by Carrow Brown
The aroma of blood reached my nose along with cold steel and mead. The scent of a Valkyrie. If I viewed her magically, I would see her for who she was, a warrior woman armed for combat with a spear at her back and a shield by her side. A sister, of sorts, to me.
A sister who leaned away from me as if I had leprosy.
On the physical front, our coloring didn’t match at all. Her blonde hair rested across her back in flowing waves that begged to be touched. I was lucky I’d gotten my bushy brown hair to remain in a ponytail. Her skin looked sun-kissed and warm; mine was practically sheet white. Our builds were the only thing we had in common, with our rounded shoulders, taut midsections, and calloused hands.
We Valkyries didn’t only look pretty; we also kicked some serious ass. She just managed to meld both with eye-catching appeal.
“Draugrrökkr,” she said, making my name sound like an insult even in her thick Slavic accent. “I’ve come because—”
My hand went up. “I’m sorry, do you have a name? People give their names first before business.” I placed my hand on my chest. “You know mine. What’s yours?”
Her lips pulled back into a snarl. She even snarled prettily. Not fair. “I don’t have to give my name to you, freak.”
“All right, Miss I-Don’t-Have-To-Give-My-Name-To-You-Freak, you’ve come because...?”
Her blue eyes took in the bar before whispering, “The Allfather has a task for you.”
I snorted. “Sure, he does. What did I do now?” I held up a finger to stop her retort. “Let me guess. I have to wear a mask, so people don’t know what I look like?”
Her face tinged a cute shade of red while she clenched her jaw. Even an army of makeup artists couldn’t make me that adorable.
“Look”—I reached over the bar and grabbed the bottle of vodka from under it—“if you didn’t want to engage in conversation, you should have written whatever it is you came to say on a paper airplane and thrown it at my head.” I offered the bottle to her. “Want some? My treat.”
She leaned farther away from me. “The Allfather wishes for you to acquire a book.”
I shrugged and took a swig from the bottle. “We have a lot of books at The Well. Which one does he want?”
“It’s not in The Well. It’s with Oaken Staff.”
I hesitated, frowning at her. “The magi order?” At her nod, I set the bottle down. “What’s stopping a god from going inside?”
The blonde sniffed. “The Allfather doesn’t have to trouble himself with such a trivial task.”
My eyebrow arched. “Why can’t you simply walk in there and get it, then? You’re a Valkyrie, right? Just muscle your way in. Or bat your eyelashes.”
Another jaw clench. “The Allfather said it has to be you.”
It’s probably because you have a key to get inside, Silence said. And because we go there regularly to “relieve” them of things they shouldn’t have.
My fingers tapped on the bottle. “Sure, who am I to deny the Allfather? Which book is it?”
She shifted on the stool, her eyes moving to the bar before whispering so softly I strained to hear it, “It is the Kuglehost.”
“The Kuglehost,” I said, letting the syllables roll off my tongue. “The Allfather wants a book about terrifying critters looking to rip into our world and consume all of life because…?”
Her eyes snapped back to me. “It is what he wants. You do not get to ask why.”
“Fine.” I took another swallow from the bottle and set it on the bar top. “But if this book grows a tentacle and tries to eat me, I’m filing a complaint.”
I’d meant for the comment to be funny, but the Valkyrie continued to glower. “Good.” She slid off the barstool. “Be quick about it.” She turned on her heel, walking out the bar with every head following her the whole way out.
“Good talk, Miss I-Don’t-Have-To-Give-My-Name-To-You-Freak,” I called after her. “I look forward to future encounters.”
I’d rather avoid the Kuglehost. Anything having to do with the Outer Ones gives me the heebie-jeebies.
“You and me both.” I fished out a few twenties and tossed them onto the bar before walking off with the bottle. “But the sooner we get it done, the sooner he can go back to pretending I don’t exist.”
You should get that daddy complex checked out.
“Fuck you,” I growled.
I stepped outside into a wall of snow flurries and lifted my face to the sky. Breathing in the chilled air, I made ready to walk down the road when a tingle ran up my spine. My movement faltered a second before I started walking. One of the perks of being a predator was knowing when someone stalked you.
I kept myself natural, my every sense on alert, but the sensation I felt lessened the farther I walked from the bar. When it faded utterly, I let out a tense breath and stopped to look back the way I’d come.
What’s wrong?
“I dunno. Something.” I focused and gazed at the world magically, but nothing stood out. People moved on by, oblivious to me in their determination to get somewhere. Each one of them held threads that started from their chests and faded outward. Mythics called them Threads of Fate. Spiritual bonds binding others together. Both humans and mythics possessed them and we looked at them as a track record of the soul. Older souls held many threads, some thick and others thin, from their past lives which affected their present one. Newer souls only had a small handful, if any at all. Some of the threads I saw looked worn out and frayed while others were wrapped in thick hemp ropes. Some carried a smidgen of color in them, a telltale sign of the influence of a mythic or some divine guidance on a human’s life. But a lot of the colors I saw were the natural colors of the People.
You’re worrying about nothing. Let’s go.
“Sure,” I muttered, walking once more. I mulled over why Odin, the Allfather, would request a book of creepy shit. Between getting kicked out of the house, dealing with the Valkyrie, and that odd request, my mood had gone from grouchy to foul. The day couldn’t get any better.
CHAPTER FOUR
No Love Quarrels
Islogged through the snow, noting the increase in flurries from my arrival. The snow was the only thing that made getting about tricky. It crunched under my feet as I walked and it slowed my progress. My trail was gone as soon as I made it. If the snowfall were lighter, I would’ve been able to glimpse Mount Rainier ascending into the sky, beautiful and innocent. Or as beautiful and innocent as dormant volcanoes could be.
Few people were out that day, as I made my way toward the post office from the bar. I spotted the occasional group of children running about and hurling snowballs at one another. Adults became more frequent the closer I got to the stores and railway stops. My eyes lingered over those who walked arm-in-arm.
No, no, no, Silence broke into my thoughts. No longing for love or companionship—you have me.
My eyes narrowed, pausing to look both ways before crossing the street to the post office. “What? I can’t have nice things?”
Typically? No. But you can eat them! Look at the fat one! I am sure he’s marbled nicely.
My eyes found the man waddling across the street. “No.” I sighed. “How about we find work instead?”
So long as it’s bloody! Stab!
Work wouldn’t cheer me up, but Vainya was right about needing a distraction. I pulled out my cell and thumbed through my list of contacts until I reached “Operator” and texted, Job still pending?
Tucking the phone away, I opened the glass door to the post office. Much like the outside world, it held few people. Twisting a key into the box, I glowered at the red slip of paper resting inside along with a postcard. I pocketed the postcard without looking at it—mail was never for me—and fiddled with the red package slip while I went to the pickup counter.
The package required I return home to deliver it to Vainya. I debated leaving and picking up the parcel later when the command to stay away had lifted. But mail was always a sensitive subject to
Vainya. He snatched up letters like a game of Hungry-Hungry Hippos. I could leave the Manor if needed, but he never could as the Master of the Well. Years prior, I enrolled him into a pen-pal program so he could correspond with someone besides me, and he always brightened at the letters. He’d be angry at me for knowing there was mail and not bringing it home. The dilemma was trying to get it to Vainya. The command to not to return still hummed in my bones. Damned if I did, damned if I didn’t. Rocks and hard places. Whatever idiom fit.
This is complicated, Silence said, after I’d signed for the package. You won’t even be able to reach the front door. What about throwing it at the entrance and yelling at Vainya to get off his furry ass and get it?
“No.” I sighed. “Vainya is always engrossed in whatever he is reading.”
Chuck it through a window? I didn’t see a fragile label.
“The last time I broke a window, the Manor replaced my comfortable futon with a bed of nails.”
That’s not so bad.
“While I was asleep on it.” I rubbed my face with a hand. “Things would be so much easier if the Manor could have a phone.”
On cue, my cell rang. Fumbling with the phone and package, I managed to place the small device to my ear. “Yes?”
A dispassionate voice said on the other end of my cell, “This job has been pending for five days.”
“Hello, my love. Your voice brings me such joy.”
“Five days.”
I groaned and used my shoulder to open the door and step back outside. “I know, I know. Just going through personal stuff. Is the job still good?”
“It is.”
“All right, give me the details.”
“Seven million U.S. dollars, up front, if accepted. Another seven million after the job is complete. The client wishes to arrange a meeting with you to discuss the actual details.”
I staggered and came close to tripping into a woman with a toddler at the crosswalk.
“I’m sorry, can you repeat the sum? I don’t think I heard you right.”
She did, and the amounts didn’t change.
Fourteen million dollars. U.S. dollars! Not those stupid loonies or oz dollars. The only time I’d had that much money in my possession was when I transported it. Even to mythics, that was a lot of money—and most of them had better savings plans than I did. It was generous for my line of work, at any rate. At most, I’d gotten a few thousand after clearing out a den of boggarts from a house with a reputation of killing those living in it.
“What kind of contract is it?”
“It’s a level three liquidation.”
Ha! Silence ran in energetic circles in my mind’s eye. Liquidation means assassination! Somebody gonna die!
Despite Silence’s glee, which threatened to make me giggle, my gut tensed. Jobs for that kind of money would involve something significant. The operator spoke, but my gaze locked on the mother and daughter standing in front of me at the crosswalk. The former read the sign names to her little one who mimicked them back like a parrot. My eyes lingered on the pair of them and my mouth watered. As much as I was against eating the small ones, I was as prone to my instincts as any other predator. The squeals of children were both horrifying and tantalizing.
The deadpan voice of the operator snapped, “When can you meet with the client?”
I blinked. “What?”
An exaggerated sigh. “When can you meet with the client?”
“Do I have to? I like it better when you send me a nice information package.”
“If you want the first half up front, he requires you to meet with him.”
I growled. “Fine. Do you know if it’s political or personal? I’d like to know about the shit storm before walking into it.”
“It’s both,” she said.
Muttering a curse, I mentally weighed my options. Assassination for political reasons was the easier of the two. Competitive party A pissed off party B and party B hired an assassin to kill the offender. Sounded simple at first, but add in emotions, immortality, magic, and it was a giant pile of poo. Which was what enforcers were for. We really weren’t any different than soldiers of fortune who sold their skills, except we were assigned tasks to maintain secrecy and discretion for mythics and Gods.
Overall, being an Enforcer wasn’t a bad gig to have. They even gave me a fancy business card. It read,
Ghost
Enforcer
Reasonable Rates—100% Customer Satisfaction
Lost items retrieved, threats neutralized, safety assured, problems “Ghosted”
NO LOVE QUARRELS
They didn’t have health care or retirement, but the pay made up for it. My enforcer rank was close to the bottom, but it never bothered me. Helping a village with a wendigo problem or tazing a werewolf in the ass when they were in heat paid my expenses. Most of the time. Vainya’s demands along with buying raw materials for the Manor left our accounts pretty bare.
I asked, “The client is insisting on the meeting? I don’t do client meetings.”
The operator made a sound close to a laugh. But it couldn’t be, I hadn’t heard her laugh since she’d been assigned to be my operator in the last fifty years. It had to be the booze still in my system. Her voice remained deadpan with her, “You have to meet them.”
“Fine. My schedule is pretty open right now. What is the best time and place for them?”
“Hold, please.”
The voice clicked away, and I stood there eyeing the small group of people about me.
“It’s a lot of money, Silence. It’s almost too good to be true.”
Silence scoffed. Why are you complaining? Think of all stabbing I can do and all the vodka you can buy when we’re done.
“I’m serious. Something about this doesn’t sit right.”
How badly do we need the money?
Other than the last fifty in my wallet, my access to funds was about as tragic as a girl stood up for prom. Some say raising kids and sending them to college was rough, but try taking care of a sentient house, which consumed materials faster than people fell into credit debt, and a high-maintenance chimera who didn’t care about food costs. The roof tiles needed repair, we needed more wood for expanding bookshelves, and I wouldn’t go into the fabric needs.
With resignation, I said, “We need it bad. It can get us through a few years if we budget it well.”
Then stop bitching and take the damn job.
The operator voice cut off my response, “Client is available tomorrow. Tokyo. Kitsune Haven. Noon local time. Will you accept?”
I glanced up as the sign changed and walked with the herd of people. “Yeah, I’ll be there. What’s the client’s name?”
“Caldrin Leafstorm.”
“That’s a tacky magi name if I ever heard one. All right, thanks for the call.”
The operator’s line clicked off, and I waited until I was across the street to lean against the wall out of the way of the cattl—pedestrians. My forearms tingled and I felt a pressure lift off my shoulders as the requirements of Vainya’s command were met—I’d found something to distract me from my hunger.
I googled “Caldrin Leafstorm” on my phone and came up with zero results. He wasn’t some young magi, with the younger flocking to social media and using their magi names as a pseudonym, which blended in with everyone else using their video game handles. It left me with the impression he was older, but I wouldn’t know until I saw him. Unfortunately, I didn’t know any magi who would be willing to spill their secrets to me about one of their own, so I couldn’t find out through the grapevine about him either. I dug a little deeper, trying various social media platforms with various spellings of his name, but nothing came up.
Why are you trying to e-stalk this guy? Just take the job and let’s get bloody!
“Silence, if there is one thing I know, people who throw money around to get something done are dangerous.”
And? So are we.
Pushing away from the secti
on of building I leaned against, I headed down the sidewalk leading out of town. “Maybe, but it doesn’t mean I want to walk into a situation blind.”
We’re gonna meet a guy, learn about the one we are killing, and then kill him. You’re overthinking it.
I wrinkled my nose. “Maybe. We’ll see. If I’m right, you have to turn into a spoon for a month.”
And if I’m right, then I want you to eat a baby.
I stopped dead in my tracks. “That’s not funny, Silence.”
You’ve been a pussy about this since—
“Shut up,” I snapped. “Don’t even mention it.”
Silence huffed. Fine, I won’t. But get over it at some point. It’s been a hundred years since you found out, and the fact of it won’t change.
“Whatever. Let’s just go home and pick up my weapons.”
What other weapons do you need? I am more than enough to get the job done, even if you have that stupid thing at your side.
“Maybe,” I grinned, as Silence’s irritation continued to bubble in the back of my mind, “but I like to have options with my guns.”
Silence growled. You don’t need guns when you have me.
CHAPTER FIVE
Meaningful Bonds
The downside of having a magical weapon who speaks directly to my brain was that I couldn’t avoid arguments. Even worse, he could prod around my mind and over my body when I chose to not respond. As I continued to ignore him, Silence increased his nagging and whining the entire walk. While we passed through the streets of Seattle and into the suburban area, he presented a list of all the reasons why he was superior to guns.
His argument was a repetition of the following points: guns are stupid, Silence is always better, guns are stupid, Silence doesn’t make noise, guns are still stupid, and Silence is the best Edge ever.
By the time I rounded the corner of the street and beelined for a large house with a hanging sign reading “Bed and Solitary Breakfast,” my previous headache had morphed into a gaggle of geese trying to peck their way out of my head. I longed for pharmaceuticals to work on me as they did humans.