by Linda Grimes
couldn’t read the few words printed on it, but I assumed the buttons were “on” and “off,” and the lever controled the flow. I’d
find out soon enough.
Scooting to the edge of the seat, I reached under the dash and puled out a bunch of wires. Selected the right ones, peeled
back the insulation, touched them together. The engine turned over at once, purring like a large, loud cat.
Thank you, Billy, for being such a delinquent, and for showing off to me.
I released the emergency brake, jammed the truck into drive, and stomped on the gas. There was a tug when I got to the end
of the big hose filing the tank, but it didn’t slow me down. Nor did the vision of one very surprised neighbor dancing in my
rearview mirror. I pressed the pedal harder and left him to his jig, putting my eyes back where they belonged—on what was in
front of me.
Crap! Cars. Coming from both directions on the previously deserted road.
I couldn’t afford to slow down, so I sucked in a panicked breath, made an executive decision, and did the next best thing—I
closed my eyes and stepped on the gas.
Brakes squealed, and the smel of burning rubber permeated the air. When I dared peek, only two cars had run off the road.
Both drivers were waving their arms and making rude gestures, so I knew they weren’t hurt. That was good.
Also, I hadn’t hit a tree. That was better.
I rattled over the bumpy terrain, dodging pines, butt bouncing on the seat, teeth snapping together in jaw-jarring clashes. It
might have been wise to fasten my seat belt. Too late now.
As I neared the encampment, I crossed my fingers and pushed a button. If it didn’t work, I’d be shit out of luck. Literaly. Then
al I’d be able to do is run down as many of the Vikings as I could. The thought made me queasy, but I’d do it to save my friends.
There was a sputtering, folowed by a loud, metalic groan. I held my breath. After a smal eternity, there appeared the most
beautiful sight I ever saw—liquid poo, flying high.
“Woo-hoo!” I yeled to nobody in particular, playing with the lever to adjust the flow. “Get out your parasol, Per, you son of a
bitch. The perfect shitstorm is heading your way.”
The first of the Vikings to notice me—a few sentries posted on the outskirts—stood and stared, mouths agape, until they finaly
figured out I wasn’t stopping. They jumped out of the way and went running for the gravesite, yeling. I folowed, sticking close.
The nearer I got, the thicker the Vikings got, and the more they had to scramble to get out of my way. But none were fast
enough to escape the flying shit. They tried, though. Boy, did they try—they parted like the Red Sea, leaving me bearing down on
the smal central group standing in the middle of the boat grave.
Trey and Laura were held by two Vikings each, gagged, arms stretched out to their sides. Bily was on his knees, hands tied
behind his back. One Viking was behind him, with a knife to his throat.
Per, sword in hand, on his way to do something unspeakable to Trey and Laura, was puled up short by my arrival.
I couldn’t plow through the standing stones without doing considerable damage, not only to the ancient site, but also to the
vehicle I was in, and quite possibly to the people I was trying to help. So I leaned on the horn and veered left, maneuvering the
tank into position for maximum coverage.
The odorous slurry coated them al like fudge sauce glopped on an ice cream sundae. I let loose a hoot of laughter at the look
on Per’s face—what I could see of it, anyway, covered as it was. Surprise would be an understatement. Total, pole-axed
disbelief was more like it.
Even stunned as he was, I didn’t expect he’d stand stil for long, and he was stil too close to Trey and Laura for somebody in
possession of a blade that long. I needed to draw him away. So I got close to the window, plastered on a huge smile, and pointed
at my face. And then I finger-waved at him.
Thought his eyes were going to pop out of his head. Geez, you’d think he wasn’t happy to see me alive.
While Per stared at me with murderous intent, the Viking holding the knife on Bily moved in a flash, cutting the ropes. He
shoved the knife into Bily’s hand and retrieved another from the sheath strapped to his own belt.
Bily dove for the nearest Viking—one of the two holding Trey—and, within seconds, sliced both of the guy’s Achiles tendons.
Holy crap! And I thought Mark was ruthless. As the man screamed and grabbed his ankles, Bily repeated the process on the
oaf holding Trey’s other arm, feling him, too.
As soon as Trey was free, he and Bily grabbed one of the Vikings holding Laura. They threw the guy to the ground, where
Trey delivered a quick kick to the side of his face, leaving him inert.
The other Viking let go of Laura and ran, slipping and sliding in the ever-increasing pool of slurry. They let him go.
Al of that happened in seconds. The screams from the men Bily had sliced and diced broke Per’s focus on me. He looked like
he might be tempted to bisect the Viking who’d freed Bily—that had to be Mark—and go after Bily and Trey, so I honked the
horn to get his attention again. Once his eyes were back on me, I put my thumbs in my ears and waggled my fingers.
See, most people would think that was funny, but Per had no sense of humor. Leaving my friends to the tender mercies of the
Vikings who hadn’t run off at the first sign of the shit hitting the fan, he hunched over like a maddened bul and ran straight at me.
Oops. Hadn’t realy thought this part through. I reached to lock the door, only to discover the window was open. I grabbed the
handle and twisted for al I was worth. It spun uselessly in my hand, broken.
Maybe I could outrun him. Which, granted, would work better if he weren’t already just yards away from the truck and closing
fast. Stil, I had to try something.
I made myself wait a few crucial seconds, and shoved the door open as hard as I could. Timing is everything. It caught him
hard across the chest and face, knocking him flat. Knowing I couldn’t count on him being incapacitated for long, I jumped down
from the high seat and took off, heading back the way I’d come.
It was less than a minute before I heard a stream of angry Swedish, hot on my heels. Damn. I was hoping for more time before
he—
Tackled me from behind. Déjà vu. Only this time kidnapping was not in the cards—I was sure he had something more
permanent in mind.
I roled over fast, planning to shove him away before he dropped his ful weight on me. Mistake. It gave him better access to
my throat.
Slurry-coated fingers gripped my windpipe, and white-ringed eyes stared down at me. His freshly broken nose canted to one
side. The tendons on his neck stood out more with each growling breath he took.
Yep, looked like a classic case of ’roid rage to me. I wouldn’t last long at this rate.
So I did it. The forbidden thing. The ultimate taboo.
The Big No-No.
I adapted in front of a nonadaptor. (Hey, I was desperate.) Using my last bit of conscious energy, I shifted into a replica of the
man pinning me down.
The look that spread over his face was priceless—if I’d thought he was crazy before, it was nothing compared to the total
lunacy engulfing him now that he was strangling a living, breathing mirror-image of himself.
His hold weakened, and I gulped in air. Said to him, in his own voice, “This is your conscience, Per. Your higher self. And
you’ve been a VERY … BAD … BOY.”
>
He squealed like a girl and released me entirely, pushing himself away like I was the devil incarnate, which wasn’t too far off the
mark at the moment, as far as I was concerned.
I rose up on my elbows, keeping my head as close to his as possible, seeing as how it was having such a beneficial effect on
him. He scrambled to his feet, straddling me in much the same way as he had beneath the trebuchet right before he’d launched me
out to sea. I did what I hadn’t been able to then—I swung up a now painfuly tight boot, and kicked him.
Right in his raisins.
He clutched his crotch and fel over sideways, drawing his knees up to his chest. Man, that felt good. Who knew causing pain
could be so darned satisfying?
As I stood, I heard voices getting closer, and rid myself of Per’s aura at once. My feet and waist were supremely grateful. Per
was a big guy, and my clothes had been a snug fit. I sincerely hoped I’d never have to don the bastard again.
The first one to reach me was a Viking, caked in brown. Crap! It wasn’t over yet.
I turned to run, and was once again caught from behind. This time I screamed in frustration, because with al those other voices
getting closer I couldn’t risk another change. You can claim one person is crazy, but not a whole bunch of people who see the
same thing.
“Tyst, Ciel. Shhh. It’s me.”
I shut my mouth and peered closely at him. Under a thick, aromatic coating was Nils.
“SÄPO is here. You are safe.”
“Wel, it’s about bloody time,” I said.
He laughed and looked down at Per, stil writhing on the ground. “But see—you didn’t need SÄPO after al. You truly are an
astonishing girl.” His smile was ultra-white against the brown on his cheeks.
The new guys who joined us were not dressed as Vikings. As far as I could tel under the slurry, anyway. They gathered up Per
and dragged him away, wild-eyed and screaming the whole way.
“Just out of curiosity, what’s he saying?” I asked Nils.
He screwed up his brow and shook his head. “Crazy talk—something about witches, and being attacked by his conscience.
Perhaps he meant he is having an attack of conscience? Though he doesn’t sound remorseful, does he?”
“No, he doesn’t. Not a bit.” But Looney Tunes enough that no one would believe him if he told them what I did, thank
goodness. Breathing easier, I turned back to Nils. “I, uh, borrowed your uncle’s truck. I hope you don’t mind.”
“We at SÄPO cal that initiative.” I heard the smile in his voice. “Perhaps you would like to stay here and take a job with us? I
can get you the proper work permits.”
Before I could frame a polite refusal, a very brown Mark appeared, stepping between me and Nils. He must’ve figured it was
safe to drop the Viking aura he’d been wearing, what with being covered in shit from head to toe.
“Ciel? Is that you? What are you doing here? I told Bily to send you back to the boat.” His face threatened mayhem, and once
I might’ve cowered under his glare. Not anymore.
I shrugged. “Couldn’t remember the way back. By the way, you’re welcome.”
He opened his mouth, probably to start another lecture, but stopped when I raised my eyebrows at him.
“Thank you,” he squeezed out. “Don’t ever do it again.” Then he hugged me tight enough to crush the breath out of me, and
spoke softly, right next to my ear. “You and I need to talk. When we get back to—”
“Ciel!” Bily skidded to a halt, surfing the sludge, barely stopping himself before he rammed into us. Mark let go of me to steady
him. Bily looked even worse than Mark, covered with blood—none of it his own, I hoped—as wel as shit.
“Jesus, cuz, that was briliant! You were briliant! You sure we’re not from the same gene pool?”
In his excitement, he grabbed me by the waist, lifted me high, and twirled me twice before setting me back down. Mark was
forced to step back.
Hands holding tightly to Bily’s shoulders, I laughed with him. “Not according to Auntie Mo. She claims you were part of the
package when she married your dad.”
“Wel, I guess she would know.” He leaned closer to me, resting his forehead on mine and lowering his voice so only I could
hear. “Welcome to the playing field. Glad we’re on the same team—I’d hate to go up against you. You play dirty.”
Mark cleared his throat, interrupting our tête-à-tête. “She might’ve been hurt, you know. In case you didn’t think of that.”
Bily kept his head where it was, his eyes twinkling just centimeters from mine. “Uh-oh. Coach is mad.” Then he straightened up
and said, “And without her, the rest of us most likely would have been kiled before SÄPO got here. I’m not going to argue with
the way things worked out.”
“It was luck that SÄPO got here when they did, or we’d al be dead, including Ciel. You realy think that’s an acceptable risk?”
Mark said, giving Bily as hard a look as I’d ever seen.
Bily let it rol off. “Not personaly, no. But I think that’s up to Ciel to decide.”
I could’ve kissed him right then and there. Except his face was stil covered in shit and al, so I didn’t.
*
SÄPO proved efficient at rounding up the stray neo-Vikings. They loaded as many of the medievaly adorned, brown-caked men
as they could find onto buses with armed guards, and sent them to be processed in Visby. The two Bily had put out of
commission with his impressive knife work were seen to by agents skiled in first aid. They would eventualy be able to walk again,
maybe even before they were out of prison.
Per was taken away in a special, heavily armored van, shackled hand and foot. He was stil screaming at the top of his lungs
when I last saw him. I suspected it was just as wel I couldn’t understand what he was saying.
Nils directed local police officers to an isolated warehouse ful of the anabolic steroids used to lace the neo-Viking’s line of
men’s grooming products, as wel as incriminating documents related to Per’s ilegal smuggling activities. The animal skins turned
out to be more than just supplies for the neo-Viking recruits to make their leather accessories with—they also hid, in a wel-cushioned manner, al kinds of smal containers of the ilegal muscle-building aids.
Ahiga, a disgruntled employee of the DEA, had been recruited by Per, who was excited by the prospect of expanding his
macho empire across borders. He had thought Ahiga, along with Trey, whose legitimate import-export business was a great cover
for smuggling activities, would make excelent American contacts. He’d been half-right. Ahiga would be sent back to the States to
face charges.
After Trey’s CIA connection was discovered because of a fluke in the line of communication (I think that’s Company jargon
for “somebody fucked up”), Per had been even more determined to maintain his connection to America via Ahiga, especialy since
the Indian was a major source of the steroids. Happily for testicles throughout Scandinavia, that was one pipeline now cut off.
Once the general hubbub surrounding the arrests was taken care of, I officialy met the real Trey for the first time. Even covered
in shit, even with a split and puffy lip, his smile stil melted me a little. Mina was one lucky lady.
Nils graciously invited al of us over to his uncle’s farm to rinse off. Mark declined on behalf of everyone, saying a dip in the
ocean folowed by a rinse on the boat would suffice until we were back in Visby.
Laura took exception to Mark speaking for her. “Wel, y’al can freeze your tushes o
ff if you want to, but I’m taking Nils up on
his offer.” She took the big guy’s hand. They were clearly thriled to see each other again. “Are you certain you don’t want to
come along, Ciel? I’m sure there’s plenty of hot water.”
“Nah. I’l be fine on the boat. You guys must have a lot of catching up to do.”
Laura looked from Mark to Bily, firmly planted on either side of me, and cocked her head at me. Which one? her teasing eyes
asked. I gave a tiny shrug. Hell if I know.
Chapter 30
The surreal image in the ful-length mirror floated dizzily before me. If I let my eyes go out of focus I looked as poofy as an
unsheared sheep fresh from a spin in the tumble dryer.
Crap. Why did she have to choose the Cinderella dress?
I jumped when I heard the door open behind me. My brief moment of solitude in Mina’s childhood bedroom was over. Ava
Milan, thirty-something Ace of Al Wedding Planners, effervesced into the room, brimming with good-natured efficiency.
“You look absotively, posilutely stunning, Mina!” Her worshipful voice did nothing to soften my horror at being decked out in
bilowing, blinding white from head to toe. I would’ve felt totaly ridiculous had I not also been wearing Mina’s aura. Thank God
no one would ever see me in a getup like this.
“It’s time.” Ava flashed me her toothiest smile and made a minuscule adjustment to my veil, which was long enough to double
as mosquito netting for a queen-size bed.
I folowed her, and with every precarious step down the stairs my feet screamed at me silently. Realy, the least Mina could’ve
done was choose comfortable shoes. If I got through the day on four-inch stilettos without breaking an ankle, I’d consider myself
blessed. I already had blisters on both heels from al my practice walking, and my toes were cramping like a son of a bitch, and
for what? You couldn’t even see the damn things underneath the umpteen layers of silk and lace that barricaded me from the rest
of the world.
There are times when I hate my job.
Little more than two weeks had passed since my return from Sweden. Mina just couldn’t wait any longer than that to live her