From the Earth to the Shadows

by Amanda Hocking

  It was a nice night, at least for Illinois in late October, with an invigorating crispness to the air, so I rolled down the window of Quinn’s car. Of course, that meant I was also letting in all the noise that was the song of the city—endless honking, snippets of music, people talking, laughing, cursing, and vendors selling their wares.

  (In the eternal question, “Would I like an overpriced statue of the Willis Tower or a tonic made of vampire blood?” the answer was always “No.”)

  With the open window also came the smell. The scent of a million different beings and a thousand different cuisines mixed with exhaust and garbage created a ghastly but familiar aroma that was oddly comforting.

  This—despite all its faults—was home, and I was glad to have made it back.

  Eventually, after being caught in traffic long enough that Quinn had started threatening every driver within a twenty-foot radius of her car, we finally made it to the very heart of downtown, where the Evig Riksdag sat.

  It was much smaller than all the buildings around it, and much more oddly shaped. While the architecture in downtown generally favored practicality, so that most buildings were slight variations of skyscraping rectangles, the Riks had taken a much different approach and built a concrete mushroom.

  The design actually allowed it to be more secure, with the lower twenty floors narrow and nearly windowless. The top ten floors—where all the important celestial work took place—were much wider than the base and held up by metal supports.

  Once we parked in the underground garage—passing through three separate security checkpoints on the way—Quinn, Valeska, and I took the elevator up to the twenty-ninth floor. When we got off, a long hallway of black marble floors and copper walls stretched out before us. At the very end was my Eralim Samael’s office, but standing between us was a massive bronze door and a solitary guard.

  The last time I had been here, there were two. There’d always been two, actually. But now Atlas was gone, leaving only Godfrey Wright to guard Samael.

  Godfrey was a hulking cyclops, standing well over seven feet, with a giant bulbous eye that seemed to stare at everything and nothing all at once. His scalp was always shaved smooth, and he had a wide flat nose in the center of his rather square head. He was a man of few words, and I had no way of knowing how he really felt about anything, including myself, Atlas, and the whole world.

  “We’re here to see Samael,” Quinn said when we reached Godfrey, and I was glad that she was the one doing the talking.

  He didn’t say anything, but he looked down at us with his single eye—unblinking, unmoving. I don’t know that I’d ever felt as small as I did when he was appraising me then, so I avoided his gaze and looked at the dual black armbands wrapped around his thick bicep.

  They were bands of remembrance for fallen comrades. One was for Marlow, my mother, and the other was for Atlas.

  Godfrey reached for the door to open it for us, but he stopped, letting his hand linger on the bronze handle. “Samael has been very worried about you,” he said in his rumbling baritone, and that was all. I thought he might say more, but he just opened the door and we went into Samael’s office.

  I’d never seen any of the other Eralim’s offices, so I didn’t know how Samael’s stacked up against theirs, but it always seemed to me that it had to be one of the nicer ones. Everything was meticulously arranged, like it was set to be photographed for an art deco magazine.

  He had little in the way of furniture—a large desk in front of the glass wall, a few chairs and a sofa, and his display shelves that housed art he’d collected over the centuries, as well as a secret cache of ancient weapons.

  Samael had been standing at the window looking out at the city below, but when we came in he turned to face us and threw his arms up in his excitement.

  Despite the fact that he’d been born over three centuries ago, he still had the appearance and exuberance of someone in his twenties, although his usual glee had been tempered since Marlow’s death. He’d even seemed to age some—not a lot, but there were lines in his smooth umber skin that didn’t used to be there.

  Still, he was handsome, the way all Eralim tended to be. His aquamarine eyes were bright under a strong brow, and natural highlights coursed through his dark curls. Today he wore his thick hair up in a bun, and the sleeves of his white dress shirt were pushed up to the elbows.

  “You’re here! You’re finally here!”

  Theoretically, Samael was speaking to all of us, but his eyes were on me, and I was the first—and only—one that he pulled into a hug. He always smelled of autumn leaves, even though I hardly ever saw him leave this building.

  He released me, but kept his hands on my shoulders for a moment, inspecting me to make sure that I was all right. Ever since my mom had died, whenever we met he looked at me with this earnest intensity, like I was a damaged puppy that had been abandoned at the shelter and he was the in-over-his-head prospective adopting parent hoping that a few kind words and meaningful hugs could erase all the pain that had come before.

  Finally he moved on to Quinn, putting a hand on her shoulder as he said, “Quinn, are you holding up okay? Malin told me you were injured.”

  “Nothing I can’t handle,” she said with a shrug, and the scar from an ennedi between her collarbones was proof enough of that.

  Valeska had taken a step back from us and folded her arms firmly across her chest, presumably to ward off any hugs or touching Samael might attempt. Usually I didn’t find him to be much of a touchy-feely kinda guy, but extreme situations had a way of bringing all kinds of reactions out of people.

  “Valeska, it’s always good to see you,” he said, as she eyed him warily from under her thick lashes. “Thank you for coming in to to help with this. I know you put yourself at great risk, and I don’t know how much could’ve been accomplished without you.”

  “We didn’t accomplish much with me,” Valeska replied dryly, then looked over at me and Quinn. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” I said. “I wouldn’t exactly call our mission a rousing success.”

  “I know you filled me in briefly on the phone, but would you want to sit down and talk about it? All of us together?” Samael asked. “What exactly happened?”

  We sat down in his sitting area—me in his three-legged chair that had clearly been designed for style and not comfort, and Quinn on the black velvet couch next to Samael. He leaned forward, resting his arm on his knees like he was hanging on every word—and I began telling him everything, from the moment we first arrived in the Gates of Kurnugia.

  How we found Tamerlane Fayette and I killed him, but he was only bait for a trap that Ereshkigal had set. How Gugalanna kidnapped Asher, and how Odin found me outside of the hospital in Caana City and sent me to retrieve the Valhallan cloak.

  As I spoke, summarizing all the fantastic and horrifying details of entering Kurnugia, running into Lyra, and eventually making our way to Zianna, Valeska never sat down. She stood off to the side, occasionally interjecting when she thought I’d forgotten or misspoke about something.

  When I got to the part about Zianna, Samael noticeably blanched. The only time I’d ever seen him look even remotely stricken like that was when he saw my mom right after she’d been murdered.

  “They got into Zianna?” he asked in a quiet gasp.

  I nodded. “Yeah. We escaped when it was beginning. Gugalanna and Ereshkigal looked intent on taking it over.”

  “Holy shit.” He tented his fingers and stared off into space. “It’s really happening.”

  “Brace yourself, Samael,” Valeska said. “Malin hasn’t even gotten to the worst part.”

  FORTY-FOUR

  Valeska walked over to Samael’s desk, where he kept a crystal bowl stocked with whatever unusual delicacy he was in the mood to snack on. Usually it was something unsettling, but she braved it, scooping up a handful without hesitation.

  “And what’s the worst part?” Samael asked, looking back over his shoulder
at her, and honestly, I was curious about what Valeska might consider the worst.

  “Odin’s missing.” She held up what looked like a jelly bean but with a dark center, inspecting it briefly before popping it in her mouth. She chewed it for a moment, before shrugging and carrying the bowl back with her.

  “I mean, losing your friend was the worst part for all of you, and it really does suck about Atlas,” Valeska amended her statement as she sat down in the chair next to mine. “He seemed like a nice guy. But I would say that Odin’s disappearance is a bigger problem for mankind as a whole.”

  “We don’t know that he’s missing,” I argued. “He just didn’t show up.”

  “It was a really strange night,” Quinn agreed. “We don’t know what kept him.”

  “First off, he’s a Vanir god. He can be anywhere at any time,” Valeska contended as she munched on the strange jelly beans. “Being omnipresent is one of their coolest abilities. And second, you had his spear. His mega-important enchanted spear that has been hidden for like a million years or whatever. And now he’s about to get it back, and he misses his chance to get it?”

  She shook her head. “Doesn’t add up.”

  “Are you suggesting that he was kidnapped or held hostage or something?” I asked, then looked over at Samael. “Is that even possible?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t really know much about what the world of Vanaheimr is like.”

  “Where do you go when you die?” Valeska asked abruptly.

  “Me?” Samael asked, looking taken aback. “When my time is up, I will go to Vanaheimr.”

  “Is your mom there now?” Valeska asked.

  “No.” He shook his head. “My mom was a Valkyrie, so she died about two hundred and fifty years ago.”

  “Your mom was a Valkyrie?” Valeska sat up straighter and her eyes widened. “Wait. How does that work?”

  “Every Eralim has two parents, with the mother being a Valkyrie and the father being a Seraph,” Samael explained. “The idea is that we are to exist as a bridge between the earthly world and the mystical one. Eralim are immortal, but we are unable to have children.”

  “Oh, like a mule or a liger,” Valeska said.

  He smirked. “Something like that.”

  “But if your dad’s a Seraph, isn’t he gone by now? Can’t you ask him what’s up?” Valeska asked. “Seraphim go to Vanaheimr, right?”

  “Yes, he has passed onto Vanaheimr, but the Seraphim there can’t have any contact with anyone on earth,” Samael said. “Very few immortals are allowed into the Vanaheimr—only those that work for the Evig Riksdag, actually—but they have very strict rules in place. If he were to speak to me now, my ears would bleed, my eyes would explode, and I would die a painful death.”

  “Have you ever met Odin?” I asked Samael, getting the conversation back on track.

  “A few times, but not many,” Samael replied. “There aren’t many occasions for Eralim to interact with him, and they like to keep it that way.”

  “What about any of the other Vanir gods?” I asked, remembering when Sedna had asked me if Odin was working alone.

  He thought for a moment, then said, “Zeus, once, a very long time ago. But that’s it. They tend not to grace the earth with their presence.”

  “Can you ask your boss about Odin?” I suggested. “Maybe see if they’ve heard anything about what he might be up to?”

  “I could…” Samael allowed. “But then that would mean I’d have to explain how my Valkyrie-in-training not only had unauthorized contact with a Vanir god, but broke into their underworld prison. And she did it all with my permission.”

  “But Zianna has fallen.” I leaned forward. “Does anybody upstairs have any idea what’s going on? What’s coming for the world?”

  “They’re supposed to.” He rubbed his chin. “And they might. But I’m not part of the big discussions. I get handed assignments, and then I hand them down to the Valkyries. The bulk of my job is training Valkyries and handling any problems that arise with them. All the decisions and plotting and info, that’s all above me.”

  “So what you’re saying is that we’re on our own?” Valeska asked.

  Samael licked his lips. “For the time being, yes. I would say that we are.”

  We lapsed into silence for a moment, all of us thinking about what this meant for us and what we were going to do.

  Samael broke the silence first, saying, “But that’s okay.” He nodded, as if to convince himself. “For now, you all should go about living your lives as normally as possible while I try to figure out what our next move should be.”

  “What about Odin?” I asked. “And the spear?”

  “I’ll find out as much as I can without raising suspicions.” He looked over at me. “And what you do with the spear right now is up to you.”

  I rubbed my temple and weighed the options. I could keep it, which could draw unwanted attention, and if someone had done something to Odin to get it, they could easily do something to me. I didn’t stand a chance against something capable of incapacitating a Vanir god.

  Or—

  “Could you keep it here?” I asked Samael. “I can’t imagine a safer place for it than locked up with your weapons, inside the Evig Riksdag, surrounded by Vörðr and guards.”

  “Of course,” he said. “I’ll always help in any way I can.”

  I took the spear out of my bag and handed it to Samael, who took a moment to admire it. It was beautiful, as far as weapons went. The camahueto horn used for the shaft had an otherworldly sheen twisting through it, and the red glass looked like a glimmering ruby.

  “So this is the legendary Gungnir,” he mused.

  Samael got up and strode over to the shelves that lined his wall. Antiquities and priceless objets d’art were carefully displayed. On a lower shelf he moved aside a totem to reveal a touch screen. After tapping in a few numbers and having his hand scanned, the screen beeped, and a concealed drawer popped open. He cushioned the spear in the black velvet lining, then closed the drawer and locked it.

  We all talked for a bit longer, mostly rehashing our plans and him reiterating that we needed to lie low for now. Meanwhile, Valeska had nearly polished off the bowl of jelly-bean-like confections.

  Just before we were about to leave, Samael stopped us. “Oh, there is one more thing. It’s a bit uncomfortable, given the situation, but I have to ask you a question, Valeska.”

  “Me?” She glanced back at me and Quinn. “What?”

  “With the turmoil in the underworld, and the tragedy that befell Atlas, I’ve found myself short a guard in a time when I need it most.” He was almost sheepish as he spoke, with one hand in his pocket. “You’ve proven yourself to be intelligent, tough, and resourceful. I would be happy to have you working for me, if you’re interested.”

  Valeska only considered this for a second before shrugging and saying, “Sure, why not? The world’s gonna end, I might as well get a front seat to the show.”

  FORTY-FIVE

  After the long conversation with Samael, Quinn suggested heading out to Carpe Noctem for drinks and liliplum. But I was eager to pick up my wolpertinger and get back to my own apartment, so I declined.

  Not that Quinn or Valeska seemed to notice or mind. I got off the elevator on the lobby level so I could hail a cab, but they were heading below to the garage. They had been talking nonstop the whole ride down, and when I got off the elevator I turned back to wave to them, and they didn’t even see me.

  They stood so close to each other they were nearly touching, and Valeska leaned over, making a joke about the jelly beans, and Quinn threw her head back, laughing. That’s what I saw as the door slid shut.

  Good for them, was what I told myself as I tried to ignore the pinch of jealousy. Quinn and I weren’t a good fit for each other, and I’d told her as much. She had every right to flirt and find happiness with someone else.

  And all that was true, but it still hurt in a strange way. Her happiness made
me happy, but part of me was still a little sad that that happiness couldn’t be with me. Even if it was my fault and my choice.

  Fortunately, I was too exhausted to worry too much. I sank low in the back of the cab and looked out the window at all the mortals and immortals going about their daily life. I wondered if any of them knew what was brewing below the surface. I wondered which side they would be on.

  Galel’s Garage was closed when I got there, so I went around back, up the stairs to Jude Locklear’s apartment. I knocked on the door, hoping he was home, since I hadn’t contacted him to let him know I would be there.

  But, much to my relief, he was home. He answered the door shirtless, but that was just like him. Not that I was complaining anyway.

  His broad chest and abs looked like they had been chiseled from marble, all rippling muscles and smooth dark olive skin. His wavy black hair parted around his two thick ram’s horns before landing at his shoulders, and his dark eyebrows arched sharply, giving him a permanent look of suggestive playfulness.

  I suspected that he’d gotten his ridiculous good looks from his incubus father, but fortunately Jude’s demonic heritage had never put a damper on our friendship. Because he was a Cambion, he was mortal, and that helped, but Jude was always the kinda guy who let stuff slide off his back. Which was why our arrangement as friends-with-benefits had worked out so well with me for so long.

  He grinned broadly. “Hey, you made it back alive!”

  “I did. And I come bearing gifts.” I held up the lime-green T-shirt I’d gotten him, one that would most likely barely fit over his broad shoulders and thick biceps.

  “You better Belize it”? He laughed as he read it. “What is this?”

  “I picked it up at the Overland terminal.”

  “Well, thank you.” He stepped back, inviting me in. “Wanna have a drink?”