Black Pool Magic

by Jennifer Willis

  Freya rose to her feet. “I shouldn’t have let you come.”

  “It was Odin’s choice,” Heimdall said. “Frigga didn’t think there would be any harm, since Sally isn’t Æsir.”

  “But she’s made of Old Norse magick.” Freyr rested his head back and closed his eyes. “Turns out that counts as the same thing.”

  “So it is my fault then.” Sally crossed her arms and looked down at the floor. “Even though I left my runes and my wand and my last bit of magickal everything back at the Lodge. I’ve still managed once again to be the epicenter of doom.”

  Freyr didn’t move. “That’s not what I said, Sally.”

  “It’s not your fault.” Niall took a few steps toward Sally. “It was Clare.”

  Sally shook her head. “We’ve been over this.”

  “Hear me out.” Niall pulled over a chair from the two-person dining table. “Clare on her own isn’t even a blip on the radar for the beings in this place. In Vanaheim. But her misguided work, in such close proximity to you, Sally . . . Well, it’s no wonder, really.”

  Sally sighed. “If you admit to Clare that she had any influence in this—”

  The door to the bathroom sprang open and Clare emerged in full Gothic make-up and newly dyed burgundy-black hair. Her fingernails were painted black to match her lipstick and eyeshadow. She tossed the front fold of her red cloak over her shoulder with a dramatic flourish.

  “I am ready to begin!” Clare announced in a voice much too loud for the small space.

  “What the bloody blazes have you done to yourself?” Thor groaned. “Clare, was it?”

  “Tara!” She stared down at the hefty god. “From now on, I wish to be addressed as Tara, named for the sacred hill where the Stone of Destiny stands, where the High Kings of Ireland were crowned. Since I have communed with the very soul of Ireland—”

  “Oh, this is fantastic.” Freyr sprang up from the floor and pointed at Clare. “You! Sit down!”

  “But I,” Clare began. “You need me to—”

  “And shut up!” Freyr gestured toward Niall, who jumped up and offered Clare his seat. Her black-smudged lips trembling, Clare sat down.

  Thor smiled. “I like this take-charge attitude, cousin. This place agrees with you.”

  Freya gave her brother a worried glance, but Freyr kept his focus on Clare.

  “At least for now, please refrain from speaking unless spoken to, all right?” Freyr told her. “I’m honestly afraid for your personal safety if you insist on continuing this ridiculous charade.”

  “But it’s for real!” Tears carried streaks of mascara down Clare’s cheeks. “I’m not faking!”

  “Clare,” Freya said softly. “It really is best to let us handle this. Now, the faerie talisman, if you please.”

  With a dark pout, Clare dug into her cloak’s inner pocket and produced the butterfly-winged charm. Its blue-green feather was bent from so much handling, but the small cloth pouch was intact.

  Freya stood over Clare and looked down at the talisman. She didn’t have to touch the pouch to have an idea of what it contained.

  “Niall, I’m going to want to talk to your grandmother.” Freya turned to her brother. “And you have a pooka to shake down.”

  9

  Thor climbed aboard the eight-passenger tour bus. He squeezed past two rows of empty seats and slid onto the wide bench at the very back. Grunting, he kicked at the flooring and the back of the seat in front of him as he tried to find a comfortable space for his big feet.

  Freyr sat down on the three-person bench in front of him. “You could just sit up front with the driver. Easier to get in and out. Maybe you’d even make a new friend.”

  Thor glared at his cousin. The nature god was entirely too cheerful. Now back in his Vanaheim homeland, Freyr reminded Thor more and more of Loki. That made the big god nervous.

  He looked out the window at O’Connell Street. There wasn’t quite as much faerie mischief on the north side of the Liffey, but there were plenty of malfunctioning traffic signals, random power outages, and streams of tourists entering and exiting the hotels with suddenly defective luggage—wheels froze in place, handles twisted into intricate knots, and clothing, souvenirs, and toiletries exploded onto the street with spontaneous zipper failures.

  Badbh was Freyr and Freya’s grandmother. Thor rolled the idea around in his mind. Was this why they’d been so keen to come to Ireland on short notice? The Vanir twins had openly demanded Odin’s trust, but even now Freya and Freyr were being stingy with details.

  Thor stared at the back of Freyr’s head. There was more to this mischief than just some cranky old goddess waking up on the wrong side of the cauldron. Thor wondered for the first time in centuries if the faith he’d put in his adopted cousins might have been misplaced.

  Clare—or Tara, as she kept insisting—sat down next to Freyr. She’d painted on fresh layers of dark cosmetics. Thor felt bad for the girl. She was turning into a caricature of herself. But he chuckled at the pained expression on Freyr’s face as Clare cozied up to him. Not so long ago, Freyr had had to deal with the Rune Witch’s own girlish crush, and now there was this fresh nuisance.

  Thor pulled out his phone and typed a message to Bonnie. International phone charges be damned.

  “IT’S A MESS HERE.” His meaty fingers fumbled over the extra large touch-keys. “NOT SURE HW LNG THIS WILL TAKE.” He glanced up to make sure no one had a clear view of his screen, then typed: “MISS U.” Thor felt a small tug in his chest. He hit SEND.

  “Aww, that’s so sweet!” Freyr leaned over the back of his seat and nodded at Thor’s phone. “Does your girlfriend miss you, too? Are you sending each other digital hugs and kisses?”

  “Eyes front,” Thor growled. “And mind your own business.”

  Freyr laughed and turned to buckle his seat belt.

  Thor stared again at the back of Freyr’s head. Was his cousin messing with him? Keeping him distracted with their usual bickering so he wouldn’t notice the peace between the Æsir and the Vanir unraveling? Or were Freyr and his sister just as rattled as the rest of them by the sudden rise of the keeper of the cauldron?

  “You should have told us,” Thor said.

  “What?” Freyr replied.

  “That she’s your grandmother. You should have—”

  “Here, Sally,” Freyr offered as the Rune Witch entered the van. “Sit next to me.”

  Freyr unbuckled his seat belt and motioned for Clare to shift to the window so he could sit between the two of them.

  Sally heard Clare’s deflated sigh. Sally sat down and soon noticed her roommate hooking her arm through Freyr’s and snuggling up to him.

  With an annoyed frown, Freyr extricated himself from Clare’s grasp. “You’re really barking up the wrong tree.”

  Thor leaned forward. “Could be worse. She could have gone after Rod Hammerstein instead.”

  Freyr chuckled, and Thor settled back into his seat.

  Sally was bleary-eyed as she tried to get comfortable on the vinyl bench. The previous night had been another adventure in sleeplessness. With four more guests—five, counting Niall—in residence in the tiny flat, it had been a carnival ride just to walk across the floor without stumbling over Heimdall or Freyr stretched out on the worn carpet or tripping over Thor’s meaty legs hanging off the small sofa. At least she’d finally gotten Clare to calm down, with the help of some chamomile tea and a few valerian capsules.

  Sally fumbled with the seat belt and yawned. “I hope this isn’t some wild goose chase into the mountains.”

  Two international tourists climbed into the passenger van, and Sally was surprised when a middle-aged woman thrust a piece of fruit into her face.

  “Apples are good for the digestion!” the sturdy woman offered in heavily accented English as she offered fruit to Sally, Freyr, and Clare. The three politely declined, so the woman stepped past them and sat down next to Thor. She handed him an apple and thumped her breastbone with the flat of
her fist. “Good health from apples. Good breakfast.”

  “Germans,” Thor muttered as he tucked the fruit into the tight space between the seat and the wall of the van. No doubt the woman’s claims were true, but there was no way her apples could compare to Iduna’s harvest. He ignored the woman as she pressed close against him to make room for her husband to settle in beside her.

  “I am Eva.” The woman thrust her hand into Thor’s face, and he reluctantly shook it. “This is Frederick. We are pleased to be meeting you, and happy for this tour.”

  Thor nodded at Frederick and Eva and gave them a wary smile. “Yeah. It should be a real interesting trip.”

  Niall stepped onto the bus and did a quick headcount. He nodded to his uncle standing outside. “That’s it, Eamon. I think we’ve got everyone.”

  Dressed in tweed—with a cap to match—Eamon settled onto the empty two-person bench directly in front of Sally. He glanced back at her with a smile and a tip of his hat and then buckled his seat belt.

  Niall slid the side-door closed and waved at Sally from the street.

  A younger man climbed into the driver’s seat and slammed the door shut. He reached for the PA system’s handset.

  “All right, everyone!” a voice crackled from a small speaker behind Thor’s head. “My name is Eddie.” The driver turned in his seat to wave at his captive audience. He raised the microphone to his mouth again. “Today, we’ll be exploring the majestic Wicklow Mountains, with a special stop at Glendalough . . .”

  Thor leaned over Freyr and Sally. “I thought we were going straight to the faerie fort,” he grumbled at Eamon. “Wasn’t that the whole point of hiring your van?”

  Eamon offered an apologetic shrug. “It’s my job, and Eddie is in training. I couldn’t shift the schedule on such short notice. He still has to run the tour.” He nodded at the couple squeezed onto the back bench with Thor.

  Freyr cut in before Thor could utter a string of curses that might have gotten them all expelled from the country. “Where we’re going should be early in the itinerary. It will be fine.”

  “Bloody waste of time,” Thor grumbled to the window as the narrow van lurched into the heavy Monday morning traffic. He wondered if the vehicle shouldn’t have come equipped with motion sickness bags.

  “Easy there, Eddie,” Eamon called to the driver.

  “Something’s been bothering me about all this,” Sally said to Freyr. “Shouldn’t we be going to see the other Æsir and ask for their help?”

  “There are other Æsir in Ireland?” Clare asked with interest.

  “The other hostages,” Freyr replied in a low voice, keeping his eyes straight ahead.

  Following Freyr’s example, Sally shifted closer and whispered over the engine noise. “Can’t they help?”

  “Hœnir‬ and Mímir,” he said. “Those were the members of Odin’s household traded to the Vanir.”

  Sally opened her mouth to repeat the names, but Freyr raised a warning hand. “That’s not a conversation we want to have just now.” He indicated Thor behind them with a tilt of his head.

  Sally sighed. “I’m guessing things didn’t go so well for them. Not like you and Freya becoming real members of Odin’s family.”

  “Not so much, no. There’s a good reason the Æsir are not welcome in Vanaheim.”

  The tour bus rocked violently from side to side, and Sally grabbed the back of the seat in front of her. After a few uncertain seconds, the bus was back on track again and picked up speed as it merged with highway traffic.

  “Uh, sorry about the rock-and-roll there, ladies and gentlemen,” Eddie tried to sound cheerful over the loudspeaker. “Looks like a lorry or two blew out their tires, and the debris hasn’t yet been cleared from the roadway.”

  Sally turned to Freyr with raised eyebrows. He shook his head. “I’d imagine there was a good bit more to it than that.”

  “Anyway, we’re not far from our first stop of the morning,” Eddie continued, forcing an amiable lilt. “Wicklow is one of the prime destinations of tourists such as yourselves when they come to visit this fine country of ours. As you may know, a number of Hollywood movies have come to Ireland to shoot their exteriors and other scenes. Perhaps you’ve seen P.S. I Love You? Or Leap Year? Braveheart? Excalibur or Michael Collins? We’ll be stopping off at a few of those choice locales today, so when you’re back at home and want to revisit your time in Ireland, all you’ll have to do is rent a movie on your computer, and you’ll be right back here with us!”

  “We really don’t have time for this,” Thor growled from the back. “Isn’t there any other way to get this done?”

  Eamon turned in his seat. “I don’t have a car myself nor one available to borrow. Clare and Sally are too young to hire a vehicle.” He counted off the obstacles on his fingers.

  “And you,” Freyr added, “aren’t allowed to hire a car because your mommy said you couldn’t.”

  “You pesky little tree-hugger!” Thor tried to lift himself out of his seat, but he was wedged in place by the snug space, his buckled seat belt, and the sturdy tourists beside him.

  “Just settle down and don’t hurt yourself,” Freyr said. “Not on my account.”

  Eva laughed and slapped Thor’s shoulder. “You travel with family, yes?”

  Freyr turned to Eamon. “You have no obligation to us, and yet you came through under rather pressing circumstances. We genuinely appreciate your help.”

  Freyr leaned back to Thor and nodded toward Eva and Frederick. “We’ll get where we need to go without ruining everyone’s holiday, all right?”

  Thor grunted and turned toward the window. “I don’t enjoy traveling with you. Worst vacations ever.”

  “Family holiday!” Eva exclaimed with cheer as she playfully smacked Thor on the back. “Good time and memories for everyone.”

  Sally felt a tap on her knee and found Clare leaning across Freyr to speak to her. “How far have you gotten with that paper of yours? The one on personal ethics, or something?”

  Sally studied her roommate’s face for any sign of mockery. “Seriously? With all of this going on, you’re asking me about a class assignment?”

  “Just making conversation.” Clare shrugged. “In my experience, teachers tend to frown on not turning in your homework.”

  “Yeah,” Sally muttered. “Even when you’re busy trying to save the world. No thanks to you.”

  Clare’s jaw dropped.

  Sally looked at Freyr. “I’m not kidding. It’s like every time I even talk to you guys, the whole universe is falling apart, and then I have to drop everything—”

  “I don’t think you need to worry about the sun not rising in the morning.” Freyr tried to smile, but then he looked down and sighed. “Okay, if the truce between the Æsir and the Vanir comes apart, I honestly don’t know what would happen. There are outside parties allied with each side, and they might be all too eager to take up arms and start redrawing the maps.”

  “So, your basic World War I scenario,” Eamon said. “First you have the assassination of the Austrian Archduke, or in this case the arrival of the Norse Rune Witch on Éireann soil.” Eamon shook his head. “Even I could have told you that would be sure to stir up trouble.”

  All this talk of alliances and escalation of supernatural conflict was making Sally’s head hurt. She was already missing class for this, and now her “personal responsibility to the global community” might well include being the cause of the paranormal version of World War III.

  She was going to flunk her assignment for sure.

  Clare glanced out the window and pointed at a field where smoke billowed from a garden shed as flames licked its roof. “If the Tuatha de Danann rise again . . .” Her voice trailed off with a note of hope.

  Eamon rested his elbow on the back of his seat and looked at Freyr. “If you are who you say you are, why can’t you just go talk to your grandmother? Have her get the Gentle Folk to simply quiet down a bit. It’s not like their lives were
so bad before, you know?”

  “As a member of a family of land healers, you know surprisingly little about the ways of your own land,” Freyr replied.

  “Yeah,” Clare added with a triumphant smile.

  “There’s knowledge, and then there’s instinct,” Sally commented.

  “You haven’t studied, have you?” Freyr asked Eamon.

  Eamon’s shoulders sank. “I wanted to do something different. My mum has always been after me to honor my birthright, what was handed down from her parents and grandparents and on back. But, faeries?”

  “Yet you still saw them everywhere,” Freyr said.

  Eamon shrugged. “I just kept my head down and my nose in my school books.”

  “I’m surprised you didn’t turn to drink,” Freyr said, barely audible over the noise of the van’s tires as it exited the highway. “Like so many others.”

  “There’s more than one in my family as have done that.” Eamon nodded.

  Sally looked at him with sympathy. “I think I can understand where you’re coming from.”

  Eamon glanced at Thor and Freyr in turn, then looked out the window at black smoke wafting up from an overturned tractor in an abandoned field. “I’d imagine you would, at that.”

  “You may already know the River Liffey itself has its origins here in the Wicklow Mountains.” Eddie was back on the van’s PA system as he steered the vehicle through a tight switchback and drove higher into the mountains. “You’ll no doubt notice the magnificent waterfalls as we drive past. And don’t be worrying about opportunities for you shutterbugs. We’ll be stopping shortly once we arrive at a particularly lovely example of the falls of Wicklow, and its curiously close proximity to an old faerie ring, also called a faerie fort.”

  Sally looked out the window as the scenery flashed by. She searched for the waterfalls Eddie had promised, but saw only a few unimpressive trickles. Not like the Columbia River Gorge. Sally was suddenly homesick—for Portland, for her cat Baron, and her friend Opal. Even for her parents.