Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard, Book 2: The Hammer of Thor

by Rick Riordan

  “Temporarily,” I said. “That wasn’t Sam’s fault, either.”

  Amir let out one of those crazy laughs you never want to hear—the kind that indicates the brain has developed a few cracks that will not come out with buffing. “I don’t even know where to start. Sam, are you okay? Are…are you in trouble?”

  Samirah’s cheeks turned the color of cranberry sauce. “It’s…complicated. I’m so sorry, Amir. I didn’t expect—”

  “That he would be here?” said a new voice. “Darling, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

  Standing in the plane’s doorway was a thin, dark-skinned man so well dressed that Blitzen would have wept with joy: maroon skinny jeans, pastel green shirt, double-breasted vest, and pointy leather boots. The laminated pilot’s ID hanging around his neck read BARRY AL-JABBAR.

  “My dears,” said Barry, “if we’re going to keep to our flight plan, you should come aboard. We just need to refuel and we’ll be on our way. And as for you, Samirah…” He raised an eyebrow. He had the warmest gold eyes I’d ever seen. “Forgive me for telling Amir, but when you called, I was worried sick. Amir is a dear friend. And whatever drama is going on between you two, I expect you to fix it! As soon as he heard you were in trouble, he insisted on coming along. So…” Barry cupped his hand to his mouth and stage-whispered, “We’ll just say I’m your chaperone, shall we? Now, all aboard!”

  Barry whirled and disappeared back inside the plane. Hearthstone followed, lugging Blitzen up the steps behind him.

  Amir wrung his hands. “Sam, I’m trying to understand. Really.”

  She looked down at her belt, maybe just realizing she was still wearing her battle-ax. “I—I know.”

  “I’ll do anything for you,” Amir said. “Just…don’t stop talking to me, okay? Tell me. No matter how crazy it is, tell me.”

  She nodded. “You’d better get on board. I need to do my walk-around inspection.”

  Amir glanced at me once more—as if he was trying to figure out where my death wounds were—then he climbed the steps.

  I turned to Sam. “He flew out here for you. Your safety is all he cares about.”

  “I know.”

  “That’s good, Sam.”

  “I don’t deserve it. I wasn’t honest with him. I just…I didn’t want to infect the one normal part of my life.”

  “The abnormal part of your life is standing right here.”

  Her shoulders slumped. “I’m sorry. I know you’re trying to help. I wouldn’t change having you in my life, Magnus.”

  “Well, that’s good,” I said. “Because there’s a whole lot more crazy coming up.”

  Sam nodded. “Speaking of which, you’d better find a seat and buckle in.”

  “Why? Is Barry a bad pilot?”

  “Oh, Barry’s an excellent pilot, but he’s not flying you. I am—straight to Alfheim.”

  In Case of Demonic Possession, Please Follow Illuminated Signs to the Nearest Exit

  BARRY STOOD in the aisle to address us, his elbows on the seatbacks on either side. His cologne made the plane smell like the Boston Flower Exchange. “So, my dears, have you ever flown in a Citation XLS before?”

  “Uh, no,” I said. “I think I would remember.”

  The cabin wasn’t big, but it was all white leather with gold trim, like a BMW with wings. Four passenger seats faced each other to form a sort of conference area. Hearthstone and I sat looking forward. Amir sat across from me, and petrified Blitzen was strapped in opposite Hearth.

  Sam was up in the pilot’s seat, checking dials and flipping switches. I’d thought all planes had doors separating the cockpit from the passenger area, but not the Citation. From where I sat, I could see straight out the front windshield. I was tempted to ask Amir to trade places with me. A view of the restroom would have been less nerve-racking.

  “Well,” said Barry, “as your copilot on this flight, it’s my job to give you a quick safety briefing. The main exit is here.” He rapped his knuckles on the cabin door through which we’d entered. “In case of emergency, if Sam and I aren’t able to open it for you, you—SHOULD HAVE LISTENED TO ME, MAGNUS CHASE.”

  Barry’s voice deepened and tripled in volume. Amir, who was sitting right under his elbow, nearly leaped into my lap.

  In the cockpit, Sam turned around slowly. “Barry?”

  “I WARNED YOU.” Barry’s new voice crackled with distortion, and fluctuated up and down in pitch. “YET YOU FELL INTO LOKI’S TRAP.”

  “Wh-what’s wrong with him?” Amir asked. “That’s not Barry.”

  “No,” I agreed, my throat as dry as a zombie berserker’s. “That’s my favorite assassin.”

  Hearthstone looked even more confused than Amir. He couldn’t hear the change in Barry’s voice, obviously, but he could tell that the safety briefing had gone off the rails.

  “NOW THERE IS NO CHOICE,” said Barry-not-Barry. “ONCE YOU HEAL YOUR FRIEND, FIND ME IN JOTUNHEIM. I WILL GIVE YOU THE INFORMATION YOU NEED TO DEFEAT LOKI’S PLAN.”

  I studied the copilot’s face. His gold eyes looked unfocused, but otherwise I couldn’t see anything different about him.

  “You’re the goat-killer,” I said. “The guy who was watching me from the tree branch at the feast.”

  Amir couldn’t stop blinking. “Goat-killer? Tree branch?”

  “SEEK OUT HEIMDALL,” said the distorted voice. “HE WILL POINT YOU IN MY DIRECTION. BRING THE OTHER, ALEX FIERRO. SHE IS NOW YOUR ONLY HOPE FOR SUCCESS.—And that covers everything. Any questions?”

  Barry’s voice had returned to normal. He smiled contentedly, like he could think of no better way to spend his day than flying back and forth from Cape Cod, helping his friends, and channeling the voices of otherworldly ninjas.

  Amir, Hearth, and I shook our heads vehemently.

  “No questions,” I said. “Not a single one.”

  I locked eyes with Sam. She gave me a shrug and a head shake, like, Yes, I heard. My copilot was briefly possessed. What do you want me to do about it?

  “Okay, then.” Barry patted Blitzen’s granite noggin. “Headsets are in the compartments next to you if you want to talk to us in the cockpit. It’s a very short flight to Norwood Memorial. Sit back and enjoy!”

  Enjoy was not the word I would’ve used.

  Small confession: not only had I never flown in a Citation XLS, I had never flown in an airplane. My first time probably should not have been in an eight-seat Cessna flown by a girl my age who’d only been taking lessons for a few months.

  That wasn’t Sam’s fault. I had nothing to compare it to, but the takeoff seemed smooth. At least we got airborne without any fatalities. Still, my fingernails left permanent gouges in the armrests. Every bump of turbulence jolted me so badly I felt nostalgic for our old friend Stanley, the canyon-diving eight-legged flying horse. (Well, almost.)

  Amir declined to use a headset, maybe because his brain was already overloaded with crazy Norse information. He sat with his arms crossed, staring morosely out the window as if wondering whether we would ever land in the real world again.

  Sam’s voice crackled in my headphones. “We’ve reached cruising altitude. Thirty-two minutes left in flight.”

  “Everything good up there?” I asked.

  “Yeah…” The connection beeped. “There. No one else is on this channel. Our friend seems okay now. Anyway, there’s no need to worry. I’ve got the controls.”

  “Who, me? Worry?”

  From what I could see, Barry seemed pretty chill at the moment. He was kicking back in the copilot’s seat staring at his iPad. I wanted to believe he was keeping an eye on important aviation readings, but I was pretty sure he was playing Candy Crush.

  “Any thoughts?” I asked Sam. “I mean about Goat-Killer’s advice?”

  Static. Then: “He said we should seek him out in Jotunheim. So he’s a giant. That doesn’t necessarily mean he’s bad. My father”—she hesitated, probably trying to get the word’s sour taste out of her mouth—�
��he has lots of enemies. Whoever Goat-Killer is, he’s got some powerful magic. He was right about Provincetown. We should listen to him. I should’ve listened sooner.”

  “Don’t do that,” I said. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

  Amir tried to focus on me. “Sorry, what?”

  “Not you, man.” I tapped the headset mic. “Talking to Sam.”

  Amir mouthed a silent Ah. He returned to practicing his forlorn stare out the window.

  “Amir isn’t on this channel?” Sam asked.

  “No.”

  “After I drop you guys, I’m going to take the Skofnung Sword to Valhalla for safekeeping. I can’t take Amir into the hotel, but…I’m going to try to show him what I can. Show him my life.”

  “Good call. He’s strong, Sam. He can handle it.”

  A three-second count of white noise. “I hope you’re right. I’ll also update the gang on floor nineteen.”

  “What about Alex Fierro?”

  Sam glanced back at me. It was weird seeing her a few feet away but hearing her voice right in my ears. “Bringing her along is a bad idea, Magnus. You saw what Loki could do to me. Imagine what he…”

  I could imagine. But I also sensed that Goat-Killer had a point. We would need Alex Fierro. Her arrival in Valhalla wasn’t a coincidence. The Norns, or some other weird prophecy gods, had interwoven her fate with ours.

  “I don’t think we should underestimate her,” I said, remembering her fighting those wolves, and riding a bucking lindworm. “Also, I trust her. I mean, as much as you can trust somebody who has cut your head off. Do you have any idea how to find the god Heimdall?”

  The static sounded heavier, angrier. “Unfortunately, yes,” Sam said. “Get ready. We’re almost in position.”

  “For landing in Norwood? I thought you said we were going to Alfheim.”

  “You are. I’m not. The flight path to Norwood puts us just over the optimal drop zone.”

  “Drop zone?” I really hoped I had misheard her.

  “Look, I have to concentrate on flying this plane. Ask Hearthstone.” My headphones went silent.

  Hearthstone was having a staring contest with Blitzen. The dwarf’s granite face poked out from his Bubble-Wrap cocoon, his expression frozen in dying agony. Hearthstone didn’t look much happier. The misery swirling around him was almost as easy to see as his bloodstained polka-dotted scarf.

  Alfheim, I signed. How do we get there?

  Jump, Hearth told me.

  My stomach dropped out from under me. “Jump? Jump out of the plane?”

  Hearth stared past me, the way he does when he’s considering how to explain something complicated in sign language…usually something I won’t like.

  Alfheim kingdom of air, light, he signed. Can only be entered…He pantomimed free-falling.

  “This is a jet plane,” I said. “We can’t jump—we’ll die!”

  Not die, Hearth promised. Also, not jump exactly. Just…He made a poof gesture, which did not reassure me. We cannot die until we save Blitzen.

  For a guy who rarely made a sound, Hearthstone could speak in defiant shouts when he wanted to. He’d just given me my marching orders: poof out of this plane; fall to Alfheim; save Blitzen. Only after that would it be okay for me to die.

  Amir shifted in his seat. “Magnus? You look nervous.”

  “Yeah.” I was tempted to make up some simple explanation, something that wouldn’t add any more cracks to Amir’s generous mortal brain. But we were beyond that now. Amir was fully in Sam’s life, for better or worse, normal or abnormal. He’d always been kind to me. He’d fed me when I was homeless, treated me like a person when most people pretended I was invisible. He’d come to our rescue today without knowing any details, just because Sam was in trouble. I couldn’t lie to him.

  “Apparently, Hearth and I are going to go poof.” I told him my marching orders.

  Amir looked so lost I wanted to give the guy a hug.

  “Until last week,” he said, “my biggest worry was where to expand our falafel franchise, Jamaica Plain or Chestnut Hill. Now I’m not even sure what world we’re flying through.”

  I checked to make sure my headset mic was switched off. “Amir, Sam is the same as she’s always been. She’s brave. She’s strong.”

  “I know that.”

  “She’s also head-over-heels crazy about you,” I said. “She didn’t ask for any of this weirdness in her life. Her biggest concern is that it doesn’t mess up her future with you. Believe that.”

  He hung his head like a puppy in a kennel. “I…I’m trying, Magnus. It’s just so strange.”

  “Yeah,” I said. “Here’s a heads-up: It’s going to get stranger.” I switched on my microphone. “Sam?”

  “I could hear that entire conversation,” she announced.

  “Ah.” Apparently I hadn’t figured out the headset controls after all. “Um—”

  “I’ll kill you later,” she said. “Right now, your exit is coming up.”

  “Wait. Won’t Barry notice if we just disappear?”

  “He’s mortal. His brain will recalibrate. After all, people don’t just vanish off jet planes in mid-flight. By the time we land in Norwood, he probably won’t even remember you were here.”

  I wanted to think I was a little more memorable than that, but I was too nervous to worry about it.

  Next to me, Hearthstone unlatched his seat belt. He pulled off his scarf and tied it around Blitzen, fashioning a sort of makeshift harness.

  “Good luck,” Sam told me. “I’ll see you back in Midgard, assuming…you know.”

  Assuming we live, I thought. Assuming we can heal Blitzen. Assuming our luck is better than it has been the past two days…or ever.

  Between one heartbeat and the next, the Cessna disappeared. I found myself floating in the sky, my headphones plugged into nothing at all.

  Then I fell.

  Loiterers Will Be Shot, Then Arrested and Shot Again

  BLITZEN ONCE told me that dwarves never left home without a parachute.

  Now I understood the wisdom in that. Hearthstone and I plummeted through the frigid air, me waving my arms and screaming, Hearth in a perfect swan dive with granite Blitzen tied to his back. Hearth glanced over at me reassuringly, as if to say, Don’t worry. The dwarf is Bubble-Wrapped.

  My only response was more incoherent screaming, because I didn’t know the ASL for HOLY FREAKING AGGGHHH!

  We punched through a cloud and everything changed. Our fall slowed. The air turned warm and sweet. The sunlight intensified, blinding me.

  We hit the ground. Well, sort of. My feet touched down on freshly mown grass and I bounced right off, feeling like I weighed about twenty pounds. I astronaut-skipped across the lawn until I found my balance.

  I squinted through the searing sunlight, trying to get my bearings—acres of landscaping, tall trees, a big house in the distance. Everything seemed haloed in fire. No matter which direction I turned, I felt as though a spotlight was shining straight in my face.

  Hearthstone grabbed my arm. He pressed something into my hands: a pair of dark sunglasses. I put them on and the stabbing pain in my eyes subsided.

  “Thanks,” I muttered. “Is it this bright all the time?”

  Hearthstone frowned. I must have been slurring my words. He was having trouble reading my lips. I repeated the question in sign language.

  Always bright, Hearth agreed. You get used to it.

  He scanned our surroundings as if looking for threats.

  We’d landed on the front lawn of a big estate. Low stone walls hedged the property—a golf course–size expanse of well-kept flower beds and thin willowy trees that looked as if they’d been pulled upward by gravity as they grew. The house was a Tudor-style mansion with leaded glass windows and conical turrets.

  Who lives here? I signed to Hearth. President of Alfheim?

  Just a family. The Makepieces. He spelled out their name.

  They must be important, I signed.

/>   Hearth shrugged. Regular. Middle-class.

  I laughed, then realized he wasn’t joking. If this was a middle-class family in Alfheim, I didn’t want to split a lunch tab with the one-percenters.

  We should go, Hearth signed. Makepieces don’t like me. He readjusted his scarf harness for Blitzen, who probably weighed no more than a regular backpack in Alfheim.

  Together we headed for the road.

  I have to admit, the lighter gravity made me feel…well, lighter. I bounded along, covering five feet with every step. I had to restrain myself from leaping farther. With my einherji strength, if I wasn’t careful, I might have found myself jumping over the rooftops of middle-class mansions.

  As far as I could tell, Alfheim was just row after row of estates like the Makepieces’, each property at least several acres, each lawn dotted with flower beds and topiaries. In the cobblestone driveways, black luxury SUVs gleamed. The air smelled like baked hibiscus and crisp dollar bills.

  Sam had said our flight path to Norwood would put us over the best drop zone. Now that made sense. In the same way Nidavellir resembled Southie, Alfheim reminded me of the posh suburbs west of Boston—Wellesley, maybe, with its huge houses and pastoral landscapes, its winding roads, picturesque creeks, and sleepy aura of absolute safety…assuming you belonged there.

  On the downside, the sunlight was so harsh it accentuated every imperfection. Even one stray leaf or wilted flower in a garden stood out as a glaring problem. My own clothes looked dirtier. I could see every pore on the back of my hands and the veins under my skin.

  I also understood what Hearthstone meant about Alfheim being made of air and light. The whole place seemed unreal, like it was whisked together from cotton candy fibers and might dissolve with a splash of water. Walking across the spongy ground, I felt uneasy and impatient. The super-dark sunglasses only did so much to alleviate my headache.

  After a few blocks, I signed to Hearthstone: Where are we going?

  He pursed his lips. Home.

  I caught his arm and made him stop.

  Your home? I signed. Where you grew up?

  Hearth stared at the nearest quaint garden wall. Unlike me, he wore no sunglasses. In the brilliant daylight, his eyes glittered like crystal formations.