Norns of Fate: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (Descendants of Thor Trilogy Book Two)

by S. A. Ashdown

  ‘Are you worried I’ll kill you?’

  ‘Death isn’t fated for me.’

  ‘Then I can control these urges if I have your blood. Give it to me and I won’t need to hurt anyone else.’

  ‘A poor incentive, Dark Elf. It is your duty to rid yourself of the scent of death. Until you reject Hel’s stain, I cannot permit you to pollute my veins with her dark blood…’

  Lorenzo spun away and covered his mouth. Easier to let his fangs sink into his lower lip than risk Raphael’s protectors attacking him again. Composing himself, he turned back. Please don’t be gone, he thought, and for once his luck stayed fast. ‘Drinking blood isn’t an exact science.’ He wanted to shout but the boy appeared more ethereal by the second. ‘I have to learn not to drink too fast – too much. I didn’t ask for this.’ He hesitated. ‘I wasn’t born a killer.’

  Just reborn one.

  A little indent creased Raphael’s forehead. The tiniest frown Lorenzo had ever seen, matched by a dainty pout. The world had so many layers, in constant flux, a subtle gradient only apparent to his vampire senses. Watching the boy – whose eyes were cavern-deep and feather-light at the same time – it felt as if the earth was recreating itself before him, a microcosm in human form. ‘I…know,’ Raphael said.

  ‘Ava told me. Do you know who she is?’

  Raphael nodded.

  ‘She said you saw Malachi kill me.’

  Raphael held out his palm upturned, and a nearby bird darted for it. He ruffled the contented bird’s head, stopping to remove a beetle trying to crawl up his nose. ‘I did.’

  The moment Ava had revealed her vision, the anger had built. Now he had the chance to ask the question, to make the accusation. ‘Why didn’t you stop him? You, who can do almost anything!’

  The ducks and swans hissed and quacked in unison. The boy dipped his head and turned to the side, glancing towards the darkening horizon. The first stars were visible now. ‘The Norns of Fate make webs stronger than any spider. I am at their mercy as much as you or any other. I am sorry.’

  Was he serious? After criticising him for giving into his urges, he then had the audacity to claim he himself was at the mercy of circumstance and fate? This time, Lorenzo showed his fangs. The birds rose into the sky and circled over him. He was carrion ready to be devoured. ‘That’s bullshit. You’re enticing as a mirage but you’re a bloody hypocrite. You couldn’t be bothered to control your actions that night; just admit it. For all your holier-than-thou spiel, you just don’t care.’

  Raphael grimaced. An ugly sight. ‘Perhaps I didn’t. My life is solitary in the extreme, vampire. I have only one purpose.’

  ‘Which is?’ Lorenzo was shaking now.

  ‘A secret, I cannot—’

  ‘Won’t.’

  ‘I am sorry, Lorenzo. Sometimes I wish I had another reason to exist.’

  He couldn’t take it. He moved in snaps, crossing gaps like a reel of photos spinning too fast. His curled fingers caught Raphael’s forearms. The boy only came up to his collarbone and seemed half Lorenzo’s width.

  ‘Let go, please.’ The violet eyes pleaded, but Raphael did not pull away.

  Lorenzo ignored the frantic pecking at his ankles, the attacks from behind. He would heal after all. This was worth it. He lowered his mouth towards the boy’s neck.

  Raphael shuddered. Were those tears?

  And suddenly, stupidly, Lorenzo grazed that worried pout with his lips and let Raphael go.

  He was the one who ran away this time.

  His internal compass made navigation a breeze. Lorenzo moved over land and through water as a planet orbits the sun. A smudge of lights glowed in his periphery as he passed villages and towns, anonymous and liberated under the cloak of night. This part he loved the most – the pace, the chase, the obliteration of self. A wild thing cannot regret.

  He kissed Raphael. He. Let. Him. Go.

  And now he was hungry, so hungry. The landscape rolled into hills, and Lorenzo started to ascend into them. His legs propelled him forward into the sparsely populated Mendips, a stone’s throw from Hellingstead but far enough away not to be called by the scent of warm flesh.

  He felt the dreaded yank of his Pater Sanguinem. Lorenzo slowed as he neared the summit of Black Down, catching a panoramic glimpse of Somerset. The taste of Raphael lingered on his lips.

  He was scared of me. He let me hold him but he was scared.

  ‘Right on time.’

  Lorenzo started. ‘What are you doing ’ere, Malachi?’

  A mass of shadows approached him on the slope, splitting into three forms. Malachi, Penny…and? ‘Who’s that?’ He gestured to the figure slung over Malachi’s shoulder.

  ‘Oh, this guy? You don’t remember?’ He dumped the unconscious man onto the grass and brushed off his leather jacket. ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Wha—’

  ‘We know, baby fangs, it’s confusing. Just be a good boy. Come here.’

  His mind blanked. Numbness smothered his muscles as he obeyed Malachi’s command. Blood couldn’t refuse blood. A dawning horror rose in his throat as he flipped the man onto his back and peered at his face, the Praetoriani logo on his uniform. ‘It needs to be done. It needs to be done…it…it…’ The words poured out of Lorenzo’s mouth, making no sense to his brain. Penny stood nearby, her face rigid, athamé in her hand. He looked to her, pleading.

  But she just shrugged. ‘Make sure you get the hair.’

  Malachi touched him on the cheek and said something. The world switched off.

  He woke up cold, alone, and covered in blood.

  10

  The Morning After

  I awoke to the soft strumming of a guitar. Ava sat on a cushion by the window, looking over the driveway, St Michael’s nestled in a fir tree grove a short walk away. ‘Ah, you found the guitar,’ I croaked. Morning voice, eh? At least it could be mistaken for sexy.

  She wore one of my grandmother Elsa’s famous knit jumpers over her dress. Where’d she find that? I thought, before remembering she’s clairvoyant.

  ‘I presumed you brought it up here for me,’ Ava said, the flush of her cheeks hinting at the night’s passing. Dawn bled into the attic, warming the sober décor. Ava curled her toes in a beam of sunlight. ‘I like to sing in the morning.’

  ‘Are you a bird?’ I propped up my pillow and leant back.

  She smiled. ‘A chick, maybe.’

  Spring brings birth anew but summer is for dancing. Autumn turns leaves brown, but winter’s just for passing. It takes but a kiss to thaw a snow-cold heart, and birth love everlasting…

  Abruptly, Ava’s fingers froze on the strings. ‘I never told you about my dreams. When your mother came to me.’

  Slipping out of the covers, I donned some loose trousers and crossed the floorboards to join her on the oversized cushion. ‘It’s been a little crazy, hasn’t it? We’ve barely talked about anything.’

  ‘I know,’ she said, ‘but this is important.’

  I nudged the guitar towards the wall and clasped her hands. ‘What is it?’

  ‘She wants me to find something that can protect you, and keep it safe.’

  ‘Did she say where this thing is?’

  Ava gazed out of the window. The sky was bright and clear. ‘No. The dead aren’t omniscient.’

  My brain reacted by conjuring the image of my father madly waving his arms around and making violent hand gestures. I shook it away; I hated secrets. I couldn’t have them with Ava. ‘It’s an amulet,’ I said. ‘That’s the only thing on this Earth that protects me.’

  ‘You…’

  ‘Know all about it? Yes. I had it until recently.’

  ‘What happened?’

  I swallowed. If I hadn’t warded the attic, this conversation wouldn’t happen. The only person who could penetrate Clemensen wards was Raphael – the amulet thief. ‘Raphael stole it.’

  ‘That boy? How? Why?’

  ‘Who is he? How does he flitter about the earth like a pe
rennial butterfly? Nobody seems to know. He pointed me in your direction – he found the photographs of us. And he left me a clue.’

  I expected her to ask me about the clue but she tore her eyes from me instead. ‘Menelaus is looking for Raphael.’

  ‘Ava, how do you—’

  ‘I’m sorry, okay? I know you hate him. But—’

  ‘You’ve seen him, haven’t you?’

  Ava tugged her hand free. ‘I needed his help.’

  ‘Whatever it was, you should’ve come to me.’

  ‘He was my only shot at finding a super-rare text about amulets, something that belongs in the Praetoriani’s archives. Isobel – your mum – she told me to look for it.’

  Just like my father, I had to stand up, had to be on the higher ground. I didn’t even recognise it at first. Only after I’d paced the floorboards between Ava and the four-poster bed a few times did it click. ‘So what, you talked about this super-rare text and that’s it? Where did you meet him?’

  She pulled off her – my – jumper and slung it onto the floor. ‘Don’t start with the interrogation. I was only trying to help you. I wish I hadn’t bothered.’ I was about to reply when she murmured, ‘Perhaps Guillaume and his family wouldn’t be missing if I hadn’t.’

  ‘Excuse me?’

  The sorry tale of Ava’s day with my nemesis unravelled as the sun rose higher in the sky. I kept pacing, hot and angry at the thought of them house viewing. ‘You see, don’t you, Ava? How poisonous he is? You ask him to find you a book, and the next thing you know you’re risking your life to help him uncover the shady antics of the Praetoriani itself!’

  ‘Theo, calm down. I can make my own decisions.’

  ‘’Course, just like my mother did. She thought she could out-manoeuvre him too.’ Jörð, I could see Father’s head nodding along with my argument, but I was too far gone. ‘This isn’t okay.’

  Ava slunk across the attic towards the door, swiping her jacket and tugging on her boots.

  I followed her. ‘Ava,’ I reached out but her hand was already on the door handle. ‘Wait.’

  The hinge creaked.

  I flung out my hand and the door snapped shut again.

  Ava wheeled round. ‘Open it. Now.’

  I clenched my fists. ‘Fine. I can’t protect you out there, you know.’

  ‘Don’t need it. Don’t want it.’

  ‘You might change your mind.’

  ‘Maybe. Maybe not. Don’t ever use your powers against me again or you’ll never find out.’ She strode into the narrow passage that held the retractable stairs.

  Feeling guilty, I clicked the steps into place for her. ‘You’re being an idiot, Theo. Menelaus can help you with the trial. Why not use him as an asset?’

  I straightened and looked down on that beautiful hair of hers. Even in the darkness of the corridor the colours seemed to fluctuate with her mood. ‘I can’t forgive him. I can’t trust him.’

  Ava cupped my chin with her palm, echoing how I’d initiated our kiss the night before. Her lips brushed mine. ‘Well, I do.’ I felt bereft when she let me go, descending into the witches’ nest below.

  11

  Ghost Writer

  The kitchen unified the vicarage; the coven ate as a group, preparing dishes and washing up together. We could’ve used magic, I guess, but working together made us a family, and helped me forget about Uncle Nikolaj’s legendary fry-ups. I opened the cupboard and pulled out fourteen plates over the heads of Rosa and Camilla, who were bickering again.

  In the last few days I’d learned a lot about these Tuscan witches and warlocks. Where Arabella was flamboyant and funny, Maria brooded and rarely spoke. Faflon and Ricarda were the perfect skinny couple, with matching tattoos, always kissing and holding hands. Lori, short with chestnut, bobbed hair permanently tucked behind one ear, maintained the coven’s supplies down in the cellar. Carlotta made coffee so strong it could hold a spoon upright. Teramo, Tinia, and Lucia gathered round the stove, brewing up potions, always ‘forgetting’ to clean the gooey stains from the worktop.

  Let’s not forget Strix. I’d only seen him in his human form once, during the ceremony, his owl-like features appropriate for his preferred form. I glanced at the perch by the window in the kitchen, where he usually spent the day. A servant appeared at my side, an enormous pan of fried eggs in hand, and started dishing up. The other servant, a young lad, perhaps eighteen, filled up the toast racks.

  ‘This is too weird,’ I said as Penny entered the kitchen, downing the last dregs of her expresso. ‘We don’t need servants.’

  ‘They have their uses.’ As usual, the servants never replied, or even gave an indication that they were aware of the conversation flooding the air about their ears.

  ‘Where do they come from?’

  Penny heaved her ample bosom into my eye-line as she mounted a kitchen stool. ‘They have no families, if that’s what you’re worried about.’

  Yeah, that did bother me. Also the fact they walked around like zombies. I stared at her. She rolled her eyes. ‘Tsk, Theo. They’re gifts from Hecate.’

  ‘Hel.’

  ‘Whatever you wish to call her. She wove their paths to intersect our own mission. Once our need has passed, Malachi will release them back into the wild, sì?’

  ‘I have questions about Malachi. Why are you two friends?’

  She wriggled her eyebrows and smirked, her answer interrupted by the arrival of everyone else. I swallowed my frustration and helped carry the plates into the dining room at the back of the house, setting them down on the long table. I’m not allowing secrets to ruin my life again, I thought.

  A mix of Italian and English ricocheted around the table as we devoured breakfast. After my exertions the night before, and the whole Gatekeeper calorie-burning effect, I took my share of food. And the leftovers from Penny sitting beside me, and Arabella, who was so busy talking that she didn’t notice me reach over the table and steal her fried tomatoes. Maria caught me in the act but she didn’t say anything, no surprises there.

  Besides, I was their leader now.

  What am I leading them into? What do they want? Something had compelled them to up-sticks and fly by plane or broomstick from Tuscany to Hellingstead. At first, I wondered if Penny and Malachi knew about the Gatekeeper, but although the coven revered my family name, they’d failed to launch a suspicious interrogation. Looking around the table, I felt a jubilant aura in the ebb and flow of teases and jokes, clanging utensils, and chit-chat. I didn’t think they were varmint at all.

  Are they?

  I tracked the servants as the pair moved silently around the table, collecting empty plates. Not one of my coven made eye contact with the boys in the livery.

  Am I?

  I dropped my fork on the plate with a clank. Penny appraised me with her kohl-caked eyes. ‘We need to talk,’ I said, louder than I’d meant to. The laughter around the table died out. Thirteen expectant faces.

  ‘I need to know…’ I straightened up in my chair. These witches and warlocks respected my authority, had taken vows of fealty. ‘Why did you come to Hellingstead? Why do you associate with vampires?’ I thought of Lorenzo, an unexpected friend, and felt mildly guilty.

  Lori piped up, checking her hair was tucked over her ear – a nervous tick. ‘Witches and vampires consorted since our ancestors united against tyranny of authority in days of the Iron Wood. They are natural servants of Hecate – or Hel, like us.’

  Time to test their knowledge. ‘Where do vampires originate from?’

  Arabella answered. ‘Alfheim, of course. That why we excited about a Clemensen, sì? Your ancestors and the vampires, they weave together.’ She mimed the action, spinning her delicate wrists in the air. There was just something so darn cute about that witch.

  ‘Let me guess, Hel’s doing?’ I shuddered to think I’d been forced to trade my hair with the goddess to fight my way out of the Underworld.

  Penny leaned in close. ‘Do you doubt it?’

>   I heard the collective in-breath. Can’t afford to lose them now. Can’t go back to Father like that. ‘She has incredibly good foresight, I’ll give her that.’ I touched the pendant I wore, Thor’s hammer with the pentagram inscribed on top. ‘But she isn’t the only player in the game. Which gets me back to my other question. Penny, why did you bring the coven to Hellingstead?’

  A servant removed her plate and she placed her elbows on the table. ‘To destroy the Praetoriani.’

  At last. She was ready to bulldoze through the bush rather than beat around it.

  ‘Why?’ I whispered, terrified and thrilled at the same time. After my mother’s death, I’d caught the whiff of something putrid. While the faces around me exploded into uproar, I heard Father screaming in my head. YOU ARE THE GATEKEEPER. YOU MUST STAY DEAD TO THEM. I argued back, hardly listening.

  Maybe they need to be dead to us.

  ‘Centuries they persecute our kind!’

  ‘The so-call Guardians ran Inquisition before!’

  My attention snapped to Maria, who was standing up, shouting. ‘They imprisoned my family! I have brother. The Praetoriani took him when he sixteen, for nothing. We bugs to them. They crush us, use our blood – our essence – to fuel their expansion.’ She sat down, muttering, as if the effort to speak had spent her. ‘Think they untouchable…’

  ‘And a Guardian killed my mother.’

  ‘What justice did they mete out to him?’ Penny slid her hand along the table, touching mine. ‘Decommission him? Imprison him?’ She acted her role well, meeting the gaze of everyone at the table.

  I shook my head. ‘Stripped his powers. That’s it.’

  ‘Che palle!’

  ‘Porco giuda!’

  ‘Er, thanks,’ I mumbled.

  ‘And look what they’re doing to you,’ Penny raved on. ‘A trial, for what? Not bowing and scraping to them, obeying every command, no matter how unreasonable?’