“The smell is rotting flesh. That’s part of a hand.”
He was right. It wasn’t a full hand or I would have recognized it instantly. It had two fingers at the top and someone had stretched the thumb grotesquely down then dipped the whole thing in wax and put wicks at the tips of the fingers. All three had been burned. I’d recognized it as a real hand because some of the wax had melted off. The skin underneath had turned black.
Before I could stop it, I bent over the trash can again. This time I only dry heaved. By the time I got control over myself, Josh had wrapped it up in a sweater he’d picked up off the floor. That didn’t help the smell. “You have to pull out the thorn,” I gasped. “I’m sorry, but you have to unwrap it and pull out the thorn.”
Josh frowned at it. Taran made an exasperated noise, stalked to the bed and took care of the thorn. “What do I do with it?”
“Throw it away. It can’t do anything now. And she can’t get your hammer again.”
“She?” He came back and squatted next to me, stroked his hand down my hair as he ducked to meet my eyes. “Your mother?”
I nodded and my stupid tears escaped. I didn’t want to cry so easily, had planned to hold this part of myself back, and I couldn’t. Not while facing what my mother, my mother, had done to cast that spell. “That’s a hand of glory. Or a version of it anyway. I don’t know how she got a r-r-real hand, but whoever that belonged to had to have been bad.” I stopped, gulped and wiped my cheeks on the material of my sweatshirt on one shoulder. “My mother has been the one hurting kids.”
“She didn’t just hurt them.” Taran pulled me away from the trash can, thankfully still gripping the hammer and bag of stones in one hand. “One of the kids died. She hit one off a pier by Brooks Bridge, and he drowned before anyone even knew he’d gone in. My dad told me that the night you stayed on our couch.”
“I saw that happen. It was a vision during my rune tempus.” And that boy had been moving. He’d carried a god’s soul.
She was killing other kids for a reason. She was taking out the gods, one by one, before the major battles could even begin. Why she was messing with Taran by using his hammer still made no sense, though. And why the first kid, Stark? I doubted he’d carried a god soul.
“Why did you want me to hold this bag?”
I took the bag. “Now that we pulled the thorn out of the hand, I don’t think she can call your hammer back. The hand of glory isn’t usually used like that—it’s usually to make people in a house sleep so you can steal their things. But I think she used a thorn from a birch tree.” I offered Taran a wobbly smile. “It’s a tree sacred to Thor. It also enhances magic and connection, so I’m sure she put other things into that wax, as well.” I opened the bag and shook the stones into my palm, picked out the biggest purple one. “Put this amethyst into your pocket. Nobody can take that hammer away from you then.”
“It’s that simple?” He took the stone, stared at it shimmering in his palm.
I nodded. “Sometimes the simplest of solutions are the best. If I’d known about that h-hand...” Stupid, hot tears welled up again.
“Shh.” He sat on the floor, crossed his legs and pulled me into his lap. “Nobody blames you. For any of this. Hell, you came charging to the rescue with your peter water and gargoyles. You’re a hero.”
“Her what?” Grim asked, then snorted.
That made me laugh. Sort of. It sounded more as if I were being strangled. I buried my face in Taran’s neck, inhaled the wonderful, warm scent I was beginning to think I could smell forever and sighed.
“Come on,” Taran said, squeezing me lightly. “We need food.”
“We need the internet, but I think I have a few books that might help me figure out where you need to be today.”
“I’ll cook.” Grim grabbed a sweatshirt out of my mom’s closet, sniffed it, grimaced and put it back. “I’ll cook in my coat.”
“It’s still wet, doofus,” Josh said, following him out the door.
“Then I’ll wear a blanket.”
“And catch the house on fire?” Josh growled. “Idiot bróðir.”
“You’re the idiot brother. Mom even said so.”
“She did not!” Loud smacking noises sounded before they walked out of the hallway.
Taran lifted my face, brushed tears off my cheeks. “You going to be okay?”
“Yeah.” I nodded, sniffed. “I’m sorry my mother hurt your friends.”
“Well, Stark wasn’t my friend.” He leaned in to kiss me.
I wanted to kiss him, but I really wanted to brush my teeth first, so I pulled back and turned a little away from him. “I hate to bring this up, but I’m running out of propane and this house is going to get really, really cold.”
“We’ll have to go to mine and see how bad it is. That woodstove works really well.” His mouth turned down, worry darkening his eyes. “I can’t believe my dad hasn’t called.”
“You should tell him you were worried when you see him next.”
“He won’t care about that.”
I sat back. “You’re wrong about your dad. I don’t think he blames you for anything. Maybe he did once, but now all I saw was the two of you being stubborn and not communicating. Maybe your guilt keeps you from seeing the truth.”
He shrugged. “Maybe.” He hugged me. “My house will be warmer if the wave didn’t ruin everything. We don’t have a lot of firewood, but maybe my hammer will take down a tree or two.” He lifted it. “There’s a sort of connection I’m feeling with it. And a power—kind of like a zap of energy. I have a feeling I could take down buildings with it.”
Josh came into the room looking worried, his red hair stuck up in spikes all over his head. “My brother can’t cook. I don’t know what he’s thinking. You might have to go help.” He chuckled. “And tell us more about the gargoyles and peter water.”
I groaned. “You are all gonna just run with that one constantly, aren’t you?”
“Of course.” He picked up the wrapped hand and the thorn. “I’m taking this stinky thing outside.”
I scrambled off Taran’s lap and walked into the hall, planning to grab another layer or two of sweaters, but someone banged on the front door.
“Taran?” The man’s voice sounded panicked as he rattled the door. “Taran!”
“Dad!” Taran yelled as he ran past me. He was at the door so fast, I blinked. As soon as it opened, he took one look outside, then launched himself through the opening. I hadn’t realized how worried he’d been about his dad. I should have. Tears pricked my eyes again when I walked to the door and saw the look on his father’s face as he hugged his son close. Surprise followed by such happiness and relief, his sharp features softened.
“I’m so glad you’re okay,” Grady said, barely loud enough for me to hear.
Josh followed us into the living room, stopped and grinned. “I’ve been hoping to see something like that for years.”
Taran let go of his father, cleared his throat and stepped in. A slight flush darkened his neck and cheeks as he glanced at me. Dirt streaked Grady’s jeans and heavy tan parka, covered part of his face. Some of it had even dried in clumps in his hair. Ragged exhaustion darkened the skin under his eyes.
“I looked for you most of the night. Warner finally found me this morning and told me where you all were. I already had your address from the car accident and following you home.” He looked at Josh. “Your parents are okay. Frantic, but okay. I told them I’d get you and take you to their hotel—that’s where your mom and dad went.”
“You can come in, Mr. Breen,” I said. His coat looked dry, but snow coated his boots and jeans up to the knees. “It’s a little warmer in here. For now anyway. I can make you some hot tea before you all go.”
“I thought I told you to call me Grady, and I would love so
me hot tea. Let’s shut this door to conserve your heat. You’re lucky to have it. A lot of people suffered overnight.” Expression bleak, he stepped inside, instantly making my living room seem small. I wondered if Taran would fill out like his dad. Not that Taran was small—he had nice muscles. I’d felt them all against me last night.
I went completely hot then, thinking about that while standing in front of his father. Ducking my head, I walked into the kitchen. “Do you prefer black tea or something better like chamomile?” I asked over my shoulder.
“Is that a trick question?” I heard him ask Taran.
“Should we tell her you probably don’t know what chamomile is?”
“Your mother drank it. That’s some bad, bad stuff.”
They stopped talking, and I hoped the mention of Taran’s mom wouldn’t slow their bonding because it had obviously been a long time coming. Too bad it had taken snow and giant waves to make it happen.
I stopped in the middle of the kitchen and frowned at the pile of chopped vegetables in front of Grim. He’d mixed a black-streaked, overripe avocado in with items I was pretty sure he planned to cook in oil since there was a thick puddle of it in a skillet ready to go outside.. “Um, Grim,” I started.
“Dad really prefers coffee,” Taran said from right behind me.
I jumped because I hadn’t heard him following me. “We don’t have coffee. Mom thought it would stunt our growth.” I turned and twisted my hands together. It hit me that his dad was here to take him home or to a hotel or something. The thought of being alone in this freezing house made my chest hurt. But we had other things to worry about. I glanced around Taran to make sure his dad hadn’t followed, then spoke in a quiet voice. “I’ve been thinking about your birthday—the way your eyes glowed this morning and how you said yesterday that you felt stronger.”
“And?”
“Eighteen would be a good age to come into all your power. The number nine held a lot of significance to the Norse gods, so readying you for battle at eighteen when it’s doubled makes sense. We just have to figure out what that giant meant by magic water.”
“Maybe she was talking about the magic your mom used to get my hammer and the water was about the storm surge.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so. I think we need to be somewhere magical today. Probably later during twilight. A gloaming meadow would be best.”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Me neither,” Grim muttered as he kept chopping vegetables.
I closed my eyes, because all the thoughts swirling in my head probably made me sound ridiculous. I sighed. “Look, I’ve read a lot of things about myth and magic, and something that comes up a lot is that power is enhanced in places of magic. Our Norse ancestors believed in that so much, they had sacred areas of land. I’m thinking that giant, who was trying to help us with the glove and the staff, was also trying to tell us that you need to be in a magical place at your birth—like the exact time of day you turn eighteen. When is that?”
“A little after eight tonight.”
“Twilight.” It was the time of day when magic was at its most powerful. “Or it would usually be twilight if this was a normal summer. Maybe we need to get there earlier.”
“Coral, where?”
Rubbing my temples, I realized I had the beginning of a headache lurking. “Let me just make your dad some tea before you guys go.”
“Hey.” He turned me to face him, left his hands on my hips. “There is nothing in this world or, uh, any of the Norse worlds that would make me leave you alone right now. Nothing.”
“Aw,” Grim said.
Taran reached past me and smacked him on the back of the head.
I cracked up. “I can take care of myself if you have to go. But we’ll have to meet up later. Somewhere.” Shaking my head, I moved away from him and grabbed the small container of sugar we kept in the tea cabinet. “I will figure this out.”
“Wherever it is, we’re staying together. All day. Who knows? You might need to rub me with oil again if my hammer disappears.”
“Oh gods. Taran.” My heart stopped as I remembered. “The hammer! Where is it?”
His face paled and he spun around.
We ran into the living room only to come to a fast halt. Grady Breen stood in the middle of my living room, Taran’s hammer in his hand.
Chapter Twelve
“Dad.” Taran held up his hands. “You have to listen to me.
“I saw this locked in evidence myself.” Grady’s stare held something that ripped into my gut like a knife. It had to be shredding Taran. Horror. His father was looking at him with a mix of horror and devastation. “How is this here?”
Taran’s throat moved as he swallowed and his voice when he spoke sounded rusty. “You’re not gonna believe me.”
“Try me.”
“There’s a lot more going on here than you understand.”
His dad narrowed his eyes. “Really.”
Taran walked toward his father. “Mom was right. About everything.” He lowered his voice. “You know the stories as well as I do and it’s all coming true. Right now. The snow? The wave?”
“The giants,” breathed Josh. He stood by the front window, his face draining of color right as a thunderous crash sounded from outside.
“What?” I asked, startled.
Grady Breen beat the rest of us to the window. “What the—”
“There’s more than one.” Josh put his palms on the glass. “And they’re nothing like the one we saw last night.”
The house shook, the tea in a mug on the coffee table sloshed, and I was reminded of that scene in Jurassic Park when the T-Rex walked through the jungle. Taran and I stared at each other and I could see the acceptance settle on his face as he realized what he had to do. I held my breath, feeling the power rolling off him in waves of electricity that made the hair on my arms stand.
His dad must have felt it because he turned his shocked gaze from the window to his son, and I saw a flurry of emotions pass over his features until it all faded into a mix of determination and acceptance. “Your mom was right about all of it. I can’t believe it.” He shook his head, then squared his shoulders as another crash sounded from outside, followed by a woman’s terrified scream.
Grim came into the room, carrying the glove and the staff.
I quickly handed Taran his coat. He didn’t look away from me as he slid his arms in the sleeves. I stepped close, zipped up the coat and stood on my toes. He leaned down so our faces were even. Swallowing the fear gathering in my throat, I searched for the right words, but all I could think to say was, “Don’t die.”
The corner of his mouth went up and he cupped my face and kissed me. He took the glove from Grim and slid it on. Grady made a strangled noise in his throat when the glove shrank to fit Taran’s hand and forearm.
Taran frowned at the staff. “I don’t want both hands full. You keep it,” he told Grim. “Just in case.”
Grim nodded, clutched it to his chest.
Taran turned toward his father and held out his hand for the hammer. “I’m going to need that, Dad.”
“You’re crazy if you think I’m going to let you go out there with this silly roofing hammer and fight those...those...” He choked, looked back out of the window. “There are three of them.”
“Dad.” Taran placed his hand on his father’s wrist. He didn’t say anything else, just stared. Grady looked at him, his features going slack. I knew he saw the shimmering eyes, knew he had to be feeling the sort of electrical current pouring off his son—waves of power that caused goose bumps. Grady handed him the hammer, then pulled the gun from his holster. “Thor’s soul or not, you sure as hell aren’t going out there alone.”
Taran lurched to hug his father, then ran
out of the front door.
There was the squeal of metal and another crash. I rushed to the window just in time to see the mailbox belonging to the neighbors across the street thrown into their house like a javelin.
Josh looked at his brother. “We have to go out and fight.”
Loud shots made all three of us squeeze closer to the small window. Taran’s father ran into the street, firing at one of the giants. This one, a male, had white hair that had been raggedly cut off at his shoulders. He roared as small wounds appeared on his shoulder and neck and began to bleed. He ran at Grady.
Taran jumped in front of his father and swung the hammer as the giant bent. It hit his chin with a loud smack. The giant reeled back, his eyes opening wide in shock.
“We can use this staff.” Grim met my gaze and then his brother’s. “We have to try.”
Someone else screamed, and I glanced outside to see one of the giants hurl a green SUV into a porch. Taran ran at the giant and swung his hammer as the creature reached for him. The crunch of fingers could be heard over all the other noise—even inside. Roaring, the giant pulled back his hand and shook it. He used his other to snag a woman into the air, her long blond hair dangling as he held her upside down.
Josh stared at the staff. “We can take turns. Tap out when we get tired.”
Grim nodded.
“Hold on,” I told them. “Let me get you two the protection bags. And not a word, Josh. Just humor me.”
The little black sacks filled with cohosh root and protective stones were still on the table. I carried them back into the living room, handed one to each.
I felt ridiculous handing them small magic protection bags when they were fighting creatures with fists the size of tires, but I didn’t know how else to help. I racked my brain, trying to come up with anything I could use. All of the spells I’d studied were meant to help, never to bring harm. I flashed onto the vial of snake venom in my coat.
The one I’d left at Taran’s house.
Someone screamed outside, and I hurried through the door and stopped on the porch, horror momentarily freezing my limbs. The female giant had picked up a man and thrown him over the house next door. Grady Breen, cursing loudly, reloaded his gun and fired at her. She winced and swiped her free hand in the air as spots of blood appeared on one cheek and shoulder. She growled and stomped toward him, but Josh and Grim rushed her. Grim swung the staff and it made a snapping sound as it hit her shin. A fire-red welt appeared on her skin and she wailed and reached for him.
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