by T. G. Ayer
"A gun, Bryn?" asked Aidan, coming alongside me. I heard the almost indiscernible note of disapproval in his voice, but I didn't allow it to make me angry.
I nodded without looking at him. "Yeah. I think I might need to branch out in terms of my weapon skills." I lifted the Glock, aimed it, and squinted to line it up.
"I'm not saying you shouldn't," said Aidan. I had hoped he'd miss the slight defensiveness to my tone, but his response confirmed he was still good at sensing my moods. "Just that I hadn't pegged you as a gun girl."
I turned to him, inhaling to respond with something that might have been snarky or sarcastic, but the words remained unuttered. I swallowed hard as I stared at his face. And at the bullet hole that marred the expanse of his tanned forehead. The skin was jagged at the edges and blood and bone glistened within the circle of red. I stiffened, my body growing colder by the second, as if I sat naked in a bath of icy water. I blinked hard a few times, wanting the vision to disappear, and when I opened my eyes, the bullet hole was gone and Aidan was staring at me as if I'd grown another head.
I shook my head as if the movement would throw the vision out of my mind, but it didn't. I knew what it was, though. A long time ago, my first mission as a Valkyrie was to bring a new warrior home. Fen had accompanied me, as my Ulfr partner. And it was on a bitterly cold day that I walked along a stream to find the body of the boy that I was so crazy about. Days after his death, his corpse had borne the truth of how life had been snuffed out.
A gunshot to the middle of his forehead.
Put there by one of his father's men because Loki had told him Aidan was destined for Asgard.
Now I blinked and the cold receded a little, and I smiled sadly at Aidan as he asked, "Bryn, are you okay?" He placed his hands on my arms, looking at my face even as I turned away from him.
"I'm fine. Just a moment of weakness," I said, turning to grab a holster each for the guns. I also took a few boxes of 9mm bullets. It might slow down a frost giant. But I'd have to finish him off face to face.
Something I was quite looking forward to.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
I wasn't sure why I remembered Aidan, his gunshot wounds so raw and red. Probably because I was holding a gun in my hand for the first time. And he was the first person I'd spoken to after picking it up. Whatever the case, it unsettled me a great deal. To the point that I felt like throwing up.
But I swallowed hard and forced myself to face my team and face their curious and concerned gazes.
"I'm fine, okay. It was just a memory that made me feel a little unsteady. I promise I'm strong enough to travel. Now, can we get on with preparations for this mission?"
Joshua nodded, along with everyone else, but the look he gave me said he wasn't buying it. I'd probably need to explain it to him later, but for now, I concentrated on the guns.
I added two more to my small arsenal, then turned to Iain who'd been standing there all along, watching us with a very contemplative look on his aged face. "Has anyone looked into creating a bullet that can kill or at least debilitate a frost giant?" I asked, turning the pistol over in my hand.
Iain cleared his throat. "I do believe we have a few science departments working on it. But as far as I know, we haven't found a way yet. They are just too unpredictable." He was shaking his head, and I couldn't imagine him fighting a Jotunn to the death. But surely he had sufficient hands-on experience battling with a frost giant.
Edrik chuckled. "Then maybe we need a more portable version of Siri," he said with a grin.
I did a double take. "That's actually a brilliant idea," I said slowly. Ed had hit on the fact that Siri had turned a frost giant into a pile of ash with her dragon fire.
I glanced at her. "How hot would you say the flame is when you breathe fire as a dragon?"
She shrugged. "I wouldn't be able to tell you in terms of degrees Fahrenheit or anything. I've never had it tested." She pursed her lips, her expression revealing she was just as curious as I was.
"I can test it for you," said Derek from the threshold of the door. It seemed he'd trailed the team into the gun storage room and been listening with interest. To be honest, Derek never seemed to be very far from the team, always on hand to help with something, always ready to offer an idea. I was beginning to think he was too good to be true.
Siri looked at me, and I said, "Make it quick. And test levels and abilities both in human and dragon form. See what levels of heat we need and see what you can do to get us a weapon that sprays flame," I said to Derek. Then I glanced at Iain. "Do you have a place where Siri can transform? Some place large enough where she wouldn't destroy the furniture." I smirked, and Siri poked my arm.
"Yes, of course. We have the training room that's pretty bare, large floor space, so that should do," Iain said as he bobbed his head and walked to the doorway. "Come, I will show you where it is."
I watched them leave, then called out, "Don't take too long. We'll be leaving soon."
***
A good night's sleep did us all good and we were ready to head out after an early breakfast. We were in the front hall of the London HQ when Iain came hurrying along the narrow passage, holding a folder. "You'll be needing this," he said, waving the file at me.
I'd done well with my recovery, managing to get on my feet within hours. Iain had pronounced that I'd be as good as new by the time we arrived in St. Petersburg. I myself would have preferred sooner, but I had to take what I got. No more and no less.
"I put out some feelers in MI6 and Interpol just in case we were to tread on anyone's toes. Interpol came through and offered us the use of one of their Russian agents. I simply couldn't turn that opportunity down. At least now you and the team won't be going in blind."
I glanced around the team, and it seemed the undercurrent agreed with my own feelings; we didn't need a guide. But to preserve inter-organizational relationships, I nodded my head and took the file.
Flicking it open, I stared at a photo of a man in his early thirties, dirty-blond hair that fell around his face in more of an unkempt than cool fashion. His eyes were close together and were dark and suspicious. Already, I wasn't liking this dude much. I shook the thought from my head.
"His name is Yuri Melnikov. He's stationed in St. Petersburg and will meet you at the Bifrost entrance," said Iain. I gave a silent snort.
Considering my most recent experience on the Bifrost, there was nothing safe about it.
Derek was the first to leave the house, again laden with bags. This early in the morning, the roads were empty of traffic, but from the looks of the neighborhoods, this part of town didn't look like it got too busy. We followed Derek back down the street and crossed the road before heading for the opening in the trees that would take us back inside the abandoned cemetery.
"What happens once this place gets cleaned up and restored? Or, god's forbid, rezoned and turned into a parking lot? Are there many other Bifrost access points in London?" I asked Derek.
His chin bobbed up and down way too fast for my liking. He was liable to snap his neck right off his body if he kept it up. "There are a few dozen entrances similar to what we have in New York. Of course, urbanization of the city poses a few problems as access points get built over or taken apart. Usually, we can still have some form of access, but sometimes it does become more than a little difficult. Like the entrance we previously used in London that is now a mall with the Bifrost opening inside the emergency generator. Not much chance of using that entrance anymore since on arrival, you're permanently stuck inside the metal parts of a commercial generator."
I winced as we walked past a headless statue. "That doesn't sound too pleasant," I murmured. "I suppose there are a number of strange entrance locations now."
"Too many. And often it's not practical to vet each and every one before it is used."
"And the bridge to St. Petersburg? Is that safe enough?" I asked, beginning to recognize more of the cemetery now.
Derek cleared his throat, his
cheeks flaming as he stepped gingerly around another used condom. He coughed to cover his embarrassment and said, "Yes, it most definitely is safe. It arrives in a private viewing box at the Aleksandrinskiy Theater. We have surprised a few guests on occasion, but since we appear behind them, it's easy enough to say, 'Sorry, wrong box,' and back out fast."
"I'll bet," I said, laughing softly. We finally reached the spot we'd arrived at two days ago, and I noticed the litter hadn't changed in either quantity or quality. I wasn't sure if I should be thankful. I averted my eyes and scanned the members of my team. "We ready to jump?" I asked. After getting nods all round and an anxious glance from Enya, we readied ourselves as Derek called the Bifrost.
The air shimmered and sparkled, taking on a liquid consistency. Before he stepped through, Derek gave me a wary glance, then led the way. We hurried through swiftly, arriving in a deserted, red-curtained viewing box that hung over the side of a gigantic theater. The box, lined with red-cushioned chairs, was angled to the front of the theater. The positioning and the shadows at the back of the box would conveniently hide anyone appearing in the box from the rest of the theatergoers.
Moments later, the box was a little too crowded, but we waited to check the passage outside before filing out. Red carpets and gold sconces adorned the ornate building, and we admired the architecture of the structure as we made our way out of the theater.
We found the Interpol agent waiting outside the building for us, a bored expression on his face as he leaned against the wall beside the exit, smoking a cigarette. His head turned in our direction as we left the theater, and he took one last puff, then dropped the cigarette to the floor, squashing it with a turn of his foot. He hurried to us.
"Welcome to Russia," he said, his accent strange and musical to my ears, but there was no welcoming light in his eyes. More than anything, he looked at us the way I'd look at Loki, which was odd.
I swiftly pulled myself out of my idiotic thoughts and focused on the Interpol agent. "Yuri?" I asked. When he nodded, I said, "Thank you very much for your hospitality."
He bent his head in a small bow and simply said, "It is my pleasure to work with Heimar. Come. I have a vehicle waiting." He stood beside me, and I had to stop myself from putting some distance between us. For an Interpol agent, he was surprisingly unkempt. His blond hair was dark and oily, his face pasty, eyes hard as he watched us suspiciously. I didn't know much about Interpol, but I assumed their agents abided by the customs of the general human public in that their hygiene practices were normal and acceptable.
Yuri hurried ahead of us to open the door to the small van. Aimee glanced at me, wrinkling her nose. "When did he last shower?" she asked in a whisper.
"I was wondering the same," said Aidan, his face revealing disgust and a distinct lack of respect for the agent.
Guess Yuri didn't start off on the best foot.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
I was surprised to see Yuri was driving, having expected him to hire a driver for convenience. We piled into the van and tried to look out of grimy windows at the streets of St. Petersburg. Nothing impressive there either. Seemed our Russian experience was heading to be a disappointing one.
I watched the back of his head as we bumped along, then suppressed a shiver when my gaze met his in the rearview mirror, his hard black eyes expressionless. I gave him a polite smile, then turned to Joshua, who had taken a seat beside me. "We need to be careful of that one. I don't trust him one bit."
"I agree," whispered Joshua. "Something about the eyes." I smirked. Seemed Yuri had rubbed more than just me the wrong way.
For some reason, Aidan had taken a seat up front and threw a few questions at the Russian agent every so often. I couldn't tell what the conversation was about, but it was clear from his hard expression that Yuri didn't welcome the interrogation.
I lost track of time and could barely tell how long we'd traveled when we reached the outskirts of a rundown village. It seemed sparsely populated, and along the way, we passed a number of buildings that either looked deserted or uninhabitable. Finally, he pulled the van over to the side of the road and handed Aidan a pair of binoculars.
"Over there." He pointed and Aidan shifted direction a little. "That is where they went. They arrived by private plane. Then a car picked them up and dropped them off at this house."
"It's quite beautiful."
Yuri cleared his throat as if unprepared to enter into any conversation pertaining to the beauty of the old manor house. He was a surly fellow, made so either by his nature or a dislike to us. I didn't want to think about what the latter meant since he was meant to be giving us aid on behalf of Interpol.
At last he spoke. "It is abandoned. Nobody goes there. Only nosy tourists." He dragged in a breath, his nose sounding clogged. Hay fever or a cold perhaps.
"Is anyone watching the place? Has he left the house at all?" I asked, shifting to the edge of my seat to peer through the window at the house far on the hill.
"There is no watching. Only me who sees him arrive and me who watches him come here to this place," he said. His Russian-accented English remained choppy and stilted, and beneath the words, I sensed something else in his demeanor as he watched me with his black eyes. A disdain or an intense dislike. It didn't bother me as long as he didn't get in the way of our investigation.
"Is there a best time for a closer inspection?" I asked, feeling the question was a waste of time. With nobody watching the place, we had no knowledge of their movement or their habits. When he didn't answer, I asked, "How many?" I couldn't keep the snappish tone out of my voice.
He seemed unaffected as he answered, "The fancy blond man in the long coat and four others. They look big and strong. Lots of ... how you say...?"
He pretended to pump iron with both hands, and I said, "Lift weights."
"Yes, yes, lifting weights. They look like they are doing a lot of this lifting weights." I frowned and glanced over at Joshua. Sounded like four Jotunn. We had to get past four frost giants to get to the virus. Not like we expected to walk right in and take the stuff though.
I still thought we needed better surveillance on the place before we went charging in. And something told me our Russian friend wasn't going to be too accommodating, but I said it anyway.
As I expected, he wasn't very cooperative. He shook his head, saying, "We do not have the agents for it. I am so sorry."
I shrugged. "I don't need your agents." I waved a hand at the team in the van. "As you can see, we have the agents, so all we'll need is a place to stay."
Yuri's eyes hardened, his jaw tightening. "It is difficult to find a place... Is short notice. This is not a tourist town, you know. Even tourists who want to see falling down old building, they don't stay in Belogorka. They drive back to St. Petersburg."
"Well, we won't be driving back. We need to find a place to stay here so we can watch the old house for a while." I spoke firmly and felt a chill at the ice in his eyes. He didn't need to be a frost giant to have an excellent chill effect.
A voice piped up from behind us and I twisted in my seat. "I found a place," said Derek with a satisfied smirk. "A woman named Maria Chekov runs a small boarding house. She says she has enough space for us all if we bunk two per room."
"Now, how in the world did you manage to make that happen?" I asked, more than impressed and thrilled that Derek had effectively thumbed his nose at our not-so-helpful Interpol liaison.
"It's called the wonder of the Internet," Derek said simply and was already looking back at his laptop.
"They have Internet here?" asked Aimee.
"This is Russia, not the moon," Derek said, straight-faced. He seemed pretty proud of himself and he deserved to be.
I snorted, then pointed skyward. "With the amount of satellites we have up there, I'm sure the moon has Internet too." Everybody laughed. "So what time is check-in?" I asked with a teasing grin, not expecting him to have gotten that far in the reservation stage.
"Oh." He looke
d down at his monitor, then snapped his gaze back to mine. "Oh, here it is. She said check in at your own leisure. I'm guessing that means we check in whatever time we want. She did say prices are charged per night."
I didn't tell him that I was wondering what that implied for the cleanliness of the rooms if the manager allowed people to walk in and get a room whatever time they wanted.
"Okay, so let's get checked in, then, and we can head out and find a few good locations to watch the place." I turned to Yuri. "Will you be staying with us, Yuri?" I asked. He was in a spot now. He couldn't say no because it would look bad since he was Interpol's man.
He gave his head a sharp jerk, which I took to mean no. "I will sleep in the van."
I raised an eyebrow, giving the floor of the vehicle a suspicious stare. Now I knew why the inside of the vehicle had the sour smell of unwashed Yuri, laced with the strong odor of cigarette smoke. I hoped all it meant was the man was a dedicated agent.
He gunned the engine, then got onto the road, making his way toward the village slowly. He arrived at a small house that looked like something out of a storybook. Raw redbrick walls, steep pointy roof, haphazard floor levels that hinted that the owners had added to the house as and when required, and without much thought.
It looked like it was about to keel over, and I totally loved it.
My delight with the house did not mean I'd missed the fact that Yuri had brought us straight here without having asked for the address. He'd known all along where the boarding house was but had tried to convince us to return to St. Petersburg.
Where exactly did Yuri Melnikov's loyalty lie?
***
Maria's boarding house did not live up to my expectations. It exceeded them by miles. The quaint place was spotlessly clean, and as we were led to our rooms, I noticed a hundred little things that gave the house, and our host, a little more personality in my mind. Photographs of forefathers, children, and grandchildren littered the house.