Dísir were undead female agents of Fate that caused misfortune.
"I think—we're screwed if it's a dís," Loki said in a strong, clear voice. Although he wore the body of a child, he comported himself with confidence well beyond his apparent years. "Deadly accidents will keep befalling Michael until one of them kills him. Even with my help, his luck will run out sooner or later... There's no escape."
Grim-faced, Jake offered only silence. Deep down, he seethed. He hated it when Loki was right. He despised helplessness even more. As a god, he was more than a match for even the most powerful dísir. Lesser and greater Norns, including the Sisters Wyrd, fled before his wrath.
"I don't get it," Loki mused in a seeming random tangent to what they'd been discussing.
Jake wasn't fooled. The Trickster didn't make unrelated inferences or leap to illogical conclusions. If something he said or did appeared disparate, it usually meant one didn't yet have all the puzzle pieces. He decided to indulge Loki and see what it got him.
"What don't you get?"
"Why didn't you kill them all? They flat-out threatened the boy. You're well within your rights to wipe them off the map." Loki's arm waved in a gesture that encompassed not only the administration building but the entire school. Maybe even the whole world. "I could tell you wanted to, but you went to the trouble to exorcise them instead of killing them."
"Those women are innocent of any wrong doing." Jake shook his head. Cynicism was in his heart. He'd been tempted to do just as Loki said. And, in fact, the exorcism had come at the Trickster's promoting. He had no regrets. The Norns may have chosen the trio as temporary conduits, but the women themselves were mere puppets. He could no more hold them responsible than the sun could be held accountable for shining.
"What do you care for human life?" Loki's lips parted to reveal a delicate array of sharp canine teeth. He fidgeted, giving every impression of anxiety, or maybe simply having too much pent-up energy.
"Let's turn that around. What do you care for the life of a mortal boy?" He pinned his old rival with a flinty stare.
"I don't!" Loki spat the word on the blistering sidewalk and then jumped up and down. "All right, that's a lie. I do care—even though I shouldn't. The kid has a certain charm. I've got to hand it to him. He's got some serious backbone to have gone through what he did and not have turned out a jabbering mess. I like him..."
"I could spend the rest of eternity shifting through your lies. Unfortunately, the world hasn't got all that long, and I don't have time to waste." Jake shifted, intending to continue on to his car.
"Earlier today, I wasn't trying to hurt the boy." With a bold stride, Loki blocked Jake's path.
"You abducted Michael from the school yard. What was I supposed to think?"
"Bah." The Trickster produced a disgusted sound deep in his chest. "The Norns made another attempt on his life. Maybe, like you said, it was the work of a dís. Whatever the case, I saved him from being crushed by that car. I used magic to make him harder to find until you were able to come get him." He thumped his chest. "Meeee..."
Jake opened his mouth to argue but Loki's verbal barrage continued unchecked.
"Oh, and don't go claiming to not know what I'm talking about. There was a raven watching when those cars crashed. Ravens followed us to the park. Your eyes and ears—present every step of the way." Loki pinned him with a venomous look of accusation. "You knew and you still tried to kill me—"
"What I see and what I know aren't the same," Jake grated out. "I can't perceive intention. Maybe you meant for him to die that accident."
"Fuck you." Loki sneered, the expression made all that much uglier for his youthful appearance.
"A few months ago you boasted of being behind Daniel's murder. It's not a stretch to believe you're capable of killing another of my sons." He clenched his fists, crushing the urge to grab Loki's shoulders and shake him until his teeth fell out.
"I've no desire or intention to harm the boy. If I'd wanted Michael dead, he'd have died at the park when the bony fingers of fate rose through the water."
"What?" Jake stopped cold.
"Urðr made a grab for him at the park." Loki's arm wagged dismissively. "Look, that isn't relevant—"
"When?"
"I dunno. Yesterday. Before the baseball game. Will you stop interrupting and listen. None of that matters!" The child-sized Trickster waved his hands in a dance of frustration.
"You tried to help him without an agenda." Speaking softly, Jake tilted his head, but Loki seemed oblivious to his rival's scrutiny.
"Damn it! It's like I tried to tell you last night—right before you tried to kill me again—this thing between us is out of control and I want it to stop—" Loki pounded his palm with his fist. "It's one thing—you and I going at each other. It's even sorta fun. But now thousands of mortals—children—are dying."
"You're right."
"Of course I'm right! I'm always right!" Loki ground to a full stop. "Wait! What? You’re—agreeing with me?"
"This thing is out of control. It's gotta stop."
"Oh. Oh..." The Trickster pantomimed extreme shock. "Could I be hearing this correctly? This must be a sign of the apocalypse— The dead rising from the grave! Human sacrifice, dogs and cats living together..."
"Mass hysteria!" Jake chuckled.
Loki missed a beat.
"What? You think you're the only one who's kept up with the times?" Jake snorted to convey his derision.
"Well, yeah." Loki's look said—Duh.
"Maybe you're even right about this morning. Maybe I took a cheap shot at you when you were doing your best to help Michael." The admission stuck in Jake's craw, but he was determined to make a valid effort.
Parodying a cartoon character, Loki used one finger to close his hanging jaw. "Is that the best you can do?"
"Thanks for looking out for my son." Jake pinned the Trickster with an unyielding gaze. "That's the best I can do. Don't expect an apology."
Too much bad blood existed between them for that to ever happen.
"I can live with that, so long as you stop accusing me of malicious intention toward Michael." Loki sounded more like a lawyer than the child he appeared.
"You fed the boy a crap load of sugar. He puked on my boots." Jake let his stare do his talking—he wasn't a fool. "You pulled the same stunt with Thor when he was a boy."
Loki smirked. "Well, I always was more the fun uncle than responsible father."
"Daffy Duck would've made a better parent."
They shared a laugh that ended all too abruptly, and the ensuing silence was even more pronounced and uncomfortable—a poignant, painful reminder of what they'd once had and lost. Long ago, before bitterness and betrayal divided them, the two men had been as thick as thieves.
"If you kill the dís, it won't stop the curse," Loki mused once their mirth petered out. "Another will just take its place."
"I'm aware of that." He dropped a brusque nod and considered continuing on his way. His to-do list wasn't getting any shorter and the hours kept slipping away. The afternoon heat put a nasty edge on his already foul mood, and his sweat-soaked clothing and parched throat aggravated his discomfort.
Loki chewed his thumbnail, deep in thought. "The only way to escape a dísir curse is for the jinxed person to kill her."
"Michael is six. He's hardly up to the task."
"And the only thing that will kill dísir is a weapon that's been touched by Fate." Loki eyed him. "Those are few and far between."
"I'm aware of that too." Ironically enough, Jake's own weapons were not equal to the task. With fastidious precision, he protected his tattoo dagger and his spear with runic wards.
"Don't go getting surly. I'm just thinking aloud."
"So you say." Jake fixed his fierce regard on Loki. He wasn't sure what, but he didn't need second sight to sense something momentous about to happen. The atmosphere between them was round and heavy, pregnant with collusion. The whole thing possessed an i
ntense intimacy. Untold times, he'd stood with his head bowed, voice lowered, engaged in tight conspiracy with the Trickster. It had the feel of familiarity and comfort, like an old pair of slippers.
They complemented each other well. Jake possessed a mastery of short-term tactics implemented in pursuit of long-term strategies. Loki excelled at subterfuge, conspiracy, espionage, and assassination.
A voice in Jake's mind whispered he should be on his guard. At the same time, his determination to protect Michael was taking on a desperation that could prove his undoing. Originally, he adopted the orphaned boy out of a sense of duty and obligation, and as a means of restoring sullied honor. But over the last six months, Jake's attachment to the child had deepened. He loved Michael.
And now, enemies targeted Michael to get to him. He'd be a fool not to consider that Loki might be working the same angle. Jake asked, "Aside from you supposedly liking Michael, what exactly is your interest in him?"
"Consideration," Loki spat out the word as if it were a curse. "I figure the kid is my chance to prove to you that we could work together." His eyes narrowed. "If I help you save Michael from the dís, that should be enough to at least earn your consideration of my proposal. Am I right?"
Jake smiled grimly. "You're not wrong."
"To help you, I need more than I've got."
"What are you asking me for?'
"Information." The Trickster bit off the succinct word. Boyish arms raised skyward, crossed at the elbows, and he grasped his own hands. He twisted about. "There's too much I don't understand. Why is Michael important to you? Why are they stalking him instead of going after your older sons? It was Sawyer who cheated death."
Flinty-eyed, Jake kept his expression guarded, concealing his inner turmoil. Loki already had a firm grasp of the fundamentals. Sawyer had cheated death—thus defying the Norns—when Victoria had resurrected him. The Trickster had the pieces to the puzzle; he just didn't know how to put them together.
Loki pinned Jake, an accusing look. "When that poor she-wolf cheated death, the Norns ripped her to shreds."
"I fought for Lenna." Bile pushed into Jake's throat.
"You failed her," Loki hissed. "Because you're clinging to mortality—" His hand swept up and down, indicating Jake's human form. "Like a drowning man. Except, you have an ocean of power at your fingertips. None of it makes a lick of sense."
Balanced on one leg, Loki tipped to the side, windmilling his arms to maintain his balance. He continued to conjecture in his childishly high voice. "I figure you've used magic to guard Sawyer and the twins—something that affords them some sort of protection. But that you can't use on Michael because he's not your son by blood."
The whole situation made him queasy. Damn Loki for being right again—Michael was the most vulnerable of his sons. He glanced over his shoulder at the school. Maybe the Norns knew it too. More than anything, Jake disliked uncertainty, whether it stemmed from lack of conviction or ignorance. He preferred fortitude and forthrightness in pursuit of a goal, even if such an endeavor were ultimately doomed. Better to try and fail than to sit on one's ass and never accomplish anything. And another old axiom suited the situation perfectly. The enemy of my enemy...
Casting doubt aside, Jake made his choice. He wasn't ready to strike a deal with Loki, but it was high time to entertain possibilities. On a gut level, he perceived a potential benefit that could damn well prove worth the risk. Such involvement required a minimal degree of cooperation and trust. He drew a deep breath.
"You’re correct. The magic I used to shield my older sons won't work on Michael," Jake said in a gravelly voice. He found sharing his closely-guarded secrets more difficult than he'd have thought. Suspicion stuck in his throat. "The boy is human. In the greater scheme of things, he doesn't matter."
"Except to you." Loki eyed him.
"Except to me.” Jake tipped his head in a curt nod. “And a few others."
"One more thing." A quizzical expression hung on Loki's young face.
"What?"
"Are you protecting the boy because Krampus once served Odin, or is your love for him genuine?" Loki's clever tongue cut as a two-edged knife.
"Both." Jake gave the blunt answer without the slightest hesitation. Loki had to be looking for a chink in his armor, a place to slip the knife through, but the hunter refused to provide his foe with shame or a cowardly denial. "I understand and acknowledge my culpability in what happened to Michael. If it's your intention to turn that against me, you're only going to hurt him."
Loki's fingers wiggled in dismissal. "I'm not assigning blame." He flashed a lopsided smile. "I just wanted to know if you had the backbone to own up to it."
"I'm not a coward."
"No, you've never been that." Loki eyed him. "One more thing..."
"No. you already had your 'one more thing'."
"Tell me why you're here—in Midgard—living as a mortal."
"None of your damn business."
The Trickster shrugged and grinned. "It was worth a try."
"Loki, I swear, if I'm telling you all this and it doesn't produce a viable plan from that devious mind of yours..." Jake backed up the intimidation with his hands, threatening to wring the Trickster's throat.
"I'm thinking. We need to locate a weapon touched by fate that will enable a six-year-old to slay a dís. It's not exactly a simple problem." The corners of Loki's mouth skewed in an ironic smile.
"What about your dagger?" Jake asked.
Loki possessed a wooden knife carved from a branch of the World Tree. Aeon ago, the Trickster crafted the weapon specifically for use against Norns—on the notion that since Yggdrasil had been touched by fate, any weapon made from it would injure the Sisters Wyrd and their agents. Jake didn't know whether the theory had ever been put to the test.
"I've lost it." Loki shrugged.
"Have you?" Jake's jaw tightened. His suspicion remained hard and intact despite their alignment. Ingrained mistrust was more natural than cooperation.
"Temporarily misplaced." Loki tugged the brim of his cap down, hiding his eyes. "Listen—even genius of my magnitude requires cultivation. I'll find a weapon we can use against the dís..." Loki sidestepped, attempting to go around.
"Don't be too long." Jake moved crosswise, blocking the Trickster's path.
"Or what? You'll imprison or slay everyone I've every loved? Oh wait, you've already done that." Throwing out the taunt, Loki ducked low and sprinted past.
Jake turned around, but the boy was gone. A red-tailed hawk rose into the air and soared on spread wings.
Chapter Twelve
Sessrúmnir, Freya's hall in Fólkvangr
Summoned, her spear and shield appeared in her hands. Freya hefted the weapon, aiming at one of the twined Ariks. She didn't know whether it was the correct one, but she had a fifty percent chance of being right.
"You won't get away with whatever it is you're planning," Freya said, a ringing declaration.
"I won't? Why won't I? Please, tell me." The brows of both men arched, mirror images of skepticism. They lifted their hands in a gesture of surrender. Then one of the Ariks dissolved into a cloud of glimmer before it went poof.
"I'll stop you."
Arik snickered. "You will? You're confused, Freya. Do you have the mistaken notion that you're one of the good guys? We're playing on the same team. I'm your ally, remember? "
"You duplicitous eel," she seethed. "An ally doesn't trick his friends—"
He pulled a face of distaste. "Friend is a strong word. Conspirators would be more apropos, I think... You and I, the villains in this grand comic farce."
"You have violated the terms of our agreement." Her grip tightened about her spear. Oh, so tempting to run him through.
"I have—how so?" He arched his brow. "By assuming the role of your general?"
"Without my knowledge!"
"Pah. All I've done is place myself in an advantageous position which benefits us both. As soon as I obtained useful inf
ormation, I brought it to your attention."
Sierra Pines, California, on the western shore of Echo Lake
The reception area of the obstetrician's office was long and narrow; adjoined stainless steel and threadbare, cushioned seating took up every free inch of wall space. Additionally, another row of chairs ran straight down the middle of the room so the walking space that remained formed a squished oval.
Perplexed, Victoria gripped the clipboard the receptionist had handed her. She panned her gaze, surveying the room which was empty except for her and one other exhausted-looking woman who had a screeching toddler in her arms. The boy was in the middle of a full-fledged melt down, shrieking at the top of his lungs and flailing his limbs. In all, she counted thirty chairs—a number that seemed disproportionately large for Sierra Pines' tiny population. The office would've been better served by the addition of a play area for the energetic older children of the pregnant patients.
"You can have a seat anywhere," Laverne, the brunette receptionist said in a voice that was stiff with ill-concealed superiority. She sat behind the rise of the front desk as though it were her personal fortress.
"Does Dr. Ellis know something the rest of us don't?" Victoria pinned the woman with an unflinching stare.
Ever the coward, Laverne averted her gaze.
Sighing, Victoria shrugged and chose a seat located in the corner furthest from the wailing child. A vague sense of guilt hung over her, but the boy's piercing scream was an assault on her sensitive wolf hearing. Was she a terrible person? Odds were good she'd find herself in that poor woman's shoes a year or so from now. It made her thankful that her daughter was still contented—and quiet—in utero.
The vantage point also satisfied her innate caution, though, permitting her to watch the entire room. Clicking the pen, the crossed her legs and perched the clipboard on her knee. For reasons unstated but not unsurmised, the receptionist insisted that Victoria fill out the damn application anew for every single appointment. Maybe the woman expected the answers to change overnight. The spaces for Father's Information would no longer be blank or Insurance Company and Plan Number would say something other than "Cash".
Wolf's Cross: Book 4 (Loki's Wolves) Page 16
