“Not really. But it did have this passage—I wrote it down so I would remember it exactly.” He pulled out his phone and scrolled through it. “It says, From whence the draugr rose, only that will make the draugr fall. If his master waits in Helheim, it is his sword that makes the call.”
We all sat silently for a minute, thinking about what Asher had read and trying to decipher whatever coded message might be hidden in it. Quinn played with her long hair, something she did when she was agitated, and she grew rougher with it the more she thought.
Finally, she broke the silence and asked, “What does that mean?”
“Helheim was the Norse afterworld, which I get,” Asher supplied. “But if we assume that Tamerlane Fayette is a draugr, who is his master?”
I shrugged. “Supposedly he’s hanging out with two other draugrs, but I don’t know if any one of them is really a ‘master,’ or who they would answer to.”
“Who is the big head honcho around here?” Oona asked, her eyes darting between the three of us.
“Velnias has a lot of sway in the demonic community, and he’s the head of the Kurnugia Society,” I said. “But I doubt he’d talk to us, after the way everyone at the Red Raven shut us out when Asher and I went there.”
“And if Velnias is Tamerlane’s master, I seriously doubt he’d help us fell Tamerlane, anyway,” Asher added.
I rubbed a hand over my face and slouched back in my chair. “Figuring out how to kill Tamerlane is almost a moot point, since I don’t know if we’ll ever find him again. I’m sure after all this he’s going to burrow even deeper underground.”
“Maybe not,” Oona argued. “Sending flowers to Marlow’s funeral was pretty bold. Not to mention the stuff that happened with Amaryllis Mori.”
Asher turned to me, his gaze a mixture of curiosity and concern. “Who’s that?”
“She was a Jorogumo that I killed for work, but she almost bested me, and her venom was more powerful than it should’ve been,” I explained. “And she told me that the tables were turning, and the underworld was growing stronger.”
“Tamerlane might not feel the need to hide,” Quinn pointed out hopefully. That was just like her—trying to look for the bright side in a completely impossible situation.
“Well, he has been staying in the city using the alias of Bram Madichonnen,” I countered.
Oona sat up straighter, gently knocking Bowie off her lap, so he hopped angrily to the other side of the room. “So, I’ve been thinking about that, and I looked into it more, because I was curious as to why he chose the name that he did.”
I shrugged. “What does it matter?”
“Marlow spared him because she thought he was good and pure, and now he’s a megalomaniac who killed the person that saved him,” Oona said. “Something changed.”
“Yeah, he became a draugr,” Asher replied.
Oona shot him a look but continued. “Yes, but the name he chose loosely translates to ‘cursed father.’”
“Why would he pick that?” Quinn asked.
“Before being a draugr, by all accounts, he was a happy father who helped run an orphanage,” Oona said. “Now his family is dead, brutally murdered, and his orphanage is closed. Everything that mattered in his life is gone.”
“When he became a draugr, he had to give that all up,” I said. But that was something we already knew.
“And based on his name, I’m thinking that might not have been his choice,” Oona reasoned.
I thought back to the confrontation I’d witnessed between Marlow and Tamerlane. He’d been cool and casual right up until the moment Marlow mentioned his family. That was the only time his mask of nonchalance slipped—only for a moment—and then right after that everything had fallen apart.
“He did seem really touchy when Marlow mentioned his family,” I remembered.
“So, he begged Marlow to spare him so he could take care of his family and be with them because he loved them and all that,” Oona went on, sounding more excited as her idea came together. “Then he became a draugr, and … then what? Did he kill his family? Did he have a change of heart? Or did someone else make him do it? Or did someone else do it to send him a message?”
“Maybe all of the above?” I said. “If what Amaryllis Mori was saying is true, there is something brewing in the underworld.”
“But you can’t return from Kurnugia,” Quinn maintained. “That’s one of the rules. When humans and mortals die, we’re just dead. When immortals die, they get to go to Kurnugia, but they can’t return.”
“Well, we all know they’ve never been too thrilled about the Valkyrie and Kurnugia arrangement,” Asher pointed out dismally.
“If they’re working together to form some kind of underworld uprising—which is scary as hell—then they must have some kind of leader,” I said. “And now all we have to do is figure out who that is to either kill them or get them to kill Tamerlane, and then we’ll be all set.”
“And we should probably also work on quelling that uprising in Kurnugia,” Oona added.
Quinn smiled, trying to remain optimistic, but the twitch at the corner of her crooked lips gave away her unease. “Well, if anyone can handle all that, it ought to be the four of us, right?”
THIRTY-SIX
After hours of going over who might be Tamerlane’s master—throwing out names from Velnias to Odin, and even delving deeper into the underworld with figures like Ereshkigal, Hai-uri, and Erlik—we were no closer to figuring out who it might be, even assuming there was a master. There was even a chance that Tamerlane was his own master, but I wasn’t exactly sure how that would work.
As the conversation went late into the night, Oona grew tired and eventually fell asleep. She lay on the floor with a throw pillow under her head and Bowie curled up beside her. When she started snoring softly, I woke her up and helped her get to bed.
After Oona mumbled a sleepy good night, Asher excused himself to use the restroom, and Quinn stood up and stretched. Her shirt rose up, revealing her taut stomach, and I noticed a collection of black stars tattooed just above her hip.
“New ink?” I asked, motioning to her hip. It had been only six months since we’d last been together, and I vividly remembered tracing my hands over every inch of her. I could still remember every freckle and scar that marked her skin, so I definitely would’ve recalled a tattoo.
“Yeah.” She smiled demurely and ran her fingers seductively over her hip. “It’s the constellation for Capricorn.”
“Capricorn?” I asked in surprise. “But you were born in August. Aren’t you a Virgo?”
Her smile deepened, looking pleased that I still remembered her birthday.
“I did, but I was officially sworn in as Valkyrie on a cold day in January two years ago,” Quinn explained. “I just finally got around to getting a tattoo to commemorate that.”
My mind flashed to a time when we’d been lying in my bed together, our arms intertwined, with the early morning light spilling in through my bedroom window. Her head had been resting on my chest, and I curled up close to her. Her hair had been dyed lavender then, and I remembered breathing her in and thinking it fitting that she smelled like lilacs and summer.
We’d been sharing war stories from our childhood. While I had plenty of anecdotes about Marlow, Quinn had very little to say about her own mother, and instead focused most of her stories on school bullies and ex-girlfriends. She had pulled herself closer to me, her arm wrapped around my waist and her cheek pressed against my bare skin.
“But that’s all behind us now,” she’d told me in her husky voice, as rich and sweet as honey. “We’ve come out of it and we’re on the other side, stronger and braver for it.”
“You really think that?” I had asked her, and she tilted her head to stare up at me with her wide green eyes.
“I do. Sometimes I think of my existence as two lives,” she had explained. “There was the time before, when I had no control and I was dragged around the world, feeling
unloved and unwanted.
“And then there’s the life when I became a Valkyrie,” Quinn had gone on. “The day my life became my own. Sure, I have orders to obey and responsibilities, but my fate is in my own hands. Sometimes I feel like my real life didn’t begin until then.”
“Well, I’m glad that I’m a part of your real life,” I’d teased her.
“Of course you are.” She moved, propping herself up so she hovered above me, smiling down at me. “You’re the main reason that I know this is my real life, that everything before this was just practice for what was to come. Because you’re here, and the way I feel about you is the truest thing I’ve ever known.”
She’d leaned down and kissed me then, and while her kisses felt wonderful and left me dizzy, this one had been different. This one had filled me with an urgent panic that I couldn’t explain, and I couldn’t breathe.
I was overwhelmed by her—she’d always overwhelmed me, but before, it had felt exciting. But in that moment, it just felt terrifying and heavy and too much.
Though Quinn had begged me to stay in bed with her, I had made some excuse about why I had to go. Two weeks later, I had broken up with her.
Now, standing in my living room, Quinn’s smile faded, maybe because she was thinking of the same memory, or maybe she was just tired, as she suppressed a yawn.
“It is getting late,” she said. “I should probably head home.”
“Thank you for helping,” I told her as I stood up and walked her out.
She lingered in the doorway, toying with her Vegvisir amulet hanging around her neck.
“You’re a very good friend,” I added, trying to reaffirm that distance I’d put between us.
“I know.” She nodded once, smiling sadly at me, and then started backing away. “I’ll see you around.”
Once she had gone, I closed the door and leaned back against it, breathing in deeply. I closed my eyes, trying desperately to push down all the confusing feelings that whirled inside me.
THIRTY-SEVEN
“Is everything okay?” Asher asked quietly, and I opened my eyes in surprise. For a moment I’d actually forgotten that he was still here, and I hadn’t heard him come out of the bathroom.
“Yeah.” I forced a smile. “Everything’s fine.”
“I should probably leave you be,” he offered.
But even though I’d sent Quinn away out of fear of the complexities of our past, I didn’t really feel like being alone. I knew sleep wouldn’t come easy for me—it hadn’t since Marlow died—and I didn’t want to sit up alone all night, thinking my horrible thoughts and worrying my terrible worries about what may come of the world.
“No, you don’t have to,” I said, which was as close as I could get to asking him to stay, and walked toward the kitchen. “Do you want a drink?”
“Uh, sure. What are we drinking?” he asked.
“Oona’s got an old bottle of wine in the fridge she said I could finish off.” I pulled out a large black bottle, simply labeled with BOAL MADEIRA in big white letters.
“Sounds good.”
Oona and I didn’t have much in the way of dishes, since we ate a lot of takeout, and I grabbed a large beer mug and a glass decorated with the logo for the Ravenswood Academy soccer team, the Raging Raptors. Oona had gone on a mini-shopping spree after getting accepted into the academy, so we had all kinds of random stuff with school logos.
“So,” I said, as I filled up both the glasses. “Tell me about yourself.”
“There’s not much to tell.” He shrugged.
“Oh, I doubt that.” I took a big gulp of my wine, then walked back to the living room to get more comfortable on the couch. “Especially since I know next to nothing about you.”
“My childhood was mostly normal and uneventful,” Asher elaborated disinterestedly. “I was born twenty-one and a half years ago to a Valkyrie who loved me very much, and a mercenary. My mom raised me on her own, because my father was off doing his own thing, and I grew up just south of the city. My first job was as a bike messenger, but that didn’t last long.”
“Why not?” I asked.
He took a long drink, then stared down at his cup. “Because my mom died.”
I grimaced. “Sorry.”
“After that, I basically threw myself into finding her killer, and now here I am with you.” He smiled crookedly at that.
“You can’t just brush over the last three years,” I persisted. “I know you had adventures. You told me you searched all over the country.”
“I did,” he admitted, scratching his cheek. “I became a private investigator, to help fund my own investigations, but mostly I was hired to look for spurned lovers.”
He turned to look at me. “The other night with you, at the Red Raven. Now, that was an adventure.”
“That wasn’t much of an adventure. It didn’t last very long.” I was leaning my head against the back of the couch. My knees were pulled up nearly to my chest, my glass of wine cradled between them, and my feet pointed toward him.
“Yeah, but you were badass,” he said, sounding wistful.
His eyes were the darkest shade of blue I’d ever seen, like the sky just before it completely gave way to the black of night. Whenever he grinned, it drew attention to the scar on his lip, a tiny blemish on his otherwise flawless skin that somehow made him even sexier, and that felt like the perfect analogy for Asher himself.
Then, rather abruptly, he turned bashful—lowering his gaze and smoothing out nonexistent wrinkles in his pants. His cheeks flushed slightly, and his dark lashes landed on them heavily.
Asher cleared his throat. “I wanted to, um, apologize.”
“For breaking in? I thought you already had,” I said with a laugh.
“No.” He licked his lips. “For kissing you the other night. I shouldn’t have done that.”
“Why not?” I asked, then added, “I wanted you to.”
He lifted his head, his eyes filled with an unexpected eagerness and hope that made him appear more youthful. “You did?”
“Do you think I would’ve kissed you back if I didn’t like it?”
“No, I don’t suppose you would,” he admitted with a small laugh. “But you just seemed too cool for it.”
I raised an eyebrow. “Too cool for kissing?”
“Too cool for kissing me,” he amended.
I laughed again. “I don’t even know what that means.”
“I don’t know.” He furrowed his brow, like he couldn’t think of just the right words to say. “You seem above everything, sometimes.”
I frowned. “I’m not.” I took another drink. “But I think I know why I seem that way. Sometimes—well, most of the time, really—I’m afraid to feel things.”
“What do you mean?” Asher asked.
My mind went back to a memory, a time when I couldn’t have been more than five or six. I had a crush on this girl at school, and when I told her, she made fun of me in front of all her friends.
I came home bawling, and Marlow knelt down and looked me square in the eye, and told me, “Don’t be a crybaby. You’re a Valkyrie. Valkyries don’t cry over petty shit like this, and they don’t fall in love. You’re stronger than this.”
She meant it to be encouraging, but all I learned was that I should suck it up and shove down any feeling I had.
I took a deep breath and stared down at the wine in my cup. “I don’t think I know how to have feelings, real ones like passion and anger and sadness and all that. Marlow always taught me that real Valkyries don’t feel like that. That those emotions are just for humans. But I do feel them, and I always have, even when I tried not to.”
Asher moved closer to me, putting his hand soothingly on my leg. “Real Valkyries do feel. My mother was emotional and passionate, and she was damn good at her job.”
Suddenly tears were forming in my eyes. I didn’t know why, and I hurried to wipe them away. “I know. I’ve only just begun to realize that this was another thing that
Marlow was wrong about.”
“I didn’t mean to make you sad,” he said, his voice low and soft.
“I’m not. It’s okay,” I insisted, sniffling a little. “These last couple weeks have just been so very long.”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be here bothering you and taking up your time.” He started to move away from me, but I reached out, putting my hand on his forearm to stop him.
“No, don’t go,” I said, and even I could hear the desperation in my own voice. It wasn’t something I normally felt, but right now with Asher, that’s exactly how I felt. Desperate to feel close to someone. For someone else to care about me and worry about me, so that, even just for a little bit, I didn’t have to take care of myself.
He glanced at the doorway, as if having an internal debate, and he bit his lip before asking, “You sure?”
“Yeah. Right now, I really want you to stay.”
“Okay,” he said, and there was something about the way he said it—the weight of his words, the depth of his voice—that made me certain he knew exactly what I was asking.
He set his glass on the table and moved closer to me on the couch. I slid into him, so he wrapped his arm around me, pulling me to him. I curled up in his arms like that, relishing how strong and safe and warm I felt.
And he held me in a way that no one ever had before, not even Quinn. She would get feisty sitting still too long. But Asher seemed to have boundless patience inside him. He didn’t try talking or kissing me or moving. He never asked a single thing from me—he just held me as long as I needed him to.
But eventually I realized I needed something more. I tilted my head up toward him, and his lips found mine, and all I wanted was to lose myself in him. I pressed my body against him, kissing him more deeply, and his hands were all over me, tracing the contours of my body.
It was less electric and insistent than our first kiss had been, but that didn’t make it any less wonderful. It was gentler. Deeper. More intimate. This wasn’t lust and adrenaline. It was something else.
His hand was on my cheek, and when we stopped kissing, he was looking me right in the eyes. He was right there with me, so close, and I felt a familiar panic inside my chest. I wondered painfully why it hurt so much to feel close to someone.
Between the Blade and the Heart Page 17
