by Cari Z
“Like so many human pastimes,” Sören said. “Do you think I’ll like it?”
I shrugged. “We won’t know until you try it.”
He looked at me curiously. “You seem much better today.”
“I got a little perspective, I guess. A little distance from the stuff that bothered me.”
“And that’s enough for you to let it all go?”
I laughed a little, wondering if my Sören remembered how violent I’d sometimes been during my awful dreams. “No, I don’t tend to let things go. I hold onto them even when I don’t want to, but in this case, it isn’t too hard. I’m trying to win this competition, after all.”
“Very true.” Sören nodded decisively. “Good. Since you’re in the mood to discover things that amuse me, I want to go here.” He handed me a thin pamphlet.
I stared at the roller coaster on the front of it. “Six Flags St. Louis?”
He seemed captivated by the image. “I’ve never been on one of those. I imagine it’s like being in a bolt of lightning.”
“I wouldn’t know.”
“Randall said he thought I would enjoy it.”
“Randall?”
“The child with the game I like.”
How much had Sören gotten done while I’d been sleeping? If I wasn’t careful, I’d wake up tomorrow and he’d be demanding cocaine and a Maserati to sniff it off of. I’d been to a party where that had been a theme once, actually. Fucking Vegas.
“You want to go to an amusement park?”
He tapped the pamphlet. “This one.”
Well, fuck. At least it was on the way. “Um…all right, we can do that.”
Sören beamed at me. “Good!”
Any more revelations were put off by the return of the waitress, who set down two cups of coffee and a little pot of cream and said, “What do you want to eat?”
“A Belgian waffle,” Sören said immediately.
“You want the Slam, or just the waffle?”
“What’s the Slam?”
The Slam was the waffle, butter, syrup, plus two eggs, bacon, and sausages. It was the sort of enormous catch-all breakfast that satisfied when you were getting over a hangover. Sören got all of that, plus whipped cream and strawberries for the waffle. I ordered two eggs, toast, and hash browns. I was hungry, but not that hungry.
The cook must have been bored too, because our breakfast came in less than five minutes. Sören took the first bite slowly, like he wasn’t quite sure what he’d gotten himself into, but then he swallowed and smiled.
“This is delicious!”
“Glad you like it. Get ready to say hello to the wonder of the sugar coma.” I ate my own breakfast as quickly as I could and then got up. “I have a few calls to make. I’ll be right back.” I didn’t think he even noticed, he was so focused on his waffle. I got change for a five and headed to the payphone.
My first call should have been to Phin, but instead I found myself dialing my mother’s number. She didn’t pick up, of course. I hadn’t expected her to. Instead I got the familiar beep of her voice mail. “Hey. I got your text. I…have no idea if I’m doing this right or not. I didn’t really know what I was getting myself into, starting on this.” I glanced back at the restaurant, where I could see Sören through the glass, plowing through what looked like his second waffle. “I’m trying to do the right thing.” I paused, fighting to fit the awkward words into my reluctant mouth. “If I can’t, if I completely fail at this, then…I don’t know, maybe you should think about coming back down to the rest of the world?” My mother had plenty of reasons for keeping to herself, but if I was out of the picture, there’d be one less. “Bye.” I hung up and shook my head. Brilliant conversationalist, me. I put in more coins and dialed up Phin.
He picked up on the second ring. “If this is another telemarketer, I don’t want any of what you’re selling. I don’t need any of what you’re peddling, and if you don’t put me on your ruddy no-call list, I’ll hunt you down, hang you up by your ankles, and skin you alive.”
“I can’t imagine why they’d want to call you, you’re so fucking unpleasant,” I told him.
“Cillian. This about the drop bag?”
“Yeah.” Sort of, mostly. That was all that mattered to Phin, which was refreshing. I liked not having to justify every decision like I would with Marisol. “Can your friend get it to St. Louis?”
“Aye. Standard equipment?”
“I need a new phone in there. The old one’s compromised. Make it two, actually. And a handheld gaming system. And fresh underwear.”
There was a moment of silence. “How about I have him buy you diapers as well, since you’re clearly an infant?” Phin asked sourly.
“How about I tell Marisol the cologne she likes so much on you is actually a bottle of your mother’s perfume?” I retaliated. “Those older scents are so ambiguous, huh?”
“Fine, you bastard.” There was no real heat in his voice. “Where in St. Louis?”
I sighed. “Does your friend know where the Six Flags is?”
Chapter Eighteen
“Six Flags?” Phin repeated. “The theme park?”
“That’s the one.”
The silence was a little longer this time. “I don’t need to know,” Phin muttered at last. “He’ll be there. Look for a rainbow-colored beater with a decal of a mustang on the hood.”
And I was the child here? “Um…okay.”
“Don’t cast stones, Cillian. How long before you’re there?”
Given that I desperately didn’t want to get pulled over again? “Say two, two and a half hours.”
“Fine. I’ll let him know. Call Marisol once you’ve got a new phone.” Phin ended the call on that note, and I left the payphone in a slightly better mood. Lone wolfing it: never again. Not when I had willing―or at least mostly willing―friends who could step in to lend a hand. Thinking I could handle everything by myself was the root of a very deep problem with me, and I needed a reminder every now and then that no, I wasn’t a fucking superhero and it was okay to get help. Not that I wasn’t racking up a lot of debts in my ledger―I knew Andre was going to take the repairs for his car out of my hide―but that was better than failure.
I headed back into Denny’s and interrupted Sören in the middle of what had to be his third waffle. The waitress hadn’t left, just stared at him like she couldn’t quite figure him out. Was he a student getting ready to crash after cramming for a test? A tweaker who’d been up all night on drugs? Maybe someone with an eating disorder, or just a guy with a ridiculous metabolism?
“Check, please,” I said. She nodded and finally walked off, and I turned back to Sören, who was licking whipped cream off his fork. “I guess you like waffles, then.”
“They’re delicious,” he said. “I could eat them every day.”
Nudge nudge, wink wink… “We can probably work that out, but you’re going to have to explain to Sören where his waistline went when this is all said and done.”
The landvættir shook his head. “That won’t be a problem. Human food doesn’t affect me in such a way, and Sören doesn’t need it anymore.” He stuffed the last quarter of a waffle straight into his mouth.
The waitress dropped our bill of at just that moment, naturally. She cocked her head and asked, “Y’all cosplaying or something?”
“Yes,” I said absently, glancing at the total. This was the most I’d ever spent at a Denny’s. I laid down the cash for the meal and a tip and then got up. “Time to go.”
Sören stood with me and followed docilely enough, but once we were out in the car again and headed down the road, he asked, “What’s cosplaying?”
“It’s…” I tried to come up with an explanation that would make sense to him. “It’s making yourself look like someone else, usually someone imaginary. Then you pretend to be that person. I think.” I’d dated a guy for a while who had a special Captain America wardrobe for cons. He’d told me I’d make a great Loki under the right
circumstances. If only he fucking knew, I thought, a little bitterly.
“Why did she think I was doing that?”
“Probably because you were talking about human food like you weren’t human, and regardless of what’s going on in there,” I waved one hand at him vaguely, “the point is you look human right now. So yeah, it comes off a little strange.”
“But I could simply be touched.”
“Touched…what do you mean?”
“Touched.” Sören pressed his fingertips to the center of his forehead. “Touched by a god and changed because of it. Or inspired to prophecy, like you. Or even cursed. Why not assume one of those?”
Oh man, tricky. Especially for someone who longed to be a devotee of the scientific method but didn’t have the stomach to lie to myself like that.
I took the time to think about it and give him a decent answer. “People in America―okay, I don’t know how it is in Iceland, but most people in America don’t believe in that kind of direct connection between gods and humans. Or if they do, it’s in a very strictly religious context, not just something that can happen to anyone. People who claim otherwise tend to be labeled mentally ill.” Like my mother, back when I was taken away from her the first time.
“But what about those who are genuinely possessed, like Sören? Or those who truly are seers?”
“We lie about it,” I said wryly. “We lie our asses off or we call it luck or we hang out with people who are like us and understand these things. That’s one of the reasons I rely on Marisol and―” I stopped, not wanting to bring them into the conversation unless I had to. It was one thing to work with others. It was totally different to expose them to unnecessary risk just because I couldn’t keep my mouth shut.
“Why don’t you use your ability to garner power?” Sören asked. “It would be easy, wouldn’t it? You are framsýnir; you look into the future. This should enrich you.”
“Just because I can do something, doesn’t mean it’s the right thing for every occasion.” Vegas had taught me that.
“Ah.” Sören sounded knowing. “This is related to last night. You handled that policeman, but you were unhappy afterward.”
“Yeah.”
“This quest would be much easier on you if you were properly motivated, like Egilsson.”
Now this was an opportunity I wasn’t going to pass up. “Tell me about that,” I said, turning the radio down some. Getting a better handle on my enemy trumped NPR. “Why did Ólafur Egilsson make a deal with you in the first place? There’s a geas on him―it’s like a curse, isn’t it? What are your terms for curing him?”
“Something like a curse,” he agreed. “Very well, I will tell you. He knows about your abilities, so it’s only fair that you know about his as well. Ólafur’s family line is afflicted with a geas of might and insanity. Long ago, when the gods traveled the world, Thor came to the home of Ólafur’s ancestor. He only asked to stay the night, but the ancestor refused to allow him to rest there unless Thor could defeat him in a wrestling match. He was a very stupid man,” Sören said reflectively, “but very strong.”
“Of course Thor defeated him and then told him that, as punishment for his pride and ignorance, the ancestor’s strength of body would slowly overwhelm his mind. The more he used his might, the less control he would have over it, until one day he would lose himself altogether. Thor left, and the ancestor didn’t think much of his threat, but the next time he got into an argument with someone, his rage overcame him. When he came back to himself, he realized he had killed the man.”
I’d seen as much in Ólafur’s eyes. “This is some sort of berserker geas, right?”
“Yes, exactly. It doesn’t begin to affect those of the blood until they start to quicken to adulthood. The longer they live, the stronger they become, but the easier it is for their bodies to get the better of their minds. They have tried to break the curse for centuries to no avail.” Sören made a little face. “As if anyone other than a god can remove another god’s curse.”
“Then I don’t understand,” I said. “How can you break the curse? You aren’t a god.”
“Not at all.” Sören sounded almost affronted. “Gods wax and wane with the passage of time. I am spirit. I am land. As long as my land exists, so do I. I haven’t broken the curse, I’ve merely…” He searched for the word for a moment. “Absorbed it. Like I did with your wound.”
“You’re holding back their familial madness?”
“I am. And it isn’t easy,” he added with a frown. “The geas is a strong one. That’s why I needed one of Ólafur Egilsson’s bloodline to strengthen me so I could contain it. The fact that I get many of the things I want out of being one with Sören is just another sign of Ólafur’s cleverness in making this deal. He is much smarter than his ancestor was. I can see why he doesn’t want to give up his mind.”
“I guess I can too.” Ólafur Egilsson was a conniving motherfucker, but he’d really planned this shit out. Put into context, I was a wrench in the gears that he wasn’t going to tolerate. It made my spine prickle with paranoia just thinking about it.
“I protect Ólafur, and his remaining sons, in exchange for the freedoms I told you about,” Sören continued on blithely. “The youngest is his sacrifice, and the eldest is his second. They are united in their desire to see the family line remain whole.”
There was a term I hadn’t heard before. “Second? What’s a second?”
“The second has the power to speak for the primary supplicant if he becomes incapacitated, and to offer counsel during negotiations. If Ólafur lost his reason, his son Jakob would step into his position.” Sören shrugged. “It was a wise precaution, but not a necessary one. Your fight for me won’t be compromised for lacking a second of your own. It didn’t help Ólafur. He took his son’s sacrifice for granted, without caring about the love behind Sören’s offering. That offends me. That’s why I’m allowing you to make your play for me.”
Sören smiled. “If you win, you will understand what I am and I will have your respect and fear. If he wins, he will see that he cannot rely on my patience and humility to keep me in line. I am one with his son, but I am not his son.”
“Very clearly.” Fuck, I could barely speak past the sudden dryness of my throat. “If―if Sören hadn’t offered himself, what was Ólafur’s next play? How would he have gotten another son to go along with this?”
“Ólafur Egilsson has four children, all males. Two of them have married and produced offspring of their own. He kept the truth from them for a long time. Had Sören not given himself to me, Ólafur would likely have leveraged the future of his grandchildren as a means of getting another son to offer himself as a sacrifice. They are loving parents, from what little I’ve observed.” When I glanced over at him, Sören’s eyes had gone that misty purple color again. “He is determined to get what he wants. I hope you are equally determined, Cillian Kelly.”
Yeah, I hoped I was too.
Chapter Nineteen
We reached St. Louis by early afternoon, and it wasn’t hard to find Six Flags. Just look for the enormous roller coasters, which I expected I’d be spending some time on. Again, not something I’d done since Vegas. Sören was a bad influence.
He was also impatient. “I want to go in now.”
“You can wait until I get you a phone.” I’d driven through the parking lot three times now and still hadn’t found the rainbow beater with the mustang decal.
“No, look.” He thrust the pamphlet in my face again. “The park closes at six, and it’s already two! If we don’t go in soon, we won’t have time to do anything.” I hadn’t seen a face that pouty since I was looking in the mirror at age fifteen.
Well, I could keep driving in circles and hope that Phin’s friend showed up soon, or I could let Sören head off into the park and trust that he wouldn’t run away or do something dangerous. The memory of yesterday reared its head in my mind: me tied to a tree and the frightening trip down the highway under his drivin
g. Sören wasn’t safe to be around people without a minder. On the other hand, even with a minder, he didn’t seem to be safe.
I sighed and pulled in close to the front gate. “I’ve got to meet my contact, but you can go in.” He had money for the entrance fee―at least it was half price for the afternoon. “If we don’t find each other inside, we’ll meet together outside here at six, okay?”
“Very reasonable,” Sören said, a little smile quirking his lips. “What makes you trust me to return?”
“The fact that you’re still here right now,” I told him honestly. “You could leave me or kill me and get back to Ólafur at any time. You haven’t yet, so you’re still interested in being with me. For now.”
“For now,” Sören agreed. “But perhaps forever. I appreciate…” He paused and considered what he wanted to say. “Your faith in inevitability.”
I shrugged. “That’s fate. Can’t fight it without getting fucked over.”
“We should discuss that sometime when I don’t have a roller coaster waiting for me.” Sören leaned in closer. “And did you know they have paintball here?”
I felt myself pale. “You know what that is?”
“Randall told me.”
“Oh.” That little shit. “Look, I’m not telling you what to do, I’m definitely not, but…”
“But you’d like to.”
“Sometimes.”
Sören laughed. “Your honesty is also appreciated. I won’t break anyone, don’t worry.” He got out of the car and headed for the entrance, still wearing his black suit, although it was significantly more rumpled now. It was still a good look for him.
I shook my head and turned forward, determined not to watch Sören disappear. “Head in the game,” I muttered as I started driving again. Rainbow car, mustang decal…how hard could it be to find?
Pretty fucking hard. I didn’t locate the car for another hour; it was hidden behind an enormous red truck in a far part of the parking lot. Also, rainbow might have been a bit misleading. It was a splotchy mess of primer and a dozen different colors of paint, each one slapped on like the owner was picking a new shade for his en suite. And “mustang decal” was also pushing it. It looked like―I squinted a little. It looked like a My Little Pony.