Demons (Eirik Book 1)

by Ednah Walters

  For a dead man, he was warm and smelled nice, which were odd observations to make, but the laws of nature didn’t work in the magical realm of the gods. My father had probably showered and changed his shirt for the occasion. My arms tightened around him as my throat seized up. I hadn’t expected this. After growing up with cold and distant Immortal guardians, his warmth was a welcome change.

  The Norns should not have taken me from here. No matter how cold and desolate it was or how terrible my mother might be, I would have traded all earthly luxuries to live with my father. This was my home.

  “What in Hel’s Mist are you doing here, Eirik?” he hissed into my ear.

  I tried to take a step back from his arms, but they tightened.

  “I didn’t sneak you out of this realm to have you stroll back here now that your grandfather has confirmed you are to inherit his throne,” he continued. “You do not want to be here. Not now. Not ever. It’s not safe. As soon as the feast is over, leave.” He leaned back, slapped me on the back, and yelled, “Welcome, Son. We’ve been waiting a long time for you to find your way home.”

  ~*~

  Had my mother known I’d take over Odin’s throne before she sent her reapers after me? If so, what did she hope to achieve? By the time I took over the throne, she and all the major gods and goddesses would be dead. She had nothing to gain by having me here. In fact, she should be happy her son would be the chief god.

  I lost track of time, my mind going in circles as my father’s words echoed in my head. By the time I focused on my surroundings, my father, Viggo, and I were seated at a round table for four in front of the room. One chair was empty.

  Servants piled food on plates and filled our tumblers with mead. I ate without tasting the food, even though it looked and smelled good. Viggo dug in like a starved convict, but then he had a ferocious appetite. He sat to my left while my father was across from me. The seat beside me was the empty one. My mother would soon sit there. The thought sent both dread and anticipation through me.

  I studied my father slyly. He must have been young when he’d died because he could pass for someone in his early thirties.

  I glanced around at the rest of the guests and sighed, wondering what I’d be doing if I weren’t here. I’d probably be at Raine’s place watching Supernatural and pigging out on pizza. Instead, I was having a five-course meal with dead royals. I recognized a few from online pictures, textbooks, and the History Channel. They occupied about half a dozen long tables and came from all walks of life—men and women of various sizes and races, some young, some old. Mixed with them were deities like my father, Asgardian and Vanir gods. The gods were recognizable by their unique clothes, cloaks, and colorful brooches. The Elves’ pointed ears were a dead giveaway. And I had to be blind not to recognize the Dwarf kings. They might be short and stubby, but they were a boisterous lot with larger-than-life personalities.

  Men and women in black dusters occupied the rest of the tables. They had Grimnir written all over them and seemed to come and go as the evening progressed. Probably leaving to reap. They seemed to enjoy a friendly relationship with the deities and the royals, and from their laughter and easy camaraderie, this wasn’t the first time they had mingled. Performers moved between tables, some playing instruments while others danced.

  Things were definitely different from Asgard. Even their servants and performers were different. Asgard had Immortals, humans, and light Elves, while Goddess Hel, it appeared, employed Dwarves and giants—Jötun.

  Where did I fit here? My mother was still missing and my father didn’t seem to care. I glanced at him and found his eyes on me.

  “How are you enjoying the food, Son?” he asked, playing the part of a perfect father and host for the sakes of his guests.

  “It’s good.” My appetite had long disappeared.

  He pushed a loaf of bread toward me and nodded as though urging me to eat. I took the loaf, broke a piece, and dunked it in the meat stew. The food wasn’t bad. I just couldn’t eat while on edge.

  “Where is she?” I asked.

  My father raised his tumbler. “Your mother will join us when she’s ready. More drink?”

  I shook my head and went back to chewing the hard bread and studying my surroundings. The hall wasn’t dark or cold as I’d been led to believe by Asgardians. The floor and the columns were made of black slate with etches of snakes, dragons, and wolves. The tables had granite tops and the chairs were cushioned. Torches lit the hall, and semi-circular steps led to the throne, which was all black with snake carvings along the arms and the high back. It was wide enough to lie on. Black cushion and pillows covered the seat. The chair to its right was smaller and not as fancy. That was probably my father’s chair. The room was black and gray, yet it was welcoming. Even the stained glass windows depicting various scenes were done in shades of gray.

  Silence swept the room, and one by one, the people stood. I stumbled to my feet and tried to see what had caught their eyes. Was my mother finally making an appearance?

  No, she was making an entrance. Flanked by two guards, everything about her commanded the attention of the entire room. Half her face was pitch black and the other pale and flawless. Half-black and half-white silky hair flowed down her back. Her hair and skin were mismatched, black with white. Her long-sleeved, white dress hugged her body to her hips and fell to her feet, leaving both legs bare from the hips down. The neckline of the dress dipped so low at the front heat crawled up my face. The cloak, also white as snow with satin lining, trailed several feet behind her.

  Like her face and hands, one leg was dark and the other pale and smooth. A simple white hairpiece held down her hair like a Gypsy and a matching choker was around her neck. The long scepter she held had a large clear crystal at the top and etches of snakes coiled along its length. She was both scary-looking and fascinating to watch.

  As she came closer, I noticed several interesting things. Glowing runes covered the left, normal side of her face, highlighting her brilliant blue eye, pert nose, and lips painted black. Her skin on that side was unblemished.

  The right, black side wasn’t dead or mummified like the pictures I’d seen online. They’d gotten it wrong. It was regular skin covered with black runes. They coiled under her skin like layers of tattoos, covering every inch of it and giving the illusion of dead skin. Occasional glowing runes mingled with the black ones. No wonder some Mortals drew her with a half-skeleton body. The glowing runes could be mistaken for bones. Her right eye was nearly all black and oddly shaped. I’d bet the dark core was made up of runes too.

  Sighs came from around the room, and I stole a glance at the others. She mesmerized them. Warmth crept up my face at the naked lust in the men’s eyes and the envy in the women’s.

  Seriously? That was my mother they were lusting after.

  My father hurried to her side and escorted her up the steps to her throne, instead of our table, where she reclined in the cushioned seat. A pale, red-haired girl I hadn’t noticed arranged her cloak around her, covering her exposed legs and sandaled feet. The servant brought my mother a drink and a tray of fruit, which she placed on the wide arm of her throne. My father took the chair to her right and stayed, talking to her in a low voice.

  Viggo dragged his chair, so he sat facing the throne, his expression dopey like the village’s idiot. “Hot damn,” he said. “She is—”

  “My mother,” I said, trying to scold him, but my words lacked the heat.

  “Glorious,” Viggo corrected. “Gorgeous. And she hasn’t aged since Alfadir sent her here. I’d heard stories about her, but I didn’t believe them, until now.”

  I almost asked Viggo about the stories, but decided against it. Better to learn by watching and listening than by accepting rumors as facts. I’d wondered about how my parents hooked up. Asgardians had insinuated that she’d seduced my father. They were wrong. Going by his expression, my father adored my mother. The people in the hall, Grimnirs included, wore the same expression. />
  I also reached another conclusion. Odin hadn’t given my mother this realm to rule because she was evil. He’d done it to keep peace in Asgard because my mother was the type of woman who could cause riots. Men would want her, and women would plot her demise. Even Goddess Freya, who was a renowned beauty, could not compare to my mother. Or maybe I was just biased.

  She lifted her hand, and I was sure she was going to summon me. I tensed, but she indicated to everyone to sit down. They did and went back to their food. I played with mine, my nervousness increasing with each second that passed.

  In Asgard, Valkyries stayed in Valhalla, a vast hall built specifically for slain warriors. They trained, ate, and lived together. Not once had I seen Valkyries socialize with the gods. Here, the Grimnirs were treated like the gods. The entertainers didn’t just focus on the deities and royalties. Of course, the fact that they were dead and their souls were the ones being entertained might have something to do with it. Or maybe it was how my mother ran things. Might explain why they adored her.

  Then, my father’s words returned to haunt me. I wasn’t safe here. Why? Was I not safe from her? She hadn’t even looked at me, her long-lost son. I didn’t want to believe she could harm me. She was my mother for crying out loud.

  As though she’d heard my thoughts, my mother lifted her head and stared straight at me. My heart started to pound with dread and excitement. She cocked her head as she continued to listen to my father, but her gaze didn’t waver from mine.

  “Let’s go,” Viggo whispered. “I want to meet her.”

  I ignored him. My mother’s gaze wasn’t inviting, which was beginning to worry me. What did she see when she looked at me? Was I as she’d imagined or was I a disappointment? Even though I tried to act indifferent, sipping my drink and swallowing with difficulty, I felt a little sick to my stomach. Soon that changed as annoyance crept in. She’d made a big deal about wanting me, and all she could do now was watch me?

  My eyes went to the Grimnirs, and I found Echo. He sat apart from the others, like an island. Funny, I hadn’t seen him earlier. He must have come in when my mother did. Maybe she’d summoned him to her chambers. Rumor had it he was her favorite.

  “Come on. Let’s go!”

  I turned to tell Viggo to cut it out when I noticed the stares. Everyone was looking at me, including my father. He waved me over. I rose on unsteady legs and wished I hadn’t tasted the mead. The drink was potent. I started up the stairs. By the time I reached their side, I was sweating.

  Goddess Hel created room on her wide seat and patted it. “Sit down and let me look at you, Son.”

  Her voice was smooth and low, yet glum. Her eyes were also sad. Despite feeling out of place, I wondered why. We studied each other without speaking.

  What did the black runes covering her right side do? Cora had black runes that attracted souls. They were like nothing I’d ever seen and no one, not even the Valkyries, knew how they worked. My mother’s were equally strange.

  Up close, she could easily pass for someone in her mid-twenties, which made perfect sense. Odin had put her in charge of this realm when she was young. The gods of Asgard ate golden apples from a special orchard to stop aging. But thousands of years ago, Loki had tricked Idun, the goddess in charge of the orchard, into taking her apples to the realm of the giants, Jötunheim. By the time the gods convinced Loki to return the goddess, all the Asgardian gods had aged, Alfadir Odin almost dying in the process. My mother, born and raised in Jötunheim by her giant mother, must not have been affected. Loki must have made sure of that. After all, she was his only daughter.

  “Have they treated you well?” the goddess finally asked, glancing at the guests.

  We might have been too far for the guests to hear our conversation, but they watched us. They had gone back to their food, but the conversation was now low and the musicians had stopped.

  “Yes. The food was good and the musicians entertaining,” I said.

  She reached out and touched my hair and my cheek, her expression growing sadder. She tilted my head left then right and studied my palms. What was she searching for?

  “No, Son. I meant the Immortals who raised you. Did they take good care of you? Provide for you and love you? Were you happy?”

  Looking into my mother’s eyes and hearing the concern in her voice made all the unpleasantness from my past melt away. The Sevilles’ cold faces flashed through my head. They’d hated life on Earth and would often travel to their home in Asgard, leaving me with nannies and babysitters. And when home, they’d barely pay any attention to me. Instead, they’d given me material things to make up for the lack of affection. I’d had more toys than most kids, more electronic gadgets than most guys; I even had my dream car when I’d turned sixteen. Whatever I’d wanted, they’d given it to me. But Raine and her family had given me what I’d needed—laughter and love, a sense of belonging. A family.

  “Yes, I was happy,” I said. Her eyes simmered and to my horror, I realized she was tearing. “Please don’t cry.”

  “Did you know about me?”

  I glanced at my father, not sure what to do, but he didn’t move. In fact, he wore a weird expression as he watched us. Viggo stood beside him, looking uncomfortable. My head swung to my mother. Her eyes welled, and the tears spilled and rolled down her cheeks. The runes swirled in a frenzy, the bright side blinding.

  “I didn’t know you were my mother until a few weeks ago. If I’d known, I would have come home sooner.”

  “They took you from me,” she said forlornly.

  My father shifted uneasily. Bet he was feeling guilty now. “I know. I hate the Norns for that, too.”

  “They took everything from me.” Her voice became harsh, her eyes narrowing. She stopped stroking my hair and snatched her staff from the cradle on the throne. The tears stopped falling. “And they must pay. You will help me get my revenge, because no one gets the best of Hel.” She stood up, her presence commanding. “How often did you train?”

  I jumped up when the white of her dress started changing color, the black spreading until everything she wore, from the choker on her throat and the sandals on her feet to the cloak, became black as midnight. Even her voice grew commanding and hard. Completely blindsided by the switch from a wronged mother to a warrior goddess, I stared at her slack-jawed.

  “How often?” she snapped.

  “Train?” I asked, stammering like a moron.

  “Condition your mind and body, build up your endurance,” she said impatiently. “How often did you train, Son?”

  “Every day. I was on the swim team,” I said quickly.

  She scoffed at my words. “Can you swim the Gjöll?”

  The river the giantess had threatened Echo with? They said the water was so cold it froze your limbs in seconds. But with runes, I could dare it. “If you remove the knife-like rocks and the snakes, yes.”

  A sound escaped her. I couldn’t tell whether it was disgust or amusement. “You have a sense of humor. You are going to need it. Show me your true self.”

  I stared at her blankly. “True self?”

  “The real you, not this”—she pointed at my face—“replica of your father.”

  Was it wrong to look like my father? I glanced at him. He looked worried.

  “Show me the fearsome son I created and nursed. Shifting from one form to another should be normal at your age.”

  “Shifting? I don’t understand. This is who I am.”

  Anger twisted her face. “They didn’t just steal you from me; they turned you into a spineless excuse of a being. A shadow of what you are meant to be. You are my son, the grandson of Loki, the master of all magic. Your father is a great Seer. One of the few to see his own future. Your other grandfather, whose name must never be uttered in this hall, might be my sworn enemy, but he can take any shape or form he desires and fool anyone. Your grandmother, his wife, taught my father everything he knows. My mother was a powerful Jötun shifter. You have the blood of the most po
werful beings in all the realms flowing through you and you want to tell me that this”—she waved a hand to indicate me—“is who you are?”

  She raised her staff and brought it down with a thud. Lightning shot from the black crystal at the tip. A scurry of movement followed as the hall cleared. The Grimnirs disappeared to the left and the serving Dwarves to the right while the rest of the guests just melted away as though they’d turned into energy.

  My father, for whatever reason, wasn’t affected. He laid a hand on her shoulder. “Hela, ástin mín…”

  “Leave us.”

  “But he is our son,” he protested.

  “He is your son now, but he will be mine when I’m done with him.” Her voice was so low and sinister I shivered.

  My father’s eyes narrowed. He had been known for being fair, wise, and gracious, but from his expression, he seemed ready to take on my mother. As though she read his mind, she shook her head.

  “No, Baldur. This is my decision.”

  “It should be ours,” he corrected.

  “No. Mine.” Her voice was cold and unyielding.

  “You will not reconsider?”

  The goddess didn’t respond, and I wondered what the heck was going on. Reconsider what? My father threw me an encouraging smile, but I could tell he was worried. I tried to indicate that it was okay. I didn’t want them fighting over me. With one last glance at me, he disappeared behind the throne.

  “I will undo the harm they’ve done, and when I’m finished with you,” she spoke in a calm, deadly voice, “they will suffer the same fate I’ve suffered for nearly eighteen years. You will give me my revenge.”

  She lifted and lowered her staff again. Two men dressed in black heavy coats and boots, head and faces covered except their eyes, entered the hall and marched to the foot of the stairs.

  “His training begins now,” my mother announced. “Take him to the east dungeon and prepare him.”

  Dungeon? Seriously? Was this what my father had meant by I wasn’t safe? The guards drew closer. I reached for my mace and Viggo drew his dagger.