Carnage: Nate Temple Series Book 14

by Shayne Silvers

“Nice try, deceiver! DIE!” Loki screamed. I heard the sudden eruption of projectiles hitting the ground, trees, and foliage back where we had been standing. Loki sagged at the expenditure of magic, but Fenrir lowered his muzzle in time to catch his father. Niflheim drained them of their power. Why the hell would they be here? It was killing them.

  “I kicked you in the nuts, you fucking psychopath!” I shouted.

  Fenrir whirled and Loki dropped his coffee as he spun to stare in my general direction—which was nowhere near the killing field he’d set up. My favorite mug shattered and Fenrir snarled a warning, hunkering his head low to protect his throat. Their eyes darted back and forth suspiciously, unable to see me.

  I peeled off my eyepatch and held up my hands. “It’s me, you lunatics. Nate.”

  Fenrir didn’t look convinced. Loki stepped closer, shielding his eyes as if sunlight was an issue here. It wasn’t. The realm of Niflheim was eternally gloomy and overcast. “Why are you so filthy?” he asked. “You don’t look right.”

  I grunted. “I don’t feel right either, to be fair. And you’re not looking all that fancy, either.”

  He narrowed his eyes, muttering under his breath. Fenrir warily trotted over, sniffing the air.

  “I’ve got Carl and a dragon with me, so don’t eat them,” I said, so as not to surprise them.

  Fenrir came to a stop before me, sniffed a few more times, and then sneezed, blasting me with about a million gallons of wolf snot.

  “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” I snapped, wiping the goop from my face. “It’s in my mouth,” I gagged, spitting furiously.

  Fenrir abruptly play bowed and his tongue lolled from his mouth. “It really is you,” he whined, speaking out loud. He had also spoken to me in my mind before. His tail swished back and forth behind him, almost clotheslining his father, Loki. “But you look wrong.”

  I let out a sigh of relief and shook off more of his snot before giving it up as a lost cause. I folded my arms, hoping they didn’t get stuck together. “Come on out, Carl. They won’t kill us.”

  Carl and Yahn walked into view—mine, anyway—and the Elder set Yahn down on the ground. The moment his claws released Yahn, he seemed to appear out of thin air to Fenrir and Loki. Carl tugged off his eyepatch and waved, materializing out of thin air as well.

  Fenrir and Loki did not look convinced. “Is this some kind of a joke?” Loki asked warily.

  Fenrir cocked his head. “He’s wearing that stupid pink coat, but that’s not Carl.”

  I blinked, my shoulders tensing at their tone. “Of course it’s Carl. How many other Elders have you met?”

  Loki folded his arms. “That’s a golden fucking dragon or an old man. Not a Carl.”

  I blinked, frowning at the bizarre statement. Then a sneaking suspicion hit me. They’d said I looked wrong as well. “What do I look like?”

  Fenrir was looking from Carl to me, obviously certain it was me after he’d sensed me holding Gungnir, but he still looking perplexed by my apparent appearance. Now that I thought about it, Yahn hadn’t immediately recognized us either, but that had been because we were invisible, right?

  Fenrir looked at me. “You don’t smell or look like Nate, but I sensed Gungnir once you touched it, and you have the satchel. Nate wouldn’t let anyone have that satchel, and it would be worthless to them anyway, so I believe you. But you look like a frail, scared, homely man, not the godkiller who recently saved me.”

  Loki nodded. “I recognize your voice, but only barely. Like a trick of sound. He looks like a roguishly handsome older man, not an Elder. But he has golden dragon claws.” He glanced at Fenrir and a tired smile split his cheeks. “Well, slap my frosty ass and call me Hilde! If Fenrir says it’s you, I’ll buy it.”

  I smiled crookedly at his strange phrase. “Right.” But I was very troubled by their revelation. Why did we look wrong? “What’s up with the new digs…Hilde?”

  Loki pursed his lips, his smile slipping. “Needed somewhere to sleep where gods wouldn’t bother us. I’ve grown attached to the place.” He eyed me and then Carl thoughtfully. “You?”

  “Same. Refugee status. Apparently, under an illusion that I’m just now hearing about.”

  I glanced at Carl, frowning. He shrugged. “You look like Nate to me.” I nodded my agreement—Carl looked like Carl to me. Loki’s words abruptly registered as I studied Carl’s claws. Loki had said golden claws, and I’d only ever met one golden dragon.

  Was he saying Carl looked like Alaric Slate? Then…who did I look like?

  “I need a mirror,” I said queasily.

  Loki flung up a hand, and a sliver of reflective water appeared before us, almost as good as a mirror. “Make do,” he rasped tiredly, his hand shaking at such a simple effort. “We don’t have the luxury of mirrors here, my lord.”

  I stepped up to it and gasped, wiping away the mud and wolf snot covering my face.

  “Peter?” I whispered, tugging at my cheeks in horror. I had indirectly killed Peter years ago when he’d partnered up with…

  Carl stepped up beside me, but his reflection showed another blast from my past. Alaric Slate. The dragon father who had tried to kill Raego to become the Obsidian Son.

  Peter and Alaric were back in town.

  Two men who every one of my friends would kill on sight.

  Shit.

  24

  Carl frowned, poking at his face and watching the older man’s reflection repeat the gesture with golden dragon claws. “I killed this meat sack in Hell,” he murmured uneasily.

  I nodded, turning to Loki. He released the spell and studied us. “I can’t sense any illusion, but I’m practically tapped after that axe thing.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “Thanks for that, asshole. Now the mutt is our only protection, and he’s losing energy fast. He wasn’t quite up to strength to begin with after his imprisonment.”

  I shook my head, wondering what the hell we were going to do now. “Zeus kidnapped us. Imprisoned us. We broke free, but he locked these manacles on us. Titan Thorns, he called them, and they block our powers. Apparently, they must also disguise me. But why Peter and Alaric?” I asked, more to myself.

  “Are you telling me that you might have led the Olympians here?” Loki rasped, sounding horrified.

  I shook my head firmly. “No. They can’t track us, apparently.” I hesitated. “Or so I was told.”

  Fenrir chuffed uneasily, sniffing at the air beyond us and scanning the horizon above the mist. “We are alone.”

  “Zeus—the guy who kidnapped you—told you that he couldn’t track you, and you believed him?” Loki asked, sounding as if he wanted to throttle me.

  I shook my head. “No. Aphrodite did when she broke us out. Zeus is hunting her, too.”

  At least I hoped so. Unless this was all a ruse. But I didn’t voice that fear. They looked panicked enough already. Little did they know, I hadn’t even gotten started yet.

  Loki let out a nervous sigh, only somewhat relieved. “If he had you imprisoned, why disguise your appearance?” he asked, scratching at his stubble.

  “There is a lot more to the story. Do you have more coffee? When Yahn wakes up, he’s going to be pretty fucking confused. Restraints would be awesome. If he sees that Peter and Alaric abducted him, he’s going to lose his shit.”

  “Then why the hell did you bring him here?” Loki asked, motioning for us to follow him to the small hut in the distance. It was no longer concealed by Freya’s vines and seiðr magic.

  “I broke into my company’s vault to steal some weapons since I can’t touch my magic. He caught us before we could escape.” I paused, wincing internally. “It’s his birthday.”

  Loki burst out laughing. “You’re shitting me.”

  I shook my head. “Nope. They had a cake and everything. They had just finished singing when we accidentally abducted him.” I sighed, raking my fingers through my hair. “He didn’t even get to blow out the candles and make a wish.”

  “And the teddy bear?” Lok
i asked, not bothering to hide his amusement.

  “Don’t fuck with the dreadbear. Roofie Ruxpin fucks back.”

  He glanced back at my somber tone and his smile faltered. He eyed Yahn, who was still utterly unconscious despite the loud growling, fire, swarm of axes, and being dragged around like a rag doll. He frowned thoughtfully, but didn’t comment.

  “We’re going to need more coffee. And chains,” he finally said.

  I nodded. “Sounds like the perfect morning. Did you say you had eggs?”

  “I lied,” Fenrir growled. “I wouldn’t trust any eggs you find around here. They also fuck back. Welcome to Niflheim.”

  Fenrir was too large to go inside the hut, so Loki led us towards a circle of stumps around a bonfire out front. Loki had slipped into the hut to emerge a few minutes later with three steaming mugs of instant coffee and a plastic bottle of vodka that was half empty. I shuddered when he offered it to me, taking a hard pass. He’d shrugged, filling up half of his mug with the blinding hangover juice. Then he took a healthy swig straight from the bottle, swishing it around like mouthwash. He even gargled it. Surprisingly, even Carl had looked eager to drink the caffeine, a testament to our exhaustion. That, or he feared plastic bottled vodka as much as me.

  I decided to let Yahn sleep a little longer. I wasn’t ready to confront him yet. How would I explain the situation? He looked so peaceful clutching Roofie Ruxpin, and I knew he would instinctively freak out to wake up and see that two dead men—Peter and Alaric—had abducted him. And that wasn’t even taking Loki and Fenrir’s presence into account. I had even considered using a Tiny Ball to send him back home, none-the-wiser, but I wasn’t sure how wise that would be for me. If I released him, and he’d actually recognized Peter and Alaric at Grimm Tech, he would alert everyone and there would be a manhunt for us on top of everything else. The smartest option seemed to be keeping him prisoner—as ironic as that was.

  So, Carl dozed sitting up, jerking awake every few minutes to check that Yahn hadn’t woken. Fenrir kept a cautious eye on the blond shifter dragon as well. I’d caught them up to speed on my current situation with the Olympians—deciding not to bring up the conversation I’d seen between Freya and Kára. If Loki thought his mother or father were involved, he would find a way to meddle, and I had enough gods to deal with. Then they told me of their own adventures.

  Apparently, Loki and Fenrir had broken off from my other friends, not wanting to risk their lives when all of Asgard came a’ hunting for Fenrir’s hide. Which was oddly considerate for Loki, generally speaking. I was betting Fenrir had suggested—and enforced—that plan, concerned about Gunnar’s kids after they’d freed him from his chains. He still had his giant collar, but at least he was no longer locked up in the middle of nowhere.

  They still didn’t know who had locked him up, exactly, but Loki grew passionate when he went off on a tangent about his prime suspects—which was pretty much everyone, ever. Fenrir had rolled his eyes, shooting me an amused glance. I didn’t have the time to worry about the Norse pantheon, but I was relieved to hear that Gunnar and Alucard weren’t about to walk around the corner with marshmallows.

  I needed to keep my distance from them to keep them safe.

  Loki and Fenrir had been on the run ever since their prison break, much like us, now. They’d grown oddly guarded upon mentioning a cave they’d recently occupied, quickly dropping the subject after saying that it was now compromised, forcing them to come to the hut where we had found them. Where Loki had been imprisoned for hundreds of years.

  Obviously, he hadn’t come here for the nostalgia.

  “Whoever did your illusion has skill,” Loki said, breaking the thoughtful silence. “Any ideas which Olympian is behind it?”

  I shook my head. “My money is on Hermes. He put a glamour on Zeus to make him look like me. Whatever he’s doing with my face won’t be good.”

  Loki pursed his lips. “Well, that’s a splendid frame job. No wonder I couldn’t see through your glamour. Hermes is exceedingly good at them,” he said begrudgingly. “And if we can’t see through it, no one can.”

  Carl shot me a concerned look and I shrugged. I’d figured as much. During my time in Zeus’ slammer, no one had alluded to me not looking like myself. Had it only happened once I stepped through Aphrodite’s Gateway? Had…she been the one to make us look like this?

  And was that as protection so I didn’t draw attention to my actions, or was it a set up?

  I could see it both ways.

  Making me look different would prevent me from reaching out to my allies—consequentially saving their lives from Zeus. But it also prevented me from reaching out to my allies, leaving me alone to face my problems.

  I felt Fenrir’s snot drying and hardening on my everywhere and grimaced. “Is there some kind of shower around here?” I growled.

  Loki scoffed, gesturing at himself. “Does this look like the Four Seasons?” Fenrir growled disapprovingly and Loki let out an annoyed breath. “Sorry. I’ve been on edge lately. There is a small pond to the West of us.” He frowned to himself, then looked over at me. “You don’t have any heart conditions, right?”

  “No…” I said, guardedly.

  “Good. Because I think the water is zero degrees. Something about Niflheim prevents it from freezing, though. Isn’t it grand?” he said, dryly. “Feels like instant castration without anesthesia, but the numbness hits about three seconds after the imagined surgery, so it’s more like mild pain reliever. A Niflprofen.”

  I shuddered, debating how badly I wanted to wash off the accumulated mud and snot and blood. “Is it poisonous to mortals, like everything else here?” I asked, unable to wrap my head around the temperature.

  “You ain’t a mortal, godkiller,” Loki said. “And it’s no more poisonous than the rest of this place. I mean, if we’re being honest here, the dragon would be dead already if Odin and Freya hadn’t warded this area,” he said, jerking his chin at Yahn.

  I slowly lifted my head. “What?”

  Loki frowned at me. “The mist kills mortals, idiot.”

  Fenrir wagged his tail excitedly, because he was a psycho.

  I slowly turned to stare at Yahn, feeling sick to my stomach. I hadn’t even thought of that. Niflheim was deadly to mortals. I’d almost killed the world’s happiest dragon…on his birthday.

  “Are the Sensates still here?” I asked, hoping to change the subject from my obvious oversight. I stared into the fire, rubbing my hands together for warmth. Niflheim was ridiculously cold, and a dip in the pond would only make it worse. Silence answered me, so I glanced up. Loki had a constipated look on his face, and his mouth was hanging open. “That’s why you came here, right? To get some Sensates so you couldn’t be tracked? That’s one reason we came.”

  Loki’s mouth clicked shut. “Damn. I hadn’t even thought of that.”

  Fenrir glared at him. “You’ve got to be shitting me. We’ve been running for days, and now you’re telling me that we’re thirty feet away from a stash of Sensates that could have hidden us?” he growled.

  Loki narrowed his eyes, frustrated. “I haven’t been thinking clearly, son. I’ve never had to be ruthlessly calculating and paternally concerned at the same time. And those Sensates kept me prisoner for a good long while. My skin crawls even being here.”

  Fenrir’s ears wilted guiltily. Loki glanced over in my direction, looking embarrassed. “Thanks for the hot tip,” he murmured, averting his eyes. “I’ll…uh, go get some.”

  I nodded. “Mind grabbing a dozen for me?”

  He nodded stiffly, climbing to his feet. “Sure.”

  “Then I’ll go take a bath.” I glanced at Yahn, wondering how he would react upon waking. I couldn’t risk letting him sleep too long in case there were side effects from Roofie Ruxpin that I wasn’t aware of, but he should be safe for a short while longer. “A clean stranger is better than a filthy stranger.”

  Loki chuckled weakly. “That all depends on what you’re into, a
nd how you define filthy.”

  I rolled my eyes, not having the energy for…filthy jokes. I climbed to my feet, gathering my resolve for the arctic bath. “Let Yahn sleep until I get back.” I didn’t even ask for a towel as I made my way to the pond, following Loki’s directions.

  This place wasn’t the Four Seasons, after all.

  25

  It had taken me a while to find the pond after my wandering thoughts—and the wandering mist—had briefly led me off the worn path. I’d hesitated upon finding a small body of water that looked more like a flooded puddle. I’d seen ripples under the water and had leapt back in alarm. The mist had also been much thicker there, so I’d continued on. Anyway, Loki had described a pond, not an ankle washer with Niflheim snakes.

  A few minutes later, I found a large pond with hardly any mist and no suspicious ripples. Instead, the pond looked eerily calm. Probably because it was so fucking cold. It was definitely big enough for Fenrir, unlike the first one I’d discovered.

  Knowing that wading into the frigid water would only permit me to wimp out, I’d taken a flying leap into the deepest looking area, keeping my feet down in case it was shallower than it looked. Midair, I changed my mind about wanting a bath, panicking, but it was too late.

  I sunk entirely underwater and did not touch the bottom. The cold latched onto me like tentacles and I screamed out all the air in my lungs as my scalp exploded with pins and needles and unseen hammers pounded at my fingertips and toes. I was certain that my ears had simply snapped off and that my eyeballs had frozen. My Titan Thorns flared with brilliant, crimson light, seeming to fight back the oppressive darkness of the all-consuming cold. I frantically thrashed for the surface, experiencing a sudden existential crisis as every little fear that had ever entered my mind was reborn like a crackling explosion of icy phoenixes.

  Why had Pan had to die?

  How the hell was the pond so deep?

  Who was Kára, really?

  Where was the goddamned surface?