by C. L. Roman
Gwyneth stiffened. "I don't understand. I am married, he knows this if he saw us in the hospital last night. Is he being insulting on purpose?"
Loki eyed Cole with displeasure. "It would seem so. Go into the store and I'll take care of him."
Xavier stepped forward. "I don't know what is being said here, but from the look on her face there seems to be a misunderstanding. We just want to offer her a job."
Gwyneth looked at the new addition to the conversation. "What does he say?"
"He says," Loki replied, "that he bets you have beautiful undergarments and he would like to see their color."
Gwyneth's hand twitched and she flushed bright pink. Looking at Xavier, she tilted her head to one side. He stood there with an earnest expression, his thigh-length, sparkly purple tunic tugged neatly down over black leggings complimented by impossibly tall purple heels. Bright, chunky jewelry and a small pink handbag completed the ensemble. "He wants to see my underclothes?" she asked. Gesturing to a shop window across the street, which sported a similar outfit on a female manikin, she said, "Even I can see that's not very probable. What are you playing at Loki?"
Loki took her arm and tugged her toward the store. "This place is full of very strange people. Who knows what they want? I'm just trying to protect you."
"Wait," Cole jerked his card case from his pocket and took out a business card. He held it out to her. "If you change your mind, you'll know where to find me."
Loki plucked the card from Cole's fingers. "She won't be needing that."
"I believe he was offering that to me," Gwyneth said, and held out her hand. Reluctantly Loki put the card in her palm and she dropped it into her little bag. "Thank you gentlemen," she said, and went into the store. Loki shot Cole a look of triumph and followed her.
"Did you get any of what she said?" Cole asked Xavier.
"Not a word, but it sounded a little like Amal when he gets angry and starts cursing in Arabic," Xavier said.
"Well, if he ever met this one, he'd have reason to curse."
Xavier's gaze settled immediately on the star shaped medallion on Cole's wrist. The sapphire in its center pulsed with a white gleam. "Mimi's charm. It's..."
"Yep. I thought I was imagining things last night, but now..." Cole shrugged.
"Wait, it did this last night?"
"Settle down, Xavier. Yes, it heated up a little, but I didn't get that close to them and —"
Xavier waved the explanation away. "And you're sure it's him, not her?"
"I'm sure."
"It's never heated up before. You'd think, in a city like this..." Xavier twisted his fingers in his necklace and glanced around at the packed street.
"First time for everything I guess," Cole said.
"Then the stories Mimi told us are true?"
"It would seem so."
"But that would mean —"
"That we're dealing with a demon?” Cole shot a glance over his shoulder at the closed shop door and marched up the street, back the way they had come. “Yes, I believe we are."
Inside the store, Gwyneth jerked her arm from Loki's possessive grasp. "I want to know what he really said Loki, and none of this nonsense about inappropriate comments. That man had no more romantic interest in me than —" she cast about for an appropriate comparison. "That clothes dolly," she finished, pointing at a nearby manikin.
"Gwyneth, you do not understand this world. Every man you meet is likely to have a romantic interest in you." He spun her around to face the mirrored wall. "Look at yourself. You're gorgeous. You are still thinking like a village innocent. This world has changed, radically, since you last knew it."
"And no one is to be trusted, yes?" She crossed her arms over her chest and stared him down.
"No one."
"Not even you?"
"Not even —" he sighed. "Look, I have no reason to do you harm."
"Perhaps not. But, so far as I know, neither does that young man out there. And you still haven't told me the truth about him or, for that matter, explained why you are helping me."
The sales woman hovered in the background, just outside their personal space. Loki shot her an irritated frown, but Gwyneth plucked a garish orange and azure mini-dress at random from the rack and held it out to her.
"In my size, please," Gwyneth said in halting English, and Loki's mouth dropped open. She looked at him. "What? I have been listening to you all morning," she said, switching back to Semitic. "I learn quickly."
"I can see that, but did you look at that dress? It’s awful."
She blew out an exasperated puff of air. "Never mind that. Answer my questions."
He turned away and began flipping through the clothing racks. Pulling two maxi-dresses from the rack, one a black satin racer-back and the other a geometric print in the colors of a desert sunset, he tossed them to the hovering associate and she scurried away to open a dressing room. His hands rested on his hips and he hung his head. "You aren't going to believe this," he said at last, "but I knew Jotun before."
"Before what?"
"Before the war. He tried to warn me against joining the other side. That warning is the only reason I'm still alive and whole, so I owe him."
"I see. And you didn't tell me this before, why?"
"It didn't seem important and, I'm... I'm not exactly proud of my actions back then."
Gwyneth regarded him somberly for a moment before replying. "And the young man?"
Loki's lips compressed into a thin line, but he forced the words out. "He was offering you a job. As a model. I knew you wouldn't like the work, so I told him you weren't interested."
"What is this model?" she asked.
"It's ummm..." he waved his hand at the manikin. "Like one of these, only alive. You wear the designer's clothes and they take pictures, put them on TV, in magazines."
"TV? The little box with the tiny people in it, no?"
"Well, mine is one of the biggest versions they sell, so your description feels a little off, but essentially, yes, the box with the moving pictures."
"And you think I would not like this model business?"
Loki glanced around and saw a fashion magazine on the counter. Pouncing on it, he flipped it open to a lingerie ad. He showed it to her. "No, I don't think you would like it."
She blushed and closed the magazine in his hand. "It does not matter anyway. I have not time to be a model. I have to find Jotun. When and how are we going to look for him?"
Loki gave her a relieved smile. "I'm glad we are on the same page — umm — of the same mind," he amended when she glanced at the magazine with a frown. "I've been giving that some thought and I have a suggestion to make."
A groan echoed through the cabin and it took several moments for Jotun to awaken enough to understand that it came from his own throat. His eyes felt like they'd been dipped in sand, but he opened them anyway and looked around. Weak light filtered through the faded curtains on the room's only window and his head throbbed. Pushing himself upright, he swayed where he sat on the edge of the bed, the imprint of a hundred splintered dreams flaring and dying behind his eyes.
It felt odd to be only six foot two, but adjusting his size had been the only way to sleep comfortably on a human size bed. Pushing himself upright he shambled down the hall. "Surt," he called.
The cabin gave back silence, but an odd, crunching sound called him to the kitchen window. Looking out he saw one of the four wheeled boxes Surt had identified as trucks. A human sat inside, staring at the house.
"Surt," Jotun called again. "Someone has come."
The human got out of his truck and walked toward the cabin, stopping several times to examine markings in the snow. He leaned over and picked something up, his face contracting with emotion. Jumping to his feet, he went back to the truck and lifted a long, metal tube from a rack across the rear window, its wooden handle a brown rectangle against the man's black coat.
The base of Jotun's skull began to throb with a now familiar drum beat an
d a word, complete with meaning, rolled through his mind. Gun.
"Hamar!" he called, and the blade appeared in his hand. The weapon the man carried didn't look like the little fire-spitters they had used on him at the hospital, but he knew, somehow, that it was intended for the same purpose. His skin began to glow as he returned to his normal size and stepped onto the porch.
Jack Armstrong glanced at the newspaper on the seat beside him and closed his eyes against the headline he'd already read several times.
Reba Dean, seventeen years old and the sweetest, prettiest little thing in three counties, was dead. Images of her playing with his baby son, helping his wife, Sarah, at some church gathering, or just sitting on the school steps before classes, talking with friends, flashed across his memory. Now she was gone.
Some maniac had murdered her the same as he had three other local girls and, just as with the others, he'd gotten away. The report stated the troopers had wounded and nearly caught him in a cabin down by the lake. They'd tracked him into the deep woods and then lost him.
Jack climbed out of the truck. It was hard not to think that things might have been different if he’d been with the search party.
Something glinted in the snow at the tree line, catching his eye. Tracks, but not made by any creature he’d ever met before. He'd hunted the Maine woods from the time he was seven years old, and in all that time he'd never seen footprints like the ones leading from the woods up the cabin's front steps.
Rounded toe, no grid, handmade. Moccasins, maybe.
He set his own foot next to the print and let out a low whistle.
If so, biggest Indian I ever seen. Injured too, or maimed maybe, he noted, looking at the longer, deeper mark made by someone dragging his foot instead of lifting it. He moved to the next print and stiffened. Pulling off his glove, he stretched shaking fingers toward the silver locket lying in the snow. Flipping it open he read the engraving, ‘Sweet life.’ His heart froze in his chest.
As long as he'd known her, Reba had never gone anywhere without the necklace, a gift from her father on her fifth birthday. He had heard them joke about it being her good luck charm.
Stalking back to the truck, he lifted his rifle off the gun rack across the rear window. He never killed more than he could eat, nor anything he wouldn't eat, but as he watched the smoke drifting lazily along the roof line into the winter morning, he reflected that there was a first time for everything.
Jack's gut twisted as he thought about the last time Reba had baby sat for him and Sarah. It twisted a second time with the hope that the intruder in the cabin and murderer might be the same person. Standing in the yard, he broke the gun across his arm and loaded in two shells. Snapping the rifle back together, he braced it against his hip and walked toward the cabin.
The front door slammed open and a giant stepped out, brilliant as a small sun and bigger than any human who ever walked the Earth. A sword dangled casually from his fist. Jack shouldered the gun.
"Stop right there," he shouted and the giant grinned at him. Something cold and bright slid down Jack's spine. He almost took a step backward but the image of Reba, laughing with baby Jack, stopped him.
"Get back in your box, human. I have no quarrel with you."
"You killed her, you son-of-a-bitch! You killed her and then you slept in my house!"
"I have killed no one yet, but you can be the first." The giant came down the steps, hefting the sword in his hand, and something clicked in Jack's mind. The giant wasn't limping.
"You haven't huh? Well then, I don't suppose you'll mind ridin' down t'the sheriff's with me."
The giant laughed. "In that puny thing?" he said, gesturing toward the SUV. "I will not. You will go and leave me in peace."
"Look, there's been a girl murdered near here. I found tracks, and her necklace, in the snow over there." He jerked his head in the direction of the tracks. "They're from a big fella, like yourself. You seen anyone like that 'round here?"
The giant stopped advancing and his grin faded. "What is, fella?" he asked.
Lowering the gun to waist level, Jack stared at the intruder. "A guy, a man."
"I have seen no men."
"Look, just come and talk to the sheriff. You might have seen more than you think. I won't even press trespassing charges. This girl," Jack drew a long breath. "She was special."
A whoosh of air ended in a hollow thump. A metallic shriek split the air as the truck shocks were compressed to their limit. Jack pivoted, his mouth dropping open even as he jerked the gun back into firing position. A monster had landed on the top of his truck. As big as the golden giant was, this one seemed larger, and it had none of the other's good looks. Snarled black hair erupted in strips from a patchwork of healed burns and scabs. Its skin was blackened as well, as if it'd been dipped in soot and set to roast. Massive ridges of scar tissue twisted across its torso and fangs overhung its bottom lip.
"Did you find fresh meat, Brother?" the thing cried in guttural jubilation. It leapt through the air and landed with a thud about a foot away. Lashing out with a lazy fist, it knocked the gun from Jack's hands and sent him sprawling into the snow. In an instant it was crouched over him, ripping his jacket aside at the neck.
"Surt."
The demon paused.
"We do not kill humans unless we must."
Heart hammering, Jack lay stunned as the thing called Surt turned to face the giant.
"We kill what we want, Jotun. Have you forgotten? They will all be dead inside a week anyway. Why not eat our fill now?"
"No."
The demon advanced on the giant, one slow step at a time. "I say yes."
Jotun raised his sword and braced. "It matters not what you say, Surt. It matters what Sabaoth says, and he says no."
With a snarl the demon leapt on the giant, slashing at him with long black talons. Jotun leaned to the side, slapping his assailant to the ground with the flat of his sword. In a blur of motion, Surt pounced again, landing on the Jotun's back and raking dagger sharp claws across his face.
Jack crab-walked backward out of the way, scrambled to his feet and into his truck locking both doors with a snap that was lost in the roaring of two behemoths. Fumbling with the keys, he finally managed to turn them in the ignition. He romped on the gas and jerked the wheel hard to the left, spinning the truck in a tight circle before sprinting down the logging road toward the highway.
His rearview showed him that Surt had at last noticed his quarry's escape. The monster was clawing at Jotun's grip, determined to break free so it could...Jack’s throat went dry and he cut off that line of thinking. He mashed his foot down harder on the gas pedal.
"You let him get away," Surt roared, and slammed his fist into Jotun's jaw. The angel spun away from the blow and dropped, sweeping out with his leg to knock the demon into the snow. Surt lay on his back gasping, his breath spent. Jotun leaned over him, the point of his sword resting against the demon's throat.
"I begin to think you are not of Sabaoth," Jotun said.
Shoving the blade aside, Surt lurched to his feet. "I am as you are.” His expression tightened and a ripple started at his feet, passing over his body in a wave, leaving behind the Surt Jotun had first met. “A fire giant. I am of myself and no other."
He pointed down the road, empty now of everything except snow and tire tracks. "That human will tell others. They will come, if only to prove him wrong and laugh at him."
Jotun's brow wrinkled. "Why would they laugh at him?"
Sighing, Surt shook his head. "Your injury has cost you much, Jotun, and you are not fully recovered. While you were missing, we lived in Muspelheim, unconcerned with this world. And it forgot our reality. The humans tell stories about us, write epic poems, use us as examples in their literature — but they don't believe in us and have not for centuries. Just as we intended."
He brushed snow from his pants and stood, favoring his weak leg. "We bided our time. We waited until Sabaoth released us and now the time has c
ome to cleanse the world in a bath of fire, just as the prophecy foretold." He slanted Jotun a narrow look. "And I will not reign in my appetites where there is no need to do so."
Nausea wriggled through Jotun's belly and a dull throbbing thumped at the base of his skull. He straightened, tightening the grip on his sword. "Then you will conduct your hunt out of my sight."
"We can talk of that later. For now, we must move, and our new accommodations may not be nearly so pleasant."
Looking up at the house, Jotun shrugged. "It is no matter. I have slept rough before."
Surt grimaced. "So have I. All the more reason not to do it again." He kicked the porch rail and with a sharp crack it splintered away from the post and hung awkwardly in the cold air. "Come on. Might as well take what we need and get moving."
Entering the cabin, the pair separated. Jotun went upstairs and returned with his sword belt, sheath and cloak. Surt was standing at the fireplace, poking his finger around in the Mason jar at the stones. He selected a large chunk of quartz and pulled it out. "How are you at material transformation?" he asked.
"I —" the memory caught at Jotun, pulling him deep. He was standing in a cave, his hand against the rock wall. The stone under his palm glowed, softened and came free in a creamy ball, hardening into alabaster in moments. "Adequate, I believe."
Surt flipped a rough piece of quartz at him. "Change that to a blue tourmaline, and we won't have to sleep rough."
Catching the rock automatically, Jotun stared. "I am no thief," he said, and tossed the rock back to Surt.
"And I am no gem cutter. This quartz is of little value to them." He shook several additional stones into his hand. "They won't even know we took these. For us, on the other hand, it means the difference between sleeping in a wet cave, here in Maine, and having the means to get to Philadelphia and accomplish the next part of our mission." He slapped the stones into Jotun's palm. "Do it," he said, and walked out onto the porch.
Jotun stared at the quartz in his palm and slowly closed his fist. A muted blue glow peered out from between his fingers and he opened his hand. Brushing away a crust of debris, he smiled as the smoky shadings of several raw tourmalines glimmered at him. Pocketing the semiprecious gems, he glanced out the window at Surt, sulking on the porch. Assured that the demon was looking out over the snow pack, Jotun picked up the jar of quartz and picked through it. Selecting four of the largest pieces remaining, he put the jar back and gripped the stones tight, two in each hand. Blue light flashed again and he smiled as he set four new tourmalines in a neat row on the mantle. "I am no thief," he muttered.