by Renée Jaggér
Thoth tried to get back up, only to stumble to his knees. “Uhh,” he gasped. “So be it. You have won, Fenris, but do not celebrate your victory too soon.” He coughed, spitting up ambrosiac ether, and his hands trembled as he clutched his wounds.
Fenris slashed his throat with the claws of his left paw. Then he shifted back into his humanoid form to watch Thoth die.
The Egyptian god faded like a desert mirage, and a snaky mixture of spiraling strands in amber, white, and deep turquoise erupted from his form. What little remained of him dissolved into dust and was lost amidst the desert sand.
Carl let out a gasping sigh. “Woah! Finally. That was harder than dealing with Balder, wasn’t it?”
“Yes,” Fenris acknowledged, “but not by much. And now another of the oh-so-mighty council has fallen.”
Loki watched, slowly shaking his head, though his hands were clenched in the necessary gestures to maintain the illusion, keeping it as convincing as possible right up until the bitter end. At the same time, he was recording the proceedings, as he had during the Balder incident. It put a certain amount of strain on him, but he managed.
“Fenris, Fenris.” He sighed. “Where and when, exactly, did you go so wrong?”
The were-god and his apprentice departed through a portal without bothering to absorb the dissipated energy. Again.
Loki finished creating the hologram, processing it as a memory, and once more sending it to the other deities for immediate mental viewing. He stored the visual version within himself for display to Bailey and the mortals later.
“Showing them this might be redundant,” the mischief-lord mused, “but it eliminates every last iota of doubt. My son is beyond all hope of salvage or redemption, it would seem.”
He did not feel much emotion about that since the sentiments that mortals treasured registered with him only in a vague, intellectual way. Such was his nature. Still, he noticed a deep regret within himself and, more pressingly, a concern—even a fear—for what happened next if Fenris was not stopped.
“Soon,” he mumbled to no one, making ready to leave. “I’ve been saying that too often lately, but it’s true. Soon.”
Chapter Eleven
Bailey sat in the snow, heedless of the sub-freezing temperatures. The Asgardian troops had made three or four bonfires out of wood debris recovered from the battle, but the werewitch sat apart from them.
She’d needed time to “digest” her new powers, as usual. The strength of the frost trolls’ king was different from any arcane source she’d drained before, but it was oddly familiar. There was a primal, animal-like quality to it that reminded her of nothing so much as her own heritage as a lycanthrope. The frost trolls were creatures of snow and icy winds, just as werewolves were creatures of moonlight, fern, and tree-shadow.
The lieutenant she’d spoken to before came over. His name was Sigfred, she recalled.
“Lady Bailey, will we be staying here? The battle is won, and the men would do well to return home.” The light was fading; the frost trolls’ domain did not have a true day-night cycle, but it seemed to grow dimmer and then brighter in equal turns.
She stood up, wrinkling her brow in thought. “Someone should remain to keep watch, in case more of them try to attack.” Five or six hundred had fled toward the end of the battle. “And I’m having trouble adjusting to all the new powers I got. Is there a problem on you guys’ end?”
“The cold,” Sigfred gasped. “We are hardy, and the exertion of battle warms us, but the frigidity of this realm...we will not be able to fight here indefinitely.”
Bailey recalled that in the city and palace of Asgard, the temperature has seemed exceedingly mild despite the sky-high location. She wasn’t sure exactly what these men were—probably demigods or magical beings similar to the dark elves—but they lacked the arcane ability to completely protect themselves from harsh elements.
“Okay,” she said, “well, I think I can do something about that. Hold onto your helmets.”
Expanding her consciousness, she created a protective shield-dome around their encampment. It was thinner than a combat shield; a man could push through it with effort, and an arrow or fireball would be slowed rather than stopped, but it would hold in air, allowing the fires to warm it more easily. She poked holes in the barrier near the base and top to allow breathable air to filter in and wood smoke to filter out.
Then she tried another technique. Using part of the newly-absorbed cold-resistance magic, she spread it across the mass of soldiers the way she’d cast a mild healing spell. Blue light played about them as they stared in surprise, then it was gone.
“Better?” she asked. “I’m hoping that will give you more resilience to this place.”
Heads nodded, and the men all seemed more comfortable.
The werewitch smiled. “Nice! Admittedly I didn’t know if it’d work. Anyway, I need to leave, but I’ll be back. What I’m going to suggest is that maybe a quarter or a third of you stay here, and the rest can go back to Asgard. But stay in touch in case you need reinforcements, and be prepared to relieve each other in shifts. That way, everyone can get some rest within the next day or two, but we’ll still have a cursory force here to deter any more attacks. Oh, and send word to me if anything major happens.”
Sigfred agreed and spoke to the men to divide them into shift groups.
Satisfied, Bailey bade them farewell and opened a doorway leading back to her home.
She stepped out of the portal and into the bronzed light of late afternoon. Her adventure first in Asgard and then in the troll realm had felt like at least a day, but back on Earth, it seemingly had been only half of one, unless she’d been gone for over thirty hours.
Within the house, only Kurt was present in front of the TV. “Hi,” he greeted his sister. “Once more, I’ve been given the illustrious duty of guarding the fucking living room while everyone else goes out and does ‘interesting’ stuff. Did you have a nice, uh, job interview with the gods?”
She put her hands on her hips but paused to check her clothes. They weren’t the same as the ones she’d shredded when she shifted into full-sized wolf form, but close enough.
“I already have a job with the gods,” she pointed out, “but yeah, things are fine so far. If you see or hear from anyone, tell them I’m back. To be honest, I think I could use a little alone time anyway. I’ll be home this evening, though.”
After freshening up, Bailey realized she was famished. She wasn’t sure if metabolism worked the same way in the supernatural realms as it did here, but the battle against the trolls felt as though it had burned about eight thousand calories.
She hopped into her black Tundra and drove it to the Bristling Elk, annoyed that she was hitting the place right during the dinner rush, but there was no way she was waiting until later to eat.
Tomi noticed her at once. “Oh, hi, Bailey. Are you going for a job interview somewhere?”
“Naw,” the girl replied, “all my shitty clothes are dirty.”
An old couple sitting in the corner frowned at her language, but Tomi laughed it off.
Half an hour later, Bailey sat before an empty mug of coffee and a mostly-empty plate; she’d ordered an outright steak instead of a steak sandwich, along with extra fries, and a small portion remained. It felt good to have a bellyful of meat.
She looked up from the table at the same moment a fiftyish Native man in blue jeans and a red shirt came in. Unsurprisingly, he made straight for her table.
“Hello, Bailey,” he opened.
“Hi, Coyote.” She waved to the chair across from her. “Have a seat. I’m sure you planned to anyway.”
He lowered himself into place and said, “Indeed. Are you well?”
“Mostly.” She went on to briefly summarize all that had happened since they’d last seen each other.
The trickster god gave an appreciative nod. “Well, then. Congratulations on your victories, though we’re both aware that the real enemy wanted you to win,
as well.”
She scowled. “Yeah, I know. But according to Loki, we have to keep playing along. Any updates on that whole situation?”
“Yes.” Tomi appeared and asked if Coyote wanted anything. He ordered a root beer, and she hurried off to get it. “In fact,” the deity went on, “that’s what I came here to talk about. Fenris and Carl have taken out another of us. Thoth, specifically, or so they think.”
The waitress returned with the drink, refilled Bailey’s coffee, and left them to their discussion as the girl finished off the last of her food.
“Damn,” Bailey muttered around a mouthful of steak fries. “He’s not wasting time, is he? Usually he’s the one who drags me off to fight monsters, so maybe the fact that Loki did it this time spurred him to move quicker or something. Who all does that leave?”
Coyote chuckled. “Me. Probably. I’m the logical next target. But our plan has worked thus far, and there’s no reason to believe it won’t again. We’ll still be watching and offering our protection and guidance from afar. You must keep doing what you’re doing, gaining power, neutralizing threats, and preparing for the final confrontation.”
She sighed. “Easier said than done, but all right.”
The man continued, “Time is growing short, but take a brief respite to acclimate to your new powers. Including this.” He reached out and tapped her temple with the first two fingers of his right hand.
She felt as though an echo went through her brain, then everything grew louder. “Uh,” she mumbled, “thanks?”
Coyote laughed softly. “A piece of my abilities; you may find it useful. Like Loki, I am a trickster deity, though our approaches are somewhat different. I’m used to the more insidious and convoluted side of magic, so what I’ve given you is a sort of inner filter that will protect you from the worst aspects of those new strains of knowledge and power bubbling away within you. It will make it easier to process it all.”
She blinked. “Well, thanks. That ought to help a lot.”
He stood up, having finished his root beer, and laid a five-dollar bill on the table. “Don’t mention it. Oh, and another thing that is useful is emotional grounding. Meaning, solace from strife and uncertainty with things, or people who evoke the feelings of peace, love, trust, and comfort. Recharge yourself, then return to the fray.”
They waved their goodbyes, and he was gone.
Bailey added the five he’d left to the pool of what she planned to use to pay for her meal, his drink, and the tip, confident of how best to heed his advice.
“Fuckin’ hell,” Gunney grated, “does this godawful bullshit ever end?” He flipped his cap off his head and blew upward from his mouth to get his shaggy, sweaty hair out of his eyes.
Bailey shrugged. “Doesn’t seem like it, but I think it will calm down a lot once we’re done with the plan and you-know-who is stopped.”
Then again, she’d hoped that before and always been disappointed. Since the fateful day Roland had rolled into town, she was pretty sure that a month had been the longest stretch of peace she’d had. Usually, much less than that.
They both sipped beer. The place was closed for the night, and as the owner of the shop, Gunney had the authority to permit his employees to drink on company grounds.
The mechanic sighed. “Well, maybe my attempt at, y’know, consoling you won’t matter much, with the weight of the apocalypse resting on your shoulders, but they say it’s the thought that counts.”
“It does count,” she affirmed, putting her hand on his.
After she’d shown up and they’d hugged and said their hellos, she’d told him about everything that had transpired: Fenris’ betrayals and supposed murders of two more gods, the news of Carl’s duplicity, the fact that the other deities were enacting their own counter-deception to draw Fenris out, and her two battles against the elves and trolls. Gunney had briefly attended the funeral for Will Waldsbach’s friend after the fight against the alfar, so that part wasn’t news to him.
“All I can say,” the old man offered, “is that the events are out of your hands. You didn’t do anything to make all this happen. Not your fault. Those guys came up with this shit long before you were born and never paused to think about whether it was a good idea, so no need to agonize over how or why it came down the pipeline. But you’ve got to face it, from the sound of things. Focus on your duty. You’ve always been good at staring down the beast or whatever and kicking whatever ass you have to. Standing up for what’s right, all that corny shit. Corny, but true. Like I’ve said before, one thing at a time.”
She hugged him again. “You have said that before, but sometimes it helps to hear it again.”
“I’m sure it sounds stupid,” he went on, “and that facing it all will be difficult, but thinking of it that way, it becomes simple.”
They stood up, tossing their beer cans into the returns tub.
Bailey said, “I don’t much feel up to working on a car.”
Shrugging, Gunney suggested, “How about a race, then? You got enough spunk left for it? Besides, we only had one beer each. That’s within the legal limit, I think.”
She laughed. “Sure. It’s dark, though. We haven’t raced at night before. You’ll be at an unfair disadvantage since I’ve got were-vision and all that crap.”
The mechanic snorted. “Were-vision! No substitute for experience. I was racing cars when you were still an embryo.”
Gunney waited at the shop, readying his ‘65 Shelby Cobra as Bailey drove her Tundra back home, left it there, and returned with her black Camaro. They drove to the edge of town, stopping at the mouth of a long side street that went to the base of the mountain.
The mechanic poked his head out the window. “So, let’s not bother going up the mountain this time. A short sprint to the No Passing sign, that’s all. And if you can make us invisible in case Sheriff Browne or one of his boys is lurking up ahead, so much the better.”
Bailey agreed to his terms and cast a spell to make them both invisible and soundless. She’d have to reverse it if other motorists appeared, but it wasn’t a well-traveled road at night.
They counted down to three and then hit the gas.
To the girl’s surprise, Gunney pulled out ahead of her within the first two seconds and stayed there. He cannily anticipated her attempts to pass him and cut her off each time, casually holding her behind as he sped his way to victory. Both drivers blazed past the No Passing post and took their feet off the pedals, slowing to a stop as the road inclined and began to twist around the base of the peak.
The older man climbed out of his beloved car. “Ha, ha,” he chortled. “Nice try.”
“Damn,” Bailey muttered. “Usually either I win, or at least it’s, you know, close.”
Gunney spread his hands. “I’ve been going easy on you all this time. Tonight, the gloves came off. I might be getting old, but I still have a couple tricks up my sleeve.”
She must have looked more disgruntled than she felt since the mechanic came over to lay a hand gently on her shoulder. “Don’t feel bad. Anyway, sometimes it’s better to let the other person win. Consider that another piece of advice, I guess.”
Bailey was about to protest that in the struggle with Fenris she wouldn’t have that luxury, but that only emphasized that most things in life weren’t anywhere near as important. Thinking about that, she relaxed.
“So,” Gunney wrapped up, “back to the shop. I think we need to eliminate another beer. It’ll help you sleep, aside from waking up to pee. Just be careful on the drive back home.”
Bailey had passed out shortly after midnight and had expected to be out for a good eight hours, a decent and standard “full night’s sleep.” Instead, when she rolled over and glanced at her clock, it read 12:11. She might have slept later still if she’d been allowed to since it was pounding on her door that roused her.
“Uhh,” she groaned. “Yeah, I’m awake. Who are you people, and what do you want with me?”
Jacob’s voice a
sked, “Can we come in?”
“Sure, why not?” She had a sheet over her, and she wore a t-shirt and pajama shorts.
The door opened and Jacob stepped in, with Kurt hovering beside him. “You’ve got guests, and they want to talk ASAP. We tried to stall them, but you know how it is with people wanting to talk to you. Always something urgent and scary.”
She rubbed her eyes. “Who?”
Jacob started to clear his throat, but Kurt spoke first. He put a hand beside his mouth and whispered, “The suits,” though it was quite possibly the loudest whisper she’d ever heard.
The girl sat up and pulled her jeans and socks on. “Oh. Agency. I was wondering when their asses would show up again.”
They descended the stairs and Bailey trudged into the foyer, accepting a steaming mug of coffee from Russell with a nod of thanks. She blinked at the men waiting for her.
There were three instead of two.
“Holy shit,” she exclaimed, trying not to drop her coffee. “Wasn’t expecting to see you.”
Agent Townsend’s grim face broke into a smile, and at his right and left elbows, Velasquez and Park grinned openly.
“Hello, Nordin,” the senior agent greeted her. “I, meanwhile, wasn’t expecting to see anyone until pretty recently. But I’m back on duty, if somewhat the worse for wear.”
She opted not to agree with him, though he did look like he’d aged five or ten years in the last couple of months. He was paler, thinner, and his hair had turned gray in spots, and he seemed to have trouble supporting himself on his legs, but he was alive and functional.
Velasquez added, “We’re glad to have him back. You’ll be shocked to learn that we need to talk and ask for your help again. There’s news.”
Park concluded, “And it’s bad. I mean, what other type of news is there?”