by Chanel Smith
Grumbling about how he hated flying and about why he preferred the feel of wood under his feet and the steering oar or the sheets in his hands, Björn Ironside circled the plane over the city of Sitka, Alaska, slowly letting the craft descend. There was plenty of space on the water of the Sound, but he wanted to land as close as possible to a desirable place. They landed some distance to the South of the city and he piloted the craft to the shore. They anchored her and used a rubber dinghy to make their way to the shingle beach.
When Rand had told Björn about what Julia Agrippina had asked him to do and where he was supposed to go, Björn had jumped at the chance to go. He wanted to be out of the big city and he reckoned the whole trip would be a great preparation for the stay in Labrador. The wintery northern forests and the cold black seas were as close as Björn’s could get to the home of his childhood centuries before. Rand was a child of California, and a mortal as well; a being of the city and of the moderate climate.
Björn could walk into the woods with nothing but a knife and sail a ship back home two months later; Rand could barely work out how to peel and cook potatoes. Staying in Alaska during a warmer time of the year and on the edge of a city would be a good way to see whether Rand could cope.
Rand himself was aware of his short comings, but he was more focused on what Julia had told him to do than on learning about the woods. Luckily, they were not more than a few miles from the city of Sitka and it was early on in the day. Björn immediately set about finding dead wood and a few other things he needed to make them some decent shelter. But before he even began building, he bullied Rand into getting enough dead wood to make a fire. “It won’t be home without a fire,” he growled.
Within an hour he had a structure set up that would withstand anything and would allow both him and Rand to spend the night in comfort and warmth. By then, Rand felt dirty and he already knew he was not going to do well when it would really come down to it. On an empty stomach, he set out for the city, leaving Björn to hunt and search the shore for food. He considered asking Björn to come along, but he figured that the werewolf was more than happy to be left to find his own food there.
He took the dinghy and rowed across the Sound. It took him more than an hour and buckets of sweat. His hands felt sore and his muscles ached. He grounded the dinghy on the shingle by a large white house. He walked up to the street and began to make his way towards the mass of buildings he saw through the trees. Just as he crossed a bridge, he saw a street sign that said Islanded Drive. He went down a street called Shotgun Alley and then began to ignore the signs. The homes were more frequent the closer he got to the city. He took a left and ended up cutting through some gardens to make his way to another shore line. When he finally reached an intersection, he was exhausted.
He noticed the sign of a bus stop at the intersection and gratefully sat down beside it. It did not even take that long for a small bus to pull up and he paid ten dollars for a day ticket to ride into the city. In the center of the city he got off the shuttle bus and looked around.
Rand was not sure where to begin looking now. He knew there was one place he would eventually find whom he was looking for, but he also knew just walking in there would mean being recognized. There was one other place he knew his target would have passed through, but it would be difficult to get the information he needed there. So what was left was finding a bar. It was after lunch time anyway, and he rubbed his growling stomach absent-mindedly.
The nearest bar to where he had gotten off the bus served him well enough. Just down the street, he saw a place which seemed nice enough and when he found they served his favorite whiskey, he settled down at the counter and ordered himself a stiff drink, a cool beer and some food.
Grilled salmon and toast arrived soon after and he dove in with abandon. He kept a close eye on the door and he repeatedly scanned the street outside, hoping his mark might pass as he was eating.
Björn would never be eating this well, he reckoned. The salmon was perfectly cooked and the garlic and other herbs were perfect. The toast was perfect as well, and the drink gave him back the warmth and energy he needed. His food finished, he sat down at the bar and kept his gaze fixed on the street, knowing he would probably need to actually go out to find the person he was looking for. And then she walked past.
The long, black leather coat trailed behind her as she ran past, her heels clicking on the pavement. Her long, dark hair was tied into a ponytail and her pale face looked worn, tired and tense. Rand slapped a fifty on the bar and ran out after her. But Veronica Melbourne was gone again. He ran down the street in the direction he had seen her disappear. But she had vanished.
He was famished and exhausted all over again when he reached the camp Björn had set up. It was dark by then and Björn had decided not to wait with dinner. The remnants of a meal sat by the fire. There were a few cold scraps of fish left for Rand which Björn was about to throw away so he would not disturb the local bears. He was not afraid of them, but he did not like interfering with them.
Björn himself was already shutting down his brain for the night and he was barely speaking, just gazing into the fire meditatively. So Rand helped himself to the fish and then made sure the offal was discarded far away from the camp. Björn told him to put the bones into the kettle and hang it high over the fire to boil them. They would make some stock. Waste not, want not.
Rand had not thought the Viking such a good housewife, but he supposed it made sense to get as many nutrients and energy out of what little food they had food as possible.
He was surprised to find the bed that Björn had made him was quite comfortable as well, and with the long fire blazing, it was as warm as he could wish. There was no artificial light and there were no sounds other than those of the animals and the trees. Unlike in the city, it took him only minutes to fall asleep, but he did notice that he woke up every few hours if something moved.
In the morning, Björn was gone before he got up. Rand lay waking up, staring at the fire and amazed it was still blazing. When Björn returned, he was bare-chested and wet. He grinned and said the water was nice and Rand should take a dip as well.
“I’ll pass.” Rand yawned.
“Take some warm fish stock and get yourself going. You’ve got stuff to do, haven’t you?” Björn gestured to the kettle hanging over the fire.
Rand took the cup Björn handed him and drank. The warm drink did him good. It woke him up. His shoulders and arms still felt stiff from the previous day’s rowing, but he did not think much of it. At least he knew he could catch a bus into the city and not have to walk all the way. And he knew Veronica was indeed in Sitka.
A few hours later, he entered a coffee shop in the center of Sitka and pondered on his job. He ate his pastries and drank his coffee, wondering how he would find Veronica and keep an eye on her, without her knowing it. If she found out, she would surely freak out and almost literally bite his head off. She would also have something to say to Julia Agrippina. Rand doubted she would bother to rant at Björn. The two were good friends, but Björn was possessed of a stoic nature beyond that of many people. He was a fiend when in battle, a true Berserker, but otherwise he was the calmest person you could ever imagine to meet. He could simply ignore a rant altogether; which is not the greatest thing to experience when you need to vent.
But, he decided, that would be something to worry about later. For now, he would have to concern himself with finding Veronica and making sure she did not get into trouble.
He ordered another danish and a coffee, to go this time, and stepped out into the street. He only knew one place Veronica would go: St. Michael’s Cathedral. It had to be there. Veronica had not explained to Julia why she needed a plane, only that she needed it to go to Alaska. Julia Agrippina was no fool though, and she had guessed that there was only one place Veronica could be going. Only one place where there was even a chance of finding any remnants of Indian magic that would be close to an important relic or source of power that Id
a Averbach might have used. And that place was Sitka and St. Michael’s Cathedral.
Just off the shore, in the Sound, was Aleutski Island, and several native communities were still close by the city. Not just that, the Orthodox Cathedral had been built many decades ago, over the bodies of Tlingit and Aleut warriors who had fought there. The Russian Empire had claimed this land, and their Aleut allies had come with them to this natural harbor within a natural harbor. The Tlingit had attacked them though, wiping out many of the original settlers. Not long after, the Russians and Aleut took their revenge.
It also seemed the Haida scryer had seen this place, because the information he gave Julia in the end pertained to that battle. It could only be that place. And Ida Averbach must have known how to harness the magical power that lay in the soil of that ancient battlefield. It was part of the creature she had made. But Rand was certain now that the true purpose of that creature, though he had only heard the descriptions and had never seen it himself, was not magical at all. It could kill and was dangerous enough in its own right, of course, but its true purpose was to make sure Veronica Melbourne would be driven to destruction, either by its hands or by her own. And all that mattered to him was to stop that. Yet, stop it he could not; not without finding Veronica again.
It was a dire situation, he reckoned as he strolled over the pavement towards the cathedral. And the city was too big anyway to find Veronica quickly. And just then, he saw her. She was rushing into the building, looking more tense and in a hurry than she had the day before. There was a giggle beside him, and he saw a pretty blonde woman look at Veronica too. She giggled again. Rand looked at her.
She must be mentally handicapped, he thought. She did not seem all that bright. Her face was completely blank. Her eyes seemed to be red, but he did not think anything of that. He leaned against the wall of one of the shops on the square that held the cathedral and just looked at the entrance to the great wooden structure.
The blonde woman crossed the street and went into the cathedral. Rand yawned and sipped his coffee. Another woman walked past and his eyes fixed on her pert bottom, accentuated by the tight jeans she wore. He mused on her appearance for a moment. In L.A., a woman like that would be wearing heels and a top that showed off her figure, but over here practicality seemed more important. She wore tough leather walking boots and a flannel shirt. Apart from the skinny jeans her figure was not clearly visible or accentuated in any way, but he could tell very easily she was beautiful.
Then someone screamed in the cathedral. He shot up from against the wall, spilling his coffee. The woman he had been looking at looked up in alarm too. He caught her eye, but Rand had no time for her now. He dropped his coffee and danish and ran across the street, rushing towards the big white doors of the cathedral.
Inside, he saw Veronica standing over a whimpering woman. Her teeth were bared and her fangs bloody. Her gun was in her hand and she was slowly bringing it up to the woman’s temple. He saw the blood pouring from the neck of the woman. It was bright red against the pale skin.
“Veronica!” Rand shouted, rushing towards her. In a reflex, she turned the gun on him, and he saw the flash. And then the world went dark.
Rand! What the fuck have I done?
***
Amy stopped by to check on Belle and myself. On another day, the woman called Julia, whom I had met earlier, stopped by. She brought us no news and insisted we sit tight. She did bring us some excellent red wine, which she decanted for us before I had a chance to see the bottle. It had a body and flavor I had never thought possible. She would not tell me what vintage it was, only that it was an Italian wine, from the Campania region. I suspected there was another mystery I would not be able to solve.
She spoke to the man Erik for an hour and then left us again. Erik did brighten up a bit after that. He was more talkative and I suspected Julia had spoken to him about his morose and stoic behavior. He told us then that he was from Iceland, but had spent a large part of his life in Greenland. He had a son he was very proud of, a great sailor and a diplomat, but the son had died before him.
He was easier in letting us go out of the mansion as well, and we were even able to go to the farmer’s market. Belle seemed to know her way around the produce of the area quite well. I found out she had gotten her Masters in Environmental Studies at Berkeley. She seemed to know exactly what produce was grown across California and even knew some of the farmers who came to Sacramento. She told me afterwards that she had done her thesis on the effect of agriculture on the area. For her research she had visited a lot of the farms around there.
Belle also turned out to be quite the cook. And despite the way we met, and the events that had taken place in the week before it, including the death of my wife, I found myself quite content in her company, perhaps even more content than I had been with Chelsea in recent months.
Belle Fox did not seem to expect anything from me, and she did not care about the status that both Chelsea and I had been taught our whole lives to uphold. And it was obvious Belle was equally intelligent and educated, even if she had been a prostitute working at the truck stops.
All in all, the thought of Veronica Melbourne’s fate and the events that had taken place in the past weeks had completely taken leave from my mind.
***
When Rand woke up, he was in a bed. A bright light shone above his head and he blinked against it. Then he became aware of shouting nearby. He recognized Björn’s voice. His deep voice bored into his aching head. He sat up and saw who Björn was shouting at. Veronica looked over at him for a moment as she became aware of his gaze and then, fed up with Björn’s berating, she walked off.
Björn came to sit by his side not long after. He told him he had heard the shot from far off. The Beretta Veronica carried made a characteristic sound. There had been rifle and shotgun shots around the area all day. Hunters. But the pistol shot was odd, and distinctive. He had swum across the water and ran down the road to Sitka. When he got there, he saw Veronica standing against a wall by the St Michael’s Cathedral. The ambulance had just rounded the corner and there was a buzz of chatter around. Veronica seemed to blend into the shadows as it were. Nobody seemed to notice her and she had seemed happy for it.
There was only the one small hospital in the city, so Björn had made his way there straight away. He was told Rand was being operated on to remove a bullet from his head. The shot had fractured his skull, but it had not penetrated, merely glancing off it.
“Lucky, you’re such a bonehead,” Björn joked in his Viking manner.
Rand smiled wryly. “Veronica’s not staying?”
Björn shook his head. “I think she’s flying back to California soon.”
“Right. She told you whether she found what she’s looking for?”
Björn shook his head. “I think she did, but she’s dangerous.”
Rand thought for a moment, something that was made very hard by the pain in his head.
“The blonde woman?”
Björn shook his head again.
“Perhaps it was no woman at all?” Rand suggested. “She looked a lot like the thing Walker van Buren and Veronica described as Ida Averbach’s creation to me.”
“It was some poor local woman, mentally challenged daughter of a local shopkeeper. She sank her teeth into her arteries. The woman bled to death.”
Rand swore softly.
“She was concerned about you, though. So it’s not all bad then.”
***
Amy shot awake when the plane almost crashed at the edge of Redding. It made one hell of a racket when the craft slammed into the metal of a truck. She jumped up and looked out the window. It was on the edge of the town, between the municipality and the airfield. She did not think anyone could have missed it. She conjectured immediately who had arrived back in town and got up to get dressed, knowing full well she would get company soon.
The doorbell rang not half an hour later. When she opened the door, the first thing she saw
was a small leather bag that was pushed at her.
“Will this do, you think?” Veronica Melbourne’s voice croaked.
Amy opened the bag and looked inside. Some small white and yellow fragments were inside. She smelled them and took one out of the bag. “Probably will.”
“Fridge,” she said, closing the door behind Veronica. Meanwhile, she walked to the table where a box stood. It had arrived from Los Angeles earlier and she knew who had sent it, even before she read the note. It contained similar fragments, taken from much further afield than Alaska. Japan to be precise.
Amy took a tripod from its corner and lit a fire inside it. She conjured the fire with her hands only, not using any fuel other than the air and the energy in it. There was a slurping, sucking noise in the kitchen meanwhile. Veronica must have been hungry to drink cold blood rather than at least allowing it to warm up to room temperature. Usually she would have used the hot water that Amy always kept at the ready in a tea thermos and a bowl to warm the glass of hemoglobin. But then Veronica was not her usual self these days either. In fact, she had not been for a while now. Amy had only ever known her to be quite level headed. Headstrong and impulsive yes, but always clear thinking. Knowing so much about the enemy she faced, knowing the danger, knowing the danger of the specific threat to society at large, but not being able to do a thing about any of it was a challenge for her. And Amy saw that Veronica was not able to live up to it. Sooner or later it would lead to something bad happening.
“I can hear you, you know!” Veronica shouted in frustration from the kitchen. “Why don’t you shut your mind up for a minute.”
