“To be fair, they were looking for y’all before people poofed,” Dahlia said. “The missing Valkyrie just gave them extra leverage.”
Min raised an eyebrow, but amusement threatened inside. Gwydion was right; she was growing on him. “And you believe Urd took Kirby and the others because of a prophecy.”
“A series of them, but those are the basics.” Dahlia pulled a tablet from her messenger bag and made a series of swipes on the screen. “Because you’re dying to know, this one is called The Valkyrie and Her Court. Since there’s only one Valkyrie, and apparently you people orbit her...”
Min scanned the screen.
Life and death bind them
With the highs and lows
The aches and joy
And when she finds the balance in it all
The last Valkyrie will be no more
For a prophecy that started on a high note, it certainly didn’t end well. Min couldn’t ignore the trepidation tightening inside. “And you believe The Followers of Urd have Kirby to ensure the prophecy happens.”
“That is what they do.” Gwydion’s retort was heavy.
Min would have liked to argue. He’d worked with The Followers of Urd for a long time, helping them relocate potential gods that TOM wanted dead lest they replace the current gods. Those altruistic actions didn’t mean they were above taking an opposite approach if it meant achieving their goals. Urd herself never would have stood for such a thing, but no one had seen her in centuries, so she wasn’t here to say otherwise. “I can speak with my contact there, to see if there are any murmurs about Kirby.”
“No offense, but you’re not exactly...” Frey winced.
“What?” Min asked.
Aya’s smile didn’t reach her eyes. “A dishonest person.”
“Why would I take offense at that?”
“It means you’re not the right guy to go poking around and asking questions with any degree of subtlety.” Dahlia sounded like she spoke from experience. She probably did.
So did Min. “I understand that. I’ve had a shift in perspective, when it comes to some things, and I can do what I need to. My contact won’t meet with anyone else in this room.”
Frey studied him, eyes narrowed and brow furrowed. “Gods are like zebras—we don’t change our stripes.”
“I spent some time on the TOM campus, and I took on the form and mind of a soldier to do it. There are things the mind can’t unlearn.” Min wished he could.
Dahlia’s jaw dropped, and a range of emotion from shock to grief splashed across her face. “You were there? When? It was when things blew up, wasn’t it? Can you tell me what happened?”
Min gave her a brief rundown of capturing the other Nobles, and how Loki had executed them.
Sadness sank into her, dragging her entire frame into her seat. “I may not have shared their beliefs, but I grew up with them.” Dahlia let out a bitter laugh. “I always wondered if Loki would be our downfall.”
“I’m sorry.” Frey covered her hand and stroked his thumb along the back of her knuckles.
She sniffled. “They would have come after me, anyway. I guess I’m safer this way, but... it hurts.”
A lot more people would die if Gluskab wasn’t stopped.
Min kept the thought to himself, but he couldn’t ignore the heavy weight of that reality.
Chapter Thirteen
Starkad
Starkad needed to find civilization. Find a phone with a signal. Get back to Kirby. “Point me to the nearest town, and I’ll get out of your fur.”
“About forty kilometers to the South West.”
As Kirby would say—fantastic. Not. Near enough for Fenrir to reach on foot, but far enough it would be a painful hike for Starkad wounded and in human form. Especially through the heavy forest, with a sniper potentially hunting him.
If Starkad was right, though, they didn’t want him dead, just distracted. Which meant, if they returned, he had to worry more about staying on course than about being mortally wounded.
His shoulder twinged, taunting him. “Enjoy your hunt. I’ll be on my way.”
“Fantastic.” Fenrir’s retort was flat.
Starkad pulled his shirt back on, ignoring the scream of protest from his body. He paused with his hand on the doorknob. As a human, he had better senses than most, but they weren’t as good as a wolf’s. He couldn’t smell or feel anything outside, aside from the forest. “Are they still gone?”
Fenrir sniffed the air. “Yes.” As Starkad opened the door, Fenrir tensed. “No.”
A bullet dug into the frame, sending splinters flying and peppering Starkad with wood shrapnel. He slammed the door shut.
He wiped the back of his hand across his face, and pulled it away streaked with blood.
Fenrir sniffed the air again. “They’re back. Several of them.”
Just like that?
“Did they just appear out of nowhere?” Starkad was asking himself, as much as Fenrir.
“You did. Seriously, whom the fuck did you piss off?”
“The same person you did, I assume. Whoever sent me here didn’t pick the spot you were by mistake. There’s a reason I appeared in front of you.” Starkad moved to the window on a next wall. The tactics of this attack made him think they were surrounded. He cracked the window. Another bullet bit into the side of the house.
Not the window, though. He was right—they weren’t shooting to kill. The intention was to keep Starkad and Fenrir distracted.
“Maybe they hoped I’d destroy you, so they wouldn’t have to.” Fenrir was snide.
“Or that we’d beat each other into exhaustion.”
“They didn’t shoot me.”
Touché. “So why didn’t you?” Starkad asked.
“Destroy you?” Fenrir moved to the rear of the cabin. “I’m not you. I loathe the decisions you’ve made, but whom I war with is a conscious decision based on my beliefs, not on whichever side lets me kill the most.” He cracked the door. Another gunshot and another hail of splinters.
Starkad wasn’t buying the too-righteous-to-murder-him line. Not completely. “You’ve thought about it.”
“I’m still thinking about it. But if they’re here for both of us, I have to bank on your seeing them as more of a threat than me.”
“Everyone’s a threat right now.” Starkad couldn’t shift, but he could still pull a trigger. “I need a gun.”
Fenrir growled.
“What now?”
“I’d rather confront them face to face,” Fenrir said. “Rip their throats out with my bare teeth.”
Starkad understood the sentiment. “If you don’t have any firearms in the house, that’s a great way to get one.”
“We’re hunters, not assassins. We don’t hide in the shadows and pick people off from a distance.” Disdain hung heavy in Fenrir’s words.
If only life were that simple. “I’m a creature of war, and this is war.”
“No. This is the kind of battle Loki loves—deception and hiding in the shadows. You’re a berserker; you were created to toe-to-toe, face-to-face with your foes.”
And Starkad had. For centuries. His drive to immerse himself in the fight, to not feel anything else, was why Fenrir was wary of him. It didn’t change the fact that wars were fought in the shadows now.
Fenrir sighed. “As much as I hate it, that kind of sneaking around is what we need right now. Tell me what to do.”
“I’d suggest we test their perimeter to find the weaknesses, but if they have a god helping them, everything can change in an instant.” This was easy. A mindset Starkad fell into without hesitation. “We’ll assume there’s one team per each door and window. Tree line is closest on the East, so we’ll exit that door. I’ll go first—draw fire. You find the muzzle flash, and run toward it once they’re focused on me.”
“I’m not faster than a bullet, and they’ve already proven theirs incapacitate you.”
True. But— “This is about catching them off guard. Yo
u’re faster than they are, and they don’t want to kill us. Just keep us here. Use the shadows, hit them before they know what’s happening, and bring me back a fucking gun.”
On the one hand, it would be nice if the weapon included some of whatever rounds had hit Starkad. But if their effect was cumulative or if the bullets were hard to make, it was unlikely the snipers had them. In the short term, that was good. Less chance of Starkad or Fenrir taking another of those shots.
“And then?” Fenrir asked.
“I take out the rest of them, and I’m armed and on my way.” Starkad spoke through clenched teeth as another spike of pain hit.
“Reinforcements?”
Starkad had to make a lot of assumptions with this plan. He hated not having all the details, but he and Kirby had operated with less over the years. “It’s not a video game with unlimited bad guys. They only have so many soldiers, and sending them in wave after wave means they have a lot fewer.”
Fenrir shook his head. “It’s a shitty idea.”
“It’s a shitty situation. Do you have a better idea?”
“No.”
“Then let’s do this.”
Starkad opened the back door and stepped outside. A quarter-sized crater exploded in the side of the house, next to his head. Fenrir-wolf dashed past, a blur of nighttime heading toward the source of the gunfire. Another plink of a suppressed gunshot accompanied a cloud of dirt. Fenrir was long past that. He might not be faster than a bullet, but in the darkness, with the short distance between the house and trees, he was almost impossible for the human eye to track or lead.
A series of soft thunks filtered from the trees, accompanied by a handful of grunts.
Starkad had to admire the soldiers’ commitment to not screaming and giving their position away, even in the midst of dying.
Fenrir returned quickly, and he and Starkad secured themselves inside again. Dark red dripped from Fenrir’s fur and left paw prints everywhere he stepped. He dropped an AUG at Starkad’s feet.
Starkad did a basic weapon check. Time was of the essence. The magazine was the 42-round variant, with only five shots fired. The ammo left should be enough. If it wasn’t, the hole in Starkad’s arm was a reminder he had more to worry about than running out of bullets.
They took positions near the first window—fortunately the cabin didn’t have many—and enacted a similar plan to before. Starkad drew the fire, and Fenrir located the source. With a target in mind, Starkad knew where to look when he popped his head back up in the window. He tracked the muzzle flash and the silhouettes it left behind, and squeezed off two shots.
Another pair of thunks sounded from the treeline.
Celebration would wait until everyone was gone. And probably until the agony in his shoulder subsided. Each recoil from the rifle jarred him, sending daggers of pain slicing along his skin.
They cleared the remaining exit points—windows and doors—with sharp efficiency. Then did another sweep to ensure no one else waited in the shadows.
Adrenaline still raced through Starkad’s veins, but his throbbing limb dragged him to the floor with a gasp. He couldn’t do another round of firing. Willpower would only take him so far, before he blacked out from the pain. He knew that from experience, and he’d pushed past his limits tonight.
Chapter Fourteen
Brit
Vidar watched Kirby and Brit, eyebrow raised. “Do you have that out of your system?”
“Yes.” Brit spoke before Kirby could. “For now, at least.” This wasn’t the time or place to fight, and whatever made Kirby forget that...
Brit understood, though. This place looked so much like home. No, not home, the past. Kirby looked more like home than anything. It wasn’t the time for the thought, but Brit couldn’t help it.
“Kirby needs to sleep.” Magnus sounded concerned. “I’ll get them a room.” There was a unique blend of deference and command in her tone.
Vidar nodded. “Take them with you.” He pointed to six of the soldiers. “Give our guests a room in housing.” He focused on Brit and Kirby. “We’ll speak in the morning. Please keep in mind, I’m not Hel. I have a great deal of respect for your skills and who you are. There’s no competition here. Not like that.”
“Thanks for the recruitment speech.” Brit didn’t try to hide her sarcasm. “We’ll be sure to not take it into consideration.”
“Keep in mind, Sergeant Hauge, your time here will be a bit prison like at first. You know how it goes—you can have freedom or security, but you can’t have both. Rest well.” Vidar turned on his toe and strode away.
Brit hated gods.
“Let me show you the digs,” Magnus said lightly. “You’ll love it. It’s almost like we never left.”
“Swell.” Kirby slipped her hand into Brit’s and squeezed.
The sweet gesture sent a rush of familiarity and warmth through Brit, but the way Kirby leaned her weight into it marred the experience with concern. This wasn’t about making a connection; Kirby needed to lean on her for support.
They stepped from the main building, and Brit’s gut twisted in on itself. She hid the reaction. This wasn’t identical to the old campus, but it was too fucking close for her comfort.
“I miss the trees.” Magnus was conversational. “So far the weather isn’t as intense here, though.”
“Where’s here, approximately?” Brit asked.
Magnus glanced at them with a smirk. “Not the northeastern part of the US. I could get more approximate, if you’d like.”
“Nah. We’re good.” Kirby was mostly upright, but every few steps she wobbled.
Brit supported her. Their path was taking them straight toward where Noble housing was on the old campus. Odds seemed high it would be the same here.
“So what have you two been up to?” Magnus’s question sounded like casual small talk, the way Brit’s about location had. This was all low-level interrogation bullshit, though. If a detail slipped, anything that could be used to learn more, any of them would stash it for future reference.
Brit plucked an answer out of thin air. “I’ve been teaching English as a second language to Martian refugees in New Mexico.”
“Oh, wow.” Magnus sounded genuinely fascinated. “Area 51?”
“Nah. An actual Top Secret black site. I could be shot for even talking about it,” Brit said.
Magnus tapped her claw against her chin. Interesting tic. Intentional or not? “I probably shouldn’t ask you more, in that case. Kirby?”
“I’m a chaplain in Kuwait. US Army.” Kirby’s answer wasn’t fabricated at all. According to Min, that was her last life.
“I didn’t realize the army had a lot of Freya worshipers,” Magnus said.
Kirby squeezed Brit’s hand more tightly. It was hard to tell whether it was because of the Freya comment or the fact that they’d just stepped into a building that might as well be their old apartments.
“It’s more of a nondenominational thing.” Kirby’s light retort defied the tension vibrating through her grib. “You know, I won’t yuck your yum, as long as your god doesn’t try to kill me.”
They stepped into the elevator, and Magnus pushed the button for the fourth floor. “You and I always had some differences of opinion. I hope we can still be friends.”
“I’m sure we can.” Brit and Kirby spoke at the same time, but Kirby’s retort held a lot more sarcasm.
This wasn’t right, though. Not just the creepy recreation of a place that had been turned to rubble less than a week ago, but also Magnus’s behavior.
Brit had always liked Magnus and Dahlia. They were genuine. Not the phony make-everyone-think-you-like-them that most of the Nobles practiced, but actually kind. Fun. And they’d never struck her as zealots.
Maybe it had all been an act, but pretending to not be brainwashed by the cult one was trapped in didn’t seem like the smartest thing to pretend.
They reached their floor. The walk down the hallway was half-eerie-flash-to—past,
half-march to their execution.
They stopped in front of room 404—Kirby’s old room number. Magnus unlocked the door, then pocketed the key. “There’s food in the fridge and cupboards. Clothes in the dresser. If you need anything, there will be guards outside your door. Just ask them.”
“Thanks.” Brit had lost all desire to fake sincerity. The room they were shown into was identical to Kirby’s old room.
It wasn’t decorated the same, but Kirby had the biggest room of any Noble. Partly because of her position, and presumably as another of Hel’s manipulations.
“See you in the morning.” Magnus closed the door behind them, and the audible clicking of a lock sound filled the air.
Kirby leaned her back against a nearby wall, and her shoulders slumped. Exhaustion shone in the lines on her face and the dark circles under her eyes. “She didn’t even give us the grand tour.”
“Rude, right? I guess we’ll have to show ourselves around.” In other words, time to take a look and see what they’d been handed. Brit both hated that the double talk came so easily, and adored that she and Kirby still had that connection they’d shared as partners.
It was a basic apartment. A kitchenette, small living room, and bedroom with bath. The bedroom was where Brit stalled.
Last time she was in this room—no, just a room like this—with Kirby, she’d known she was going to betray the woman she loved. This campus was a replica, and missing the people who made her old life miserable, so the triggers weren’t there. But this room... this woman... Brit wouldn’t fall into it, but fuck she wanted to.
All of the food in the kitchen was either vacuum sealed or canned. Nothing gourmet, but edible and nutritious. “So great to be back,” Kirby said sarcastically, as she eyed the shelf full of beans and peaches.
There were two sets of dressers. Brit checked the top drawer of each. White cotton bras and panties. “Is it just me, or is it creepy someone else went underwear shopping for us?”
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