by Evie Kent
“Okay then.” The witch pulled away, then dragged one of the barstools out from under my peninsula and hopped on. “Let’s discuss the specifics of the spell, then.” She set her phone on the counter and swiped her finger across the screen, tapping in the four-digit code to unlock it. “But first, let me pull up my bank account for the transfer…”
29
Nora
“It seems a shame to destroy such a beautiful village.”
Cloaked under Helga’s camouflage spell, making us not quite invisible but completely indiscernible from the surrounding environment, I stopped my slow, careful creeping through the snowy pines to face her. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
The witch shrugged, jostling the huge bag hanging off her shoulders, overloaded with supplies for the spell to break Loki’s curse. Pretty easy to go overboard on all the herbs and stones and crystals and ceremonial blades with half my net worth in her bank account, but whatever.
“I’m just saying,” she said with a nod to the village nestled in the valley to our right. “I’ve never seen anything like it—a true blend of old Norway and the new. It could be a nice tourist destination—”
“Helga.”
“I know, I know. I’m only half-serious, I promise.” She held up her hands innocently, which were covered in ancient symbols drawn in henna by a crone from a friendly Oslo coven. Protection, apparently, from Loki’s influence, while a few of the other runes enhanced Helga’s innate power. I, meanwhile, had been carrying all our fucking supplies for the last week as we hiked the exact route I’d taken when I first escaped, all the way back to Ravndal, with a few shortcuts suggested by my witchy companion along the way. No runes. No protection symbols. I relied entirely on her to ensure none of the villagers saw me again; the day before we left Oslo, I could have sworn someone was following me around the grocery store.
Hello, intense paranoia. Welcome back.
In the last week, I’d wondered more times than I cared to admit if Helga was in league with those assholes, and here she was, just bringing me back, taking half my money and serving me up for them like a fucking sociopath. We got along fine enough, both knowing when to chat about anything but our current situation and when to give each other space. I’d hauled two tents out here, allowing us time apart each night, and so far she felt… trustworthy.
But when it came to Loki, I trusted no one. Every human out here had screwed him over, and Helga was descended from the very witch who had started this nightmare. Until the deed was done, there was always time for a little grisly betrayal.
Speaking of grisly…
My gaze flitted to her belt, from which hung a wonky silver blade. Braided leather wrapped loosely around her hips, and this morning she had emerged from her tent wearing a long green dress and a fur that she said was wolf skin, her blonde locks woven into a crown around her head. I felt like I’d been hiking the final leg with an extra from some historical drama, but hey, whatever she needed to do to perform the ritual, I was game. Want to look like you just strolled off the set of Vikings? Be my fucking guest.
The March snows didn’t seem to faze her one bit. Meanwhile, even though I had been through what I hoped was the worst of Norway’s long, dark winter, I still wasn’t used to the biting cold. My cheeks burned as we stood at the tree line, peering down into the valley of Ravndal. Up here, the snow climbed to my knees and soaked the bottom of Helga’s dress, her animal-skin boots. All those pretty houses below, the plowed fields, the lawns—green. Lush. Like winter hadn’t touched them. Hell, it was somehow a smidgen brighter out here than it was everywhere else, the sun seeming to last longer, the air warmer. Loki gave these people so much, and in return they fed him lies, denied him modern tech, and held his consorts captive for the rest of their lives.
To the right of the village, that mountain soared. Snowcapped and ominous, it loomed over everything. Overshadowed everything. Torches illuminated the path from Ravndal up to Loki’s tomb, each one connected by chains from the base of the hill to the mouth of the cave. Almost a year ago, men in masks and robes had shoved me in a box and dragged me up that exact path, the rocky grit making the crate bounce, making my stomach churn. When I climbed it today, it would be for the last time.
“Are you ready, Nora?”
A burst of adrenaline left me light-headed, and I grabbed at a nearby pine to steady myself. Climbing that hill would be the last of anything I ever did, really, and the thought had my heart racing, my knees weak. Once we started, there was no going back. Not that I wanted to, but I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t scared of the ritual, about what would happen to me at the end of it, right before the curse broke.
But it was for the greater good. And… for him. I missed him. In the five months since I’d last seen Loki, I missed his smile, his laughter—the patronizing and the authentic. I missed his sourdough loaves and the sex. I missed his mouth on my skin, his hands in my hair. I missed the way I caught him looking at me in the quiet times, thoughtful and affectionate and real.
Yes, I was fucking terrified of what was to come—but I would make this sacrifice for him, for his freedom, and for the good of mankind.
Not that I saw myself as a martyr, but—
“Yeah,” I said softly when Helga nudged at my arm, the touch forcing me out of my head. Swallowing hard, I readjusted my ten-ton backpack, then sighed. “Yeah, let’s do this.”
Wordlessly, Helga raised her hands, the sigils darker than the world around us. Seconds later, a raging fire broke out in the main building down in the village—where they had forced me, sobbing and begging and fighting on a bum ankle, into a crate. Flames exploded from the rooftop and licked the dark horizon. Below, tiny figures raced from their homes, alarms ringing, when suddenly another fire erupted, this time on the opposite end of the valley. The witch at my side moved her hands gracefully, like a conductor gently guiding her musicians, and before long, six fires raged throughout the village.
“That should keep them busy,” she mused, taking in her handiwork with a slight frown. I had no clue how Helga personally felt about this, about freeing a damned god and turning on the villagers who had kept him docile in his cage all these centuries, but I also didn’t give a fuck about her opinion. She wasn’t doing this out of the goodness of her heart or because she thought Loki should be free. She was doing this because I offered to pay her, to lift her out of her crushing debt, and that meant she didn’t get an opinion.
“Let’s go.” I slid my night-vision goggles back on, then grabbed her sleeve and started down the steep slant out of the forest, mindful of rocks and roots. No need to sprain another ankle out here.
Not that it really… mattered.
It wasn’t like I’d be walking away from this.
Once we were out of the snow, we moved at a steady clip, jogging over landscape that smoothed the nearer we came to the village limits. The raw, wild beauty of Norway’s woodlands had been tamed here, the ground level, the grass frozen but thick and green. As fires burned, smoke billowing into the sky, more alarms sounding from the village, we veered right, headed onto the gentle hill to the cave’s opening. Halfway up, I glanced over my shoulder, then stopped when I spotted a familiar face.
Oskar.
Limp-running with a cast still wrapped around the calf Loki had snapped all those months back. Of course the bastard suspected something.
Before I could point him out, Helga set a fire across the base of the path, one that stretched from one side to the other, then blazed up all the chains around us. I hissed, the fire brutal on the infrared, and yanked off my goggles.
“They definitely know something’s up now,” I muttered, blinking the flashing lights out of my field of vision, mildly annoyed that she hadn’t given me any warning. Heat engulfed us from either side, blanketing Helga and me in a brilliant orange glow. She said nothing, her jaw set, the breeze toying with wisps of her hair, with the wolf pelt wrapped around her shoulders. For a moment, she looked so ancient, so worldly, the
fire sparking brightest in her golden eyes.
Until she shook her head, a twenty-one-year-old woman of this day and age once more, and then started up the hill again. I followed, goggles hanging off my gloved fingertips, and ditched the huge backpack as soon as the cave’s opening was close enough. Free of the burden, I sprinted the rest of the way, bypassing a crouched Helga. She loitered at the moss-shrouded mouth, digging into her bag and preparing for the ritual, while I blitzed into familiar territory, heart in my throat.
I stopped as soon as I passed inside. Being back in here, even on the other side of those fucking bars, knocked the wind out of me. So dark. So depressing. Memories came flooding back, emotional reminders of what I’d suffered in here, how Loki continued to suffer while I was gone. The gate stood tall and proud like always, caging in the beast, and I bit the insides of my cheeks, hating the sight of them. To my left, a red light blinked from a nook in the wall. Scowling, I faced it head-on and flipped the camera off. Fuck you. Fuck all of you.
“Loki?” My call echoed into nothingness, and I padded closer to the bars, heart lurching when everything suddenly lit up from the inside. Soft white light spilled up to the landing, followed by swift footsteps, bare feet on stone. I wrenched off my gloves and tossed them aside, waiting, shaking, staring hard at the figure that rose into view.
He had let his hair grow out. Auburn waves, messy and unkept, trundled down to his shoulders, and he stopped a few feet from the bars, face in shadow—but even that couldn’t hide the scruff. Shirtless, beautiful, he appeared to be wearing the same black pants I’d last seen him in, only they were rolled up his calves.
We stared at each other for a beat, and then Loki strode right up to the bars, blinking tired eyes like he wasn’t sure if he was awake or dreaming. I just stood there, rooted, knowing that if I approached the bars, I’d probably electrocute myself before the ritual even started trying to get ahold of him.
“What are you doing?” he rasped, voice thick and strained—unused. He looked me over hurriedly, top to bottom and back again, and then reached through the bars. “What…?”
Loki took it, the electricity’s warning, flesh sizzling red as his fingers groped out for me.
And then his arm fell. His mouth tightened. He retreated a few paces, shaking his head.
“Go home, firebird.”
I sniffled, not bothering to keep the tears at bay, not fighting the smile that stretched my mouth too wide. Excitement made me shiver, the cold a thing of the past, my heart whole again. “No, I promised.” Sniffing again, I gestured back to Helga without looking to her, just listening to the clink and clatter of her ritual tools. “I did it. I found her, and we’re going to get you the fuck out of here.”
Loki gawked at me, the slight twitch in his cheek the only tell that he had heard a word I’d said. Dragging off my wool cap, I tossed it aside and smoothed my staticky hair. I had kept it loose—just for him. Maybe after, he could… run his fingers through it like he used to, like he did when he thought I was asleep.
“What, cat got your tongue?” I babbled, my words tainted by the shitstorm inside. They quivered, same as me, with excitement, relief, nerves, and gut-wrenching fear. But I forced out a watery laugh, wanting to keep the mood light and happy—or I’d crumble. Only it sounded fake, even to my ears, and made Loki’s frown deepen. He stalked back to the bars, glowering at the witch behind me, and just as he drew a breath, lips parted, something on the tip of his tongue, Helga called my name.
“We can start,” she announced when I glanced over my shoulder. Situated some fifteen feet from the bars, a huge shallow obsidian bowl sat at her feet, incense burning around it, surrounded by black sigils painted on the floor that mirrored those on her hands. Even all the way over here, I could smell the herb concoction in that bowl, earthy and piney and reminiscent of the Norwegian woods I’d spent so much time in—too long for my liking.
“What are you…?” Loki glared down at the bowl for a moment, then looked back to me, shaking his head fiercely. “No, firebird. No. What’s happening?”
Helga’s hurried whispers tickled my ears, an old and foreign chant falling from her lips as she brought the ceremonial blade to her palm, then dragged it across her skin. Blood dribbled and pooled, and she deposited it into the bowl, dousing the herbs. So. It had begun, then. Swallowing thickly, I turned my back on her and focused on Loki. The plan had been for him to keep up the charade, to trick the villagers into thinking I was still here after I’d left, but he had let himself go. The long hair. The coarse scruff. He’d lost weight, seeming paler, sadder, and thinner than I remembered.
I hated to see it now, hated to imagine him wasting away to nothing while I, what, carried on living my life like he didn’t exist? No. A tear cut down my cheek, and my sniffle dragged his furious green gaze back to mine.
“It’s time to get out, Loki.”
“But at what cost?” he hissed, pressing up to the bars, hands wrapped around them, chest taking their crackling sting like it was nothing. Obviously he suspected something was up. He knew my moods, my expressions—knew the sound of my voice when I was on the verge of breaking apart in his arms.
“Nora.”
With a small smile, I drifted back to Helga, never once taking my eyes off him. Loki stiffened as the witch helped peel away my outer layers—the winter jacket, the scarf, the double sweaters that had kept out the Norwegian chill during the last week. Right down to the interior thermal wear, which I shed as well, leaving me in just my bra and underwear. To him, I must have looked so much better: fuller, thicker, healthier. We had gone in opposite directions the last five months, and that wasn’t about to change anytime soon.
“Firebird, stop,” he growled as I braced against the cold, skin littered with goose bumps, my teeth starting to chatter. Taking a deep breath, I quieted them, quieted my hammering heart and my racing mind.
“I love you,” I told him, wishing I had said it sooner—that we had more time to be in love with each other. Loki’s arms dropped, hands limp and scorched at his sides. After a beat, the shock passed, replaced by a tightness around his mouth, his hands in fists. I licked my lips, all the pieces of our story falling into place before me, resolve warming in my belly. “I love you, and you should be free—”
“Only a fool loves a god,” he argued, his tone harsh, bitter—unnecessarily cruel. “It always ends in…”
Disaster. Heartache. Death. Yeah. I knew that. Our eyes met, and realization sparked between us, his suspicions proven correct.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. He ought to know that—I had chosen this, agreed to it, walked in here with my eyes as open as my heart.
“No, it’s not,” Loki snarled, grabbing at the bars again, yanking, tugging, the corded muscle up his arms going taut. Slowly, the metal warped, but it didn’t matter. Those weren’t keeping him trapped in here. He pulled harder, more frantic as I unclasped my bra and let the straps slide down my arms. “Firebird, go home. I’ll stay here. You don’t have to… Go home.”
Bra on the floor with the rest of my gear, I raised my hand, hating the way it shook even as things started to settle inside, an unnerving calm sweeping through my veins. “Quiet and dignified, remember? You told me some deaths can be—”
“Fuck what I said!” Loki wrenched one bar out completely, his fingers blistered, electricity in the air as he hurled it aside. “Get the fuck away from her!”
I had never seen him so animated, so powerful as he bellowed at Helga in rapid-fire Norwegian. A few words sunk in, but the rest flew right over my head, devolving from a modern dialect to something else entirely. The witch behind me fell silent, and when I glanced back, I found her shaking.
“Don’t stop,” I murmured, hooking my thumbs around my underwear’s waistline and tugging the cotton down. As soon as I stepped out of it, I shuffled closer to her, and my heart skipped a beat when she brought the knife to my throat. Just hovering. Not close enough to do any damage yet, but we were there—one final
step away from breaking Loki’s chains.
The death of a loved one.
Sacrifice in its highest form.
Willingly given.
“I love you,” I said, our eyes locked and my voice thick. Loki shook his head at me, gritted his teeth, wrenched another bar out and tossed it aside, but I kept going. “When I’m gone, please do good. I know you can. You can save people. Please. Don’t waste your freedom.”
“This is absurd,” he snarled as he tried to shoulder through the opening that was still too small. “Put the fucking blade down, witch.”
“Are you sure, Nora?” Helga whispered to me. This was my chance—the moment that could change everything. He didn’t want me to do it. Helga was willing to walk away at any point, my bank transfer pending into her accounts.
But looking at him, thinking back on all he had done, all he could still do, the fear dried up. The tide inside ebbed, leaving nothing but smooth sand clear on to the horizon. This was the right thing to do for everyone.
Loki deserved to be free and whole again.
And I loved him enough to give him that.
“I’m sure,” I murmured. Loki cracked a third bar, splitting it down the middle, electricity dancing up his arm.
“No!” His roar made the mountain shudder, made the ground quake. “No!”
“Be good,” I told him, stiffening when the silver dagger found my throat. Lips wobbling, I sought out his eyes, even as mine flooded with tears. “Be good for your firebird.”
Helga struck, slashing the blade across my throat. Blood spurted like a bright red firework. Pain exploded through my every cell.
And as I collapsed to my knees, numb with shock, a god screamed my name.
30
Loki