Yeah, today just kept getting better and better.
Without turning or slowing his pace, he growled, “Look. My best advice? Don’t speak unless you have something vital to offer. Nobody gives a shit who you are. The only reason you’re stepping through this doorway is because you might…and I stress the word might be able to help me with our current situation.” Mir shot her a look that should have scared her shitless. Instead, nervous energy vibrated off her in sheets. “If your Intel doesn’t pan out? You’re back outside, and don’t even think about flashing another sign my way. Next time, it’ll get you dead.”
Ducking through the doorway, he motioned for her to follow him inside and closed them inside, feeling like a total fidiot for falling for whatever ruse this mortal had dreamed up just to get herself a hot meal and warmth.
Climbing the steps behind Mir in pitch-black darkness, Syd couldn’t believe she was actually inside. When she’d come up with her hair-brained scheme after the world had gone to shit and barricaded herself into her office in the basement of the Field Museum, she’d pretty much written herself off as dead. The only protection she’d had against impending doom was a flimsy metal door and a month’s worth of candy and energy drinks. But now look at her. She was in like Flynn, hot on the heels of one of the actual Norse gods.
And best of all, she was right.
About the gods. About the doorway from another world. About everything, so far.
When old Doc McRoy had told her the Phoenix Club housed a band of ancient, immortal warriors, she’d lol’d. Told him he was crazy. But then came the explosion in Millenium Park. And the world burning to the ground. Slowly, she’d revised her theory. Besides, the professor might be soft in the head, but the man was a certifiable genius, holding at least five different doctorates.
All those accredited universities couldn’t be wrong, could they?
The other thing nagging at Sydney in the darkness was the teensy, weensy secret she’d have to keep hidden. But her magical upbringing was nobody’s business but her own. It hardly even mattered in the big picture. Besides, she’d kept it buried for twelve years, and what was past, was past.
However, these stairs were seriously going to do her in. “Too bad there’s no elevator.” She huffed, her lungs burning. They were on the tenth flight, and he was taking the steps two at a time.
“There is, we’re just conserving electricity at the moment.”
“Figures.” Their words echoed upward as if there was no end to this climb.
For that matter, how did they even have electricity? she wondered, struggling to keep up with Mir. In the total darkness, she could tell he was right ahead of her, heat and anger radiating off of him like a furnace. She counted the turns until finally, after thirty flights of stairs, Mir flung open a door. Momentarily blinded, Sydney froze as he pulled her close.
“You will answer only when spoken to. You will keep your mouth closed. And if you deviate from any of my rules, I will tape your fucking mouth shut. Understand?”
Quickly, Syd nodded, teetering between terror and excitement. She tended to make really bad decisions in such moments, so silence seemed to be the best solution for all parties involved.
“Not a peep. Understand?” She head bobbed again, and he cuffed her wrist in a gentle grasp, leading her down a long, dim hallway. Pulling her into a small, dusty room, he slammed the door behind them.
As he flicked on the switch, he muttered, “All right, you’re here. I’ve fulfilled my part of the deal. Spill. What do you know and how?” While the fluorescents flickered to life, Sydney took a moment to let the lovely heat sink in, warm for the first time in weeks. Mir yanked back his hood, revealing a chiseled face and light red-blonde hair. No-nonsense, intense blue eyes drilled straight through her.
“How about something to eat?” No reason to think looking a gift horse in the mouth was out of the question. “I’m starving.”
“Intel first. Then food. Maybe. Depending on how good your information is.”
She shot him a glare. “Oh, it’s good, trust me.”
“I don’t trust anyone.”
“Obviously.” She snorted, before instantly course correcting. “I get it, I do. Scary times and all. But I figured you guys could use some professional help, with everything that’s been going on.”
“And how do you figure we’d need your help?”
Sydney sized him up, his military stance, the clenched jaw, then carefully scanned the room. He’d chosen some sort of catchall area for this little confab. There were filing cabinets and old chairs and tables piled up against the wall, a stack of monitors in another. He’d stashed her away, not trusting her enough to bring her to the others until he vetted her and her information. Which meant she had to make this good.
Really, really good.
“I work…worked at the Field Museum.”
The guy went perfectly still, while his eyes drilled straight into her. As if she’d just revealed some enormous secret of the universe. There was also an extra layer of wariness in his voice that hadn’t been there a moment ago.
“The museum, huh? I’ll bet you see all kinds of weird shit there, don’t you?”
“Yeah, I guess.” She shrugged. “It’s my job, or was, until three weeks ago when the world ended in the zombie apocalypse. So this is the thing.” Now that they were down to it, Sydney was strangely reluctant to part with her secrets. What if her info wasn’t as valuable as she thought? She couldn’t end up back out on the streets. She wouldn’t survive another month.
“I’ve worked there for a couple of years. Was highly placed on different projects, picked for key positions on a few specialized teams. What I’m trying to tell you is, I’m not a flake. Even if this next part is probably going to sound totally nuts. Professor McRoy, he’s my boss, confided he’s been keeping tabs on this building, and therefore, you guys, for over forty years.”
Mir froze in place, a preternatural beast locking onto his prey. Instinct told her to proceed very carefully. “Old Doc McRoy was fascinated with this building. He used to jokingly call this the Golden Tower of Asgard, even though we knew it was the Phoenix Club.
“But then, a couple of weeks ago, right before the end of the world, he spilled his guts to me.”
Sydney watched Mir pull his hoodie over his head and drape it over the back of a chair. She paused, then stripped off her heavy, outer coat. When he braced his arms on the table, she couldn’t help but notice his muscles bulging as he leaned in. His face would have been handsome if it weren’t set in rigid, unforgiving lines.
“This Doctor McRoy. What was his title at the museum?”
“He’s in charge of Acquisitions and Collections. Before that…maybe Curator of Bronze Age Research? Point is, he’s been on staff at the Field for almost fifty years. The guy has got degrees and certifications out the wazoo. So he says.”
“Sounds as if he’s quite the expert, if you ask me.” The skeptical tone in Mir’s voice turned suspicious. “What else did this guy say?”
Reading defensiveness in the set of those wide shoulders, Sydney attempted a change of subject. “You know what? Forget McRoy. I’m here to talk about the anomaly. Although,” she clarified, “once I visited the Cloud Gate site, poked around and took some readings, I became far more receptive to his whacked-out conspiracy theory, crazy as it sounded.”
“Do tell.” Mir goaded, the sarcasm layered on good and thick, his expression dismissive. “Because I don’t want any surprises.” His jaw clenched. “And it sure seems that’s what you’re building up to.”
It was also perfectly clear he didn’t believe a word she was saying, and even clearer what he thought of her. Sydney stiffened. She knew what she looked like. She’d been in the same clothes for weeks, supplemented with items from the museum’s lost and found. But that sure as hell didn’t give the guy cause to look down his nose at her. This wasn’t a freaking fashion show.
This was survival.
Besides, Sydney wasn
’t used to justifying herself to other people. She was used to people begging her for information. Having it wheedled and cajoled out of her, in truth. Occasionally with a medium-rare filet and a glass of expensive cabernet in one of Chicago’s best restaurants.
Which was why she snapped, “Whatever came through Millennium Park left markings all over the site, markings I’ve only seen before on Pictish runestones.”
Mir‘s eyes sparked, as if considering a new, interesting concept. “Do the markings happen to resemble fingerprints?”
She answered thoughtfully, “I suppose you could say that. Yes, now you mention it, they do. Exactly like them. The grooves were etched into the stainless steel skin remnants of the Cloud Gate sculpture. Very distinctive markings. And very much my specialty.”
“Your specialty? Let me guess, you’re an expert in antiquities?”
“In a manner of speaking.”
His eyes narrowed. “You just bought yourself another ten minutes and lunch.”
“Awesome.” He’d hinted they had electricity in a decimated city. “I’d like it hot if you don’t mind. I’ve been living on candy bars and bottled drinks for weeks.”
When he made no move to fetch her lunch or beverages, she began to peel off layers as she continued, “Once I returned with the readings, the professor looked at everything and got totally weirded out. He launched into his crazy story about the Phoenix Club and you guys—and a bunch of other stuff I don’t even want to go into.” She paused. “But his reaction made me curious. So I came here a few days later and set up shop across the street. You recognize what I discovered? The whole city’s a war zone but not this place. It’s locked up tight, got lights on at night, and cars coming and going. I wondered if some of the stories McRoy told me were true. So I walked to the museum, and I made my sign. And I waited.”
Sydney had been on the verge of packing up when a tall, blonde, and sexy stumbled past, stuck out his phone, and snapped a pic of her. Oh, so obvious.
“And the reason you’re here…” Mir prodded.
“The reason? Oh yeah. You probably don’t get to the museum much…” She saw a muscle in his jaw clench. “Like probably never. But we brought a new find in two months ago, straight from Ireland, from a little town called Donaugh. It was dug up out of a peat bog where it’s been buried for three or four thousand years. Care to guess what it was?”
She pulled a thick, oversized sweater over her head and threw it on top of the growing pile in front of her. “Biggest, most complete set of dolmens ever discovered. Covered in what we deduced are Pictish carvings.” She pursed her lips as she pictured them. “Carvings that do resemble fingerprints, now that I think about it. We cleared out a place in the basement loading dock for them. McRoy and his assistant had us erect these seven perfectly preserved dolmens to specifications. In a circle, almost the size of a baseball diamond.
“One gate closes, another one opens. The timing seems…fortuitous, don’t you think?”
“How did they discover these rocks?”
“Can’t tell you, very hush hush. But McRoy definitely had something to do with it. I was just the lead consultant. But the professor, he’s been freaky lately. On edge. Distracted. Weird, well, weirder than usual.” She peeled off the final layer and stretched herself into a long, sinuous curve, the blessed, divine heat sinking into every inch of her. Mir’s eyes widened.
“God, that feels really good. The heat, I mean.” She rushed to explain, “I’ve been frozen solid for three weeks straight. That whole building’s made of marble. Doesn’t exactly hold in the warmth.” Sydney gave him a tentative smile, if only because for once, her face felt like it wouldn’t crack.
Holy fucking shit.
Mir kept his gaze riveted on the precariously leaning tower of monitors over her shoulder, because if he looked at her again…
She was drop-dead gorgeous. Her skin had the porcelain translucence of a natural redhead, flecked every so often with pale brown freckles. And she was tall, almost as tall as him, moving easily as she stretched, her back popping audibly with every arch and twist. An armful of silver bangles, a drapey, wispy blouse overtop, low riding, worn jeans that hugged her hips.
Oh yeah, he’d promised to feed her.
“You’ve told me enough. Let’s get you something to eat. Come on, we have a commissary down the hall.” This time, when Mir ushered her out, he noticed how the light shimmered through the fall of her hair, picking out strands of gold amongst the fiery red as she tilted her head back to view the ceilings and walls.
“Wow, this place is great. So you really live here? How many of you are there? I cannot believe I’m finally inside, I’ve been out there for weeks and weeks, but yeah, you already know that…”
Goddamn it, he couldn’t help himself. It had been so damn long. He drank in the sight of her as she strode ahead of him. The girl had a body made for sin. She was soft in all the right places, with a tiny waist and wide hips, tapering down into….
“Mirmir, who is your friend?” Mir’s heart stopped beating the second Odin’s cold voice cut through the girl’s excited, endless chatter. Odin leaned outside the tall doors leading to his Throne Room, as if he’d been waiting for them for hours. “Well, don’t leave your guest standing in the hallway, let’s give her something to look at, shall we?” Odin offered her a toothy, predatory smile.
With barely a backwards glance over her shoulder, the redhead sauntered toward the silver-haired god. Probably to her death. Mir pursued as quickly as possible. She didn’t have a clue who Odin really was, nor what she was walking into.
Drawing close, he cupped her elbow tightly. “Stay quiet, only answer in one-word responses, and whatever you do, do not engage him.”
The towering double doors swung wide.
Sydney thought she’d seen everything. Abandoned German castles, mummies dug up from Russian tundras, libraries sealed shut for ten thousand years. But the white-marbled perfection of Odin’s hall took her breath away.
“Wow. Just wow. This is Austrian marble, isn’t it? And it doesn’t have a single, solitary vein. It’s perfect. You must have searched forever to find it. And those cornices… They’re hand carved, aren’t they? Who did the work? Because nobody alive has this sort of skill set anymore.” It took all Sydney’s restraint to curl her fingers into her palms before she ran them over every surface in the room. But she spun on her heels, taking it all in, only stopping when her eyes fell on the pale-haired god standing on the dais above her.
Her voice was a breathless whisper. “Odin, the All Father, I presume?” Bending at the knee, Sydney dropped into a bow, adopting the manner she’d seen in an old annal of Norse mythology. Without waiting, she jumped to her feet and continued to stare around in awed wonder.
“Finally, someone who gets it.” The biggest, baddest god of them all sounded…pleased.
“Oh, I get it, I get all of this.” Syd waved her hands at all that surrounded them. “This is utterly magnificent. All of it. After just studying history… I’m finally where I want to be. In the right place at the right time.”
“Are you sure that’s what you want?” the silver-haired god asked from above her.
“Oh yeah, I’m completely sure. Even more so, I’m absolutely thrilled to be here.” Treat it like a job interview, Sydney told herself, brightening at the prospect. “I know I’m more than qualified for this...”
Odin cut her off. “Let’s start with what you’ve already told Mir.” Suddenly she was aware of Mir right behind her, not even breathing. But his solid, steady presence reassured her somehow. “And then we’ll see what fate awaits you.”
Well, that sounds promising.
“Please, my lord.” There was a warning tone to Mir’s voice she should have picked up on, but teetering between excitement and fear kind of blinded her to things like self-preservation.
“Shut up, Mir. You brought the human here, and you know our laws. There’s been enough rule breaking these past few months, and with
the state of things now, we cannot afford loose ends.” When Odin leaned forward, she finally noticed how empty those silvery eyes were. “And I believe I have truly reached the end of my patience. Let’s see what the mortal has to offer us.”
A thrill of terror rippled through Sydney at both Odin’s tone and the implied threat. But this wasn’t, technically, her first brush with the otherworldly, and a flicker of magic, ancient and buried, awakened inside of her. Straightening her spine, she met that empty stare. With the authoritative tone of one who spoke to minions, when those minions were, at best, idiots, Sydney said, “Trust me, I’ll not only save you time, I’m going to save your asses. And you’re both going to thank me when I’m done.”
“Listen to her, Odin. She’s got Intel on the Orobus.”
“I’ll decide who and what I need to pay attention to. And this…” Odin leaned in and sniffed the air audibly as his eyes narrowed even farther, “…mortal cannot possibly tell me anything about the Orobus I don’t already know. Nor what happened in Millennium Park.”
For a long moment, Sydney stared into his moon-colored eyes, watching him appraise her as if calculating her worth. She made sure every word coming out of her mouth had the power of a hammer and pictured Odin as the nail.
One chance. She had one shot at getting this right.
“Here’s what I can tell you. That entity is already here and seems intent on destroying this world. You might not want a mortal’s help, but if I can offer you a chance, a shot at saving this world, are you seriously willing to pass it up?” Still he waited, those death-dealing eyes fixated on her.
“There’s a formation of stone dolmens brought over from Ireland. I believe they were made to be used as doorways to another realm, exactly like Millennial Park. I know where this formation is, how it works, and when it will open.”
Odin leaned back, his face unreadable, those quicksilver eyes shadowed as if they were dismissed. Mir’s hand grasped her shoulder, pulling her away.
The Banished Gods Box Set: Books 1-3 Page 51
