Managarm stared at her intently, then nodded and released her wrist. But then Opal reached out and grabbed her rain jacket.
“Hurry back,” Opal whispered. “I don’t have a good feeling about this.”
Sally glanced into the back where David was sucking down his third Big Gulp of the morning after polishing off a half-dozen breakfast burritos and a super-sized bag of peanut M&Ms.
Baron sat beside the Berserker, watching and twitching his tail.
Pulling her hood low over her eyes, Sally dashed across the street and narrowly avoided deep puddles in the crosswalk and panhandlers on both corners. She had misgivings about leaving Baron in the car, but sighed with relief when she saw the lights on inside Powells—then exclaimed in exasperation when the doors wouldn’t budge. She checked the time. 8:30 a.m. The store wouldn’t open to customers for another thirty minutes.
She looked back across the street toward Managarm’s car and waved to get Opal’s attention, but the Suburban’s rain-spattered windows were fogging up and cars and cyclists kept zooming through the street between them. Sally turned back to the doors and gasped aloud when she caught her reflection in the glass.
There were even deeper wrinkles across her brow and around her eyes and mouth and when she pulled her rain hood back, she saw a more even distribution of white in her normally red-blond hair.
She wanted to scream and cry and stomp on the pavement—generally, to have herself a proper tantrum—but she took a resolute breath instead and closed her eyes. Stay focused. When she opened her eyes, she looked past her reflection and pressed her face against the glass to see inside the store. She spotted Saga pushing a cart of paperbacks toward the New Arrivals shelves by the front door.
Sally pounded on the glass. “Saga? Saga! Please! You’ve got to let me in!” She watched the clerk stop and look first at her, and then at the clock on the wall.
“We don’t open for another twenty-seven minutes,” Saga called back, her voice muffled by the glass doors.
“Saga, please! I know I’m early, but it’s really important! I’m sorry about yesterday.” Sally yanked at the door again as if she could will it to unlock, then pressed herself flat against the door. Her breath fogged the glass. “Please? It’s kind of an emergency. I need your help.”
Saga paused, then held up a hand in resignation and slipped behind the Customer Service desk where she crouched down out of sight. When she re-emerged, Saga headed for the door carrying a brightly colored ring loaded with keys.
“Oh! Oh, thank you! Thank you!” Sally exclaimed. “You’re really a godsend this morning.”
“Interesting choice of words,” Saga muttered on the other side of the door. She slipped a key into the lock and turned, then pulled one of the doors open. “Don’t make me regret this, all right?”
Sally hurried inside. “Listen, I can’t apologize enough about my outburst here not twenty-four hours ago—”
“It happens.” Saga pocketed the keys. “You said it was an emergency?”
Sally headed for the computer at the Customer Service desk. “I need to find a book. A very important book.”
Saga seemed slightly irritated but stepped behind the counter to log onto the computer anyway. “Umm, Ms. Dahl, was it?”
“Mmmm.” Sally glanced back over her shoulder, trying to catch sight of Managarm’s Suburban. One of the old gods needed her help! Managarm was a minor figure, as far as deities went. She didn’t exactly have Odin, Thor, or Frigga knocking on her door. But what about the boy? Managarm kept calling him a Berserker. Was David really an ancient warrior who recognized her as a 21st-century priestess?
“Oh, get a grip, Sally,” she muttered.
“Excuse me?”
“Uh.” Sally turned around to find Saga staring at her. “Nothing. Sorry. So I’m looking for The Myth and Magick of Freya’s Rune Spells. It’s by Henrietta Slupurne. There should be one here in the store, but I’m not sure if it would be in Metaphysics or Religion, or maybe in the Rare Book Room?”
Saga’s fingers paused on the keyboard and she fixed Sally with a serious frown. “How exactly is this an emergency?”
Sally pulled her hair back nervously. Remembering how close she came to being escorted out of the store by security the day before, Sally couldn’t afford another rant about Sleipnir’s Convergence and her Odin’s Return spell.
“Well, see . . .” Sally stammered. “So, okay, I know maybe it doesn’t seem like a real emergency to you, but it is really important. Please, just believe me?”
Sally waited for Saga to start typing, but her fingers remained frozen over the keys.
“It’s just that, I’m doing this . . . Thing. Research. And I really need this book to help correct some mistakes I made before. Because of the missing pages in the other book.” Sally nodded toward the computer, but Saga wasn’t taking the hint. “So, if you could just look it up for me? And then I’ll get out of your hair. I promise.”
Saga stepped away from the computer and leaned on the desk. “Ms. Dahl, forgive me for asking, but could you tell me precisely why this is so important?”
Sally’s stomach tightened. “Listen, I’ve got somebody waiting for me.” Sally gestured toward the doors. “Could you just look it up?”
Saga folded her hands over the counter. “Yesterday you were talking about runes and the Black Moon.”
“Yeah?” Sally took a step back from the counter.
“And now you’re after a book on a very specific type of rune magick.” Saga lowered her voice, even though there was no one else around to overhear. “Tell me what you’re up to.”
Sally’s throat went dry. She fidgeted with the zipper of her raincoat and frowned down at her bony fingers. Then she remembered that while she might be an insecure teenager on the inside, she was very much a middle-aged—or older—adult on the outside. Sally straightened up and looked at Saga directly. “I don’t think that’s any of your business, young lady. I am looking for a very specific book, and if you can’t help me . . .”
Instead of jumping back on the computer, Saga looked Sally up and down and smiled. “Ms. Dahl, I think I can help you.” She stepped out from behind the desk and rested a hand on Sally’s shoulder. “Let’s take a walk upstairs to the Rare Book Room.”
Managarm kept his eyes locked on the bookstore entrance. He’d watched the little witch manage to get herself inside, even after that moment of panic at the door. But that had been forty minutes ago, according to Opal who kept giving him time updates every 90 seconds.
The rain had let up, and the sun made its first appearance of the day. Managarm pulled a pair of sunglasses out of the glove compartment and slipped them on without looking away from Powells.
“Come on, little witch,” he whispered. “Come on out now.”
He felt a dull thump on the back of the driver’s seat.
“You know a pizza place that’s open? I’m hungry!” the Berserker complained from the back seat. “How about some onion rings?”
Managarm turned in his seat and glowered at the warrior. If David hadn’t been the only Berserker currently on the scene, Managarm would have dropped him off under a bridge to fend for himself. David lifted his foot to kick the seat again, but Managarm grabbed his ankle and yanked upward. David slid violently down in the seat.
“Hey!” David protested as his butt hit the floorboards, littered with discarded soda bottles and fast food wrappers.
Managarm leaned over the seat and growled at him. “I told you to stop kicking me!”
Before he could let go of David’s ankle, Baron swiped at Managarm’s hand with a loud hiss. Managarm jerked back and snarled at the stripes of blood rising on the back of his hand. He made to grab at the animal, but Baron leapt out of the way.
“You got any crackers up there?” David crawled back up onto the seat and reached over to pet Baron, perched on the armrest on the rear passenger door. The cat purred at the Berserker’s touch, but when Managarm turned to glare at him, Baron
narrowed his eyes, emitted an ear-splitting growl, and hissed again.
“I don’t think he likes you,” said Opal, glancing at her phone.
Managarm was fast losing control over his passengers. The Berserker had no respect for his authority. The four-eyed girl looked at him with a mixture of suspicion and disdain, and there was little doubt the cursed cat was out for his blood.
But the Berserker obeyed Sally’s instructions. Opal wouldn’t let Sally go anywhere without her, and Sally refused to leave the cat behind.
And he did still need the little witch.
Managarm attempted a smile. “I think you’re right. Do you think the cat would be more comfortable back in Sally’s bag?”
Opal shrugged. “Yeah, okay.”
She reached into the back to gather the cat into her arms, and Baron took advantage of the opportunity to take a swipe at Managarm’s face as Opal pulled him into the front seat. Managarm leaned back just in time to miss the cat’s claws.
“Thanks,” Managarm said, swallowing his irritation.
Opal grabbed Sally’s bag from between her feet and tried stuffing the cat inside. “Come on, Barry. Grumpy old puss.”
The cat was not cooperating. Mewling impatiently, Baron kept splaying his fat legs wide every time Opal tried to lower him into the bag.
“All right, let’s try this, then.” Opal unzipped the bag as wide as it would go, and the bag’s contents—Sally’s hairbrush, Book of Shadows, phone, rune bag, bundled sage wand, and several hardback books—spilled onto the seat. Opal picked up the cat and settled him easily into the wider space, then zipped up the backpack around him.
Managarm pushed Sally’s personal items across the seat toward Opal but as his fingers brushed against the dried herbs, he felt a familiar spark ripple over his skin. Opal was loading Sally’s stuff back into the bag around Baron’s substantial girth but when she reached for the sage wand, Managarm scooped it up first.
He sniffed at the sage and lavender bound tightly with string and felt a familiar electric sensation play over his skin.
The goddess of the hearth and home had bound these herbs.
Managarm grabbed Opal’s shoulder and held the smudge stick in her face. “Where did you get this?”
Opal tried to move closer to the door to get away from him, but he held her firmly in place. “I don’t know. Some girl gave it to Sally yesterday in the bookstore.” She gestured toward Powells across the street. “Ow! You’re hurting me!”
Though he enjoyed the feel of her squirming under his grasp, he let her go but held onto the bundled herbs. He remembered, centuries ago, watching Frigga harvest and dry herbs such as these. She’d bound them together in magickal combinations for healing, for prophecy, to protect women in childbirth . . . She had even prepared protective amulets for her sons to wear into battle, but she’d never tossed so much as a clump of moss to the Moon Dog and his Warg kin.
He closed his eyes and tried to recall the scents of Frigga’s hearth—her rosemary breads, potato pies, and licorice mead . . .
“I got it!” Sally yanked the back door open with enthusiasm and piled into the car.
Startled out of his reverie, Managarm glanced at the book she was waving about. “That’s it?”
“Not only that.” Sally rested against the back seat with a satisfied smile and pushed empty chip bags and candy bar wrappers onto the floor. “Saga showed me exactly what to do to reverse what’s happened to me.”
Managarm felt like he was bolted to the seat. “Saga?” He looked across the street to the bookstore, then remembered the sage wand in his hand. “Is she the one who gave you this?”
Sally nodded and held the book to her chest. “Opal, I told you it wasn’t any accident that someone with her name would know about runes. It’s fate.”
Managarm’s blood ran cold. He reached back and grabbed Sally by the wrist, pulling her forward and making her look at him. “You say Saga works in that bookstore?”
“Yeah.” She grimaced in pain. Managarm loosened his grip, but didn’t let go.
“And she instructed you in a cure for your condition?”
Sally struggled against him. Managarm didn’t want to hurt her, but it was about time she realized who was really in charge. “Answer me!” he shouted.
Before Sally could respond, David grabbed Managarm’s hand and in a flash not only freed Sally but bent Managarm’s thumb backward, effectively incapacitating him. The Moon Dog growled and bared his teeth in agony.
“Release me, you cur!” Managarm bellowed, but the Berserker only strengthened his grip.
“You will not harm her,” the Berserker snarled.
Baron popped his head out of the top of Sally’s backpack and started growling and spitting at Managarm again.
Sally laid a hand on David’s shoulder. “David! Stop that! There’s no need for violence.”
David released Managarm. The Moon Dog massaged his right hand fiercely, trying to rub away the pain.
Sally looked from David to Managarm in confusion, then glanced at Opal, who simply shrugged.
Managarm leaned back against the headrest and caught Sally’s eye in the rearview mirror. “You were saying?” he grumbled.
“Yeah. Saga showed me what to do, though I think you’re right about waiting until after the Black Moon.” She opened the book in her lap and absently paged through it. “So I—sorry, we—can stay focused on Odin’s Return for now.”
Managarm grimaced at the mention of the Chief God’s name, plus his hand was still throbbing. “And did you tell this Saga with whom you are working?”
Sally smiled at his reflection in the rearview mirror. “Of course not. Your secret is safe with me.”
“Very good.” Managarm barely managed to slide the key into the ignition. It would be a while before his hand stopped smarting. Once he had fully bent this little witch and her four-eyed friend to his will, the Berserker would pay for his offense, and so would that beast of a cat.
13
As the sun reached toward the zenith of mid-day Friday, Odin stood a few yards from the young Yggdrasil. He patted Heimdall on the shoulder. “Good work.”
Heimdall was too tired to think. With Laika at his side, he stood motionless as his father walked toward the Tree. Freya sat in the dirt, resting her hands on the young Tree’s roots and humming quietly. Odin placed a hand on her shoulder, relieving her from duty.
“Why don’t the two of you take a break for a bit?” Odin said.
Freya got up from the ground and strode toward Heimdall. “Is Rod okay?”
“A few cracked ribs.” Heimdall ambled over to one of the other White Oak saplings, rested his overloaded knapsack on the ground and sat down beneath the young tree’s sparse branches. “He’s back at the Lodge. Supposed to be resting. It wasn’t easy to convince him he’s out of commission for a while.”
Freya sighed. “It’s not his fight.”
Heimdall patted Laika on the head as she curled up beside him. “It’s pretty much everyone’s fight, isn’t it?”
Freya watched Odin. Heimdall followed her gaze and frowned. “What do you think he’s going to do?”
Freya smiled.
“There’s still some magick running through these old veins.” Odin grunted as he lowered himself awkwardly to his knees at the base of the Yggdrasil. He reached up to touch the trunk. “You are looking very young, my old friend.”
Heimdall yawned long and loud. Instead of the expected rebuke from his father, Odin winked at him.
“Some in my clan hoped you would rise again in the old Viking lands, in Norway, or perhaps Denmark,” Odin said to the Tree. “But here we are again in the Pacific Northwest.”
“Hey!” Heimdall whispered loudly to get Freya’s attention. “Is this what he normally does?” Usually when Heimdall located the new Yggdrasil, he joined his family in celebration of the Tree’s rebirth while Odin communed with the World Tree on his own. But now, being so close to his father in what looked to be a r
ather intimate moment, Heimdall felt like an intruder.
Freya crossed her arms. “This is new to me, too.”
Heimdall winced at the sound of Odin’s creaking joints as he folded himself into a cross-legged position facing the Tree. Odin scooted forward until he was practically sitting on top of the Tree, then he removed the patch over his right eye.
“If I could make my sacrifice again, with all that has happened in the centuries since, I would do it.” Odin spread his fingers wide over the tender bark. “You are the source of knowledge and wisdom. You are the source of the runes.”
Freya edged closer to Heimdall. “You don’t think he’s going to offer up his other eye, do you?”
Odin pulled a utility knife out of his back pocket and unfolded it. Heimdall rose to his knees in alarm.
“There are new dangers here. Trees are not so sacred in this time.” Odin opened his hands to the Tree, one palm empty, the other holding the knife. “Few of us recognize you for what you are. And one of our own would take advantage to destroy you and take control of all creation.”
Heimdall nearly yelped in surprise at the pulse of energy that rippled through the ground beneath him. Laika jumped up and let out a soft “Woo!”
“The Tree is talking to him.” Freya rocked on her feet as she watched Odin, who now held the knife high over his head.
“I stand with you!” Odin proclaimed to the Yggdrasil. He motioned to Heimdall and Freya with his empty hand. “My kin stand with you! The world’s sacred anchor will not be forsaken.”
Another pulse of energy radiated out from the Tree. Heimdall had to steady himself on his hands and knees while Laika leapt into the air with an excited “Yip!”
Freya smiled. “If you think that was something, I’ve got a feeling there’s more coming.”
Odin brought his knife down with a forceful slashing motion. Heimdall’s heart caught in his throat before he realized Odin had cut a deep gash in the palm of his left hand and not across his left eye. Heimdall collapsed forward in the dirt, clutching his stomach. “You could have warned me that was coming.”
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