by Kendall Grey
You’re right to be concerned, but there’s nothing to be done about it now, Laguz says. We must focus on finding the other three runes. Let the sins of your past fall where they may in the present. Deal with the damage when it strikes. If you’re lucky, you’ll find the runes and be gone before they discover who they are, and none of this will matter.
Yes. This is a good plan. I’ll disconnect myself from the tangled nets Gunnar Magnusson and Freddie have trapped me in with their kindnesses and affection. If anyone is to use nets, it’s Loki.
Freddie straightens and turns to me with a smile that owns most of his face. “And I thought the cats liked me. This guy wants to be my best friend. After you and Gunnar, of course.”
I nod grimly.
“Don’t worry, Hildisvíni. I’ll say goodbye before I leave,” Freddie promises his former battle swine. He grabs my hand and tugs me away from the exhibit toward the snakes. “Are you getting anything?”
I shake my head.
He stops and looks at me. “You seem upset.”
I fashion a fake smile from the well of despair bubbling in my stomach. “No, I’m having much fun with you today.”
“Me too,” he says, resuming his paces. “It’s a shame Gunnar couldn’t be with us.”
I imagine Saga’s cleavage captivating him in the secret back rooms where ancient treasures are stored. Her hand on his. Her eyes on his lips, wordlessly begging him to kiss her.
I blink hard, damning the thought and my jealousy to Hel. “Maybe next time.”
In need of a distraction, I send my mind on a quest through known facts, theories, and suppositions related to my present circumstances. If Sparky and Wiggles are Glitra and Sveifla—the two cats whose furry legs powered Freya’s chariot—as I presume, why did they and the boar come back in their original forms when Huginn and Muninn changed into different animals?
“Ooh! Cobras!” Freddie veers toward the poisonous serpent section, the feathers on the coat flapping with his jaunty lope. I head for Nidhogg. Young children laugh and play tag around his enclosure. The older ones are appropriately cowed by his sizeable eighteen-foot length and thick, green-and-brown-spotted girth.
Well, if it isn’t Loki, father of Ragnarok, crusher of dreams, bringer of death, beholden to snakes, Nidhogg hisses. In the absence of eyelids, he squeezes the muscles around the marbles of his eyes to project a condescending glare.
I speak under my breath so these foolish younglings don’t hear. “None of those kennings belong to me, as you well know, serpent of murder, slithering protector of adulterers, shining oath-breaker, sucker of corpses, drinker of blood of the slain, malice striker—”
All right. I get your point. He cuts me off with a flick of his black tongue. Recalling the intimate relationship I had with the poison from the mouth of another snake, I cringe at the sight of the forked appendage. Nidhogg sidewinds closer to the glass wall separating us. The children shriek with a mixture of delight and terror.
I turn to the closest one and say, “Be careful. A wee nugget like you would make a fine appetizer before Nidhogg’s second course: your parents. And your little sister will top off supper as a lovely dessert, I’m sure.”
The fun-sized tyrant screams and runs away.
Nidhogg’s chuckle sounds like a punctured bladder leaking a mixture of air and coagulated blood. You look different from the last time I saw you, captaining your very own ship of the dead. My, you must’ve been so proud. A shame your tenure aboard Naglfar lasted such a short time.
I lift my index finger and waggle it back and forth. “Hrym the frost giant was the captain. I was merely the helmsman.”
Nidhogg’s lips pull back in a terrifying version of a smile, revealing four rows of sharp, angled teeth embedded in his upper jaw and two more on the bottom. You and I both know who was in charge of the ship of the dead.
I smile back, careful to conceal my terror at his increasing closeness. “We took turns.”
Of course, of course.
“I’m looking for some property that was stolen from me,” I say, eager to move this conversation along so I can get the Hel away from Nidhogg’s creepy scrutiny. “Have you seen any chips of bone about yea big,” I hold my finger and thumb an inch apart, “with some Old Norse letters on them?”
He laughs his crusty, wet laugh again. You lost your runes? How irresponsible of you. I can’t say I’m surprised. You were always so flippant with things you cared about.
“Not sure what you mean.” I know exactly what he means, and I’m pissed.
He tilts his massive green head to the side. The light catches the scales, flashing them emerald. Just reflecting upon that unfortunate business with Sigyn. She was such a lovely woman before you jabbed your claws in her and shredded her beauty with vile words and worse deeds, all the while engaging in the same—what’s the word?—ah yes, hypocritical behavior of which you accused others like Freya. Shame you treated the Asgardian women so poorly. But at least Sigyn and Freya have the same opportunity to start over as you’ve been given. I imagine if they remembered their former glories as goddesses of the Æsir and Vanir, they’d have some choice words for you. Luckily, they yet sleep. Isn’t it wonderful when the Norns look out for us?
I clench my jaw, grinding my molars until they ache.
He’s goading you, Loki. Stay focused, Laguz wisely advises.
Nidhogg’s eyes widen, then narrow and center on my hip. Ah, Laguz is still with you. So, you haven’t lost everything. Good, good.
“The other three?” I prompt with a raised brow. “Have you seen them?”
Nidhogg slowly wags his head back and forth in a mock search. They must be around here somewhere. I can’t, for the life of me, hazard a guess as to where.
He knows exactly where they are. Tension heightens Laguz’s transmission, as if it’s speaking through my gritted teeth.
“You’re beholden to Odin. I get it,” I say. “And why wouldn’t you be? He’s the father of the gods, after all, and you’re just a lowly snake, nipping away at the roots of the World Tree like a helpless newborn seal at its mother’s teat, bloated and drunk on her soothing milk, unnoticed and irrelevant. I mean, what did you hope to accomplish by eating the roots? Did you actually think this tree was going to die? It’s survived your pathetic ‘interference’ for centuries. Hel, it survived Ragnarok. A few licks from you were as damaging as tickles to a tree like this.”
I pause to inject a belly laugh. The scowl sprawling across his scaled face is priceless. I love exposing the air of self-worth in haughty creatures such as Nidhogg for what it is: empty and unfounded.
I lean in as my mouth gains traction like a blizzard you never see coming. “You’re a nuisance, Nidhogg. A gnat doing its best to get the attention of Allfather, who couldn’t care less about you. You’re an overlooked, overrated joke. When the gods sat in the halls of Asgard, in need of entertainment, your name always came up. Poor Nidhogg, the great serpent who turned out to be a great disappointment. No one takes you seriously, least of all, Odin. Get over yourself, you has-been.”
Always the trickster, laying traps with your words, Nidhogg retorts, a quaver in his voice.
I rattled him. Good.
I shrug. “It’s what I do. But this time, the words are true, and you know it. You feel it in those bowed bones and cold blood. You’re nothing to Odin. You’re so insignificant, in fact, that he plans to use your own runes against you. He holds your immortality between his fingers, flipping it as nonchalantly as a coin, with no preference either way as to how it lands.”
I have my runes, he hisses sharply.
I narrow my eyes and take a stab in the dark. “You have one of them, like me. And it’s not the one that’ll keep you alive forever.”
He recoils, eyes clouding. His shifting scales darken to forest green.
“If you’ll tell me where they are, I’ll retrieve them for you. I swear it.”
Why would I trust you, a proven liar whose only interest is himself?<
br />
“Because my goal isn’t just regaining my immortality. I aim to make Odin pay for what he did to me. To you. To all of us.” I fling my arms wide.
A woman approaching the glass snatches her young daughter by the arm, changes course, and drags the child away. She looks over her shoulder at me like I’m the big, bad, scary snake. “What?” I yell at her.
She hurries out of the exhibit. The child is crying.
Let her bawl. She should be afraid of Loki.
I return my attention to Nidhogg. “How long are you willing to live under Allfather’s thumb? He’s been keeping the lot of us down for centuries, and now he aims to end us permanently by denying us our runes—our birthrights. It’s not fair.”
As you know, life isn’t fair, Nidhogg argues, but the force behind his words is more air than resolve.
“Only the Norns know why we were reincarnated in this time and brought to this place, but there must be a reason the Æsir and Vanir are here. Odin told me he wanted to make the world a better place by letting me die, but it doesn’t end with me. He’s not giving anyone’s immortality back. I’m a convenient target for his lame attempts at righteous anger, but the truth is, he doesn’t give a puffin’s piddle about any of us. He cares about securing his own seat at the table of immortality and burning all the chairs before anyone else has a chance to claim them.”
I press my palms to the glass in supplication. “Join me, Nidhogg. I’ll restore your runes and your immortality. As a god of Asgard, I give you my word, which cannot be broken.”
The serpent falls deathly still for a long moment, considering my offer, I hope. Then he lifts his head with a smooth, elegant flourish. I’m afraid you’re on your own. Good luck, Loki.
He slithers away without looking back. My heart sinks. He was my best hope of pinpointing the locations of my runes.
I pound a fist on the glass and snarl. Adrenaline circulates fury through my body that I haven’t felt in ages. I clench my teeth and grit out, “I’ll remember this betrayal, Nidhogg. May you pay for it for eternity.”
I spin on my heel and thunder away from the slimy green bastard toward Freddie, who’s petting Hildisvíni again. “Time to go.”
I don’t wait for him to answer or even follow. I am so full of rage, I want to tear something apart. On my way out of the menagerie, I smack a small statue of Muninn keeping watch over the exit across from its brother Huginn. The black marble raven flies into the wall and shatters. Onlookers gasp and clutch their stupid children close to their knees.
Air wheezes between my gritted teeth, and I throw both middle fingers out, waving them proudly as I strut toward the elevator out of Svartalfheim amid the visitors’ hushed whispers. Freddie catches up just before the golden doors shut.
“What the hell, Loki? Where are you going?”
“I’m done playing the nice guy,” I seethe. My nostrils bow. My shoulders lift and release with my fast breaths. “It’s time to pay a visit to Jotunheim. I’m not leaving without my runes.”
Chapter Twenty
Fire searing my veins, I storm out of the elevator at level 3 toward the museum. The runes are mine, and everyone I encounter in this gods-damned place is doing his best to throw me off the scent. I curl my hands into white-knuckled fists at my sides. Kenaz, Othala, and Ihwaz were born of my own bones, carved painfully from violent wounds my mother gouged into my tender flesh when I was but a day-old baby. It doesn’t get more personal than that. Damn Odin and his sycophantic minions for trying to deprive me of my rightful possessions. Damn them all to Hel.
A line of people, many wearing Asgard Awakening shirts and other gear, stretches around the corner. I breeze past them, flashing my middle finger and gold key at the attendant without giving him a chance to stop me. Freddie stumbles along behind me, making apologies in my fiery wake.
“Ma’am,” the attendant shouts. “You can’t break the line. You must wait your turn.”
“Screw you,” I toss over my shoulder and keep walking.
“Astrid, slow down,” Freddie says, his tone tight and clipped. “You’re gonna get us in trouble. I know you’re angry, but there are rules—”
I turn on him. He runs into me and bounces off my puffed-out chest. Heat burns my eyes. I focus it to a knife’s point on him. “I don’t heed the rules anymore. I’m done acting like a good girl. I am Loki, the trickster god. I will not be silenced by fools of lesser status, nor will I be denied my birthright a second longer. You can either help me find Saga Leifsdóttir or get the Hel out of my way.” I resume my furious path, not caring whether he follows or leaves.
The museum is divided into sections by historical era. I pluck a map from a visitor’s fingers and bare my teeth like a wolf when he complains. He backs away with his hands up. I open the map, locate the oldest of the antiquities and head that way. When I reach the section featuring the early Norse settlements, I stampede through, plundering with my eyes, nudging people out of my way to a cacophony of angry protests.
“What’s her problem?” someone asks behind me.
“Gah, what a bitch,” another says.
“You have no idea,” I snarl. “If you’re smart, you’ll step aside before I raze this place to the ground. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve taken out a horde of undeserving humans.”
Gasps from every side follow. Someone calls for security.
“Loki, can we please talk?” Freddie says. “You need to calm down before they haul you out of here.”
I ignore him and scan the crowd. I spot a blond head towering over everyone else in the corner. Shoving the sheep out of my way, I beeline toward Gunnar Magnusson.
When I’m within earshot, Saga Leifsdóttir says in her silky-smooth voice, “There’s more where this came from. If you’re hired, I’ll grant you access to anything at Nine Realms you desire, including me. I can give you the world, Gunnar. All you have to do is submit.”
The suggestion in her low tone is clear. She’s trying to seduce him, and by the looks of it, she’s doing a pretty damned good job.
It’s more than that, Laguz warns. She’s casting a love spell on him.
Bile rises in my throat.
I emerge from the parted crowd to find her hand on his as he examines an old medallion, tarnished by age. She leans close, staring up at him with a suggestive smile. Her icy irises swirl, and Gunnar Magnusson seems to lose focus as he stares into her eyes. Then Saga notices me. She straightens, and the spell falls away like an exhaled breath.
Who is this bitch? I’m going to rip her face off and feed it to Hildisvíni for a midnight snack.
Gunnar Magnusson shakes his head as if waking up and startles when he sees me standing in front of him.
“L—Astrid,” he says. His scruffy cheeks redden. He’s scrambling to cover up whatever is going on between them. Was he able to resist Saga’s charms? I can’t tell. But I really hope so.
“May I have a word?” I ask. Without waiting for his answer, I pull him away from Saga. She glares at me with a superior air. A commotion from the other side of the room tells me I don’t have much time.
“What are you doing here?” Gunnar Magnusson asks in a quiet voice. His eyes dart behind me at what I assume are security guards coming for me, and his surprise melts into disappointment. “What did you do?”
“I’ve been through almost the entire resort, and the runes are nowhere to be found. They must be here, somewhere in the antiquities section. I need you to—”
Freddie catches up, exasperation plain on his features. “I tried to stop her. She won’t listen,” he says as if I’m not standing right here. He aims a thumb over his shoulder. “They’re gonna drag her out any second.”
Gunnar Magnusson’s face falls. “We’ll talk later. I’m right in the middle of—”
“I’m well aware of what you’re in the middle of.” I hurl a disgusted look at Saga like a boulder. It packs all the impact of a grain of sand on the wind. She watches me coolly.
“Out of the way,�
� a man yells. “Excuse me. Step aside.”
I risk a glance over my shoulder. Three big, burly fellows—the armored Vikings stationed around the resort and casino—are within striking distance.
“I need my runes,” I say. “Please, Gunnar Magnusson …” Desperation kidnaps my voice. I hate the sound of it. I hate the way lying, cheating, spell-slinging Saga feigns surprise as the guards close. Most of all, I hate that I’ve disappointed Gunnar Magnusson. Again.
A pair of hands falls on me. Someone pushes Freddie away. The ridge between Gunnar Magnusson’s eyes thickens. Lips pressed into a tight line, he reaches for me as the men rip me away from him. I flail and kick, trying to free myself, but I’m not strong enough.
“We need to speak with you in private,” one of the guards says close to my ear. His breath is hot and smells like fish.
I scream in his face. I must look deranged, but I don’t care. The fire of Chaos from whence I was born sears my soul at the loss of my runes. My pulse clamors in a terrible, erratic rhythm behind my ears. Freddie watches helplessly from the side as the crowd parts and clears a path for security to take me away.
“Stop,” Saga commands. She steps out of the horde of people swarming the antiquities and sweeps an arm toward a room off to the side. “Bring her in here. I’ll handle this.”
Gunnar Magnusson follows, but she holds up a hand to stop him. “This is Nine Realms business.”
“I know her. I can talk her down,” he says. Then more softly, “She has mental issues.”
If that’s not a stab in the back, I don’t know what is. The rage swells anew inside me, burning my blood into ashes that choke my veins.
Saga shakes her head. “Stay here.”
Gunnar Magnusson freezes. Freddie stands still beside him. I mouth don’t trust her to them, but I’m not sure they understand.
My friends are the last things I see before I’m dragged into a dusty storage closet and deposited on a chair, hands cuffed behind my back. Saga nods for the men to leave. Seconds later, the door slams after them.
