by Ann Gimpel
“I will command that effort,” Odin materialized right next to me, flanked by Thor.
A flash of red wings and a vivid bugle announced Dewi and more dragons. “We did it,” she shouted. “I sent the giants and their contingent of dragons home. Frey and Freya too. All the gateways are shut. The remaining shades are all right here.” Her jovial expression faded. “What happened?”
Before anyone could tell her, a high, keening wail rose from her throat. “Our dragon princeling is gone.”
It was the second time in a few minutes someone had referred to my son as a prince. I’d have to find out what the hell they meant. After we got him back. Odin wasn’t the only one playing his cards close to his vest. The blind seers hadn’t revealed everything, either.
An intense blend of Celtic and Norse magic buffeted me. When it cleared, Hel, Arawn, and the mass of undead were gone. Minus the vampires. Somehow, the Morrigan had culled them out of the herd with the finesse of a cattle rustler. Most of the vamps had reverted to dust or bones. The few remaining ones were trying to crawl away, but more of that lethal mist rolled from the Crow. Apparently, the poison darts had homing devices built into them.
Light blazed around the Morrigan, and she shifted back, dusting her hands together. “Ought to do it.” She sounded pleased. “What’s left? Och, the princeling. We shall find him, and then I’ll return to my rightful spot.”
“Where might that be?” Bran asked acidly.
“Why, with you and my other loving kinsmen,” she returned with a cheery smile.
If my son’s existence hadn’t hung in the offing, I’d have been impressed by her nerve. She had all the audacity of a crooked politician. One who posited their version of the truth so frequently, everyone else doubted theirs.
“Ye’re not coming,” Odin said flatly.
She settled her hands on her hips. “And why not?”
“Ye took up with Loki. For all I know, the two of you are still working together,” Odin told her.
“Aye, the topic is closed,” Thor thundered. His foul mood echoed around him until lightning lit the borderworld’s skies.
The Morrigan shrugged. “Fine. Have it your way. Loki and I did spend time together. A lot of time.” She paused, the sexual insinuation obvious. “Nothing like both being outcasts to bind us together. Regardless, I played him for my benefit, and I can find him. Fool that he is, he still trusts me. Men are such dimwits when it comes to their dicks.”
“I want her to help,” Rowan said.
The Morrigan’s timeless face split into a broad smile. “More sense than that mother of yours. I like you already.”
“Don’t waste your time,” Rowan growled. “I don’t like you, but I’d enter into a pact with Satan himself if it would return my son to me.”
“Our son,” I reminded her in a flood of fiery ash.
“Oh for Christ fucking sake, Bjorn. This is not a time to split hairs. We need to find Geir. And we should have left half an hour ago.”
A tremor in Rowan’s voice told me how close she was to losing it. I wasn’t far from a breaking point myself. Something about the dragon’s form intensified every emotion until I wanted to rip my scales off. I’d probably get used to it after a while, but I felt raw, abraded.
Zelli and Quade had been huddled with Dewi, Nidhogg, and Ysien. The other dragons had left quietly, so quietly I hadn’t noticed they were gone until now.
“We will do this,” Odin said. “Bjorn, find your human body. Ye will ride Quade. Rowan will ride Zelli. Thor will take Ysien, and I will be astride Nidhogg.”
“I will carry Bran and Gwydion,” Dewi said, followed by, “’Tis a one-time proposition, boys. Doona grow used to it.”
“Wouldna dream of it,” Gwydion muttered.
“What about me?” the Morrigan asked in such a saccharine tone it made my skin crawl.
“Ye have wings,” Odin growled. “Use them.”
It seemed like a good time to visualize my human form and tumble into it. Much smoother than my first transition, one moment I was dragon, the next I stood shakily on the ground with Rowan next to me. Miraculously, my clothing survived both changeovers. I’d always assumed shifters had to remove their garments, so they didn’t end up in a pile of rags, but perhaps dragon shifters were a law unto themselves.
Before I really got my legs under me, Quade scooped me to his back. His magic soothed my sore places to a point, but I wouldn’t be whole again until Geir was back safely.
Worry for my son scoured me to bedrock. If Loki harmed him, I wouldn’t rest until the trickster was staked out on rocks, suffering the tortures of the damned forever. Being drawn and quartered would work. Or keelhauled. So long as it was endless.
“We will find Geir,” Quade told me.
I didn’t know what to say to him. The dragon was trying to be kind, supportive, but I needed results, not words.
Odin’s spell rose around us, thick with the scents of the sea. Norse magic has always felt like coming home to me, but today it had the opposite effect. Did I want to have anything to do with a pantheon where the gods played cruel tricks on one another?
Stole children to make a point?
“Not like that.” The Morrigan’s shrill retort broke into the pit my thoughts had become. “Ye want to find him right off, not muck about leaving a trail a mile wide.”
“What is in this for you?” Odin narrowed his one eye at her.
I readied a truth net, but Rowan beat me to it. The Morrigan laughed in her face as silvery webbing covered her from head to toe. “Ye try spreading yourself betwixt Fire Mountain and the Ninth Circle of Hell. I’ve burned for centuries, wasted those same centuries. I am done being punished. Do ye hear me? Done.” Her voice rose to a howl. “My magic is strong. Ye may as well use it.”
“Ye may be done with being exiled, but are ye done with Loki?” Odin asked.
The Morrigan rolled her dark eyes. “Och. More than done. He was amusing at first, but he’s an oaf in bed, and a self-absorbed boor. I used him, and he was so arrogant, he never guessed. I’m surprised ye allow him in Asgard.”
Odin didn’t dignify her comment with a response.
“She told the truth,” Rowan said. “Insofar as I could tell.”
“Fuck all of you,” the Morrigan shouted. “Ye netted me in a truth casting. Of course I fucking told the truth. I’m sick of being locked up. Do I want to help find the little bastard? Hell no, but I will because unlike the rest of you, I can keep my eyes on the prize. Now, let’s get out of here before Loki is well and truly gone.”
She lifted her hands and began to chant. Power jumped to her command. In truth, I was shocked by how strong she was. Her magic was pure Celtic—it created a shimmering violet aura around her imposing form. She was more powerful than any Celt I’d ever come across. And then I remembered what Bran had said about her being one of the original Celts.
The more I thought about it, the more certain I was it had to be the source of her extraordinary power.
Quade was uncharacteristically quiet, but his solid presence meant the world to me. I knew my son couldn’t hear me, but I sent love his way. Told him we were going to find him and to hang on.
“He’s not a human youngster,” Quade said. “Dragons have resources, even at verra young ages.”
“Regardless of his race, he is my child,” I told Quade. “I know Loki, and I wouldn’t trust a cockroach to his care.”
Quade spread his wings. We flew through a gash the Morrigan had opened in the still air of the borderworld. Five dragons and their riders—and a crow. Among us, we commanded a shit ton of power, but would it be enough?
“Loki is many things,” Quade spoke into my mind, “but he respects blood ties to a point. Doona forget Geir is his great-grandchild.”
The reminder made things worse. Did Loki have a sinister ulterior motive? Like raising Geir to follow after him? His own children—a wolf, a serpent, and Hel—had spurned him.
Nah. Loki didn’t have a
single nurturing bone in his entire body. He demanded absolute devotion from his followers, and Geir would spit in his face. Having a docile dragon at his beck and call might hold appeal, but Geir would never play the part.
My hands had been fisted so tightly, they cramped. I unbent my fingers. Loki’s reasoning didn’t matter. I didn’t care why he’d shanghaied my son. All that mattered was getting him back. Once he was safe, I could plot my revenge.
And revenge there would be.
Before I understood what I was, I’d stepped back a pace, been deferential to the gods even when I thought they were full of crap. No more. We flew through a void, but it was different from the place between worlds. Just as dark, but with air to cushion the beat of Quade’s wings.
“Where are we?” I asked.
“Not sure.” Something tense, uncomfortable sat beneath his words. He didn’t trust where we flew. Neither did I. What if the Morrigan was leading the lot of us into some trap she’d designed with Loki ahead of time. I could see them plotting, but I was losing my objectivity, getting sidetracked in conspiracy theories.
The Morrigan had told the truth about being done with Loki. And about being willing to trade anything for her freedom. Not that she hadn’t broken loose, but she clearly didn’t fancy being hunted, concealing herself in hidey holes to avoid discovery, forever.
Yeah. Immortality had some big downsides. No matter how far you ran, other immortals would dog your trail until you turned around, tossed your hands in the air, and surrendered.
“This obviously isn’t a dragon journey tunnel, neither is it the way I used to move from Vanaheim to the borderworlds,” I persisted.
“Either the Celts have their own methods of traveling, or this place is unique to the Morrigan.” Quade had switched to shielded mind speech in the dragons’ language.
“Bran suggested she’s like Dewi. Is she?”
“What do ye mean?” Quade replied.
“Does she predate the other Celtic gods?”
“I doona know her history. If Bran said as much, ’tis probably true.”
Bands of light broke the blackness of our surroundings. I sought a pattern, but couldn’t find one. Red washed over us. Then blue. Then yellowish-white. And then we flew through darkness again. The sharp bite of magic raised the small hairs on the back of my neck, and I sent power arcing outward seeking information. Rowan’s magic laced with mine. Together, we hunted the length and breadth of the Morrigan’s flight path.
Every flare of color showed her winged form forging ahead. She flew about the same speed as the dragons with her smaller wings, but considerably lighter bulk. “Ready yourselves,” the Crow squawked.
“For what?” Dewi asked. “I know you, Sister. All too well.”
After a spate of pissed-off caws, the Morrigan said, “That’s all the thanks I get? This was a shortcut, but ’tis steeped in Celtic magic. My magic. We shall cross beyond its protection. The change can be jarring.”
“As in, best brace myself,” Quade rumbled. “That one is a mistress of understatement.”
I wondered how he knew the Morrigan. Someday, once we had our son back, I could catch up on dragon history and how it intersected with the Celtic gods.
The blackness lit in a kaleidoscopic blend of shades so bright, I hooded my eyes. Rowan was still linked to me. I felt emotions sliding through her. Much like me she tripped from fury to panic to terror to hope. We had to do a better job hanging onto hope, she and I. It was too easy to sink into blind fury, which wasn’t useful since we’d need a combination of subtlety and skill to outfox Loki.
Coming in like a sledgehammer was what he was expecting, and it was the wrong approach. The marker I’d set before we left the borderworld went off like a rocket. It meant Geir was close enough to sense.
“Ro. He’s close.”
“How do you know?” Her tone blazed with love and hope.
Before I could answer, a tsunami of an airwave struck Quade broadside. It nearly unbalanced me, and I ended up lying across his back before I righted myself. All five dragons trumpeted and tossed fire this way and that.
“No fire!” I shouted as the next disturbance swatted me across the back hard enough to drive air from my lungs.
“Be strong and fast. This willna remain open long,” the Morrigan screeched and ripped an opening in wherever we were with her beak. Rather than a tearing noise, the sound of rocks grinding against one another poured through me.
Grunting and cursing, Quade soared past the gap. In the process, he caught a wingtip and nearly catapulted us into a spin. Zelli and Rowan emerged next. Apparently, Zelli had been paying attention because she timed the beat of her wings to avoid the jagged edges around the odd place we’d come through.
Alfheim spread below us, green and lush with its sun at midheaven. I recognized the feel of the place, but what an odd spot for Loki to choose. No love lost between him and the elves. None at all.
“Hurry!” I shouted. The hole was, indeed, closing, growing tighter with each passing minute.
Dewi blasted through next, slower than usual because of her two-passenger burden. “Morrigan!” she screeched.
The Battle Crow circled lazily before flying back toward Dewi. “Aye, Sister?”
“Help me. Two dragons remain.”
“Och. Odin can figure things out.”
“He canna, and ye know it. Ye led us through the earliest Celtic paths, the ones we trod when we moved from our mother world. They are closed to all but us.”
“Really? I must have forgotten.”
“Will ye assist me or no?” Dewi snarled a challenge. Fire blasted from her open mouth.
“All right. All right. No need to get testy. Ye always did have a problem with that temper of yours.” Still clacking her beak disapprovingly, the crow sent a languid bit of power toward the vertical slit. It was tight enough, a man would have had trouble crawling through.
Peals of thunder rocked me. Lightning forked through the hole and latched onto the Morrigan’s sliver of magic. The edges of the gap drew wider, not appreciating being burned by lightning. Nidhogg was no one’s fool. Neither was Ysien. Dragon fire followed Thor’s lightning.
Seemed to do the trick. The breach flapped to both sides, and the last two dragons rushed past its borders. Odin’s face was contorted in fury. “If I ever get my hands on your black-feathered hide,” he shouted, “ye’ll be worse than sorry.”
“Och. Words. Words. Words.” The Morrigan cawed laughter.
The beacon that was my son burned far brighter here. “Let’s go,” I urged.
Rowan and Zelli were already beating a trail northward. Everyone else would figure it out once they were through with their dick-waving contest. We caught up with Rowan and flew quick and sure.
“When we get there,” I told Ro, “let me handle this.”
She twisted to face me, hair flowing behind her in the slipstream. “I don’t think so.”
“I know Loki. You don’t.”
Her striking features were set in stony lines. “I don’t give a flying fuck. We will do whatever we have to down there. I’m not about to let you or anyone else muzzle me. Got it?”
Anger rose, hot and heady. “He has all the cards,” I gritted out. “He has our son. We will do whatever we have to, including making ridiculous promises we have no intention of keeping, to achieve our ends.”
For a moment, I expected her to launch herself off Zelli’s back, land in my lap, and start throwing punches. Her face crumpled, and I wanted to wrap my arms around her, reassure her we’d figure this out. But I wouldn’t lie to the woman who meant everything to me.
Nothing was a given dealing with Loki. He was batshit crazy, and everything depended on me being able to read him right.
Rowan sat straighter and mumbled, “Sorry.”
My heart hurt for her, but we had to be strong. The land soared up to meet us, and the dragons touched down. Rowan joined me on the ground, and we hurried forward. Geir was close. Just beyond
a band of cliffs I was certain held caves.
Usually, the elves rushed to meet me. They had a second sense about my arrivals. Not today. The spot we’d come out on Alfheim was deserted.
The Morrigan skidded in for a landing just ahead of us, shifting as she flew. When her feet touched the ground, she was back in goddess gear. “Loki, darling,” she crooned. “We have company.”
Chapter Nineteen, Rowan
“What the fuck?” I shrieked at the Morrigan. Truth spell or no, the bitch had sold us out.
She dug her fingers into my upper arm and hissed, “Enough out of you, Missy. Play along,” into my mind.
I wrenched out of her grasp.
A spot in front of the cliffs where I’d sensed my son’s presence turned shiny with Norse magic. Loki pranced out of a gateway that slammed shut behind him. He opened his arms, and the Morrigan ran lightly into them.
Bjorn wrapped an arm around my shoulders, but I was spun too tightly for the subtle magic required for private conversation. Zelli and Quade closed from behind us.
The Morrigan wriggled out of Loki’s embrace. “I did my part,” she purred. “Where is the princeling?”
“Safe.” Loki grinned. He mock-bowed so low his multi-hued hair—mostly red, but with bits of black, silver, and green—touched the ground. Tall and large-boned as befitted his giant heritage, he was clean-shaven with eyes the shade of curdled cream. A red cape had been tossed over his shoulders. Tight leather pants sat beneath it, and his chest was bare. As were his feet.
Odin and Thor closed on their kinsman. “Release the dragon,” Odin thundered.
Loki laughed in his face. “Make me.”
No one was paying any attention to me or Bjorn. I knew exactly where Geir was. I felt him, thought I heard him wailing for me, but it may have been my imagination. He wasn’t the wailing type. I leaned close to Bjorn and put my mouth right next to his ear. “I’m going to teleport in there.”
“Not without me,” Bjorn whispered back.
I shook my head. “I might get away without notice, but power from two will attract attention.”