Gilded

by Kendall Grey

  I’m still not sure what exactly this Runemaster does, but I’m interested in finding out. As Laguz said last night, I doubt he or she knows anything about my runes, but it can’t hurt to investigate all possibilities.

  I nod. “Yes. I’ll get dressed.”

  I pass Wiggles over to Freddie’s trusty hands and suddenly get the feeling like I’ve met this cat somewhere before. I blow off the weird déjà vu and head for the bedroom.

  Fifteen minutes later, Freddie and I gawk through the Runemaster Tattoo Shop window in Hel. He looks outrageous in my black feather coat, but no one seems to notice. How is he able to get away with stuff like that?

  Confidence, Laguz says.

  This is true. Freddie has more confidence than anyone I’ve met. Well, save Thor, of course.

  I press my face against the glass in awe of what lies behind it. I point at the woman hammering pictures into another woman’s arm and say, “Let’s do that.”

  Freddie’s ever-present grin widens. “I thought you’d never ask.” He opens and holds the door for me, coat feathers dancing with the whoosh of air.

  When I step inside, a wall of intense energy ripples through me. Laguz broadens my sight from the visible light spectrum into something … else.

  The woman painting pictures with a piercing thorn looks to be in her late twenties. Her hair is black and curly, and her naked arms are alight with golden, swirling sigils the likes of which I’ve never seen. There’s so much glowing magic rolling off her that it adds light to the entire room. Her body tells a story I can’t decipher. Neither Freddie nor the woman in the chair seems to notice.

  “Whoa,” Laguz and I say at the same time.

  The artist dips the tip of the thorn into a small bowl beside her arm and resumes her painstaking work on the elaborate rune stave. Though the substance in the bowl is clear, when it bonds with skin, it turns deep greenish-blue. Strange. A great vat of similar liquid churns, seemingly of its own volition, in the corner near her.

  I expect the artist to notice me watching her, but she doesn’t. It’s like Freddie and I aren’t here.

  Freddie walks over to a collection of posters displayed in moveable frames that stick out from the wall. He flips through them like the pages of books, studying the images. They don’t interest me. The woman does. Nothing about her stands out aside from the ink on her flesh, which is profuse and mesmerizing. It’s almost as if the patterns are moving.

  “Be with you in a few minutes,” she says without looking up. She seems engrossed in her hammer-tapping rhythm. I’m enthralled as I watch the thorn deposit ink under the wriggling customer’s skin.

  Laguz, what do you see?

  The woman’s magic rings familiar, but I can’t pinpoint who she is, it says. I don’t sense any runes. I’m certain they’re somewhere in the resort, just not here.

  We are so close. The good news is we don’t have far to go. If it takes me a year to scour this place from Asgard to Hel, I’ll find those runes. Odin be damned.

  “Astrid,” Freddie calls. “Look at this one. What do you think?”

  I tear my eyes away from the spectacle of blood and magic and join him. The picture he admires is a pair of stylized cats that look like Wiggles and Sparky. I notch my head to the side. “Are you going to keep the cats?”

  He shrugs. “Might as well. They’ve come with me this far.”

  “I like it.”

  “Me too.”

  We pick through more of the images, most of which are Viking-related. There’s also a section of Asgard Awakening logos. After about fifteen more minutes, the artist wipes her client’s skin with a cloth and sits back. The client admires the image in a long mirror. The stave is simple but beautiful. It’s also completely bogus, composed of runes that don’t exist, at least not in my language. The two discuss how to care for the tattoo, and finally, the client leaves.

  The artist wanders over, snaps off her latex gloves, and pitches them into a nearby trash can. When she looks up, I gasp. Her eyes are ice green, so pale, they’re almost completely white.

  I recognize those eyes.

  “Loki,” she says. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

  Shite, Laguz says.

  It takes me a moment to recover my wits. I shoot a surprised look at Freddie, but he’s suspended in time, completely still. I look around the rest of the shop. Nothing moves in here or outside the window. Except for the bubbling cauldron of ink.

  I lower my head to show respect. “Skuld. I’m surprised to see you. I thought none of the others had woken up yet.”

  She flashes a smile full of sharp white teeth. “I’m not one of the others. You know that, old man.”

  Indeed. She’s one of the three Norns who decide men’s fates. Skuld represents the future, which is both promising and disturbing.

  She backs up to a table full of primitive tools and gestures to one of the chairs. “Sit.”

  I do. She takes the seat opposite me.

  “I wasn’t planning on meeting any Norns today,” I say. “Does Odin know you’re here?”

  She shrugs. “What do I care if he does?”

  Point taken. Also, a great burn.

  “What can I do for you?” she asks.

  “I came here for a tattoo.”

  Her face brightens. “You’re in luck. My schedule has just cleared.”

  I turn up the charm. “I was thinking about something that represents me. A mighty Viking warrior, perhaps? Or maybe an effigy to my long-lost monster spawns.”

  She shakes her head. “No. That’s not how this works.”

  I frown. “I’m sorry?”

  Laguz hisses a warning in my head. No deal, Loki. Skuld is bad news. Do not agree to anything. Never take gifts from the Norns. Do you understand?

  Prickles of fear dig into my skin as I imagine her using her magic against me. I peer across the floor to the bubbling vat, which I now realize isn’t a vat at all. I tip my head back and sniff in its direction. Earthy petrichor wafts from its surface. I recognize the scent.

  It’s Urd’s Well, which feeds the World Tree.

  I snap my attention to Skuld. The golden monstrosity growing through the middle of Nine Realms Resort and Casino cannot be the actual World Tree, nor can this be the real Urd’s Well.

  You’re wrong. Laguz’s awed tone suggests it’s trying to process what it sees too. They’re both manifestations of the actual things—extensions, perhaps. Connected to the originals. Whatever the case, this is the real deal.

  Skuld leans forward and rests her elbows on her knees. “You’re here for guidance. The dreams are consuming you one night at a time. You feel trapped, and you’re not sure how to proceed. You want your runes, but you don’t know where to look. I can help you solve your problems. Just know that if you agree to my terms, there are no second chances. The future is fixed in my eyes.”

  Her icy irises swirl with a mélange of activity too fast for even Laguz to track, but I sense I’m seeing what’s to come. If only I could slow it down.

  She pulls out a drawer from the table beside her, reaches inside, and tosses me a small leather bag accented with intricate stitchery. “Open it,” she commands with a flash of her strange eyes.

  My senses are going haywire, spiraling out of control. What if something inside curses me? I mean, worse than I’m already cursed.

  Leave it alone, Laguz warns.

  But the Norn might take my refusal as a sign of disrespect. You don’t want to piss off a Norn. They can destroy not only lives but after-lives too.

  I stare at the bag. “Forgive me, my lady, but perhaps I should continue my journey alone.”

  “What’s the matter?” she hisses. “Are you bothered by snakes?”

  Something inside the pouch jerks in a decidedly reptilian fashion. I drop the bag in my lap and swallow hard as the familiar tightening in my chest leaves me breathless. “If you’re aware of my dreams, you know I am.”

  “The past is my sister’s concern, not mine. I only
wish to assist you along your march. Since I’m feeling generous, I’ll even let you choose your own fate. Simply pick three rune staves from the bag, and I will tattoo them on you. Whatever you select is yours to live with for eternity.”

  “How do I know they’re rune staves I want?” I ask warily.

  Her lips part into a wide, disturbing grin. “You don’t.”

  “Doesn’t seem like much of a bargain if I don’t know what lies within.”

  “I have nothing to hide.” She sweeps a black curl aside from her forehead and nods to the sack. “Everything you could ever want and everything you shun are within your grasp. You simply have to choose.”

  I swallow again, trying to calm my rushing breaths. Whatever I pick, I’ll be stuck with, and knowing how the Norns operate, nothing good would come of it. The gods hate Loki. The Norns built him for hate. After several centuries I have no reason to believe they’d change their minds about me.

  I exhale heavily. I may regret this, but it’s too risky. A trickster knows a grift when he sees one. The Norns never do anything out of the goodness of their hearts, and they certainly don’t trifle with spins on the wheel of fortune.

  “Your kindness knows no bounds, Skuld. Thank you for your offer, but I must respectfully decline.”

  I pass the bag to her, and she tucks it into the drawer from whence it came. “Words create reality, Loki, son of Farbauti and Laufey. Not the other way around.”

  What words? Does she mean runes? Rune staves? Damn these cryptic Norn women and their riddles.

  She looks up at Freddie, who’s moving again. “A cat tattoo for you? Perhaps two?”

  Freddie smiles. “Yeah. Two.”

  Get him out of here before he does something stupid, Laguz says.

  I look at my watch. “Oh dear, I forgot we’re supposed to be upstairs for a meeting in a couple minutes.” I wind my arm through the crook of Freddie’s elbow and tug him toward the exit. “Come on, Freddie. We can’t be late.”

  He gestures to the cat pictures. “But I—”

  “We’ll come back another time. Thank you, Miss Skuld.” I back toward the door.

  Tipping her head to the side, the Norn rises fluidly as if she hasn’t a single bone in her body. “The offer remains open should you change your mind, Trickster.”

  Before I can answer, she melds into a swirl of rainbow colors and fades into oblivion, leaving behind the same woman but with brown eyes. She sets about cleaning up the black chair for the next customer.

  “I thought we were getting tattoos together,” Freddie whines. “Why’d you have to rush us out of there so fast?”

  “Long story,” I say, pushing him up the dark hallway toward the lights of Midgard above. Thick air clings to my skin like an ocean intent on drowning me. “Whatever you do, don’t go back there. That lady is crazy.”

  “Dirty needles?” Freddie asks. “Ugh. The worst.”

  “Yes. Filthy. A petri dish’s wet dream.”

  Freddie bursts into laughter. “Good one. How’d you know what a petri dish is?”

  “Google. What else?”

  The truth is, I got curious after someone with a strange accent in the elevator said “petrol” had gone up to one pound and twenty pence. I mistyped my query, but I learned two new words in the process. Google for the win!

  “Where to next?” Freddie asks.

  I pause my steps. “I’d like to check out Vanir’s Gold Gentlemen’s Club, but sadly, I’m not a gentleman anymore, and I have no idea what the blokes get up to in a place like that anyway. Is it for sport? Wrestling? Archery?”

  “Hunting birds,” Freddie quips with a laugh, though I’m not sure why the comment is supposed to be funny.

  I shrug.

  “Picking up babes.”

  “I thought children weren’t allowed in Hel.”

  Freddie sighs. “I’ve failed you. In so many ways.” He grabs my shoulder and nudges me forward. “Vanir’s Gold is a strip club. Where women take off their clothes.”

  “Oh,” I drawl. “Well, maybe we could—”

  “It’s closed until four. I already checked.”

  “Damn. Then, I suppose we’ll have to pay a visit to Hot Spring Spa.” I do know what that is.

  “I could use a spa day,” Freddie agrees.

  Couldn’t we all?

  Chapter Nineteen

  Two facials, two manicures, two pedicures, two massages, two mud baths, and a Himalayan salt crystal session later, Freddie and I leave Hot Spring Spa empty handed but deeply relaxed. We eat lunch at Forged in Fire—they’re out of goat. DAMN IT!—and head to Svartalfheim to visit the Nine Realms Menagerie, a huge space with many more exhibits than I expected. It looks much smaller from the outside, but so many things in Nine Realms fool the eye.

  The menagerie features every kind of snake you can imagine (none of which I care for, thanks to my nightmares, though I’m amused they named the giant anaconda Nidhogg), a goat petting zoo (the cook couldn’t just slaughter three or four of these for my lunch? Grrr!), ravens that do tricks for the crowds (Huginn and Muninn would be mortified), an eagle, countless squirrels (the king of which is named Ratatosk—delightful!), four stags (Dainn, Dvalinn, Duneyrr, and Durathror, of course), a pack of six wolves, some arctic foxes, a small colony of puffins, and a pair of polar bears.

  Freddie bounces over to the squirrels, buys some food from an attendant dressed as a Valkyrie in gleaming gold armor, which must be incredibly awkward and hot, and sits with the rodents in their enclosure. The little creatures scuttle up and down his arms, begging for pellets.

  “You certainly have a rapport with animals,” I say, glancing around, hoping for a ping from my runes. Again, nothing.

  How is it that Laguz senses them everywhere, and yet when it tries to pinpoint exact locations, it comes up empty? Rune hunting is becoming an exercise in both frustration and futility.

  Freddie giggles as one of the squirrels nuzzles his ear. He offers the bugger a pellet. The others chirp, demanding their turns. Freddie falls into a puddle of laughter and tosses the remaining nuggets into the air for the squirrels to chase.

  “We probably should’ve come here before the spa. I’m filthy,” he says. “But this is totally worth it.”

  A low, guttural grunt from an animal in the next pen grabs our attention. I help Freddie up, and we peer through the glass into an enclosure full of straw. Golden bristles move right below the wall, and a beautiful boar comes into view. Freddie’s jaw drops.

  Mine does too. Because Laguz and I recognize this boar.

  I need a closer look to be sure, but I’m almost positive it’s Hildisvíni.

  I wave for Freddie to follow me out of the squirrel nest. We stamp our feet to rid ourselves of excess straw and hurry next door to the boar exhibit, my heart racing to catch up with my churning brain.

  I try to establish a visual link with the animal, but he only has eyes for Freddie.

  Oh, Hel, Laguz and I think at the same time.

  A cascade of glaringly obvious information sets off a string of lights in my brain, and everything clicks.

  The cats. The boar. The party lifestyle. The affinity for feather coats.

  I stare at Freddie, who’s thoroughly enamored of the glorious battle swine gazing up at him. It takes a few seconds for me to process what the evidence insists is true, and I’m still in shock once I do.

  By the Vanir’s nonexistent virgins, Freddie is Freya.

  Yep, Laguz chimes in. There’s no other explanation.

  Ignoring the sign that says not to touch the animals, Freddie reaches through the wooden slats. I quickly assess the locations of the surveillance cameras and use my body to block their view as best as I can.

  When he picks up Freddie’s scent, the boar snorts and licks his palm. This wild animal could rip a man’s arm off, but he’s clearly cowed by Freddie’s presence. He lowers his bristly head and grand tusks as if inviting Freddie to scratch between his ears—or hop on his back as Freya used to d
o. Freddie’s expression is one of pure awe and delight.

  I can’t believe it. Freddie is Freya. Freya!

  Another goddess found. How many others are wandering around Nine Realms right now, unaware of their heritage? Muninn wasn’t kidding when he said they were all here. I thought by “here,” he meant Las Vegas.

  I back up my thoughts a few steps, and my excitement dwindles.

  I was not exactly kind to Freya in our time. In fact, I was a downright cur to her. If Freddie finds out who he really is, he won’t be too happy when he remembers some of the insults I hurled at him in his feminine guise.

  Slut. Whore. Adulterer.

  I heave a sigh. Like I needed another reminder of what an awful god I used to be.

  “You’re beautiful,” Freddie marvels.

  Hildisvíni snorts his agreement and nudges his head under Freddie’s hand as if to say, I missed you.

  I turn away from their reunion, happy they found each other, but also sad that I managed to befriend yet another god whom I spurned in the past. I have many, many sins to repent.

  Or not, Laguz says. You’re Loki, god of mischief. Why do you care if you hurt anyone’s feelings?

  I pause. Maybe I shouldn’t care. I’ve been putting distance between Gunnar Magnusson and me (and doing a fine job of it). It shouldn’t be hard to do the same with Freddie.

  Except I finally found something with both of them I never had in Asgard: friendship. And if I’m honest, I like having friends. Odin pretended to have my back in the old times, but his affection soured once he got to know me. Same with the other gods. All it took was a few jaunts into the wilderness together for my primal nature to reveal itself and them to scorn me for simply being who I was.

  My past has seared a dividing line between my present and my future. My only friends are a former-raven-turned-chicken I don’t exactly trust and two goddesses I treated no better than maggot-infested horse excrement. It’s a matter of time before Muninn runs into Gunnar Magnusson and Freddie and reveals the truth. There’s one way this new chapter in my life can end, and it’s the same way my previous life ended: friendless and despised. Maybe I should’ve taken Skuld up on her offer and accepted whatever the tattoos might give or take away from me.