by S. T. Bende
Though I was still going to kill Tyr and Henrik.
I called my final shot.
“Make it, make it, make it.” Mia crossed her fingers.
“Miss, miss, miss,” Brynn chanted.
I tuned them out, focused on the end game, and took aim. The ball rolled across the felt, bounced off the edge of center pocket, and rolled neatly toward the corner. With a definitive clunk it dropped into the hole, cementing our win and stripping Jason of his title.
“Yes!” Henrik swept me up in his arms, twirling me in a circle before setting me back on my feet. “Take that, Brynnie!”
“Ugh. Congratulations,” Brynn muttered. “Thanks a lot, Freya. Now I have to do his laundry for a week.”
“Gross.” I wrinkled my nose.
“You’re telling me.” She grimaced.
“Congrats.” Jason held out his hand. “That was impressive.”
“It was, wasn’t it?” I flicked my hair, sending a mass of strawberry-blond over my shoulder.
Jason’s eyes twinkled. “You’ll have to show me how you did it.”
“Can’t have you knowing all my secrets.”
The second the words left my lips, I bit down on the inside of my cheek, pumping the brakes before I got both of us hurt. Jason was obviously flirting with me. But his perfekt match had to be somewhere nearby—it was the only explanation for the light show firing up again in my brain. And even if she wasn’t, and even if I did have feelings for him, which I absolutely did not, then acting on those feelings would only end with…
Gods. It would be a disaster.
The Norns had waited until I was of age to confirm me as Goddess of Love and commander of the valkyries, because they’d wanted to make sure I fully understood the contract to which I bound myself. Unlike the rest of Asgard’s titled gods, I performed twin roles that required not only understanding of souls’ individuality and compatibility, but perfekt control over my own world. Forging matches and reducing fear through growing love, while also commanding my army required a focus and awareness one simply could not possess while worrying about a partner. For this reason, my titles came with a stipulation: I was allowed to live among Asgardians, form friendships, and even engage in casual relationships. But I couldn’t align myself with my perfekt match—couldn’t give my heart away—until the Norns decreed that my doing so wouldn’t jeopardize the security of the cosmos. My job, my purpose for being—something at which I was currently failing—was to protect the realms from Chaos by infusing them with Love. It was my duty to safeguard my heart for the good of the realm, so that I would not endanger the security of Asgard.
And duty to Asgard came above all else.
“Tomorrow. You, me, a rematch. What do you say?” Jason pressed.
“I don’t think so,” I said gently.
“Got a better offer? Something more pressing to take care of?” Jason challenged.
I racked the balls while I racked my brain. Duty to Asgard above all else.
I cringed at the realization of what I had to do. Not to avoid alone time with the more irritating Ahlström sibling, which would just be a perk of exhausting my final healing option, but to take a proactive step toward not failing at my job.
“Actually, I have an appointment,” I said calmly. “Or, I think I do.”
“You think you have an appointment?” Jason raised one eyebrow.
“Yes.” Though I’d felt better today than I had in months, I still wasn’t whole. And with Ragnarok now imminent, it was more imperative than ever that I get a grip on my mind. There was one being I hadn’t consulted who might be able to fix me. . . if she was still available. “Elsa, do you think Lornara’s still willing to help us out?”
Elsa’s mouth formed a pert O. I’d rebuffed her fairy friend’s offer for months. But being out of options and out of time made a girl open to crystals, and älva dust, and all the crazy Alfheim’s High Healer would surely bring with her. But if it meant helping my realm, I would do it.
For Asgard.
“Lornara?” Elsa tilted her head to the side. “I’m sure she’d love to help. I’ll call her.”
“Good.” I nodded. “I’m ready.”
“Who’s Lornara?” Jason frowned.
“Work friend.” I waved my hand. “Let’s go. It’s getting stuffy down here.”
“Feeling tense again?” Henrik snorted.
I glared at Tyr’s bodyguard before picking up the dessert plate. As I swept up the stairs, I bit into one chocolate chip cookie, then another, and chewed. “Did we vote on these yet? Mia’s cookies are mouthwatering. Henrik’s came out a little dry.”
Henrik’s mortified gasp made me relent. “Okay, that was a lie,” I admitted. “They’re amazing. But you’re on notice, Andersson. Mess with me, I will go after your baking.”
“Noted,” Henrik grunted. As he jogged up the stairs after me, I heard him whisper to Brynn, “Told you she was mean when she played pool.”
CHAPTER FIVE
BRYNN
GOOD GODS, JASON WAS brilliant. I’d always liked Mia’s brother, but seeing the way he got under Freya’s skin was fan-freaking-tastic. And infinitely entertaining. He was into her—obviously. Not only was Freya a fierce warrior and the living embodiment of love, but she was drop-dead gorgeous. And she was totally avoiding him, which, of course, made him want her even more. Men.
Jason was smart enough to play it cool. He spent the rest of the afternoon alternately ignoring Freya and giving her a hard time. According to Mia, it was his tried-and-tested Midgardian courting technique, and apparently, it had worked really well on the mortals at Jason’s fancy East Coast college. But it just seemed to tick Freya off, which made her twitchy, and uptight and…frustrated.
The Goddess of Love was big time frustrated. Odin only knew how long it had been since she’d been on a date, and this sexy, smart guy was in her house driving her nuts. It was only a matter of time before she cracked.
I couldn’t wait.
“Suit up, Brynnie.” Henrik charged into the kitchen where I was eating another cookie and totally not watching Jason explain to Freya again how very uptight she was, and how she could really do with a spa day, ‘or whatever you chicks do to unwind in California.’
“Suit up?” I mumbled around a mouthful of crumbs. “Why?”
Henrik didn’t say anything more, just raised an eyebrow at Jason before tilting his head to the hallway. With a sigh, I shoved the rest of the cookie in my mouth and followed him out of the kitchen. Looked like my time enjoying the Frey-son show was over.
For now.
“Better be important,” I said. Though with a mouthful of cookie, it sounded more like, “Mehhuhptttf.”
“Say it, don’t spray it, sötnos.”
I narrowed my eyes and swallowed. “Careful, or I’ll say that cookie was dry. Might have been one of yours.”
“Oh, please.” Henrik rolled his eyes. “My cookies have never been dry. Freya’s just in a mood because she hasn’t gotten any in ages.”
“Henrik!” I punched him in the arm. His bicep was so thick, he didn’t even flinch.
“It’s true. But it’s also beside the point. Grab some weapons and a travel pack, and meet me at the drop site in five. You, me, and Tyr are heading to Alfheim.”
“What? We can’t do that. Jason will see the Bifrost.”
“Already on it.” Henrik opened the hall closet and tossed me a jacket. “Mia’s going to distract him in the basement—demand a pool rematch, since he called her soft. It’ll keep him busy long enough for us to get out of here.”
“Fair enough.” I shrugged into my jacket. “Everything okay in Alfheim? Why are we putting on coats? Isn’t it summer there?”
“Should be.” Henrik zipped his own parka up. “But the weird winter pattern’s hit more than just Midgard. Ragnarok is definitely coming.”
I glanced toward the kitchen to make sure Jason wasn’t listening. The last thing we needed was our mortal guest overhearing the end
of the world was nigh.
“I’ll apprise you of the situation on-site. Just suit up and prepare for the worst.”
Awesome.
I charged upstairs, knowing full well details were inconsequential. It was always the same on these missions—drop in, dispel the threat, dispel the secondary threat lurking behind the primary, come home, celebrate with Henrik. All I really needed was my dagger, rapier, and possibly a piece or two of chemical tech. Just in case.
“Hey!” With my blades in place, I poked my head out of my room and shouted toward the man cave, where I assumed Henrik was weaponing up. “Grab the—”
“Already on it!” Henrik stepped into the hallway, shoving the closer into his backpack as he moved. “Who needs beta phase when you can test it on a dragon transfer?”
“Dragon?” I blinked. “I thought Nidhogg called off the dogs? Doesn’t the dragon king owe us for not killing his team in Helheim?”
“He does. And he did.” Henrik shrugged the pack over his shoulders before reaching into the man cave and grabbing his broadsword. We really had to stop leaving those things laying around when we had company.
“Then who’s attacking Alfheim?”
“Rogue team. The scouts haven’t seen this breed before, but odds are they’re working with Hymir.” Henrik holstered the sword and motioned for me to follow him down the stairs.
“I am seriously hating on Tyr’s bio-dad. What’s he done now?” I stomped after Henrik.
“We don’t know. He’s been hiding out since he lost the arm in Svartalfheim, but rumor has it he’s teamed up with a subversive unit—one with access to off-the-grid dragons. No doubt he’s been regrouping since we took Runa into custody.”
I shuddered at the reminder of Runa, Tyr’s biological sister, and the half-giant who’d both unleashed Fenrir on the Fredriksens, and held Elsa captive in her Svartalfheim nightmare-tower. At Tyr’s insistence, Runa’s execution sentence had been converted to a life imprisonment. It had surprised no one that Runa had refused all attempts at rehabilitation, and had spent the last year rocking in a corner of her cell, muttering to herself. Some of us worried she might be communicating with Hymir, but Forse assured us the prison was impenetrable, even by dark magic. And as Justice, he should know.
I so hoped he wasn’t wrong.
“Ja, well. With everything going on, let’s make sure Runa stays in our custody.” I followed Henrik out the front door, leaping off the steps of our cabin’s porch.
“My thoughts exactly.” Henrik jogged alongside me, so we reached the drop site together.
“You ready?” Tyr’s low voice barked. He stood at the edge of the drop zone, the vein over his jaw already bulging with tension. It was going to be one of those missions.
“Always am.” I stepped into the clearing and bit down on the inside of my cheek. Don’t throw up. Don’t throw up. Someday, I’d be rid of my Bifrost sickness. Until then, I’d rely on sheer determination and dumb luck.
And Henrik’s magic hands. He placed one on my lower back as he stepped in behind me. I leaned against him with a long-suffering sigh.
“You got this, sötnos,” he said.
I wish.
“Heimdall!” Tyr leaned his head back and shouted at the sky. “Now!”
With a whoosh of air and a flash of multi-hued light, the rainbow bridge shot down from Asgard. My bones vibrated, nearly sucked right out of my skin, and in one nausea-inducing slurp we were swept out of Midgard, shot across the cosmos, and deposited in a painful heap at the edge of a waterfall in Alfheim.
The scene that greeted me when I managed to drag my eyelids open left me even more nauseous than the Bifrost.
“Hyro! Stop!” I stumbled backward, bumping into Henrik’s back as I took in the sweet teenage fire giant we’d relocated from Muspelheim, breathing fire into the barely moving remains of a baby dragon. The little creature’s chest shuddered with each fresh blaze, and its eyes flickered open to reveal a look of pure agony. I didn’t care what the evil dragons had done to Hyro; nothing justified hurting their young.
“Hyro!” I screamed. “Disengage right this minute!”
“Stay back, Brynn! I don’t want you getting hurt!” The adolescent fire giant held out one pale purple palm. She shot me a look of barely contained terror before turning back to the tiny dragon and sneezing on it. Her sneeze sent a fresh burst of flame across the dragon’s chest.
“Stop it! If you kill that dragon, and it ends up being one of Nidhogg’s, he’ll—”
“It’s not one of Nidhogg’s.” Henrik spoke up from behind me. “I’ve never seen barbs on a dragon’s tail and head, or scales that glow—though that could be because she’s incinerating it. Must be one of the invaders who came through that.”
“Through what?” I asked.
“Turn around,” Tyr grunted.
I spun on one heel to find the boys pointing to a dark, swirling shape that hovered a hundred meters away. Sparks shot from the edges of the wobbly rectangle, smoldering in the dirt of the once pristine meadow.
“Holy skit,” Tyr swore. “Look at this place.”
I glanced over my shoulder at Hyro and the now totally glowing dragon, then turned a quick circle to take in the blackened trees surrounding Alfheim’s tallest waterfall. What had once been a sanctuary was now a war zone, with trees burned to stubs, soot where grass was once blanketed, and a thin layer of ash floating in the air like snow. A solitary green tree stood in the center of the former field, a testament to the beauty that had once thrived here.
“What the Helheim happened?” I raised my rapier to eye level and shifted so my back pressed against Henrik’s.
“Questions later. Duck now.” Henrik’s hand on my arm tugged me downward. A whoosh of brisk air followed by a reptilian screech alerted me to the presence of a second, much larger dragon. This one swooped overhead in a wide arc. As I craned my head to get a better look it sent a stream of fire straight at the lone tree. The trunk went up in flames, incinerating in mere seconds.
Skit.
“Ja, definitely not one of Nidhogg’s,” I concurred. “Unless the treaty’s null and void.”
“Look out!” I shoved Henrik to the side and threw myself into the air, neatly somersaulting away from a fresh burst of dragon breath. “We have to get out of here. Hyro!”
“Don’t worry about me!” She waved her hand again. “The cave behind the waterfall—they haven’t breached the mountain yet. It should be safe!”
Ignoring the fire giant who apparently lacked a self-preservation gene, I leapt to my feet and unzipped Henrik’s backpack. After removing a palm-sized item, I charged toward the gaping black hole in the sky.
“Where are you going?” Tyr shouted.
“I have the closer,” I yelled over my shoulder. “You guys take care of that dragon—and try to keep Hyro from getting killed. Or killing that poor baby dragon. I’ll seal the portal. I hope.” I muttered the last words under my breath, but Henrik’s warning let me know we were on the same page.
“Be careful,” he called. “We don’t know if it’s stable.”
“Don’t I know it.” I ran harder, my boots digging into the soft ash of the charred meadow. The portal was fifty meters away. Twenty-five. Not much longer and I’d be—
“Arugh!”
Searing pain wracked my ankle. I went down fast. My knee struck something hard, sending warm liquid pooling against the thin fabric of my cargos. I held tight to the closer with one hand, and gripped my rapier with the other. A glance at the ground revealed a tangled web of vines—I’d stumbled through what was left of a root system, and though whatever tree it had once belonged to now littered the air with ashy particles, its grounding structure was firmly intact…and firmly buried beneath a thick layer of soot.
Fabulous.
Ignoring the pain now shooting up my right leg, I extracted my boot from the root’s stronghold and limped closer to the sparking rectangle in the sky. A second large dragon shot through the portal, and
I threw myself onto the ground just in time to avoid being taken out.
“Henrik!” I shrieked. “Incoming!”
I had no way of knowing whether he heard me, and had no intention of taking more time than absolutely necessary to seal off this door to…to wherever the Helheim it led. I had to trust that Henrik and Tyr would have this. They always did.
Well, they usually did.
Except when they didn’t.
Work fast, Aksel.
I hurriedly sized up the portal, sheathing my rapier while I worked out coordinates. It wasn’t the standard circular model I’d seen before. This one was framed by four sides, and quartered with navy–grey beams. It more closely resembled an iron door to a hidden garden than an entryway to a dark realm. Only the reddish–purple sparks that shot from its edges, and the overwhelming feeling of despair that seeped through its surface, tipped me off to its dark origins. Well, that, plus all the chargrilled trees surrounding the waterfall. Nothing good could have come from this doorway.
It was time to shut it down.
Raising the closer to eye level, I tapped the button on its side and waited for the green diagram to emerge. Henrik and I had coded this feature to calibrate to the exact specifications of whatever portal it assessed. Once calibrated, it would emit a protoplasm that should envelop the full-scale portal, coat it in a light magic-laced film, and shrink it to the size of a pebble. The pebble could be retrieved and stored in the closer for delivery to Asgard, where it could be studied or destroyed, Odin’s choice. It was one of the more brilliant pieces of technology the Brynnrik brain trust had developed.
Or it would have been, if it had worked.
I clicked the button again. A tiny green flicker appeared at the top of the closer. It flashed twice before extinguishing completely.
No.
My thumb pushed down harder as I willed more than just a spark to emerge. A thin line shot a full three inches from the closer’s top, wavered pitifully, and snuffed out.
Skit.
I clicked again, then again, wondering what the Helheim we’d failed to anticipate when travel-proofing the box for inter-realm transportation. We’d used a Nidavellir-procured metal that our dwarf friend, Berry, had assured us was genuine. That material should have been impervious to elemental adversity, so its functionality shouldn’t have been affected by Alfheim’s atmosphere or the surplus of carbon dioxide from the flambéed foliage. Henrik had placed a buffering charm around the device, so it shouldn’t have been affected by the Bifrost forces, either. Unless I’d somehow screwed up the internal schematics, the tech should have been operational, just like it had been when—