Wolfsbane

by M. H. Bonham

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Llaughing Llama Media, LLC

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-One

  The End

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  Other Books by MH BONHAM

  WOLFSBANE

  Book Three of the Ironspell Chronicles

  MH BONHAM

  Llaughing Llama Media, LLC

  © 2020 by M. H. Bonham.

  Published by Llaughing Llama Media, LLC.

  This is a work of fiction. All characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious, and any resemblance to real people is purely coincidental.

  Cover by M.H. Bonham.

  Printed in the United States of America

  9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Chapter One

  “Sorry, but you’re not dead.” The Norsemen bouncer squinted at me and my fellow cohorts like we were trying to pull a fast one. Which we were. The guy loomed over me, which is to say he was a lot taller than my six feet in height and he glared at me with pale blue eyes. He styled his plaited, long blond hair and strawberry-blond beard meticulously; not a flea anywhere, and he looked like some kind of shampoo or beard grooming advertisement model. I’m pretty well defined in the muscle department, but he made me look like a hipster, twig man. This dude packed some serious pythons.

  I guess when you’re dead, you have plenty of time to work out in Odin’s Health Club. Me? I’m lucky to get in a workout three times a week when I’m not universe-hopping.

  I glanced at Elryn, who looked both beautiful and deadly in her Elven armor. She had enough weapons strapped to her to impress any warrior in Valhalla—which was precisely where we were trying to go, had we not run into Odin’s bouncer. Crashing the Valhalla party had been her idea, since she had done it before, but apparently it wasn’t as easy as it used to be.

  She rolled her eyes in annoyance. I blinked. This was a side of Elryn I hadn’t seen, but to be fair, if you didn’t count all time discrepancies between universes, I had only known her for an Earth week. If you did count all the temporal variances, you could say we had been friends for almost a year. “Oh, come on,” Elryn said in a girlish voice. “I promised Freyja we’d try out that new hairstyle on her.” She flipped her hair and coyly sidled up to the Viking bouncer. “You wouldn’t want to anger Freyja…”

  He glared at her for a few seconds. “Well, what about the rest of you?”

  I took an inward breath. The “rest of you” consisted of me, Bob Ironspell-Cabas aka Ironspell; my Dark Elven distant cousin, Li’alla; my incredibly hot, too many “greats” grandmother and Dark Elf, Nana; Officer Mike Duncan of the Idaho Springs, Colorado Police, Normal, (that is a person without magic); and Tuzren, a demon.

  “Oh…them?” Elryn batted her eyes. “They’re just some friends who decided to tag along with me because they’re really good with makeup and hairstyles. Ironspell here is a wizard when it comes to applying foundation and eyeshadow. He won awards at the Gay Pride Make-up-athon.”

  The bouncer didn’t look impressed. “You just made that up.”

  “I did not. Tell him, Bob.” She glared at me. The message came loud and clear: don’t fuck this up.

  This was probably my penance for bringing her to Beau Jo’s pizzeria. How the hell would I know she didn’t like pizza? Hating pizza was a crime, if I ever heard of one.

  I put a hand on my hip and sauntered up. “Yes. I noticed you have beautiful hair, but you really should do more with it than just a braid.” I grasped his braid and began unravelling it. “You really would look better keeping it long.”

  “Hey!” The Viking bouncer swatted my hand away.

  “Oww! You don’t have to be rude. You know your face gets blotchy when you get angry. You could use some powder to cover that. Tuz, dear, where’s my man purse?”

  Tuzren stared; a mixture of shock, horror, and amusement fought for dominance over his face. Tears flowed down Duncan’s face as he tried to keep from bursting out laughing. Li’alla and Nana turn away, to hide whatever expressions they had. Tuzren flew over carrying a pack I had handed him earlier. His eyebrow raised meaningfully as he handed my sack to me. “Here it is, Iron…uh, Bob.”

  I grabbed the bag before he could release it. As luck would have it, it snagged on his claw. “Give it here, you naughty demon!” I squeaked and pulled.

  The bag pulled free and with a little extra strength from me, slammed into the Viking bouncer’s face. The bouncer dropped like a sack of spuds and I grinned. “Come on, help me move him so he won’t attract attention.”

  Nana laughed and waved a hand. The bouncer disappeared before our eyes and I stared at her.

  “Wow. Where did you put him?” Duncan asked, impressed.

  “I sent him to Eir’s place.” Nana smiled smugly. “He’s in a bed recuperating from Ironspell’s knock out. It’ll take him a while before he wakes up and comes stomping back.”

  I nodded. “Let’s go.”

  Massive, rune-inscribed and iron-bound doors led to Odin’s hall, Valhalla. Most people know Valhalla as the home of the Einherjar, that is, warriors who died in battle. But that’s only half true; the battle-goddess Freyja gets first pick and takes half the warriors before Odin gets his share. So technically, those in Valhalla are the second draft picks. But I suspected they could whup my ass any day, so I wasn’t going to intentionally pick a fight with one of them.

  Call me silly, but that’ how wizards roll.

  Technically, I’m not a wizard, despite all the magic I’ve been slinging around lately. I’m a Denver cop with magical abilities. I used to belong to the Denver Police Department Supernatural Division or DPDS for short, but before my merry adventure into Svartalfheim, I had heard I got promoted to the Denver Wizard Task Force or DWTF. It seemed so long ago now, but if Eir, the Norse goddess of healing, isn’t lying, we’ll return to Earth almost at the same time we left.

  Temporal magic. No, I don’t understand it, either.

  We walked through the rune-inscribed door and stared at the gigantic mead hall, moving off to the side to get out of the entrance’s way. Okay, “gigantic” really didn’t describe it, nor did “mead-hall.” The place was huge. It was so big, you could probably park five hundred 747 jet aircraft nose-to-tail and still not reach the end of it. In either direction. Yeah, it was that big. Or bigger. And the entire place was lit up with mirrored ceilings, white walls and floors, and disco balls spinning around above it all.

  Shit, we just went back in time to 1975. This was the biggest discotheque I had ever seen.

  The place was seething with warriors and soldiers from all different nationalities, sexes, and races. I’m not talking about the color of one’s skin, but actual races: humans, Elves, Orcs, Goblins, werewolves, ogres, trolls, vampires—you name it. They were all there, and apparently having a good time. The hubbub drove the noise levels to somewhere around a nuclear blast. Seeing most of the people there were already dead, I suspected they didn’t need hearing protection. Before I pondered my loss of hearing, Elryn was beside me and dropped two earplugs into my hand.r />
  “You’ll go deaf otherwise,” she screamed.

  I wisely rolled each plug and mashed them in my ears. It reduced the din to a dull roar. I gave her the thumbs up and wondered where she had gotten them. Maybe Eir had a stash? She moved onto Duncan and Tuzren, handing them their own set. I hoped she didn’t want them back. The little demon’s ears were bound to be nasty.

  Every few hundred yards sat a fighting ring where warriors would square off against each other, especially if they had a beef with another Einherjar. Many were sword against sword or another hand-to-hand combat weapon, but a few were modern day soldiers with automatic rifles and other newer weapons.

  “Hey, look at that.” Tuzren pointed to the nearest ring where American soldiers were arguing with Oni—a type of Japanese demon. Oni were typically red skinned with black hair, eyes, teeth, horns, and claws. To our surprise, an American soldier enter a ring with a samurai-looking Oni. This demon was about the size of a man, and unlike Tuzren, he had no wings. The Oni wore an amazing set of Japanese armor that looked like a museum piece I once saw at the Met while visiting New York City. The soldier looked like he was maybe my age—mid-twenties—and in prime fighting condition. Brown hair and brown eyes, he gauged his opponent warily.

  An official, looking like a boxing referee, stood between them, apparent discussing the rules—whatever rules there might be. Both nodded and took to their corners. When the ref blew the whistle, the Oni leapt on the hapless soldier and sliced and diced him before the soldier could bring his gun out of its holster. Blood and gore spurted everywhere; on the ref, the floor, the ceiling, and the onlookers. I winced and glanced at Duncan, whose face hardened at the sight. The crowd cheered, although some of the guy’s buddies booed. The Oni bowed and shook bystanders’ hands as he strolled over to exit the ring.

  I exhaled, realizing I was holding my breath. Then, the most extraordinary thing happened: the pieces of the soldier’s body—even the blood—flew back together, as though he had never been made into mincemeat. I stared, fascinated, as he took a breath and shook his head. The Oni turned and offered his meaty, red claw in a handshake. The soldier shook it and then offered a fist bump. The Oni grinned and obliged. They both laughed and exited the ring talking.

  “Wow,” Duncan said above the noise. “I wonder if that only works for the dead or if the living can do that too.”

  I shook my head. “Wouldn’t want to find out only to be stuck here for near eternity.”

  “Not eternity—just until Ragnarok,” Elryn remarked. “But I suspect that will be a very long time from now.”

  I nodded and looked around. “Where’s Nana and Li’alla?”

  Elryn shrugged. “I suspect they’re looking for their husbands. Both died in battle. Unless Freyja took them to her hall, they’d be here.”

  At that moment, I also noticed the little demon was missing. “What happened to Tuz?” Tuzren didn’t want people to know his true name as it could get him summoned. We settled on an abbreviated version.

  “Hey, I’m going to go get a drink,” Duncan announced. “Want anything? I’ll look for Tuz while I’m out.”

  “Get us two meads.” Elryn grinned. “You have to try it before you switch to that swill you humans call beer.”

  I nodded. “Okay, I’ll try the mead.” Duncan left in search of libations. I glanced at Elryn, not really having had time to talk with her about the Elfshot nor her apparent peace with my Dark Elven relatives. “For a Light Elf who presumably hates Dark Elves, you’re pretty cool with my family,” I observed.

  Elryn winced. “Eir had a long talk with me while I was undergoing treatment for the plague. When I figured out you were part Drow, I was horrified, but then it became obvious in order to survive, I had to be genetically modified with your genes. Drow genes.” She took a deep breath. “I feel like a hypocrite, but I prefer life over staying here or in Freyja’s hall until Ragnarok.”

  “Not a hypocrite—just human. Errr…just…mortal?”

  Elryn chuckled. “That doesn’t work either. How about just not ready to die?”

  I nodded. “I can see that.”

  “Well, when I met your great grandmother and your cousin, I was really angry, but instead of the hateful Drow I’ve come to know, they were kind and accepting. Eir insisted that I sit and listen to their side, and I discovered I had more in common with them than not.” She shook her head. “I can’t explain it—maybe it’s the human genes in them—but they’re nothing like the Drow I’ve fought nor are they like what I’ve been told.”

  I didn’t argue that Nana was pure Dark Elf, because it didn’t really matter. If that’s what it took for a Drow hater to accept that not all Dark Elves were savage and evil, maybe there was hope yet. I smiled. “I’m glad you’re with us. I’d hate it if you died.”

  “So would I.” She grinned wryly.

  At that moment, Duncan showed up with three mugs in his hands. “Jesus…errr, I mean great Odin’s ravens!” He corrected himself on seeing some people look askance at us. “They serve this stuff in pints.”

  I grabbed a mug and took a sip. Honey-sweet liquor met my tongue along with cinnamon, nutmeg, and other spices. Now, normally I’m an ale kind of fellow, but this mead was amazing. Not a dessert wine, either. It was powerful stuff and I wondered if I’d be able to stand after drinking a whole mug. “You see Tuz?”

  Duncan handed a mug to Elryn and shook his head. “Nope—nowhere to be found. He looked pretty interested in the fights. Maybe he went to watch some.”

  Part of me was concerned, but the demon could take care of himself. He was, after all, a demon. Still, I felt a bit protective of him after I had found him Dumpster-diving and homeless. Even if he did try to eat Fluffy, my security chicken.

  “Tuz will be fine,” Elryn assured me. “I’d like you to meet some people, while you’re here.” She grabbed my hand to tug me away and I turned to Duncan, who was already talking to a blonde Valkyrie who was waiting tables. They had both taken a seat at a table and Duncan was chatting with her.

  “Hey, Mike…you coming?”

  “Nah. You guys go have fun. I’ll catch up later.” Duncan pulled his eyes away from the Valkyrie for a brief second. She smiled sweetly at him and tucked her golden, angel-like wings carefully behind her back. Funny, I hadn’t seen Eir sport wings, but maybe she had a way of hiding them when she didn’t need them. The Valkyrie was drop-dead gorgeous with high cheekbones and a pale complexion flecked with gold. She wore an off-the-shoulder tunic that went bare down the back, giving her wings ample room but still looked form-fitting, hugging her curves in all the right places. I’m sure Duncan was wondering how it would feel running his fingers along that shimmering skin.

  Yeah, I thought about Luna, my girlfriend, despite the obvious temptations. I could look, even if I couldn’t touch…right?

  “Have fun.” Elryn waved good-bye and pulled me into the crowd. We bumped and jostled through the throng, running into every warrior imaginable throughout. I’m talking not just Norse or Americans, but we also saw Asian, Middle-Eastern, African, and Native Americans, each in their various uniforms, armor, and war dress. I swore I saw what looked like a few Egyptians there. Did warriors of different faiths live here or did they just come to visit out of their own afterlives? Sort of a party for soldiers of all faiths? I decided to ask Elryn about it when I had a moment.

  Being in Valhalla is like being in the biggest frat party. Lots of guys getting drunk and just enough women to make the party interesting. Most women there didn’t look like warriors—with some notable Elven exceptions. I suspected many weren’t Einherjar as the shield-maidens and warrior women would’ve gone to Freyja’s hall.

  Elryn led me to the side of one of the big rings. She moved around the ring, getting us away from most of the spectators so we didn’t have to shout and we wouldn’t get jostled. “Thor will be doing a demo on wrestling with Jörmungandr, the Midgard Serpent.”

  “Isn’t Jörmungandr supposed to kill Thor?” I l
ooked at the big ring, puzzled. “Certainly the ring isn’t big enough for that large of a serpent.”

  “The prophecy says that Thor will kill Jörmungandr but will die of its poison. This serpent will only be a manifestation of Jörmungandr—not the Midgard Serpent in its full form.” Elryn shrugged. “But then, you’ll only see a manifestation of Thor as well. Neither can be in their full form here to assure Ragnarok won’t happen.”

  “So, I won’t be seeing Thor?” I tried to get my head around what she was saying.

  “No, you’ll be seeing Thor, just not in his full capacity.” A deep voice replied. I turned and saw a large man with shining blond hair and oddly clean shaven. Like the other Norse warriors, he made my muscles look paltry, but he smiled kindly on both of us with his gray eyes. Something about him made me hesitate; I could feel the magic emanate from him, wave after wave of sheer power behind the kind face. He wore the traditional clothing of a Norse warrior with an embellished blue tunic, trews with laced up boots, and a magnificent blue and silver cloak. To my surprise, he was missing his right hand.

  “Tyr.” Elryn gave a respectful nod to the god. “It has been a long time.”

  “Long time indeed, Elryn. Does Thor know you’ve returned to Asgard?”

  Elryn chewed her lip. “No, I haven’t seen him yet.”

  The god raised an eyebrow. “Ah.” An uncomfortable silence ensued. He glanced at me. “Who is your friend?”

  Elryn sighed in relief. “This is Ironspell. He’s stopped two attempts by the Drow to take over Midgard.” She used the Old Norse name for Earth—why they couldn’t just use Earth’s name was beyond me.

  “Ironspell?” Tyr grinned at me. “It’s good to hear you took on Evrardin’s mantle when you were old enough. Evrardin’s a favorite of mine.”

  “You know my father?” I glanced at Elryn. “He’s here?”

  Elryn shook her head. “No, he’s over in Fólkvangr, which is Freyja’s land where her hall, Sessrúmnir, resides. If we have time, we might be able to go over and meet him.”