Arms around her stopped Erin’s words; sobs against her neck had her cringing.
Erin reached her hands up—the most she could do with her arms pinned at her sides—and patted Jace.
The god’s expression changed instantly. “My little Jace,” he said, awkwardly patting Erin’s sister-Crow on the back. “What has you so sad?”
“I’m killing her!”
Erin cringed. She had no idea how to handle this. She looked over her shoulder to see if Stieg could help, but he was still holding the sliding door shut, which didn’t make sense since Jace had managed to get past him.
“What are you doing?” Erin asked Stieg.
“Giving you time to get your answers from Tyr. What does it look like I’m doing?”
“Holding a door shut for absolutely no reason.”
“What?” Stieg turned his head and saw that all the Protectors were gone. “Uh-oh.”
They landed on him in one big pile, Protectors pinning Stieg to the ground with their big feet—the same way owls pinned their prey. It was not pretty.
The only one who didn’t attack Stieg was Ski Eriksen. He came around the side of the house—probably the same way Jace had come—and moved behind his woman. With gentle hands, he attempted to pull her off Erin, but Jace just held on tighter, which did nothing but make Erin feel even more uncomfortable.
And trapped. Erin felt seriously trapped.
That’s when they appeared, attacking the Protectors with their talons, squawking in their faces, and shitting on their heads. The only ones they didn’t assault were Erin, Jace, and Stieg.
And Jace’s dog, of course. Because none of the Crows—human and bird—wanted to deal with a raging Brodie Hawaii. The dog protected the pup like he was her own.
Ski stumbled back and hid his eyes from groping talons ready to yank them right out of their sockets while several landed on the back of Tyr’s neck and pecked at the god’s head.
Jace finally released Erin and stepped back. Horrified, she pointed an accusing finger at Erin. “You call them off right now, Erin Amsel!”
“I didn’t know I’d called them!” she argued.
“I don’t care! Do something!”
Erin, unsure what to do, raised her arms and loudly stated, “That’s enough! Back off!”
And the Crows did. But they didn’t go far, flying up into nearby trees and perching on branches. Keeping a close eye on the humans they trusted and the humans they didn’t.
“Sorry,” Erin said to the Protectors, several of which must have been hit by birds with diarrhea, they were so covered.
Snarling and grumbling, those Protectors went back into the house. Most likely to bathe.
Ski first opened one eye, then another. When he realized he was no longer at risk, he adjusted the eyeglasses he wore, only to realize that one of the lenses had been shattered by a determined crow.
The Protector’s gaze locked on Erin and, nodding her head toward Jace, she whispered, “She started it.”
* * *
Stieg managed to jump between Erin and Jace before the taller Crow could tear into her sister.
“I warned her, Stieg!” Jace roared between clenched teeth. “I warned her if she used that excuse again—”
“I know. I know. She’s ridiculous and shallow. But we need her, right? We do need her.”
“Shallow?” Erin demanded behind him. “I’m not at all shallow. I am filled with love and caring and—”
Stieg reached behind him, wrapped his hand around Erin’s face, and shoved her away.
Her annoying laughter as she flew back proved he’d made the right choice.
“Let me handle this, Jace. Okay?”
Managing to rein in her rage—somehow—Jace gave a curt nod. “See me before you leave.”
“We promise.”
Jace stormed back to the house, Ski following, his smirk making Stieg want to slap the living hell out of him. But he had bigger issues than his righteous hatred of the know-it-all Protector.
Once they were alone with the god, Stieg faced Erin.
She’d gotten to her feet and was wiping dirt off her tight ass. “That was rude,” she complained.
“Quiet.” He focused on Tyr. “We need to know about Nidhogg.”
The god studied Stieg. “What is this ‘we,’ Raven?”
“Yeah,” Erin began, “what is this—”
“Quiet.” Stieg barked again.
“Rude!”
“I’m helping her,” Stieg explained to the curious god. “By Odin’s beard, I think we both can agree she clearly needs all the help she can get, don’t we?”
Tyr glanced back at Erin, sighed, and nodded. “Yes. She really does.”
Laughing, Erin threw up her hands. “Hey!”
“Quiet!” both males barked at her.
Erin fell silent, but not before muttering, “Rude.”
* * *
Bear walked into the library with her dog, Lev, under his arm, and Jace knew immediately something was wrong.
“What?” she asked, standing up from the table covered in ancient books and documents she’d been scouring just a few minutes prior, desperately searching for any information that could save her friend from unavoidable death.
“I went out to check on our mighty Tyr, but he, Erin, and the slow-witted idiot”—Jace rolled her eyes because she knew she had to sit through Raven-related insults after what had just happened—“were gone.”
“Erin and Stieg are gone?” That was surprising because Stieg had promised he’d stop by before leaving. Stieg never broke his promises. To anyone, much less Jace.
“They’re all gone. And Tyr was staying for dinner,” Bear went on to explain. “Haldor’s making his beef stew and Tyr always stays for Haldor’s stew.”
“Are you saying Tyr took Erin somewhere . . . away?”
Bear shrugged his big shoulders. “I guess. But he left the dog.” He took Lev in both hands and held him out for Jace to get a good look at. Not to hand off to her, just so that she could see her dog and know he was safe. It was becoming harder and harder to pry sweet Lev away from the big man each night. Jace, however, was determined to get Bear his own dog. She simply had to find the right one.
Deciding she wouldn’t worry about what Ski now called “the Lev issue” or about Erin and Stieg, she suggested, “I’m sure this will be fine. I’m sure Tyr merely took them somewhere to talk. To help them get that information they wanted from him. See, gentlemen?” she said to Ski’s nearby brethren. “Erin is thinking ahead and planning on how she will handle all this. I’m . . . I’m sure it will all be fine.”
“Except,” Bear felt the need to add, “our mighty Tyr is now trapped alone with a Raven—he hates Ravens—and, of course, he’s trapped with Erin. Your Erin.”
“Ooh,” Borgsten said, wincing.
“What ooh?” Jace demanded. “Why are you oohing?”
“Well, Erin is the one that got Fulla—the goddess of fertility, known to be really sweet and caring—to spit in her face.”
“That was a . . . a . . . misunderstanding.”
“But then Fulla put a bounty on her head with the Giant Killers.”
“That’s how they got those unfortunate burns,” Haldor reminded them.
“And at the time she’d only been a Crow, for what?” Bear asked. “Six months?”
“Three,” Ski admitted.
Jace sighed and pulled her cell phone from her back jeans pocket. “I better call Kera . . .”
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Erin turned once, her head all the way back, her mouth slightly open, gazing at the shelves that not only ran from floor to ceiling but at the top of the ceiling. Somehow the books stayed in place no matter where they were placed and ancient Protectors flitted here and there, miles above, grabbing books they needed for whatever reason. She’d never seen anything like it before. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” Stieg muttered. “What you said.”
“Sit,” Tyr ordere
d. He’d dropped into the large chair at the head of the big table and placed his feet on the worn wood. He slapped his hand against the top and yelled out, “Food! Drink!”
Servants rushed out with wine and platters of food, placing them down and scurrying off.
“Eat,” he ordered.
Another servant placed a horn of mead in his hand and the god watched them while he sipped.
“You’re not hungry?” he asked when Erin didn’t dive in.
“You’re not eating,” she offered.
“It’s stew night. Haldor’s stew. But you should eat. You’ll need your strength against Nidhogg.”
“Well, we just had In-N-Out, so—” Erin stopped and gawked at Stieg as he sat down and dug into the feast. “Dude, you just ate!”
“I’m hungry again.”
“Wow.”
Tyr pointed his horn at Erin. “So you want to know about Nidhogg.”
Erin took the chair closest to the god. “Yeah. I need to know how to deal with him.”
“Deal with him? He’s not a mere human, little Crow.”
“So he’s a god?”
“He’s not that, either. Dragons have their own . . . pantheon. Their own world. Their own rules. Their own universes.”
“So . . . Nidhogg is trapped here?”
“No. He can come and go as he pleases. Our Nine Worlds hold no sway over him one way or another.”
“He chooses to—”
“Yes. He chooses to sit on Corpse Shore, eating the bloated corpses of the dead, listening to the crazed rantings of a squirrel telling him what the eagle at the top of Yggdrasil says about him until the day comes when he can wrap his body around this world and crush it during Ragnarok. That is the life he has chosen for himself.”
“Why would . . . why would anyone choose that life?”
“You expect me to understand the logic of dragons? I barely understand the logic of you people, and humans are stupid. So very, very stupid.”
“We’re not the one starting Ragnarok. That would be one of you people.”
Stieg suddenly coughed and muttered under his breath, “Juggling.”
Erin and Tyr frowned at each other and she asked Stieg, “What?”
“Juggling.”
“What about it?”
“That’s how you get in trouble. Juggling. Fistfights. Pissing off the gods.”
“In other words,” Tyr said, smiling, “stop being a dick.”
She giggled a little. “But I’m so good at it.”
* * *
A very large, ancient Protector dropped to the ground, pulled his wings in, and stalked to the table. He was dressed in furs and leather, weapons hanging from his waist.
“Why did you allow them here, mighty Tyr?” He sneered at Stieg. “A worthless Raven”—he pointed at Erin—“and a demoness Crow? Near our precious books?”
“Who I invite to this table is my own business, Ingjard Ingolfsson.”
Stieg and Erin passed quick glances. Bear’s ancestor.
And it was like Erin couldn’t help herself. She lifted her forefinger. . . and lit it on fire. Not her whole arm. Not her entire body. Both things she could easily do. But just one forefinger.
And it was enough. Like Bear Ingolfsson, Ingjard dove backward, wings out again, arms spread wide, attempting to use his own body as a shield. “The books!” he bellowed to his brothers. “Protect the books!”
As Stieg and Tyr shook their heads, Erin curled her forefinger back into a fist, the flame snuffed out, and she hunched over in her chair. “You’re right,” she laughed hysterically. “I am a dick!”
* * *
“What do you mean, Tyr took her?” Ski watched his brothers analyze Kera’s question.
Finally Borgsten stated, “I don’t see how we can make that particular statement any clearer.” He glanced at the others. “Do you, brothers?”
“No,” they all replied.
Kera dug her hands into her hair and Jace glared at him.
“What?” Ski asked.
“You guys are not helping.”
“But we’re not making it worse,” Borgsten asserted.
Jace stamped her foot. “Danski Eriksen!”
“Kera,” he said, grabbing the War General’s attention, “I’m sure Erin will be fine.”
“But why would Tyr take her?”
“We don’t know. But we do know that Erin and that Raven—”
“His name is Stieg,” Jace petulantly reminded him.
“—came here wanting to see Tyr. To talk to him. Ask questions. They didn’t tell us the questions.”
“Why didn’t they all stay here to ask their questions?” Kera wisely inquired.
Ski turned to his brother. “Bear? Would you like to take that one?”
“The Raven provoked me,” Bear growled.
Kera dropped her head into her hands. “So,” she said through her fingers, “you’re saying the only one who can possibly save us from Ragnarok is off with a god . . . and Stieg Engstrom?”
Jace let out a breath. “Pretty much.”
“Great.” Kera lifted her head and snarled, “Just great!”
* * *
“If you can’t help us with the dragon,” Stieg asked, licking chicken juice off his fingers, “what can you do for us?”
“Why should I do anything for you or this Crow?” Tyr picked up a loaf of bread, then put it back. It seemed the god really wanted to save his appetite for Haldor’s stew.
How good is this stew? Stieg wondered. Now he wanted to try it.
“Because,” Stieg replied, working hard to sound sincere, “it’s the right thing to do.”
One brow raised, Erin looked at Stieg and he gave a small shrug. She quickly turned her head, her lips twisted as she tried not to laugh.
“Oh, please,” Tyr said with an eye roll. “You can do better than that, Raven.”
Erin leaned over and placed her hand on the god’s knee. “Whatever you need, Tyr,” she said suggestively, “Stieg can give it to you.”
Stieg slammed his fist on the table, the sound reverberating throughout the hall, panicking the Protectors and sending them scurrying to protect their books.
“You’re pimping me out?” Stieg bellowed, not caring who heard.
“Aren’t you willing to make sacrifices for the good of humanity?” Erin asked before she had to duck. “Did you just throw a chicken leg at me?”
“Next it’ll be the table and I won’t miss!”
“Stop it! Both of you!” Tyr ordered. He motioned to his Protectors. “Out! All of you!”
“But Mighty Tyr—” Ingjard began.
“Out!”
Reluctantly the Protectors abandoned their books, heading out into the fresh, cold air of Asgard.
“There is something I want, Crow. Something only you and your sister-Crows can provide.”
“Blow jobs?” Erin asked.
Stieg shook his head. “What is wrong with you?”
“So many things,” she admitted.
“Blow jobs I can get anywhere. I’m a mighty Viking god and damn good looking.”
“True.”
“But there’s something else you Crows can provide.”
“And that is . . . ?”
“Access.”
“To?”
“Your library.”
Erin blinked in surprise. “Our library? You want access to our library? Ski Eriksen said our library was a ‘sad shack of pop culture frivolity.’”
“Yes,” the god admitted. “I know.”
“Oh, my God,” Erin said, sitting back in her chair. “You want access to our Stephen King books!”
“Shhhhh!” Tyr said, using his hands to tell her to keep her voice down. “Yes!” he admitted. “Yes! Your Stephen Kings. Your Nora Roberts. Your Dan Browns. I want access to them all!” He suddenly grabbed her hand. “Tell me you have Agatha Christie,” he begged.
Erin glanced at Stieg but, again, he could do nothing but shrug.
<
br /> “Uh . . . yeah. I think we do. I think Tessa reads those. They probably sit right next to our H.P. Lovecrafts and our Game of Thrones collection.”
Tyr gasped. “I’ve heard of those.”
“Everyone has heard of those.”
“Allow me to stop by and use your reading room when the mood strikes and I will give you something no one else can. Something that will help you on your journey.”
“Yeah. Okay.”
“But our deal must be between us.”
Erin smirked. “You mean you don’t want your snobby literature-loving Protectors to know that you got a thing for evil clowns and murder among the British gentry?”
“Exactly.”
“Uh . . . yeah. Sure. We can do that.”
“And you swear on your sword to keep the secret until your funeral pyre?”
“I don’t have a sword, but I swear on my Second Life your secret is safe with me and my fellow Crows, Tyr, god of war and justice.”
They shook hands and Tyr stood.
“Protectors!” he called out and they poured back into the hall through every opening the bronze building had. He motioned to Bear’s ancestor, who quickly flew down and landed beside his god.
Tyr leaned over and whispered something in Ingjard’s ear. Stieg laid his hand on the table knife that rested beside his plate, giving a small nod to Erin to prepare herself in case Tyr had changed his mind.
Still sitting in her chair, Erin rested her right heel on the seat, her arm around her leg where she had her weapons tied to her calf.
Ingjard reared back from his god, eyes wide. “But mighty—”
“Do it, Ingjard Ingolfsson.”
Ingjard bowed his head and unleashed his wings. Taking to the air with one push, he traveled up and up until he reached the top level of those insane bookshelves. He seemed to know right where to go and returned to his god’s side in a matter of seconds.
Using his arm, Tyr swiped dishes and food onto the floor until there was a clean space in front of Erin.
Very—extremely—reluctantly, Ingjard placed the book on the table. It was ancient. Bound in leather with silver accents.
Tyr opened the book, turning the pages until he reached the one he wanted. “Take it,” he ordered.
Ingjard immediately gasped. “Tyr! No!”
Tyr held up his hand to silence his Protector.
“A book page?” Erin asked, sneering slightly. “Seriously?”
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