by Lu J Whitley
Fantastic. How the hell was she going to get out of here? Her shoulders slumped forward. Christ, she was a college kid, not an escape artist. Even if she managed to get out of this room, how much further could she get?
It was obvious the Takers, or whoever was leading them, didn’t want her dead. Because she was still breathing. And they’d bandaged her wounds when they could have just let her bleed out slowly or thrown her in a dungeon and let her die of sepsis. So what was the end game?
All the thinking was making her head pound. Rather than making herself miserable, she decided to put off the planning for a while, until she was more in her right mind. She let out a deep sigh. It’s not like she was going anywhere.
Off to the side of the main entrance to the room was an opulent bathroom. As much as she was tempted to climb in the glass-enclosed shower or the gold-rimmed spa tub and wash away all the muck and grime from the long journey – and she wanted to, badly – she wasn’t about to get naked like some horror movie nitwit and make herself vulnerable to attack. With a frustrated harrumph, she grabbed a washcloth from the counter and shoved it under the gold-plated faucet, trying not to think of her last shower, or a man holding a dish towel as he…
“Nope. Not going there.” She stared herself down in the mirror, pointing her index finger for emphasis. “Greta, you’ve got to get your head on straight!” Without another thought, she finished her quick wash, taking special care to clean the remains of Taker stew out from between her toes. She only gagged twice. She was tough like that.
Feeling a little bit more human, she stepped back out into the main room and really took stock of her surroundings. The room was huge, bigger than most apartments. The canopied bed took up a large part of one wall, and a matched wardrobe and dresser shared the opposite one. Done in hues of pale blue and gold, it was bright and airy, not exactly what she’d expected to find in a villain’s lair.
Okay. Step one, “Find a weapon.” Her plastic tube had been confiscated sometime between making gooey Taker and waking up in Wonderland. She briefly considered the water-filled carafe. She could easily bash someone over the head with it, but she doubted it would be heavy enough to knock someone out. And she’d be completely S.O.L. if there happened to be more than one someone.
Jami had been adamant that Takers were very strong and exceptionally hard to kill, and even though she was perversely proud that she’d been able to kill one, she knew it’d been a fluke. She’d never get that lucky again. And she doubted wandering around the castle with a sign around her neck that said ‘Bite Me’ was going to get the job done.
Starting with the pale wooden dresser, she began the search, rifling through drawers full of lush velvets and brocades. The pristine specimens looked like they’d been preserved for centuries. What the hell? Was she staying in the costume department? Finding nothing of use except a pair of velvet… bloomers (hey, pants were pants), she moved on to the matching wardrobe, and hit the jackpot. It was like Queen Elizabeth’s safety deposit box in there. Light blue velvet trays held an amazing assortment of jewels. Garnets and amber sparkled in the rays of sunlight that slipped past the wardrobe doors. Intricately carved pieces of silver and bone decorated necklaces. Bracelets. Rings. It took everything she had not to squeal with girlish delight and have a quick game of dress-up.
Weapon. She was there for a weapon. Focus. In the very back of the wardrobe, she found a silver brooch with a wickedly pointed, four-inch long spike shaped to look like a snake. Garnets winked in its eye sockets. You’ll do nicely. With one last longing glance at all that jewelry, she closed the wardrobe doors and headed back to the big bed.
She set down the bloomers and the pin, looking down at her hands with a frown. “Shit.” Using her teeth, she managed to loosen the wrappings on her right hand, unwinding the bandages until only her wrists were left covered. Luckily, undoing her left hand was a lot easier once she had use of her right. With the sharp pin, she butchered the ends of the bandages and tucked the edges under to make sure they’d stay secure. Pain bit through her, and she looked a little more favorably on that bottle of ibuprofen. Her fingers looked like they’d been through a blender. But she’d have to deal. She’d powered through plenty of rugby matches with broken fingers. No different. No biggie. Jostling her wounded fingers as little as possible, she pulled the bloomers up and secured them around her waist. The pale green velvet only reached to about mid-calf, and she was so glad the main bedroom was devoid of a mirror. She felt completely ridiculous, but a lot less naked.
A little winded and sweaty from the effort, she took a seat, satisfied with her progress. Now, she had nothing to do but wait. Awesome.
To keep herself busy, she fell back on her father’s teachings. If he was a witch or weird or whatever, he had to have taught her something of use. Right? She closed her eyes and sought out the white place in her mind, hoping to figure out how to tap into that elusive electrical mojo while she had some time to kill, but just as she opened herself up to the waiting blankness, a knock on the door snapped her back to attention. She sprinted to the other side of the room as quietly as possible, which for her was about as quiet as a seal slapping across wet concrete. Positioning herself to the side of the huge oak door, she closed her fist tightly around the brooch pin, wincing as it dug into her fingers but managing to keep her grip.
“Miss?” A delicate female voice drifted through the strapped oak planks, accompanied by another light knock. Greta bit back a surprised grunt at the sound of the timid voice. “Miss? Are you awake?” The door latch slid to the side with the scratch of metal on metal. Greta tensed, readying to strike. In impossibly small increments, the door creaked open. Until a curling mop of golden hair appeared. Greta pounced, spearing her fingers through the pale strands and locking her fingers to the little woman’s scalp. She used her greater body weight to pull the other woman into the room, then hedged the door closed with her foot, leaning her back against the smooth oak and thrusting the dagger-like point of the pin against the woman’s throat. “Pl… Please miss,” the little woman wailed, her face turning in Greta’s grasp so they were nose to nose. Her bright blue eyes were shining with terror. Wait… Blue?
“Be quiet,” Greta hissed, giving her the once over. She was petite, even for a woman, barely reaching Greta’s shoulder. Her blonde ringlets bounced around her eyebrows as she nodded, biting her bottom lip to cut off a sob. “You’re human,” Greta wondered aloud, and the little woman nodded again. “The people you work for…”
“I no work for them,” she spat, her voice full of venom. “I is prisoner.”
Greta softened and chided herself for it. The woman could be lying, but she couldn’t stop herself from asking, “What’s your name?”
“Mady,” she sniffled.
“Why are you here, Mady?”
Greta meant why she was in the castle, but she must have misunderstood. “They send me to tell you that your papa wants you go to dinner?”
“My…” Papa? “That’s impossible. My father is dead.”
★Chapter 11
“So, Deacon just couldn’t resist sending me a…” Babysitter. Tag along. “… Handler. Hmm?” Jami slipped the strap of his satchel over his head and tossed it toward the far corner of the room, not giving a shit if he broke anything. He was too damned hopped up on blood and adrenaline to care about much, other than the fact that they were wasting precious time.
Stein blew at the shaggy hair that clung to his forehead, the strands slick with sweat. “Oh,” he grunted, “So now you feel conversational?” He plopped down on the bed closest to the door and started pulling at his muddy boots.
“No,” Jami huffed, “now you’re moving. I take the bed by the door.”
Stein flipped him off without missing a beat. One mud-splattered combat boot hit the floor, followed quickly by the other. Then, he eased back slowly, moving to the middle of the bed and making a grand show of stretching out and getting comfortable. “Not unless you wanna join me.” He patted
the mattress next to him for emphasis.
“In your dreams.” With a frustrated growl, Jami slunk past him to the other bed, making sure he smacked into both of the big feet that hung over the edge of the first one. He wished he could just take the troll over one knee and beat the tar out of him, though Stein had long outgrown spankings… Back about the time he’d outgrown Jami. What really chapped his ass was Stein knew exactly what he was doing. He was seeing to it Jami stayed put. For his own safety, as well as everyone else’s. Now, if he wanted to sneak out – as he’d planned – he’d have to get past the troll. And sneaking past a troll was a lot like trying to waltz through the front door of the White House. At high noon. Strapped to a nuke. It just wasn’t fucking happening.
Not that it mattered. The next agonizingly slow leg of their journey involved nothing more than a series of flights. Starting at sundown, they’d board the first, a short commuter flight to JFK. Where they’d hop a second that would put them in Iceland before sunrise tomorrow. From there, HQ had chartered a windowless cargo plane that would take them anywhere they needed to go, day or night. He’d have plenty of time to come up with a plan to rid himself of the troll. Though he grudgingly admitted it felt good to be with Stein again. It felt like home.
Once, they’d been inseparable, like brothers. He didn’t know what had changed, but he didn’t have time to wonder about it now. The plan was coming together. All he needed was a destination. “I’ll be in the shower,” Jami tossed over his shoulder, grabbing a clean change of clothes and heading for the bathroom.
“Good,” Stein chuffed sleepily. He rolled onto his side, the bed creaking under his weight. “You stink.”
Jami couldn’t help the smile that split his face as he pushed the door to the tiny bathroom closed. “Little shit.”
“Heard that,” came a muffled reply from the other side of the door.
He shook his head, forgetting Stein’s sense of hearing was as good as his, if not better. He’d have to be careful what he said around the big oaf. With that in mind, Jami braced himself for the coming… conversation. The beast had gone incommunicado for the entirety of the long trek, making him nearly crazed with a mix of curiosity and worry. “You there,” he whispered as he stepped under the scalding hot spray, hoping the noise of the rushing water would swallow the sound. The beast purred in response. The tone was soft, languid, as if the thing had just woken from a nap. “Where have you been,” he hissed.
Not safe, the beast cooed, I hide.
“Not safe from what,” Jami grunted, “Stein?”
No. The beast gave an exasperated sigh.
“Never mind.” He didn’t really care why the thing had gone into hiding. All that mattered was Greta. “It’s safe now. Show me where she is.” He didn’t expect the thing to comply so easily, but one moment, he was in the steam-filled bathroom, and the next, he was looking out at a large stone room. Sunlight played across dazzling tapestries in tones of pale blue and gold, so bright it almost hurt his eyes. When was the last time he’d truly seen daylight? He started to hear fragments of a heated conversation, drawing his focus. There was an argument going on between Greta and a tiny woman with long blonde ringlets that bounced around her head like a halo as she spoke.
“He your papa,” the woman said adamantly, her thick accent coloring the words, “He look just like you.”
“I told you,” Greta retorted, “My father is DEAD!”
Shit, Jami exclaimed, and Greta let out a little ‘oof’ of surprise. Could she hear him?
Possible, the beast mused.
“Miss,” the little woman said. The fire in her eyes was quickly washed away by concern, a crease of worry settling over her brow.
“Jami,” Greta breathed, barely a whisper. The room around her wavered in and out of focus as she sought out the source of the voice.
Greta, he called to her, Can you hear me?
“Yes,” she cried, “Jesus, Jami, where are you?”
The other woman looked at Greta as if she’d grown an extra head. “Miss,” she repeated, but Greta shushed her with an outstretched hand.
Not important, he said, not knowing how long this connection would last, Where are you?
“In a castle.”
More specific.
“Oh, right,” she said, “We flew here. My head was covered. I didn’t see much.”
Go to the window, he gritted, trying to be patient with her. He was a soldier. Trained to be cool - rational. He was planning on going in, getting her location, and getting out. Once he’d heard her voice, though, all his training went right out the fucking window. He went hard as a steel pipe. His breath sputtered, and his heart clawed at his ribcage, trying desperately to get to her. The inability to touch her – to hold her and make sure she was safe – was maddening, but he had to hold it together for her.
Without a pause, Greta went to the windows as ordered. She scrambled across the room and pressed her hands against the tall panes of hand-blown glass. Through her eyes, he saw high stone walls dividing the inner structure from endless flat moors covered in snow and ice. But it was the courtyard between the stone walls that caught his attention. A central statue rose up out of the snow and flagstone like a dark arrow. It was a figure of Odin, the form unmistakable. It was burned in his memory like a brand. He’d played and rode in that courtyard. Learned to fight around the base of that blackened statue. He’d prayed at Odin’s feet so many times as a young boy. I know where you are, he coughed, his mind reeling. The images in front of his eyes began to shimmer and fade.
“Jami?” Greta whispered.
Stall Greta, he shouted over the fragile connection, Stay alive. No matter what you have to do. I will come for you. His voice broke from the raw emotion of losing her all over again. I will be there. Something rough, like sandpaper, slapped across his face. Strong fingers wrapped around his biceps and shook him, pulling him back to himself.
“Jaromir!” Stein’s gruff voice shattered the remaining haze of the connection. “What the fuck?!” His rugged face was contorted with worry, and Jami was taken aback.
“Stein,” he grunted, trying to get the troll’s attention. The continuing spray of the shower drowned out his hushed voice.
“Jaromir!?”
“I’m right here, Stein! Gods, you don’t have to yell!” He pushed the giant away, bracing his feet against the wall of the shower and sliding to a sitting position. How the hell had he ended up on the floor?
The troll sat back on his haunches, his long tail whipping back and forth behind him like a cobra waiting to strike. “You weren’t fucking here a second ago! Where the hell were you?”
“You wouldn’t believe me.”
Stein hunkered down, crossing his arms over his chest and signaling he wasn’t going anywhere any time soon. “Try me.”
Jami huffed out a sigh, his bare chest slowly rising and falling underneath the cooling waterfall from the shower head. Where to start? He was dimly aware that he was naked and wet and sharing a tiny shower stall with his best friend, their big bodies taking up most of the available space. “Do you care if I put on some pants first?”
“Like I’ve never seen your dick before,” Stein harrumphed, “Just tell me.”
“Okay.” Jami reached up behind him and spun the dial on the shower controls, cutting the spray. “Here’s the abridged version, the beast can let me see through Greta’s eyes for a short period of time.”
“Fuck!” The troll reached up and raked his thick fingers through his silver hair. “Since when can it do that?”
“I don’t know. Since now. But it’s amazing. I can talk to her, see what she sees.”
“So you know where she is?”
“Yeah. That’s the problem though.” He took a deep inhale, needing the bracing oxygen. “She’s in Ragnarsborg.”
“As in your…”
“Yeah.”
“Fuck!”
Jami should have known from the second he’d laid eyes on that stone chambe
r. The pale wooden furnishings. Greta was in his mother’s room in his father’s castle. Ragnarsborg: the ancestral home he’d turned his back on eight centuries ago. It was a fortress, damned near impenetrable. And then there was the best part about the whole ordeal. “Her father’s got her.”
“We’re going up against August?” Stein closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose between a thick forefinger and thumb. “Fuuuuuuuck!”
“My sentiments exactly.”
★ ★ ★
“Jami,” Greta called, her eyes darting around the chamber, expecting to find him lurking behind a velvet curtain or under the huge bed. “Jami?” But he didn’t answer. He wasn’t there.
If these were normal circumstances, she would’ve told herself that she was crazy. Maybe she’d brained herself just a little too hard on that tarmac and now she was having the most wonderful hallucinations, nothing more. But ‘normal’ wasn’t really part of her life anymore. She hadn’t known it was possible, and she didn’t know how he’d done it, but somehow, Jami had found a way into her mind. She’d felt him with her and heard his voice. His words had thrilled through her, making her hair stand on end. ‘I will come for you!’ He hadn’t left her. He was coming. She felt a rising sense of hope filling her now she knew without a doubt he was coming. All she had to do was stall for time. And that, she could do.
“Who you talk to?” Mady stomped her foot, sending a wave of movement through her long blonde curls. Greta was reluctant to tell the little woman anything. She didn’t know if she could trust her.
“No one,” she said, bringing her gaze front and center to meet Mady’s bright blues.
“Seem pretty excited for no one,” Mady prodded. Greta just shook her head in response. “Urgh!” Mady grunted harshly, hands propped defiantly on her tiny waist. Her ethereal features scrunched into a scowl. “Fine. You talk to no one.” She turned to head back to the thick oak door, apparently not worried at all that Greta was still holding a weapon. “I must go. They think I gone too long.”