by Sonja Bair
I didn’t have a chance to answer her question before Alrik pulled into the driveway. Fabulous, I thought. There was a high chance some innocuous thing he would say would contradict my story. I tried my hardest to send him—via mental telepathy—commands to say nothing, hoping this time, unlike all the other times, it would work.
“Detective McCleary. Are you here about Freya’s car?” Nope, didn’t work this time either.
There was a slight hitch in her voice as she answered, but she cleared her throat then confirmed his guess. They continued to talk about the crime, and though she remained professional, I noticed a slight blush above her cheekbones yet again.
At some point in their conversation, Alrik raised a hand and reached out to me. I allowed his hand to rest on my shoulder but I ignored the slight pressure he applied, trying to get me to step closer to him. His eyebrows twitched in surprise at my refusal to move. Looking away, my stomach clenched, dreading the pain my realization would likely cause him. The hand on my shoulder squeezed gently, requesting my attention again. I shot him a brief look, remorse flickering slightly across my face before I regained control and whitewashed my expression back to neutral. Though I hadn’t planned on telling him this way, he knew me too well and read my decision to be with David. With sadness, I watched him react to my decision to let him go. His lips pursed and his hand dropped from my shoulder and he rocked back slightly on his heels. His gaze unfocused and he took one deep breath, then another. By the third breath, he regained his steely composure and returned his focus back to the detective. And that was the emotional extent to which Alrik, or any traditional Alva, would express their pain. And though he would never admit it, I knew that I had hurt him.
A strange mix of feelings flowed through me—regret for the pain I caused, relief from sharing my decision, grief at the thought of, perhaps, losing a friend. But as I waded through my inner turmoil, I checked for uncertainty in my decision, and there was none. The choice itself was sound. I hoped with time, Alrik would understand we were not a compatible couple and would find the person who would be his match.
Unaware, due to our stiff Swedish reticence, that a profound moment had occurred right in front of her, Detective McCleary continued expounding on the steps to be taking with a “grand theft auto” case.
“Don’t worry about the car,” I interrupted her. “Most people would hardly call stealing a 1986 AMC Eagle a grand theft. If you find out something, great. But I’m sure you have much more important things to worry about and I’d rather have the police’s resources used elsewhere.”
As she looked from me to Alrik, she cocked her head slightly, nodded deliberately, and then took several moments to study us. Speculation, then a spark of comprehension passed briefly over her features before she resumed her official game face. She had realized something… but what? In the incessantly verbose American culture, I was used to the tacit Scandinavian communication being almost a secret language. Someone recognizing, let alone interpreting, something spoken in our hidden language threw me.
“What else can I help you with, Detective McCleary?” I asked, trying to get a read on her.
“Nothing at the moment. Our conversation has been enlightening. Thank you for your time and help.” She smiled slightly, putting away her notebook. Her possible intuition was unnerving, but also intriguing. I knew that the world was a bigger place than I could possibly understand. What was so enlightening to her?
“So, can I convince you to come to the concert?” I asked. “I’ll ask your brother at band practice if he wants to join as well.”
“I believe I will join you. As you said, interesting things seem to follow you. I’m betting it will be fun. Or at least educational.” She flashed a look between me and Alrik. “And please call me Joanne.”
Chapter 39
The original four members of my pack were to congregate at the spring on Elin’s ranch, but I had come out early for a moment of peace and reflection. I sat, with my wings out to catch the sunshine, on a cool, smooth boulder next to the small trickle of water. The boulder sat stubbornly in the middle of the flow, forcing the little creek to bend around it. But slipping my feet into the small trickle of cold water at its base, I could feel the smooth curve of the rock where the water had, over much time, carved a notch out of its hard surface. I smiled, sympathetic to the motivation of both the unyielding rock and the relentless water.
An image of a frowning Alrik crossed my mind. He would scoff at my thoughts and remind me that I was anthropomorphizing abiotic objects. But as the situation stood now, I wouldn’t have the chance to needle him into debating the unmeasurable worth of creating metaphors. After our conversation—if one were to define conversation broadly—on my front steps a month ago, he had turned on his heel and headed directly to his car. He hadn’t returned any of my calls or emails since, and I had stopped trying a few weeks ago. Common friends informed me that he hadn’t spoken of his time in San Luis Obispo at all. Using previous experiences, I figured he would pop up again when he was ready but there wasn’t anything I could do in the meantime.
Besides spending too much time pointlessly worrying about Alrik, I had carefully monitored news on the werewolf front. David heard through the grapevine that Gina and her pack had indeed set up in Denver. Her widely spouted promises of a cure for the werewolf breakdowns and her visions of supernatural supremacy were enticing, and her pack had grown to be the largest in the country. She hadn’t established a co-Alpha for the pack yet, and there wasn’t any word to suggest that she was looking for one. Remembering what David had said about packs being unstable without two Alphas made me nervous. Would she continue on her megalomania trip and try to be a solo leader, or was she still mourning the loss of her brother and parents? I didn’t know. But so far, she had kept her word and decreed that the San Luis Obispo pack, including the non-werewolf Alpha, was to be respected and left alone. I had left her alone as well, although I daily scanned the Denver news for suspicious murders. So far, there had been none. I prayed that this was a sign that she had come to her senses about murdering for the sake of the pack. But I didn’t believe it.
I heard a clear, melodic whistle drifting from the direction of the road. After a moment of listening, I recognized it as David’s signature whistling tune, “Just a Closer Walk with Thee.” Inspired by the tune when David whistled it the last time while in Denver, I had learned both the vocals and the cello parts. One verse in particular had stuck out in my memory:
Through this world of toil and snares,
If I falter, Lord, who cares?
Who with me my burden shares?
The song concludes that none but the Lord will care, and maybe in the end, that conclusion was true, but I felt lucky. At the moment, I was surrounded by people who would share my burdens, despite the toil and snares I dumped in their laps. My sister had forgiven me for bringing trouble literally to her doorstep once again. Pedro and Philip were completely bummed about missing The Great Gina Showdown and made me promise to bring them along the next time I found myself neck deep in supernatural threats. A few Swedish friends had told me, astonishment evident, that Tilde and Viktor had been seen talking, politely, with each other. My mom, back from her own mission of saving the world, had flip-flopped between scolding me for my recklessness and commending my actions, then telling me she loved me, and then reminding me that she herself would hurt me if I ever got hurt again. And David, well David continued to remind me of his potential, both in words and actions.
His tall form appeared over the hill. He was dressed more casually than usual, in jeans and a t-shirt. Overall, his attire was practically irrelevant since we had planned this meeting around running and flying free and his clothing would be shucked soon. Unlike before, when I would blush and turn away, I probably was going to surreptitiously watch—and enjoy—him removing his clothes this time. That was one benefit of being a girlfriend, and I had a feeling he wouldn’t mind at all.
He stopped a few feet from me
and bowed deeply. “I see the fairy nymph of the spring has graced me with her presence. Tell me, oh beautiful nymph, what portends do you see in our future?”
Sweeping my wings up and jumping from the rock, I approached David. I shook my head sadly and put on my best disappointed teacher face. “For shame, Mr. David Waterstone. I believe in one sentence, you mixed up three different mythologies. Fairies are originally an English creation, nymphs are Greek, and oracles, not fairies nor nymphs, see portends.”
Coming face to chest—the closest I could manage to getting in his face—I peered up and was about to continue my sermon when David interrupted with a profuse and flowery apology. But he didn’t look at all contrite—in fact, he was smiling the smile that crinkled up the sides of his eyes. My schoolmarm façade instantly dissolved and butterflies started twirling in my stomach. Here was a good man who had gone through so much trouble before me and then in the last few months with me, and yet he could smile at me like he had been blessed with a wonderful gift. I knew I had been blessed.
“Besides,” he said, brushing my cheek gently, “you, a winged creature whose tribe hails from Northern Europe, are now a leader of a werewolf pack made up of outcasts from Santa Fe. I believe we have mixed mythologies up a bit ourselves.”
“True enough,” I said as I stood on my tippy toes to get closer. “And this fairy-nymph-oracle predicts a happily-ever-after ending… Although I can’t promise I won’t scare up more trouble in the future.”
“I expect nothing less.”
We kissed, and that kiss washed away any thought or worry of the future. Wrapping my arms around him, I lost myself in the moment, knowing those inevitable problems of supernaturals fighting each other and the world were not so insurmountable. Because I was with David. And I had family and friends willing to stand with me. And I was a strong Alva and powerful Alpha. My foundation was firm.
AFTERWORD
Thank you for reading Freya’s Inferno. I hope you had as much fun reading it as I did writing it. Please, if you liked the book, leave a review on Amazon or Goodreads. Your review matters very much in the book world. Yes, I am talking to YOU. Go leave a review. I’ll even wait for you before I tell you about other ways you can interact with Freya and me…..
… Static-y, horrible, soft “jazz” renditions of 90’s rock….
Hey, thanks a ton for leaving a review! Stink eye given to those that didn’t. Now, how else can you connect? Visit my website: www.sonjabair.com. Once there, you can sign up for my newsletter. Extra bonus you say? Okay, fine. If you sign up, you can get a bonus short story from the series.
But most of all, thank you for reading my book.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Sonja Bair never expected to be an author. As long as she can remember she has created stories in her head, but as far as writing a book— that was something only to be done by Professional Authors. Yet one day she found herself writing, then writing some more. And about a year later, much to her surprise, she had written a book.
When not writing, Sonja is a mother to two beautiful daughters, wife to a wonderful man, and a high school science teacher. She lives in gorgeous San Luis Obispo and drives a 1984 AMC Eagle. The Eagle, she would like to note, was purchased for her by her husband after it made its appearance in the book. He jokingly put a ridiculously low bid on the car on Ebay, but a day later found himself the proud new owner of an Eagle. History will vindicate Sonja's love of her classic car.
