Double Eclipse

by Melissa de la Cruz

  “I know,” I said. “There are so many questions. I feel like I want to grill Mum for—” I broke off. I thought I’d seen movement on the horizon. A small shadow appeared above flat fields of ice, wavering but distinct. “Is that—?”

  “They’re coming back!” Molly cut me off, stepping to the edge of the tunnel.

  “Careful,” I said, taking her arm. “I don’t know if the portal will just snap closed if we step across the threshold, but we shouldn’t risk it.”

  I could see that it was taking all of Molly’s willpower not to run across the field to the tiny form that was coming toward us swiftly, though not at the supersonic speed at which it had left.

  “I only see one person,” I said. “Where’s Rocky?”

  “She’s carrying him!” Molly said, and then I saw it, the smaller body tossed across Mum’s shoulders like a stole. “Oh, thank the gods, she’s got him!”

  Molly gasped then, and I was about to ask what was wrong when I saw it too.

  A kind of wave or shadow crested the horizon behind Mum, stretching out on both sides of the field almost as far as the eye could see. At first, I thought it was a wall of snow tumbling toward Mum like an avalanche, but then I heard the faint growls and snarls floating across the field.

  “Is that . . . barking?” I said.

  Molly didn’t say anything at first. Just nodded. Until:

  “It’s the Hounds of Hel.”

  Mum raced across the field with Rocky’s inert body draped over her shoulders. From somewhere, she’d procured a sword, as thin and pale as an icicle, and she swung it fiercely with her free hand, skewering any hound that dared to get too close to her.

  “There must be thousands of them,” I said.

  Molly nodded. “Freya wasn’t kidding when she said Helda doesn’t like to lose one of her subjects.” She winced as one of the hounds detached itself from the pack and launched itself at Mum, only to find itself impaled on the flashing ice sword and tossed away like a canapé.

  “Holy crap, that was close!”

  “I want to go to her,” Molly said. “I want to help.”

  “Molly, no,” I said, grabbing her arm again. “You can’t. We have to keep this portal open. If it closes and we’re stuck on the far side with that . . .” I let the image speak for itself.

  “Damn it,” Molly said, stamping her foot. “This is frustrating. Run, Mum!” she called. “Run!”

  If Mum heard, she didn’t answer. Just kept running and slicing and stabbing at any hound that approached.

  My hand had slipped from Molly’s arm to her hand, and we gripped each other tightly.

  “Run, Mum!” I yelled. “You can make it.”

  Still no answer, but she was getting closer, barreling toward us like a wide receiver racing toward the end zone with the other team hard at his heels.

  We could hear her footsteps now, each heavy tread smacking into the crystallized snow with a sound like breaking glass. Her breath sounded ragged like a wheezing car, and over that came the horrible barks of the hounds.

  Suddenly, the dogs’ barking changed. Before it had been just this cacophony, but now I heard little yips and growls in the middle of it all. It was like they were—

  “They’re talking to each other!” Molly said.

  But they weren’t just talking. They were giving directions. Because all at once, the two wings of the pack surged forward and began to fold around Mum and Rocky.

  “They’re trying to cut her off!” I yelled.

  “No!” Molly screamed.

  Before I knew what was happening, she’d pulled her hand from mine and shoved me backward, into the tunnel. Then she was off, racing across the field toward the pack.

  “Molly!” I screamed. “Molly, come back!”

  She ignored me, racing toward Mum and Rocky and the hounds. I took a step toward her, but as I did, I felt the walls of the tunnel shake. No, not shake: squeeze. It was like they were threatening to close in on me.

  “No!” I screamed as Molly had. I threw my hands against the walls and pressed back. “You are not going to close,” I yelled at the tunnel. “Stay . . . open!”

  I could feel the walls vibrating against my hands. Showers of dirt and ice fell from them, but they didn’t collapse.

  And now Molly was reaching the horde. To my surprise, she ran not for Mum but for the dogs. Her fist raised above her head. A moment later, one of the hounds was flying through the air. Then another, and another, and another. Molly was beating them back with her bare hands.

  “Do it, Molly!” I yelled. “Kick their asses!”

  Molly and Mum made their way toward us, Molly clearing a path, Mum keeping the dogs behind them at bay. But the dogs were swirling around like water. It was impossible to get them all.

  Suddenly, the dogs were on me, and before I knew it, a dark shape was lunging at me. My hands were practically buried in the wall. I reacted by instinct, lifting a foot and kicking the snarling beast right in the jaw. It went flying over the pack and disappeared in their midst.

  But as quickly as the first dog was gone, another followed after it. Molly managed to grab this one by his tail, swinging him in a wide arc and tossing him away.

  “There’s too many!” Mum said, her sword slicing right and left. “I can’t keep them all back!”

  They were nearly at the entrance now, but there were at least a dozen dogs between them and me. Luckily for me, most of them were focused on Mum and Molly, and I only had to kick the occasional one away. But I couldn’t see how they were going to get through. For every hound they held back, three more took its place.

  “Mooi, go first!” Mum yelled. “I’ve got them.”

  “I’m not leaving you!” Molly yelled.

  “Go!” Mum commanded in a voice that had to be obeyed. “Or we’re all going to die!”

  Molly turned from Mum and began beating a path toward me. As she got closer, I could feel the walls of the tunnel start to stabilize, and as soon as I thought it was safe, I let go of them and helped her clear the last of the dogs. A minute later, she was standing beside me. I wanted to throw my arms around her, but there were still hundreds of dogs, snarling and snapping at us.

  “I’m here, Mum,” Molly called. “Just a few feet farther. You can make it.”

  “There are too many,” Mum called back. “They’ll come through after us. We’re going to have to close the portal.”

  “What?” I yelled. “How?”

  “I’ll worry about how,” Mum said. “You just worry about catching Rocky.”

  “Wha—” Molly yelled, then broke off as a dark form soared through the air toward us. She grunted as Rocky’s body slammed into her, barely managing to avoid dropping him. Fortunately, he seemed to be unconscious.

  “Now run!” Mum yelled, striking away the dogs with her sword and fists.

  “Mum, no!” Molly yelled. “We’re not leaving you!”

  “Run!” Mum commanded, even as the walls of the tunnel started to shake more violently than ever.

  “Molly, come on! The tunnel’s coming down.”

  I grabbed her hand and yanked. I didn’t want to leave Mum, but if the tunnel collapsed on us—on Rocky—then everything she had done would have been for nothing.

  We ran across the shaking ground, dodging huge chunks of ice and frozen mud that fell from the ceilings. At the far end of the tunnel, I could see the hallway of Fair Haven, the bright light of Midgard shining on its polished floor.

  We dashed for it, leaping over gaps that opened in the ground beneath us as the floor of the tunnel split apart. In the end, we had to jump across five feet of black nothingness, and we tumbled roughly into the hallway. But the ground was still shaking, and we heard the creaks and snaps of breaking timber and shattering plaster.

  “What’s happening?” Molly said, cradling Rock
y in her arms.

  “It seems like the whole house is coming down! We’ve got to get outside!”

  “But Mum!”

  “We can’t help her, Molly. We’ve got to save Rocky!”

  Before Molly could answer, the floor cracked and split in two, tipping up like the Titanic in the big final scene. We tumbled down the slope toward the front door, which obligingly cracked and fell off its hinges. We rolled across the steps and onto the lawn.

  All of this couldn’t have taken more than a few seconds. But when I looked back, I saw that the house had just broken apart.

  “It’s our dream,” Molly said.

  “Did Mum do that?” I whispered.

  “I don’t—” Molly broke off. “Where’s Rocky?”

  “What? I thought you had him!”

  “I did. Then we rolled down the hallway and he was knocked loose.”

  She jumped up and started to run toward the house, but I grabbed her hand.

  “Molly, no. It’s still shaking. The whole thing could fall down.”

  “Mardi, let go of me or I’ll—”

  A weak voice to our left cut her off.

  “M-Molly? Mardi?” We whipped our heads over to see Rocky sitting up in my car where we’d left his body earlier. He was rubbing a bruise on his head, but other than that looked fine.

  “What in God’s name just happened?”

  RHIANNON

  From the Diary of Molly Overbrook

  Dad sat propped up by pink pillows in Jo’s bed, staring at the laptop resting on his thighs, which was open to the New York Times’s homepage.

  Massive Earthquake Strikes Gardiners Island. 350-Year-Old Mansion Destroyed. Janet Steele Feared Lost Among the Wreckage.

  “Girls, girls, girls,” he said, snapping the laptop closed. “What kind of trouble have you gotten yourselves into?”

  Twenty-four hours had passed since our trip to Niflheim. Rocky was recuperating from a minor concussion at Sal’s house, and Mardi and I had both spent the night at Ingrid’s. But there had been no sign of Mum. We had told him and Ingrid and Freya everything that had happened, and as far as I was concerned, he should have been the one answering our questions, not the other way around.

  “Is there no way we can get through the seam to see if Mum’s okay?”

  Dad shook his head. “You heard Freya and Ingrid. It looks like your mother closed it from the other side. Unless someone opens it from that side, it’s closed for good.”

  “That seems like a lot for a mortal to pull off,” Mardi said from her perch across the room.

  “It certainly does,” Dad said, sighing heavily.

  That sounded like a cop-out to me.

  “Dad, come on,” I pushed him. “Was Mum—is Mum really mortal? Or is she really a Jotun, like the legends say.”

  “Jarnsaxa,” Mardi prompted. She glanced at me. “I looked it up last night.”

  “Jarnsaxa,” I repeated. “Janet Steele. Sounds a bit like Mooi/Molly or Magdi/Mardi to me.”

  “Jarnsaxa,” Dad repeated, a little smile playing over his lips, a mischievous twinkle coming into his eye.

  “Dad! Spill it!”

  “Sorry, girls. You’re going to have to ask her yourself.”

  My heart started pounding in my chest. “Then you think she’s okay! You think she’s coming back!”

  “Oh, I wouldn’t worry too much about her. She’s a resourceful woman. And she has a way of turning up when you least expect her. Now go find your aunt and ask her to whip me up one of her smoothies,” he said, waving away any more questions. “I’m famished!”

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Thank you again to the wonderful team at Penguin, especially my editor Jennifer Besser and my publicist Elyse Marshall, as well as Kate Meltzer and Jacqueline Hornberger. Thank you to Richard Abate and Rachel Kim at 3Arts. Thank you to my family and my friends. Thank you to all the loyal WitchEEs out there who have followed this story.

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