The Unyielding

by Shelly Laurenston

  Erin scrambled off the bed before he could roll back and found another black tank top to put on. She padded out into the living room, closing the bedroom door behind her, and went to the coffeemaker to get the coffee started.

  She frowned when she heard a soft knock at the front door. After a pause, she answered it and found Karen standing there, grinning at her. Especially when she saw what Erin was wearing.

  “Good night?” Karen asked.

  “He’s sleeping.”

  “I bet he is.”

  Erin laughed at Karen’s tone.

  “Want to go to your shop together?” Karen offered.

  “Yeah, sure. Give me a little time to wake up.”

  Erin closed the door in a giggling Karen’s face and went back to the kitchen. She poured herself a cup of coffee and went out on the balcony. She rested her arms against the railing and stared out over the ocean while the sun came up behind her back.

  She heard Hilda the goat come out on the balcony but the affectionate animal didn’t press up against Erin’s leg as she liked to do.

  Erin turned her head and gazed up into the one blue eye watching her close.

  Odin, the Allfather, had Hilda in his arms, petting the goat’s coat with enormous, but gentle hands. “Crow,” he greeted, smirking at her from beneath his eye patch.

  Erin stared at him a moment before asking, “You’re not going to do anything weird with that goat, are you? Pervert.”

  * * *

  Chloe and Kera stood next to each other. Legs braced apart. Arms crossed over their chests. Staring out Chloe’s office window.

  “How’s Rolf?” Chloe asked.

  “Still vomiting and sleeping off that migraine on the Protectors’ couch. They’re not happy. But the Maids are going over this morning. They can give him something to help.”

  “Erin?”

  “At Stieg’s. I suggest we let her hang out there today. After their run-in with the Mara last night, I’m not sure I want her going through that again.”

  “I guess. Speaking of which . . . I guess Erin was right all along. About that girl.”

  “We found more Mara at six of her eight houses. They’d made themselves quite at home.”

  “But no Carrion.”

  “No Carrion. Yardley thinks she may have a line on a place where we can find Ambrosio. Yardley is just waiting for her contact to get back to her. He’s in Thailand on a film site right now.”

  “Big movie star?” Chloe asked.

  “Hair stylist.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Apparently that’s how these things work. If the info comes through, I suggest we go over there tonight. It may be a long shot. I’m sure Gullveig has other priestesses but Erin seems so certain. And if she’s right and we bring the Ravens—maybe we can get the Key.”

  “What about Erin?”

  “Keep her with Stieg. Once we have the Key, the Maids will be ready to do their thing.”

  “She won’t be happy she’s not involved.”

  Kera briefly closed her eyes. “She’s already too involved.”

  “Don’t give up on her yet. Many of the Clans think she’s too mean to die. You know . . . like Betty.”

  * * *

  “So do you have any words of wisdom, O Great Odin?”

  “Nope.”

  “Helpful as always,” Erin replied, toasting him with her coffee cup before taking another sip.

  “We do not spoon-feed our people.”

  “We’re not asking for spoon-feeding. We’re asking for a little. . . assistance from our gods. We’ve already had help from Old Testament and New.”

  “How Christian of them.” Odin snorted. “Get it? How Christian of them? Get it?”

  “Nothing I hate more than someone who spells out a joke.”

  He sighed, loudly. And rather dramatically. Like he was doing her the biggest favor in the universe just speaking to her. “I will tell you this, tiny little female—”

  “I’m not that small.”

  “—if you make it past Bifrost Bridge, then I strongly suggest that you never reveal what you are unless you have absolutely no choice.”

  “Why? Because I’m human?”

  “No. Because you’re a Crow. “

  “That whole slave thing again?”

  “It’s not that simple. Not for those who live in the other Worlds. Crows have a reputation. Worse than any other human Clan.”

  “Really?”

  “They aren’t fans of my Ravens, and the Giant Killers aren’t allowed back into Jotunheim, but all Nine Worlds hate you people more.”

  “Good to know. Anything else?”

  “No.”

  Erin, frustrated, slammed her coffee cup down on the rail. “I don’t understand.”

  “I’m sure you don’t understand lots of things.”

  “You come here and you tell me nothing. You are of no use to me. So why bother me?”

  “I’m Odin. You should feel blessed by my mere presence.”

  “Bitch, I don’t have time for your presence. If you want to help me, then help me. Give me something. A magical necklace or a mystical tattoo or anything that will help me get through this. Instead, you bring your fat ass here, pet Stieg’s goat, and give me cryptic shit that is unhelpful.”

  Erin didn’t even see Odin move. But Hilda was running back into the apartment and his hand was around her throat, holding her over the railing, her bare feet dangling in midair.

  “You dare talk to me like that, worthless slave!” he bellowed, black clouds appearing, the sound of thunder rolling overhead. “You live because I allow it! You exist because of me!”

  She grasped his hand, feet kicking out, and she tried to speak.

  His smile cruel, Odin pulled her a little closer. “What was that, slave? I couldn’t hear you.”

  That’s when Erin shoved two fingers into the only eye he had left.

  Roaring, Odin dropped her, and Erin grabbed for the railing. But the metal was still wet from the early-morning ocean fog that hadn’t burned off yet in the LA sun, and her hands slipped right off.

  Then her wrist was caught and held and Stieg yanked her up.

  “I can’t even sleep in with you around,” Stieg complained, placing her back on the balcony.

  Together, they walked into the living room where Odin had a hand over his wounded eye. Erin thought he was raging, but he was too busy laughing. Hysterically.

  “Mad bitch!” he cheered. “You were meant to be a Crow.”

  Odin lowered his hand. He could still see, but blood slid down his face, his blue eye now red. Yet he smiled at Erin and Stieg. Because he was Viking and they seemed to weirdly enjoy when women slapped them around a little.

  “I bet she’s a wild fuck in bed, boy.”

  “Why are you here, Odin?” Stieg asked, stepping in front of Erin.

  She wasn’t even sure he knew he’d done it.

  Odin didn’t answer, just wiped the blood from under his eye and studied his fingers. Without warning, he suddenly flicked the blood, splattering them both.

  “Ewww!”

  “Shit, Odin!” Stieg yelped. “Was that really necessary? We just got Mara blood off us last night.”

  “Think of it as a blessing,” the god replied, still laughing.

  Erin rolled her eyes. “Do you make your stripper-girlfriends say that, too, when you come in their faces?”

  Odin nodded. “Yes.” Then he was gone.

  Stieg faced her. “‘When you come in their faces’?” he repeated back to her.

  Erin shrugged. “What? Too far?”

  “Is there anything you do that isn’t too far?”

  “According to my mother . . . no.”

  * * *

  Karen sat in the chair similar to one you’d find in a barbershop.

  The place wasn’t big. There were stations for six, maybe seven artists. And there was no flash art on the walls. Images some half-drunk dude-bros could pick from on a Saturday night wh
en one dared another to get a piece that, eventually, he’d have to get lasered off before his big wedding.

  She liked Erin’s shop, though. It was small but cozy. And there were a few casual pics of Erin with her clients. Even Yardley King! How cool! She was going to the same tattoo artist who gave Yardley King one of her tattoos. Karen couldn’t wait to tell her friends. They’d definitely be impressed.

  Swigging from a plastic container of orange juice, Erin came out of the back and over to her station. “Okay.” She put the cap back on the container and dropped it on the counter. “What are you looking for?”

  Karen handed over the drawing she’d made for herself years ago. This wasn’t her first tattoo, but it would be her first real tattoo. She didn’t count the broken heart on her ankle that another street kid had given her with a needle and thread. She was just grateful that she somehow managed not to get Hep C from doing something so stupid. But she’d only been sixteen and freshly dumped.

  It was just what one did back in the day.

  After her first tattoo, she’d waited until she could afford the best work available. She was still looking when she found Erin Amsel sitting on her best friend’s couch.

  Erin took the paper from Karen and glanced at it.

  “You can’t draw,” Erin stated.

  “Uh . . . no. That’s not really my—”

  “Are you married to this?”

  “No, I just want something sim—”

  “Okay, good.” She crumpled Karen’s drawing and tossed it into a nearby garbage pail. “Where do you want it?”

  “Uh . . . well, someplace I can hide from clients, of course. Maybe on my bicep or—”

  “Take off your shirt.”

  Karen watched another artist walk by with a donut and coffee, muttering a greeting to Erin. “Um . . . pardon?”

  “Take off your shirt. And your bra.”

  “And why would I do that?”

  “I’m going to put your piece here.” Erin gestured to her side above her hip.

  “Do I, uh, get a say in any of this?”

  “After showing me that drawing . . . no.” She handed Karen a towel to cover her chest. “Let’s go, stripper. I’m going to get set up. Bathroom is over there.” Erin walked off.

  As soon as she disappeared into the back again, the receptionist rushed over. “We all know she’s crazy,” she whispered, “but you really couldn’t be in better hands. I promise, you will be so happy with what she gives you.” She smiled, then added, “But she is crazy.”

  Karen watched the receptionist scurry back to her desk.

  Erin returned, carrying a box of black nitrile examination gloves and several items sealed in plastic bags. She laid them on a metal instrument tray with wheels. “Why are you not half naked?”

  “Uh . . . right. Right.” Karen quickly moved to the bathroom, which she was happy to see was ultra-clean with a note reminding all staff to wash their hands after bathroom use. She closed and locked the door, then pulled out her cell phone and made a quick call.

  “Yeah?”

  “Okay, I know you’re fucking her,” she said to Stieg, “but on a scale of one to that girl we met on Western Ave that time who believed she could fly because she believed she was Jesus Christ and Cleopatra reborn . . . how crazy is your girlfriend?”

  “She’s not my girlfriend,” was Stieg’s immediate reply.

  “My eyes are rolling all the way to the back of my head. Just get to the point.”

  “I don’t know. I know some really crazy bitches. Erin’s not the craziest.”

  “That is not making me feel better.”

  “I will say I’ve only heard good things about her tattoo stuff. Even Vig’s girlfriend Kera let Erin put a tatt on her. She loves it. Erin worked freehand and picked the image for her. Oh, and Jace’s too.”

  “She showed me that one. The chained bird, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, if Jace trusts her . . .”

  “Feel better?”

  “Maybe. I guess. Kinda.”

  “Or you can just not let her tattoo you.”

  “Yardley King gets tattooed by her, dude. Yardley King.”

  “So? I know Yardley King.”

  “Yeah, right,” Karen laughed before disconnecting the call.

  * * *

  Erin ran green soap across the tattoo again before wiping it down with a paper towel and rolling her chair back to study what she’d done so far. Happy, she went back to work. She couldn’t believe how fast she was going.

  Karen’s skin was perfect, absorbing the ink beautifully. And she had a high tolerance for pain. She didn’t make a sound, move around, or complain.

  Perfect.

  Erin was so into the work, so lost in the design and what her hands were doing, that she was enjoying every second of this. She’d already done the outline and now she was filling in, using only blacks, grays, and a touch of white for highlights. She decided to avoid any color in this piece. It just didn’t feel right.

  Halfway through filling it in, she wiped the tatt down again and pushed her chair back, moving her head from side to side, trying to stretch out her tense neck muscles. “Wanna take a break?” she asked Karen.

  “Yeah. Sure.”

  Erin helped her adjust the towel she was using to cover her chest, handed her a bottle of water, and they walked out the back door to the alley. They stood on either side of the door behind a protective panel screen, drinking their water and watching two stray cats fight.

  “Twenty bucks says that gray takes out the red one,” Erin offered.

  “They’re not fighting. That’s their mating dance. Before you know it, they’ll be doing it.”

  “Ew.”

  Karen moved a bit and winced.

  “How ya holdin’ up?” Erin asked.

  “Fine. It’s sore, but fine. Are you going to be able to finish today?”

  “Yeah.”

  “You sound so . . . positive.”

  “Because I am.”

  Karen took another sip of water before asking, “How did you get into tattooing anyway?”

  “My best friend in high school . . .”

  “Yeah?”

  “I broke her leg.”

  “On purpose?”

  “Yes and no.”

  “I don’t know what that means?”

  “We were playing field hockey in gym class—”

  “Ooooh. Field hockey. Someone’s parents had money.”

  “You done?”

  “Yeah.”

  “And we were split into two teams. And this girl on the other team who I hated anyway pissed me off and I went to nail her with my stick, but she moved and I ended up nailing my friend. When my friend got the cast on, she asked me to put a design on it, which I did—”

  “Since you broke her leg and all.”

  “Exactly. Anyway, she had an older boyfriend who wanted to get a tattoo and since he had the beer, we went with him to the shop.”

  “Many of my decisions back in the day were based on where to find the beer . . .”

  “The shop owner and artist wouldn’t give the boyfriend a tattoo because he was already drunk—”

  “Hope you drove home.”

  “—but she did like what I’d done on the cast. She offered me an apprenticeship position. First on weekends, then around my classes at art school.”

  “How did your parents feel about that?”

  “Hated it. They didn’t have a problem with me being an artist . . . but tattoos? That they weren’t okay with. They had this vision of me being at the head of the artists’ version of the Algonquin roundtable. Gallery shows on weekends. Impressing their friends with articles about me in Artforum.”

  “Instead you end up in Ink.”

  “I’ve had three covers on Ink.”

  “The Rolling Stone article must have helped.”

  She grinned. “It did.” Erin finished her water and motioned toward the door. “You ready to go back in
?”

  “Sure. I’m so excited to see! Can I peek?”

  “No.”

  Erin opened the door. “I have to say, you are a great sitter.”

  “I have a very high tolerance for pain.”

  “I bet you get a lot of guys with that line.”

  * * *

  “I think we’ve found Ambrosio,” Yardley announced as she ran out into the backyard, her phone in her hand, a wide smile on her face.

  Kera loved that no matter how big Yardley was as a movie star, to her it was all about her sister-Crows. Nothing else took precedence. But when she could use her Hollywood connections to help them, she seemed especially proud.

  “Where?” Chloe asked.

  “A resort in Palm Springs.”

  Jace looked up from the pages that Maeve had typed out from Rolf’s dictation. The runes were spells, explaining exactly how to get Erin into the heart of the Nine Worlds. They would use the Maids for the spell casting and the Carrion’s Key for transport.

  “Palm Springs?” Jace asked. “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. Why?”

  “Ski and his brothers found evidence of a sacrifice at some resort in Palm Springs. Back just before we shoved Gullveig out. They fought the Mara there.”

  That was enough for Kera. She raised her arm and made a circle in the air with a forefinger. “All right, Marines! Let’s move out!” When no one moved, she nodded. “Sorry. Sorry.”

  Leigh stepped close. “Another PTSD flashback, sweetie?”

  “Stop asking me that. Let’s just go. Please. I want to be airborne by the time the sun goes down.”

  “What about Erin?” Chloe called out in case any of them knew where she was.

  “She’s at her shop giving some friend of Stieg’s a tattoo.”

  “Call her in?” Annalisa asked.

  “No,” Kera said. “Let’s do this first. Jace, contact the Maids. Tell them we’re nearly ready. You work with them. Tessa, get in touch with the Ravens. Tell them to get a crew together and get ready to move out. Also call Ski and see if this is the same place he hit before. I want details.”

  Kera’s sister-Crows headed out as Chloe stepped beside her. “Are you sure about Erin? Leaving her behind?”

  “She’ll be safer here. No point in pushing our luck. Besides, if something happens to us tonight, the other Clans will still have her.”