Freddie is referring to—”
“Don’t you mean Freya?” he interrupts.
I turn to him. “Yes. I mean Freya.”
Gunnar Magnusson drops his arms to his sides. “Are you kidding me right now?”
I sigh, defeated. “No kidding. Freddie is Freya.”
“The Freya? As in the Norse goddess of sex and magic and fertility and war and death—”
My turn to interrupt. “Yes, yes, the very one,” I say fluttering my hand.
Gunnar Magnusson pins his gaze to his friend. “You. Are Freya? Ha!” He tosses his mane back and barks a laugh that shows off his pearly whites and some neck tendons I’d like to lick from bottom to top.
“I don’t know why that’s so funny,” Freddie retorts, “nor do I actually believe it. I have a feeling little Miss Loki has found a way around her so-called ‘truth’ tattoo and made up a real cute story about me. The girl who did her tattoo was a sham, by the way. I could tell by the look in her eye she was no good.”
“You’re right about one of those things,” I murmur, hopefully not loud enough for Skuld to hear, wherever she is. “But I swear, I can’t lie. I wish I could.”
“Exactly what a liar would say. Test her.” Freddie looks at Gunnar Magnusson and points at me. “Go on. Ask her a question you know the answer to and see if she lies.”
Gunnar Magnusson’s blue eyes turn stormy. “Where did you go last night?”
“I stood right outside this room and gave Alex Freddie’s rune. Then I wandered around the parking lot for about twenty minutes, kicking rocks. Then I went into a gas station and talked to the old guy running the cash register. He gave me an expired Little Debbie birthday cake—it was white with colorful dots on it that tasted sweet and the middle had gooey stuff that made me sweat after I ate it—and a pack of cigarettes. He said if I was gonna die tomorrow, I might as well smoke the entire box because cancer can’t kill you that fast if you don’t already have it, which I might. Who can possibly understand the mind of a Norn who’s about to cut your life cord like a dangling, spurting vein so you can bleed out?”
“Hold up,” Freddie says, his voice slightly calmer now. “What’s this about dying? I feel like I skipped a chapter.”
I go over to the table and open my purse. “Here’s the cigarettes.” I hold the package up along with a lighter, which I find fascinating. I flick it and watch the flame dance. Fire has always intrigued me. Just ask Kenaz.
I dig through the various junk in the bag and produce a cellophane wrapper with a few crumbs in it. “These are the remains of the birthday cake. Sorry. I wasn’t up to sharing last night. I had a lot on my mind.”
Freddie looks at Gunnar Magnusson. “Well, that backfired exquisitely. Never mind. I’m still trying to figure out why you kept this vitally important Freya information, which does not seem to have any corroborating evidence, to yourself after I repeatedly asked you to tell me who I was.”
“How did you know you were someone from Loki’s past?” Gunnar Magnusson asks.
This isn’t going to end well.
“I guessed it, and she as much as admitted it in the parking lot after we ate at that Indian place the night we destroyed Nine Realms,” Freddie says.
Gunnar Magnusson turns on me with an expectant look that says, Explain yourself or I’m going to ask you a similar question you don’t want to have to answer.
“Okay, everybody hold on a second,” I say and face Freddie. “Can you and I discuss this in your room with Alex? I think I may be able to help with your memory problem.”
“Fine,” Freddie says and stands up. “But this hurts, Loki. I trusted you. We were road trip sisters. We sang songs together. I helped you when you got your period, for God’s sake. I thought I was your BFF. You let me down. And it hurts. A lot.” His voice quivers at that last bit.
An ice-cold waterfall of shame washes over me. I study my feet. “I know. I’ll do my best to make it right. Give me five minutes?”
“Don’t be late,” he warns and stomps out of the room in a fury.
When the door shuts, I turn to Gunnar Magnusson and choose my words carefully. “I know what you’re thinking. It’s true I kept some things from you. But I have reasons. I’m not ready to share them, but I will when the time is right.”
“These reasons,” he says, eyeing me skeptically, “are they good ones or selfish ones?”
“A little of both,” I admit. “But the more important question is whether I feel justified for keeping said secrets. The answer is yes. And when I explain, I think you’ll understand. Maybe you’ll even empathize with my situation.”
He lowers his head as if sorting through this new information. A smattering of reddish-blond hair, nicely trimmed, thatches over his sick-ass abs. The guy at the gas station told me what “sick-ass” means. I pegged him for an old, uninformed fart, but surprisingly, he was down with the Midgardian kids’ lingo. Deeply entrenched, even.
Gunnar Magnusson’s sick-ass abs jump. More drool jets into my mouth. Gods, I want to lick his chest. Unable to contain my raging libido (thanks, Kenaz), I turn around to avoid falling under the spell of another man from my past.
“Could you please put on a shirt?” I ask.
“No.”
Okay. I deserved that. “Well, could you trust me, then?” I ask the window.
Two hands fall to my hips. Gunnar Magnusson spins me around to face him. It’s hard keeping my gaze north of the boxer brief—Hel’s bells with a jingle-jangle shout-out from the goat horn section. “Those are underwears.” I point.
A frown flits across his lips. “Yeah?”
Heat sears up my neck and infuses my face with a mixture of embarrassment and lust. I gesture vaguely to the door. “I gotta go talk to Freddie and Alex. Don’t be mad. I will explain everything. Some day.”
He sighs. “I’m sure you will.”
“And Gunnar Magnusson?” I say.
He cocks his head to the side.
“Can you get me some more of those Little Debbie birthday cakes? I really liked them, and my stomach wants more. Listen to it, all growly like a bear.” I grab my belly and nod down at it.
“It’s not your birthday,” he says.
“It could be,” I argue. I have no idea when my birthday is, but there’s a one-in-365 chance it’s today.
“Fair point,” he says. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“I need twelve,” I say over my shoulder, grabbing my purse. I drop a wad of twenty-dollar bills on the table. “For me. Get whatever you want for everyone else.”
I leap out of one fire into another as I head to Freddie’s room. Freddie opens the door before I have a chance to knock. He stands aside and gestures with a sarcastic sweep of his arm for me to come in. Alex sits on the bed with Wiggles and Sparky, who both look up at me and hiss.
“See what you did?” Sparky says, nodding to Freddie. “You pissed her off.”
“Royally, dude,” Wiggles adds.
“I know,” I groan. “How many times do I have to say I’m sorry?”
“Are you talking to my cats?” Freddie thrusts an accusing finger under my nose. “How are you talking to my cats?”
“Same way I talk to Huginn. You can do it too.” I gesture to the furry feline fiends. “They’re actually Glitra and Sveifla, your charioteers.”
Freddie looks at the felines. “You can speak?”
“Yes,” they say.
Freddie stares at them blankly.
In an effort to lighten the mood, I lean over and stage whisper to the cats. “He can’t understand you. Which means something isn’t right with his rune.”
“I already told you that,” Freddie argues.
Alex stands up. “He may have his rune, but he hasn’t been awakened.
Until that happens, he’s just a guy walking around with Freya’s magic and no way to use it.”
I was afraid of this. Which is why I told Gunnar Magnusson to search for birthday cakes. I look through the door’s peephole. No sign of him. “I think I can help awaken him. Her. Whatever. I need everyone’s word that no matter what happens, you’ll protect me.”
I glance to Freddie and Alex expectantly.
“From what?”
“Something terrifying.”
“Could you be more specific?” Alex asks.
“Muninn.”
“Odin’s raven? He’s not so bad,” Alex says.
“Maybe if I hadn’t thrown him in the trunk of a stolen car. I’ll wager I’m the last person he wants to see right now,” I say. “Not to mention, he’ll probably tell Odin where I am, which means we’re on an even shorter timeline than before what with my impending death and all.”
“About that,” Freddie says. “I’m pissed at you, but I don’t want you to die.”
Give it a minute, I think. Once his Freya neurons start firing, I’m done for.
Freddie continues, “You’re not off the hook for hiding the Freya thing, but since we’re racing against time for your life, I’ll pump the brakes until that’s resolved. In the meantime, what can we do to help?”
“I’m glad you asked,” I say. “You may be the only one who can help, which is why I need to get in touch with Muninn. And for the record, I have no illusions that you saving my life will void the many vile transgressions my old self placed upon your former person. I shall endeavor to make amends for my misdeeds.”
“Blah, blah, blah,” Freddie says. “We’ll talk about this later. How do we find Muninn?”
“Huginn knows.” I glance at the cats. “Uh, you might want to put those two elsewhere. The less stressful the environment, the better.”
I return to peephole-lurking duty and split my attention between that and the text I’m typing to Darryl Donovan. Bring Huginn to Freddie’s room. There might be birthday cakes in it for you.
He replies immediately. No cake for me unless it’s vegan. On my way.
A triple knock resounds at the door a minute later. Darryl Donovan and Huginn come in.