Power Play (Amanda Byrne Book 1)

by Kimberly Keane

  Eir,

  I bring you fare.

  A feast to eat or share.

  Aid I need.

  A healing deed.

  Physical repair.

  “Why do you call?” said a musical voice from somewhere behind me.

  I whirled, lost my balance, and fell. Collapsing at a Norse goddess’s feet is not the right way to make a good impression. They admired strength, stoicism, and death in battle.

  “Clumsy ass,” I muttered to myself and stood as quickly as I dared. “I request aid and offer the feast that lies with my body.”

  I met Eir’s cerulean-blue eyes. Her complexion was pale gold, and her blond hair was braided and piled artfully on her head. She was a hair taller than I was, which surprised me. I expected goddesses to be larger than life.

  “What aid do you request?” she asked.

  “Relief from the pain in my head, the nausea, and the vertigo.” I paused. No sense in not asking. “And the destruction of the curse I carry.”

  The table appeared at my side, and she walked to it. She selected a chocolate truffle, popped it in her mouth, and closed her eyes. “A worthy offering,” she said after a few moments. “Tell me how you came by this creature.”

  “I took it from a child before it could cause his death. I believe it is something the Fates want done.”

  I stayed stoic even though I wanted to clutch at my head and pull at my hair. Gods, this torture had to end. Eir continued sampling the food, smiling and nodding at each morsel.

  “You deprived someone of his right to die in battle against this creature?” she said.

  “I don’t see as far or as wide as the Fates.” Another thought struck me. “And should he reach manhood, he’ll be a far better warrior.”

  As she pondered this, she seated herself on the spongy ground and pulled the table to her. I stood and waited with clenched teeth for a few moments before breaking down and pushing the heels of my hands against my forehead. I bit back a sob that threatened to escape. I tried to figure out what I could say to move her decision along without offending her, but the pain was making it hard to speak.

  A smile flitted across her face, and she pointed at the assorted chocolate truffles. “These are one of the tastiest offerings I’ve been given.”

  “I’m glad they please you.” I managed not to sound surly. “Are they worthy enough to grant my requests?”

  “I am unable to destroy the creature, but I give to you the ability to bind it to one individual. Once bound, that person’s passing will cause the creature’s demise. I give you strong constitution. Until the creature is no longer with you, any cure for your current complaints will be replaced with another, stronger ailment. Urd can give you temporary respite.”

  I curtsied and started to bid her farewell, but when I looked up, Eir, the table, and the feast were gone. I added a replacement coffee table to my list of expenses, raised my face to the beautiful blue sky, let a few tears leak out the corners of my eyes, and said, “Shit.”

  Chapter Nine

  Urd was a Norse Fate, one of three. She and her sisters, Verdandi and Skuld, were collectively known as the Norns. They predated the gods and maybe even the worlds themselves. Current thoughts name them as the Fates that weave humans’ lives, sometimes named as Past, Present, and Future, but their nature was not completely understood.

  I turned directly from Fensalir’s front porch to the Well of Destiny at one of the roots of Yggdrasil, the world tree. I approached the well cautiously. It was more like a very deep pond—no bucket, no rock wall. The place was quiet, devoid of even the sound of the water rippling over the shore.

  Urd,

  To you I was referred.

  Pain deferred;

  Lest I remain uncured.

  The words cut through the silence, echoing and finally dying away. I didn’t know if the Norns were as fond of brash courage as the rest of the Norse gods, but with that calling, I hoped so.

  A hunched and hooded figure shuffled out of the mist. Age hung on her. An image of a Shar-Pei came unbidden to my mind. I was about to talk to possibly the eldest being in the known universes, and I was thinking about how she looked like a dog. Either the headache was affecting me in surprising ways, or my mind was running away with me. I got a grip on myself. Hopefully it was a tight one.

  “What ails you?” she asked. Her voice was a cracked whisper as ancient as her face.

  “My head. I am nauseous, and everything is amiss as if I am dreaming.”

  “What is the offering?”

  I doubted a feast of any size and quality would appeal to her. What could a mere mortal give to an entity such as her? Odin had given his eye for one drink from Mimir’s well to gain knowledge. Urd was not Mimir, and I was hoping the cost would not be a body part. I really wanted it to be a price I was willing to meet. And I was fearful I’d be willing to pay exorbitantly.

  When I couldn’t think of anything to offer, I grimaced and said, “What is your price?” This wasn’t a good negotiation tactic, but I couldn’t think past the pain.

  “I wish to understand why mortals make the choices they do.”

  I pulled my head back and furrowed my brow. “How do I grant you knowledge I lack?”

  “I would experience life as a mortal; I would experience life as you.”

  Gods, she wanted to be me. And that would mean the pain would be gone. I couldn’t stop the tears from leaking. I needed the pain to go away. Please, gods, make it stop. I hung my head and simply let the tears flow. Gods, I wanted to agree, but the thought made my stomach turn, more than the headache was already doing. Hand over my body to her. Let her live my life while I was away in limbo somewhere. Or even worse, inside watching it all.

  I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t let someone take me over. I sniffed and looked up at Urd, the tears blurring my vision.

  “The price is too high,” I said, then used the formal parting. “I go now, a child of Midgard.”

  I turned to leave, but her voice stopped me.

  “A sharing then.”

  I turned back to her. “What exactly would we be sharing?”

  “Your thoughts, feelings, and experiences. While sharing, I would be unable to view time and space as I currently do—I would experience it as you would.”

  The tears were slowing, and I wiped the last of them from my face. I closed my eyes, trying to will the pain away. I kept my eyes closed and said, “I would keep control. You would not be able to alter my thoughts, feelings, choices, or physical and spiritual forms. You would simply be privy to my thoughts and experience what I experience. Correct?”

  “Yes.”

  “For what length of time?”

  “What length would one need to understand the workings of mortals?”

  I laughed before I could help myself, winced at the pain, and became somber again. “Most of us don’t learn that in a lifetime.”

  “What is relief from your pain worth to you?”

  If she only knew. But I would offer something I was sure she would counter. At least all my negotiation skills hadn’t left me. “A week—seven of my days.”

  “A month—thirty of your days.”

  “Fourteen of my days.”

  “Agreed,” she said. “Come. The pain won’t be felt for three days, and you will not suffer from other ailments for that time. Each time you return to the well, for as long as I am with you, I shall grant an additional three days.”

  I followed her, knelt at the water’s edge, and faced away from the well. Urd took my head gently in her hands and bent it backward, angling it toward my left side.

  “I will bring your physical form here. The water must be used on both the physical and spiritual selves.”

  Thank the gods she had given me that warning. Dizziness slammed into me as I felt my physical form impact my spiritual self. I rocked backward and threw my arms outward, then pitched forward and threw up. I didn’t have much in my stomach, and I found myself dry heaving after it was evac
uated. The spasms subsided, and Urd coaxed me back into position. Her hands gently smoothed the hair back from my face. She smelled like dust, and her skin was the softest whisper of silk. A sigh escaped me.

  She poured water over my right eye. The coolness sank into my skin, and the deep ache fled. The water drained away over my forehead and drew a trail through my hair. The muscles in my body turned liquid, and Urd showed surprising strength, catching me and lowering me to the ground gently. I lay there curled up and breathed heavily. It was gone. Oh, blessed gods, the relief. I reveled in the lack of torment, refusing to move for several minutes. Finally, I stood up. Urd was gone.

  I am here. Her voice whispered in my head. Her presence felt like the ocean air blowing upon the shore.

  “How am I going to get home?” I said. “I can’t move living forms across worlds.”

  “I have agreed not to use my abilities while sharing with you.”

  “Can you leave me, send me back, and then join me?”

  “Or, with your permission, I can contact my sisters while remaining with you.”

  “For the purposes of getting me back, you have my permission.” Wind whipped through my ears and my hands flew up to cover them; only there was no wind. Still the sound of it filled and echoed in my head and I opened my mouth to scream. Before I made a sound, it subsided to the relative quiet of my hotel room.

  I slithered into the couch and let my head loll to the side.

  What is this heaviness in our arms and legs? I heard Urd’s voice inside my head and raised my eyes, thanking the universe that her voice didn’t sound like a hurricane.

  “I’m tired,” I responded aloud.

  Tired?

  “Yes, the pain I felt earlier, the traveling to the god realms, and the negotiating has worn me out. I need sleep.”

  Why? What does sleep do for us?

  “It recharges me.”

  What would happen to us without sleep?

  “Other than getting cranky, I don’t know.”

  I readied myself for bed and continued to answer Urd’s questions as best I could. I didn’t think much about why I straightened up the suite or laid out my clothing for the next day—I just did it.

  “I wish to show no disrespect,” I said to Urd as I crawled into bed.

  What do you wish to tell me?

  “I’m not going to be able to answer all of your questions at any time. You may just need to experience what there is to experience.”

  Even so, I will have questions.

  “Then perhaps we can have a question and answer session each evening or morning.”

  That may suffice.

  “Good,” I said. “Goodnight.”

  I was asleep before I heard her response.

  Chapter Ten

  I phoned Miriam to see if she wanted to join me in the decadence of good coffee and fat-laden pastries.

  “Hello?” Her voice was tentative.

  I wasn’t greeted with a full statement as to my emotional well-being or commentary on current events. I stuttered a few times before saying, “Miriam? You okay?”

  “’Manda?”

  “Yes! You can’t tell?” Maybe I had gotten used to hearing the answers before the questions.

  “You’re reading like . . . well, you’re not reading like you.”

  “What am I reading like?”

  “I’ll tell you when I get there. Don’t go anywhere. I’m on my way.”

  I waited impatiently, opening and closing the curtains with the automatic switch, putting my dirty clothes in my suitcase, and laying the few pairs of shoes I’d brought side by side in the closet, but I stopped short of making the bed. I twisted my hands around one another and watched the throngs of people through the window. I’d forgotten how much I disliked Vegas. Too many people trying too hard. It was as if happiness was just out of reach and they continued to fling themselves into one frenzy after another in never-ending pursuit of it. Finally, Miriam knocked and pulled me from my musing.

  She entered my suite, made me sit on the couch, and looked at me for a long time without saying anything. I opened my mouth to ask her what the helheim was going on, and she held up her finger. Her face went blank for a few moments, as if she’d stepped into the alternate realm.

  “What happened to you?” she said after the animation came back to her face.

  “What do you mean? What in helheim is wrong?”

  “I don’t know yet. Tell me what happened after I left yesterday.”

  I did.

  She raised an eyebrow. “You’re sharing your body with someone else?”

  “Yes. Hooray,” I said without enthusiasm.

  Miriam sighed, and the tension released from her shoulders. She ran her hands through her hair. “Oh, thank heavens.”

  “Blessed gods, what?!”

  “One more thing,” she said. “Close your left eye. Can you still see me?”

  “Yes. Of course.”

  “In the alternate realm, you look almost like Mr. Bradley did to me when we were in the hospital. Your psychic signature is so weak, I couldn’t pick it up when you first called. And it’s changed. I’ve never seen that. On top of that . . .” Miriam pulled a compact out of her purse, snapped it open, and centered my image. My right eye was so silver, it was close to albino white, as was my eyebrow and a line of hair that cascaded from my forehead and fell past my shoulder. I bolted into the bathroom. The image in that mirror wasn’t different from the one I’d seen in the compact. Miriam stepped up behind me.

  “Holy shit,” I said.

  The well. Urd answered my unspoken question. It purifies.

  “Oh my gods.” My voice was low.

  “What?” Miriam said.

  “Urd used the water from the Well of Destiny to remove the headache.” My face was grim. “The well purifies and, in so doing, bleaches everything it touches.”

  “When will the color return?” Miriam asked.

  It won’t, Urd answered.

  “Never,” I said to Miriam, and tears welled in my eyes. I wiped at them.

  “Nothing else is wrong with you?” she said.

  “Isn’t this enough?” I leaned forward and looked more closely at my eye.

  “It could be worse.”

  I nodded. It most certainly could. And my mind obliged me, calling forth the memory of the blackness that I’d seen surface in Mr. Bradley. “You said I looked like Mr. Bradley to you. What exactly do I look like?”

  Her reflection looked perplexed.

  I huffed out a breath. “Do I have anything black surfing my aura?”

  “No. Nothing like that. Not only did your signature change, your frequency is lower. Almost inaudible.”

  I raised an eyebrow. “Just inaudible, or more like a black hole? Like Mr. Bradley?”

  “No.” She brought her index finger to her lips and concentrated. “It’s . . . it’s more like . . . aha, there’s your signature, but there’s another atop it and they seem to be canceling each other out. On the surface, they read as one blended signature. But . . .”

  “But what?”

  “It’s not dissimilar to what I was getting from him. Maybe he does have an entity inside him, only one different from yours.”

  I closed my eyes and was grateful Miriam hadn’t seen any darkness. I had no idea what the thing was in Mr. Bradley, but I had the sense that I wanted nothing to do with it. I opened my eyes, looked back at my image, and ran my hand through my hair, holding the streak away from my head. I sighed loudly.

  “At least you don’t have to worry anymore about starting to gray,” Miriam said. I glanced back at her to see a smile start to spread on her face.

  I laughed. “There is that,” I said. “Give me time to shower and get ready. Then I really need that coffee and pastry.”

  Chapter Eleven

  The marinated salmon on soba noodles coupled with the Pinot Grigio danced well with each other. That was one thing I could give Vegas and where my decadence took root here: the
food. I drank only one glass of wine. We were headed to the conference mixer after dinner, and too much would make me more apt to stumble on the social conversational skills I’d managed to develop.

  “Where’s Cal?” I asked Randy. Cal was Randy’s partner of ten years. They tied the knot about two years prior—a year and a half before their daughter, Amelia, was born.

  “The babysitter backed out at the last minute and we couldn’t find a replacement,” Randy said. “And I think the whole hair-eye thing looks awesome.”

  “Thanks.” I grimaced. I took a drink of wine and then asked both him and Miriam, “Did either of you have any luck at the conference today?”

  “No,” Miriam said. “There were quite a few who worked with smaller hexes, but no one had seen anything like I described.”

  “Ditto,” said Randy. “I even called my grandmother who talks about the curses that were in her village when she was little. But those were more like spells. She’s heard of living curses, but she didn’t have any idea how to kill one.”

  “I struck out too. Most people visibly paled when they looked at what I’m carrying around.”

  “Have you asked Urd?” Miriam said.

  “No, I hadn’t even thought of it.” I held up a finger to Miriam and Randy. “Urd, have you seen anything like the curse I’m carrying around?”

  Yes.

  “And?”

  Is that a question?

  “Are you always this closed about sharing information?”

  I am always careful with power.

  “The questions you have been asking me and expecting me to answer, they contain power?”

  She didn’t respond, and so I had my answer.

  “I’ve been answering your questions since we left Asgard, but that wasn’t part of the original arrangement.”

  I felt her nod her head once and was shocked by the unusual sensation. I shook my head from side to side and returned to my train of thought. “I propose that we answer each other’s questions.”