Valhalla

by Jennifer Willis

  * * *

  Sally lay on the bed with her eyes closed. She had never in her sixteen years been so tired—and she looked like she should be collecting Social Security checks. Her hair had gone completely white and was so thin that her scalp was beginning to show through. With her stooped shoulders and aching joints, she was certain she’d lost at least two inches in height.

  And she’d worked so much magick in such a short space of time that every part of her tingled with residual energy.

  She’d tried drinking water, standing barefoot on the wooden floor, and even sticking her hands into the potting soil of Rita’s houseplants, but she still couldn’t ground the magick out of her body.

  After her last ritual—an elaborate spell that required both her own hematite runes and the ones Managarm had made from the Sitka Spruce, plus two dozen black and yellow candles and five pounds of coarse salt—Sally had collapsed, feigning unconsciousness.

  She was alone in the apartment with Peter, and while he called Managarm asking what he should do to help her, Sally swiped the cell phone Adam had left on the coffee table.

  The bedroom door clicked shut behind Peter as he left the room. Still, Sally waited a few beats before she opened her eyes. Her vision was annoyingly fuzzy, but the reading glasses on Rita’s bedside table helped a little.

  Sally sat up and tried to control her breathing, which felt more like passing electrical current through her lungs. There was no guarantee that Peter wasn’t standing out in the hallway listening, so making an emergency phone call was out. And she couldn’t risk asking Peter for help. What control she may have had over the Berserkers was waning right along with her own strength.

  They served Managarm now.

  Sally slipped the cell phone out of her pocket and tried not to start crying again. Her eyes and cheeks were raw from all the tears she’d shed the past few days. It was a wonder she wasn’t completely dehydrated. Ignoring the gnarled joints and translucent skin of her hands, Sally turned the phone on—then gasped at the call history on the screen.

  Heimdall. Freya. Bragi. Saga.

  Freyr’s phone!

  Sally glanced at the bedroom door again. All appeared quiet on the other side. She adjusted Rita’s reading glasses on her face and started typing a message.

  This is Sally Dahl! Managarm’s HQ @ NW Davis & 12th. Apt. 13Q. He’s taken my friend and cat . . .

  Fresh tears stung Sally’s eyes. She couldn’t forget the haunted look on Opal’s face when Managarm had grabbed her and Baron—technically, the cat wouldn’t let Managarm anywhere near him, so Opal had had to carry him. He’d promised Sally would see them again, safe and sound, once she completed her work. So Sally called up an entire army of Berserkers for the Moon Dog, even though she was pretty sure her friend and her cat were already dead.

  Sally deleted the last sentence, and started typing again.

  He knows where the Tree is. He’s not here now, out with Berserkers. Will have a full army by the Black Moon. PLEASE . . .

  Sally’s fingers paused over the tiny keyboard. She couldn’t ask the gods to save her when she’d brought all of this about to begin with. They had better things to do, like saving the Yggdrasil. Saving the world.

  PLEASE BE CAREFUL.

  Sally swallowed hard, then added “I’m sorry.” She stared down at the display for an anxious moment, then breathed a sigh of relief when she read, “MSG SENT.”

  “Trying to make a call?”

  Sally’s stomach lurched into her throat. Managarm was standing over her. She hadn’t heard the door open, or any footsteps. Maybe her hearing was going, too.

  “You, you frightened me!” Sally exclaimed, holding the phone to her chest so he couldn’t read the display.

  “I should think so.” Managarm ripped the phone out of her hand and smashed it against the bedside table.

  Sally couldn’t help her own fearful trembling. Worse, it seemed to make Managarm smile—and fuel his rage—but Sally hoped it also covered her relief. There was no way Managarm could trace her text message now.

  He glared down at her. “Just what have you been up to, little witch?”

  Sally rested a hand on her chest, liking neither the bony collarbones she felt beneath her even bonier fingers, nor the painful pounding of her heart.

  “I completed the ritual, like you asked,” Sally gestured toward the living room. “I left the runes laid out in their pattern, waiting for the candles to burn down, but it should be safe now to move them.” Sally fidgeted under Managarm’s dark scowl. “You should have many more Berserkers coming. Any minute now.”

  His mouth broadened into a cold smile. “Any minute now?”

  Sally nodded. Managarm had flown into so many rages in the short time she’d known him, but he’d always softened again, particularly when her spells performed well. “They’ll come directly here. I added a locator element.”

  “So they will come to this building, instead of homing in on the Moon Witch?”

  Sally hesitated. “Well, I guess  . . .” She looked past Managarm to the hallway beyond, but there was no sign of Peter or anyone else.

  Managarm stepped closer and breathed in her face. “Then they won’t be so close to defend you.”

  Sally blinked up at him from beneath the reading glasses and read his intentions on his face. Opal and Baron were dead. She just hoped she’d be joining them quickly. She placed her hands calmly in her lap. “Do it, then.”

  Managarm laughed. “I’m sorry?”

  “Kill me.” Sally lifted her chin, trying to be brave. “Just get it over with.”

  Managarm crossed his arms in amusement. “Now, why would I do something as foolish as that?” He leaned down and took her by the shoulders. “There is one last bit of magick for you to work for me.”

  Sally let out a soft moan and fell limply to the floor when he brought his fist down on the side of her head.