by Gwen Rivers
I snort. “I knew a twelve-year-old who could kick my butt. Come on, I’ll show you some moves.”
I crouch down into a fighting stance, knees bent, hands facing toward her. We are an army of two, with me as the default commander. I don’t know how long Astrid and I will have together, but I plan to at least teach her how to defend herself. It might pay off in the long run.
After a moment, she copies me. “This won’t hurt the baby?”
Fake baby. “As long as you don’t kick me in the stomach.” I wink. It’s not a gesture I would have made before. Winking and laughing, two habits I’d picked up from Aiden.
Her eyes round and she shakes her head with vehemence. “I won’t, I promise.”
“Good. Now, try and grab my wrists, to hold me still.”
She does and I break her hold almost at once.
She squeaks and leaps back.
“That’s good, you have fast reflexes.”
“I’m not very strong.” Her tone is apologetic.
“The best fighter I know is the fastest.” In my mind’s eye, I can picture Nahini, moving like a blur. “Strength only matters if you can lay hands on your opponent. Now this time, I’m going to grab you.”
I lunge and she darts back. I’m fast too though and I manage to get a hold of her wrists.
She struggles and then steps away.
“Not back. Don’t retreat,” I tell her. “Step into me.”
She does.
“Now, circle your arms in and around, the way I did, to break the hold.”
Astrid does, though not fast enough to get free.
“Try again, but move faster so that I don’t have time to adjust my grip.”
The speed of her movement increases and I fumble my hold enough that she can spring back.
“I did it.” Her eyes are alight with excitement.
“You did. Let’s try again.”
We work for hours. I show her how to break different holds and use whatever is on hand to break free and put distance between herself and her attacker. I don’t bother trying to teach her to attack. Astrid is too worried about hurting me. Our goal is to escape, not take down an army.
She may never become one of Nicneven’s Nymphs but as I watch her move, I feel good that I’ve taught her a valuable skill that might one day save her life.
We’re taking a breather when a hiss stems from the air vents. I leap to my feet, but there is nowhere to run.
“Nic,” Astrid grabs for my arm, panic wild in her eyes.
“It’ll be all right,” I say, even though it isn’t.
But when our eyes meet, I see hers are swirling silver gray. A tear slides down her cheek. Dread fills me.
“If you get the chance to run, Astrid. Don’t wait for me.”
Her lips part but then her eyes roll back in her head. I catch her before she hits the ground. Lowering myself so that I don’t fall, I cradle her in my lap.
“Bastards,” I exhale, swearing that I will one day kill Agent Hanson and all her cronies if it’s the last thing I do.
I awake with the damned hood over my face. Agent Hanson is looming over me, dark gaze laser-focused. My terry sarong is gone. My flesh is covered in goosebumps against the cold metal gurney. My arms are pinned at my sides by the metal bits again.
“You’re an interesting young woman, Ms. Rutherford. A stone-cold killer who spent the last several hours teaching a girl she just met to defend herself. I half expected you would kill the girl, especially when she knew about your offspring.” Her gaze travels down to my stomach.
Fake baby. Mindfuckery. I want to ask her where Astrid is, but speech is impossible with the hood covering my mouth. It dawns on me then that this is going to be a different sort of interrogation. Agent Hanson still wants her answers, but if my mouth is covered, we’ve moved beyond talking.
A medical tech moves around her, putting a sensor down by abdomen.
My eyes go wide as I hear the rabid little thrum thrum thrum from the microphone.
“Your baby’s heartbeat,” Hanson says. “In case you didn’t believe our report.”
Tears sting my eyes. Oh, gods, it’s true. It crashes down on me with the weight of an avalanche. I really am pregnant. Up until this moment, I had ignored it, pushed it aside. But I really am going to have a baby.
Aiden’s baby.
The tech places more sensors, at my throat above my breasts. My adrenaline spikes, the sound of my own rabid heart drowning out the little flutter of the infant. She said she didn’t want to hurt the child. What is she going to do to me?
Hanson dons latex gloves then reaches for my hood’s fastenings. She uncovers my face.
I suck in a lungful of air. “You know not only does the food suck in this place, but the hospitality leaves a lot to be desired. My Yelp review is going to be scathing.”
She ignores my tone. “Tell me where Aiden Jager is.”
“Oh good, an easy one.” I pretend to think about it then hold her gaze. “I have no idea.”
She gets close, not close enough for the kiss I’m longing to give her, but still in my face. “I will break you, Nic.”
I hold her gaze in silent challenge.
“Last chance. Tell me where to find the wolf.”
I force myself not to react. She knows what Aiden is, or at least that he can transform into a wolf.
“I already told you, it wasn’t my turn to watch him. So, what are you going to do to the pregnant teenager?”
In answer, she waves a hand. All the lights in the room dim. Above my head, the ceiling is transformed into the face of a dead man. His cheeks are ruddy and he is smiling.
Goosebumps rise up on my arms. Familiar faces.
“You were found by hikers in the Black Forest.” Agent Hanson circles around the table. “Just six-years-old. The one who stayed behind to wait for you was found dead. No apparent cause of death for a healthy thirty-two-year-old man. Left behind a wife and two young sons.”
At her words, the image shifts to the man and his family. The woman is dark-haired but the boys have the same sandy blond hair and ruddy cheeks as their father.
Hanson leans over me. “Care to tell me what happened to him?”
I force myself to stare at him. He looks like a model on a photo booth wall, not the man who’d tried to exchange a chocolate bar for sexual favors with a child.
“You said it yourself, he died.”
She leans in closer. “It’s the how I’m curious about. Do you regret this man’s death?”
Do I regret offing a pervert? No. “What do you think? I’m psychologically scarred by that encounter.”
Her full lips turn up. “I think you lack remorse. I think you are devoid of compassion. I think you’re glad he’s dead. I think you’re some sort of vigilante and you and your boyfriend have been at this for a very long time.”
The image flicks over to a blonde woman in a white dress with red flowers. She’s standing barefoot on a beach. “Do you know who that is?”
When I shake my head the image enlarges. “Look closely. Something about her must seem familiar.”
My lips part. “Is that…?”
“Your mother. The woman who gave birth to you.”
I have had two mothers. One is Underhill, the deathless realm whose life force is tethered to the land beyond the Veil. She was the mother to Nicneven, the Queen of the Unseelie Court. When I died, Aiden merged her soul with that of an infant girl so I could be reborn as Nic Rutherford, current prisoner of the FBI.
“Her name was Sophie. Sophie Ann Nesbit. Do you know how she died?”
I stare up at her, barely breathing.
“She was killed by a creature like you. One who could kill by no means we can detect. She left behind an infant son and a husband.”
Aiden had told me my birth mother had passed away. I’d never once thought to ask about the how. And she’d been killed by magical means?
Underhill. It had to be.
But Underhill c
ouldn’t reach through the Veil. So, who could have done it?
“Does it bother you to know that an innocent woman died because she brought you into this world? You might as well have killed her yourself.”
The image shifts again, this time to a little boy. So thin I can count every rib through his grubby t-shirt. “Do you know who this is? His name is Garret Stevenson. You should know him. You killed his mother. And after she died, he went to live with an uncle. The man had a gambling addiction and he left Garret alone and locked in his room. He died trying to climb out of a fifth-story window.”
My lips part. The mother with Munchhausen’s-by-proxy. I had patted myself on the back for having helped that boy, kept him from a slow, painful death at the hands of the woman who was supposed to care for him.
What was it Addy always said? When your time is up, it’s up.
The images turn into a video. Flashes of the crime scenes. No blood, I didn’t draw blood. But the bodies, the sightless eyes that transitioned to their loved ones.
A web of death and misery. And I was the spider who’d woven it.
“Ma’am? Her heart rate is erratic.” A tech says to Hanson.
The woman’s hawk-like gaze is on me. “The child’s?”
A pause. “Stable.”
Hanson stares down at me, her gaze pitiless. “Then we proceed.”
Aiden stares down at the small glass in his hand. Freedom from the wolf. Safety for Nic.
Death for the fey.
He holds Freya’s gaze, then slowly turns the cup upside down, pouring the liquid across the fluffy carpet.
Her nostrils flare in outrage. “You fool. Do you have any idea what I had to go through to procure that for you?”
“Put. Me. Back.” Midgard, Underhill, he doesn’t much care where she deposits him as long as it’s away from these soulless creatures that call themselves gods.
She rises and moves to stand before him. Unlike Nic, she’s the same height as he is and holds his gaze with her own steady one. “It’s not so simple. There is no way back, not for you.”
“You got me here.” He frowns in thought. Heimdall, the watcher, isn’t a fan of Aiden or anyone in his family. And his is the only hand that can operate Bifrost.
“Who put the Bifrost in my bathwater?”
Freya’s lips curve up seductively. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you. So, I’ll show you, instead.”
A figure moves forward, a familiar purple-skinned figure.
“Harmony?” he blinks, stunned.
Freya moves to the seer’s side. “She has been my faithful servant for centuries.”
The fey woman stares at him in the most unnerving way, as though she wishes to apologize. And is that longing he sees in her gaze?
He shakes his head, unable to believe the seer had turned on them. “You swore your loyalty to Nic.”
Harmony’s dark hair and purple skin stands out like a splash of paint against Freya’s colorless decor. “Actually, that doesn’t sound like something I would do, since I can’t lie.”
“You swore not to betray her.”
She shakes her head, her tone insistent. “And I haven’t. I said I would be part of her court, but that was all.”
He stares between the two women, wondering at their connection. Harmony Goldfeather is a rare beauty and normally, Freya’s vanity would cause her to subjugate someone who might outshine her own attractiveness. There is more to this relationship than meets the eye.
“So why trap me?”
“Haven’t you been listening, Váli? You are the key to unbinding the trickster. Underhill will stop at nothing to possess you.” Harmony holds his gaze, demonstrating no remorse for her actions. “I have seen it come to pass, the destruction, the chaos. You must stay here.”
“The hell I will.” Aiden leaps across one of the pillow strewn chaises and bolts for the door.
He doesn’t make it. Freya sighs and uses her magic to toss him to the floor. He slides into a wall face first. There’s a crunch in the region of his nose and blood streaks the pristine marble.
“What a mess,” The goddess puts her hands on her hips. “See what you made me do? Obstinate fool.”
Another flick and he sails into the other wall. Another crunch, this time in his shoulder. Dislocated for sure.
“Stop,” Harmony falls to her knees beside him. “You said you wouldn’t hurt him.”
Freya moves forward, blue eyes narrowed. “I’m not hurting him. He’s hurting himself.”
Aiden lunges up and snags Harmony into his grip, wrapping his useless arm under her chin and preparing his good arm to twist. “Release me or I’ll snap her neck.”
Freya actually smirks. “Go ahead. She’s served her purpose.”
Aiden doesn’t relent. She might be bluffing.
Another wave of her perfect hand and then the breeze is suddenly cut off as the doors shut with a bang. “The temple is warded, no one can come or go unless I say so. And if your wolf wakes cranky and thinks to kill me, let him know he will be trapped in here until the end of time.”
With that, she vanishes.
“Damn you, you heartless bitch.” The goddess was more selfish than he recalled.
Harmony makes a soft noise. “Go ahead, Váli. Kill me.”
“I should,” he snarls. “If not for you, I’d be in Midgard right now with my mate.”
She doesn’t plead or beg or offer any explanation. She waits for his decision in total silence.
He huffs out a breath and releases her. Stumbling to the nearest arch, he slams his shoulder back into the socket. A wave of dizziness washes through him and he sinks to the floor.
A tearing sound causes him to look up. The seer rips another strip off her dress and then offers it to him.
“Are you all right?”
“I’ll live.” He holds the fabric to his broken nose. “Why are you helping her?”
“I told you—”
He cuts her off. “Freya is only interested in the welfare of one person—Freya. You’re too intelligent to have missed that fact when she told me to kill you just now.”
Her jaw clenches.
“Help me escape here. Help me reach Nic.”
She swallows, looks away. “I can’t.”
Can’t, not won’t. Centuries of dealing with the fey have made Aiden aware of the importance of word choice. “Did you have a vision? Something specific about me? You know as well as I do that visions of the future can change.”
She holds his gaze and her tone is sincere as she murmurs. “They can. But in all of mine, you die.”
What’s Love Got to Do with It
Someone is singing. A sweet, light voice. It pulls me out of the darkness.
Long ago and far away
In a field kissed with golden sun
A sprite flitted from branch to flower
and there she met the one
Her love as fresh as a summer breeze,
her heart as big and warm
His eyes guileless and serene
gave no hint to the coming storm
Together they danced and laughed and played
until the light faded from view
For then he turned into a monster there
and she, his victim anew.
A hand is on my shoulder, shaking me awake. “Nic? Are you all right?”
Sensing a presence, I surge up from my hidden place inside, ready to kill whoever is near. So much loss, so much pain. Do intentions really matter when you spread misery around like pollen?
It’s unforgivable.
I attack. It’s all I know how to do.
“Nic.” A feminine voice. Not Agent Hanson.
Astrid. The Norn girl. I’m choking the life out of her.
“Sorry,” I gasp and roll away from her. Those bastards. They fucked with my head and then dumped me back in with her. Are they hoping I will kill her?
Can I even kill her? Norns are not of this world.
Her eyes are
huge. “What did they do to you?”
“Nothing I didn’t deserve.” I close my eyes and imagine my mother’s face. Not Underhill. Sophie Ann Nesbit. Killed because she gave me life.
Astrid is quiet, sitting in a corner, arms wrapped around her legs.
“Are you okay?”
She nods but doesn’t speak.
Normal. I have to bring the tension down for both our sakes. I cast around for an idle topic of conversation. The girl has no family, and doesn’t want to talk about her gifts. Understandable, even if I am still suspicious. “Tell me… what’s your favorite food?”
“Chocolate,” she whispers.
A smile creeps out. “I have an aunt who is a total chocoholic. She once ate five pounds in one sitting. Special dark, with almonds. I thought she was going to be sick.” I vividly remember Chloe had bitched about an excruciating stomachache for days after. “Just kiss me, Nic and put me out of my misery.”
“Why did she eat so much?” Astrid sounds intrigued.
“She’d made a bet with my other aunt, Addy, that she couldn’t go without eating chocolate for a solid month. Well, she made it and then gorged when the month was up.”
“Your aunts sound so awesome.” Her sigh is wistful.
“They are.” My throat closes up as I think about Addy. Is she still alive?
I know it is possible to kill a Norn. Addy and Chloe had annihilated the third sister, Lachesis. They’d done it because she’d broken the cardinal rule of the Fates and tampered with mortal destiny.
Just as Addy had done for me.
“What’s wrong?” Astrid asks.
I shake my head. “It’s nothing.”
She frowns. “Nic, you don’t need to protect me.”
Except I do. But she’s right, I shouldn’t handle her with kid gloves. “Okay, well, I’m trying to figure out how to spring us from this place. Got any ideas?”
She shakes her head.
“Yeah, me either.” Some freaking magic would come in handy right about now. Screw you and the horse you rode in on, Mom.
“Where would you go?” Astrid asks.
“Back to my family’s farm.” And from there across the Veil and into Underhill where I would kill the treacherous Underhill once and for all.