by Cari Z
“That’s nice.” I wanted Sören nice and powerful for what was going to go down. “You’ve missed it, huh?”
“As you have missed certain vital things yourself,” Sören said, and I reached out and took his hand.
“It’ll all be worked out soon.”
Rolf stared at the two of us like he couldn’t believe his own eyes. “What the hell?”
“Hmm?”
“What are you doing with it?”
“Which one of us are you referring to?” I asked. “Me or Sören?”
“It! The landvættir, obviously!” I felt Sören’s fingers tighten around mine, probably with annoyance at being spoken about so dismissively.
“I’m holding his hand. It’s something I like to do with people I enjoy. I understand that you’re probably not used to the sort of relationships that include nonviolent touching, but try not to judge, okay?”
“You really think of me as a friend?” Sören asked, staring at me.
There was nothing but purple mist in his eyes, no hint of the Sören I loved, but I was still able to look at him and say, with complete honestly, “Yeah, I do. I really do.”
“You’re crazy.” Rolf’s gun hand shivered, and I really hoped he’d set the safety because an accident would just be ludicrous at this point. “You’re totally crazy. Sören’s not in there. He’s gone.”
Sören’s gaze narrowed to a glare as he glanced over at his brother, and I decided to intervene before he decided to change the rules. “The shutting up thing goes both ways,” I said. “If you want to make it through the rest of this ride without complications, I suggest you follow your own advice.” Thank god Rolf was smart enough to take that at face value. I held on to Sören’s hand in total silence for the rest of the half-hour trip. By the time the SUV came to a stop outside a long beige warehouse, I didn’t even feel the cold anymore.
This was it. This was endgame: this was where I had to pull it all off. I shut my eyes and took a deep breath, felt my body hum with adrenaline and the lub-dub purr of blood pumping through my veins, fast and smooth. Rolf was already out of the car, and before I followed him, I leaned in, cupped Sören’s face, and kissed him, fast and hard.
“That’s for both of you,” I said quietly, enjoying the dumbfounded expression on his face before I let go of his hand and stepped out into the sunshine.
Rolf was gesturing with the gun toward the offices in the front of the warehouse, but I was more interested in watching Sören expand as he got within touching distance of his land. His eyes burned brightly, vivid violet, penetrating purple and every shade in between.
He smiled broadly. “It is good to be here,” he said.
“I told you both to get the fuck inside!”
“Yeah, yeah.” Nevertheless, I followed directions and walked up to the open door of the office. I took one step inside and then doubled over as a huge fist impacted my gut, just below the diaphragm. The force of it drove me to my knees. I was really happy right then that I hadn’t had much to eat for breakfast, because I’d have lost it all right then if I had.
“Artύr!” Sören sounded annoyed. “That is not acceptable behavior.”
“It’s less than he deserves,” the eldest brother said with a sneer. “If I were doing this quid pro quo, I’d have punched him in the nuts.”
“Nevertheless.” This time is was Jakob talking, the voice of reason calming the storm that brewed within his family. He stepped forward and helped me to stand up. “We must be hospitable.” He straightened my jacket, his eyes fixing for a moment on the Buddha at my neck, and then reached into my pockets.
“Not on the first date,” I croaked, but didn’t resist his investigations.
“I’m disappointed that you don’t count what happened before as our first date,” Jakob said mockingly as he pulled out my cigarettes and lighter. “It was such an explosively good time.” He held up the items to Rolf. “You were supposed to confiscate everything.”
“I already got his gun,” Rolf snapped. “What’s he gonna do with those, give me secondhand lung cancer?”
“You can’t be so trusting, idiot,” Artύr said, condescension imbuing every syllable of every word. “What if there aren’t really cigarettes in there?”
Jakob was already opening the pack. He nodded, apparently satisfied with what he’d found. He met my eyes and, unwavering, struck the lighter.
A tiny yellow flame appeared at the top of it. “Good enough,” Jakob said and put them both back in my pocket. “Ólafur is waiting for you in the other room.” He nodded to the guards. “We’ll handle things from here. Keep watch outside. This is family business now.” They left, and he led the way from the entryway to an office that flanked the main warehouse space. Ólafur sat near the far wall in a reclining chair, but he got up when we walked in.
“Sören!” He came over to us and pulled his youngest son into an embrace. “Welcome back.” Ólafur dwarfed Sören in terms of bulk, although they were nearly the same height. It wasn’t his size that made him so intimidating, though. Some people had a natural ability to fill any space they walked into with the force of their personality, even if they hardly spoke a word. I’d met a few of them over the years: mostly people in positions of power, and quite often men who were more accustomed to taking that power and using it like a bludgeon.
Women could do it: Annie did it―it was one of the things I respected about her immediately. But in all the years of disreputable company I’d kept, all the mob bosses I’d known and killers I’d looked in the eye, no one had ever matched Ólafur when it came to sheer, undeniable impressiveness. The closest any of his sons came was Jakob, although his presence was more subdued―a force of intellect instead of raw charisma.
“I was so worried about you,” Ólafur said, patting his son gently on the back. Amazing, how tender those huge paws could be when he wanted. I saw Rolf shift uncomfortably out of the corner of my eye. That wasn’t the sort of embrace he was accustomed to. “I know we parted under difficult circumstances, but I’m prepared to make amends. I disregarded your wishes, and I swear on our pact that I will never be so callous of your feelings again.” He pulled back and gazed lovingly into Sören’s eyes. “Will you forgive me?”
Oh, so beautiful. So calculated to appeal, and even though I knew that Sören understood what was going on here, he wasn’t unmoved. How could he be? This man had been the one to make the first contract, and he was the father of Sören’s body double.
“We shall see,” Sören said at last, and Ólafur nodded encouragingly.
“Indeed, we shall see. I will show you, and you will understand everything. I’m very sincere in my desire to make things right, my son.” Now he looked at me, and his smile was exactly like I envisioned a shark might have as it circled closer and closer to its prey. “And I owe my new understanding of my responsibilities to you to this young man. Who would have thought?” When he bared his teeth, I literally had to stop myself from backing away.
“We meet again, Mr. Kelly.”
Chapter Twenty-Nine
“We meet again, Mr. Kelly.”
“So we do.” I couldn’t make myself smile back at Ólafur. I just didn’t have it in me. “I guess you got pretty much everything you wanted last time, though, huh?”
“Well, you were being recalcitrant, Mr. Kelly,” he replied. Ólafur looked at ease, but just like before, I saw the whip-fast capacity for violence inside of him. The last time I’d looked into Papa Egilsson’s eyes, I’d seen him kill, both under the effect of the geas and of his own volition. “I had to make do some way.”
“Bullshit. You used me to set this up exactly how you wanted.” I shook my head. “You had this planned from the start. The sacrifice had to be meaningful in order to appeal to the landvættir, and how much more meaningful could it get than your own son?” Now for the part I was really interested in, though. “How did you know to use me, though? Why bother, when you didn’t really need my talent for anything?”
�
�That’s a fair question,” Ólafur allowed. “And you might as well know. It will serve as a lesson to my sons in how to properly deal with issues of magic. Sit.” He pointed at a chair to my left, and I sat before Artύr could punch me into it. Ólafur sat across from me, folding his hands in his lap.
“The magic of my country is complex, Mr. Kelly. There are grimoires dating back many centuries that detail spells you can use to get what you want. Spells for faithfulness, spells for causing harm, spells for might in battle. I experimented with those spells for years, trying to find something that would work for my particular situation. Little spells, though, won’t counter a geas this strong. I finally consulted a völva, who told me the trick to working great magic was to make it irresistible. An offering to the vættir had to be perfect, based on genuine willingness and deep emotion in order to be accepted.
“I knew one of my sons would have the most important part to play, but which one? The völva couldn’t tell me, but she did know who you were. A soothsayer with almost unparalleled accuracy who also had no sense of self-preservation? You were a gift, and so I took you. And when you refused to cooperate―” Ólafur leaned forward a little in his chair, pinning me in place like a beetle on a board. “―my advisor counseled patience. And she was right. You revealed the perfect candidate for my sacrifice, and the preservation of my line. I had thought Sören too weak to be of much use for anything, but I was wrong.” He nodded toward the landvættir, who listened with a completely blank expression. “He’s the perfect vessel for my family’s greatest ally. He saved you and all of us with his decision, and I don’t think he would take it back even if he could.
“Honestly, I didn’t think it was possible to even offer another deal until you stole Sören out from under my nose. I see how very wrong I was about that.” He looked again to the landvættir. “I’ve made arrangements to have your land instilled beside a wilderness area in the Canadian Rockies. It’s beautiful there, absolutely pristine, and you’ll be able to settle there without dispute.”
“What did you do to appease the spirit who resided there before making arrangements for me?” Sören asked.
Ólafur smiled. “I paid someone a great deal of money to dispose of it. There won’t be any competition for you to worry about.”
Sören’s eyes narrowed. “You destroyed it? A native land spirit?”
“Survival of the fittest, my son. I said I would give you a suitable resting place, and I would never go back on my word.”
“Hmm.” I couldn’t tell if Sören was happy about this or not. “And my bodily autonomy?”
“The wilderness area is less than twenty-five miles from a moderate-sized town. I’ll provide you with money, a house, cars, servants, whatever you want to make your transition and exploration more comfortable. Anything you desire will be yours for the asking, as long as you continue to abide by the deal I made in good faith.” Ólafur gestured at me. “Can anything this man offers really compare?”
“My turn to talk, then?” I asked dryly. I looked at Sören. “You know what I’ve done for you―you’ve been there for most of it. I’ve got a line on the space you need, without having to kill off or drive away the spirit already living there. Wouldn’t it be better not to enter into a new place surrounded by animosity?
“As for bodily autonomy, I’m not going to tell you what you can and can’t do. I promise,” and I made sure I caught his eyes for this next part, because this was important, “that no matter what you want to do, I’m going to be there to do it with you. I won’t leave you alone, not as long as you want me. I might try to talk you out of something really crazy, but I’m not your owner, and I’m not your boss. I’d rather be your partner, honestly.”
“I know,” Sören said, and he smiled for a moment. “But Cillian…the sacrifice...”
“Yes, the quality of your sacrifice,” Ólafur drawled. “I was wondering about that too. Rolf.” He snapped his fingers at his son. “Go and get him.” Rolf left in a rush, and Ólafur crossed his legs. “I confess I didn’t know what to think when I finally discerned what you had in mind. I knew better than to think you might offer up your mother or the woman you’ve been staying with. You care for them too much. Then I looked over my security footage, traced it all the way back to you and him in a restaurant, and I saw you developing the relationship. But honestly, Mr. Kelly, you can’t possibly think the acquaintance of a few days’ time will be forceful enough to trump the willingness of a vessel like Sören? And no second to fall back on? I’m afraid this is where your plans fly apart.”
Rolf came back a moment later, dragging Andre with him. Andre looked…oh boy, he looked the worse for wear, with two black eyes and what was probably a broken nose, but he was still standing. He glared at me like this was all my fault, and―okay, fair, he was pretty much right. But I was going to fix it.
“Hey, man.”
“Fuck you, Kelly.”
“Cillian…” Sören looked confused. “I don’t think this will work.” Sören was primed to take the best offer, and Ólafur was right, his son was a way better sacrifice than my unwilling kind-of-friend.
“You have to let me try,” I said. “Let me make the sacrifice before you decide, okay?”
Ólafur smiled broadly. “Oh, by all means. Kill your friend for nothing, and then we can finally dispense with the formalities and get into the matter of punishing you for your presumption.”
That would probably involve slow dismemberment, knowing Ólafur. I took a deep breath and stood up, firming my resolution. This was it. No going back after this.
I walked over to Andre. “Look, I’m really sorry about this. I never meant for you to get involved this way.”
Andre wearily shook his head. “Best of intentions don’t count for shit now.”
“Your family is all right, I made sure of it.” I took off my Buddha necklace and hung it around his neck. Very faintly, I heard the slightest click. Andre seemed to as well, because his eyes widened. “Sometimes you’ve just gotta take the cards Fate deals you and run with them, you know?”
“Get on with it,” Ólafur snapped. “If you need to borrow a gun―”
I shook my head. “I don’t need a gun for this. I do need a smoke, though.” I reached into my pocket and took out the lighter. Out of the corner of my eyes, I saw Jakob start to back away. Smart guy. I primed the microgrenade, looked at Andre, mouthed Run, and then tossed the grenade at the chair I’d just been sitting in. Two seconds later, it exploded.
The thing about a microgrenade was it had more bang than boom. Some decent concussive force, lots of smoke, but it wasn’t going to do any serious damage. It probably blew the chair to pieces and likely did some damage to everyone in its immediate vicinity, but I didn’t stick around to watch. I was already running, booking it through the door that Rolf had left open and out into the warehouse itself.
In front of me, stretching for half the length of a football field, was an enormous plastic tub reinforced with wooden beams that held still black water, its shore edged with jagged gray boulders. At the far end of the lake was a small grove of white-barked birch trees, with one huge specimen in the center, twisted and branching, its long arms hovering over the edge of the water. That was the one I needed.
Behind me I heard a roar, an actual, honest-to-god roar, and the sound of ripping cloth. Ólafur was changing, going berserk. Well, better that than him keeping his head and shooting me in the back, but that meant I needed to be faster. I sprinted toward the tree, unbuckling my belt as I went and whipping it off my waist. I worked the buckle free and stuffed it in my pocket and then kept racing toward my goal. Twenty yards…ten…
I’d almost reached the grove by the time the heavy footsteps caught up to me, so fucking close to where I needed to be but still too far away to act. I threw myself to the right at the last second while Ólafur continued forward, out of control in his rage and unable to keep his bulk from running him straight into the little grove. The smallest tree shuddered and sp
lit under the force of his impact, and Sören screamed.
Fuck, that wasn’t supposed to happen! I glanced back and wished I hadn’t, because Sören was running toward us now, and he looked wrathful. Purple mist spilled from his eyes, and the water of the lake began to froth. Ólafur would have some groveling to do if he lived through this. Speaking of that―the man’s rage still drove him, and he was already stumbling out of the wreckage of the broken tree. I needed to go, fast.
I hoisted myself up into the biggest tree, high enough that even stretched out my feet didn’t touch the ground. I sat on a branch, fastened my belt around my bent knees to hold me up when my muscles gave out, and then leaned back and let my body hang against the trunk. It was traditional when making a sacrifice of yourself to offer it like this, if Odin’s legend was anything to go by. Plus, I’d bleed out faster. I fumbled in my pocket for the buckle, my hands already gory from handling its supremely sharp edges.
Ólafur and Sören grappled not two feet away from me, driven to combat out of pain and hurt and rage. If I was going to do this, I had to do it now, before either of them came to their senses.
“Sören!” Purple eyes glanced over at me and then did a double take. I smiled at him, trembling but for once completely sure of what I was doing. “Remember what we talked about last night, okay?”
“Cillian, what―”
I didn’t hear the rest; I was too busy jamming the edge of the belt buckle into my jugular. The angle was weird, and I didn’t trust myself to have the strength to cut my entire throat, but one straight shot into the vein―I could do that. I did it. It hurt, but not as badly as I thought it might when I’d been considering it last night. Strange, that the end of my life should almost feel comfortable, like a muscle slowly unknotting, instead of the stark pain that so much of my life had been. Hot blood flowed over my chin and down my face, and the world went fuzzy and started to gray out. I let it go with a sigh of relief.
The last thing I heard before I died was Sören calling my name.