I narrow my eyes right back. Then I sigh and grab another glass, pouring us both a finger of the clear, but faintly luminescent liquid. I set his on the table before tossing mine back, savoring the burst of heat and the tingling on my tongue. Having had my share of bathtub gin back in the day, I can say with authority the gnomes do homemade better than anyone else.
“You didn’t have much to say,” I comment.
He shrugs, giving me a considering look as I sink into the chair Stephen just vacated, setting the bottle between us.
“I wouldn’t have guessed you’d have a taste for gnome moonshine.”
There’s a lot people wouldn’t guess about me, but I don’t say that out loud. My smile is resigned as I wait for him to put in his two cents.
Tyr spins his drink in his hand, a smirk on his lips. “I’m not one to lecture, don’t worry.” He hesitates before downing the liquor, then continues without the smirk. “But that doesn’t mean they don’t have a point. I don’t know you well, but I get the impression no one really does, do they?”
My smile freezes in place. I don’t say anything, but he continues without a pause, obviously not expecting an answer.
“Everyone thinks you’re adorable and you’re kind, and I think that’s true enough. But that’s not all there is to you.” He taps his fingers on his glass, then pours us both another finger of moonshine. “I think you’re incredibly focused on what you want. Far more than anyone would believe.”
Those black eyes seem to bore right through me.
“So maybe you can handle Styx. Maybe. But you better be damn careful, like Frost said. And I do not think your boyfriend should go to the Old World with you on this little mission of your mother’s,” he adds unexpectedly.
I’m not sure how much Tyr knows about my trip. Mom swore us all to secrecy about the Eitr, but there is a chance Tyr saw what the Firebird Prince gave my oldest sister before she tucked it away.
“Why?” Not that Styx has offered to come in any case, but I’m curious.
Tyr shakes his head, looking like a man who thinks he’s said too much. “Let’s say it could draw undue attention your way. Attention neither of you wants.”
With that cryptic statement, the assassin leaves his chair and me sitting there, staring after him, wondering what the hell that was about.
2
I shouldn’t have snapped at her. It’s not like me to let my impulses run away with me. Let me qualify that: it’s not like pre-Carly me. Post-Carly me is something I’m still trying to get a handle on.
That mural of hers scared the shit out of me. Not in and of itself, I know the place well after all, and it holds no terror for me. Seeing it in relation to Carly, though, that’s another matter entirely.
The simple truth is that little witch has turned my life upside down and inside out. I clench my jaw and watch a mother grab her two kids and haul them across the street, looking back at me with wide eyes.
I’m well aware I look like I got lost on my way to the Vikings set. Or maybe fired from the show for looking too intimidating, but I can’t help it. I’ve never even considered wanting to help it until recently. People should run away when they see me coming. It’s a smart move and one I have actively encouraged since time out of mind. I have gotten used to being treated like a monster. Centuries upon centuries of being alone, of being the only one of your kind for billions of light years, and you start feeling like a goddamn monster.
Then she showed up.
This witch with big eyes and freckles and hair that can’t make up its mind whether to be red or blond so it settled on a madly enticing combination of both. I snarl and walk faster, my hands clenching at my sides.
Love at first sight is bullshit for every creature on this plane, even shifters with their mating mumbo-jumbo. Every creature on this plane—except one that doesn’t belong.
Me.
I have a peculiar power. I can look into someone’s eyes and see their soul, the nature of every decision they have ever or will ever make. Not merely a map of their morality, but the motivation behind it. The essence of who they are and who they will become.
When Carly looked at me, I wasn’t expecting the bottom to drop out of my world. Blue eyes with just a tint of green glinting in their seawater depths framed by these long, golden lashes. Pretty eyes. Very pretty, but nothing special, really. That was my first thought.
I’m not sure I’ve had a sane one since.
I’ve seen souls more pure than hers, souls that were sweeter and more perfectly good. But never have I seen one more quietly and fiercely alive. Suddenly, I wanted to be a part of that soul more than anything I have ever wanted in this world or any other. I wanted to hold it in my hands and taste it on my tongue and make it my own.
I know what I look like when I’m hungry. She should have been terrified. Instead, Carly smiled at me while I crushed to dust the eight-sided dice I was holding. I walked out on the game without a word, grabbed her hand and pulled her outside.
She didn’t fight me, didn’t scream or ask who the hell I was or what I thought I was doing. She laced her slender fingers in mine and let me take her where I wanted. Several blocks away, in the alley behind a coffee shop, I finally stopped and looked down at her.
“Aren’t you scared?”
A bemused smile played on those sweet, full lips. Lips the exact color of wild strawberries. “Maybe it’s you who should be scared.”
Startled, I laughed, but she didn’t. Carly kept smiling, those blue eyes bright and far too calm.
It took me a while to realize she was deadly serious.
Not to mention fucking right.
That’s Carly. Her own family underestimates her, another thing that makes me crazy. Like her mother, she may seem dreamy and ditzy, but Carly is even more of an enigma. That mind is always working, observing and analyzing. Seeing things differently than anyone else.
Including me. With a groan, I stop my march to the misty lake below and lean against a building off Superior Street, tilting my head back to look at the slowly clearing sky.
Why Carly is agreeing to this madness, I don’t know. She won’t even tell me what she’s taking to the Old World, only that it’s a very important delivery to a god. Yeah.
What the fuck could possibly go wrong with that?
More importantly, can I stop her from going?
Obviously, I could. But then I’d be the bad guy, and despite several lifetimes in the role, I find myself somehow unable to play the part. Not with her.
I know Carly struggles with her family’s protectiveness and mine. And though I know where my motivations lie, I’m not so sure about theirs.
Sometimes I wonder about her mother. The original witch, Oriane has powers that echo those of the gods, harnessing with her rhymes a previously untapped resource on this plane.
It’s no secret to me why they can do it; witches started out human, after all, and this plane is theirs, just as Asgaard belongs to the gods. While FTCs were here first, they began their existence, in one form or another, in Asgaard. Humans were born of this place; they are the earth’s only indigenous race. It’s not their fault they haven’t evolved enough in most cases to be aware of magic, let alone use it.
Witches and their ilk are the next step. Oriane was merely the first and the strongest. Evolution is like a spark; once it catches hold, it spreads like wildfire. Magic will only continue to grow in this realm, but it started with her.
Supposedly, she got the extra push she needed to take that step from Herne . . . but I’ve always had issues with that story. With a frown, I start walking again.
Love is supposedly a catalyst that transfers magic from one being to another. There are others, but it is the rarest. For centuries I believed it more rumor than fact. It’s how Jack Frost gave Persephone her elemental powers, how the king of the bruins gifted Jett with healing and how Tyr, once a human himself but changed into an immortal by a goddess, was able to transfer the elemental fire of his sword
to Ana. Having witnessed firsthand those relationships, I can buy into the theory.
What I can’t believe is that Herne was ever capable of love. Which means Oriane is hiding something or at best . . . distorting it.
I don’t trust her. But Carly does. So what the fuck do I do?
Going to the Old World, even in my present guise, is dangerous. Not just for me, but for Carly as well. But letting her go alone is even more unacceptable.
I curse and walk faster. The expanse of Lake Superior is beginning to glitter under its woolly grey coat as the fog lifts. I want the lake. I need it. There’s a reason I picked the largest freshwater lake in the world to be my home. Three quadrillion gallons and sometimes even it’s not enough to quench my power or to quiet the beast within. Then the storms come, the ones that aren’t entirely natural.
Nothing about me is natural.
I am not a god. I was here before them.
I’ve watched eons pass, a literal eternity, and believe me, most days, I feel every second of it. But for ten months, twenty days, five hours and forty-six minutes now, time has grown wings.
Because at some point I know I’m going to have to walk away.
I love her, but I can’t have her.
Not really.
Not ever.
3
“We can give it five more minutes,” Jett offers unexpectedly. My sister still looks sleepy and rumpled. Mornings are not her favorite.
I force a smile and tuck my phone in my pocket. “Nah, he knew I was leaving at nine. If he wanted to see me off, he’d be here.” Styx has never intentionally hurt me before, but I’m not sure how else to take this.
With a sigh and a lump in my throat, I take my sister’s arm and nod at her inquiring look. I’m ready. The next instant I’m sucked into the swirling madness of blue and purple and green that is her power.
It fascinates me, as always. Is it a portal? A wormhole? A spatial fold? Both Seph and I agree it looks like the tunnel the TARDIS travels through in Doctor Who, from the David Tennant era. Something which led me to ask Jett once if she ever took a British guy named Russell Davies for a ride. She swore she didn’t know what the hell I was talking about, but her eyes got all shifty.
The funny thing is, since Jett travels through space and Mom through time, you might think their powers would use the same portal or at least something visually similar, but that is not at all the case. When Mom pulls us through time, there is nothing. It’s like a blink. One second you’re in ancient Normandy playing tag in the woods, the next you’re in downtown 1940s Hollywood, the adopted daughter of an up-and-coming silver-screen starlet.
Stealthily, I stretch out my fingers to touch the pulsing wall around us, but Jett yanks me back with a curse I hear only in my mind. I wish I could paint this place. I’ve tried, but it refuses to be captured.
We land on a harbor walk far more colorful than the one in Duluth. It’s late afternoon and golden light spills everywhere, drawing my eyes to a hundred places at once. Bergen is a bright, picturesque town made for Instagram selfies and Facebook shares. Jett glances around and wrinkles her nose before touching the hilt of her sword. “Sure you’ll be okay?”
“Yeah.” This pretty coastal city is not my destination, but Mom warned that having Jett take me right to Trolltunga was out of the question. The entrance to Asgaard is well protected, and Jett’s magic would trip alarms. In a worst-case scenario, it could be seen as some sort of threat. Not the aura we want to give off. I’m going to take the boat to Odda and hike in from there.
“Don’t get lost, little sister.” The seemingly light words are accompanied by a look that is anything but, and I take it as the warning it is.
“I won’t, Jett.”
She nods shortly, not meeting my eyes, drumming her fingers against her thigh. Jett’s obviously reluctant to leave me here alone, so I give her some motivation—in the form of a huge hug and a smacking kiss. Looking horrified, she backs hastily away, making my lips twitch.
“Christ, Carly!” She swipes at her mouth, her cheeks pink. Then her eyes soften. “Take care of yourself.”
“I got this.” I watch my sister spin on her heel and vanish. Then I look around at the neat line of colorful houses and the sparkling blue water of the North Sea before taking a deep breath and turning to walk up the harbor road and into town.
I’m feeling a strange mixture of excitement and emptiness. Maybe it’s because my grumpy boyfriend didn’t come to see me off. Or maybe it’s because I’m nearly four thousand miles from home, with a potion I don’t really understand burning a hole in my pocket, on a strange and unfamiliar continent, all alone. Then I glance ahead and my footsteps slow to a stop.
Maybe not so all alone.
A tall shadow pulls away from the buildings nestled along the harbor street. “Took you long enough.” There is a pretend scowl on his face, but it falters when I beam and rush forward to leap into his arms.
He catches me instinctively, barely missing a step as he takes my weight. “Styx!” I nuzzle my face into his throat, breathing the scent of him in deep. He always smells like the air right after a thunderstorm. “How . . . ?”
I can feel his heart pounding as he runs a big hand over my hair. Physical contact is something he normally discourages except in small doses. Right now, I don’t care. I just wrap myself around him and squeeze happily.
“I rode a storm over last night,” he says gruffly. “I wanted to check everything out before you arrived.” Gently, but firmly he untangles himself from me. His magic is a mystery to me. In some ways, like the way he can affect the weather, it seems elemental in nature. But I’m pretty sure that is the tip of an iceberg I can’t even begin to understand.
Right now, I don’t care how he got here, it’s enough that he showed up. I can’t stop smiling as I look up at him, that hollow feeling in my stomach replaced with a happy flutter.
Styx is a huge guy, easily as tall as any of the bruins, if not as bulky. His muscles are sleek and defined but no less powerful. There’s no point in fighting him, so I let go, allowing myself to be set aside, though I do pout a little. He tilts my chin up with a finger and gives me a familiar scolding look. The one I get whenever I get too close. The look that says ‘you really don’t want to do that.’
Problem is, I really, really do.
But he shuts me down. Every single time.
So yeah, we haven’t had sex. Ever. Haven’t even kissed.
It’s an issue.
Oh, we have slept together, but only in the literal sense. As in we’ve slept in the same bed. He has no problem holding me when I need it, or sometimes when I think he can’t help it, but other than the rare snuggle or hand-holding, Styx has made it clear his body is pretty much off-limits.
I imagine everyone thinks we’re doing more than sleeping together. Well, except maybe Mom. Not that I’ve discussed it with her or anyone else. It’s not their business.
Styx is mine. And I’m his. There’s never been any question of that in my mind, not since the first day we saw each other. However, I know Styx has what he might call ‘reservations.’ He thinks he’s too dangerous for me, too dark, too scary—just the way Jack and Stephen and Tyr do.
I understand it’s second nature for my family to protect me. They know what’s in my past and they want to spare me any chance of a repeat. But since Styx has been in my life, the whole thing has begun to chafe. I’m tired of the eggshells disguised as sanctuary. I don’t want to hold back anymore. I want to live.
This trip could be the perfect opportunity to set things straight. Starting with Styx. A smile works up the corners of my lips as I continue to stare at him.
“What are you thinking about?” He gives me a wary glance as he tugs my backpack from me. It’s cherry red and covered with pins from Hot Topic, but he doesn’t so much as blink as he throws it over one broad shoulder along with his own bag before holding out a hand.
I bite my lips, stifling a giggle before lacing my fingers in
his.
“You’ll find out. Eventually.”
Those golden eyes narrow. “Carly—”
“Come on, big guy, or we’ll miss the boat to Odda.”
With a muffled curse, he gives up, turning around to study the street signs.
We’re heading toward the city center a minute later, hand in hand, my heart tripping happily as I push Tyr’s warning firmly to the back of my mind.
Before we’ve made it five blocks, I decide Bergen is my new favorite city. What’s not to love? The air seems cut from crystal, it’s so unnaturally clear. The sky is a dazzling blue and the towering hills bracket the town in green velvet swells, like a theater stage where some great performance is about to commence. Tourists and locals mill through the streets as we wind our way to the boat dock. Everyone looks so pretty and fashionable it’s like a supermodel convention.
I’ve already got about a million ideas for paintings laid out in my head.
Styx buys our tickets, speaking fluent Norwegian to the boatman while I look on. Ana isn’t sure she’ll ever be able to do spellwork again, but Jett made me some great ones for this trip, including a spiffy one I could use to talk like a native, but hearing the language roll off Styx’s tongue is a lot more fun. Not to mention kind of hot.
Everything about the man is damn hot. I get on board, still watching him. He fits in here with the beautiful people. Styx may be dressed simply: black jeans, his worn boots, white T-shirt, black jacket. But those jeans hug his ass to perfection, the T-shirt is thin enough to showcase the lean musculature underneath, and the leather of his jacket is taking a fair amount of strain as he hefts our bags again. He turns, as if sensing my eyes on him. A faint, predatory smile curves his lips before he catches himself and presses them together firmly.
“I’d say a penny for your thoughts, but I think I’d get more than I bargained for,” he says, again with that hint of warning in his voice as he joins me at the rail.
Magpies & Moonshine Page 2