by A. K. Morgen
I stopped pacing mid-step, momentarily stunned. “What if this is why Freki wants me to find Idun? Because Idun can help free her?”
The way Ronan looked at me, nothing but his head moving, as if nothing in our entire conversation surprised him, made me pause. His features were sharp, his eyes almost pitch-black. In that moment, he looked exactly like his memory-guarding raven, and I knew he’d worked this out for himself days ago.
“You knew, didn’t you?” I asked, my tone rife with accusation and irritation. “You knew she could help Freki.”
“I suspected,” he said, with no hint of remorse whatsoever. He arched a brow as if to ask why it took me so long to put two and two together. “Idun doesn’t only grant immortality. She restores youth.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You didn’t need me to tell you.”
I took a deep breath and counted to three, resisting the urge to punch him again. We didn’t have time for that, and his nose would heal too quickly for the effort to be truly satisfying. “You are infuriating,” I muttered instead, narrowing my eyes to glare at him.
“Maybe, but you know I’m right. Had I told you what I thought, you would have charged forward without stopping to consider the consequences.”
“Meaning what?”
“Meaning exactly what I said yesterday. There is no savior here. Even if Idun is able to help you reach Freki, that doesn’t mean she can save Dace, or anyone else for that matter. We’re destined to fail, if not in this life, then the next. She can’t stop what’s already been written, and you need to remember that. I don’t relish having to kill Dace because you didn’t slow down to consider the bigger picture.”
“Are we really back to that?” I asked, rolling my eyes.
“You know what I mean.”
Yeah, I did know. Ronan didn’t like Dace, but he didn’t necessarily want to kill him either. Ronan needed Dace as much as anyone else, but unlike the rest of us, Ronan wasn’t bound by friendship or love for our alpha. His goal was keeping Dani’s sisters alive. Even if Ronan wouldn’t admit it, I had a feeling he preferred to do that with Dace’s help than without.
“Don’t kid yourself into believing Idun will fix your little problem for you,” he cautioned me, the seriousness in his gaze penetrating. “We wouldn’t be where we are now, if it was that easy.”
Right. Facing the apocalypse with no freaking clue how to stop it. Typical Tuesday.
“Our lives are seriously messed up, you know that, right?” I asked with a weary sigh, tipping my head back and closing my eyes.
“You just figured that out?” Ronan laughed.
We spent the next few hours scrolling through the websites of every national florist we found, looking for the creepy arrangement. Midmorning, Chelle called to check in. Gage was being as careful as Ronan, going the longer route through Tennessee in the hopes their trail wouldn’t point right to me and Ronan. I appreciated the effort, but I didn’t think it was necessary.
Despite knowing exactly where to find us at least once since we left, Sköll and Hati opted not to chase after us. Instead, they stayed behind and killed Aki. I wasn’t really sure why they went after the elderly wolf, but I couldn’t obsess over the question. If I did, I’d start wondering if he died because of me, and I knew better than anyone not to go down that road. It led nowhere good.
“Are you sure you want to go looking for answers alone?” Chelle asked me, her concern apparent. “Gage and I can turn around and come back.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’ve got Ronan for backup.”
“That’s what I’m worried about,” she muttered.
“Don’t be too mad at him, Chelle. He meant well.”
Ronan pretended not to listen.
“I know, but that doesn’t mean I have to like what he did. Jerk.”
“You’re awesome and I love you for it, but I can handle him. He’s not as scary as he thinks he is.” I promised her, unable to hide the smile in my voice when Ronan twitched. He didn’t look up though.
“Okay.” She sighed. “Call me later?”
“Yep.”
I hung up and set my phone on the little table.
“I guess I earned that,” Ronan said, looking at me over the top of his phone.
“Yeah.”
“Think she’ll forgive me?” He looked like it genuinely bothered him to have damaged his newfound friendship with Chelle.
I didn’t have the heart to tease him. “Eventually,” I told him instead.
He hesitated for a long moment. “For the record, I wouldn’t have done it if I didn’t have to.”
“I believe you,” I said simply.
His lips twitched upward again, and then he went back to work with his phone.
I picked my laptop up to resume my search.
An hour later, Ronan and I hit a brick wall in our search.
“I’ve got nothing,” he said, setting his phone aside.
“Me neither.” I rested my head against the back of my chair with a defeated sigh, my laptop balanced on my knees. Water stains marked the ceiling tiles above my head. I welcomed the ugly sight. If I had to look at another page of flowers, I wouldn’t be responsible for the resulting mayhem.
“There has to be an easier way.”
No kidding.
“I guess we can try calling their customer service departments,” I suggested.
Ronan turned his head in my direction.
I shrugged. “It’s bound to be easier than wading through all this crap.” I turned my laptop in his direction and pointed at the screen. “I’m on page ninety, and I haven’t seen anything remotely close, have you?”
“We’ll start calling,” he said instead of answering the question.
Fuki hopped up, a hopeful gleam in his eye. He butted his head against Ronan’s thigh, his tail wagging back and forth.
“What does he want?”
“To go out,” I said.
Fuki yipped.
Ronan stared at him for a minute and then shook his head as if to ask why Fuki came to him with these things instead of to me. He didn’t ask though. He rose to his feet before swiping his phone from the chair and shoving it into his front pocket. “Fine, we’ll go.”
I bit my lip to hide a smirk when Fuki yipped again.
“What?” Ronan demanded.
“Nothing.” I held my hands up, nearly knocking my laptop off in the process. I grabbed it right before it hit the floor.
“Pathetic,” Ronan muttered, heading toward the door.
I rolled my eyes and got back to work.
At one, I abandoned the chair and flopped down on my bed, waiting for Jameson, the fifth helpful customer service representative I’d spoken with in the last two hours, to get back to me. Ronan took over the laptop to continue searching, though I had a suspicion he’d given up an hour ago and started playing Freecell instead. The cheater.
Fuki lay at his feet, his tail twitching in his sleep.
“Miss Jacobs?”
“Yes?”
“I’ve inquired about the arrangement you described,” Jameson said, “and it appears we do sell something similar. Unfortunately, I can’t disclose any purchase records to you without a court order.”
I rolled my eyes. How many jealous girlfriends did florists have to deal with on a daily basis? Everyone I spoke to told me the exact same thing. One man even suggested I speak with my boyfriend if I felt he was being unfaithful instead of prying into his financial transactions. I decided to ignore the unflattering assumption coming from Jameson, too excited to finally have a viable lead.
I sat up. “I’m not looking for you to divulge purchase records, Jameson. All I’d like to know is which of your warehouses ships to florists in Arkansas and Tennessee for delivery. Can you provide me that information without a court order?”
He hesitated, and then, “I’m sorry, Miss Jacobs. Without a court order―”
I swallowed the frustrated curse on the tip
of my tongue. “Fine, can you tell me where I can have a court order delivered to subpoena those records and to whom said order should be delivered?”
“Ah, yes, ma’am, I can provide you that information.” The rattle and clack of Jameson’s fingers moving across his keyboard echoed down the line.
Finally!
I grabbed the motel pen and little pad of paper off the nightstand, a big grin on my face.
Ronan closed my laptop and leaned forward.
“I have that address for you, Miss Jacobs,” Jameson said.
I listened intently, scrawling the address of their purchasing department on a slip of paper. Downers Grove, Illinois. We were a mere stone’s throw away.
“Can I assist you with anything else, Miss Jacobs?” Jameson asked when I called the address back to him.
“That’s all, Jameson. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. Have a great―”
I hung up on him, grinning at Ronan. “I got it.”
“I noticed.” He arched a brow. “A court order? Really?”
“Oh, please,” I snorted. “It’s not my fault he fell for it.” I bit my lip, thinking. “Will you be able to get what you need this way?”
“Get me in, and I’ll get it if it’s there,” he said, sounding confident. His eyes gleamed as if the thought of a challenge intrigued the raven within.
I remembered the way he invaded my memories the first time I saw him, ruthlessly sorting through everything in order to find out who I was and what I remembered. I’d never worked up the nerve to ask him what exactly he found in there, but if anyone could get the information we needed from the florists, Ronan could.
I didn’t doubt that for a minute.
drummed my fingers on the arm of the bench outside Dr. Michel’s office three hours later, waiting impatiently for him to finish his last lecture and appear. Ronan sat beside me, staring at the bulletin board across the hall. If he was as impatient as me, he didn’t show it. He looked bored.
“Do you think Fuki is okay?” I asked, worrying my bottom lip between my teeth. We’d left him at the hotel by himself. He didn’t seem to care one way or another, but I hated leaving him alone. Unfortunately, I doubted the university would appreciate a half-grown wolf trailing along behind us down their hallowed halls.
“He’ll be fine.”
I sighed, scrutinizing the bulletin board. All sorts of flyers advertising everything from tutoring help to a need for roommates were tacked to the board. Missing posters, extracurricular reminders, event invitations, and a scribbled sign asking what Zeus would do were crammed onto the board alongside the flyers. Someone had crossed through Zeus’s name on the last sign and replaced it with Optimus. Someone else had drawn the Decepticon sigil on the bottom corner of the poster in what looked like black eyeliner.
“Why are you so anxious?”
I shot Ronan a dirty look.
“You’re the one who wanted to talk to Dr. Michel before we left,” he reminded me.
“I know that.”
“Then stop fidgeting.”
“I’m not fidgeting.”
Ronan glanced down at my hands before cutting his gaze back to my face.
I stopped drumming my fingers on the bench and shoved my hands into the pockets of my hoodie. “Better?”
He went back to staring at the bulletin board.
“We’re leaving as soon as we talk to him, right?” I couldn’t wait to get on the road. For the first time, I felt like we were finally one step ahead of Sköll and Hati. With any luck, we’d have an address in a matter of hours, and could finally, finally hunt the bastards down and get rid of them.
“I assumed you’d want to go get Fuki first.”
“Did it hurt when I broke your nose?” I asked sweetly.
Ronan’s lips twitched upward in a semblance of a smile.
“Miss Jacobs?”
I jumped.
A middle aged man strolled down the hall toward us, a sheaf of papers in his hands. His hair was graying, and his polo was a little wrinkled, but he had beautiful ebony skin and a killer smile. Not bad looking for an older man. Not at all.
“Dr. Michel?” I asked, climbing to my feet.
“That’s me.” He extended an arm in my direction. His hand was warm when I placed mine into it. There were also red ink stains on the side of his middle finger. “It’s nice to meet you, Miss Jacobs.” He shifted his gaze to Ronan.
“Dr. Michel, this is Ronan LaCrosse,” I said.
Ronan rose to his feet, inclining his head a notch. “Hello.”
Dr. Michel studied Ronan for a heartbeat. Confusion flickered in his gaze, and then his nostrils flared. The papers in his hand rustled. I looked down to find his hand trembling.
I reached behind me and pinched Ronan on the leg to make him stop invading Dr. Michel’s memories.
Dr. Michel shook his head as if to clear it. He had a dazed expression on his face. “Why don’t we go into my office to talk?”
“Of course.” I shot him a bright smile and motioned for him to lead the way. “He felt that,” I hissed to Ronan when Dr. Michel crossed to his office, tugging a set of keys from his pocket.
“I know,” Ronan hissed back.
He strolled through the door behind Dr. Michel into the office, his expression thoughtful.
I shook my head and trailed after them.
Dr. Michel’s office looked like a library exploded in it. Books were piled pretty much everywhere. They weren’t new books either, but the kinds with ancient, cracked spines and yellowing pages. Little slips of paper and pieces of napkins poked from most of them where he’d marked specific pages. Sheaves of paper littered his desk, some as old as the books scattered around. Others were new, and filled with scrawled notes and highlighted phrases.
“Excuse the mess,” Dr. Michel said, making his way around the desk. He dropped the pile of papers in his hands on top of the mess on his desk and shot us an apologetic smile. “Research can be a nasty business.”
Didn’t I know it. I shuddered in remembrance of the piles of books at my dad’s house.
Dr. Michel motioned for me and Ronan to take a seat. I settled onto the edge of one of the chairs facing his desk. Ronan leaned back against a file cabinet near the door, crossing his arms over his chest.
Dr. Michel looked at him again, and then quickly away. His gaze settled on me. “When you called this morning, you said Dace Matthews sent you?”
“Ah, yes, sir,” I said, smiling politely.
“I haven’t seen him since….” Dr. Michel trailed off with a vague grimace. “How is he doing?”
Since what? I wanted to ask. “Ah, he’s doing really well. He lives in Beebe, Arkansas now. He’s a teaching assistant at the college there,” I offered instead, not really sure how much Dr. Michel knew about Dace or Ragnarök or any of it. Everyone seemed to get half-truths, vague smiles, and evasive maneuvers from me these days.
“Good for him. He was always a smart kid.” Dr. Michel smiled fondly.
“He is,” I said.
“I have to admit I’m not too clear on why he sent you to see me.” He said this as if it were a statement of fact, but a question lingered in his expression. “You say Dace is writing a book?”
“My father is writing the book,” I clarified. “Dace is pointing him in the right direction. He seemed to think you might have a little insight into Sköll and Hati you’d be willing to share with another mythology professor. Or,” I laughed innocently, “a mythology professor’s daughter in this case.”
Dr. Michel’s gaze flickered from me to Ronan and then back to me. I could see the moment he put two and two together. Something akin to regret flashed across his face. He looked almost… dejected. “So, it is true then,” he said.
For a heartbeat, I wasn’t sure if I should fess up or play dumb.
Ronan saved me from having to decide. “What’s true?” he asked.
I didn’t even have to turn around to know he loomed over me. I coul
d feel the tension snapping around him like little bursts of electricity crackling in the air.
To his credit, Dr. Michel didn’t shrink away from the menacing picture Ronan presented. He eyed him levelly, his expression shrewd. “What are you?” he asked quietly.
“Excuse me?”
“You’re definitely not a Mimic, but you are something. Skin-walker? Shapeshifter?”
Ronan said nothing.
Dr. Michel took his silence as acceptance. “Shapeshifter, but too arrogant to be a wolf,” he mumbled, trying, I think, to work it out for himself. He tipped his head to the side and studied Ronan through squinted eyes. “Too stoic for a leopard. Not loud enough to be a lion.” His nostrils flared again. “Raven?”
I glanced back to see Ronan standing still, his expression as stoic as Dr. Michel said. He stared down at Dr. Michel, barely seeming to breathe, and then he nodded a fraction of an inch.
“I thought so.” Dr. Michel leaned back in his chair, a self-satisfied smile on his face.
“You know shapeshifters,” Ronan observed coolly.
“I’m guessing Dace didn’t tell you how he knew me?”
“Ah, no, sir,” I said when Ronan didn’t answer him.
Dr. Michel shifted his gaze back to me. “His father came to me for… help with Dace’s problem. He was quite fanatical about curing Dace of his affliction before he died.”
Affliction? I narrowed my eyes. “You helped him try to cure Dace?”
“No,” Dr. Michel said, “of course not. The boy didn’t need to be cured, and that’s exactly what I told Soren Matthews. He refused to hear of it, of course, and demanded I put my books to use to help his boy. I promised him I’d see what I could find, which appeased him for a while.” I’m not sure if Dr. Michel saw something on my face or what, but he paused. “Dace didn’t tell you any of this, did he?”
I shook my head. No, Dace hadn’t told me any of this. I think the messed up crap Dace’s dad did was easier for Dace to live with when he didn’t talk about it. I doubted I would ever know the extent of it.
“Well, let’s just say Soren eventually grew impatient, and I was forced to tell him Dace couldn’t be cured and that he needed to accept that. He didn’t take it well at all.” Dr. Michel sighed. “A month later he died, leaving Dace alone. Dace stayed with me and my wife for a few days while they tried to work out a more permanent situation for him. They wanted to send him to a foster home, but I convinced them a private boarding school would be a better fit for someone as sharp as Dace.”