He dressed in a hurry, retrieved his passports, cash, and phone from the wall safe. He would figure out which of his personae he would be, later. Damon Winston, however, was done; which was probably for the best, maintaining the English accent was hell. Leaving the rest of his things behind was inconsequential; he never traveled with anything he would ever miss, you never knew when you’d have to make a quick getaway. Like this very moment. Besides, he was already soaking blood into his favorite leather jacket, darkening his mood further.
The sirens were growing louder as Lucia closed the door behind him. He shooed the two couples and an older gentleman back into their rooms with a polite smile and the barrel of his CZ75, then raced toward the emergency stairs.
Normally, he would’ve been more discrete, flashed them fake credentials and told them to return to their rooms for their own safety, but he was in a hurry. He had to get himself patched, then find out just how the hell his target knew he was coming.
Chapter 36
The Cheese Dome
Tiny spectrums of color danced on the walls, ceiling and floor of Thor’s cabin, as early-morning sunlight reflected off the cut crystal and gold trimmed antique cheese dome adorning the top of the grand piano.
One of Thor’s fondest memories of his mother was the look of absolute joy on her face whenever she removed the decorative dome covering her favorite cheese. Thor had been too young at the time to appreciate the pungent aroma filling the kitchen, but he was fascinated by the process of the various cheeses ripening on the countertop under their individual domes made of porcelain or glass.
Most times, the cheese would spend a very short time on the counter, usually an hour or two before it was to be eaten. There were, however, a few stubborn cheeses that required everything to be just so before they were ready. She would “tisk” and fret over them as if they were lab experiments, the fate of the world depending on the outcome.
Thor remembered with a smile, having a particularly unruly cheese being compared to “a certain young man, whom shall remain nameless”. His mother cared for that wheel of cultured dairy better than some women cared for their own children. Then, after the last morsel had been relinquished to memory, she raved about it for months.
“The dispassionate cannot make proper cheese,” she said to him. “Yes, there is science to the process, but cheese is alive; it needs to be coaxed, not forced. It needs a gentle caress, the flirtatious word of encouragement. It must feel your deep desire, and your love. Do this, and it will love you back like nothing else in the world.” She flashed a smile as she winked, then kissed his forehead.
The older Thor grew, the more he was convinced his mother was not talking about cheese. He believed his mother to be a quintessential, passionate French woman, giving her son a euphemistic life lesson; she was good at slipping them in from time to time.
It had been twelve days since Mikki and the others had been slaughtered. Thor’s initial devastation had subsided to a dull ache that would be with him till his dying day, and his own mind-numbing rage forged into a resolve to see Fenrir dead at his feet. He was not sure if anyone would rave about his present condition, but he was as ready as he ever would be.
Thor sat, his chin in the palm of his hand and his elbow resting on the smooth black-lacquered finish of the piano top, as he watched the sun rising over the coast of Portugal through the open balcony doors. The air flowing through the room was warm and sticky and thick with the salty, musty smell from the heavily-trafficked waters.
The stench of fish wafted through the room as they passed a troller to starboard. One of the fishermen stared up at Mjölnir with awe. The look in the young man’s eyes said he would give anything to trade places with the owner of the luxurious ship, and Thor wondered if that jealousy would remain, if the man knew the entire story.
They were not heading back to Constanța – everyone had worn out their welcome in that city, and perhaps, all of the country. Yesterday had been nothing but heated discussions as to where to put in; it was surprising how well Jacques protégé, Dylah, held her ground against Julia’s stubborn streak. Those two had been going at it for days, with no end in sight.
Thor, on the other hand, did not really care if they docked in Montenegro or Albania, or anywhere else, for that matter, just as long as he made it back into the Carpathian Mountains to finish the game.
The bond between him and Hróðvitnir seemed semi-broken. He could still sense the damned things presence, and the overwhelming rage it felt, but no longer read its thoughts, which was both a blessing and a curse unto itself. The creature was in a cave, where it had not moved since retrieving the body of the other beast. Why the thing had done either, was like having an itch just out of reach.
There had been as many theories on that from Nwabudike and Dylah as there were ideas of how to proceed next. In the end, neither really cared why the creature chose to hide itself away, just as long as it stayed put. That was where their agreement ended. Nwabudike advised sending an army to hunt the thing down. Dylah suggested a nuclear strike; Thor thought she was joking, until the woman proved she had a warhead at her disposal.
As if the world wasn’t scary enough, already! Now, I have to deal with a pissed off woman, with an itchy trigger-finger.
Thor was not about to invade a sovereign nation with an army that stood no chance of survival. Nor was he willing to change its demographics for the next few thousand years, though Dylah did give him one Hel of an idea.
“Have trouble sleeping again?”
Even with the furrowed brow of concern etching her face, Sorina was the most beautiful woman in the world. If Thor could erase just a few events from the past two weeks, he would consider himself the luckiest man in the world. As it was, he was still one fortunate son-of-a-bitch!
Sorina maneuvered herself until she was sitting upright with her back resting on the intricate wrought iron headboard. Then she raked fingers through the wavy black hair that suspiciously appeared to have been brushed an hour before Thor climbed out of bed.
“No,” he said quickly, his insides turning to jelly as he stared into those deep-brown eyes. Then he began playing a soothing tune his mother taught him. “I, actually, slept better than I have in weeks.” He gave a wry smile. “All men succumb to exhaustion, at one time or another.”
Sorina, the source of that exhaustion, flashed a smile that made this morning’s golden rays pale by comparison. “How do you do that, Thor Odinsson?”
He stilled his fingers. “Do what?”
“Make me smile when I feel like crying. I’m so worried for you… for us.”
What are you worried about? I’ve only pissed-off the creature that plans to destroy the world, that’s all! He began playing the piano again. “You smile because you should smile. The simple act of smiling brightens the darkest day. When there are no smiles or laughter left in the world, hope is lost.”
“I’ve seen you go to a place so dark it scared me.”
“It scares me sometimes, too.” He stared blankly at the ocean. He sighed. “But then I remember all that I have.” He began to play Ode to Joy: the tune his mother played for him since he was in her womb. It never failed to warm his heart, or bring a smile to his face.
Mio rolled off his bed – getting the beast to sleep on the mattress placed at the foot of their bed had been a chore – and he stretched, his spine cracking as muscles strained. His tongue curled in a gaping yawn. Then he shook his head furiously before lumbered off to the bathroom. At least he did not require coaxing to use his toilet again. After spending so much time making the castle grounds his territory, Thor was sure the behemoth would do the same on the ship, though he had not done so in years.
Sorina gazed out the window for a time. Her eyes began to twinkle and a smile formed on her lips. “You won’t die, Thor Odinsson.”
“I’ll do my best not to.”
She shook her head. “You won’t. You can’t.” Her gaze turned to Thor. “A gypsy woman told my father,
I would find the love of my life, and I have. She said we’d spend our lives in one grand adventure after another, and we’ve only just begun. Besides, gypsy women don’t lie. ”
He remembered Jacques calling Sorina a gypsy-girl. She’s talking about her mother. “Never?”
Sorina shook her head. “Never. The gypsy woman said our first kiss would shake the foundations of the heavens.” She raised her eyebrows. “You do remember our first kiss?”
“Oh, yes,” Thor said with a grin. “I remember everything about that night, and the next morning.”
“Then she had to be right about everything else.”
“It stands to reason.” Thor shook his head, chuckling. “If this is the precedent by which we measure future events, how do we top it?”
Sorina’s eyes narrowed and a devious grin plastered her face. She threw back the sheet, revealing her sumptuous naked form. She raised a hand, beckoning him with a single finger.
“That is a great place to start!” Thor moved to the door, shooing Mio out with a whistle. “Go get some breakfast.” The dog was eager to comply, licking Thor’s hand before trotting down the corridor.
Thor shed his clothes and slipped into bed beside Sorina. He pulled her close. She shuddered as he kissed her neck. The scents of her body and hair were a little too fresh. So… it’s not my imagination. You did take a shower while I was sleeping. He hoped she could not see his grin, he hated the thought of ruining her illusion.
His lips roamed, and his hands caressed the curves that drove him wild. Their hungry kisses became ravenous, their caresses more frantic. Sorina had made it abundantly clear he was not to treat her as a fragile doll, and he was more than happy to comply.
Sorina pulled him on top of her, gasping as he entered her. “Oh god, Thor,” she moaned. “Please don’t ever stop doing this to me!”
“That’s the easiest promise to keep I’ll ever make,” he replied, thrusting himself deeper inside her.
The top sheet had vanished, the bottom was ruffled, sweat-soaked, and had one corner torn away from the mattress, as Thor collapsed into Sorina’s arms. He was amazed he could hear her gasping for breath and the heart pounding in her chest beyond the drumbeat of his racing pulse pounding in his ears.
Sorina smiled at him, brushed matted hair from his forehead, and kissed his lips, the salty-sweet taste lingering on his tongue. Thor desired more – the fire in Sorina’s eyes said the same of her – but it would have to be later; perhaps once more before lunch. Right now, he had reached that point of exhaustion he had joked about earlier.
Sorina sighed with satisfaction, letting her eyelids close.
Thor closed his own eyes, breathing in her sweet, intoxicating scent.
He wondered if Sorina really believed a gypsy woman’s prophecy, even if she did not know it came from her mother. Why not? He was coming to terms with the ancient curse placed upon his family. The joke was on the old woman that had confronted Jorick, though. Thor was the last of his line, and he went to painstaking lengths to keep it that way. He almost wished he could see that old woman, if, for no other reason, to laugh in her face.
He was drifting, floating in the sea of nothingness, when he heard the faint humming of a familiar tune. He willed himself toward the sound, but as hard as he tried, it never grew louder, just a faint hum that could be coming from anywhere.
He began to hum along. The tune was so familiar, though he could not think of the name.
He hummed louder, at least, he believed he did, he may be asleep and dreaming for all he knew. Words started forming, slow but sure. Then he began singing Sympathy for the Devil. He knew the old tune well; he was a huge Rolling Stones fan. In his head, he could hear music and back-up singers.
Almost everyone he knew as a teenager overanalyzed its meaning to death. Thor, on the other hand, found the song Start me up much more intriguing. It had a lot to do with what she could make a dead man do!
What an odd song to suddenly pop into his head. Unless I didn’t put it there!
He mentally went through every word of that song twice; sure there was an answer to be found to help him.
He thought, for the thousandth time, the meaning of that goddamned curse. That was an act of futility itself. As far as the fucking dragon tamer goes, people have been trying to guess her name for centuries. This game sucked, the rules were outrageous: Anything goes until a predetermined outcome.
Thor’s eyes popped open, a bead of Sorina’s sweat stinging his left eye.
That was the nature of any game: reaching a predetermined outcome. If he were bound to the rules of the game, then the beast was just another player in the game, therefore subject to the same rules.
Thor is the last of his line. The game had to be played, until she that has tamed the dragon swallows the moon. Until that happens, I’m bullet proof! Let Hróðvitnir bring every fucking thing he’s got! Now all I have to do is keep it between the two of us.
Thor watched Sorina sleeping for some time, wishing things had been different. She was such a beautiful, strong-willed woman that deserved much better than he could give her. Mostly, she deserves a man that can make her happy and keep her safe, not one that’s going to get her killed. He breathed deep, wishing he could bottle her scent, her taste, her image. Everything! He was going to miss her so much!
As much as it was going to kill him, he had to get as far away as he could from Sorina, and everyone else. It was the spectators of this twisted game that paid the highest price.
* * *
“I agree,” Freyja said as the music died. “That is an interesting tune. Thank you, gentlemen.” She inclined her head ever so slightly, and half-a-dozen men bowed deeply before vanishing with their instruments.
“I am confused,” Odin said, scratching his chin beneath the thick beard. “Who is the Devil, and why does he require sympathy?” He winked at Chelsea, his lips curling slightly.
Freyja chuckled softly. “I swear, Allfather. You would try to convince anyone, you are a mindless dolt.” She kissed his cheek, then gazed deep into his blue eye. “She walks a razor thin line, Allfather. Even your protection has its limits.”
“And Frigga says Loki is the one too cleaver for their own good.” Odin chuckled, then kissed Freyja’s forehead.
Freyja mounted the great boar, HilisvÍni, smiled as she gazed at the giant willow beside the stream, then rode away.
A short time later, the low-hanging willow branches parted, a tall figure emerging from the deep shadows dressed in a hooded black cloak, appearing to be made of smoke. The thin black veil covering her face hinted at the beautiful features beneath. The wide, dark eyes above the veil watched anxiously as Freyja disappeared into the distance.
Odin held out a hand. “Thank you, Njorun.”
The Keeper of Souls grimaced at the sound of the name. She placed her hand in Odin’s, kneeling before him. “It is my honor to serve, Allfather.” Her eyes shifted quickly to Chelsea, then back to Odin. “I was unaware this girl was scheming under your instructions.”
Odin helped The Keeper to her feet. He held her tight with a steely, blue-eyed stare that could freeze water. Then the corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled warmly. “There is no scheming.”
The Keeper’s wide eyes went wider, and she nodded slowly. “Understood, Allfather.”
“Good,” he said with a laugh. “Then let us eat. I am starving.”
Chelsea slumped against a tree as Odin and the Keeper vanished. She could not comprehend just where it had all gone wrong. She had lived right, and died well. By all rights, she should be in Heaven without a care for the rest of eternity, not playing a game with her best friend’s life.
“Oh, Thor,” she whispered. “I dreamt I was holding our son and daughter in my arms, while you made us tea and toast with jam. Our son looked just like you, and our little girl, like Momma.” She smiled a sad smile. “She had my freckles, though. That would’ve made you happy.”
“That is because you cling to what co
uld have been.”
Chelsea looked up to see an old woman, bent and dressed in rags approaching from the orchard. The old woman leaned heavily on the gnarled alder staff, well-worn and darkened and scuffed from decades of use, one foot dragging slightly as she made her way closer.
“I suppose you think that’s funny?” Chelsea snapped.
“No,” the old crone replied, a shimmering mist enveloping her. When it faded, Freyja stood in her place. “It saddens me deeply, actually. I warned you this might happen.”
Chelsea sighed, staring at a cricket hopping from one side of the narrow path to the other. “You told me lots of things.”
Freyja moved closer. “Have I lied or misled you in any way?”
“No,” Chelsea conceded.
With a sweep of her arm, a long table appeared beside the stream, filled with platters of steaming meats, vegetables, fresh fruits and chilled mead. “Come. Sit with me, child, and let us enjoy each other’s company over a fine meal.” She gestured to the table with a wide smile.
Chelsea stood, staring blankly at the table.
Freyja placed an arm around Chelsea’s shoulder, guiding her gently to the table. She placed the girl at the head, and sat at her right, filled two plates with food, then poured two goblets of mead.
“I’m having trouble seeing what to do next,” Chelsea announced.
“You have done all that you can, for the moment,” the statuesque Goddess said, placing the goblet in front of Chelsea. “Your Thor has been pointed in the right direction… If he strays from the path, you will know what must be done.”
Chelsea nodded, then sighed. She stared blankly at the table for a moment, then her eyes searched Freyja’s face after she gained her courage. “What will happen to me when this is over?”
“That is entirely up to you,” Freyja said with a smile. “You are free to move on any time you wish. I would prefer you stay, for a while, at least; I do enjoy your company. It has been such a long time since we have had a spirit with such fire in this realm.”
Hammer of the Gods Page 38
