At the realization. At the loophole, the opportunity that was suddenly right in front of her. The once-in-a-lifetime-chance that was presenting itself. Right now. Because the real question became, if she could bring back one person, could she bring back more?
“I will give you the name of whom I desire, and you will give that specific name to the Goddess of the Grave. You swear to perform this one task for me, and only then shall I give you a means to return to this realm. Do we have an accord?”
Morgane nodded, her mind racing as a nebulous, crazy plan formed in her head.
“Yes, yes we do. Now tell me, what’s the plan?”
According to Odin, he’d promised to deliver her to Hel after dinner, which meant she had a few hours to kill. Deception, it seemed, was not her forte.
When Loki found her, he all too quickly figured out she was up to something. And Morgane had no doubt if she told him her plan, her one chance at getting in and out of the Underworld would disappear. Unfortunately, not being able to get her to admit what she was hiding pissed him off enough to set a watchdog on her.
A mean, bad-tempered dog.
The room she was currently locked up in held a bank of TV’s, one dirty, dilapidated couch, and a pissed off, red-haired immortal genius. “Look, Mir, I’m telling you, I’m just going to watch some TV and maybe take a nap. You don’t have to sit here, wasting your precious time babysitting me because Loki thinks I’m up to something.”
His grunt was the first sound he’d muttered in hours.
“See? See? I knew it. You’ve got stuff to do, so go do it. Go organize your medical shit or something. Don’t tell me you really enjoy sitting there on your ass, watching me watch TV?” Another grunt told her he was close to gouging out his own eyes.
As Morgane clicked the remote, coursing through channel after channel, Mir finally gave up. “Since I know you’re doing this shit to drive me crazy, I’m outta here. I’ve gotta make up the hunting rotation for next week. Be back in twenty.” He spun around with a finger pointed in her face. “Don’t you fucking go anywhere, do you hear me? I will kick your ass.”
“Of course not. Where would I even go? Just going to sit around here all night long.” Keeping her face glued to the screens, she waited until the last echo of his footfalls disappeared and thumbed up the volume on the televisions. She slid on her boots, before taking a final look around, and eased the door open. Wishing there was another way around this mess, she tugged the door closed behind her and headed toward Odin’s Throne Room.
What she couldn’t tell Loki was that Odin had opened a doorway when he’d offered her this task. An opportunity he had no idea even existed. A chance she had never seen coming.
But one she meant to make the most of.
Earlier, standing there in Odin’s shiny Throne Room, Morgane had been struck with an idea. So brilliantly stupid and glorious, it had, for a second, blinded her to everything else. All the dead were in the Underworld. And Odin was giving her a free pass down there and back.
A “Get Out of the Underworld” free card, so to speak.
And a means to bring someone back.
With any luck, several someone’s.
There was a time, not so long ago, when she never would have stood up to someone like Odin. Never would have even considered this current, insane plan. But now, after losing everyone in her life, after two years of staring death in the eye every damn day, Morgane wasn’t so scared of this world anymore. As it turned out, not the next one, either.
She and Loki, she reasoned, had only known each other a few days. It wasn’t like they were joined at the hip, for chrissakes. Which was why, she rationalized, she’d tell him everything. Right after she went to the Underworld and got back safely.
With her mom and sister in tow.
Oh, and whoever this person Odin wanted, too.
Like they said, better to ask forgiveness than permission, right?
By the time she jogged into Odin’s Throne Room, Morgane figured she was about three hours late. The doors flew open before her. “Sorry, sorry, here I am. Better late than never. Ready to go.” The words were barely out of her mouth when the room went whirling around her, and the drawling, bored voice of Odin floated from somewhere far away.
“About time, you’d think I’m running a country club. Have a nice trip. And remember who you’re bringing home with you. If you can’t find him, don’t bother coming back.”
The whirling, spinning, dropping sensation didn’t stop for a long time. Finally, she hit something hard, and the pressure of a cold, wet surface punched her in the face. Water dripped from her hair, adding to the disorientation when she sat up in complete darkness, pushing tangled strands away from her face. Blackness rippled around her, the sort of shadowy dark that sucks every thought straight out of you.
Like why she had agreed to come here in the first place.
And how she was totally ready to take on this world.
No, this was the kind of blackness that absorbed you until you disappeared. Tucking her knees into her chest, she felt her ribcage expand against her thighs. Contract back down. Felt the warmth of every breath dissipate into the icy, depthless emptiness around her. If it wasn’t for the cold, hard floor underneath her ass, she would have thought she was floating. But she was somewhere. And she was sitting in water. And her ass was freezing.
Her skin goose bumped underneath the thin t-shirt.
Wet meant water. Cold meant weather. The idea loosened the tightness in her chest. And breathing meant she was still alive. Or at least, she hoped it did.
Squeezing her eyes tight, she imagined two faces. Holding those images as a shield against the dark, she rose to her feet.
The sound of rushing water drew her to the right. With the roar of it thrumming in her ears, she kept walking until mist coated her face, and continued following a far-away glow. Light was good. Not caring what it might reveal, she hurried forward, thinking anything would be better than this soul-sucking darkness. By the time she reached the bridge spanning the river, things were quite…misty. Odin had told her exactly what to do to make it across. Once she managed that, she knew exactly how far to reach Hel’s gates. But after that? It was anyone’s guess.
Total crapshoot. Which was why she was going to wing it.
The person, which was a charitable term, guarding the bridge held out a huge, stubby hand to stop her. She stopped. Waited. Ask me, ask me the question.
Out of its grotesque mouth, the words twisted and warped, “You have but one wish before you cross over. What is it you want?”
Morgane considered. Told him. It.
And then palmed the thin sliver of metal that appeared in her hand, frowning. Wondering if Odin could have been wrong. Wondering how she could have been so stupid to trust him, before slipping it into her pocket and waiting for the go ahead to cross.
“Um, I was supposed to receive a powerful, magic dagger? Isn’t this supposed to be big and fancy or something?” The thing guarding the bridge stared down at her from dark, empty eyes.
She swallowed hard. She’d never once considered not making it over the bridge. This was supposed to be the easy part. The in-the-bag part of this whole plan. Finally, the…thing stepped aside and gestured down the long span of bridge.
She didn’t need any more encouragement than that.
Hours later, standing before impressive, slightly grimy gates, Morgane didn’t bother to look at the blackened, ruined landscape behind her. No reason to lift her head and smell the bite of sulfur in the air, taste the grit of dust between her lips, the searing ache of brimstone in her lungs. She didn’t want to remember any of it, ever again. The only thing that mattered was she’d made it across. And what remained to be done.
The doors swung inward on silent hinges, revealing a gaping maw of darkness and flickering torchlight. What is it with these immortal beings and their penchant for the dramatic?
“Ah, Odin kept his word. I’d wondered.” When Morgane saw Hel s
tanding between the giant doors, looking all Project Runway and shit in a long, black silky dress and lots of bling, she knew she was in way over her head.
Morgane pushed down her rising fear, but her voice, thankfully, didn’t shake as much as it might have. “Came out to welcome me personally? I’m honored, I think.”
“As well you should be. I’ve been waiting for hours and hours. I thought Odin and I made a deal.”
“He said nightfall, and here I am.” Morgane surveyed Hel’s to-die-for Blahnik stilettos and heavy, diamond hoops that matched the silky dress perfectly. Which meant the Queen of the Dead didn’t spend all of her time stuck down here. “Nice outfit.”
“You’d be surprised how often I get out,” Hel replied, stroking manicured nails through her hair. “Nothing you’ll have to worry about from now on. Any-hoo, time’s a wasting. Why don’t you come on in?” Hel waved Morgane inside, her arm swooping down in a flourish befitting a Barnum ringmaster.
With the sounds of a million claws scraping the stone beneath her, and the rustling of millions more behind the stone walls, Morgane had only one thing on her mind. Finding the soul Odin wanted, the two she loved, and getting everyone back up to where they belonged.
16
“Where is Morgane? What did you do with her?”
Loki was braced against Fenrir’s massive body as he screamed at Odin, Fen’s thick, muscled arm tight across his neck. For protection? For support? To keep him from killing Odin? Who the fuck knew.
Straining against his son’s substantial bulk, Loki struggled, pushing against his hold. Fen firmed his grip, his long, black hair falling across his chiseled face, his arms binding Loki tighter. “Father, he will kill you if you persist with this,” Fenrir hissed in Loki’s ear, tightening his grip.
As if it took him a lifetime to remember how, Loki lifted his gaze to Odin’s visage.
To find only mockery.
“You truly are a special kind of bastard.” Loki’s eyes, which were usually the clearest blue, now burned with the fire that gave him his name. Fenrir secured his grip on Loki’s shoulders and dragged him across the smooth floor, their boots making long, drawn out squeals as he was pulled backward, fighting every inch of the way.
“Don’t fuck up, Father mine,” Fenrir hissed in his ear. “Fighting him right now is not going to bring your woman back. There are better ways.” As Odin’s rumbling laughter rolled down, Loki shook off his son’s arms as if they weren’t there and whirled toward the throne, forcing Odin to sit up a bit straighter.
“Loki…” Odin warned as Loki flew toward the throne, those quicksilver eyes widening then darkening to gray.
One moment Odin was sitting on the throne, the next he was gone. A blink later, he materialized on his feet right behind Loki, knife drawn and angled, ready for the single parry downwards that would cut through the back of Loki’s neck. Fenrir launched himself up from the polished floor and met Loki’s body with a solid crunch, before taking him down to the ground as the blade passed inches over their heads. Turning, Odin brought the blade up for another strike, only to find his forearm imprisoned in an iron grip, which slowly, inexorably forced him to his knees.
In front of the one person he’d never kneel to.
Loki’s eyes burned blue with fire, flames dancing along his arms, hands, torso as Odin writhed in his grasp, the flames climbing onto him, the smell of burning flesh filling the hall. Loki held him so tightly he could not break away. Fenrir rose, and towering behind Loki, met Odin’s eyes and whispered, “Do not do this, Father. We need him.”
The grin that broke Loki’s face was grim. “Don’t I fucking know it. If I didn’t, I might send you down to my daughter’s world and let her feast on you. But Fenrir is right. For now, we need you alive.” He leaned in and hissed, “But we won’t need you forever. Which means you’ll pay, eventually.” The flames burst into blue knots on Odin’s arm and he screamed. The grin grew bigger on Loki’s face as he watched him burn.
Fenrir put his hand on Loki’s arm, and through the flames, he whispered, “Let him go, you’ve made your point.”
Loki dropped Odin to the ground and kicked the long knife away, where it spun across the floor to rest against the foot of the dais.
Odin stood, slowly but steadily. “You really believe I sent your woman to her death?” He shook his head. “I found a use for her. And I never waste a good opportunity.”
Loki’s eyes strayed to Morgane’s body splayed out on the floor. “You liar, you fucking killed her.”
“Ah, but the dead get one wish before they cross the river, do they not?” Impassively, Odin watched the flesh on his arm knit together and grow smooth. “When she reaches the gatekeeper, I told her what to say. She will make it across the bridge, and she will make it back. I swear to you, she’ll return in a fortnight if not before.”
Loki’s chest loosened. The bastard was lying, he had to be. What is his game?
“Prove it.” He sneered.
Odin thumbed the moonstone ring on his finger before answering, too softly, “Your woman and I made a deal. I needed something. She promised to deliver. If she keeps her end of the bargain, she gets to live. Once she returns, that is.”
“No way, you lie. Morgane wouldn’t make a deal with you. She would have told me,” Loki snapped, a tight, aching pain crushing his heart.
Pure pleasure shone in Odin’s face. “Of course she would have. Like she’s been forthcoming about who she is. And why Hel is so interested in her. But no matter. She’ll return soon enough in her mortal body. And then”—Odin looked at Loki with disdain—“you’ll have your lover back. And you can ask her yourself.”
The ravens shifted on the back of the throne, softly cawing as Odin ascended to his chair and sat down heavily. “You destroyed our old world, traitor. Don’t destroy this one too. Now get out of my sight. If you ever lay your hands on me again…” A slow, cruel smile spread across his face. “I will kill you. Second. After the wolf. Or perhaps your woman. Do you understand?”
Loki turned on his heel. He had no desire to hear another word.
Why had Morgane lied to him?
Fenrir kept a firm grip on him, all the way back to his room. “Do you think the bastard’s telling the truth?” Loki asked.
Fenrir shook his head as he watched the fog drift across the lake and into the streets. “I think Odin uses the truth to suit his purposes, like he always has. But something bigger is happening right now, and Odin has his hands all over it. I can feel it.” Fenrir got up then hesitated by the door. “I’m scheduled to hunt tonight with Thor and Tyr. I’ll be back in a few hours. Can I trust you not to do something stupid? You know…if you text me, I could come back.”
That small offer of help made Loki’s voice catch as he called after Fen, “Happy hunting, son.” And he settled in to wait and see if, indeed, Odin was telling the truth.
17
Hel paced around the girl tied to the chair in her great room and fantasized about all the things she would do once she was free. She was so damn close, her fingers itched as if they could already feel the soft, silky fabric of the evening gowns at Dior on Rue Royale. Being banished to this dreary existence for the last, oh, two thousand years had pretty much leached all of her goodwill toward man, but worse than that, her memories of the outside were getting dim. She missed all the beautiful things out there, possibly because they made her feel like life was worth living.
Not that she was, technically, alive.
When Daddy dearest had traded her off as recompense for one of his many fuckups, she’d gotten the short stick, banished down here to the dark. Although, she thought, looking around, she’d done her best with what she had to work with. The slick rock beneath her feet hummed with the energy of billions of demons undulating beneath her, her own little army of evil dying to get aboveground and start chewing their way through the world. Bringing her back more and more souls with which to pad her domain. Too bad even that had become so boring.
&nb
sp; Until now. Finally, things were about to get interesting again.
Her brilliant smile widened as she considered the blonde mortal. “Truthfully, I didn’t think Odin would give you to me so easily.”
“I sort of wish he hadn’t. But you know what they say about wishes?”
“So you’re the one who’s been killing my demons? A lot of them.” Something this human would pay for. Ten times over.
“Yes I have. As many as I’ve been able to.” Even in her current predicament, the girl still seemed a bit…defiant.
The girl seemed so…ordinary. Not special, not in the least. No indication of why Hel had spent so much effort to trap her. So much maneuvering and plotting to get this single, mortal soul entrapped in her realm. It didn’t hardly seem worth it.
Except…it was.
This soul was the asking price, the one thing needed to set Hel free. Forever.
The girl tilted her head. “Can I ask you a question? What happens to this place once you’re gone?”
“Nothing. It stays the same. My little worker bees would eventually burst through their cage and crawl up into your world and then… Well, let’s just say Armageddon would look like a picnic.”
“And what about all the souls you keep trapped down here? What about them?”
“They stay too. Think of me as the bright, shiny key. I open everything up and I keep it all locked away. No escape for anyone. Once you’re down here, you stay here. Unless I decide to let you go. Only I have the power to decide who stays and who goes free.” She turned hard, gleaming eyes on the mortal who was so important to her plans.
“Oh, you never know, maybe I’m exactly where I want to be.” Even though the girl’s voice shook slightly, her eyes were determined, Hel noted, and her jaw had a decidedly stubborn set to it.
“Odin thought he was using me, you know. As it turns out, I want something too, and I’m in a position to get it.” The girl’s voice turned flat. “So. How do you want to do this? The hard way or the easy way?”
Queen of Swords: The Banished Gods: Book One (The Banished Gods Series 1) Page 12
