“Loop-ga—” I began.
“Not important,” Skyla said, cutting me off. “But looking into wolf legends led me to two wolves in Norse legends. Guess their names.”
“Skoll and Hati,” Thorin said. “Get to the point.” He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest.
Skyla huffed but did as he said. “Skoll and Hati are two wolves who chase the sun and moon deities through the sky each day and night. In the Norse version of the apocalypse, called Ragnarok, the wolves eventually catch the sun and moon and eat them. Now, do you know the names of the sun and the moon?”
Skyla had described my dream, the words growled by the wolf. I shoved the thought away, not yet ready to accept what this coincidence might mean. The root of Solina came from the word for sun, but Chapman corresponded with none of the words I knew for the moon. “I can guess, but why don’t you tell me?”
“Mani for the moon,” Thorin said. “Sol for the sun. Are you trying to imply Chapman and his sister have something in common with mythological figures?”
“She glowed,” Skyla said.
“So you say.”
While they argued, little beads of sweat popped out on my forehead. Time for another round of ibuprofen, though I might have preferred a dose of Thorin’s oblivion instead. “That’s another weird coincidence,” I said, interrupting Skyla and Thorin’s heated dialogue.
“What do you mean?” Skyla asked.
“Our names. Twins run in our family on my father’s side. Somewhere down the line, I had a great, great—I don’t know how many ‘greats’—grandmother from somewhere around Germany. Her name was Solaberga, and she had a twin brother named Manfred.” Skyla scrunched her nose in distaste. “Yeah, my reaction too,” I said. “My mom said those names were too old-fashioned, but Dad really wanted to respect tradition and blah blah blah. Solina and Chapman were a compromise, keeping the roots but modernizing the names.”
“You think your parents know something?” Skyla said. “Or was it just fate?” She said the word on a ghostly breath and waggled her eyebrows in a melodramatic way.
I giggled. Thorin rolled his eyes. “Maybe I’ll ask them next time I talk to them,” I said. As if I would ever mention this to Mom and Dad. “Accepting all you say is true, then how do the two of you play into this?” I tried to readjust into a comfortable position, but such a thing didn’t exist. I gave up and gritted my teeth. “Wait, I know. Skyla, you were the Good Witch, and the wolf was the Wicked Witch, and Thorin was the Wizard of Oz.”
Skyla snorted, and the corner of Thorin’s lip twitched. “I won’t argue about being a witch,” Skyla said. “But I think I’d prefer if you called me a Valkyrie.”
“I obviously need to read from a wider pool of resources,” I said. I had heard the term before but couldn’t place the why or wherefore. The night I touched Thorin at the restaurant in Anchorage, I had seen a vision of him as an ancient warrior, so I decided to track that path. “What about you, Thor-in?” I said. “Are you the God of Thunder in hiding? Is that a hammer in your pocket, or are you just happy to see me?”
Thorin flashed his teeth at me. “Anytime you want to know, Sunshine, I’ll be happy to show you.”
Sunshine? He had said the word sarcastically, almost as an insult, but at least he wasn’t calling me Miss Mundy again. “So,” I said, pressing my fingertips together into a tent shape. “I’m supposed to believe my brother and I are the sun and the moon, Adam Skoll and Harold Hati are wolves, and you”—I looked pointedly at Skyla—“are a Valkyrie.”
“I think so,” she said.
“Gracious, those were some good drugs you gave me, Thorin. Y’all are going to get a kick out of this when I wake up and tell you all the crazy stuff you said in this dream I must be having.”
“You glowed,” Skyla said again.
“What’s with you and that word?”
“Can you reproduce the effect?” Thorin asked.
“Sure, recharge my batteries and flip my switch.”
“What were you doing right before it happened?” Skyla asked.
“I was trying to stay warm. I was huddled under the poncho, thinking about me and Mani at the beach as kids.”
“Do it again,” Thorin said. “Think the same thoughts.”
I closed my eyes and slipped into the memory. Nothing happened. I tried harder. A lot more nothing happened. “I was cold, and hurt, and scared. Maybe that had something to do with it.”
“It’s not important anyway,” Skyla said. “You’re safe and alive. I’ll do my best to keep you that way.”
“Because if the wolves get me, the end of the world will come?”
“No,” Skyla said. “Because I’ve already exceeded the quota of friends I’m willing to lose in a lifetime.”
Thorin stood and seemed to fill the room. He loomed over the bed. “This has all been very thought-provoking, but I have a meeting in Anchorage today and I have to leave now if I’m going to make it on time. We will talk further about this when I return.” He turned to me. “Please make yourself at home. The refrigerator has been stocked.” With that, he strode from the room.
Skyla watched him leave and then turned to me. Unease etched lines on her face. “Here’s the kicker.”
I covered my eyes. “There’s more?”
“In the Norse pantheon, the head honcho is Odin. Sort of like Zeus with the Greeks.”
“Yeah, I know who Odin is. Well, I know more about Thor because Mani read the comics when we were kids, but I know Odin was his father.”
“Did you know Odin has multiple names, depending on what you read? He is less well known in the U.S. as Wotan.”
My stomach lurched, and acid pooled on my tongue. “Good Lord,” I said. “Val is Odin?”
Skyla rubbed her temples as if the idea gave her physical pain. “Or maybe a distant relation.”
“And what about Thorin? Are you going to tell me he really is the God of Thunder?”
“I don’t know,” Skyla said. “But believe me—we’re going to find out.”
I sipped from my coffee and rolled a mouthful around on my tongue before swallowing. “This is all utterly nuts.”
Skyla pushed herself up from the chair again. “I know.”
“How can you be so calm about it?”
Skyla exhaled a long breath. “I’ve always suspected there was more to the world—to me. This is all weird on the surface, but underneath it feels familiar.”
“I don’t feel any of that.” I shifted, waited to see if it hurt, then shifted again until my feet touched the floor. “I’ve never felt like anything but a regular person.”
“That’s a lie,” Skyla said. Her accusation surprised me, and I gaped at her. “What about your dreams? Mani told me you could know some funky weird stuff, and it usually came true.”
Skyla had a point and I didn’t want to admit it, so I changed the subject. “Help me up,” I said. “I’m tired of this bed.”
Skyla went obstinate, reverting to her protective, soldierly personality. “Where do you think you’re going?”
I pushed greasy hair out of my face and concentrated on standing. Dizziness threatened to set me on my rear. “As much as I want a shower, I’m willing to compromise with the couch. Thorin’s got to have a TV in this place. I’m sick of staring at the backs of my eyelids.”
Sympathizing, Skyla put an arm around my good shoulder. She held me steady and nodded to my bare legs. “Missing something?”
I inventoried my attire: one huge T-shirt bearing the logo of Thorin Adventure Outfitters. The T-shirt was the entirety of my wardrobe. Inventory concluded. “After you help me to the couch, your mission is to find me some pants,” I said. “I don’t even want to know how I got in this state.”
“Thorin—” Skyla began, but I signaled for her to hush.
“Like I said, I don’t want to know.”
Skyla helped me to the living room – each step sending shimmers of pain along my ribcage – and eased me down to the
couch. She disappeared for a moment then returned, clutching a pair of plain, gray sweatpants. “Found these in a drawer. Will they do?”
I struggled into them. They gaped at my waist, bunched around my ankles, and obviously belonged to Thorin, but as long as I cinched the drawstring in the waistband and didn’t do a cha-cha, they would save my modesty.
Before she left, Skyla brought me my bottle of pills and a glass of water. She patted me on the head. “Get some rest, Mundy. I’ll check on you later.”
“Wait.” My heart lurched and danced a panicky beat. “Are you leaving me alone?”
She shook her head and backed toward the exit in the kitchen. “Girlfriend, I have barely left your side for the last couple of days. I’m not going to leave you now, but if I stay here, you’re going to want to talk. You don’t need to talk. You need to rest. Thorin said this apartment is locked down like Fort Knox, and I believe him. Never doubt the Boss Man. I’m just going to go hang out downstairs for a while. Joe and Hugh are down there, too. We’ll be close.”
“Are Joe and Hugh warrior princesses, too?”
Skyla turned the door knob and opened the door. She winked at me before she stepped out on the landing. “No, but they’re pretty good sidekicks.”
Chapter Sixteen
The next time I woke, I did it groggy, disoriented, and alone. Unfamiliar surroundings swam around me in a dizzy swirl before coalescing into the apartment living room above Thorin’s store. It was late. The sun had set, and the TV supplied the only illumination in the room.
My stomach rumbled. I had slept through several days of meals, unless the bottles of Ensure guzzled during my few moments of consciousness counted as meals. My hollow stomach insisted they did not. I hitched up the baggy sweats and pushed myself onto my feet. My wounds hurt far less than they had in days. If I managed to finish off a sandwich and a glass of water without incident, then I planned to add a long, hot shower to my short list of things to accomplish.
Thorin’s idea of stocking a fridge proved a lesson in gourmet staples. I dug past aged cheeses, mangoes, and avocadoes that must have cost a fortune. Sure, these foods were available in Alaska, but they came at a premium cost. And why had Thorin felt the need to spend that kind of money on me? If Thorin had known me better, he would have stocked the shelves with Spaghetti-Os and macaroni and cheese. But even if I was happy eating dollar-store dry goods, I wasn’t so proud that I would snub avocadoes and smoked Gouda. I claimed a package of shaved deli meats and a wedge of cheese and created a masterpiece. Subway, eat your heart out. I gobbled the sandwich, popped open a bottle of Perrier, and went in search of the bathroom.
Based on the utilitarian look of the apartment, I expected Thorin had installed only the most practical bathing accommodations. Instead, I found a warmly lit room, modern features, and a full-body spray system so beautiful that I might have cried a little, especially since I had to keep my stiches as dry as possible, and this shower was going to make that a difficult task.
I knew almost nothing about M. Aleksander Thorin, CEO, and he’d resisted the few personal questions I had asked him, but based on the refrigerator and the bathroom, I figured him for a man who appreciated luxury. The outdoor sporting goods and adventure business probably did all right, financially speaking, but Thorin must have possessed a portfolio more diverse than a storeroom full of expensive hiking boots and kayaks. Perhaps the other pies in which he had stuck his fingers connected to whatever was behind my brother’s murder. But how was I supposed to ask a man like him a question like that?
In the bathroom, I dropped the sweats to the floor and studied my huge T-shirt. A button-up would have better accommodated my injuries; how was I going to get the blasted thing over my head? I sucked in a breath, yanked the shirt up and off, and screeched when sharp stabs of pain rippled across my ribs and shoulders, leaving me woozy. I leaned on the edge of the sink and sucked in deep breaths until the sensation passed.
Cotton bandages covered the worst of my damaged skin. The dressings wouldn’t last long in the shower, so I plucked the tape, ground my teeth, and pulled away the gauze. Several places stuck and pulled. “Lord have mercy,” I wheezed.
My own blood and guts didn’t bother me so much, so I studied the wounds, searching for signs of infection. Thorin calling himself a competent medic was an understatement. Neat rows of surgical stitches had closed the worst lacerations. In a few spots, the top layer of skin looked like hamburger. Others resembled a case of road rash. It was undoubtedly the nastiest wound I’d ever had because, obviously, a girl like me doesn’t get nibbled on by a wolf every day.
A soft knock scuttled over the door, and the unexpected sound shocked me out of my skin. “Solina?” said a familiar voice.
“Val?”
“Are you all right?”
“I’m fine. I’m getting ready to take a shower.”
“You need any help?”
“No, I’m okay.” I went to work on the dressing over my shoulder, breathing through my teeth against the hurt until the bandage came unstuck. A moan escaped my throat.
I could hear Val shifting outside the door. “You don’t sound okay.”
“I’ll be fine. What are you doing here anyway?”
“Checking on you.”
“You’re supposed to be on a backpacking trip.”
“Bad weather. We came back early. Thorin told me what happened.”
“Tattletale,” I grumbled. “Go away and let me take a shower.”
“I brought your clothes. Thorin said you might need them.”
I paused and smacked myself on the forehead. I hadn’t thought about what to do after the shower. “Did you bring a first aid kit, too?”
“Why? Are you planning on getting in a fight with the soap?”
“I’ve got to put something over these bites and scratches when I’m done.”
He said nothing, but something thudded against the door.
“Val?”
“Yeah?” His voice sounded hoarse and strained.
“First aid kit? Bandages?”
“Okay, I’ll go look.”
I plucked a washcloth from a stack of linens on the counter and stepped into the stream of water, careful to keep my right side, the ravaged side, out of direct contact. Thorin kept a collection of shampoos and soaps lined on the shelves built into the shower walls. I scrubbed, and rinsed, and cursed when I moved the wrong way.
Maybe Thorin had one of those tankless water heaters, because the hot water never gave out. I stayed in the shower long enough to provoke another worried knock from Val. “Solina?”
“Can’t a girl take a shower in peace?” I barked. I knew he only wanted to help, but the pain, Thorin’s strong medicines, and my swirly, mixed-up feelings about Val had exhausted my supply of patience.
“Just making sure you didn’t drown in there.”
“Go away, Val.”
My fingers had shriveled into prunes by the time I shut off the water and stepped out of the shower. Thorin had stocked puffy white towels on a bathroom shelf. I patted around the sore spots with one towel and wrapped another turban-style around my hair. A bathrobe hung behind the door—a Thorin-sized bathrobe, of course, but it would have to do. I slipped it on and looped the sash around my hips, rolled up the cuffs, and let the collar hang loose from my injured shoulder.
“Val, bring me the kit,” I said, sticking my head out the bathroom door. He loped down the hall, carrying a case under his arm. I held out my hand, careful to keep my shoulder hidden behind the door.
“Let me help,” Val said, holding the case behind his back.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I don’t want you to see.”
“I can take it,” he insisted. “I promise you I’ve seen worse.”
“You’ve never seen it on me, though.”
Val bit his lip and considered my point. “True.”
“Compromise. You can do my neck and shoulder.” It hurt when I raised my a
rm too high, though I could have toughed it out if I had too. “But save me some modesty and let me do my ribs.”
Val passed me the case. “Deal.”
I fiddle-farted the bandage application, making a mess. Thorin had dressed the wounds elegantly. Mine would win no awards, but they did the job. I finished my doctoring and went to the living room, but I was surprised to find Val waiting for me with company.
Thorin had shed his coat and tie and wore his shirt open enough to reveal the thin collar of metal at his neck. His cuffs were turned back, showing the strange bracelets he always wore. He leaned against the kitchen doorway and inclined his head in my direction by way of a greeting.
“I didn’t know I was going to have an audience,” I said, clutching the first aid kit tighter to my chest.
“I’ve already seen your injuries,” Thorin said, waving a gesture of dismissal. “It’s nothing new.”
I wrinkled my nose at him. Revealing my grisly wounds bothered me much less than the prospect of standing before Thorin, disheveled in a huge bathrobe and turban that kept sliding over my eye; never mind that he had already seen me in much less. I felt a little like a wounded rabbit getting the stare-down from a couple of grumpy grizzlies. Sure, they had showed me kindness, rescued me, and protected me, but my prey survival instincts urged me not to let my guard down. “Where’s Skyla?” I asked.
“I sent her home,” Thorin said.
I stepped back, meaning to put some space between us, but Val stepped in my way. He put his hand on my good shoulder and peered into my face. Concern drew lines on his brow and in the corner of his eyes. “C’mon,” he urged me. “Let me see.”
I pursed my lips and huffed but didn’t object when Val peeled back the collar of my robe. He gasped. “What the hell, Solina? You look like roadkill.” Val took my hand and brought my knuckles to his lips. He leaned closer to peer at me, inspecting me like a broken gear in a fine watch. “You’re lucky to have survived.”
Midnight Burning Page 12
