“I smell barbecue chicken,” the fury Deidre said, sniffing the air. “Shouldn’t we be eating now? I think we should be eating. Husband, let us go partake of the offering Lord Cernunnos has made for us.”
“Erm…we can’t just yet, my sweet.”
“We can’t?” Deidre, who had started moving off to where the barbecue had been set up, turned and shot him a look that would have scared several years off my life had it been directed to me. “Why not?”
“That woman there,” Taranis said, nodding to Elfwine, “wants Cernunnos’s position. He doesn’t want to give it up. If she takes the dagger from his chest and mixes the blood on it with her own, she has the right to become the next Cernunnos.”
“I don’t know exactly how this happened,” Megan said to me in a soft voice, glancing nervously at the men holding me. “It really makes absolutely no sense, and is totally unlike me to do this, but I think…I’m afraid…oh, man, it’s all so wrong, but you’re right, you’re absolutely right. I have fallen in love with you. And I’ll be damned if I’m going to let some crackpot druid do me out of a lifetime of having a sexy Irishman fulfilling every wild fantasy I have.”
Megan sprang at Elfwine before the druid had an inkling that she was in trouble. The two women went down in a tangle of flailing legs and arms, Elfwine shouting obscenities that were wholly unsuited to a druid.
I twisted a second later, jerking the four men holding me off balance. Megan and Elfwine rolled around on the ground; one moment Megan was on top trying to subdue Elfwine, and a second later their positions were reversed.
I roared my anger, the manifestation bursting to life again as I dragged the four men to the women, intent on rescuing Megan. I disabled one of the Blue Men, lashing out with my foot to catch another on the knee, sending him to the ground to roll around in a ball of agony.
“I’m coming, my love!” I yelled to Megan as she heaved Elfwine off her.
“No, stay away! She can’t get the dagger!” she panted, twisting to the side when Elfwine balled up her fist and tried to punch her in the face.
“Help my goddess,” I yelled, trying to dislodge the two remaining druids from my arms. “I command you to help her!”
One of the women ran forward, but two others snatched her back. They stood in a huddled mass, clearly unwilling to go against their leader to help Megan. That infuriated me even more—they were devoted to worshipping me, not Elfwine!
“Are you just going to stand there?” I snarled to Taranis.
He shrugged, and lifted his hands. “You know the laws as well as I do. I cannot interfere in a power struggle.”
“Husband? I distinctly saw one of the cooks looking over here in a meaningful way.” Deidre’s frown was growing blacker, a dangerous look in her eye as she tugged the cloth of Taranis’s shirt. “We should go and eat their lovely food. It would be rude of us to do otherwise, and you know how I abhor rudeness to mortals.”
“I’m afraid we can’t yet, sweet one. Not until this Cernunnos business is settled,” he said, nimbly stepping aside as Megan and Elfwine rolled toward him.
Deidre focused her attention on me. I had fallen to the ground, having stumbled over Stewart, and was trying to crawl out from under the two guards, one of whom pinned my legs, the other of whom was trying to knock me out by braining me with his walkie-talkie.
“Lord Cernunnos! My husband says we may not partake of your lovely chicken barbecue sacrifice until you are free. Will this take much longer?”
“Megan!” I yelled as Elfwine got in a particularly good punch. Megan, who had managed to get to her knees, looked at me with dazed eyes for a moment before they rolled back in her head and she toppled over.
“This will end now!” Elfwine shrieked, lunging at me. She jerked the dagger from my chest and staggered to her feet, clutching her side with one hand. She was bloody, dirty, and hunched over as if she couldn’t stand straight. “I have it! It is mine! And now I will join the blood with my own and claim the position that is so rightly mine.”
I head-butted the nearest Blue Man. “You can eat everything if you stop her,” I shouted to Deidre as I crawled to Megan’s inert form. “Oh, my dearling, my love. What have I brought upon you?”
“Everything?” Deidre glanced over to the food garden, looked thoughtful for a moment, then turned to Elfwine and smiled. “Good-bye.”
There was a burst of blue light, followed by a crash of thunder that shook the earth. The dagger flashed in the torchlight as it spun helplessly to the ground.
Elfwine was gone.
“Megan? Are you all right, my dearling?” I cradled her head and felt wetness on my cheeks as I gazed at her muddied cheeks. Her lip was cut, and there was a swelling around one of her eyes, but as her eyes opened, I could see no signs of serious injury.
“Dane? You antlered up again. That means you’re still Cernunnos. She didn’t get the dagger?”
“No, my love, she didn’t. And now you are mine, and I can give you that wedding night I promised.”
“But that’s just one night,” she said, wincing slightly as she smiled, one hand going to the manifestation. “What else do you have to offer me?”
“How about an eternity of undying devotion, love, and wholesale worship?”
“Hmm. Good, but not good enough.”
For a horrible fraction of a second, I thought I’d lost her. The twinkle in her eyes, coupled with her fingers stroking along the manifestation, restored my faith. “You have to bring these to bed sometime. I can’t tell you how unbelievably kinky they are.”
“You are a strange woman,” I said, kissing gently around her bruised mouth. “And I am the luckiest man in history that you’re mine.”
Epilogue
Winter Solstice
S o this is the Underworld. It looks more like a mall. Is there supposed to be shopping in hell?”
My eyes popped open at the voice. It was a familiar voice, a cherished voice, a voice I hadn’t expected to hear upon my awakening. Not here, anyway. “Megan?”
“Right here. Are you okay?” A shadow fell over my face. My vision, always blurry after a transition, slowly focused on much-beloved features. Megan was smiling, but there was worry in her eyes. “Hello, handsome.”
“You’re here,” I said, dazed. “What are you doing here?”
She bent down and pressed a little kiss on my forehead. I tipped my chin up until she laughed and brushed her mouth against mine. “Silly man. Did you really think I was going to leave you alone half the year?”
I sat up. “Possibly. No, I was sure you would come with me.”
“Boy, you really do get disoriented transitioning from one world to the other.”
I rubbed my head, trying to get my brain to work properly again. “It’s always been that way. You had no problems?”
“Not a one. I woke up a few minutes ago. That was a heck of a going-away ceremony the druids held. Do they indulge in that much pomp and circumstance every year?”
“No, but it’s a new group of druids. They’re a bit enthusiastic, although I suspect the fact that the previous druid leader was sent to the Akasha—that’s limbo—by a hungry fury has something to do with their determination to please us.” I looked around. I was sitting on a long green chaise butted up against black-and-white marble walls. “We’re in the black palace.”
“This is a palace?” Megan got up from where she had been kneeling next to me, turning in a slow circle as she took in the room. “You have a castle and a palace? What about the mall outside? Wait a sec—is it a mall, or is it some sort of illusion meant to torment people?”
I went over to the window and looked down at the brightly lit concourse lined with small shops. People bustled in and out of them, laden with packages and bags of all sizes. “I had it redesigned some years ago, after visiting the Galleria in Dallas. There’s an ice rink at the far end, theaters on the west side for movies and live shows, an extensive library on the second floor, bowling, a fitness center w
ith an Olympic-size pool, miniature golf on the lower level, a health spa on the mezzanine, and a petting zoo next to the palace. If you lean out and look to your left, you can see the llama enclosure.”
Megan looked and nodded, a bemused expression on her face. “Llamas.”
“I’m particularly pleased with the food court, which is located on the east side beyond the butterfly solarium—”
Megan grabbed my arm, looking incredulous. “In hell?”
I took her hands and kissed each finger. “The Underworld is not hell, Megan. That would be Abaddon. The Underworld is a way station for people on their way for judgment. I should have explained it better earlier, but we’ve been so busy the last four months traveling, I didn’t remember.”
“I vaguely remember your telling me it’s a holding area.” She blinked a couple of times. “But a holding area with llamas and shopping?”
“Yes, that’s it exactly. When some mortals die, their spirits come to the Underworld. There they prepare for the journey to wherever it is they are going. Some go to the Court of Divine Blood or Summer-land, others go to Abaddon, still others are sent to the Akasha—it depends on the judgment.”
She looked like she was going to ask a question, then shook her head. “I think I’m going to let all that go, since it makes sense in an extremely convoluted way. So you’re in charge of all these people who are running around having massages in the day spa, and petting llamas, and shopping until they drop?”
“For six months out of the year, yes. It’s not a strenuous job, my love. I will have plenty of time to devote to your happiness.”
“So long as we’re together, I’ll be happy. And this will let me prepare for the next six months of travel, once we get back to reality again.”
I slid my arms around her waist, drinking in her warmth and scent and the essence that was Megan. “I command only one of the twelve hours in the Underworld; you may find it interesting to visit the others. Perhaps even write about your visits to them. You know, sort of a Guide to the Underworld?”
Megan laughed and slid out of my arms, peeling off her shirt. “That sounds like great fun. But first…it’s been a whole day since you made love to me, and I’m feeling sorely neglected.”
“We certainly can’t have that,” I agreed, flashing her a leer as I started toward the door.
“Dane?” In the middle of removing her trousers, she gave me a curious glance. “Where are you going?”
I upped the leer a few notches. “I’m going to have a quick chat with a televangelist.”
She glanced from the large bed in the corner to me. “Now? Why would you want to talk to a televangelist?”
“Because it will make me angry.” I touched my forehead. “Very angry.”
She gave a delighted squeal and jumped onto the bed, striking a seductive pose. “I’ll be ready and waiting for your horny self.”
“In spades,” I said, my heart alight with love and happiness as I went to find someone to enrage me.
Norse
Truly
One
B rynna? Är du där?”
Eek! Aunt Agda had found me. I hurriedly stomped out the cigarette I’d just lit and sidled out from behind the woodshed. “Um…yeah, I was just…looking for gnomes.”
“Gnomes? Vättar?”
“Yeah, Rolf told me there were gnomes in the bottom of the garden.” My smile was met with a stony look of disbelief. My cousin Rolf—really a second or third cousin some undeterminable number of times removed—was four years old and still sucked his thumb when he got sleepy. “Maybe he’s not what you’d call a go-to source for Nordic lore, but I was out admiring the garden and thought what the heck! I might as well look for gnomes.”
“The food is now done,” Aunt Agda said, narrowing her eyes as she delicately sniffed the air. “You were smoking?”
“Me? Of course not; you know I quit last week. I’m on the patch.” A nervous giggled slipped out before I could stop it. I wasn’t outright lying—I’d just gotten the cigarette lit and hadn’t yet taken a drag on it when Aunt Agda tracked me down. I wondered for a moment if Rolf had turned me in, since he’d seen me sneak the package of ciggies out of my purse, but I dismissed the idea. No doubt it was one of the older, more nosy relatives who’d ratted me out to Aunt Agda.
“Var är sås-sleven, moster? Ah, Brynna, there you are! We were wondering where you’d disappeared to. I was just asking Aunt Agda where the gravy ladle is. ‘Sås-sleven’ is gravy ladle, and ‘moster,’ you know, means aunt.” Cousin Paul beamed at me. He was a good fifteen years older than me, and his receding hairline was now touched with gray, but his warm brown eyes danced with pleasure. I’d met him only once before, when I was fourteen and my parents brought me to Sweden to spend the summer with their respective families. He’d tried to teach me Swedish then, too.
“She says she was looking for gnomes,” Aunt Agda said with a disbelieving look at me before returning to the house.
“Gnomes?” Paul asked, his brow wrinkling slightly. “The word for gnomes is ‘vättar.’ ”
“So I gathered. Can you tell me why you and all the other younger cousins speak absolutely flawless English, when I can’t remember more than ‘hello’ and ‘good-bye’ in Swedish?”
“It’s our superior schooling,” he said, trying to look modest at my praise. “I’ve heard that American schools don’t even offer to teach Swedish.”
“A definite lack in the educational system, I agree. But the least you could do is have an accent.”
“I will try to pick up an accent if you try to learn a few more words of Swedish, Brynna. It is the language of your ancestors.”
“I would, but I’m just so rotten at languages. Even my folks gave up on teaching me.” I walked up the few stairs to the wide, covered veranda that ran around three sides of the old farmhouse.
Paul delicately sniffed the air.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake…I didn’t smoke! I didn’t do more than light it. I swear, Aunt Agda is part bloodhound,” I grumbled. I pulled my leather jacket off and reached around to my back to make sure the nicotine patch was still attached to my skin. “I think this patch is defective; it’s not doing anything to relieve cravings. Maybe I should put another one on.”
“I don’t think it would be wise to add another. Surely the doctors have measured most carefully the amount needed to quit smoking. To tamper with that might lead to—ja, Maja?”
Paul’s wife, Maja, a petite woman with dimples that always seemed to be present, flashed a smile at me and said something through the screen door.
“Oh, they found the gravy ladle. Excellent! This means we may now proceed in to supper.” Paul opened the screen door and held it for me. “It should be very good. Roast venison!”
“Er…” I stopped in front of the coat rack. Rolf, who had been sliding around the floor of the entryway on his back making motorboat noises, leaped up and ran to me, getting both my knees in a choke hold. “Paul, you know that I’m a vegetarian—”
He laughed. “Yes, I know. My mother prepared a quiche just for you.”
“Oh, thank you. I’ve had enough family lectures about the sins of smoking, the folly of being unmarried at thirty-three, and the crime of not visiting family enough, not to mention the dangers of living in the U.S. The last thing I need is another conversation about my choice of diet. Rolf, no! That’s not candy!”
Rolf squealed like a monkey when I tried to grab the package of cigarettes that had fallen out of my jacket pocket. Clutching his prize to his chest, he raced toward the main living room with me in hot pursuit. The room was empty, since the call to dinner had gone out, but it was an obstacle course of furniture and folding chairs. I almost had him when he slowed down to hurdle an ottoman, but the little rat was faster than I was and dashed off to the dining room before I could get a grip on him.
“Oh, hell,” I said, skidding to a stop outside the double doors that led to the large dining room. “Now I’m done for.”
>
“Yes, yes you are,” Paul said cheerfully, coming up behind me to give me a friendly pat on the shoulder. “You shouldn’t have involved Rolf in your subterfuge.”
“I didn’t, he involved himself! And now all the aunts are going to see the cigarettes, and the smoking lectures will start all over again. I think I’ll go to bed.”
“Brynna?” My aunt Pia, Paul’s mother, emerged from the steamy depths of the kitchen, where a good 95 percent of the females in my family had been cooking up a meal for the twenty-four family members who had descended upon the house for my great-grandmother’s one-hundredth birthday. “Oh, good, there you are. Supper is ready, dear. Paul, we have run out of cream, and we must have it for the dessert.”
I strained my ears to listen to the murmur of conversation heard through the dining room doors. I could have sworn I heard Rolf’s high-pitched excited tone.
“I’ll go to the store,” Paul answered in a wearied tone, reaching into his pocket for his car keys. “For the third time today. I do wish you ladies would make a list of everything, rather than making me go out for each item.”
A muffled shriek sounded from the dining room. Damn Rolf and his light fingers.
“We are as organized as is humanly possible, given the circumstances. Brynna, Moster Agda is calling for you.”
Shouting was more like it. No doubt she’d seen Rolf’s prize. I’d made a point of telling everyone when I arrived a week before that I was giving up smoking, and under no circumstances was I to be near cigarettes—something the entire (nonsmoking, drat them all) family embraced, to the point of watching me suspiciously each time I stepped outdoors.
What I needed was a little time away from everyone, out of the microscope that the farm had become with so many family members watching my every move. For the millionth time, I wished I’d gone with my parents on their trip to Africa rather than spending a month visiting family, but at the time, a lovely Swedish July getting to know my relatives seemed to outweigh the idea of war-torn refugee camps. As doctors, my parents had the ability to help the injured and sick, but I knew from prior experience that the skills garnered in my job as a secretary to an insurance salesman were pretty much worth squat when it came to dysentery, gunshot wounds, and the myriad other afflictions suffered by refugees.
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