Sword of Light

by S. M. Schmitz

  “If she turns me to stone, just remember you’ll be on your own fighting the Sumerians and Egyptians,” I hissed at him.

  “Fair enough.”

  Agnes opened her door, and I reminded Yngvarr, “I hate you.” Because the old witch-goddess stood there in nothing but a t-shirt that barely concealed her cotton panties and definitely didn’t conceal her thin, wrinkled legs, which were criss-crossed with thick, ropey veins.

  “I kinda hate myself right now,” he whispered back.

  “What do you boys want?” she barked. “You see the time?”

  “Um…” I stammered. “Any chance you remember having an affair with Yngvarr? Presumably not looking like this, because dude.”

  “I’ve decided I hate you, too,” Yngvarr told me.

  Agnes narrowed her eyes at me like she was once again trying to see through so much stupid. But then she looked Yngvarr over and shrugged. “Don’t remember. Seems like I’d remember you.”

  “Ew,” I mumbled. “I think I just threw up in my mouth.”

  But Yngvarr still didn’t let go of my arm. “While he was in Valhalla, he remembered this time Havard and I went to Ireland for a hunting trip, but apparently, we met and you and I spent the night together and planned to see each other again. But I don’t remember this either.”

  Agnes drummed her crooked fingers against the door then motioned us into her room, which was the last place I wanted to go. But since I also wanted to know if Hunter had gone to the Otherworld and if he were all right, I followed her anyway. Not like I had a choice since Yngvarr still gripped my arm like it had become attached to him, but still. She grabbed the black robe she liked to wear off the back of a chair and slipped it on, and my mouth started working again before I could stop it. “Why do you always go around looking like this when your other self is so gorgeous?”

  Agnes waved me off like that was the dumbest question she’d ever heard. “And if I looked that way right now, what would you two be thinking? Would you be paying attention to what I say?”

  I thought about it for a minute, as well as lying because I hated that she was right, but conceded her point and sat on the empty bed. Yngvarr sat next to me, watching the Irish goddess as if he could somehow force those memories to resurface. But honestly, whatever had happened between them in the past was better off in the past forever because no way did I want Agnes and Yngvarr hooking up again. The memories were bad enough without having to experience it in real-time.

  “So,” Agnes said, “I met Havard, too. Did you know our friendship with the Norse isn’t that old? Not for gods anyway.”

  Yngvarr and I exchanged uneasy glances then we both shook our heads. I’d never been told anything about their friendship, and Yngvarr claimed he’d never really thought about it. Agnes just shrugged. “About eight hundred years, I think. But I can’t actually remember how our families became friends.”

  I snorted and said, “I have an idea.”

  But Agnes just shrugged at me again. “Maybe. If our friendship does somehow tie into Havard’s story, it would explain a lot, like why none of us can even recall his name. But if our families forged an alliance based on Yngvarr’s and my relationship, I’m guessing it wasn’t a short-lived affair.”

  Yngvarr grimaced and begged, “If we’re going to discuss our affair, do you have to stay an old woman?”

  “Ass,” she muttered, but she also transformed into the redhead with long legs, an ivory thigh peeking out from beneath the robe. She waved a hand in my direction and said, “See? That’s the problem.”

  “I’ll stop staring,” I hurriedly promised, although I wasn’t sure I could actually keep my promise. I mean, the only woman I’d ever met who was more attractive than Agnes when she wasn’t pretending to be an old witch was Keira, who never pretended to be a witch, so even if Agnes didn’t scare the shit out of me, Keira easily won out.

  Agnes watched me carefully for a few seconds to see if I could manage not to objectify her for three whole minutes then focused on Yngvarr again. I thought he was undressing her in his mind now, too, but she didn’t threaten to turn back into the old hag when he did it. So I stopped lusting after her and pouted instead. “When I’m back in the Otherworld, I’ll consult with our own seers about figuring out this curse. But it’s unlikely they’ll be able to tell us more than yours can.”

  “Speaking of the Otherworld, Hunter’s okay?” I asked.

  Agnes flipped her hair over a shoulder, just like she had in Havard’s memory, and I felt a bit nostalgic over a life that had never been mine. “Of course he is. When I left him, he had two goddesses fighting for his attention. I’ll have a terrible time trying to get him out of the Otherworld when this is over.”

  “So leave him there,” I said. “I’m pretty sure Copeland’s can find another bartender.”

  “Not my decision,” she told me then looked Yngvarr over again and smiled. “And believe me—I wish I remembered you.”

  “That’s only slightly less disturbing now,” I said.

  “If you’re done, I’m going back to bed,” she replied, although she flashed a disconcertingly sexy smile at Yngvarr again and added, “But if you like, I don’t have to go alone.”

  “Yep, time to leave,” I announced, dragging Yngvarr behind me. As we left Agnes’s room, we bumped into Freyja, who glanced at the door then each of us, one perfectly shaped eyebrow rising as if to say, “I won’t judge. Much.”

  “It’s not what you think,” I protested. “We just had to ask her something.”

  “Both of you,” Freyja said slowly. “At the same time. In the middle of the night.”

  Well, now I was just feeling a bit defensive. “It couldn’t wait. What’s your excuse? Where are you slinking off to?”

  Freyja brushed her fingertips down my arm and purred, “Looking for you.”

  “And that’s my cue to leave,” Yngvarr said.

  “You don’t—” I started, but apparently, my objections meant nothing, because he turned around and slipped back into Agnes’s room while she still held the door open. “He is an ass,” I complained.

  “Come on,” Freyja laughed, tugging on my hand, but I didn’t budge. Something about Havard’s discovery that she may have been in love with him, his fear that she’d end up even more of a threat because of it, and my own guilt that I’d hurt Keira by sleeping with her only made me want to disappear, to free myself from Freyja’s sights forever.

  “I’m tired. I walked all over Valhalla and fought a bunch of dead people. I’m going to sleep. Alone.”

  Freyja sighed at me and blocked my path. “It’s never going to happen between you and Gunnr. She’s already vowed it won’t, so you might as well move on.”

  “What?” I breathed. I was certain my voice sounded as wounded as I felt. Sure, Keira had told me the same thing in the dining hall of Valhalla, but she was vowing never to be with me and making that vow common knowledge? It wasn’t only hurtful—it was humiliating.

  “She should’ve told you the truth from the beginning,” Freyja said. “She had no right to string you along like this.”

  I stared at the forest green carpet by my feet and nodded. She hadn’t really been stringing me along though. When I’d asked her about us, she’d told me the truth. But it was a truth I wasn’t ready to accept. “I’m going to bed,” I mumbled. “Goodnight, Freyja.”

  I stepped around her, and she tried to stop me again but I yanked my arm away from her. But I doubted I’d be able to sleep, because for the first time in my life, I knew I desperately wanted someone and only this one person and she’d apparently vowed never to accept my love.

  And I refused to die without finding out why.

  My first encounter with a shapeshifting deity was every bit as bizarre—and embarrassing—as I’d expected. Sure, Agnes transformed between an old witch and a young hot one, but every time someone mentioned a god turning into an animal, I kinda thought they were just being metaphorical or something. Because lion gods just seemed
a hundred shades of wrong.

  In the morning, Yngvarr—who’d mysteriously turned up in our room again, claiming he and Agnes had only talked when he went back the night before—and I walked to a coffee and donut shop near the hotel. After spending the past two weeks in Iceland, Phoenix was a paradise—a warm, “hello t-shirts and shorts even though it’s November” paradise. He suggested we get donuts to bring back for the others, but I was still mad at Keira for going around telling everyone she’d never be in a relationship with me so I sat my stubborn ass at one of the tables and drank my coffee as slowly as possible.

  And because I’d gotten so little sleep the night before, when I first noticed the wolf staring at me from across the street, I thought it was fake, even though I couldn’t really come up with a good reason for anyone to put a wolf statue in the middle of a sidewalk. “Um, Yngvarr?”

  He looked up from his crawler and just as quickly returned his attention to it. “Is there a wolf by that bank or am I finally losing my mind?” I asked.

  Yngvarr set his pastry on the plate and followed my gaze. “Damn it,” he sighed.

  “Why is there a wolf in Phoenix?” I pressed. “And why isn’t anyone else freaking out about a wild animal prowling the streets?”

  “To them, he probably still looks like a man,” Yngvarr said, his eyes narrowing at the wolf like he was trying to curse it. Admittedly, I really wanted to see someone get cursed so I was disappointed when nothing else came of his narrowed eyes and intense stare.

  “Wait, a man?” I whispered.

  “Well, god,” Yngvarr explained. “Specifically, Wepwawet.”

  “Wep…” I exhaled heavily and squinted at the wolf, too. “Okay, so Willy is a god. Sumerian or Egyptian?”

  “Willy doesn’t sound anything like Wepwawet,” Yngvarr pointed out.

  “Dude,” I hissed. “Priorities. What’s up with the wolf-god?”

  “I’m guessing he’s waiting for us to leave so he can maul us.”

  I nodded toward his phone on the table. “It’s too early to get mauled. Call Tyr. He’s an expert on fighting wolves, right?”

  Yngvarr blinked at me and slowly pushed his phone across the table. “You call him and tell him to come fight the wolf.”

  “Can’t,” I lied. “I have a severe cellphone allergy.”

  “Shit,” Yngvarr muttered as he looked out the window again. So of course I looked, too, and jumped a little when the damn wolf was right in front of the donut shop now, statuesque and still staring at me like some canine version of Chucky.

  “Make it go away,” I whispered. “This is worse than Cujo.”

  Yngvarr nodded. “By the way he’s staring at you, I’d think you were putting off some serious wolf pheromones.”

  I risked looking away from Willy to warn him never to say that again. I’d just turned back to the window when he leapt at the glass, snarling and baring his fangs at me. With his paws pressed against the pane, I noticed how huge this wolf was—they were nearly the size of a grown man’s hands. And Willy had apparently decided to show himself to the diners, because they screamed and moved as far from the window as possible. Not that I blamed them. I wanted to scream and move away from the window, too, but if Willy survived this encounter, I couldn’t ruin my street cred. I wasn’t quite sure I had any street cred, but until I learned otherwise, I intended to act as if I did.

  “Rock, paper, scissors for who has to go out there and fight him?” I suggested.

  Willy lowered his massive paws from the window and began to pace back and forth. The asshole was just taunting us now. But unless he morphed back into Power Ranger Willy, he lacked opposable thumbs and there was no way he was getting through the door. Yngvarr watched him pace for a few seconds then shrugged. “Or we could outwait him. We’ve got donuts and coffee. We’re set up for a contest of endurance in here.”

  “Sure,” I pretended to agree. “That doesn’t sound remotely dangerous for all the humans outside who don’t realize they’re sharing a sidewalk with a pissed off Egyptian god.”

  Yngvarr waved a hand toward the prowling wolf and said, “Well, they can’t think it’s normal to have a giant wolf stalking a donut shop. And if they do and end up getting killed, that’s just natural selection at work.”

  I groaned and held out my hand. “Give me a sword. I’ll take care of Willy. If I survive, this should impress the hell out of the hot brunette behind the counter, right?”

  Yngvarr stood up with me and handed me a sword, which only seemed to cause a new wave of panicked screams from the diners. “No way you’re getting all the glory yourself. Besides, even as a wolf it would be suicidal for him to confront us both alone. He’s got to have company out there somewhere.”

  I pushed the door open, much to the loud protests of the humans inside the donut shop, and hackles raised along Willy’s neck and back. He showed me his monstrously long fangs and his eyes only briefly flickered toward the sword in my right hand.

  “Okay,” I said to Yngvarr. “One wolf and a lion probably lurking in the shadows. Naturally, I’m the Scarecrow, so I guess that makes you the Tin Man.”

  “I don’t think there are any wolves in The Wizard of Oz.”

  Willy snarled in what I assumed was agreement, so obviously, I did the only thing I could: I snarled back. And that’s when the lion decided to join Phoenix’s supernatural zoo and announced its arrival by roaring at me.

  Honestly, I’m not sure how I didn’t piss all over myself.

  “New plan,” I whispered. “We run back into the donut shop and call Agnes. If that doesn’t scare them away, nothing will.”

  “Hey, apparently Agnes and I were lovers so I can’t be involved in any plot that will likely result in her death.”

  I wanted to tell him this whole feud with the Sumerians and Egyptians constituted a plot that would likely result in her death, but Willy and the lion lunged at us, forcing us to shut up and defend ourselves. I pivoted on my right foot, swinging the blade of my sword back toward Willy’s neck. He howled as I made contact, but supernatural wolves were apparently a hell of a lot faster than normal wolves—not that I’d ever fought a normal wolf to know how fast they were but Willy seemed impossibly fast. Maybe even preternaturally fast.

  The tip of my sword ended up only nicking him, cutting his ear and a small part of his face, but it was hardly lethal. The lion, which I assumed was Anhur because it had a mane, roared again as it leapt at Yngvarr, slicing the air with its claws. Yngvarr managed to avoid having his leg torn to shreds by sidestepping the lion’s attack, but the zoological army was closing in on us.

  “Gavyn, get out of here!” he shouted.

  That was the last thing I’d ever do. Even if Havard’s memories didn’t compel me to think of Yngvarr as my own brother, he was my friend and I’d never abandon him, especially if it meant dying by mauling. But the animal gods had forced us into a tight corner, and we might both die by mauling, which I’d already decided was a completely unacceptable cause of death.

  Willy leapt at me again, but this time, I held my ground and thrust my sword just as his torso appeared within reach. His razor sharp claws dug into my left shoulder, and I screamed in pain but drove my blade in farther, which was the only reason those obscenely long fangs didn’t rip my face off.

  The claws that had attempted to sever my arm relaxed, and I pushed the wolf’s body to the ground. The lion backed away, looking as pissed off as a lion can possibly look, but it gave me one last roar then turned and ran down the street.

  Black spots floated across my vision and I leaned against the wall, willing myself not to pass out. I stupidly wondered if Willy had poisonous claws or something because nothing had ever hurt this badly. Yngvarr took the sword from my right hand and put an arm around me. The last thing I heard was him begging me to stay with him. Instead, I closed my eyes and slipped into total darkness.

  Chapter Ten

  Keira sat in a chair with a book in her hands but her attention was on the window
. She seemed so lost in thought that I didn’t want to disturb her, but my shoulder hurt like hell so I groaned and felt around my hospital bed for one of those buttons that would release morphine. Of course, I stood a better shot of finding that button if I’d actually had a morphine pump.

  Keira put her book down and called for a nurse then sat beside me on the bed. “We’re moving again,” she said.

  “Not back to Iceland,” I begged.

  “No,” she promised. “But Frey and Cadros finally returned. The CIA is going to help us. Apparently, it took so long because they were coordinating a plan with other intelligence agencies across the globe.”

  I rubbed my eyes and noticed how scratchy my face felt. “How long was I out?”

  “Almost twenty-four hours. You woke up briefly in the middle of the night, but you were pretty out of it.”

  I lifted my left hand and was relieved to find my arm was still attached. And because I was still a bit drugged or because I was just the resident village idiot, I asked, “If I lose a limb, will I get it back when I die and go to Valhalla?”

  Keira snickered and said, “Yeah. Limbless heroes won’t do us much good at Ragnarok.”

  “Did Willy have poisonous claws or something?”

  “Who?”

  I mean, seriously, Yngvarr? I pass out and get carted off to the hospital for emergency surgery on my shoulder and you couldn’t even fill everyone in on my epically badass fight against a supernatural wolf conveniently renamed for my pronunciation benefit?

  “The wolf,” I explained. “And speaking of, what did you tell the hospital? Or the cops, for that matter?”

  Keira reached over to my face and pushed back the hair that had fallen near my eyes. As soon as she realized what she was doing, she moved her hand away and returned to her chair, and I wanted to stop her, to beg her to just talk to me about whatever was going on with us that she clearly had such a problem with, but the nurse finally came into my room with a beautiful syringe of synthetic morphine.