by Rick Riordan
“Don’t kill us!” Blitz yelped.
Thor just rummaged around his worktable until he found a two-by-four with a key attached to one end. Burned into the side of the plank were the words THOR’S HALL PASS.
“This will get you into Valhalla,” he promised. “Just return it. I’m going to fix this chariot so our gender argr bride can use it tomorrow. Then I’ll gather my assault squad and scout out this location, Bridal Veil Falls.”
“And the rest of us?” I asked reluctantly.
“You and the two children of Loki will be our guests tonight!” Thor announced. “Go see Sif upstairs, and she will get you settled. In the morning, you will ride forth to a glorious matrimonial massacre!”
“Oh,” Otis said with a sigh. “I do love weddings.”
I Prepare for Funkytown Combat
THE NIGHT before a big massacre, you might think I would toss and turn.
Nope. I slept like a rock giant.
Sif gave each of us a guest room in the upper levels of Bright Crack. I collapsed on my rowan-wood bed with its sheets of woven gold and didn’t stir until the next morning when I heard the alarm clock—a small gold Mjolnir trophy that wouldn’t stop singing a divine chorus of Ahhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhh! Ahhhhhhhh! until I grabbed it off the nightstand and threw it against the wall. I have to admit, that was a satisfying way to wake up.
I don’t think Sam and Alex slept quite as well. When I met them in Sif’s atrium, they both looked bleary-eyed. In Alex’s lap was a plate of what used to be doughnuts. She had broken them into pieces to make a frowny face. Her fingers were caked in powdered sugar.
Sam held a cup of coffee to her lips as if she liked the smell but couldn’t remember how to drink. The Skofnung Sword was slung across her back.
She looked up at me and asked, “Where?”
At first, I didn’t understand the question. Then I realized she was asking if I knew where we were going today.
I fumbled through my pockets for the wedding invitation.
The when space now read: TODAY! AT 10 A.M. ARE YOU EXCITED?!?
The where space read: PROCEED TO THE TACO BELL ON I-93 SOUTH OF MANCHESTER, NH. AWAIT FURTHER INSTRUCTIONS. NO AESIR, OR THE HAMMER GETS IT!
I showed this to Alex and Sam.
“Taco Bell?” Alex grumbled. “Those monsters.”
“Something’s not right.” Sam took a sip of coffee. The cup trembled in her hands. “Magnus, all night I was thinking about what you said. We are missing something important, and I don’t mean the hammer.”
“Perhaps,” said the voice of our hostess, “you’re missing the appropriate clothes.”
Before us stood Sif, having appeared out nowhere, as goddesses tend to do. She wore the same red-orange dress, the same green-and-silver brooch, and the same pained smile that said, I think you’re my house servants, but I don’t remember your names.
“My husband tells me you want to play dress-up.” She gave Alex an up-and-down look. “I suppose it will be easier than putting Thor in a wedding dress, but we have a lot of work to do. Come along.”
She strolled toward a hallway at the back of the atrium, crooking a finger over her shoulder for Alex to follow.
“If I’m not back in an hour,” Alex said, “it means I have strangled Sif and am hiding the body.”
Her expression gave absolutely no indication she was kidding. She sashayed off, doing such a good imitation of Sif’s walk that I would’ve given her a trophy.
Sam rose. Coffee cup in hand, she walked to the nearest window. She stared across the rooftops of Asgard. Her eyes seemed to fix on the shield-thatched golden dome of Valhalla.
“Alex isn’t ready,” she said.
I joined her at the window. A wisp of dark hair had escaped the edge of her hijab by her left temple. I had a protective urge to tuck it back in. Since I valued my hand, I didn’t.
“Do you think she’s right?” I asked. “Can she…you know, resist your dad?”
“She thinks she’s right,” Sam said. “She has some theory about claiming her own powers, not letting Loki possess her. She even volunteered to teach me. But I don’t think she’s ever tested herself against our father. Not really.”
I thought about my conversation with Alex in the woods of Jotunheim, how confidently she had talked about using the image of the Urnes snakes for herself, stepping out of her parent’s poisonous shadow. It was a nice idea. Unfortunately, I’d seen how easily Loki could manipulate people. I’d seen what he’d done to my Uncle Randolph.
“At least we won’t be alone.” I gazed at Valhalla in the distance. For the first time, I felt a twinge of homesickness for the place. I hoped Blitz and Hearth had gotten there safely. I imagined them with the gang from floor nineteen, preparing their weapons and suiting up in wedding attire for a daring raid that would save our butts.
As for Thor…I didn’t have much faith in him. But with luck he and a bunch of other Aesir would be dug in around Bridal Veil Falls, dressed in camouflage with high-powered hand catapults or rocket spears or whatever other weapons god commandos were wielding these days.
Sam shook her head. “Help or no…Alex doesn’t know what it was like in that wight’s tomb. She’s not fully aware of what Loki is capable of, how easily he can just…” She snapped her fingers.
I wasn’t sure what to say. It’s okay, you couldn’t help it didn’t seem useful.
Sam sipped her coffee. “I should be the one in the wedding dress. I’m a Valkyrie. I have powers Alex doesn’t have. I have more experience fighting. I—”
“You made a promise to Amir. You have lines you can’t cross. That’s not a weakness. It’s one of your strengths.”
She studied my face, maybe judging how serious I was. “Sometimes it doesn’t feel like a strength.”
“After what happened in that tomb in Provincetown?” I said. “Knowing what Loki can do and not knowing whether you can resist him, you’re still going right back in to fight him. You ask me, that’s way above Valhalla-level courage.”
She set down her cup on the windowsill. “Thanks, Magnus. But today, if you have to choose…If Loki tries to use Alex and me as hostages, or—”
“Sam, no.”
“Whatever he is planning, Magnus, you have to stop him. If we’re incapacitated, you may be the only one who can.” She shrugged off the Skofnung Sword and handed it to me. “Keep this. Don’t let it out of your sight.”
Even in the morning light of Asgard, in the warmth of Sif’s atrium, the sword’s leather sheath felt as cold as a freezer door. The Skofnung Stone was now strapped to the pommel. When I slung the sword across my back, the stone dug against my shoulder blade.
“Sam, it won’t come down to a choice. I’m not letting Loki kill my friends. I’m definitely not letting him near this sword. Unless he wants to eat the blade. I’m fine with that.”
The corner of Sam’s mouth twitched. “I’m glad you’ll be at my side for this, Magnus. I hope someday, when I have my actual wedding, you’ll be there, too.”
That was the nicest thing anybody had said to me in a while. Of course, given how messed up my last few days had been, maybe that wasn’t a surprise. “I will be there,” I promised. “And it won’t just be for the awesome catering from Fadlan’s Falafel.”
She swatted my shoulder, which I took as a compliment. Usually she avoided any sort of physical contact. I guess whacking a stupid friend occasionally was permissible.
For a while, we watched the sun rise over Asgard. We were a long way up, but as with the time I’d seen Asgard from Valhalla, I spotted no one stirring in the streets. I wondered about all the dark windows and silent courtyards, the untended gardens left to grow wild. Which gods had lived in those mansions? Where had they all gone? Maybe they’d gotten tired of the lax security and moved to a gated community where the guardian didn’t spend all his time taking celestial selfies.
I’m not sure how long we waited for Alex. Long enough for me to drink some coffee and eat a frowny face of
broken doughnuts. Long enough for me to wonder why Alex was taking so long hiding Sif’s body.
Finally, the goddess and the bride-to-be emerged from the hall. All the moisture evaporated from my mouth. Electricity jumped from pore to pore across my scalp.
Alex’s white silk gown glowed with gold embroidery, from the tassels on her sleeves to the serpentine curls along the hem that swept her feet. A necklace of golden arcs curved at the base of her neck like an inverted rainbow. Pinned to her black-and-green ringlets was a white veil, pushed back to show her face: her two-toned eyes lined with delicate mascara, her lips colored a warm shade of red.
“Sister,” Sam said. “You look amazing.”
I was glad she said it. My tongue was curled up like a titanium sleeping bag.
Alex scowled at me. “Magnus, could you please stop staring at me as if I’m going to murder you?”
“I wasn’t—”
“Because if you don’t, I will murder you.”
“Right.” It was difficult to look elsewhere, but I tried.
Sif had a smug glint in her eyes. “Judging from the reaction of our male test subject, I think my work here is done. Except for one thing…” From around her own waist, the goddess pulled a long strand of gold so thin and delicate I could hardly see it. On each end was a golden handle in the shape of an S. A garrote, I realized, like Alex’s, except in gold. Sif fastened it around Alex’s waist, buckling the S’s together so they formed the Urnes snakes.
“There,” Sif said. “This weapon, fashioned from my own hair, has the same properties as your other garrote, except that it goes with your outfit, and it is not from Loki. May it serve you well, Alex Fierro.”
Alex looked like she’d been offered a trophy entitling the bearer to pretty much everything. “I—I don’t know how to thank you, Sif.”
The goddess inclined her head. “Perhaps we can both try harder not to judge based on first impressions, eh?”
“That…yeah. Agreed.”
“And if you get a chance,” Sif added, “strangling your father with a garrote made from my magical hair would seem quite appropriate.”
Alex curtseyed.
The goddess turned to Sam. “Now, my dear, let us see what we can do for the maid of honor.”
After Sif had escorted Samirah down the Hall of Magical Makeovers, I turned to Alex, trying my best not to gawk.
“I, um…” My tongue started to roll up again. “What did you say to Sif? She seems to like you now.”
“I can be very charming,” Alex said. “And don’t worry. It’ll be your turn soon.”
“To…be charming?”
“That would be impossible.” Alex wrinkled her nose in a very Sif-like way. “But at least you can get cleaned up. I need my chaperone to look much spiffier.”
I’m not sure I managed spiffy. More like iffy.
While Samirah was still getting dressed, Sif came back and guided me to the gentlemen’s fitting room. Why the goddess even had a gentlemen’s fitting room, I wasn’t sure, but I guessed Thor didn’t spend a lot of time there. It was completely devoid of gym shorts and Metallica T-shirts.
Sif outfitted me with a gold-and-white tuxedo, the inside lining made from chain mail à la Blitzen. Jack hovered nearby, humming with excitement. He especially liked the woven gold Sif-hair bow tie and the frilly shirt.
“Aw, yeah!” he exclaimed. “All you need now is the right runestone on this studly outfit!”
I’d never seen him so eager to turn into a silent pendant. The rune of Frey took its place just below my bow tie, nestled in the frills like a stone Easter egg. With the Skofnung Sword strapped to my back, I looked like I was ready to boogie down while stabbing my closest relatives. Sadly, that was probably accurate.
As soon as I got back to the atrium, Alex doubled over with laughter. There was something deeply humiliating about being laughed at by a girl in a wedding dress, especially a girl who was rocking that wedding dress.
“Oh my gods.” She snorted. “You look like you’re on your way to a Vegas wedding in 1987.”
“In your own words,” I said, “shut up.”
She walked over and straightened my tie. Her eyes danced with amusement. She smelled like woodsmoke. Why did she still smell like a campfire?
She backed away and snorted again. “Yep. All better. Now we just need Sam—Oh, wow.”
I followed her gaze.
Samirah had emerged from the hallway. She wore a green formal dress with black embroidery that was the mirror image of Alex’s—serpentine swirls from the sleeves all the way down to the hem. In place of her usual hijab, she wore a green silk hood with a bandit sort of veil across the bridge of her nose. Only her eyes were visible, and even those were deep in shadow.
“You look great,” I told her. “Also, I loved you in Assassin’s Creed.”
“Ha, ha,” Sam said. “I see you’re ready for the prom. Alex, have you tried your veil yet?”
With Sam’s help, Alex drew the curtain of white gauze over her face. There was something ghostly about her in that veil, like she might start floating away at any moment. You could see that she had a face, but her features were completely obscured. If I didn’t know better, I might have thought she was Sam. Only her hands gave her away. Alex’s skin tone was a few shades lighter than Sam’s. She fixed this by pulling on lace gloves. I really wished Blitzen were with us, because he would’ve loved all the fancy outfits.
“My heroes.” Sif stood next to one of her rowan trees. “It is time.”
The trunk of the tree split open, revealing a rift of purple light the exact color of a Taco Bell sign.
“Where’s the chariot?” Alex asked.
“Waiting for you on the other side,” Sif said. “Go forth, my friends, and kill many giants.”
Friends, I noted. Not hired help.
Maybe we’d really made an impression on the goddess. Or maybe she figured we were about to die, so a little kindness wouldn’t hurt.
Alex turned to me. “You first, Magnus. If there are any hostiles, your tux will blind them.”
Sam laughed.
Mostly to get the embarrassment over with, I walked through the rowan tree into a different world.
All Aboard the Cheesy Gordita Express
THE ONLY THING hostile in the Taco Bell parking lot was Marvin, who was giving his brother, Otis, a thorough scolding.
“Thanks a lot for getting us turned into Hot Pockets, you idiot!” Marvin shouted. “You know how badly you have to annoy Thor before he eats us in that form?”
“Oh, look.” Otis pointed his horns in our direction. “It’s our passengers.”
He said the word passengers like executioners. I guess for Otis those two words were often synonyms.
Both goats were harnessed to their chariot, which was parallel parked next to the restaurant’s drive-through lane. Their collars were decked with golden bells that jingled cheerfully when Otis and Marvin shook their heads. The chariot box itself was garlanded in yellow-and-white flowers that didn’t quite mask the lingering smell of sweaty thunder god.
“Hey, guys.” I told the goats, “You look festive.”
“Yeah,” Marvin grumbled. “I feel real festive. You know where we’re going yet, human? The smell of Grande Scrambler Burritos is making me sick.”
I checked the invitation. The where line now said: PROCEED TO BRIDAL VEIL FALLS. YOU ONLY HAVE FIVE MINUTES.
I read it twice just to make sure I wasn’t imagining it. I’d guessed correctly. Uncle Randolph really might have been trying to help me. Now we had a chance at smuggling in some godly wedding crashers.
On the other hand, there was no avoiding the wedding now. I’d won a lottery in which the grand prize was a one-way trip into an evil earth giant’s lair of pickle jars, beer bottles, and death. I doubted he would even honor Sif’s coupon trophies.
I showed the invitation to the goats and the girls.
“So you were right,” Sam said. “Maybe Thor—”
&
nbsp; “Shh,” warned Alex. “From this point on, I think we should assume Loki is watching and listening.”
That was another cheerful thought. The goats looked around as if Loki might be hiding nearby, possibly disguised as a grande burrito.
“Yeah,” Marvin said, a little too loudly, “maybe Thor…would be sad, because there’s no way he could make it to Bridal Veil Falls with an assault team in only five minutes, since we just got this information now and are at a huge disadvantage. Bummer!”
His subterfuge skills were almost as refined as Otis’s. I wondered if the two goats had matching trench coats, hats, and sunglasses.
Otis gave his bells a jolly jingle. “We’d better hurry along to our deaths. Five minutes isn’t much time, even for Thor’s chariot. Hop aboard.”
Hopping wasn’t possible for Sam and Alex in their wedding dresses. I had to pull them up, which neither of them enjoyed, judging from the muttering and cursing behind their veils.
The goats took off at a full gallop…or whatever it is goats do. Canter? Trot? Strut? At the edge of the parking lot, the chariot went airborne. We jingled as we flew from the restaurant like Taco Claus’s sleigh, bringing Cheesy Gordita Crunches to all the good little boys and girls and giants.
The goats picked up speed. We cut through a cloud bank at a thousand miles per hour, the cold mist slicking back my hair and wilting my shirt frills. I wished I had a veil like Sam and Alex, or at least some goggles. I wondered if Jack could make like a windshield wiper.
Then, just as quickly, we began to descend. Below us spread the White Mountains—rolling gray ridges with veins of white where the snow clung to life in the crevices.
Otis and Marvin dive-bombed one of the valleys, leaving my internal organs up in the clouds. Stanley the horse would have approved. Sam did not. She clutched the railing and muttered, “Minimums, guys. Watch your approach speed.”
Alex snickered. “Don’t be a backseat pilot.”
We landed in a forested ravine. The goats trotted onward, snow churning around the chariot wheels like thickening ice cream. Otis and Marvin didn’t seem to mind. They forged ahead, jingling and exhaling steam, pulling us deeper into the shadow of the mountains.
