The Descendants of Thor Trilogy Boxset: Forged in Blood and Lightning; Norns of Fate; Wrath of Aten

by S. A. Ashdown

  ‘Jörð, it can’t be. I’ve never heard of it.’ I stared at Lorenzo, who shifted uncomfortably on the edge of the bed. ‘There’s no way.’

  Ava paused from stroking her mum’s hair. ‘Let me get this straight…Dark Elves, they’re—’

  ‘Vampires,’ said Lorenzo.

  ‘So Menelaus, he’s—’

  ‘A De Laurentis,’ I said. ‘He’s a dhampir. They’re a myth, at least I thought they were.’ I intercepted Ava and Lorenzo’s shared look of confusion. ‘Half-human, or in this case, half-witch, and half-vampire.’

  A loud snore from Lolita interrupted the silence. ‘At least we know Julian’s not the father,’ Ava said, pushing her back on her side.

  Lorenzo gaped at us. ‘You thought Julian was his real dad?’

  ‘Not anymore,’ I said. I joined Fenrir on the floor and scratched his ears. ‘But Mum was right about one thing. Her sin did come back to get her for trying to protect her future child. Because of that decision, Menelaus was abandoned at St. Michael’s, and grew up to kill his own aunt.’

  ‘But what happened to Elspeth?’ Lorenzo, on the bed, a moment ago, was suddenly squatting on the cushion opposite. ‘After she left Menelaus?’

  I glanced at Ava. ‘According to my father, she took her own life just before I was born, six years after Mum wrote this diary.’

  ‘Why?’

  I shrugged. ‘Ava showed me a vision of the night of Mum’s death. I’m pretty sure the Praetoriani stripped Elspeth’s powers. That must be the reason – she bred with a vampire. Maybe that’s why Julian adopted Menelaus, so that the child would always be under their control.’ I couldn’t hide the bitterness from my voice. ‘I guess she couldn’t live with losing her son and her magical essence.’

  ‘Maybe you’re right about that,’ Ava said, ‘but I don’t think that’s why Julian adopted Menelaus. The diary said that Julian was heartbroken when Elspeth fell pregnant. What if he was in love with Elspeth, but she had an affair with either Michele or Malachi? The father has to be one of them, doesn’t it?’

  ‘So my professor is actually my blood uncle or brother?’ Lorenzo laughed. ‘Fuck me, this is complicated.’

  ‘Welcome to my world. I think Ava’s right. Either way, Menelaus is in danger. He’s going to see something he shouldn’t – if Frigg’s revelation is true – and someone’s going to kill him.’

  ‘I’ve got all day to find him,’ said Lorenzo, ‘and Raphael. At least Malachi can’t get in my way during daylight hours.’

  I nodded. I wanted to trust him – that’s why I’d read the diaries aloud. If that information leaked, I’d know the source. ‘Be back by nightfall or I’m coming to find you.’

  Fenrir growled gently as Lorenzo leaned over to rub his neck. ‘I’ll be in the Red Hawk – first shift. Fenrir, don’t forget you like me.’

  And in the custom we’d come to expect from Lorenzo, he left via the window.

  ‘The secret Espen was keeping from Isobel,’ Ava said as soon as he was gone, ‘it’s what you’re not telling me.’

  I sighed and stretched my arms above my head. ‘Ava, I’m just going to come out with it.’ I paused. ‘You must carry this to your grave.’

  She sat still, her eyes set upon mine, unflinching.

  Here goes nothing (or everything, depending on how you looked at it). ‘I’m the Gatekeeper of the Lífkelda. The Lífkelda is the Life-Spring that feeds Yggdrasil, a cosmic tree that nourishes the Nine Realms with the energy – pure magic – that they need to exist. My body is the valve that controls the flow of this energy into the Nine Realms, including this one – Midgard – to keep the balance right.

  ‘If I die before I have a child that can inherit this gene, like I did from Father and Nikolaj before him, the Lífkelda will become trapped in its own dimension and the Nine Realms will collapse into themselves, shrivel up, and die.’

  ‘Jesus Christ.’

  ‘Yes, basically, I am the Messiah. Just not a Christian one.’

  ‘I was trying to swear.’

  ‘Ava, if I don’t laugh about these things I’m going to cry.’

  The sunlight fell across her face like the stroke of a make-up brush. ‘I…where does the Praetoriani come into this?’

  ‘If they strip my powers, every Pneuma will lose theirs, for their magic comes through me. I’m not sure what effect that will have on other life forms, but I’d rather not find out.’ The conversation I’d had with father, after that fateful first night at the Red Hawk, where I’d rediscovered Ava and met the De Laurentis vampires, came surging back. He’d warned me not to trust anyone, to never put myself in a position where I could be exploited. For once – now Ava’s safety depended on it too – I actually agreed with him. ‘Every Pneuma knows Clemensens are powerful. A lot of those people crave what I have, but they do not and cannot know the price. Ava, think about it. If someone out there understands my role in the world and still wants me dead, they have big plans for the Nine Realms. Best that person never finds me.’

  Her eyes glazed over, clouds hazing her pupils. ‘Ava?’

  ‘Someone is searching… someone is looking.’

  I crept over to the bed and took her hand. Fenrir whimpered from the cushion. ‘Oh God, they have butchered many trying to find you.’

  She pulled back. Blood pooled in the corner of her eyes. Her hands flew to her face. ‘No, I don’t want to see anymore. Menelaus, he’s getting too close. Their circles are about to collide.’

  I tried to tug her hands away but she wouldn’t let me. She fell back onto the pillows, unconscious as her mother. I checked their pulses, watched their chests rise and fall.

  While I decided what to do, Fenrir sidled up to the bed. I stood and he leapt onto the indent I’d left on the duvet. ‘Stay here, boy. Keep them safe. I need to have a Friday morning chat with Michele.’

  Malachi and Michele.

  Halfway through a bottle of red – wine or blood – and sitting in the shadows cast by an antique lamp. The sitting room’s blinds fastened below the curtains, just to be safe, as they were from the older generation of vampires who hadn’t evolved tolerance to the sun, unlike Lorenzo. I idly wondered how quickly I could open them and beckon the sunshine in, zapping them into dust or stone.

  They glanced up as I entered the room. Then continued drinking. Where were the rest of the coven? I considered checking the basement for stockpiles of hair and thought better of it. Confined spaces and I weren’t friends. Since the torture…I just hated basements.

  What Lorenzo had said about Malachi being afraid of Clemensen magic seemed like bullshit. So I studied his face closely, reaching out and sharply retracting my hands to my chest. Little sparks flew through the air, landing at every electricity port in the room. The heavy ceiling light flooded the spot where they sat.

  The vampires hissed, clamping their hands over their dark-adjusted eyes, mimicking Ava’s action upstairs. ‘So, which one of you should I call Uncle?’

  Michele and Malachi slowly removed their hands, blinking. While they processed the question, I made for the bottle uncorked on the coffee table by the fireplace, and sniffed it. ‘Wine, thank Jörð. Don’t worry, I’ll help myself.’ I clicked my fingers. The air crackled apart, and a wine glass appeared in my hand.

  Malachi did look a little green.

  I refilled their glasses while they watched me, faces perfectly impassive. ‘A toast,’ I said, raising my glass, ‘to my poor Aunt Elspeth and her dhampir son, my dear cousin, Menelaus.’

  Okay, this time Malachi really did go green.

  Michele, sharp and polished even before midday, threw his glass at the painting on the wall. It exploded on impact. His hands were around my throat before I even blinked, his full weight driven behind it. I went down backwards, bashing my head on the sofa corner opposite.

  ‘No!’ He screamed in my ear. ‘No, damn it! Elspeth lost it, she told me she lost it!’ He leapt off me. I gasped, gulping air. He raved in Italian, Malachi now on his feet and ga
wking at us.

  ‘Take it you didn’t know,’ I managed to choke out.

  Malachi set his jaw and clenched his fists, just like Lorenzo did when he was angry.

  ‘Damn it, Elspeth. I should have guessed. I should have guessed. The abandoned child, Julian’s ward!’ Michele picked up the marble-top coffee table like it was nothing and heaved it across the room. I veered out of its path as it smashed into the drinks cabinet in the corner. I was getting far too used to the sound of shattering glass.

  When I looked back at Michele’s face, it was smeared with blood tears. ‘Uncle Michele, it is.’

  He sucked in his tension and beckoned me forward. My feet have far less sense than my head, and they obeyed. Michele gripped my shoulder. ‘Your cousin. My son. And the Praetoriani have him twisted. You must select him as your Guardian.’

  ‘Yes, but we have a bigger concern.’

  ‘What is that, Elspeth’s nephew?’ I grimaced at the sight of his fangs so close to my face – they were longer than Malachi’s – no easy feat.

  ‘His days are numbered. Someone’s going to kill him – and it’s not me.’

  ‘Who is your source? Are they trustworthy?’

  I swallowed. ‘Is the goddess Frigg good enough for you?’

  ‘And how is it she talks to you? Only Hel will speak to Penny.’

  ‘I’m not Penny,’ I said, and left it at that. ‘I’ve sent Lorenzo to watch over Menelaus.’ It felt right to include Michele a little. Menelaus and I had both lost our mothers to the Praetoriani; Elspeth had the innermost part of herself stripped away, twice over. Menelaus had suffered it, but his mother evidently couldn’t abide being powerless.

  ‘Have you forgiven him so easily?’ Malachi said, apparently unimpressed by this revelation. I pictured Malachi happily lounging on his throne, supping on the blood of an innocent maiden. And Menelaus had just appeared in a puff of smoke to tip him from his chair. A natural-born son. Both Malachi and I understood what that must mean for King Michele.

  But to answer his question – had I forgiven Menelaus? It gave me no pleasure witnessing him, throat slit, convulsing in a pit of bodies. That, I admit, had surprised me. As the life had drained away, I’d seen my own reflection in his hazel eyes. My lust for vengeance deserted my heart. Who was I kidding? Familia Super Omni – family above all. The Braec motto. The principle that both my mother and my aunt died defending. Because our mothers were identical twins, we shared half our DNA. An attack on him was an attack on me.

  I looked Malachi straight on. ‘I won’t pass up the opportunity to punch him in the face, I admit. But he’s the only part of my mother I’ve got left.’ Was I going to say it aloud? I rubbed my throat from Michele’s choking but any damage had already healed. The vampires were staring again. I’d have to excuse my healing abilities soon. ‘Menelaus is family now. He’s a Braec.’

  ‘He’s a De Laurentis.’

  I scoffed. ‘Is anyone fully English around here?’

  ‘Hellingstead always was a melting pot.’ Michele had calmed down, apparently. He mopped his bloody face with the handkerchief tucked in his jacket. ‘The question is, whose hand is stirring it?’

  18

  Dying To Be Noticed

  Why did Guillaume – or Sarah – burn the staff photo? Menelaus couldn’t discount that a third party may have tossed the picture into the fire, but why would they light a fire anyway, in summer? Okay, so the weather was unusual at the moment, but cold enough for a fire? Why not just turn up the heating?

  Menelaus paced the courtyard sandwiched behind the Praetoriani’s main building, and the side wings enclosing it. His thoughts prickled, thorny as the roses climbing the iron archways. He dodged the other employees, a mingle of faces that always seemed to shift with the seasons. It used to be that people joined the Praetoriani after school and stayed until retirement. Now people joined for a few years, were promoted, or left.

  Like Guillaume.

  What if there was a third option?

  Promoted, left, or died. He sat on the marbled edge of the water fountain and watched the staff filtering out of the conference hall. His worries bubbled like the foam forming on the water. He raked his fingers through the surface, trying to see to the bottom of his thoughts. The guards at the front gate visibly bore weapons this morning. Why? The old security officer at the gatehouse, always with a pie in hand, or so it seemed to him, had been replaced by a mercenary guard usually reserved for transporting prisoners.

  Two women in their early thirties, one wearing pentagram earrings, sat next to him, opening their lunch boxes. He watched them in his periphery, wishing that he found their laughter and careless chatter attainable. But he couldn’t dislodge the image of Sarah and her kids. What had happened to them?

  ‘…I have a dentist appointment that day.’

  ‘Reschedule it. This trial is huge. When’s the last time we brought in a Clemensen?’

  Menelaus stopped fidgeting.

  ‘He’s just a kid. What can they have against him? Slap him on the wrist and let him leave? The Praetors have enough sense not to get mixed up with that family.’

  The woman closest to him fiddled with her earrings. ‘I don’t know, but…’ She leaned in closer to her friend. Menelaus strained to listen. ‘They’re busy upstairs. All sorts of visitors coming and going and no one’s spilling.’

  ‘Are they expecting trouble?’

  ‘Who knows. Why else would they beef up security? They’ve got Sven on reception with Kate. Sven!’

  ‘I bet Kate’s not complaining.’ They giggled behind half-eaten sandwiches like a pair of schoolgirls.

  Menelaus stood up. Whatever the answers were, they wouldn’t be found in idle gossip. There must be a copy of the staff photo somewhere, he thought. Did he ever bother hanging one up at home? No, there was no one to see it. If he had one, it would be stuffed in a drawer somewhere.

  He weaved through the bodies cluttering the courtyard, barrelling through the whooshing automatic door into the Guardian Wing. No one shed a second glance; his students called him the Minotaur, but here, he might as well be invisible.

  They wasted their efforts stripping my powers. Wonderful, even his thoughts tasted bitter. The lift ignored him too, and he almost broke the button jamming it a dozen times. He took the stairs, five at a time, to his office.

  His desk reminded him of a long-suffering pack mule, old legs near buckling under its burden. Couldn’t be helped. He’d spent the rest of Wednesday spying on Guillaume’s house from every angle, using the lull between the two other viewings that day to snoop through the bins, only to find them empty and smelling like cleaning fluid. After that he’d gone home for an intimate evening with a bottle of whisky. This morning he’d hastily interviewed a few teenagers struggling with the volatile hormone/power cocktail, assigning them to the appropriate therapists. If he didn’t catch up on his other assignments, he’d be fired before he could figure out what was going on.

  ‘I don’t have time for this,’ he muttered. ‘I’ll catch up over the summer holidays.’ He pulled open every drawer in his desk, in search of the photograph. Nothing but stationery and personal files. ‘Is nothing ever easy?’

  A loud – rather camp – voice echoed down the corridor. David. Menelaus leapt out of the doorway and intercepted him. ‘Hey, Dave. Got a minute?’

  ‘Anything for you, darling.’ Menelaus would’ve been flattered if it wasn’t David’s catchphrase.

  ‘I want to jazz up my office a bit. Looking for a staff photo but I must’ve lost it. Have you got a copy, like a print version?’ He smiled, trying to keep his eyes off David’s balding, ginger head.

  ‘Really, honey, you can’t think of anything more exciting to put on your wall? Picture of a girlfriend maybe?’

  Menelaus shrugged.

  ‘Or boyfriend?’ He winked.

  Great, that was the last rumour he needed spreading. ‘Just thought it would be nice,’ he said, unable to enthuse himself.

  Da
vid rubbed his chin. ‘Sure thing, I’ll go and have a look.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  It didn’t take long. Menelaus was busy signing forms and cataloguing reports on Lorenzo’s whereabouts for his file when David returned, framed picture in hand. ‘Look,’ he said, closing the door behind him, ‘this one’s been kicking around in the stationery closet for a while.’

  Menelaus held out his hand, eyes on the report he was signing off. ‘Cheers.’

  ‘Not so fast.’

  God. What now? His arm hovered in the air. David clutched the photo to his chest.

  ‘You’re such a loner, darling. Come and have a drink with me tonight? Red Hawk?’

  ‘They’re open on a Friday night?’

  ‘Oh gosh, darling. You really need to get out, don’t you?’

  ‘I was joking.’ Menelaus lowered his arm. What were the chances Ava would be singing there? Low, but worth a shot. Besides, Lorenzo frequented the pub, and its barmaids. It would be a good opportunity to check in with him and top up his hangover. ‘Alright. But it’s not a date.’

  David sighed. ‘Whatever you say, Menelaus. Eight o’clock?’

  ‘Great, I’ll meet you there; I’ve got a few errands to run.’

  David handed him the picture. ‘Doesn’t even offer to pick me up,’ he muttered, winking as he backed out of Menelaus’ office. ‘Chivalry is dead.’

  He chose to ignore David’s barb.

  Guillaume’s salt-and-pepper beard caught his attention from the corner of the staff picture. The view of the Praetoriani’s colonnaded façade matched the blackened photo found in Guillaume’s fireplace. Menelaus struggled to look at the Frenchman’s cheeky smile. I’m so sorry if I landed you in trouble, he thought, the guilt like a second heartbeat in his chest. Isobel, Guillaume, his family. Who’s next?

  Whatever happened, he’d keep Theo and Lorenzo safe…somehow. He wasn’t about to add any more names to that bloody list. And he wasn’t doing any more favours for Ava either; after all, he had no desire to procure the Cyranides – it was her idea. In a way, it was her fault. Wrong again, Laus, it’s all you. Isobel wouldn’t be haunting Ava if you hadn’t killed her.