Gilded

by Kendall Grey

  “What have you done, Loki?” an enraged Odin asks on the screen. He gestures to the swarming chaos painting the skies with red fire.

  Fenrir approaches him from the side, his fangs dripping with saliva that sears the earth when it falls, carving out hot springs. In the distance, Jormundgandr’s head emerges from the sea, spilling tidal waves across the lands. Gods flee as Thor prepares to do battle with the Midgard Serpent.

  “We spent our lives building Asgard, and for what?” Odin says, his jaw quivering and his one blue eye as sharp as a freshly honed blade. “You and your brood will be our end. The fate of our entire existence rested on your shoulders, and you were too weak to bear it. You will pay for your transgressions in this life and every life you find beyond it.”

  My heart’s painful thumping drowns out everything else.

  Rocking in my chair and rubbing my arms, I feel death’s approach as surely as Damien Drakkar’s Loki does on the screen. Laguz trembles at my hip. I’m so cold, so paralyzed with fear, I can’t move.

  I wish I had Gunnar Magnusson’s flannel shirt wrapped around my shoulders. It would be almost as good as having Gunnar Magnusson himself.

  Chapter Seventeen

  After the panic attack loosened its hold and I returned to my suite, I did something terrible. I crawled into bed and fell asleep.

  Sleep can jump off a cliff and drown in an ice-covered fjord.

  After thrashing through hours of dreams I couldn’t escape, I spring upright from the mattress. As usual, my lungs labor for breath. Sweat drenches me from my scalp down to the spaces between my toes. My lips are cracked and dry, and my head hurts.

  It was Ragnarok again. This time, I watched Sigyn die.

  She screamed as an inferno encroached on her. Someone directed the fire to tighten its wide circle slowly enough to drive home the promise of death whilst conjuring terror in a slow, creeping spiral.

  They wanted her fear. They fed off it. They enjoyed it.

  Her eyes popped wide and round; her pupils dilated. Looming heat coaxed sweat from her pores. She called my name over and over, begging me to help her. She cried out to our dead sons for comfort. They didn’t answer either. Then, in her desperation, she tried Odin, but her pleas again fell on deaf ears.

  Sigyn crumbled to the ice. The unnatural fire danced closer, licking at her feet, her clothing, her hair.

  She was doomed, and she knew it.

  Someone was laughing uncontrollably at her peril.

  Someone had orchestrated her terrible end.

  Someone took sick pleasure in watching the light leave her eyes.

  That someone was me.

  Blinded by a self-indulgent need for twisted entertainment, I sealed her fate with fire from my own hands. I rubbed it in her face. I killed her.

  Hot tears prick at the corners of my eyes. The bed trembles as if Thor has struck it with Mjolnir, but I am the one who makes it shake. My sobs are like the earthquakes I caused in the cave with the serpent.

  The serpent. My fear always loops around to that damned snake and what it stands for.

  Chaos swirls between my ears, a gathering storm with no end in sight.

  My lungs wheeze once and freeze.

  Ice, fire, and death play on an endless loop in my head.

  You didn’t do those things, Loki, Laguz soothes. It was just a bad dream.

  “How do you know?” I ask. “What if I did kill her? I started many fires that night.”

  You didn’t start that one. I was there. I remember.

  “I was cruel to her. Repeatedly.”

  I grab my chest and ball the damp flannel into a knot. I inhale, but my lungs defy the demand for oxygen. I try again, to no avail.

  I panic.

  I can’t breathe, I think.

  Relax. Laguz tries to calm me, but I grow more anxious with each erratic heartbeat. The rune recognizes the lockdown for what it is. This body has turned on me. It refuses to give passage to the air I desperately need.

  I choke. Nothing happens. I flail. My arms whack the headboard, trying to jar control loose.

  Freddie! I call, but it comes out as, “K-k-k-k-k!”

  Blood surges to my skull. The bedroom walls close around me. The last thing I notice is Gunnar Magnusson’s red flannel, washed out to anemic gray by my dimming vision, and then … darkness. I slip into the rising sea of unconsciousness and drift down, down, down.

  Until a pair of hands catches me.

  “Loki, come on,” Gunnar Magnusson calls from somewhere on the other side of oblivion. “I know you’re in there. You gotta wake up.”

  Taps on my face grow harder, faster. I try to push the source away, but I can’t move my arms.

  I can’t breathe, I need to say.

  “Loki.” His voice is gentle but urgent.

  My eyes snap open. I thrash against him. I can’t breathe!

  The taps morph into slaps. They hurt. Inside, I’m kicking and screaming and raging, but there’s no air.

  Two palms cradle my face. Two blue eyes bore into me with the force of arrows loosed by an expert archer. Two lips push against mine.

  His breath rushes into me through the connection. My throat opens. The passageways in my lungs expand. I suck in oxygen in great, hulking gasps that make me dizzier. Gunnar Magnusson tentatively pulls away, but I grab his wrist in an iron grip and squeeze. Please don’t leave me like I left you to die, I beg silently.

  Huhhh-huhhh-huhhh-huhhh-huhhh, I wheeze. In and out, in and out.

  “Slow down,” he says softly. He’s wearing his glasses. “You’re okay. You’re okay.” The words soothe me; his touch grounds me.

  I fall against his chest. His thick arms curl around my back. I smell his pine soap. His warmth diffuses into me. His hair falls on me and tickles my neck.

  Gunnar Magnusson breathed life into me, and I burned life away from him.

  Stop it, Laguz says. You’re feeding yourself a lie.

  I’m gross and sweaty and horrible, but he holds me anyway. Would he do the same if he knew I reveled in his pain as I watched him die? As I watched them all die in my shameful quest for vengeance for the wrongs they did to me?

  Are you full yet? Laguz jabs.

  “I’m a monster,” I sob. “A cursed monster. Odin was right. I deserve to die.”

  “No, Loki,” he says. His lips brush my temple. He tightens his grip on me and lowers his gaze to mine. “You’re not a monster.”

  “I am. I’m sorry, Gunnar Magnusson.”

  “For what? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

  “I did terrible things to—everyone.”

  “Well, you haven’t done anything terrible to me.” He pulls away to look at my face.

  His blind trust stabs me through the heart. The fool. If he finds out the truth, he’ll never forgive me. I can’t meet his eyes.

  With a mental snip, I sever ties between my wants and needs. Much as he intrigues me, I cannot allow Gunnar Magnusson to uncover his past. Even if it’s not as bad as the nightmare led me to believe, it’s bad enough. It would destroy everything between us.

  I wipe my snotty nose with the back on my hand. Gunnar Magnusson leans across me to pluck a tissue from the box on the nightstand. He dabs at my eyes.

  Always taking care of me. In the past and present.

  I am a wretched person.

  I blow my nose and pretend I’m okay. No biggie. Just a bad dream. Sure.

  “How’d you get in here?” Veins throb under my skin. I rub my numb left arm.

  “Freddie let me in,” he replies. “We came up late. You were asleep. I didn’t want to wake you, so I slept on the pull-out sofa. Nice digs, by the way. I guess the poker lessons paid off.”

  I nod. “What are you doing at Nine Realms? I thought you’d be writing your manuscript.”

  He smiles. His teeth are so white and happy. “A little bird left me some suggestions for where to look for source material. I took her advice and uncovered more information than I ever needed. I
got inspired, and the paper wrote itself in a matter of days. Next thing I knew, I got a call from the manager at Nine Realms Resort and Casino asking me to interview for the curator position at their museum. Since you and Freddie were already here, I took it as a sign.”

  How convenient that Saga happened to have an opening for just the kind of job Gunnar Magnusson was looking for.

  Or maybe the hamingja necklace channeled good luck to him, Laguz counters.

  What do you know, you stupid rune?

  A lot more than you do, stupid human, it snarks.

  “You got the job?” I ask.

  Gunnar Magnusson shrugs. “I’m not sure yet, but I think I have a shot at it.”

  I’ll bet. I blink away the image burned into my brain of Saga fawning over him like a wolf on a sheep’s carcass.

  “That’s good. You deserve it.”

  He holds my stare for a long moment. “You gonna tell me what the panic attack was about?”

  I slip out of bed and stand by the window, looking down at the glitzy World Tree spearing the middle of Nine Realms. Gold, gold, gold. Everywhere. Yet true riches seem so far away.

  “I do not have panic attacks.”

  I can feel him rolling his eyes behind me.

  “What was it, then?” he asks.

  “A nightmare.”

  “You’ve been having a lot of those since you left Atlanta.”

  I turn around. “Says who?”

  “Freddie.”

  The blabbermouth.

  Shivering against the cold sweat clinging to my skin and Gunnar Magnusson’s shirt, I return focus to the window and give him my back. “Freddie knows nothing about me.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  Is that jealousy I hear? I close my eyes. Doesn’t matter.

  The ensuing pause is long enough—and worrying enough—to make me look at him again. “Huginn’s missing,” he says.

  I startle. “When? How?”

  He shrugs. “He was at my apartment, and then he wasn’t.”

  “He didn’t tell you where he was going?”

  “It’s not like he could leave a note, and unlike you, I don’t speak Chicken.”

  This is troubling news. I sort through possible explanations. Muninn was here last night, claiming to deliver a message from Huginn. Did Muninn fly to him, or was Huginn somewhere close by?

  Back with Odin, I’ll wager, Laguz says.

  “Voluntarily?” I ask it.

  I think not, but I have no data to back up my instinct.

  Gunnar Magnusson cocks his head. “What?”

  I wave off his question. “Nothing. Talking to myself. You haven’t seen any hummingbirds, have you?”

  He chuckles. “No hummingbirds. Why?”

  I sit next to him on the bed, my fingers drawing nervous circles on the white linens. “If I asked you to do something crazy, would you?”

  “How crazy are we talking? I mean, if it’s another three-way with Freddie while I’m under the influence, I’ll have to pass.” He blushes, looks away, and catches my eye again. “Not that …” He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

  “No three-ways,” I assure him. “But if you do see a hummingbird, you should run. Don’t ask me why. I need you to trust me.”

  A ridge rises between his brows. He works his teeth slowly over his lower lip and nods. “Okay.”

  I finger his shirt sleeve awkwardly. “And you don’t have to hang around with me anymore. You have a new job and things to do, people to meet.”

  “I like hanging around with you.” His voice is so soft, I barely hear him. “I missed you.”

  And I’ve missed him more than I’d like to admit.

  His body angles toward me, as if he might move in for a kiss, but he maintains a respectful distance. I almost wish he would kiss me. But that would only endear him more to the monster I am, so I hop to my feet and make for the window again. I’m a ball of conflicting emotions. I can’t get too close, yet I don’t want to be too far.

  “Do you have somewhere to stay?” I ask over my shoulder.

  “Miss Leifsdóttir said if I’m hired, they’ll give me an apartment onsite, but for the time being, I’ll have to rent a hotel room elsewhere.”

  “There aren’t any rooms,” I say. “You can stay with Freddie and me until you hear about the job. I’m playing in the poker tournament tonight, so we’ll be here at least another day, maybe two. Freddie says as long as I keep spending money, they’ll continue giving me lodging.”

  “I appreciate the offer.” The bed creaks. He pads behind me. His heat warms the length of my spine, but he doesn’t touch me. “I’ll have access to the Scandinavian artifacts today. If you want me to look for anything in particular—”

  I spin to face him. He’s too close. Too tall. Too handsome.

  “I just need my runes. Once I have them, I’ll get out of your way.”

  He studies my face, his expression sad. He nods. “I’ll see what I can dig up.”

  “Thank you, Gunnar Magnusson.” I ease around his imposing frame and slink toward the bathroom.

  He tracks my movement. “Will there ever be anything else for you?”

  I halt my steps but don’t turn around. “Nope. The runes are all I care about.”

  He sighs. “I hope you find what you’re looking for.” The quiet click of the bedroom door closing behind me echoes in my ears as loud as a slam.

  Chapter Eighteen

  “You look like you lost your best friend, but I’m right here, so that can’t be true,” Freddie teases as he settles onto the stool beside me at our suite’s bar. “Why so sad, Loki?”

  I glance at him. “What makes you think I’m sad? I have a luxury—albeit temporary—home with a stunning view of the World Tree, I just won fifty grands, and I’m going to win even more tonight. I’m ecstatic.”

  He levels me with a skeptical look and swigs some coffee. “Your reunion with Gunnar didn’t go well.”

  “It was fine. Everything’s fine.” I pivot away from this topic of conversation to something slightly less uncomfortable. “What happened with you and John last night?”

  He grins over another sip as a man steps out of the other bedroom and quietly shuts the door. When he turns, I’m surprised to see it’s not John but Alexander the magician. His cheeks pink when he notices us at the bar. With his tuxedo jacket slung over an arm, he sheepishly wanders toward the foyer, pointing at the door with his thumb.

  “Sorry to interrupt,” he says. “I gotta run. Breaking in a new assistant this week.”

  Freddie’s eyes wander lazily down Alexander’s front. “No apologies necessary. And if you ever need a male assistant, you know I’m always up for it.”

  I catch his subtle hip thrust under the bar and hide a smile.

  The sexual energy pounding through the room is palpable. Now I’m glad I didn’t pursue Alexander last night. Freddie deserves some fun, though the nature of casual coupling of body parts and subsequent severing of contact strikes a melancholy tone in my gut. Will these two pursue a relationship, or was their tryst like the countless ones I’ve had with women in my past? Do they care about each other?

  I shake the questions away. Not my business. I need to find my runes and move on so these people can have their lives back and I can build a new one for myself.

  Alexander licks his lips. “I’ll keep that in mind. See you around, Freddie.”

  “Later,” Freddie says and returns to his coffee as the door shuts behind Alexander.

  “You are a strange man,” I say to Freddie, not for the first time.

  He laughs. “I know, right? Speaking of strange, can I borrow your feather coat?”

  Sparky and Wiggles trot into the room and circle Freddie’s legs, rubbing their faces on his bare feet.

  “Sure,” I say. “Got a hot date?”

  He smiles. “With you.”

  “You’re such a charmer. Almost as good at swindling as me. What time shall I expect you at the poker table
s?” I grab his mug and slurp the rest of its contents.

  “I’m planning to escort you, my lady.” He slides off the stool, bows low, and resumes his seat. “Gunnar says he’s busy, so I figured I’d do you a solid.”

  “What needs to be made solid?”

  “I mean I’m helping you out.”

  “Ah. What’s Gunnar Magnusson up to?” I’m careful to avoid Freddie’s eyes.

  Tails pointing at the ceiling, the cats meow for his attention. He ignores them. “Meeting with the manager about the job. And I think she asked him to join her for dinner.”

  I scoop up Wiggles and pretend not to care that Gunnar Magnusson will be spending time with Saga. I feel sorry for myself for exactly two seconds until Wiggles nuzzles my shirt with a loud purr. Purrs make everything better.

  “Oh! I almost forgot. I have something for you.” I stand and take the cat with me to my room. I return with a bag full of poker chips and unload them on the bar in front of Freddie.

  “What’s this for?” he asks.

  “The money I owe you for the clothes, the starter chips—everything. Plus a little extra. I’m grateful for your help. And you can leave any time.”

  “You trying to get rid of me?”

  “Not at all,” I say. “I just don’t want you to feel … tied down.” I swallow as I remember Narfi’s viselike entrails strapped across me.

  “Girlfriend, you could never tie this bitch down.” He play-punches my chin. “Besides, what else am I gonna do? I’m still waiting for approval to sell WeedPops, and the engineering gig is on hold until a guy I’m contracting with gets his shit together on a deal he’s been working on for the last two weeks. There’s nothing to do but gamble, get drunk, and play with pretty boys and girls. I’m living my own personal wet dream.”

  “I’m your girlfriend?” I ask, surprised he’d use such a word to describe me.

  He slings an arm around my shoulder. “I meant it as a term of endearment, but you can be anything you want, babe.” He glances at his phone, and his eyes widen, animating his entire face. “It’s ten thirty. You know what we should do?”

  “Eat a goat?”

  He ignores my growling stomach. “Pay a visit to Runemaster. The shop just opened.”