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

by S. A. Ashdown

  What an idiot I am, trusting anyone.

  Ella Strand paused mid-sentence. I’d drifted off and slowly the words faded through. ‘Mr Clemensen played with forces he didn’t understand, once again, harming his sapien girlfriend and her mother. The presence of the precious stones proves he was attempting – and succeeded – in summoning a god. That’s strictly forbidden! The untold damage an Asgardian deity can wreak! The last time someone summoned Ægir, he flooded Midgard for forty days!’

  Father scoffed. ‘Imbecile,’ he said.

  ‘Excuse me? Do you wish to address the court, Espen?’ Miss Strand pushed out her bottom lip. Here’s a woman that hates an interruption.

  ‘A lot of seals,’ Father replied, clearing his throat, ‘A lot of seals drowned according to the legend. Forgive me, I have a thick accent.’

  Ella narrowed her eyes and balled her hands. ‘As I was saying, gods do not belong in Midgard. We may ask why the defendant resorted to such drastic action, and indeed, how he was able to perform such a feat. The prosecution believes that such power can only come from corrupt magic.

  ‘The fact is, Mr Clemensen doesn’t care what forces he plays with, or who gets burned. Just as his mother didn’t care. Perhaps the Clemensen motto should be “any means for our ends”. Yes, the defendant isn’t some innocent young man. No, he’s a highly trained and dangerous warlock. He must be stopped. Forgive the pun but only the gods know what he will attempt next, and who he will hurt.’

  She drew in a gigantic breath at the end of this rampage over my reputation, and retreated. ‘No further questions, Your Honour.’

  Michele took her place in a blur, all pretence of humanity gone. He smouldered in his perfectly ironed suit, which he had brought with him in the limousine; day-armour was great but it made regular clothing look like rumpled tinfoil. ‘Once again, Miss Strand has left us with a half-baked explanation based on superstition and circumstantial evidence. Yes, I’ve been lenient so far. After all, Ella is only a child in my eyes.’ He shot her a smile brimming with feigned affection, the rest of him living malice. A frightening combination, and he was my lawyer.

  ‘Officer, let me get this straight for the benefit of the jury. The Praetoriani had already fed you with information regarding my client and those close to him. Is that right?’

  ‘Yes, sir. Names, addresses, that sort of thing.’

  ‘And the charges he was being prosecuted for?’

  Officer Charles scratched his stubbly chin. ‘A summary, yes, I suppose.’

  ‘So you knew that Mr Clemensen was facing charges of Intention to Practice Magic with Malo Animo?’

  ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘Do you know what confirmation bias is, Officer?’

  ‘Ah…’

  Michele clapped his hands together, making the policeman start. ‘Let me clarify,’ he said, and his voice grew unnatural, fast, and viscous. ‘Confirmation bias happens when someone is primed to seek evidence to fit their current worldview and disregard other explanations which are more uncomfortable for their belief system. Tell the jury, Officer Charles, if at any point you were instructed to find evidence, if possible, to use against Mr Clemensen?’

  His face flushed. He gaped like a fish, about to reply, but Michele talked over him. ‘And isn’t it a convenient coincidence that you and Officer Gibbs were so close to Miss Wallace’s property when you got the call? I checked the records at the police station, Officer, and they revealed your car had been stationed for a full hour near Oakley Park before the call came through. No, don’t even pretend you were on a break; on three other occasions your location was within five hundred yards of my client before the incident at the Wallace residence. Did someone tell you to tail my client? Remember your oath, Officer.’

  The court was silent. Michele whipped away the foam at the corner of his mouth but kept his focus locked on Officer Charles. ‘Yes,’ he stammered, ‘but with good reason.’

  Ella’s fingernails dug into her desk.

  ‘Is this a common request, Officer Charles? Do Praetoriani officials regularly interfere with your police work, or is my client a special case?’

  Officer Charles stared helplessly at Ella, but Michele had been careful not to give her an excuse to object. I could practically hear her blood simmering. ‘It, ah, it hasn’t happened before, sir.’ He looked down.

  ‘It’s not your fault,’ said Michele, his normal tone sounding dulcet after that tirade. ‘You arrived at the Wallace residence looking for evidence. Did you know, Officer, that precious stones are often used to petition the gods for advice, not only for summoning them?’

  ‘No, sir. It’s not my area of expertise.’

  Michele stalked, hands behind back. ‘Indeed, that is the case. The gods appear to enjoy pretty objects.’ Murmured laughter. Michele grinned coldly. ‘They also enjoy pretty people making love.’

  ‘Okay,’ said the Officer.

  ‘This is my client’s explanation. He was performing magic that night, but nothing more than any other young warlock might dabble in. He didn’t confess this upon your arrival for fear that you and Officer Gibbs were innocent sapiens.’

  Michele faced the jury. ‘Theo’s girlfriend is not pure sapien. She’s a sensitive, so there’s some Pneuma DNA in her, and this has given her the gift of clairvoyance. Until she met my client, she feared her gifts, and wanted some advice. How should she control them? What are the limits of her abilities? Theo decided to use his twenty-first birthday present from his Elven Uncle Nikolaj – jewels from the Sarrows of Alfheim – to perform a simple ritual to seek Frigg’s guidance. As a seeress, they believed she may send a message to Ava, with guidance.

  ‘Of course, sapiens, even sensitives, need a fairly direct connection with Pneuma to use magic. Indeed, they can only use it indirectly, in this case, through a sex ritual.’

  I groaned inwardly at the thought of Father listening to this.

  Michele continued. ‘The spell was working, but in the midst of passion, Miss Wallace caught her hair on the open flame of the candles, and knocked over a few others in the commotion. This broke the circle and accidentally released the spell and blew out the window from its old and weak frame. After Theo rescued his girlfriend and the house from fully catching fire, he acted, calling Lorenzo to help keep the neighbouring sapiens out of harm’s way, and repair the damage to Miss Wallace’s bedroom before the police arrived.

  ‘This is why, Officer Charles, you found the defendant in a dishevelled state and detected magical residue; this is why the glass was pulverised, and why the diamonds and rubies came from another realm. Lolita was sick, thus why my client chose that night to help his girlfriend seek answers. You arrived, instructed what to see, when in reality Theo acted with compassion to his lover, saved her house, protected the local sapiens, and quickly rectified his innocent mistakes. Perhaps one could say that young Theo’s only crime was one of passion….’

  I blushed. Michele made me out to be Lothario when really, I was as new to passion as a freshly hatched chick. Soft snorts echoed around the courtroom, bouncing off the high ceiling. I switched off, wondering if the courtroom was really a cavern in its own right, moulded into this theatre of justice.

  ‘It’s such a shame that the Praetoriani – and indeed the Praefecti – is so riddled with paranoia. What they forced poor Officer Charles and Officer Gibbs to do is nothing short of ensnarement. Their alternative scenarios are based on nothing but fancy and their own desire to suck away the magic earned by the Clemensens’ ancestors.’

  He placed his palm against his heart. ‘My client is powerful, yes. So are the Praefecti. It’s how that power is used, the intention behind it. My advanced age has made me cynical, I admit. But even I recognise Theo’s true heart and loving nature. Look around you, Ladies and Gentlemen, and see; any golden crown Theo wears possesses more integrity than any of the court’s wasteful decoration. My client is the very personification of Truth, Justice, and the Protection of all.’

  Oh, that thick
Italian accent melted the air around the jury’s ears, if not their hearts. Does he really think that? I doubted it.

  ‘No further questions, Your Honour. Oh, but one more point. Has it ever occurred to you that Theo joined Miss Nocenti’s coven with the intention of reforming it? Every day he has been with us, he has shared his counsel and wealth of family knowledge to help his coven to start again. Why else would Miss Nocenti – who was successfully re-educated during her sentence – and my fili sanguine come here today if not to prove they have turned over a new leaf? That is all.’

  He slunk back to the bench. The men and woman, who held my fate in their hands, resisted the urge to speak to their fellow jurors. Belle nudged the woman beside her, fair hair and strawberry-tinted eyebrows marking her a likely relation to Magna Helen. Who had assembled this jury? It irked that Michele didn’t divulge his sources, or his tactics. Hellingstead had been his haunt in the eighties. How many old contacts remained? Whatever game was playing out on Hellingstead’s chessboard, I had arrived midway through, the seasoned players unwilling to reveal the pattern.

  As Ella Strand rose, a side door, guarded by two lictors, opened, and a teenage boy hurried in, his crimson cap and gown marking him an apprentice Praetor. He held up a letter to the dais.

  Praetor Cullen beckoned the boy up, and tore open the sealed letter. His heavy frown and the lad’s worried demeanour said enough. Keeping the letter, he shooed the apprentice away and surveyed the court. ‘I’m afraid, due to unavoidable circumstances, this court is adjourned until midday tomorrow.’ The gavel banged against the desk like a gunshot.

  I risked a glance to Michele and wished I hadn’t. A low predatory growl escaped from his throat. Ella rushed up to the magistrate’s desk, but Cullen was already surrounded by his lictors. He shrugged at her and turned his back, and she looked like she’d been slapped.

  Father’s fingers buried into my arm. ‘Come on, let’s go.’

  I shook him off, wary. ‘What was that letter?’ I asked for no other reason than that I was used to Father possessing the full facts. He shook his head and I reluctantly headed the procession piling out of the courthouse.

  It took over half an hour to be escorted out by security into the late afternoon, Michele and Malachi ensconced in their day-armour. The jury, at Michele’s insistence, had been released ahead of us. ‘You’re not getting your sticky claws into them,’ he’d snapped at the auxiliary who had suggested we leave first. The old vampire, matched by the threat Malachi brought, won out. Menelaus stayed behind with Julian, and Father left separately.

  As soon as we clambered into the limousine, Michele ripped off his head-mask. Malachi merely pushed his up to rest on his hair. ‘What just happened?’ Penny snapped, before I had the chance.

  ‘Something we don’t want. This is a delaying tactic on part of the Praetoriani – or rather, the Praefecti. An event, a person, whatever it was, was meant to arrive today.’ He unleashed his fury on me. ‘Why are they so interested in you, Clemensen? Does your blood smell of honey to them as it does to me?’ He threw his briefcase between our feet. ‘Until now I haven’t cared. As long as I can exploit it. But for some reason your coming-of-age has goaded a slumbering giant, and I have no wish to be caught in his teeth!’

  I am the Gatekeeper of the Lífkelda. They want me dead.

  That sunk in, at long last. Akhen, in his lust for power, planned to eradicate me from the face of the earth. Once the Gatekeeper died, I wouldn’t remain. Until it left to seek my offspring, it was wedded into my soul. Perhaps the sudden desolation I felt brought on the twitches, and although I could hide my face, I couldn’t hide my limbs. ‘There’s something different about you, Clemensen,’ Michele said, oh so soft, ‘and that’s why Penny wants you.’

  I held my head up, avoiding Malachi’s stormy expression, and looked at Penny. ‘My magic, or me? Penny, which is it? I always felt we were drawn together.’

  ‘Liege,’ she said, hands squirming in her lap. Malachi’s lips had thinned into a white line. ‘My mother always said my heart was made of stone. That’s why she named me Pietra.’

  ‘I don’t believe it,’ I said, husky with nerves. Do it, I thought, and so I reached across the car and crushed her mouth against mine, feeling the crackle of electricity that was the spell snapping into place. I was in danger now; the spell would work on my heart too and if it wasn’t quickly broken, this blossoming chemical love would grow forever. Convincing Ava about that part had been the hardest.

  Penny fell back in her seat, breathless. She touched her lips, long, painted nails stark against her light skin. ‘Liege,’ she said again, her voice full of unexpected melody.

  Or was that my imagination?

  ‘Thought so,’ I said.

  I couldn’t get out of that limo quick enough. I dashed into the house, straight up to the attic, and found ten missed calls on my phone from Ava.

  41

  Priddy Awful

  Lorenzo loved the silken curls that clung tight to the back of Raphael’s head. The landvættir nuzzled into the crook of his arm, and hummed. Always some tune, even when he slept. Although, Lorenzo suspected his lover didn’t really sleep at all, but only turned inward for a short time, lost in a world of his own construction.

  ‘What do you dream about?’ Raphael chirped.

  Lorenzo flinched, then smiled. So many questions – how could someone so old be so curious?

  He loosened the tie around his neck and then thought better of it; Theo shouldn’t have gone to court without him. It didn’t feel right, whatever prophecy Frigg supposedly showed the warlock. When Theo had healed Anna, and bargained his way out of the Underworld, a debt popped into existence between them. Each shift at the Red Hawk was slowly paying off the crippling debts his father had left his mother, and Lorenzo refused to build up any himself.

  But, Raphael. Those amethyst eyes, so large, made him ache. The blood, the vibrant beauty of nature distilled into those veins, linked him back into life again. He felt strong, rocky, mountainous.

  ‘Lorenzo?’

  ‘Sorry, I got lost in your eyes again.’ He shifted, sitting up – they’d been spread across the tower’s floor, a bed of feathers donated by the birds clamouring above to win Raphael’s favour.

  Fenrir was spread across their feet, having tired of licking Raphael’s face. Lorenzo stretched over to scratch the dog behind the ears. A wagging tail. Most dogs just snarled at him these days, but not Fenrir.

  ‘I dream about my life before,’ he said. ‘I dream about telling Mum what I am. She wants me to stay with her over the summer holidays.’ He laughed. ‘We were close before. Now I avoid her.’

  Raphael frowned.

  ‘God, you’re cute.’ He kissed Raphael on the tiny indent that formed at the top of his nose.

  ‘Gods, plural,’ Raphael said.

  ‘Gods, you’re pedantic.’

  His lover giggled, and the birds nesting in the tower burst into a riot of song. Fenrir rolled on his back and let his tongue flop out. Inside the tower, they were safe.

  They were happy.

  ‘I have a plan. Once Theo sorts out this mess,’ Lorenzo said, gesturing to their pretty prison, ‘I’m going home. With you.’

  ‘What? I can’t live in a house.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant.’ Lorenzo traced a finger down Raphael’s graceful arms and took his hand, squeezing it. ‘Mum wants to know where I’ve been. I’ll tell her I’ve been with you, that I was frightened she wouldn’t accept it.’

  ‘Will she?’ His obvious concern was like watching the cautious unfurling of a flower bud as it was shredded in a violent wind. Lorenzo winced; such timeless beauty – like Michelangelo’s David – should not be vandalised.

  ‘Don’t worry, she loves me.’ Mum had flung herself in front of him so often, and Lorenzo wouldn’t tell this lovely creature how he relived those times in his nightmares, how he feared that one day, instead of glimpsing his father’s face, he’d see his own.

 
; He dared not tell Raphael how he’d almost become that monster with Jean-Ashley, thinking ceaselessly of blood, its sweet saltiness. Theo, by healing Anna, had also provided Lorenzo with the chance to release Jean-Ashley back to her parents, instead of abandoning her when she needed him. Theo, without realising, had saved the life of Lorenzo’s childhood sweetheart too. She was no longer his prey.

  ‘I’ve got to go, Raphael. I owe Theo.’

  ‘But the prophecy!’

  ‘I won’t go into the courthouse. I’ll wait for him outside.’ Resolute, he nudged Fenrir to his feet. The dog obliged – after licking Raphael a dozen times. ‘Stay here, I’ll be back later.’ He stooped down to kiss Raphael and grab his suit jacket. ‘I love you,’ he said, without thinking, words he’d spoken to Jean-Ashley so often.

  He crept out of the tower with Fenrir, narrowly avoiding Lori and Camilla as they slipped into the confession booth in the corner, the concealed lift descending into the crypts. He risked a glance back, and Raphael was right behind him, silent as a cloud. Two sculpted hands rested on Lorenzo’s waist. ‘Love is complicated, isn’t it?’ Raphael whispered.

  ‘Yes,’ Lorenzo whispered back, his legs trembling. The thirst – a thing in its own right – built in his throat, but he didn’t move, afraid to ruin the moment.

  ‘I have never felt so confused,’ said Raphael, his voice small, ‘and I have never felt such joy.’ He pulled back and blushed, and shut the tower door, leaving Lorenzo alone with Fenrir.

  ‘Come on, buddy,’ he said, ‘let’s find Theo.’

  Half an hour later, he was refused entry at the Praetoriani’s gates. Armed men pushed him away with the butt of their guns in warning when he tried to Enthral them, and he was forced to retreat. I’ve broken past wards before, he thought, flashing back on the night he’d infiltrated Hellingstead Hall – only to be crippled by screaming statues until he prayed for death.