Addictive Nightshade

by Poppet

  He launches back at me and I flinch against the basin, exhaling slowly when all he does is open the cabinet to get a flashlight. Returning to the gap in the wall he flicks it on, “You didn't tell me how you did this.”

  “I leaned on the wall to look behind the toilet to find the flushing mechanism and the wall gave in under my weight, and the next second the wall was missing!”

  Cut me some slack here dude! This isn't exactly familiar territory.

  Flicking the light in his hand off he turns to face me with a severe expression, “Congratulations on finding a hidden tunnel I didn't even know was there. Did you wash your hands?”

  “N..no. I was too busy dancing around cardiac arrest city if you don't mind!”

  Turning his back to me he presses the indentation above the cistern, “Well hurry up, our dinner is getting cold.”

  The wall slides back to enclose the shower and he saunters off as if this is perfectly average on any given day.

  Pegging around to face the basin I turn the right axe with my heart still thumping, switching on water, using the soap left on the honeyed rock for this purpose. Sandalwood wafts up to soothe my nerves, foaming luxuriously over my skin, burning the shit out of my wound. God dammit!

  Slamming the cabinet door with my knee so I can gingerly towel my hand dry, I'm no longer interested in snooping.

  Done in his den I go stomping to the entrance, walking around the corner, bumping right into the solid shadow covering the foot long passage to the bathroom.

  I'm about to scream when it clamps around me, squeezing tight. God!

  Chapter 6

  Hefted up, I'm crushed in a bear hug before promptly discarded back on my jittery legs, “There, now you've had a hug. One thing you need to know about me is I cannot abide the sound of hunger. It burns holes in my heart to know there are people on this planet too poor to eat. Now we dine, and do not be so polite that you don't voice when you are famished.”

  It's so unexpected that I'm smiling like an idiot.

  He's so awkward that it's clear he's unaccustomed to having company. His hug was rather nice. Firm, reassuring, very more-ish.

  He grins at me, snatching up my hand and tugging me to a table around the corner in his personal cave. Waiting in the alcove is a round table large enough for three giants. Lordy, I feel like a newborn in need of a highchair.

  The aroma of stew hits the black hole burrowing through my stomach lining and it responds in loud appreciation, forcing a blush to burn up my cheeks.

  He pulls out my chair for me, then seats himself, tucking in with zilch ceremony beforehand.

  Sampling it, it's scrumptious, juicy with gravy and a hint of spice to add the perfect dash of bite to every mouthful.

  Between blows on the spoon, half the size of his ladle, I ask the next logical question. “So what happens now? What is the plan exactly?”

  “There is no real plan other than to get you settled in and comfortable.”

  “But what about my stuff? I can't just fall off the face of the planet.”

  Sitting back, resting hands on his thighs, he surveys me, “Emma, if you want to leave I won't stop you.”

  “No, that's not what I mean. Shit dude, this is like an adventure and I'm game for a while at least, but I have responsibilities and need my clothes and... all that.”

  I have too many questions to leave now, starting with my dad.

  It's only Friday so I have the weekend in my favor.

  He indicates the passage out of his quarters with a nudge of his head, “Your belongings have been gathered and are waiting in the guest room.”

  Separation anxiety robs my appetite. I don't know if I'm brave enough to sleep by myself in such a strange place. “Am I living here now?”

  “I hope so.”

  Three words sharper than a stake to the brain. Three simple words laced with enough suggestion to make me giddy.

  What would that mean? What if after a week I hate it here?

  Leaning on the table with his elbows either side of his dinner he covers my forearm with a heavy hand, “Em, listen to me. I wasn't kidding about watching you. Your home has been vacated, the kit you took to the Fallen Fraternity has been removed from your cabin, everything you own is in the chamber next door to mine. I knew you'd want someone familiar close enough to respond if you needed support, but for all intents and purposes this is a new beginning for you if you'll accept it.”

  Staring at the pale skin on his hand holding mine down as effectively as concrete, I speak without meeting his eyes, “Don't you think that was presumptuous of you?”

  “Should I have left you pining for a man who ran off back to society with a redhead? Should I have abandoned you to your degrading romance with solitude? Or should I have recognized a kindred in pain and vowed to rectify her isolation because she knows she's different but couldn't understand why? Knowing that so close to her is a world waiting for her to rejoin her own kind.”

  “He ran off with Desiree? When?!”

  He exhales so heavily the candle stuck in the center of the table flickers frenetically. “I shouldn't have said that.”

  “Yes you should! That bastard! And he was never going to tell me? How many knew, watching me with silent pity, calling me pathetic to live in pointless hope!”

  Black eyes darken, his jaw ticking again while the veins in his neck pump out, his mood betraying him, “It wasn't pathetic, it was loyal. That's who you are Emma. You believe the best of everyone which is why they hurt you with such ease. You are an idealist and despite him betraying you, he didn't have the courage to watch your eyes by facing you with his intentions. It was easier to run away than stand in the reality of your broken heart up close and personal.”

  The crushed syndrome comes back strong and I glare at the grain of the pine table trying not to cry. He could have left a note! Asshole.

  Releasing my arm he rubs his thumb knuckle in his eye and exhales death into the atmosphere. “Don't look back, look forward. The past has no purpose other than to be a catalyst to change our status quo. Trust me, you'll never be in that situation again. T'ach'aa don't run away from their problems, we solve them with honesty and integrity.”

  Dropping my spoon so it clangs a dull ping into the brown stoneware bowl, I turn my ire on him, “Macala, you are not helping! Guy fucked me over and you ruined my hand! Men suck!”

  Shoving his chair into scraping murderously out from under the table he stands, his arms flaring up in helplessness, “What must I say? Go face him so he can humiliate you? That's bullshit, Emma. You're so much better than him! Leave the trash where it belongs because it stinks! As for your hand, I refuse to apologize.”

  His eye is glowing again and I can't help but keep looking at it. Seeing my attention on it he plants his fists on the table to lean in, “Go on, look at it. I'm a freak like you! You're not alone Emma, you're one of us!”

  Anger is radiating off him and he ducks his head, giving me an eyeful of spiky soft looking hair, doing something I can't see with his hand. Dramatically he drops two contact lenses in front of my bowl and stares at me with challenge oozing. “Read my eye. What do you see?”

  I'm drawn to it as if cursed by his order. Watching what he sees in me is a revelation. It plays out interminably, him seeing Guy steal away with Des, guilty and obviously in lust, to me being observed, a lot, over and over and over... alone at the FF. Dancing alone, me alone in my cabin crying myself to sleep, sobbing until my pillow looks like an oil spill. Diving deeper, to the aura inside me, the galaxy hiding in my irises that I didn't even know was there, to watching me sitting in the tree behind the den reading a paranormal romance - alone. God I am such a fucking loser!

  A slam bumps my soul right out of my body, his hand on the table after pounding it registering belatedly because my bones are breaking under the pressure of surprise again.

  “If you think that again Odin fucking help you girl.”

  “Leave me alone!' I shout, skidding my chair out, t
ears glistening my eyes in fright.

  Before I can flee I'm snared as I exit halfway out of my chair and hurled up against the hardest wall in history, locked there in a bitter grip. His breath is shaking out of him, blowing in my eyes when he leers so close I'm blinded by the brightness in his left eye.

  “You fuck with my sanity, Emma. I refuse to stand by while you berate yourself for trusting, for making mistakes. Open your eyes and see what's right in front of you!”

  “A maniac,” I whisper without thinking.

  I think I'm going to faint from the pain of his fingers pinning me to the wall, from my heart so terrified it's trying to exorcise.

  He drops me as suddenly as he caught me. Turning away, jamming hands into his pockets, he walks stiffly to the open plan exit into his bedroom and whatever else I haven't seen yet because there's no light in those nooks. “I'll see you in the morning. You can stay in this room tonight. I'll be close enough if you need assistance.”

  I can't find words, my voice is scratching to climb out of my throat, guilt making me want to apologize, but before I can find the courage I'm alone.

  At least he knows the word fuck. He's spent some time in the trenches then. Slopping back into my chair at the table I finally cave into the overwhelming desire to weep. The reasons are too numerous to list, but I'm ashamed, confused, and heartbroken.

  He never told me about dad.

  I insulted him.

  Passion rises in the brave when faced with a challenge. It's clear he's trying to rescue me from myself, but maybe I'm just a lost cause.

  I sit and cry for a good half hour before using the paper napkin to dry my eyes and blow my nose, resolute.

  I'm not interested in this new dynamic. I'm better off alone. I'd rather be by myself because at least then I don't have to please anybody or worry I might say the wrong damn thing.

  Stealing the candle from the table I go looking for my things. They can just put them back where they found them when they discover I'm gone.

  The room next door is recessed off the passage but easy enough to find. Propping the candle pricket on a box, I dig in the bag from my cabin. It takes all of two minutes to pull on Chuck Taylors and jeans, a t-shirt and hoodie. Dejected, I sneak back the way I came, heading for his bathroom.

  I'm going to see if that hidden tunnel can help me escape.

  Chapter 7

  Macala:

  Glowering at the fireplace in my private lounge next door, I listen to her movements. I need to find her weakness so she'll understand it's not safe for her out there with Eagle coming.

  Jævla! (Damn)

  Annoyed with myself more than her I thunder back to the book, needing to read her past and her future to make sure I didn't make a mistake.

  Arghin is already there reading it.

  “Curious are you?” I snap, crowding him to examine her page.

  He gives me the all knowing look, “You're going to very much like her truth.”

  Choosing silence as a retort I start at the top, learning her lineage which goes all the way back to a gýgjar who shacked up with a Thur. Wow, a giantess marrying a Thur only happened a handful of times. The Thur born female giants are rare indeed. If I can I must get her to tap into her bloodborne gift, hers should be mighty. She's a good ally, but if she unleashes these abilities on me I'll be dead before dawn. This little lady is going to have control over the elements and earth rarely witnessed.

  Emma is a true Þurs, the original name given to the Thurs who were mightier than any of the ancient gods. She's a divine gift in the siege befalling us.

  Scanning the page I glimpse her childhood, already knowing her father committed suicide after her mother rejected him, by OD'ing on a stash of thundereggs. If only she'd known him they might have found peace in each other.

  Arghin taps the middle of her page which continues to write, “She's leaving. She's escaping!”

  Jumping down the page, smiling at seeing the success of her Valhalla mark, I read her movements. Not waiting a second longer I bolt back down the chamber tunnel to intercept her.

  Loki's kin are on their way. No one in this modern world recalls that Loki was a giant.

  My lineage does not clash blood with hers as I'm a direct descendent of Skaði, who married Odin after her jötunn father was murdered. She is a giantess and it's because of Odin that we have the all-seeing eye. His symbol is the Raven, and when he lost his eye in a bargain he instead gained more wisdom and foresight.

  The book of life is one of his legacies to his people. The book that takes a sacrifice so only truth will be told. The native Tlingit have a very similar tale and maybe I should tell the story to Emma so she will start to understand how deep this goes.

  The last battle of our forefather Odin was in 1208, yet this world calls him a myth and legend. How short your horsefly memories are.

  Stampeding into my bathroom I charge into the hidden corridor, smelling her perfume before I see the faint glow of my flashlight.

  Emma, halt! You are in danger if you leave Jötunheimr.

  Saying nothing I hold the shadows close, cloaked in invisibility to her untrained eyes, watching the lady stare hopelessly up at a dead end cavern filled to the ceiling with thundereggs.

  My word, what an immense secret stockpile! This is the mercy we require in this time of strife. Now we'll be armed to the teeth with old worlde weapons when Eagle flies in from the north.

  She sits down on the dirty floor, gulping dramatically as if she's trying to swallow down sorrow.

  I drop the submissive shadows around me so the flashlight beam will highlight me.

  She scrambles in fright. “Jesus Mac! You frightened the bejezus out of me!”

  Mac eh? She's accepted me completely then, subconsciously at least.

  “There is a front door. I can take you to it if you want,” I offer, using the bland tone.

  She simply stares guiltily at the empty space midway between our feet.

  Stepping closer I offer her my hand, trusting the instinct of what I know and what I feel through our three sided palm promise. “It's late and only a fool goes wondering these woods at full moon on this night. It's the darkest night of the year, Emma.”

  “I know, but the snow hardly reaches this forest. Everything melts before it can touch the ground. You still have trees that haven't lost their leaves!”

  That's our influence you silly girl.

  “It doesn't matter,” I reiterate. “Please? Come back inside where it's safe.”

  She puffs out her cheeks, staring at my proffered hand, finally relenting and grasping it.

  Helping her to her feet I put my arm around her, “Come thaw at the fire and let me tell you stories.”

  “What stories? My dad?”

  That's piqued her interest but I'm loathe to crush her hope by telling her the truth about Lars and how he escaped his misery.

  “We'll cover them all. I want to share the skald tales with you so you'll understand why you're better than a human.”

  She looks up at me, her long black hair bunching over my forearm while beguiling gray eyes stare their storm at me, “How do you do that thing with the dark? You nearly gave me heart failure.”

  “My ancestors are Odin and Skaði. Skaði translates literally as shadow, or shade. She gave her name to Scadi-navia, the place on earth owned by our brethren long before mankind spread like plague. It's my homeland, and thanks to her blood we control darkness. It's a long story which is hard to comprehend out of context,” I smile, enjoying the feel of her so warm against me.

  “Oh.” Looking apprehensive she glances at the opening to the bathroom a short distance from us. “Why not tonight? You made it sound like of all the nights not to go out, this one is it, but we were both outside earlier.”

  “Emma, that was well before midnight. Tonight is Åsgårdsreia. Our ancestors run wild tonight between High Moon and daybreak.”

  Allowing me to guide her to the doorway, she makes conversation with the trust
of a child, “What is Asgardsreya?”

  “The wild hunt, led by Odin. They gather all lost souls tonight which is why I need to keep you safe. You are a lost soul until you accept our kind as your own.”

  That statement flitters fear across her face, it pales even more. “I thought Odin killed the giants.”

  She's trying to distract herself the way she did earlier. The irony is she is afraid of her own fear. That's a mystery I intend to solve.

  “It's a falsehood. Then he'd have to have killed his wife, however he did murder her father which is probably where the tale originates,” I answer.

  Letting her walk in first I take my time appreciating the grip of her jeans and the grace of her posture. She walks proud even when broken inside.

  Chapter 8

  Emma:

  Macala guides me straight back to my dinner, pointing at it, “Sit and eat or you will offend me.”

  “I'm not hungry,” I whine, sitting in the chair that makes my feet dangle off the floor.

  He holds up a finger indicating one sec, vanishes around the corner, and instantly returns with that bottomless jug of glitter juice.

  Sitting opposite me he pours us each a measure and pushes mine across to me, “First things first. You...” he points at me with a long elegant finger, “...Are one of us. You are my kind of person and I am yours. We honor our ancestors when we eat together. Tonight we have stew, it is the meal of friendship and welcome... why?”

  “How am I supposed to know why?” I demand, feeling victimized.

  “Because it is the warrior feast. I am a warrior, you are a warrior. It's what we are. Every night in Valhalla, the real Valhalla, the chef to the gods serves this to the warriors who have fallen under the blade. We eat to remember those of us who have died, and in gratitude we eat with them and each other by consuming from the cauldron Eldhrímnir. See?”

  He lifts his drink, toasting me, “Welcome home, Emma. Long may we eat Sæhrímnir as friends.”