‘Hopefully Grace won’t take it personally.’
The lady in question was currently glaring at Stuart for missing another note. ‘On the plus side, we might all be dead before she finds out.’
Ava yanked her arm away. ‘Sorry, too soon?’ I said, still chuckling, but when I saw her clutching her forehead, my laughter died away. ‘Yeah, too soon. I’ll take you home.’
We moved into a side street. Ava buried her head in my chest, fingernails biting into my back, a soft groan vibrating my pecs, which in any other situation would be a pleasant experience. Pedestrians walked by without a second glance as Ava’s visions returned with full force, as if to punish her for enjoying herself. ‘I can’t make them out,’ she said, ‘it’s so jumbled. Just Menelaus, the bodies…’
I wedged her under my shoulder and headed for the taxi rank. ‘Maybe Raphael can make sense of this,’ I said, as I opened the cab door. Ava steadied herself for a moment before climbing in.
‘Hi,’ I said to the driver, slipping in next to Ava.
‘Where to?’
‘St. Michael’s, please.’
Raphael was floating in the air when we arrived, thankfully undisturbed by the coven; they were still at the Old Vicarage processing themselves through two-and-a-half bathrooms, a rather tedious morning ritual. As the tower door latched closed, the landvættir dropped to the ground. ‘Where is Lorenzo?’
‘I thought he came to see you last night,’ I said.
‘No, he did not return.’
‘Jörð, where does that vampire keep going?’
Raphael walked slowly up to Ava. He was slighter than her, hardly real. ‘My dear, Mother Frigg has touched you. Can you see Lorenzo?’
‘I…how do you know?’
‘He’s an Elder,’ I said, prompting a jolt to ripple through Raphael and a frown from Ava, who obviously didn’t understand the term, ‘an ancient land-sprite bound to protect the Gatekeeper and the earth, not necessarily in that order. Basically, he knows stuff.’
He opened his mouth and shut it again, pouting. ‘Right,’ said Ava. ‘Then tell me why Frigg gave me this ability if I can’t decipher it or figure out how to stop things happening.’
‘Stop Fate?’ He looked confused. ‘No, but there are a hundred different ways to spin a web using the same threads.’
‘Crystal clear.’ She huffed. ‘That’s where I’ve got to be this afternoon. Working. So tell me, how can I access the visions to see what I need to? Please don’t tell me it takes years of training.’ Ava scrunched her hair in her hands. ‘I need answers.’
Raphael stepped back. ‘Young lady,’ he squeaked. I smirked; seriousness didn’t suit his innocent features. ‘The goddess’s gift isn’t a trick or a curse. The fault is your own.’
‘Hey,’ I said.
‘Listen, warlock. She can’t see because she does not wish to see.’ He turned to Ava. ‘You wish to hide. Wish instead for the truth, wish to find the pattern, and Frigg will reveal which threads you must pull.’ Raphael mimed plucking at twine. ‘Think about Lorenzo, without projecting your own fears. Focus on him at this moment. Feel his movement in the web.’
Ava shuddered, spinning round as if she were somewhere else. She clutched her hands against her chest. ‘I feel panic, aching sadness. Thoughts like sludge.’
‘Yes,’ Raphael whispered, ‘go on.’
‘Heat, strength. He’s running.’
‘Where?’
‘Through a field, or something. He’s hot, itchy. Confused. I taste iron.’ Ava licked her finger. ‘Blood. He’s sticky with it. No, I thought this was now but the sun’s just risen.’ She ran into the middle of the tower and stared up through the roof of birds.
A blur fell from the sky into the tower. A crunch as boots slammed against stone. Lorenzo’s face, smeared red, his clothes soaked through and fangs snarling. ‘I am death!’ he screamed. ‘Destroyer of worlds!’ He kicked the pottery water feature and sent it sprawling across the ground.
I grabbed Ava and yanked her behind me. Raphael was huddled in the corner. ‘Lorenzo, it’s us,’ I said. ‘What happened?’
‘Malachi!’ he roared. ‘Malachi!’ He choked, unable to speak. ‘M… M…’ He vomited on the floor, a red sludge that ran through the grooves in the stone. He picked something out of it – a necklace – a sun with many hands at the end of its rays. Triumphantly, he held it up, the gold catching the light. ‘See!’ he said, blood-red eyes manic, as if the trinket explained everything. He chucked it at me and unfortunately, I caught it.
‘Gross.’ I held it between my fingertips.
Raphael peeked through his hands. ‘That’s the symbol of the Aten,’ he said, matter-of-fact.
I couldn’t bring myself to imagine how Lorenzo had swallowed a necklace, or why. ‘Something seriously fucked up is going on here,’ I said.
‘You don’t need a clairvoyant to tell you that,’ Ava whispered behind me. She rested her head on my back, searching through her visions. ‘All I see is blackness. Like last night never existed.’
Lorenzo stood up, his knees stained red. ‘I wish it never had.’
29
The One Who Needs It Most
‘What is that?’
I had tired of watching the stars, waiting for his return. I had danced by myself. He had come back, sick with blood. I do not fear him; it is the aura that lashes out, scratching my own. ‘I’ll make you okay, drive them away, the images stuck in your head….’ I sing.
He watches me, a putrid mess. The warlock and the seer left him for me to fix, clean clothes summoned from his bedroom piled on the bench. I smile though I long to weep and sing to him. He stares at me, his face a question. ‘Your phone,’ I say, ‘you left it behind. I listened to the music. That song made me think of you.’
‘Between the Bars?’
I spin, hands out. ‘This is prison enough for me.’
‘Try being in my head.’ He peels off the drenched clothes, discards them. He washes in the pool. I tremble and kneel, scooping the water, washing the death from his face. His eyes are stone, ready to bleed.
‘I don’t deserve your help,’ he says.
‘Yet you need it.’ Many have needed it. I wonder, why did I never offer it? ‘I am afraid of what it’ll do to you,’ I say. ‘But I can’t imagine greater harm than you currently endure.’
He drips. ‘What?’ His aura quivers and I realise he carries the Elven gift. Taking his shirt off did not disrupt the bow and arrow. I find that interesting. He licks his bottom lip. ‘Are you offering your blood to me?’
Am I? I don’t doubt his affection; the aura cannot lie. My heart flutters. I catch my hand around the back of his neck and pull him over the water. I let his weight crush my body against the uneven ground. ‘Drink up, and I’ll make you mine,’ I whisper. Yield, I think, willing the skin to break under the bite, and it doesn’t hurt there, only as our auras clash so violently. I’ll keep you deep in my heart, and keep the things you forgot.
At last he stops, enraptured. ‘I thought of a surname for you,’ he rasps, ‘Bellefontaine. Beautiful fountain.’
30
Mirror, Mirror
I watched Father step forward, the evening drawing around those cliffs like a tight shroud ready to obliterate what remained of my family.
‘Theo?’ Concern, thick, from the driver’s seat. I opened my eyes and shook my head slowly. Menelaus, of all people, drove us past the gargoyles. Straining out of the window, I caught a glimmer of those glowing eyes.
‘Present,’ I said, shooting him a tight-lipped smile.
Father was waiting by the garage, a sword strapped to his side, for the world to see. Vaulting out of the car, we walked in silence to the studded front door. The urge to hug Father crashed against my chest, leaving me almost winded as we stepped into the hallway, Toby’s hard face waiting at the entrance.
I don’t want Father to die, I thought, I don’t want him to leave me. Orphaned again – or soon would be. The terrible vision pr
essed constantly between the eyes. And Nikolaj, where was he?
On an impulse, I broke away from the three of them, running through the kitchen and the drawing room, into the rear stairway that led to Uncle Nik’s apartments. That wallpaper, alive with birds, curled up the walls like smoke. The back door, I thought, where he always left his vintage suitcases.
‘They’re still there,’ I whispered, angry and relieved at once; if he’d left Midgard, I could forgive that – after all, I’d left first, but these trio of bags suggested otherwise. ‘He can’t be far.’
Father appeared behind me. ‘What is it?’
How I wanted to throw my arms around him and admit how scared I was. Akhen was after us, endangering everyone I loved and cared for. But I couldn’t allow Father to strip away the independence I had fought so hard for. Swallowing back my nerves, I said, ‘I need to talk to Uncle Nik. It’s important.’
A flicker crossed his eyes. What was it: uncertainty, sorrow, fear? He hesitated. ‘Tell me instead,’ he said softly.
‘More secrets, Father?’ A mere breath, quiet, but it sliced him.
He folded his arms.
‘Where is he?’ I asked.
At least he didn’t have the audacity to lie right out; he stepped to the side to let me back into the drawing room, eyes to the ground. Acquiescing, but not yielding.
Toby and Menelaus were talking in the kitchen.
‘I found Jenny.’ I hardly heard it over the whistling of the kettle on the hob. ‘She’s alive.’
Toby clattered onto the bench. ‘Thank Christ, oh thank God,’ he gasped. That rage I understood too well scorched his cheeks and he sprang to his feet. ‘Where is she? We’ll get her out. Today.’
‘No,’ Menelaus said, grasping him by the wrists. ‘Impossible. She’s safe for now. She warned you not to come; they’ll kill you both.’ He launched into the explanation he gave me the night before at dinner, Father firing off a ream of questions when Menelaus mentioned the ‘Council of Three’.
While they argued about the best course of action, I slipped away into the hallway and made for the library. Something else was bothering me. Penny claimed the coven were willing to sell their souls to Hel in exchange for the Hordes crushing the Praetoriani. That didn’t make sense; nothing Penny did was altruistic. Although I understood the reasons why the coven loathed Akhen and the Praefecti, I couldn’t picture them as sacrificial lambs to an ancient cause. Arabella, she would twirl down the red carpet in this library, dancing and laughing like she did every moment of her life. And Lori, witch-geek that she was, would donate an organ to pour over the centuries-old manuscripts stored in the mezzanine above.
They want something else from the Black Widow, I feel it.
That was the reason I stopped at Uncle Nikolaj’s curio case, the glass-topped table in the middle right of the library. The protection spells broke away with a fizz, no barrier to Gatekeeper magic, and besides, I’d undone them before. Trembling, I scooped the silver mirror from the velvet display, and it felt slimy and cold in my hand. I kept it face down, unwilling to look into that glass and see no reflection. The mirror was a magical trap, meant to store the darkest soul until Ragnarök.
Can I use it on Akhen? I asked the alien beast, though it rarely spoke in anything but riddles.
Laughter echoed in my head, like a ball released into a sealed room. I shuddered.
Fae magic is not enough to stop the Serpent, it said.
What happened to Akhen? I asked, frowning, forcing the question down into the pit of my stomach. How did he become this beast?
Like you, it snapped back. The gods chose their champions. The trickster, the devil, the eater of chaos, he chose too. The North, the South, the Ice, the Fire…
The trickster? Loki? Loki, why would he make Akhen the Midgard Serpent? Loki – lover of chaos and destruction – one of the few gods destined to survive Ragnarök. So why would he work with Hel to resurrect his Hordes to destroy the Praefecti, when he as good as created it?
I staggered, feeling the curl of the beast’s tail straining against my skin. What if one day it didn’t stop talking?
The double bluff, the double agent – we only know what we’ve heard, Gatekeeper. Tread carefully. A fiery lash seared down my arm and into the mirror, flipping it face up. I gazed into it, unable to move, my opal eyes shimmering back at me, backlit by blue fire.
I choked and spluttered, suffocated by the endless mirrors reflecting those eyes into infinity.
I cried out and dropped it onto the floorboards.
Make sure no one traps you in it, warlock.
I blinked rapidly, dispersing the water building up in my eyes, and crouched down to retrieve it. Into my cloak pocket it went. Why didn’t you warn me about Akhen, if you knew all along?
We must be invited. We must be asked.
Why?
Our knowledge comes at a price to your soul.
I stopped asking questions.
Drained, I carried on with my mission, searching the rows to find any volume that might shed its wisdom about the Hordes and the Black Widow. Frigg had burned Ava and Lolita already, and she – presumably – was an ally.
The mirror weighed heavy in my pocket, an icy patch against my chest. Whatever magical back-up plan I selected, it would be my own. Solid, reliable, Clemensen-Braec power. It had taken control of my arm.
Finally, I found a slim text on potions and amulets – unfortunately not the anti-death kind – that sounded promising. Thinking of Ava, I retraced my steps to the curio cabinet and filched the little case of Fae-dust. At least it was something she could use to defend herself, if it ever came to that.
Next on my list was the amulet. They were still arguing when I poked my head back round the kitchen door, so I teleported to the orchard, an explosion of salty air blasting away the vanilla scent of musty books.
I gathered apples as I went, biting into the succulent flesh. Elvish magic kept them in stasis on the branches, waiting to be picked. Always ripe, always ready. The walnut tree loomed up ahead. When had it gotten so big? Green-cased nuts hung thick, ready to crack. Could the amulet really be inside of those armoured shells? Should I even move it?
‘I have to know it’s there,’ I said aloud.
The ground shuddered as I reached into the bowels of Jörð, the earth’s power enhancing my senses. The sea breeze carried the songs of so many tinkling boats and lumbering ships, the forceful slap of wings as birds took flight. Sweet apple coated my tongue and the walnuts glowed like rough green lanterns. I paced around the tree, squinting into the foliage. Nothing jumped out.
Where is it?
Stars twinkled all round and I felt like I was staring down a tunnel, watching as my arms and legs propelled me up the long trunk, almost gliding into the branches. Rough bark grazed against skin, but I had relinquished control without meaning to. The Gatekeeper climbed that monstrous tree, the Gatekeeper shimmied over the great expansive branches to reach the dangling prize that pulsed, a low humming tone picked up by ears the Gatekeeper listened with.
Awareness, action, these things became a current to out-swim, a hundred voices a spray inside my head. I wanted to scream.
As abruptly as it started, the stars faded away, and I was left teetering on the edge of the walnut tree, staring at the armoured nut containing the amulet. For five minutes I sat, legs dangling either side of the branch, gulping air.
Those voices – ancestors, Clemensens, ex-Gatekeepers – it was as if part of their soul latticed the mind of that ancient beast. I’d recognised Nikolaj and Father in the mix, shouting over the muddled conversations. Were they remembered conversations, or a choppy reaction to current events? When the Gatekeeper left me, would part of my Vital Essence flake away also, my history mere titbits for it to feed on?
I reached out for the walnut, warm in my hand.
And left it.
When I returned to the kitchen, Menelaus was holding Toby’s arms in restraint. ‘You will die, Tobias!’
‘I won’t let her rot in there for another second!’ Toby growled. ‘What if they start interrogating her?’ He yanked his arm free. ‘She’s pregnant, Laus.’
‘Odin, Thor, and Freyr,’ Father and I said in unison. He smiled faintly. ‘There’s a simple solution to this,’ I added, the nausea building even as I considered it. ‘I rescue them all.’
Menelaus and Toby exchanged glances.
Before Father could object, I plunged in. ‘I can teleport, well sort of. It’s complicated but I can get there unseen, if Menelaus can draw me a fairly detailed map?’
‘I think so….’
‘Great.’ As I explained my plan, Father’s jaw tightened so hard I thought his teeth might break under the pressure.
I needed to change, but all the clothes I had left in my bedroom I’d long since outgrown. So I took the back stairs to my Uncle’s apartments, where potted plants crammed against each windowpane, and sweeping hand-painted tapestries spanned the walls, transforming them into a botanist’s sketch pad. His wardrobe, like every other item of furniture, was crafted from storm-felled trees and reclaimed wood. Glistening forest birds decorated the panels.
Uncle Nik liked his pinks, reds, and blues, to contrast with the delicate touches of green throughout his rooms, but Lady Fortune heard my prayers; buried in a drawer I found black work trousers he often wore while gardening, a dark knitted jumper, a hat, and a scarf, which I used to tie around the lower half of my face.
In fact, as I dressed, I realised hardly any of his clothes were gone, his combs and shaving accoutrements scattered around the sink in his en suite bathroom.
Downstairs, I found my comrades waiting in the hallway. ‘If only Uncle was here baking up a storm,’ I said to Father, ‘to ply our new guests with a warm welcome.’
Norns of Fate: A New Adult Urban Fantasy Novel (Descendants of Thor Trilogy Book Two) Page 24