My only hope was that the Valkyrie owner would step in. Quickly. I needed to stall.
The intruder had no interest in that option, and simply began stomping towards me, his hands outstretched to show me he planned to choke me to death. “You have something of mine, and you’re about to give it back to me. I’ll hurt you less if you make it easy.”
“I’m not an easy kind of girl.”
A metal door slammed down over the entrance to the bar, looking like solid steel. “Enough!” a somewhat feminine voice boomed from behind the counter. The intruder smirked at my response, but he didn’t stop advancing, so I didn’t risk taking a look to see who had spoken. I was really hoping it was Achilles’ Valkyrie.
But no woman in shining armor swooped in to save the dudes in distress.
And I couldn’t just throw around my magic in front of so many Regulars. Well, I didn’t want to—because it would give everyone proof that magic was real, and if humanity was consistently reliable about one thing, it was that some asshole was probably already recording this on his phone. But I also wasn’t about to go down without a fight. Alex was suddenly moving, reaching my side right as the intruder did.
“Let’s take this outside,” I told the man, hoping he would agree. “You don’t want to piss off one of them,” I urged, jerking my chin towards the suspected Valkyrie without breaking eye contact.
“Deal,” he said, right as he came close enough to grab me.
“NO!” the woman shrieked.
The intruder must have been dragging his Ugg boots across the floor, because the static shock was enough to almost make my eyes pop and my fingernails crack and split down the center. I felt Alex grab me at the same time, and a rainbow-colored blast of light filled my vision.
I might have even peed a little from the static thing.
But I had sneakily reached into my satchel to wrap my hands around something long, hard, and always in the mood for a good pounding.
It was hammer time. Can’t touch this, I thought to myself.
Chapter 14
I was already swinging the War Hammer—laced with a healthy topping of magical oomph—as the rainbow light winked out and I found we were now outside the bar. The War Hammer seemed to siphon additional magic right out of me like a leech, building the power stronger than I had intended. I struck the intruder in the gut so hard that he flew twenty feet into a dumpster, bending it entirely in half so that it wrapped around him like a cocoon.
Then I fell to my knees, panting at the use of so much power in one go. Too much in one go. I had sprinted right out of the gate, and if it didn’t pan out, I wasn’t sure I’d have enough stamina to keep going. But I hadn’t intended to use quite that much.
At least it looked like it had been worth it. I took a moment to verify that I still maintained my dignity and hadn’t actually wet myself, so I now had two things to be proud about. Alex gasped, shaking out his hand frantically, startled by the static zap. “What the hell did he just do?” he demanded, scanning the area quickly. “And where are we?”
I surveyed the row of cars before us and pondered the back of a commercial building. “I’m pretty sure we’re in the parking lot behind the bar, and I’m also pretty sure we just got Bi-fisted.”
Alex stared at me, arching one eyebrow to let me know he had no idea what I was talking about. I hung my head, realizing it only meant that I had failed as a father and role model.
“Bifrösted,” I explained as I climbed back to my feet. “The rainbow bridge that connects Asgard to Midgard—Earth. Maybe some of the other Nine Realms, too. We just lost our Bifröst virginity—”
An angry bleating sound interrupted my educational lecture on Aesir—the Norse Gods—mythology. “Meh-eh-eh-eh!”
I spun, glaring on reflex. “Put up your dukes, and say that to my face,” I snarled.
A couple of stumbling drunk girls had been trying to take a selfie with two matted, shaggy goats about the size of mastiffs, but the goats were now glaring at us, having knocked the drunks down at our sudden interruption of their selfie. Their tall, curled horns looked chipped and aged, but were wickedly sharp at the tips. And in those eyes, I saw the fire that had inspired Inigo Montoya’s quest for vengeance.
“They don’t got no fucking dukes,” one of the drunk girls stammered. “They’re adorable goats, and they have pretty hooves.” She followed that up with a hiccup.
I wondered if she realized she had just quoted the Adam Sandler skit, or if it truly was coincidental. Either way, it was a beautiful, beautiful moment. Despite the fact that the goats looked on the verge of charging. The worst part about it all was that I recognized them.
Seeing the fabled Tanngrisnir and Tanngnjóstr—teeth-barer and teeth grinder—live and in person confirmed my hypothesis.
The UGG wearing intruder was Thor—and we’d gotten off on the wrong foot, gosh darn it.
“Why are the goats harnessed to a chariot?” Alex asked, interrupting my moment. “Did someone really ride that thing here?” That thing was a very basic, primitive-looking wooden chariot with runes carved into the sides. Thor’s goats carried him across the skies on it, according to myth. The two drunk girls flipped us off, blaming us for the goats’ sudden lack of interest in photography. Then they left.
“Alex, this is about to escalate very fast. You need to get out of here. Grab your Tiny Balls—”
Right on cue, the metal dumpster exploded into a wave of hot shards and I managed to fling up a weak shield at the last moment, catching the blast. The UGG endorser stepped out, stroking his beard and rubbing his tummy where I had hit him. Alex looked dubiously at my weak shield—undeniable proof that I was running low on magical gas. Hell, I was concerned, too. Especially since I had caused Thor no lasting harm. Just pissed him and his goats off.
“Bro…” I began, hoping to calm the Norse God of Thunder down. I mean, I was cool with his dad—kind of. I didn’t want to fight him, yet here we were. I had gone from a foursome invitation to standing in a dirty alley with a couple of angry goats, an even angrier god, very little magic, and Alex.
“We are not brothers,” Thor snarled, spraying spittle into the air, his fist wielding a—
I frowned, feeling a very unpleasant wriggling sensation in my belly. “That’s not a hammer,” I said, pointing at the crude dagger in his fist. Which meant…
He nodded slowly, eyes riveting on the War Hammer in my fist. “That is my hammer.”
Well, at least I now had official confirmation that I wasn’t Thor—straight from the goat’s mouth, so to speak. Because Odin had always been very sketchy about that whole line of questioning. And judging by Thor’s interest in my Hammer, I was pretty sure I knew why.
Except…I noticed that Thor had frozen in place, staring at my War Hammer. His face contorted into a puddle of Shar-Pei puppyness, but I think he was aiming for outrage. He just had too many scars for it to look like anything other than a stack of soggy pancakes. “Where. Is. My. Mjolnir?” he demanded in a tone that definitely made up for the IHOP face.
Even though he was suddenly livid, I felt an immediate wave of relief at his question. My Hammer was not his precious Mjolnir. Praise Odin!
Unfortunately, it looked like he considered me guilty by association for leading him on.
“I have no idea where Mjolnir is, but you look dangerous enough with that dagger,” I told him. “Why don’t you put it down and we can talk about it like adults.” He had other weapons he sometimes used, and I found myself absently wondering why he wasn’t holding one of them.
“I was so certain…” Thor growled. “My Mjolnir needs me. I need my Mjolnir. We have been apart for far too long. Without it…”
Was their relationship like that Austin Powers flick? Had Thor…lost his mojo?
Or, perhaps his Mjol-jo.
Knowing my best shot had done very little to dissuade him—even with my War Hammer—I wisely didn’t offer my thought up for discussion. Also, his hand was still quivering. After h
is teleportation magic inside the bar, I wasn’t sure Shadow Walking us out of here was a great idea. He seemed to have a similar ability.
And now that he had my scent, so to speak, I doubted running was an option for me.
“Are we cool?” I asked. “Because I really want to take a picture with your goats—”
“No…” he interrupted, slowly turning to look at me. “We are not cool. No one hits me with a hammer…” His brows lowered as he lifted one fuzzy UGG boot of death, and then another, storming my way with nefarious intent. “If I can’t have my Hammer, no one will have a hammer,” he snarled, eyes locking onto the War Hammer I still gripped in my fist.
I panicked. This wasn’t just any hammer. My parents had given it to me. It was important, somehow. I couldn’t simply let him have it. It was mine!
I did the only thing I could think of. I shoved it where he would never get his dirty meat-hooks on it. In my satchel. Even if I died, he would never get it. He snorted at my futile act, assuming he could just retrieve it once I was dead.
“First of all, I don’t think I like your attitude. Secondly, I can recommend a good spa and barber for…whatever you call that,” I said, gesturing at his face.
“Pretty men die quickly in Asgard,” he growled, not slowing down. “I’ll show you.”
“Explains a lot,” I muttered. “Let’s slow down a second, man.”
“I’d rather not.”
“Fine,” I growled, taking a deep breath. I flung out my hand, drawing deep on my reserves. Unfortunately, like a car going uphill on low gas, I felt my knees shudder and my magic stall out. I gasped, stars twinkling into my vision alarmingly fast.
Before I could think of an alternative attack—or consider bravely fleeing—I heard a frantic bleat from off to the side. I glanced over to see one of the fucking goats hurtling our way. Thor bellowed in anger right before the goat struck him in the face with a hoof, getting tangled up in his beard-locks as they went down. I stared at Alex incredulously, since he had already hoisted the other goat over his shoulder and was spinning in a circle like he was winding up for a shotput personal record in track and field.
He flung the goat right as Thor disentangled himself, knocking him back down—but his dagger had been held outstretched and he ended up stabbing his goat—whichever one it had been. The resulting agonized bleating sound made me wince, but the roar of fury from Thor was enough to make every single one of my orifice’s pucker.
“Alex, we need to run. Now—”
But he had already covered half the distance to the fallen God and was singing as he ran. “Bah, bah, black sheep, have you anymore…” He leapt into the air, feet stretched out, right as Thor was climbing back to his feet. “Yes, sir, yes, sir, boots for Thor!” Alex belted out the last line just as his heels connected with the side of Thor’s head, sending him cartwheeling into the pile of mother-bleating goats.
One of his UGG boots went flying off into a dirty puddle.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck…” I was cursing to myself, trying to think of a way out of this. If we survived, we would have to find Odin as soon as possible and convince him to get Thor off our backs. I could always hold the Ravens as hostage in a worst-case scenario.
Alex was laughing as he climbed back to his feet, brushing off his pants. “Come on, Godlet. Let’s kiss knuckles,” he taunted, lifting his fists. “Man to God.”
Chapter 15
Thor’s wrinkled face purpled, and he jumped to his feet. With one missing boot, and one of his goats still bleating from the knife wound, the scene looked positively ridiculous.
“You’re on a precipice, boy,” Thor warned, his face livid as he squared his shoulders against the human aggressor. What the hell was Alex thinking? He was an incredible fighter, but against Thor? Was he nucking futs?
Alex, instead of advancing, turned his back on Thor and crouched down low, one fist behind him. He smiled from over his shoulder at the enraged Thor. “Bah, bah, black sheep, bootless Thor…” he began singing again, grinning like a loon.
Thor roared at the top of his lungs, the heavens crackling with a sudden storm that threatened to destroy St. Louis. And then it began to rain—great, forceful sheets of water splashing down upon us. It was as if he was casting his magic up into the sky so as not to accidentally use it in his fistfight. Or he was just setting the tone.
Thor charged him like a bull, his uneven gait looking awkward, but I could see the force behind the blow he had ready to slam down upon the back of Alex’s head.
Five feet from contact, a small glass marble shattered between them, and two Gateways screamed to life, sandwiching Alex between them—one in front of stampeding Thor and the other on the opposite side of Alex. Where the hell had he gotten custom Tiny Balls of his own? Those definitely weren’t the ones Talon had given him to send us back to Chateau Falco. Had Othello given him some kind of prototype that could be modified on the fly?
Thor barreled through one and appeared on the opposite side of Alex, looking startled to suddenly be facing his opponent head on.
Alex was already swinging in the uppercut of all uppercuts and struck Thor’s jaw before he even had time to process it all.
Alex, I was beginning to realize, didn’t like it from the back.
Thor cried out, suddenly airborne as the blow knocked him clean off his feet, but he still tried to reach out to grab hold of Alex.
But Alex had already darted out of reach, and succinctly grabbed Thor by the belt. Then he yanked downward as he lifted his knee, showing Thor the backbreaker move.
Thor gasped, tumbling to the asphalt and splashing beard-first into a puddle.
Alex smartly shuffled back, ready for round two. He didn’t glance over at me as he spoke. “You have any magic yet?” he asked in a calm tone.
“Dude…” I said, shaking my head in awe.
“Magic,” he repeated, watching as Thor specifically and colorfully cursed each of the Nine Realms while scrambling to his feet with a limp.
I tried and groaned. “No,” I rasped. “I’m spent.
“Give me the Hammer. I’ve got this.”
I shook my head immediately. “I can’t, man. It’s important. We can’t risk using it for this.”
Alex nodded absently. “Well, I’ll buy you some time. Use your Tiny Balls to get the hell out of here.”
“No!” I snapped, not liking him telling me what to do. “We’ll both go!”
“The only place either of you is going is Asgard!” Thor roared, lifting a fist to the skies. Rainbow-colored light began to crackle around his fist and, unlike a Gay Pride parade, there was nothing lighthearted or carefree about these colors. The colors burned with fire, for one thing.
Thor hadn’t done anything like this when teleporting us outside the bar, so maybe we were still Bifröst virgins. If he was actually calling the Bifröst this time, he was being entirely literal about taking us to Asgard.
“I wouldn’t do that,” I begged, waving my hands at a sudden nightmarish thought.
I was too late. A bolt of multicolored lightning clawed out from the skies to kiss his fist, rapidly growing into a fat column of pulsing, vibrant color. The Bifröst. The Rainbow Bridge between the Nine Realms.
Except…
Grimm, my unicorn, suddenly rode into Thor’s happy moment on a Gothic lightning bolt of hate, swooping down from the skies to headbutt the Bifröst with his horn. A shockwave exploded out in a perfect circle across the skies, zipping ever-outward in an impossible display of flashing, fiery color that St. Louis could not have missed if they had been blind. About a hundred car alarms instantly went off in the nearby parking lots, and glass shattered from the windows of the nearby buildings.
It knocked Alex and I onto our asses, and we both stared up incredulously at Grimm neighing in the skies, entirely unaffected by the explosion. In fact, he was prancing about like a dog after he had dropped a load off in the yard, perfectly illuminated by the storming kaleidoscope of light above.
&nbs
p; The Rainbow Killer had struck again.
The sky sparkled and glittered as the Bifröst fractured from the impact point outward, calving and collapsing like a glacier in the Arctic—a continuous, roaring rumble that grew in intensity and volume with each passing second.
Solid spires of Bifröst—as well as rainbow rain—slammed down into the parking lot, threatening to kill us all in the most undignified of ways.
Most of it rained down upon Thor, since he had been the one directly beneath the Bifröst and was currently staring up at the skies in utter disbelief. The pillar of rainbow chunks slammed into his mouth, making him gag and spit as it buried him alive.
But the Bifröst had been huge and, like a falling tree, the rest of the Rainbow Bridge solidified and fractured, falling down all around us. Grimm landed beside me and I risked burning out my wizard’s magic to throw up a weak shield rather than dying by rainbow impalement.
The chunks of rainbow hammered into my shield, and my arms shook as my vision began to tunnel to a small circle—seeming to last for an eternity as it pressed me closer and closer to the asphalt.
It finally winked out, and I hoped I had held it up long enough to keep us safe. I realized I was lying flat on the ground, my cheek resting in a puddle of colors that swirled and rippled like a melted box of crayons. And it was pleasantly warm, almost hot.
I panted, trying to get enough breath to command Grimm to get us the hell out of here. Because I was pretty sure he had just broken Asgard’s Bifröst.
And as smaller chunks of burning rainbow continued to fall all around me, it was oddly symbolic of what I was pretty sure had just happened to my budding friendship with Odin.
I finally caught my breath and climbed to all fours, noticing Thor struggling to emerge from the mound of rainbow guts that had buried him. I desperately spun towards Grimm, knowing he had enough time to fly us out of here before Thor—
Legend Page 8
