When she could stand without shaking, she turned off the shower and rubbed herself dry.
There were two things she could do, to help Kirby and take out Hel. Her gut wrenched at the thought of both, because she didn’t know how she’d survive.
So you’ll be a martyr?
No. In fact, her plan would probably leave her as the forgotten body in the unmarked grave, and every bit of her instincts fought against the idea. But this wasn’t about her. Brit had wrongs to right, with Kirby and with the damage she’d helped TOM do—not just the path of death they left scattered across the world, but also the recruits they created. People like Brit and Mark.
Acid churned in her stomach and surged up her throat, as she dressed. A funeral dirge sang in her thoughts. It was better than listening to fake-Kirby berate her.
She banished the whisper of self-pity. These were her decisions, and they were the right ones, whether or not she liked them.
But she had to sleep first. She’d never cared for the TOM-approved regimen of drugs to fall asleep, drugs to wake up. There was no way she could relax without them tonight, though, and she needed to be on her game to do this. If Hel was feeling vindictive, Brit may not get the chance to rest again for a while.
BRIT DIDN’T FEEL REFRESHED, necessarily, but she was ready to put her plan into motion. Easy part first, as a primer.
She called Starkad.
What if he doesn’t pick up? She should have considered that sooner.
“I haven’t changed my mind since last night,” he answered.
Was it her imagination, or was a layer of the gruffness gone? “I have. I don’t know much, but I’ll give you what I have.”
“In exchange for...?”
“Nothing.” Brit felt lighter. “You’re already doing the one thing I want—taking care of Kirby.”
“How do I know this is legitimate?”
“You don’t. I didn’t either. But it was the best I could find, and it cost me a lot.” Not everything. Not yet.
“What are you up to, Brit?”
She smiled at the receiver. “Hel’s weakness is fire. I’m sorry I don’t know more. Good luck.” She disconnected.
The next bit was harder. She shouldn’t do this—her sacrifice should be completely altruistic—but she needed Kirby to know. Not until it was all over, though. Not before Brit executed the rest of her plan.
It was so Kirby wouldn’t go through life feeling bitter.
Liar. It’s so she won’t go through life hating me.
That would be unavoidable, but this might soften the blow. And yeah, it was as much selfish as anything. Brit was willing to admit it.
After her explanation and a little extra information for Kirby were recorded, Brit encrypted the message. She had a secure channel she used, to send Starkad mission briefings, and she set everything to deliver based on the same trigger Hel had in place. If it never sent, it meant Hel won.
Please let it send.
When she was done, Brit pulled the SIM from her phone and destroyed the card. It was time to obliterate all of her ties to the past except one. The thought was as freeing as it was terrifying. Was this how Kirby felt, leaving it all behind?
Brit grabbed the handset for the phone in her room and dragged in a deep breath. Once she did this, Kirby would never forgive her. It would probably kill Brit.
Her mind screamed at her to stop.
She steeled herself and dialed the number that acted as a routing point for all calls going into TOM.
“Thank you for calling The Order of Mistletoe,” a chipper voice answered. “How may I direct your call?”
Bile rose in Brit’s throat, and she cringed. “I’d like to speak with Hel, please.” Her tone was professional and calm, defying the chaos in her head.
“I’m sorry. There’s no one here by that name. Are you sure you have the right number?”
Brit was certain. “Tell her Brit is on the line.”
“I see. Please hold.” Like that, the receptionist’s tone turned hard.
The music was gratingly pleasant. Piano renditions of classical scores, punctuated by a message every fifteen seconds, telling her that her call was important, and to please remain on the line.
Hang up, her mind screamed.
“Flight of the Bumblebee” played in her ear.
Hang up now.
She couldn’t.
I can. Vanish. Stay safe. No one ever has to see me again.
She had to see this through.
Why? No one will ever know but me.
It didn’t matter.
Hang up.
Brit hovered her fingers over the button that would disconnect the call.
Hel came on the line. “Corporal.”
Brit’s heart dropped into her stomach at the title she should have been stripped of when she deserted. . “Sir.”
“What can I do for you?”
This part was easy. Brit just had to reach inside a little ways, summon recently buried thoughts, and let her terror leak through in the process. “Forgive me. Please. I made some stupid mistakes. I let seeing Kirby again cloud my judgment, and I was wrong. I’ve only ever wanted to serve The Order. The party, looking to hurt you for her, it was a mistake. I know where my loyalties lie.”
The line went dead. What was she supposed to do with that?
“I know what you are. We trained you.” Hel’s voice came from directly behind.
Brit spun to see the goddess standing directly behind her—statuesque, stunning, and terrifying.
Hel tilted Brit’s chin up to meet her gaze. “I won’t forgive you because you spin a few pretty words.”
It was easy to fall into old patterns and submission in Hel’s presence. Brit tried to pull away, to stare at the ground, but Hel held her face in place.
“I don’t expect proving my loyalty to be easy”—she let the quaver slide into her voice—“I’ll do anything to get back at Kirby. For humiliating me. For killing my partner. But I’m too weak to do it without you.”
Hel clucked. “Kirby was such a disappointment, but you... You’ve always excelled. I was hurt to hear you left us for her.”
“I would never. I was trying to get into her good graces. To tell you—”
“Don’t spin that double agent bullshit with me. I know why you were at that party, and I know who shot your partner.”
“I was wrong. Not about Mark”—she refused to take that back—“but thinking I wanted to leave. Whatever I have to do to show you I’m sincere, I will.”
Brit would grovel and suffer and walk through torment, to earn Hel’s trust. To fight by her side against Kirby. If there was any chance left for her and Kirby, this would destroy it.
But Brit wanted to see TOM burn to the ground and take Hel with it, and the best way she could think of to do that was by joining Hel, and then betraying her.
Chapter Nineteen
Gwydion had grown accustomed to waking up with Min nearby. Same room. Same city, at least. Not that Min’s presence was a constant, but it was odd, knowing that by staying where Kirby was, he might not see Min again for a long time.
Not that he doubted her decision; the new way of things would just take adjusting to.
He knocked on Starkad’s hotel room door. This would take adjusting as well—the top-secret meetings, hidden away in rooms, instead of going out in public and having casual conversations.
When Kirby answered, wearing a lazy smile, Gwydion’s musings evaporated.
“Morning.” She brushed her lips over his in what had to be the sweetest, most chaste kiss in history, and stepped aside to let him in. “I’m sorry if you’re missing your travel companion.”
Something was different here. “I appreciate it, but it’s okay. I understand why you did it, and I agree. I also brought coffee.” He handed her one of the cups of coffee he’d brought.
She took a sip and sighed. “It’s going to be a while before coffee holds the same spark for me, after Aeval’s. And th
is is why I’m not interested in The Best sex ever.”
“Point taken.” Gwydion looked past her, to see Starkad roll his eyes, but the berserker was smiling.
Really fucking odd. Almost creepy. In a funny way. He set Starkad’s drink on the table, grabbed his own, and settled into a chair. “When you’re ready for breakfast, I know a few places.”
“Maybe later.” When Kirby walked past Starkad, he brushed his fingers over hers, before she sat between him and Gwydion.
Gwydion rarely traveled with Starkad. And it had never been when Kirby was alive. He liked seeing the two of them like this, especially since she wasn’t pulling away from him. She leaned back in her wooden chair and rested her feet on Gwydion’s legs.
The last few days had taught him this wasn’t Kirby and Starkad. The tension in the room was lighter than it had been since they arrived. “Something’s changed.”
“Everything’s changed.” Starkad’s tone was somber. “It’s why we’re here.”
Yeah, yeah. Always the wall of stoicism. But Kirby didn’t mask her feelings. A light smile played on her lips.
The two of them were adorably disgusting. “You fucked, didn’t you? Screwed and made up?” Gwydion didn’t have a problem calling them on it.
“Made up implies a huge chasm was crossed. This was more of a medium-sized chasm.” Kirby sipped her coffee.
Gwydion couldn’t help himself. “I’ve seen him naked. It’s pretty huge.”
Starkad clenched his jaw. He didn’t summon the irritation as well as normal. “Could you two—”
“Wait. Really?” Kirby dropped her feet to the ground and leaned in. “You’ve seen...” She nodded at Starkad.
“Why would I make that up?” Gwydion asked.
Starkad opened his mouth again. “I have—”
“Are we talking about standard guy reasons for seeing people naked? Showers at the gym? Urinal? Or something more?” Kirby set her drink down and leaned in, as if she was waiting for gossip.
“Definitely more.” Perhaps today wasn’t the right time for that revelation, but Gwydion was tired of secrets.
“—information about—”
“Hot.” Kirby cut Starkad off. “Wow, the mental images. Just so you know, my imagination is working overtime now.”
Gwydion gave her a mock bow. “Always happy to be of service.”
“I have information about defeating Hel,” Starkad barked.
“Oh.” Kirby’s smirk evaporated, and she let out a long breath.
“You should have led with that,” Gwydion said.
Starkad fixed him with a glare. “Are you fucking with me right now?”
“No, but at least two of us are interested later.” One more jest wouldn’t hurt anyone.
The lightheartedness was gone from Kirby’s laugh. “Where did you get information between tonight and this morning?” It made sense she’d be all business again. The soldier in her wouldn’t allow anything else.
Gwydion wished he didn’t get it, but he did.
“Brit,” Kirby said when Starkad didn’t answer.
Gwydion had missed something. “Why would you guess her?”
“Because he doesn’t hide his sources when it’s anyone else. What happened to her staying out of my life?” She was focused on Starkad.
Starkad slapped his fingers against the side of his cup, not drinking, just abusing. “She’s struggling with that. The first call was a bunch of bullshit about regret and not being able to use the information by herself. Swearing she didn’t know you’d be at the party. Insisting she be allowed back into your life if she gave me this.”
“Ah.” Kirby managed to cram a liter of bitterness into a single syllable. “Wait. When was the first call?” She dropped her feet to the ground.
Starkad winced. “Last night. I didn’t want to spoil the evening.”
Wanted to get laid. Gwydion didn’t blame him.
“Second one was about fifteen minutes ago. I wanted to share with everyone,” Starkad said. “Completely different tone. She didn’t ask for anything. She just handed over what she had and wished us luck.”
“That doesn’t sound suspicious at all.” Kirby bounced her knee to a frantic beat. Was she talking about Brit’s change of heart, or Starkad’s withholding information about the conversations?
An argument that would have to wait. Preferably until Gwydion wasn’t caught in the middle, because he’d take Kirby’s side, and that would come with a whole new layer of friction. “What’s this supposed wondrous secret?”
“Fire. Supposedly Hel is weak against fire.”
That actually made sense. So many gods of the afterlife kept parts of their realms cloaked in fire and brimstone, but the Norse gods tended to be more about the storms. Rain. Thunder. Snow. And Hel was the ultimate ice queen. “I assume we don’t believe her.”
“We don’t have anything else. The Hooded Spirits told you Hel has no weaknesses,” Starkad said.
The air changed, unpleasant sparks racing over Gwydion’s skin. Something was wrong. Something magical and malevolent was nearby.
“They did say that.” Kirby hopped to her feet, rubbing the insides of her wrists. “But we have the prophecies. The ones that say we kill her. Do we put any faith in those? I wanna get out of here. Should we go? Get breakfast or something? I want French toast with strawberries and bananas. Can we get that here?”
“Probably.” Gwydion was only half-focused on the Hel conversation. The change in the hair had Kirby on edge, too. Something was wrong, and he didn’t know what.
Kirby bounced on the balls of her feet. “Let’s go get breakfast. In France.”
“They don’t actually serve French toast in France. You know that.” Starkad was sitting straighter. He felt it as well.
Kirby took a few steps toward the door, then drifted back. “Crepes, then. Sweet. Savory. It all sounds good. I’m hungry. Why won’t she stay gone?”
Starkad’s jaw was tight, as he looked at Gwydion. “How quickly can you be ready to leave? As in, town.”
“Five minutes if I have to prep. I can go now, if it’s all right to leave things behind.” What did Gwydion miss? It didn’t matter. The tension in the room clawed at him uncomfortably.
“Double check. If it’s not sensitive or of sentimental value, if it can be replaced, leave it. Stay checked in.” Starkad stood too. “Meet us in front of the hotel across the street in five.”
KIRBY DIDN’T LIKE THE needles and pins feeling that coated her skin. It was made worse by the thought of Brit’s convenient offer of information so soon before the atmosphere went sideways.
Starkad had called them a taxi, and she, he, and Gwydion were on their way to the airport. She hated that Starkad had to sit in the front seat due to space restraints, but she was next to Gwydion. Having both men nearby didn’t eliminate the uncomfortable feeling, but it made her better equipped to deal with whatever was associated with this sensation.
Focus. She wouldn’t get sucked into panic. What did data did she have? Gwydion seemed to understand travel light. He’d shown up with a single bag. If Min had been here, she suspected he’d have brought several pieces of luggage.
Then again, if he were here, they wouldn’t need an airport. She and Starkad discussed just flying. He couldn’t, but she and Gwydion could transport him. However, there was no way for them to guarantee they’d be unseen.
Focus. No one was talking. Smart. Nothing for the driver to overhear. But if he was listening in, they had bigger problems. Was Hel watching them closely enough to know they were leaving? Would she send someone to sidetrack them? If she did, they didn’t have a plan of action, aside from acting on some probably fake information Brit gave Starkad.
And why wouldn’t Brit just go away? Why did Kirby’s heart still hurt every time she thought about her?
Focus. Get to the airport and check in with the boarding pass she had in her hand. She’d already checked in with two others online. This was status quo for all missions
. When she, Starkad, and Gwydion were someplace private, they’d figure out next steps. Current step—make it safely to another country.
The sound of the engine stopped abruptly, leaving an empty space where the steady hum had been seconds earlier. Kirby shoved aside any rambling thoughts, and the world shifted to a hyper-real sharpness. The taxi was drifting to a stop, as the driver maneuvered them to the side of the road. There were no buildings within view. The landscape was mostly grass and trees. Their driver was cursing loudly and turning the key in the ignition over and over, with no result.
“Is there a problem?” Starkad’s question was cool, carried on a hint of menace.
“I don’t know. The car should be fine. Electrical fuck-up, I’m guessing.” Each time the driver turned the key, there was a series of clicks, but nothing else. “I’ll call for another car for you, so you won’t miss your flight.”
This wasn’t right. Several of the gods dabbled in electricity, but not Hel. Not that Kirby knew of, anyway. The goddess hid ninety-nine percent of her power at the TOM academy, but Kirby remembered from her first life.
“If you want to stretch your legs or anything”—the driver was jabbing at his phone with a shaky hand—“I can have someone here in a few minutes.”
“We’ll do that,” Starkad said. He was intimidating, but not typically make people shake in their boots scary unless he wanted to be. The driver was too nervous.
If something was going on, being outside was better than being stuck in a small box. Every tiny hair on Kirby’s body stood on end, as they piled out onto the side of the road. They all had their bags slung over their shoulders. This type of operation required total mobility, rather than stashing things in trunks.
This respite could be a chance to plan. Many gods could teleport, but Kirby didn’t know of any who could make themselves invisible. And if one could, would they isolate themselves out here, waiting?
Kirby would, if it meant getting her target. Not comforting.
The instant they closed the car doors, the taxi roared to life, and the driver pealed onto the road, leaving them in the dust. Literally.
Death in the Night (Legacy, #2) Page 16
