A vicious smile of satisfaction split Jake's mouth. It set off alarms in Loki's mind. He choked off the tirade, but too late. All that talking of waste and being too old to change—calculated shots aimed right at the Trickster's soft spots, by a man who knew him too well. Fool that he was, Loki had fallen for it. Thanks to his unwise outburst, he'd given away far more than he'd ever intended.
"Ah, there you are," Jake drawled. "There's my brother. That's the first honest thing you've said since we began this dialogue."
"I hate you." Dejection enshrouded Loki. It'd all been a waste. He'd gambled and lost. Continuing the conversation was pointless. Jake believed he had an alternative agenda. The harder he pressed, the less likely he'd be believed.
"I'm well aware of that." Jake picked up the remainder of the apple, and offered it to Loki. "You may as well finish it. It'll go to waste otherwise."
The basic logic held. Loki's vision wasn't one hundred percent, and he was through with pointless, unselfish sacrifices. Martyrdom was for losers. The Trickster snatched the battered fruit from his rival and took a huge bite so juices ran down his cheeks and chin. He talked with his mouth full. "Why do you have it anyway?"
"None of your business."
"Course not." Loki rolled his now-perfect eyes and considered the core. He'd eaten down to the stem and the seeds. Polishing it off was well within his ability—he could pretty much eat anything, but he didn't need it... Tossing it constituted an even bigger waste, so he stashed it into one of the dozens of bolt holes he kept secreted about his person. The apple vanished from his hand but it remained accessible should he find a use for it.
Experimentally, he boosted his legs beneath him and sat on his calves, testing his balance and strength. The apple's magic continued to revitalize him—and would for some time to come. Soon, he'd be back to full strength, maybe better than before. At the moment, all he wanted was to retreat and recover. Hole up somewhere safe while he calculated his losses and formulated a new plan.
When Jake's hand dropped onto his shoulder, Loki almost fell over. The hunter said, "I've got to get this mess cleaned up. We'll talk more later, all right?"
"Uh—yeah," Loki mumbled, opting for ambiguity over obvious stupidity. He'd be a monkey's uncle if his eyeballs didn't cross. He hated asking, but curiosity got the better of him. "About what?"
"About how we're gonna make this alliance work." Jake used the wall as a prop and pushed to his feet. He settled his hands on his hips, surveying the remains of the spider as though trying to decide what to do with it.
"I swear, I can hear your knees popping, old man." Loki adopted a deliberately cagey tone to cover the surge of excitement that swept through him. He popped upright, rocking on his heels with boyish restlessness. Though, confusion muddled his mind. He had no idea if he'd heard right or if he was delusional. Maybe Jake was just screwing with him again... Or maybe he really had changed his mind.
"Yeah, maybe so." Jake chuckled. "You make sure Ben drops by and visits Michael later. The boy was worried sick. He's certain being bit by that spider is going to turn you into a supervillain."
"Yeah, I'll do that. Me—a supervillain. Can you imagine?" Loki grinned as his imagination opened to all the wonderful potential. Michael wanted to be a superhero...and every caped crusader needed an arch-nemesis. The games...the adventures...
He liked it. He liked it a lot.
His eight-year-old mind whirling, Loki headed toward the nearest window, intending to change shapes and vamoose. He had things to do. Big plans. A wide new world of potential to explore... But Jake's voice stopped him in his tracks.
"Are you gonna ask for Vanadium back?"
Loki spun, arms out, to face his old friend. He smirked. "Nah, you keep it. If I want it, I'll steal it."
Jake only grinned. "You'll try."
Chapter Twenty-Four
Phoenix, Arizona
Smoke-filled skies made for a stunning morning, marking the start of what promised to be a beautiful June weekend. The sun was a glossy pearl against a smeared canvas of orange and red. It hung over the suburban park, a painful reminder to those gathered of what they'd lost... and what they might yet lose.
A full crew of hunters stood arrayed in a semi-circle facing inward. Tough men and woman, all on edge—every last one had been with him in Tucson or known the soldiers who had fallen. The palpable strain showed on their faces—from the dark circles beneath their eyes to their haggard features. They carried tools and steel tubing, armed to the teeth with the weapons of creation. What wasn't in hand could be found in one of the half-dozen Humvees parked curbside, or was a short drive to the nearest hardware store.
"All right. That's it. Those are your assignments. Any questions?" Jake stood with his hands on his hips, stance at ease. He wore his typical uniform—t-shirt and Levis, and short work boots. As a concession to what promised to be a long day spent in harsh sunlight, he wore sunglasses and a cowboy hat, the brim tilted to shield his forehead.
"Oh, oh, oh! I do!" At the front, a scruffy twig of a man thrust his arm in the air. He didn't just wave it—he danced so his entire body bounced. He wore his trademark bandana—big, bright, and yellow—over his head, secured by a knot at the back.
Jake tilted his head back, gaze cast heavenward. Yeah, it figured. "What is it, Toucan?"
Toucan employed his best Gomer Pyle impression. "So what you're saying, sir, is this here assignment is a typical case of—You Broke It. We fix It?"
A stir passed through the gathered hunters—twitching lips, shifting feet. His people had too much discipline to bust straight into laughter. Jake quashed his own smile and glanced right, passing the baton to Skinner.
"What the fuck is that filth coming out of your sewer, Toucan? Do you think you're funny?" Skinner bellowed, employing his drill sergeant voice.
"Sir, no, sir!" Toucan snapped to attention. So did the rest of the soldiers.
"Extra PT for everyone! Now get your lazy asses to work! Let's get this mother-fucking rocket torn down!"
"Sir, yes, sir!" They saluted and scattered.
"Wow, that was awesome!" Michael piped up. The boy raced with his arms spread to facilitate imaginary flight. He ran circles around Jake and Skinner, chanting over and over again, "Mother-fucking rocket!"
The two men traded a long, shocked glance. The color drained from Skinner's face—sweat beaded on his bald scalp. It required a heroic effort on Jake's not to bust his gut laughing.
"You'd better have a word with him," Jake adopted a careful tone. "If Lucy hears him talking like that..."
"Never mind Lucy. Winnie will have my balls." Skinner leaned over and settled a huge hand on Michael's shoulder, guiding the boy's flight path toward the playground. "Son, let's talk..."
A wide grin split Jake's face. He strolled toward where a pile of equipment, tools, and supplies sat on the landscaping gravel. The collection included two new commercial playground structures and a swing set. While he watched, a squabble broke out over how to make and measure level ground.
The twins and Hal's boy, Andre, were part of a crew engaged in the energetic demolition of the ruined play structure. Unfortunately, the ruined rocket ship would have to be torn down—the cone had been damaged beyond repair. A typical case of the old making way for the new, and an inescapable aspect of the cycle. The playground would be better for it when they were through.
Considering his people were more experienced at blowing things up than construction, they were looking at least a full week's work. Jake picked up a post digger, intending to pitch in and do his fair share.
"Excuse me," said a man's cultured voice. It came from behind Jake.
Jake turned.
A clean-cut man stood too close for comfort. The fellow was handsome but in a discount-outlet fashion. Good haircut, but he wore a cheat suit of inferior materials complete with leather patches on the elbows. Fake diamond cufflinks glittered on his wrists, but his shoes were the dead giveaway—brown loafers made of Naugahyd
e. His most distinctive feature was a scar on his cheek. The guy had the look of a white collar professional but the air of an opportunistic predator such as a weasel. If he'd worn a logo, it would've spelled—PAPERPUSHER.
Jake figured him for a government employee who held some mid-level position that allowed him to exert an undo amount of hardship on the citizens he was supposed to serve. The guy had a clipboard, for fuck's sake.
In his experience, most bureaucrats fronted well but caved like the Cowardly Lion at the first sign of trouble. So he mustered his fiercest glare and barked, "What?'
The other man didn't even flinch. With an officious air, he pressed. "Does your work crew have a permit for this construction?"
"Who the hell is asking?"
The guy reached into the pocket of his suit coat, and Jake reached for the tattoo dagger on his forearm. But he faltered when the man drew a laminated badge and flashed it. "Nathan O'Neil. I'm an inspector with the Phoenix City Building Department."
This had to be a fucking joke. Jake scanned the area and spotted a beat up Honda parked alongside the curb, wedged in between two of the Humvees. The two-door was the exact shade of lime-green Jake would've expected a bureaucrat to choose, and duct tape kept the front bumper from falling off.
Jake blustered. "All right. So what do you want?"
"Well, from your reaction, I'm guessing you haven't filled out an RZP-12." Nathan issued a nerdy chuckle as though he'd cracked a fine, funny joke.
"What the hell is an RZP-12?" Jake's temples throbbed with the onset of a mega-headache. Oh, how he despised paperwork.
"A Residential Zoning Permit. It's the first form you must fill out in order to request permission to fill out the next form. These things do have a progression that must be followed, you do understand. There are fees and inspections... More forms. Council meetings... The whole process only takes an average of nine months on average. Seven if we fast-track it."
"Yeah, we'll see about that." He got his phone out again.
"Who ya gonna call?"
"The governor." If that didn't work, he'd go higher.
"Right to the top. That's like cutting straight to the triple-dog-dare." A wolf-like smile split Nathan's mouth—an unmistakable, and probably deliberate, tell.
"Loki." Jake flipped the phone shut.
"Gotcha." The Trickster winked.
Jake tried hard not to laugh. He fought it. And he failed.
Jake and Loki laughed and laughed. Their ruckus even drew curious looks from his men, but he was beyond caring. The years fell away and it was just like old times except it wasn't. An ominous pallor hung over their comradery which was soon to pass, doomed before it even began.
"I fooled you," Loki wheezed, hands pressed to his sides. "Didn't I?"
"Yeah, you got me." He didn't mind making the concession. Loki had won fair and square. Jake waved his hand in the vague direction of the lime-green Honda. "It was that damn car."
"Sweet, ain't it? I swiped it from the City Building Department lot."
"The clipboard was a nice touch. You've never been accused of poorly-executed pranking."
"Actually..." Loki trailed off, staring at the sky, and frowned. "Never mind."
A shout caught their attention. In unison, both men turned. They wound up shoulder to shoulder. Jake didn't sense so much as a whisper of magic to suggest Loki was employing illusions, which meant it was really him. The Trickster must be feeling his oats to take such a risk, especially after the injury he'd sustained the day before.
Michael had reported a visit from Ben AKA Scorpio, a Supervillain. Jake, however, hadn't laid eyes on the God of Lies since last they parted. They both, he suspected, needed time to recover. Change didn't come easily to old dogs or old gods.
On the playground, an argument broke out between members of the ground leveling crew. The dispute appeared to be over the placement of construction flag markers. Jake stirred but Skinner charged in to settle the matter, shouting a flurry of decidedly PG-rated insults.
"They don't have a clue what they're doing," Loki declared.
"Not a one."
"Is Den Valgte yours?"
That came out of nowhere. Jake slanted a sideways glance at the other man. He'd expected angry accusations and distraught declarations. Loki loved nothing more than to ham it up when the opportunity for melodrama presented. The Trickster's stake in their ongoing negotiation had to be the balancing factor. Of course, there were other issues.
"No," Jake drawled. "Yours?"
"Nope."
Jake deliberated. "Course, one of us could be lying."
"Not like that could ever happen." Chuckling, Loki shook his head.
"If it's not you and it's not me that means there's another player."
"Isn't there always?"
"Yeah..." He rolled out the wry acknowledgement. As sure as the sun set in the west, there were always foes, some old, some new. Jake scuffed his boot against the gravel. Hell, he'd be a liar if he pretended he didn't enjoy the intrigue. Forever got boring fast without challenges and mystery.
"I'll figure out who they are. I'm already on it."
"Heh." Jake pinned Loki with a long, hard look. If they were discussing their differences again, he had an important issue to address. "What you did to Victoria was harsh."
"That was all Freya." The God of Lies drew back, pantomiming a Who me? reaction; authentic right down to the injured glimmer in his eyes. But the corners of his mouth pinched and he looked damn miserable for a supposed heartless asshole who didn't give a damn.
Jake shook his head. "Lookin' green there, Loki. What's wrong—your conscience finally catchin' up with you?"
The Trickster's broad shoulders rose on a deep breath. "I make the choices I have to and I live with the consequences. I don't need your consolation."
"I wasn't offering it."
Loki continued as though he hadn't heard. "However you look at it, Victoria is better off. She got a hurt but she'll recover," Loki muttered in what sounded remarkably like at attempt at self-persuasion. "Freya is a faithless whore. She would've dragged Victoria down with her."
Jake decided to try a bit of flattery to loosen the Trickster's lips. "A brilliant stroke—that. With one blow, you drove a wedge. You separated Victoria from Freya and also from me."
"Not quite the wedgie you're making it out to be." Loki's cynical tone indicated he hadn't bought into the praise. "Victoria remained loyal to you."
"I find it more interesting that you've finally given up the pretense of having no concern for Victoria." The last time her name had come up, Loki had affected indifference beyond the most-passing interest.
"We're running short on time. Subterfuge is a costly liability."
"That it is. That it is..." Jake rubbed his hands together, cracking his knuckles. "I bet my son would agree with you on that."
"Sawyer will be better off too—in the long run."
Jake tensed. "That wasn't your decision to make."
"Maybe not, but it's what you wanted."
"Who're you to say what I want?"
"Oh, give it a rest already. You put Sawyer close to Victoria because you wanted the truth to come out. If you'd meant to keep the secret, he'd be thousands of miles from here at MIT."
Jake didn't disagree, but he wouldn't admit it aloud and certainly not to Loki. But if forced, he would've owned to overwhelming relief. At least the secret was out. Sawyer didn't know yet that Victoria knew... Ah, hell, wasn't life complicated enough without this in his home camp? Once Sawyer wised up, at least he could get on with the business of finding some way to make things right by the Storm Pack. Or learn how to live with what he'd done. Either way was better than wallowing as he'd been doing; eaten alive by his own guilt and self-recrimination. So yeah, Jake believed it was better this way. The disposition of his son's soul was as important as any worldly concern.
The sun was rising fast; temperatures soon would soar. He fished work gloves out of his back pocket and smacked t
hem against his thigh to shake out the crinkles. When he looked back, he discovered the Trickster's appearance had altered, but in subtle ways. Loki was taller and more muscular—about a hundred times more dangerous than that persnickety building inspector. No more weasel.
Now, he was a wolf. Undoubtedly, an Alpha.
Loki shrugged off the jacket of his suit and made it vanish into thin air. He unfastened the buttons on the sleeve and rolled one up.
"What're you doing?" Jake demanded.
"Differences aside? I thought I'd pitch in. I helped ruin this playground."
"You want to help."
"Yeah, I actually have some experience building stuff. Is that a problem?"
"Nah. Differences aside." Jake stomped off toward the work site but then hesitated mid-step. "Am I supposed to introduce you as Nathan?"
Loki's consideration only endured seconds. "No, Arik will do."
"Hell, you're in an honest mood today, aint'cha?"
"Lies... Repeat that and I'll deny it."
Epilogue
Sierra Pines, California, on the western shore of Echo Lake
The confines of the claustrophobic closet were dim thanks to the single dying incandescent bulb. With a final stroke of the hammer, Victoria drove the nail to its desired depth and made a mental note to change it to an LED later. And maybe do some spring cleaning, too.
She spread her arms to shove aside a couple dozen or so broomsticks, leaving only a witch's crooked staff leaning against the wall beneath the nail. She gripped the rawhide cord of the wolf's cross she'd taken off Magdalena and tested the knot. Then she hung the silver amulet from the flathead nail. It dangled—brushing against the staff.
The tip of her tongue protruded between her lips as Victoria shifted the staff a couple inches aside so the two things no longer touched. There—that'd have to do.
Wolf's Cross: Book 4 (Loki's Wolves) Page 31