Twilight Magic (Rune Witch Book 6)

by Jennifer Willis

  “Well, chaos, you know. I didn’t want to interfere.”

  Loki looked up at the sky. Sally took a step toward him.

  “You could try chewing on some leaves from Maggie’s apple trees,” she said. “I remember some of the others doing that after the Frost Giants stole the fruit.”

  “Sally.”

  “We can walk over there right now. No one even has to know.”

  “Sally, stop.”

  Sally crossed her arms against the chill. Loki wasn’t wearing a jacket either, but he didn’t seem bothered by the cold. He looked practically serene under the stars. She stamped her foot in the snow and was grateful for the jolt of heat it brought.

  “Why won’t you tell them what’s happening?” she asked.

  “It’s not the time.”

  “Dammit, Loki!” Sally shouted up at the sky, and he laughed.

  “The Tree here is a good place to start laying your anchors. I tied myself to the Yggdrasil in the same manner, way back when.”

  “Just tell them that you’re dying!” she pleaded. “At least so they can be prepared.”

  Despite their early kinship, her relationship with Loki hadn’t been easy. She was frequently frustrated and even angry with the god of chaos. She’d felt betrayed by him and then felt doubly stupid when she realized it was her own expectations that led to her feelings of betrayal. But even when she was at the end of her patience and wanted to have nothing more to do with him, she never wanted him dead.

  Tears welled at the corners of her eyes. If she had to cry to convince him, she would do it. “Maybe they can help.”

  Loki gestured toward the World Tree and then at the ground. “It’s important to spread out your anchors so as not to concentrate too much magick in one place. That was something I learned through my own mistakes. There are yet too many anchors of mine here in the Pacific Northwest, inland and along the coast. I fear that may be the cause of some trouble, or some interesting excitement.”

  “Loki!” Sally knew she needed to listen. He never wasted a word when imparting his wisdom, and she’d need to know everything he knew. But not yet. Please, not yet.

  “No one can stop time, Sally.” His voice was quiet and kind. “Or the natural cycle of things. And no one is ever truly ready, for anything.”

  Sally swallowed and looked back at the Lodge. Freya was inside doing one of her shamanic trances to try to connect with Opal, assuming Opal was still reachable somewhere. The Valkyries would be arriving soon with Thor’s weapons and with a small complement of the Einherjar warriors from the battle against Managarm, and Zach would be drafted into their ranks for the coming strife.

  Dawn was coming, and Sally still didn’t know what she was facing. And as long as Utra was in possession of Opal’s body, Sally was in danger of harming or even killing her friend.

  “She didn’t even want to be the Assistant Rune Witch, did you know that?” Sally watched the light coming through the Lodge’s windows. She looked down at the snow-covered grass and up at the blanket of stars in the sky. She looked everywhere but at Loki. “That was Frigga’s idea, to make Opal my helper. And she was so angry about it!”

  Sally laughed and tightened her arms over her chest. She couldn’t stay outside in the cold forever, but she didn’t want to go back inside yet. She didn’t know where she wanted to be.

  “I told her I’d trade places with her, if I could. I didn’t want to be the Rune Witch.”

  “I don’t imagine anyone would want that mantle, after understanding what it means,” Loki said.

  “I mean, maybe I could have been her assistant instead? I could have still worked magick and done all the cool stuff without having to deal with the darker realities of . . .” Sally wiped her eyes and was glad when Loki didn’t step forward to offer comfort. “She has a steadier temperament. Opal’s calmer and more reasonable than I am. Less volatile.”

  Loki laughed.

  “And her magick is more reliable.” Sally held up a hand to prevent any comment Loki might make. “I know, because I have chaos and she doesn’t. Nobody else does.”

  “Not for much longer, anyway.”

  Sally turned and grabbed him by the elbows. “Please try the apple leaves. Even if it’s just for a little more time.”

  “There is little point in prolonging the inevitable,” he replied.

  She heard a familiar feline protest behind her. She turned and spotted Baron trotting across the snow toward them. The cat collided with her shins and started rubbing against her trouser legs and shoes. Sally bent down and tried to pick him up, but he was having none of it. He curved away from her grasping fingers and wound around her ankles.

  Sally rested her hands on her hips and watched Baron’s movements. This cat hadn’t exactly been a true witch’s familiar, but he’d been her companion through her magickal journey. She hadn’t recognized it at the time, but he’d tried to stop her from doing parts of her Odin’s Return spell at her disastrous beginning, as if he knew she’d gotten some of her research wrong. He’d even recognized Managarm the Moon Dog for the dangerous malcontent he turned out to be.

  And now he was with her again, here at the Lodge, just in time for Ragnarok.

  She grabbed Loki by the shoulders. “This doesn’t have to be the end.”

  He smiled. “Of course not. Every end is simply a new beginning.”

  She dropped her hands to her sides. “Why does everything have to be a freaking riddle with you?”

  His face contorted into a smiling frown. “That was hardly a riddle.”

  “You know what I mean!” She shoved her hands into her pockets again. “So, okay, I’m your apprentice. I’m your heir apparent, or whatever. Does that mean I’m going to be the god of chaos now? What if I don’t want it?”

  Loki didn’t respond immediately, but he didn’t look away. “I don’t know. I don’t remember how it happened to me. I can only tell you what I recall of my experience along the way, so that the road might be somewhat smoother for you.”

  Sally couldn’t imagine any future for herself that was remotely smooth or easy. “But were you ready for it, when it happened?”

  Loki shrugged. He couldn’t have been ready, just as she wasn’t. Did he even know, all those centuries ago, what was coming his way? She didn’t think he’d had a teacher or a mentor. Loki didn’t even know how old he was, just that he was older than Odin and pretty much every other mythological or historical figure Sally could think to ask him about. What did that mean for her?

  She wanted again to punch him, but not as hard. He was trying to help, and that had to be worth something.

  The snow started coming down again. Clouds had gathered overhead and blocked out the stars. Sally looked down and saw that Baron was weaving around her ankles and Loki’s as well, connecting them in a figure-eight pattern like the one she’d left in the snow behind Thor’s house.

  “Ragnarok,” she whispered. “The Twilight of the Gods.”

  Loki rested his hands on her shoulders. “And then comes the next dawn.”

  Heimdall stood in the North, marking the directional quarter on his side of the Lodge’s square hearth. On the other side of the flames, Rod took his position in the South, just has he had in that quiet grove in the forest when they were on the hunt for the Yggdrasil.

  “You’ve got this, Rod?” Heimdall asked.

  “Yeah.” Rod’s smile mirrored his determination. “I am the mid-day fire of the South.”

  Rod was loyal and always eager to lend his assistance. Frigga had chosen wisely when she brought this mortal handyman into the fold. Was Heimdall paying him enough? It seemed a ridiculous concern when Rod was practically a member of the family. But he wasn’t kin by blood, and he wasn’t an immortal. Maybe Rod should be the first to be invited to share in the apple harvest, when the fruit came in. Heimdall didn’t think any of the others would object.

  Saga took her place on the eastern side of the hearth and turned her back to the flames. “I am the morn
ing wind of the East.”

  On one of the couches, Laika yawned and settled down for a nap.

  Heimdall glanced at Maggie as she moved into position. She nodded. “The evening water of the West. I’m ready.”

  “And I’m the midnight soil of the North,” Heimdall said. They were set.

  Freya pulled up a chair behind Heimdall, placing herself between him and the active hearth. She couldn’t sit directly in the center of the gathering, but she could use the energy of the flames to fuel her journey. Heimdall had seen her do this work only a handful of times before, and he hoped some days that things would settle down long enough for her to teach him.

  “I know the roads are bad!” Bonnie shouted into her phone in the kitchen. She peeked out at Heimdall and mouthed the word “Sorry” before she exited through the mudroom to take her call outside. “Just get here as quickly as you can. Yes, tell them to get the others . . .”

  The door closed, cutting off her side of the conversation.

  “Any chance Sally will change her mind?” Freya asked.

  “Outside with Loki,” Heimdall answered.

  Freya paused to consider his words, then she sat in her chair and faced the flames. Maggie looked worried about Freya being so close to the fire, but a nod from Freya was reassurance enough. Maggie turned her back to the hearth and let her arms hang at her sides.

  Heimdall smiled and adopted a similar posture. His entire family had descended on the Lodge with little notice, and they were preparing for a battle that might turn out to be nothing, or it could send most of the people in this house straight to Valhalla. And Maggie hadn’t complained. She’d made room and pitched in. She was participating just like everyone else. Here, in this crisis, she was a true goddess.

  Suddenly alert, Laika leapt down from the couch and sat by Heimdall’s feet. She leaned her furry weight against his leg and blinked up at him.

  “Good girl,” he whispered and patted her on the head.

  Behind him, something sizzled in the fire, and the room filled with the smell of sage smoke. Freya tossed another handful of herbs into the hearth and Heimdall picked out the scents of cedar, juniper, and sweetgrass.

  “All right, everyone,” Freya said. “Let us begin.”

  North. Heimdall tried to clear his mind of everything but earth and winter, which wasn’t difficult to do with the snow starting to fall again outside the windows. He closed his eyes and imagined a hearth made of ice. He breathed in frosted fire. Just as before, there was a tickling of the magick that used to flow in his blood in the days before he knew anything different. Back when he was young and inexperienced, and when Ragnarok was a far-off, legendary thing. In those days, he imagined the Twilight of the Gods as a time for him to cement his legacy as the protector of the Lodge and of his kin, even if he had to lay down his life in the process. He’d had centuries to prepare for the final battle, but it hadn’t occurred to him that instead of facing off against Fenrir and Loki, he’d be fighting Utra and her mortal sorcerers.

  And that was assuming the Norns were right, and that Ragnarok was coming at dawn. Both were massive leaps of faith. The Norse Fates could just as well be wrong, or misunderstood, as they had been countless times before. Maybe what they were really forecasting was a power outage from the winter storm or their satellite dish getting knocked off the roof again. Thor had thrown quite a tantrum the last time the Lodge had lost its access to Netflix.

  Laika fidgeted beside him. On instinct, Heimdall turned around to watch Freya. Laika would hold the North quarter for him. He stepped toward the hearth and sat down on the stone ledge. With his back to the flames, he reached for Freya’s hands. Her face softened into a smile and he felt a tingling current of energy rise along his spine.

  Wisps of smoky light snaked from the hearth behind him, trailing over his shoulders to snake around Freya’s arms and coil around her body. The tendrils wove together until a luminescent cocoon encompassed Freya, and her body glowed within it. Freya opened her eyes and whispered to him, “Come with me.”

  A flash of power passed through Freya’s hands and into his, across his fingers and palms, and up his arms. His hair stood on end as the energy spread across his chest, feeling like static electricity dancing over his skin. His back was warm from the fire, but Freya’s spark turned suddenly cool and he nearly shivered inside his thick sweater. He closed his eyes and gripped Freya’s hands harder.

  A strong pulse of cold air struck him in the chest, knocking Heimdall out of his body. Disoriented and gasping for breath his lungs could not take in, he found himself surrounded by a tangle of glowing cords, like roots of energy or a massive network of shimmering synapses in an ethereal brain. The structure of fibers was mostly silver and light blue with areas of pink and orange and purple. Blips of gold and green light shunted up and down the maze of pathways.

  Heimdall floated in the middle of it all with no sense of where he was. There was a tug on his elbow, and he turned to find Freya just behind him. Her translucent astral body glowed with every color of the rainbow, and she gripped his hand before diving into one of the thick, silver strands, pulling him in with her.

  It was a fast-moving river of light. Heimdall was carried down one slough and then up again, looping around before being dumped into turbulent rapids of glowing silver and gold. His arms and legs were useless in this state, but he didn’t fight the current. Just as Heimdall got caught up in a swirling eddy that threatened to suck him under, Freya tugged at him again and they were suddenly floating outside the network in a place of dark purples and reds.

  There was no floor beneath Heimdall’s feet, no walls or ceiling to contain this space other than the thick synaptic cords that crossed and connected together, stretching far out of sight in every direction. Beneath his feet, a familiar form glowed in shades of lavender. Freya pulled him downward.

  It was Opal. Or, Heimdall thought it was Opal. Her face was out of focus and her limbs were heavy shadows. He panicked when Freya let go of him and latched onto Opal’s shade instead, but his surroundings remained constant. Freya was within easy reach, but he hovered nearby and was determined not to disturb her. Freya placed her semitransparent hands on either sides of Opal’s clouded face, and an explosion of images hit Heimdall and nearly knocked him backward into a thick burgundy-colored synaptic fiber.

  Shadowy images of men in robes. A flight through the snow. Burning candles lying on their sides, spilling wax across the floor. Sparks of magick mixed with blood. Mind-piercing shrieks that outmatched even the Norns’ histrionics. The snippets of sights and sounds and smells and touch were too many and came at him too quickly for him to make sense of them. But one visage was constant throughout. Zorya Utrennyaya, her white-blond hair flowing behind her or coiling about her face and shoulders like limp snakes. Utra’s hands working magick through Opal’s body. Utra’s voice calling out through borrowed lips. Utra’s icy eyes looking out of Opal’s face.

  Not borrowed. Stolen.

  Heimdall blinked, and they were on the move again. Freya pulled him away from the shadow of Opal, lurking and lost among the colors of purpling bruises. A weight tugged at Heimdall’s leg and slowed their progress as Freya plunged again into the fast-moving network and deftly navigated back to their point of origin. Before Heimdall could think to ask about Opal, he was thrust back into his physical body inside the Lodge. He was lying on the floor, gasping for breath, and his nostrils filled with the acrid smell of burning wool.

  “Deep breaths.” Freya was at his side, helping him to sit up. She pressed her palm against the center of his chest and helped him remember how to breathe. It worked.

  Maggie was fussing over him, picking at his shoulders and back. “I hope you weren’t overly attached to this sweater, because it might be a total loss.” He glanced up at her in confusion and she shrugged. “Don’t sit so close to the fire next time.”

  Heimdall grabbed Freya’s wrist. “Opal.”

  Freya nodded. Her expression was grim.

>   “Why did we leave her there? Why didn’t we help her? We could have saved her!”

  “Easier said than done.” Freyr crouched beside Heimdall looking even more ghost-like than the last time he’d seen him. “But thanks for letting me hitch a ride with you.”

  Opal was alive! Sally held onto that thought as though her own life depended on it. Her friend was alive, or mostly alive, or caught somewhere in between life and death, but not in any realm where Sally could reach her. That had been the general and frustratingly vague takeaway from Freya’s trance journey into the spaces in-between.

  Heimdall had gone with her, but he was even less help on details. He looked pale as a ghost and Maggie had to change his sweater for him after he’d nearly fallen backwards into the fire. And then there was Freyr, looking exactly like an actual ghost, loitering in the Lodge’s great room and seeming happy just to be there.

  Sally had missed an awful lot during her frustrated tête-à-tête with Loki outside in the snow.

  “So you’re saying we can’t kill her.” Maggie got Heimdall settled on one of the leather couches and forced a stein of something steaming and hot into his hands.

  “No!” Sally cried before she could stop herself. Then she got angry that no one else had protested. She was grateful that Opal’s girlfriend Lauren wasn’t at the Lodge to witness this debate. Lauren was back in Portland, stuck in the snow-blocked city after an academic lecture, and none the wiser that Opal was in mortal peril.

  “Sally, Opal is just as precious to me as she is to you,” Maggie said. Sally doubted that, but she held her tongue. “I don’t wish her any harm. I want her back safe, too. I’m just trying to help lay out what our options are.”

  “I’m afraid it may be an option we have to entertain.” Freya stood by the wall and turned a dial to lower the flames in the central hearth. “But only as a worst case.”

  Thor blustered into the room from the Lodge’s main hallway. His cheeks were red from the cold and from vigorous spirits. He was always in fine form when he had a battle to plan or an enemy to thwart. He’d been outside to greet the first of the Valkyries as they rode in on their motorcycles, though Sally wasn’t sure how they managed the icy roads in the middle of the night.