by Cari Z
Sören’s frown deepened, and I knew I was on the right track.
“But you want the competition. You want it for not just yourself but for Sören―you told me as much already. You care about him, so you care about what happens next. He won’t be happy if you throw me to the wolves. So you’re staying with me, even though I’m not doing exactly what you want tonight, which means that yeah, I trust you in my vehicle. At least, I trust you not to leave me here without any way to compete for you. So go. Lean a seat back, stretch out in the backseat―fuck, pop the trunk and get cozy for all I care. But I can’t go any farther tonight. I’m exhausted, okay? I’ll do better tomorrow, I promise.”
Sören stared at me for a long moment, maybe trying to evaluate the truth of what I was saying, maybe so he could try to intimidate me into getting up. I broke the eyeballing contest after about a minute and rolled over onto my side, away from him.
He huffed. “Fine,” he said at last. “But no more camping after this.”
“Deal.”
“And I want waffles tomorrow.”
“You got it.”
“With all of the extras.”
I could just imagine the expressions on the face of whoever was unlucky enough to serve us breakfast tomorrow. “Done. Waffles with everything.”
“Good.” For a moment there was no sound but crickets chirping, and then all of a sudden, he was pressed to my back, cool and soothing against my itchy, sweat-soaked skin. His lips touched my ear, and I stopped breathing. “Thank you, Cillian.” Then Sören got up and headed back to the car, taking his sleeping bag with him. I heard him recline a seat, put his feet up on the dash―Andre was seriously going to kill me―and then… Nothing. Sleep, or stasis, or whatever he called it. I was alone.
That was good, because honestly, Sören had a point when he called this uncomfortable. I wasn’t a kid anymore, who could fall asleep on anything and stay that way for hours. I rolled around on my sleeping bag, trying to find one position that was marginally more comfortable than another, but it was futile. My body was run ragged, but my mind couldn’t stop turning over the day’s events, considering and reconsidering and trying to fruitlessly strategize about―nothing. There was just nothing. Nothing more that I could do to prepare, except for getting in touch with Roger the Oil Man, and that had to wait until I was sure Bobby could do what I needed.
I finally gave in and grabbed my new cell phone. If things went well, Sören and I would be in New Mexico by tomorrow, and I needed advice about Bobby. Happily, Marisol’s number was one I had memorized. Not that my other phone was being tracked that I knew of, but I wasn’t going to take chances with it unless I had to.
She picked up on the first ring. “Cillian!”
“How did you know it was me?”
“The cards told me you would call. Where the hell are you?”
I rolled onto my back and tucked my free hand under my head, finally feeling some of the day’s tension leave me as I basked in Marisol’s concern. “On my way to Bobby.”
“And you’re okay? Not shot again?”
I frowned. “No, I’m not shot. What have those cards been telling you?”
“Lots of swords and pentacles in bad conjunction, cielito.” I could almost see her head shake. “You’re really okay?”
“I’m still here,” I said, not as comforting as I could be, but really, I wasn’t capable of doing better right now. “So’s Sören. We’ll be in Santa Rosa tomorrow, I hope. Any advice on how to reach Bobby? Is he still out in the desert?”
“Last I heard, yes. But I thought about it, and you know, he’ll probably answer if you use the gong, so it’ll be all right.”
“The…gong.”
“Yes, the gong! What, did I stutter?” she demanded. “You know where his place is?”
“Vaguely.”
“Two and a half miles past the Blue Hole down County Road 7, another half mile to the east when you see the rock shaped like a turtle,” Marisol clarified for me. “He’s got a gong set up outside his little hut. It’s only to be rung in dire emergencies, according to him, but I think your situation qualifies. You hit it, and he’ll hear it and come back to meet you. I’m pretty sure, at least.”
That was way better than going out into the desert to try to find Bobby myself. “Great. Thanks, Marisol.”
“You’re welcome.” She sounded subdued, though. She wasn’t even scolding me anymore, and she never missed an opportunity to do that.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, nothing.” Marisol laughed faintly. “Too much tarot on the brain, I think. Listen, honey, if you can’t reach me over the next few days, don’t worry about it, all right? I’ve got some business to take care of, so I might be out of reach for a while. But I’ll be fine. All right?”
She wasn’t exactly lying, I could tell that much over the phone, but there was something in her voice that wasn’t right. “What’s going down?”
“Nothing, honey! I don’t know anything for sure, and it’s better not to go borrowing trouble. Don’t worry about me. Just do what you need to do. I’ll talk to you again soon, okay?”
I wanted to force the issue, but my fatigue was finally winning out over my brain. “Okay. If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure, Cilly. I love you.”
“Love you too.” Marisol hung up, and I put the phone down, frowning. There was nothing I could do from here, I knew that, but the way she sounded…
I fell asleep thinking about Marisol, and dreamed of her pancakes. It was my best rest in days.
Chapter Twenty-Three
It took us two days to get through Missouri, Oklahoma, a sliver of Texas, and finally end up in Santa Rosa, New Mexico. Two days for what should have been a eighteen-hour drive, because ha-fucking-ha, there was no way I should have expected Sören to sit in the passenger seat and play with the Nintendo. No. He preferred to google bad roadside attractions with his phone and then try to compel me to go there by bitching nonstop, or occasionally just staring at me with cloudy purple eyes until I gave in. Not that I could give in, because―hello―no distinguishing locations for the sorceress to track, which led to several arguments before he gave up.
“Next time,” I promised him. “After we’re not being hunted down by your dad’s soothsayer, I’ll let you plan a road trip, and we’ll waste time all over the country, but for now, we just can’t. Not if we don’t want your brothers crashing the party.” I let him read to me about the exhibits as a poor substitute for seeing them in person.
Springfield, Missouri yielded pictures of a giant Solo cup and a three-story fork, because enormous dinnerware―sure, why not?
Sören actually looked a little wistful as he stared at them. “There are no giants in this land, are there?”
“Not that I know of.”
“It is a pity. One lived next to me back home. She was an excellent neighbor.”
I honestly didn’t know if I could take him seriously or not. “You lived next to a giant?”
“A jötunn. Ice giant. When Ragnarök comes, she will rise up and fight against the gods.”
“Do you really believe in Ragnarök?”
Sören turned and stared at me. “You don’t? How do you think the world will end?”
I tried not to think about that, actually. “I don’t know. Nuclear war? Global warming? Pandemics or famine?”
Sören shook his head. “I suppose it makes sense, you seeing things from such a limited perspective. Those are very human concerns to have. But you see beyond human concerns as well. This world will end in battle, in ice and flame and wrath and the blood of many gods.” He sighed. “I only hope I’m around to see it.”
Well…damn. There wasn’t much I could say to that, so I didn’t say anything, just kept driving. I stayed parallel to I-44 but not on it very much, another effort at staying under the radar, so our slower speed was my fault as well. We spent the first night in Oklahoma City, where in addition to the bombing memorial there was also a bev
y of bronze Miss Americas on a college campus and a bone museum that Sören pined over for a little bit. We didn’t try camping again, sticking with a cheap chain motel and double beds, although Sören didn’t bother using his own. He didn’t bring out the Sören I loved, but he was quiet at night, almost gentle, and I let him soak up some of my heat as long as he didn’t get pushy.
The next day we avoided a huge pair of legs―just legs―and the Cadillac Ranch in Amarillo, Texas on our way through to New Mexico. “This country is huge,” Sören commented more than once. “Surely there has to be some place for my land.”
“I’m sure we’ll find something,” I said, although really I had no idea what Sören required in terms of relocating, and he didn’t seem to either. The process of transference was magic that he’d left in the hands of Egilsson. Bobby would know, though. We just had to find Bobby and this part would get worked out, one more obstacle overcome. Before the next obstacle and then the final one. The sacrifice. I needed to find a sacrifice. A person.
I wasn’t any closer to a solution on that one.
We got to Santa Rosa a little after noon. The sky was clear and blue, which meant it was brutally hot out. The ground was the reddish-brown you saw a lot of in the southwest, dotted with boulders and scrubby bushes. I wasn’t a huge fan of the landscape, but Sören found a particular sort of beauty to it.
“It isn’t the land I come from,” he mused as we passed a sign for the Blue Hole. “But they both contain a comforting sense of desolation.”
“Comforting?”
“Oh yes.” He looked at me and tilted his head. “Do you think I was the one to seek out this bargain? I would rather have been left alone completely, but I could not alter my planned destruction, so I had to go where I was taken in order to survive. I want to live, just as you do. Just as Sören and all of his family do.”
“Someone has to die, though.”
“Someone will now that you’ve gotten involved, yes. But it will not be me.”
Way to make me feel awesome. “We’re almost there.” I followed Marisol’s instructions and turned when I saw the stone tortoise, heading down a rough dirt road with washboards so bad that the car shook and bounced like a Mexican jumping bean. I felt the bottom of the Electra scrape the ground over one particularly nasty pothole and winced. Not good. I’d be lucky if I didn’t puncture something out here.
Bobby Garcia’s cabin was at the end of the road, a little adobe hut that couldn’t have more than three rooms in it. It was on the grid, if barely, but there were no lights on, no music coming from the house, and the front door was shut. Made sense―he was supposed to be wandering the desert, right? I didn’t bother to try the door, just got out of the car and started looking for a gong.
I didn’t have to look for long. It was set up about ten meters behind Bobby’s house, suspended between two rough-hewn logs that were sunk deep in the rocky ground. It wasn’t the kind of gong I’d been expecting, something brassy and polished. This was a round slab of iron covered with a film of rust, and probably weighed close to a thousand pounds. There was no pretty hammer or padded mallet to strike it with, just a crowbar leaned against the side of one of the logs.
Sören took one look at it and balked. “Oh, no. I am not touching that.”
Not that I’d really expected him to, but… “Why not?”
“Because that’s a part of this land. It was gifted to the keeper by the land itself. If I touch it, it will wound me.”
I had to admit I was a little confused. “Because you’re different lands?”
Sören bared his teeth. “Because I’m competition.”
All righty then. Landvættir versus elemental, Iceland and America going at it―whatever, I didn’t need to start a fight. “I’ll do it.” I walked over to the crowbar, hoisted it, and then swung back and smacked the gong square in the center of its iron disc.
Oh my god, I thought my arm was going to vibrate out of my shoulder. It felt for a moment like I’d shattered my bones, the pain was so intense.
I dropped the crowbar, cradled my arm against my chest, and actually growled at Sören when he said, “Or perhaps this land is hostile to all.”
“Cillian?”
Sören and I both turned around and saw Bobby step out of the back door of his cabin, squinting against the sun as he surveyed the scene. Bobby was a few inches shorter than me, with skin so brown he almost vanished against the backdrop of the desert, tousled white hair that reminded me of Einstein on a bad day, and he wore nothing but a pair of flip-flops and some gym shorts. I hadn’t associated with him much over the years, but he still looked exactly the same as the first time I’d met him almost two decades ago.
“You coulda just knocked,” he said mildly, coming over to us and not even sparing a glance for Sören. “Hand me that arm, then.” I gritted my teeth and held out my arm, and Bobby gripped my wrist and elbow for a moment. The brutal buzzing sensation vanished, and I sighed with relief.
“Holy shit, Bobby, you should put a warning on that thing.”
“Not many folks get a chance to try it out, and most who do use a gentler touch,” he replied, his voice as even as anything, but I knew I’d made a mistake. It felt like disappointing Santa Claus.
Of course, now that he was standing in front of me, my words had dried up. I was bad at asking for help if it was from someone I wasn’t close to or couldn’t bribe, and I knew I had nothing Bobby wanted. “I…I thought you’d be out. In the desert. Somewhere.”
“Oh yeah, yeah I was,” he said placidly, sticking his hands in his pockets. “But I decided to come home a little early. You get a craving for a Slim Jim, you know how it is, you just can’t forget about it.”
“What is a Slim Jim?” Sören asked.
“Oh, they’re delicious,” Bobby said. “Come on inside. I’ll give you one, and you boys can tell me what brought you my way.”
The inside of Bobby’s hut was just as tiny as I’d expected, but surprisingly cool, and there were three chairs around a little white table that he insisted we sit at. He poured us water, gave Sören a Slim Jim before taking one for himself, and then looked at me expectantly.
I told him what I knew, with some help from Sören. That he was landvættir, that I needed to find a place for him and his plot. I didn’t go into details about how I was going to get my hands on it, just that once I had it I needed to know what to do with it. Bobby listened placidly, chewing on his snack and glancing between the two of us contemplatively.
“Huh. That’s a real problem.”
“How big of a problem?”
“Oh, well, it’s all in the location, but I’d say pretty big,” Bobby said. “Most of this land is old and jealous, already well established. The cities are quiet, but any place where one of you―” He pointed a gnarled finger at Sören, who was on his third Slim Jim. “―might be happy is one that’s probably going to be inhabited already. Spirits, elementals, landvættir…they keep this land alive with their energy. Keep it moving, so to speak. In a city, that energy is replaced with the vitality of humans, but out here, well…there isn’t much room for new arrivals.”
Sören shrugged. “I will fight for a place if I must.”
“Oh dear.” Bobby shook his head. “Do me a favor, please? Head outside and put your hands down next to my gong. Not on it,” he assured Sören. “You don’t have to touch it. Just next to it, on the ground.”
“All right.” He got to his feet and headed outside. I watched him go with trepidation.
“Bobby…”
“It’ll be okay,” he said. “Just watch for a moment.” We both watched Sören crouch down next to the gong and, with a determined look, lay his hands on the ground.
The land beneath him crumbled instantly, a thousand pebbles falling away beneath his feet and dragging Sören underground. I barely had a chance to yell before he’d vanished completely.
“Bobby!”
“Oh, she won’t keep him,” Bobby told me. “She’s just putti
ng him in his place. Give ’er a moment.”
A moment? A moment for Sören, him and the spirit, to be buried alive? “Bring him back now!”
“She just needs a minute to move him, Cillian. Hold your horses.”
I was ready to let those horses ride free, actually, ready to let them trample all over Bobby and this fucking game he was playing. Just then the ground split about a foot away from Bobby’s back door, spilling Sören into the air and coalescing again with a grinding murmur. I ran over and helped him stand up, brushing the dirt away as best I could. He was covered in it, his pale hair as ruddy as a sunset, every inch of skin and clothing coated with dust. He didn’t say anything, just stared at me and shivered, and I felt like my brain might just boil out of my skull. I would pay Bobby back for this. I would show him. I would find his future, and I would twist it even if I had to―
Fuck. I took a deep breath and then asked Sören, “Are you okay?”
“This land is much stronger than I am,” he whispered. His voice sounded dry, as barren as the rocks out back. “I don’t want to stay here any longer.”
“We’re going, we’re gonna go, just wait one second.” I turned and looked at Bobby coldly. “What was the point of that?”
“Just a demonstration,” he said easily. “Fighting, that’s not going to win you a place here. Land has to be empty before it can be filled. I can help you to settle, once you find a suitable place, but I can’t clear the land by force. None of us can do that.”
“Well, what clears land apart from a city?” I asked.
“It has to be some sort of use. Biggest use out there today?” Bobby shrugged. “Drilling for oil or natural gas. That takes from the land but doesn’t replace the way people living there do. Find a site where the oil wells have dried up, and see what you think of it.” He stood up and inclined his head to Sören. “Please forgive our forcefulness, sacred one.”
After a long, tense moment, Sören nodded back. That was all the cue I needed to get this show on the road. “Bobby, I’m going to be taking you up on that offer,” I said. “Be ready for my call.”