by C. L. Roman
Walking out onto the porch he tossed the first tourmaline to Surt. "So, why didn't you make it yourself, Surt?"
Scowling at him, the demon made no answer, but lumbered into the sky, leaving Jotun to follow or not, as he would.
CHAPTER FIVE
Darkness and neon light revealed the skyline outside her window, but Gwyneth paid little heed to the view. Sitting cross-legged on her bed in Loki's apartment, she stared at the little rectangle of paper for the fifth time in as many minutes. It wasn't just the difficulty of deciphering the tiny symbols on the card. She couldn't get the man's face out of her mind. Loki insisted the stranger was up to no good, but all she'd seen in his face was kindness tinged with a bit too much eagerness.
She looked at the clock's red numbers — 11:10 pm. She shrugged.
Can't sleep if you're not tired.
Tossing the card onto the nightstand and picked up the... She stared at the black face of the larger rectangle Loki had given her three days before, waiting for the term to swim up from her memory.
Tablet, that's it.
She pushed the button, causing the handheld device to spring to life. Tapping the numbers he'd made her memorize, she smiled as the little pictures slid into view and then tapped the large, blue icon for the program she'd been using to learn English. Arabic she already had a smattering of. As it was fairly similar to the language of her village, she was finding it comparatively easy to pick up. English was another thing altogether. It was slow going, but she was making progress.
A picture of a smiling, adult male appeared on the screen and the tablet said, "Man."
Gwyneth dutifully repeated, "Man."
The screen rewarded her with a new picture. "Woman."
"Wo man," she responded
"Woman," the machine insisted.
She sighed. It was going to be a long night.
An hour later, having successfully mastered both gender and age designations in English, along with a host of other new words, she made her way down the hall for a drink.
The murmur of conversation slowed her.
"I'm telling you, this can't be rushed. She isn't stupid and it's going to take a bit of finesse." Loki's normally smooth tones were rough with irritation.
"And I'm telling you the boss is getting impatient." The stranger sounded oddly sibilant, as if a snake had learned to talk, and Gwyneth shivered.
"When is he not, "impatient" as you put it? In this case, if he wants the woman to come willingly, he'll have to let me handle her with a little more delicacy than a rock to the head."
There was a quick gasp of breath and snake voice was talking again, his words tumbling over themselves. "Oh you wouldn't — you mustn't damage her. He wants her whole, willing and in her right mind."
"I rather doubt he can get all three," Loki muttered.
"What? What was that?" the voice shrilled.
"Be quiet!" She's sleeping but she's not deaf.
The voice dropped a decibel or two, but he was still audible. "Please don't tell me this is impossible, Loki. I can't take that message back to the Master."
A long suffering sigh filled the silence. "I am not saying it’s impossible. Just that it's going to take more time than he wants it to. But if he wants her on those terms, he's going to have to wait. Right now, she trusts me, but I guarantee if I put a single step wrong, she'll be out the door and there won't be anything, short of binding and gagging her, that I could do to stop her."
"It might come to that." An avaricious note crept into the stranger's voice and Gwyneth shuddered.
"Unknot your shorts, Oris. She is not for you."
"Of course not. Of course. When can I expect to take delivery?"
"You will not be "taking delivery" as you so crassly phrase it. I will be bringing her to the manse in approximately two weeks. I'll let you know a precise date when we get a little closer."
"No, no!" Oris said. "I want to present her. I was promised —" the sharp slap of flesh connecting with flesh stopped the flow of words and a sob weighed in the momentary silence.
"As I said," Loki repeated. "I will bring her in about two weeks. I'll message you if anything changes. And Oris, he needs to understand. This clears my debt. After this I get them back and I am a free agent, or no deal."
"Of course, of course. He has already agreed."
Her throat ached, but Gwyneth was no longer thirsty. She turned on silent feet and made her way back up the hall, and closed her bedroom door, the resulting snap over-loud in the quiet apartment. Down the hall, the murmur of voices stopped. Slapping at the light switch, she leapt into bed, pulling up the covers and turning onto her side in one smooth motion. Steps sounded in the hallway and she fought to slow her breathing into the deep, even rhythms of sleep.
She didn't hear the door open, but she could feel him there, staring holes in her back. She fought the urge to leap to her feet and throw something at him.
"Gwyneth?" The whisper floated into the dark and hovered there, insistent, but wire thin. Had she been sleeping, she would not have heard it.
She focused on her breathing. In — two, three, four, five, out — two, three, four, five — like she had done as a child after sneaking down to the river for a midnight swim with her sisters. Mama had only caught them once...
Time spun out. She counted her breaths and pictured her mother's smiling face. In — two, three — what was he doing? Out — two, three — Mama.
Finally, she heard the faint wooden bump of the door closing and felt her body go limp. A whisper of sound shimmered across her ear and she stiffened, flipping soundlessly onto her back with a gasp, eyes wide. The room was empty.
The conversation she'd overheard echoed in her head. Who "the boss" was and what he wanted with her remained an unknown, but somehow, there was no doubt in Gwyneth's mind that she never wanted to find out. Time to go, then. But not tonight. Loki would hear her, stop her. And besides where was she to go? She stretched out her hand and curled her fingers around the little card. She couldn't read it in the dark, but she knew the words were there. Words that she hoped would take her to a safer place. Maybe the place she and Jotun had been meant to find together.
"When I do find you Jotun, you are in so much trouble. I'm going to..." she whispered to herself, but the rest of the threat wouldn't come. Tears slid across her temples and into her hair until her eyes closed. Dreams came, full of black wings and running feet, carrying her into the morning.
She woke hours later with the sun streaming through the shear curtains and the full memory of the previous night flashing warning signals across her brain. Taking a deep, calming breath she pulled on a robe and walked down the hall into the kitchen.
"Good morning, Lovely." Loki smiled at her from his seat at the table and gestured at the food laden counter with his coffee cup. "I went down to Lenders," he said, naming a popular deli two streets over. "And got us breakfast. Danish. You're going to love it."
She hid her trembling fingers by gripping the handle of the coffee pot and pouring. Plucking a pastry from the box, she sat down opposite him. "I'm sure I will."
He popped the last of his into his mouth and stood up. "Hate to run off, but I have to check in with the office this morning. You don't mind being on your own for a bit, do you? It will only take a couple of hours."
"Oh, not at all. I want to put in some more time on the tablet anyway."
"Wonderful notion. Don't push too hard though. We wouldn't want you to exhaust your brain."
"Of course not," she said and his eyes narrowed. Softening her tone, she said, "Like you told me, 'a little at a time sticks better than learning great wads all at once.'"
He smiled and pulled his suit jacket off the back of his chair. "Just so. Take your time at breakfast. I'll see you in a few hours." Grabbing up his sample case, he walked out the door. She heard the key turn in the lock and stuffed the last of the pastry into her mouth.
Racing down the hall, she stood in the bedroom and glared at the close
t now populated with several dresses. Loki had convinced her to let him "loan" her the money for some clothing. They agreed that she would pay him back later, once they'd found Jotun and gotten the couple established in their new life. Now the thought of taking any of it with her made her faintly nauseous.
The fact was, though, that she had to wear something. She threw her own dress into a designer tote, followed by a single change of clothes. Her hand hovered for several torn moments before scooping up the tablet Loki had given her. Stuffing her feet into the ballerina flats he'd bought, she forced back a wave of revulsion and dressed, wishing for the first time in her life that going naked was an option.
With the business card safely in the tote's zipper pocket, she strode into the kitchen. After a moment's hesitation, she loaded her bag with the remaining pastries and some fruit.
I'll pay you back, Loki, she thought. I will definitely pay you back.
Shoulders set, face grim, she headed out the door, carefully turning the lock behind her.
The train rocketed down the line at 150 mph as Jotun drummed his fingers on the armrest. "I still don't understand why we didn't just fly." Traveling by train was a new experience for Jotun and, while it wasn't unpleasant, the snail-like pace chafed.
"I explained already," Surt said. "They have a thing called radar and we are too big to be mistaken for birds. Flight is dangerous." He grimaced as he said the word flight.
Surt looked now as Jotun had first seen him, ugly, haggard, but not frightening. So perhaps he had only appeared as a demon to frighten the human. Jotun shifted against the stiff, unforgiving train seat and wondered why Surt had felt that necessary if he planned to kill the man anyway.
A young woman walked by, her long dark hair laying soft against her sweater. "Besides, the food is delicious," Surt said, watching her.
Jotun thumped him on the shoulder. "Never mind the menu. What is the plan?"
Something dark moved through Surt's eyes, but he gave Jotun his full attention. "There is a gathering of physicists and military personnel in Philadelphia this week. They are coming from facilities all over the world for the express purpose of discussing disarmament. These humans have so many nuclear weapons that they don't know what to do with them. They frighten themselves with thoughts of "what could happen," if one or two went off accidentally." He chuckled. "They even make movies about it."
"Then why don't they simply dismantle the weapons?"
"It is not so simple. The bombs contain nuclear material that is poisonous to every life form on Earth. The dilemma becomes what to do with this material. How do they store it when a single, small leak could wipe out an ecosystem?"
"So they've built themselves into a corner. What does that have to do with us?"
"We are going to relieve them of a bit of their burden. All we have to do is find out where they keep the bombs. Then we detonate them. Simple."
"These bombs are powerful enough to roll up the sky?"
Surt settled back in his seat, watching with hooded eyes as the dark haired girl walked back up the aisle to her seat. "They will do the job. Do not worry."
"Very well. And when we get to Philadelphia, then what?"
"We find one of these scientists and we go to his research facility. Once we are inside, the rest is easy."
The train ran on, stopping occasionally to accept new passengers and disgorge old ones. A smile tugged at Jotun's lips as he watched a man help the dark haired girl lug her case down the aisle. The man held the door for her and they exited the train.
Surt followed his gaze and frowned. "Just remember, Jotun. Opportunities lost are difficult to regain. When the time comes, I hope you will not be so faint of heart."
A scowl cramped the angel's features. "My heart is strong enough. I will carry out my mission. But there is no honor in preying on those weaker than yourself."
The train jerked into motion and Surt crossed his arms over his chest, settled back into his seat and closed his eyes. After a moment, Jotun did the same and the train rocked him to sleep. The demon was careful not to wake him when he got up and headed for the back of the train.
Gwyneth's breath puffed out in small, white clouds as she hurried down the street, packed full of distracted people. At first she rushed along not worrying about direction, only speed. After several blocks she looked around and realized she had no idea where she was going. Looking back, she saw that the apartment house was no longer visible, but that didn't mean she was safe.
She walked on, turned at the next intersection and kept going, taking turns at random. It was a tall city. And noisy beyond anything she had ever experienced, but little of that registered now. Her outings with Loki had at least accustomed her to that much. The air was cool against her skin and she walked fast, ignoring the looks from some of her fellow pedestrians.
I'm surprised all of them aren't gawking. Not a one of them is over four cubits tall.
An hour later the street she was on emptied out into a large, grassy area. Buildings surrounded it, but the center was a wide, green hill. Horse drawn carts lined up along one side, taking on passengers before heading off along the road. Vendor's cried their wares: scarves, purses, dresses, even food, was sold here. Too bad she didn't have any money. A grim smile pushed across Gwyneth's lips.
It's no wonder Loki didn't mind paying for everything. Putting me in his debt to keep me dependent. I will need to find a community where I may serve if I am to survive.
She headed down into the park looking for a place to sit and think. A woman ran along the sidewalk in shockingly tight, neon pink shorts and a sleeveless, collarless top, earbuds pasted to her ears and it was Gwyneth's turn to stare. A man with a leather case walked by, eyed her and smiled in a way that pushed Gwyneth to walk faster. From somewhere in the distance, strange music played, the down beat foreign, but enticing. Lacking any better options, she followed the sound. The path wound through old oaks and wide, hilly lawns. People strolled past, heads down, focused on their phones, just like Loki. The fascination with the little talking boxes seemed to be culture wide.
"Look, lady, look how pretty with your eyes!" A multi-hued scarf was thrust in front of her and Gwyneth stopped short, blinking at the tiny, dark eyed woman who smiled up at her with friendly avarice.
"I'm sorry," Gwyneth said in halting Arabic. "I don't understand."
The woman's grin widened. "You speak Arabic!" she exclaimed in the same language. "How wonderful! Now, Lady, this scarf, it is so beautiful with your eyes. You must have it. I insist."
Gwyneth only caught one word in three, but understood the gist. She smiled and shook her head. "It is lovely, but I —"
"Not this one? Of course not this one. It is too many colors for such a bright haired woman." She turned and whipped another from the rack; indigo silk with faint silver threads glimmering in the weave. "Now this one, it is better. This is the finest quality. We make them ourselves from fibers brought straight from Egypt. You buy, no?"
To be polite, Gwyneth held it up to the light, turning it this way and that, exclaiming over its beauty and quality. Three women wandered over, watched her for a moment and then moved to the display racks. The little sales woman's eyes cut toward them, though she kept her attention focused on Gwyneth. A man stepped out and began a quiet conversation with the women and each one walked away with two scarves.
"Let me show you how it drapes," the tiny woman said to Gwyneth and, before she could protest, the woman had her seated on a stool and was draping the blue scarf around her shoulders in elaborate folds. "Look here, how lovely," she said leading her captive to a mirror.
Gwyneth had to stoop to see herself, but she agreed. "It is beautiful, but you see, I have no money." The tiny woman stared at her. Gwyneth fingered the scarf and sighed. "It really is lovely."
A man walked by, his gaze fixed on Gwyneth. As if pulled by a magnet, he stopped at the cart and the quiet man engaged him in conversation. He walked away with three scarves, still gazing over his shoulder.
The tiny woman's sharp black eyes took it all in.
She turned to the taller woman towering over her, still wearing the midnight blue scarf. "I tell you what. You stay here until lunch. Try on all the scarves you want. Make a big deal over them. I give you that one, for free."
Gwyneth thought for a moment and another customer came up, pointed at the scarf Gwyneth was wearing and asked a question in English, gesturing at the racks. The quiet man pulled a similar scarf from the rack and offered it to the man. "Include lunch and I agree," Gwyneth said.
"Done," The woman replied. "I am Faiza. And you?"
"Gwyneth."
Faiza nodded and pulled out another scarf, this one in brilliant scarlet peppered with gold stars. "Let's try this one."
"Oh, that is lovely."
In the next two hours they sold thirty scarves and twelve purses. The latter was part of a new line Faiza was trying out that hadn't been doing very well. It seemed that anything Gwyneth liked, passersby suddenly had a desire for.
The trio sat down at a makeshift table and Faiza set out the lunch she had brought. "This is Amal. He is my husband," she said, gesturing toward the smiling man.
Gwyneth accepted a portion of food and waited respectfully as Amal prayed, "In the name of Allah and with the blessings granted by Allah do we eat."
Faiza eyed Gwyneth curiously. "So, tell me. Why are you here?"
Gwyneth choked, coughing until her eyes watered while Amal scolded his wife in Arabic. Faiza was unmoved. "I was being interested. It is not rude to be interested in someone. Especially if you want to do business with them." She returned her attention to Gwyneth, who had now recovered and was thinking furiously. "So, you are obviously not American, yet you wear American style clothes. You speak Arabic, but it is very bad Arabic, so you are not from an Arabic country. And, you wander into Central Park without a dime in your Louis Vitton tote. So — why are you here?"