by C. L. Roman
"Not a chance," Heimdall said, and squared his stance, raising the club high.
Both warriors stopped when Eir spoke.
"Oh let him take her Loki. It's not like you're going to get anything like the full payment for her anyway. The time with the boys is more important and all too likely to be short."
Heaving a sigh, Loki tucked the blade away and opened his arms to the boys. "You are probably right Eir." He glared at Heimdall. "Just don't damage her on the way up, all right? However little he cares for my condition, he wants her pristine for some reason, so keep your hands to yourself."
Eir faced the woman and lifted the lowered chin. "Young lady, listen to me. You remember what we talked about?"
The girl nodded.
Eir smiled. "Very good. Do not fear or worry. So long as you are obedient, everything will be fine." The human nodded again and Eir turned away. "Very well then. I'm going back to my rooms. I have work to do."
"Eir," Loki whined. "You cannot mean to leave me alone with two rambunctious seven year olds? Come with us."
Heimdall laughed. "Doesn't seem like anything is going your way today Loki. Maybe you ought to give up." He laughed again and gave the girl a gentle push to start her down the corridor.
Eir shook her head as Heimdall moved off. "They are your sons. You handle them. As I said, I have things to do."
"Nothing that can't wait, surely, come with us and get some fresh..." Loki's eyes never left Heimdall's massive back as the guard rounded the corner without a backward glance, his captive moving along beside him, meek and biddable as a mouse.
Loki handed Nari to Eir and the pair moved off in the opposite direction. "What the hell was that?" he asked in a hoarse whisper.
"Golem. She'll last a good twenty four hours, longer if they don't feed her."
"A what? I've never heard or seen anything like that."
Eir slid him an oblique look. "I know a good many things you don't, and have for a long time. Don't worry about it."
They turned a corner and bolted up a set of steps. "Don't worry? What happens when Lucky realizes what it is, and worse, that it's no more Nephilim than Heimdall is?"
"We'll just have to be gone by then, won't we?"
The four emerged into a brightly lit room filled with row upon row of glass display cabinets and Loki sucked in a startled breath. "You didn't tell me we were going through the treasure room." His green eyes radiated avarice, flitting from cabinet to cabinet as his fingers twitched.
"Down boy. If we hope to get the boys and ourselves out of here safely, this treasure is not for you."
The radiance died back slightly and he turned to her. "Speaking of treasure — where is my treasure?"
Eir lifted her cloak aside and Gwyneth glared at them from a sheath on Eir's hip. A bit of twine was wound around her face, effectively silencing her lips, but her gaze was scorching.
Loki grinned. "I knew I could trust you."
"And I knew better than to trust you." Eir gave him a wry look. "That's why I left her case back in the cell. Once we get to the surface you will change her back and we'll take her back to New York together. We can figure out what to do next from there."
Loki wasn't listening. He was gazing over her shoulder at one of the cases. He set Nari down and the little boy ran to Eir, burying his face in her skirts.
Seeing the avarice in his eyes, Eir tried to dissuade him. "If we take something we will never get out of here alive."
"How little faith you have in me Eir." Loki crossed to the cabinet and stared through the glass at a gold pendant draped around a black velvet stand. Delicate filigree work encased a gleaming white stone so sheer that it was nearly transparent. A pulse of red light lit the amulet from inside and Loki's eyes glittered.
"Leave it,” Eir said.
"Don't worry. He'll never even know it’s gone." From an inside pocket of his cloak he pulled out a handful of coins and stared at them for a moment. The metal twisted in his palm, melting and then elongating, curling into a chain and pendant — an exact replica of the necklace in the case. "Now for the hard part," he said. He gave the pull on the cabinet a light tug without result. Then he placed his palm on the glass and concentrated. Nothing happened. He frowned.
"We do not have time for this."
"Quiet please. I must think. Obviously he created this to resist intrusions from the other inhabitants. But I wonder..." he turned a speculative glance on Gwyneth and she shook her head.
Plucking her from Eir's waist, he set her, point first, against the lock and pried. A muffled shriek came from behind the gag and he stopped. "Did it hurt?" he asked and she shook her head again, trying to speak. He unwound the twine from around her head.
"No, but it felt very strange. You need to change me back this instant Loki. I am not a tool for you to use at your whim and Eir is right, you are a great fool to stay here when you know Lucky will discover our ruse all too soon."
"Hush, or I will gag you again. Still, I think you may have a point." Placing the tip of her blade against the stone floor, he held her upright with one finger. His brow furrowed as he concentrated. A pale yellow light flowed from his finger over Gwyneth and she clapped both hands over her mouth to muffle a cry. Her body stretched, her legs separating and softening as she grew into her normal form. A few seconds later she was standing next to Loki, pale but otherwise herself again. Loki sagged, propping himself against a nearby cabinet. He flicked his fingers toward the necklace cabinet. "Open it," he said.
"Are you all right?" Eir asked and he nodded. "Maybe limit the major transformations to one a day in the future," she said. "Four is a bit much."
"Maybe." Loki looked at Gwyneth, who hadn't moved. "Open it or I will risk changing you back."
"It isn't going to open for me if it didn't for you," Gwyneth said.
"Just try it so we can get out of here." Eir boosted Váli higher on her hip and stroked Nari's hair. "The boys are hungry."
Biting her lip, Gwyneth turned to the cabinet. Something about the shape of the locket tickled at her memory, but she couldn't capture it. She grasped the pull and tugged. The door swung open at her touch and she stepped back. She nodded toward the pendant. "Go ahead, take it. I'll not steal for you."
Loki leapt forward, reaching with eager fingers for his prize. As his hand closed around the links and lifted, the air was filled with the acrid stench of burning flesh and he cried out, flinging the necklace away from him, straight at Gwyneth's head. The links twisted, glinting in the light as the chain formed a loop that passed over her hair and settled around her neck, the pendant coming to rest snugly between her breasts.
Loki and Eir stared, eyebrows raised, mouths open. "That was...weird," they said, speaking in the same breath.
"Obviously this is something more than a mere bauble," Eir cast a troubled glance from Loki to Gwyneth and back again. "What do we do about it?"
Lips pursed, Loki examined his burned fingers. "Nothing," he said and forced a smile. Reaching into his cloak he rummaged around. "I've a bag here somewhere..." From somewhere deep inside the labyrinthine mansion, a shout echoed and Loki's face lost what little color it had held. "Never mind. Hold on to it, Gwyn. It looks like it suits you." He laid his replica in its place and closed the cabinet. "Let's get out of here."
"About time," Eir mumbled and led the way.
Follow them. The red light of the necklace pulsed in time with the words as the voice sounded in her brain, familiar, yet not her own.
Gwyneth stared at the pendant in her hand, startled into immobility. "It can't be," she whispered. "Necklaces do not talk."
This one does. Now move, because those two will not wait for you.
Gwyneth ran. Her hesitation had only lasted a few seconds but the others were already far ahead of her. She emerged from the rows of display cases into a narrow aisle, dim and empty of life.
The dry skree of a latch dropping drew her further into the dark and she burst through the door, not daring to call afte
r the pair for fear of drawing unwanted attention. The light here was spare and thin, but she heard the slap of running feet and followed it, rounding the corner as Loki disappeared in a plume of gray smoke.
"Wait," she yelled and pelted after him with fading hope. The smoke was nothing more than a whisper when she reached his exit point, a dead-end. There was nowhere left to run.
Hold on.
And she was falling in between, into the icy dark.
Gwyneth fell to her knees and stilled. The tiny bit of light she'd been guided by was gone and the air was so cold it hurt to breath.
Get up, the voice said. You can't stay in the Shift and I can't get you out unless you move.
Far in the distance several pin-pricks of light appeared.
"Who are you?" Gwyneth asked.
There will be time enough for explanations later. Move!
"You were in that cabinet for a reason and I will not be taking some trapped-in-a-necklace demon spawn back to New York with me." Under her breath she muttered, "There are enough of those there already."
The lights were closer now and the air a touch warmer. It still felt like she'd walked into Faiza’s freezer, but her lungs were happier.
Gwyneth, you have to move. If you stay here, you'll have to go through a portal and there is no telling where you'll end up.
Shaking her head, Gwyneth set her lips in a thin, stubborn line. "I've been through once. I will survive it. Who are you?"
Sounding small and sad, the voice responded, How can you not know me? It's Sena, Gwyneth.
A gasp burst from Gwyneth's throat and the lights hopped, growing from pin to dime size in a breath. "How do you know of Sena?"
I don't know of her, I am her. Gwyn, get up! Can't you feel the heat rising?
"Sena is dead. Benat killed her."
No, he cut my heart out, which is a very different thing.
"How do you know that?" Her mind tripped over the implications. "Everyone who knows that is likely as dead as Sena."
No! The mournful wail flooded Gwyneth's mind and she curled up in agony. Grief raged through her, and a ferocious anger, a thirst for vengeance that she knew was not her own. You cannot tell me that Gant is dead!
She pressed her palms against her skull, desperate to keep it from shattering under the onslaught of the voice. She tugged at the gold chain, dragging it over her head, away from her skin, and suddenly, her mind was alone again. The pain receded and her voice shook. "I do not know if Gant lives. I do not know if any of them live."
But you do not know that they are dead either. The voice was calmer now, and fainter, as if it came from a distance rather than ringing between Gwyneth's ears.
"No," she admitted. "We lost them in the flood. But Gant was alive when I saw him last."
Put the necklace back on. When Gwyneth hesitated, the voice said, I didn't know that I could hurt you like that. I will be more careful.
"Are you really Sena?"
Yes, now put the necklace on. I can only provide a portal if you are wearing it and the lights are nearly upon us.
Gwyneth realized she was sweating. Lights the size of doorways surrounded them. There were still black spaces in between, but the portals were narrowing the distance. She slipped the necklace on. "Now what?"
Think of a place you know in New York, and walk.
Obeying as the voice spoke, Gwyneth blinked and found herself standing on the quiet street outside Faiza's house. She was back. Running up the steps, she banged on the door, sagging with relief when it opened at her second knock.
Faiza gaped at her. "Gwyneth, what are you doing here?"
"Cole? How is he, have you heard anything? How long have I been gone?" The words spilled out, tumbling over themselves as Faiza stood in the door.
"Calm yourself. We can talk about that later." Faiza leaned out and looked up and down the street. She gripped Gwyneth’s arm and pulled her inside, closing and locking the door once she was inside. "Right now, you need to come in before someone sees you."
"You have to tell me. Please, what is happening?"
Pain crept into Faiza's face, her eyes made suddenly old by worry and grief. "You disappeared. We all looked for you...except Xavier of course, he stayed with Cole at the hospital. But the military — they questioned everyone. They even arrested Amal for a few days —"
"A few days," Gwyneth exclaimed. "Faiza, how long have I been gone?"
"Almost two weeks. We thought —" she broke off and Gwyneth straightened away from her.
"You thought I was — what is the word he used? A terrorist?"
"No." Faiza shook her head. "Never that, but we wondered if you were in some kind of trouble and..."
Gwyneth spit out of harsh spate of bitter laughter. "Trouble. Yes, you could call it that."
"Forgive us Gwyneth."
"There is nothing to forgive. But I must go. If they arrested Amal, then they may be watching the house. I can't —"
Her words were stopped by the crash of a fist against the front door. "NSA, open up!"
Gwyneth gave her friend the briefest of hugs and nodded toward the door. Sprinting for the back of the house, she pushed the back door open and emerged into the late afternoon sunlight, looking right, then left into a yard the size of a pocket handkerchief. A rustling in the rose bushes let her know that she had precious few seconds to waste. "Sena?"
Just take a step, but you'll have to go through quickly. The portals will be closer this time because we were just there.
Gwyneth nodded and stepped forward, plunging again into the dark, but not cold this time. The lights turned as if an intruder had burst in on their private conversation. Picture where you want to go and keep moving.
The next step brought them to the darkened work room of Delaney designs. The lights were out, the floor empty. For the moment, at least, they had found sanctuary.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
The slender Hispanic boy slipped along the crowded sidewalk, weaving between pedestrians and street vendors, following the military man and his wife. The child's intense blue gaze clung to the couple as they walked, arm in arm, toward Broadway. He followed them to the theater and leaned casually against a mailbox while they picked up their tickets at will-call and went inside.
Having made certain of their location for the next several hours, Jotun ducked down the nearest alley and shot vertical, gaining the theater's roof without effort. A short, swift flight completed his journey and he dropped into the shadows of a second alley.
The Conroy's hotel rose before him like a stone and steel monolith, its huge windows gleaming with sunset's final touch. A ragamuffin would never make it through the front doors and the child made no effort to do so. The back alley was dark and cold already. A skinny black tom-cat spat at him as he ran along the cobblestones, but he didn't even turn his head and so missed the red glare of its eyes.
The service entrance door refused to open and he closed his eyes. A pale glow raced from his finger tips and the metal grew warm under his touch. With a snap, the lock released and the boy slipped inside. In the dim hallway, the boy grew, changing from child to gangly teen in the space of a few heart beats. He smoothed his black vest once and adjusted his bow tie as he hurried toward the kitchens.
A muffled bang sounded as a waiter shoved open a pair of swinging doors at the end of the hall. Within a few breaths, the newly minted server passed through the doors and stopped, taking a moment to orient himself. Waiters loaded plated food onto trays and room-service carts while harassed sous chefs shouted orders at those members of the kitchen staff unfortunate enough to be lower in the hierarchy than they were themselves. Reigning over this controlled chaos was a florid, muscular head chef. He walked along the aisle between prep tables and stove tops, tasting a dish here, adding seasoning there, often with a quiet comment, before moving on. At the last station he picked up a plate of food and added a garnish before placing it on a nearby dinner trolley.
"Here, take this to the nineteenth floor an
d then come back for this second one." The chef never really looked at the young waiter, just jerked his chin at a tray bearing two full plates and kept talking. "Everyone wants room service tonight."
"Yes Sir," the teenager said and pushed the loaded trolley into the hallway, taking it at a run to the service elevator and up to the nineteenth floor. It took an extra minute to drop it at room 1922, but it prevented a complaint. Pocketing his tip, he strolled back to the elevator and punched the button for twenty four. Seconds later he was letting himself into the Conroy's room the same way he had entered the hotel. As he passed the threshold, he changed again.
Jotun looked around the suite. The bed had been turned down and the bathroom tidied. The maids would not be back before tomorrow. Folding his lean height into one of the chairs, he picked up the remote and checked the time. Then he settled back to wait.
The last notes of the musical lingered in memory as Caroline and Michael Conroy crossed the red velvet lobby and emerged into the boisterous New York evening. Cars edged along the avenue, blaring their impatience at each other. Light flooded from the wide windows of restaurants and boutiques, hotels and the wizened apertures of corner bars.
"That was probably the worst play I've ever enjoyed with you." Caroline sent Michael a teasing glance and squeezed his hand.
He laughed. "Yes, well, it wasn't the best one I've ever seen. Jersey Boys was better, but Joe liked this one."
"Joe has always had an odd sense of humor. Still, I enjoyed sitting with you in the dark. Where are we going to eat?"
"Martel's."
"Is this another of Joe's suggestions?" Caroline's lips quirked with suppressed laughter.
"Nope, Julia's. That's how I know we will eat well."
"Yes, well, Julia does know about good places to eat just about everywhere." Caroline chanced a sidelong look at him, noting the creases in his forehead and the tightness in his shoulders. "So, you haven't had any further word then?" she asked.
His jaw clenched. "You know I can't talk about that out here."
