by Julie Reece
Haddr does though. He gives her a creepy grin. As we turn to leave, Mrs. Appleton grabs my hand and squeezes. Her eyes track my face, soft brown, inquiring as if she’s already asked a question and waits for the answer.
“We’re not staying here?” I ask the room in general. I guess I should have known. For just a moment, I felt safe with the kind Mrs. Appleton, her caring expression, and warm surroundings.
“Oh, no, love, didn’t I tell you?” Haddr says. “I’ve rented a cottage several miles outside of town. More … private.”
“Okay.” My voice sounds weak to my ears.
I head toward the door where Haddr awaits me.
“We’re always here should you need us,” Mrs. Appleton calls after us.
I turn to thank her but before I can, Haddr shuts the door.
• • •
The little walnut cuckoo clock on the wall chimes half past eleven. It’s black as tar outside here in no man’s land. Wind whistles around the house and gives me the heebie-jeebies. My nerves are maxed out. I’ve been trying to come up with some escape plan for the last eight hours, but nothing’s working.
How do I ditch a dead guy who doesn’t ever eat, sleep, or need to take a leak?
I’ve done all three since we got here. I even took a shower, thinking the bathroom might have a little window for me to crawl through. No such luck.
Haddr doesn’t seem to care what I do as long as he can hear me moving around. King Evilness no longer offers to heal me since he plans to off me soon anyway. Due to the parameters of his curse, he explained he can’t do anything to me until the anniversary of Gunnarr Blot—which becomes official in half an hour—after we’re hurtled back over nine hundred years in time. I’m toast. That way, he won’t have to worry about me getting in between him and his dad. At least he said he was sorry, and what a shame it was he had to kill me. My would-be murderer is sooo polite.
What a tool.
Haddr sits on the sofa with a book, papers crinkling as he turns the page while I stay in my seat at the dinette table.
I’d love to sketch the lines of his face—if I didn’t loathe the guy. His beauty tempts me to forget what he is, and I guess that’s the point—a monster inside an attractive shell. His head bends. Alarr swings over the volume as he reads.
My nerves tense and twitch with inaction. Who can read for so long without losing his mind? Dead Viking slime, that’s who.
I roll my eyes at myself. I’m losing it.
Alarr or no, I’ll have to make a break for it soon. Haddr can’t wield the amulet and only keeps the stone so I can’t use it against him. How does one get the better of a spirit? I don’t have a clue, but I have to do something.
I stretch, testing the extent of healing Alarr’s provided in my limbs.
Clock hands tick. The hour’s getting later, and barring some sort of miracle, no one’s going to save me this time but me.
Tires crunch the gravel in the horseshoe shaped drive out front. My heartbeat ramps to ten. Haddr sits bolt upright on the couch.
An engine idles and cuts off. Car doors slam. Footsteps grow louder and near our front door.
The curtains are drawn behind the sofa, so we can’t see who it is, but the fake king glares at me as if I had something to do with our unexpected guest.
It’s now or never people.
24
I jump out of my chair and fling myself toward the front door. Haddr lunges. My feet fly out from under me, and I’m slammed down onto the wood floor. I scramble up, but he grabs my hair, roots pinch as he yanks me against him, and his arms pin mine down. He shifts and presses his back to the wall beside the door. The clamp of his hand over my mouth bumps my nose, and my damaged face screams in protest.
A knock comes before a sweet little voice. “Hello? Mr. Bear? I’m sorry to bother you. It’s Mrs. Appleton, from The White Hart Inn. Hello?”
Haddr’s arms tighten around me as I squirm. I pause to stomp his foot. He grunts, and I know he can feel. Good. I jerk my shoulders, trying to turn so I can hit his nose or ram my knee into his junk. Does a ghost have a crotch to hurt?
“I’ll be … right with you, Mrs. Appleton,” Haddr calls as we grapple.
My body flails and goes limp in an attempt to slide through his arms. Anything I can think of to get away, I do. I wrench my head free and try to scream, but his open palm connects with the side of my face, silencing my cry.
“Mr. Bear?” says Mrs. Appleton. “Is everything all right?”
Haddr drags me through the house toward the back door. My kick sends a lamp crashing to the floor.
Yes. Mrs. Appleton has to know there’s a problem now.
My captor hauls me into the garden. The air smells like rain, but the ground is still dry. Gusts of wind force black tree branches to sway, shifting and creaking overhead.
I’m dragged across the dry lawn. Frantic, my legs kick out, feet trying to find purchase on the ground, but he’s too strong.
Haddr lifts the lid of an old wood bin with one hand and holds me with the other. I sink my teeth deep into his flesh. He curses, loosening his grip enough for me to wriggle free.
I slide down his leg, but he grabs my collar and hoists me to my feet before stuffing me into the bin. Bark scrapes my cheek as I crash to the bottom.
He slams the lid down over top of me. The grate and clunking sound of a metal latch carries through the air before determined footsteps thud against the earth toward the house.
Mrs. Appleton! My heart slams against my ribs. What if Haddr hurts her or worse?
Jeff says the human mind is an unpredictable muscle. Men torture each other for information and get nothing, but threaten someone they care about, and they spill everything they know. That’s the way I feel about Mrs. Appleton. She seemed concerned about me when we met. Now she’s here, maybe to check on me, definitely in danger.
I kick at the lid of the box. It jumps an inch, but the metal hinge holds fast and shifts no farther. Rough, chopped wood bites into my knees as I bang against the latch with my fists. Although it doesn’t budge, a rattle rings behind me with each blow. I spin around and kick at the planks across the back of the bin. A board gives under my shoe. Oh, you are so going down, sucka!
I pound away with both feet until the board snaps off. Another and another. I squeeze my body out the jagged hole, sure the racket I’m making will bring Haddr down on my head. The splintered wood rakes my sides as I struggle, tearing my sweater. I drop from the bin like toothpaste from a tube, and I’m out.
I should run into the woods and not look back. I should. Instead, I race toward the house and attempt to peek through the side living room window. The heavy blinds are too dense to see inside.
Muffled voices come from inside. I stumble around to the front yard where not one, but two cars sit in the drive. I bend over, put my hands on my knees and suck air into my deprived lungs as relief floods my being. Thank goodness. She didn’t come alone.
The front door opens, and four people file out, chatting it up. Two men I don’t know, Mrs. Appleton, and Haddr brings up the rear.
I freeze. If I move, they’ll see me, and if I don’t move, they’ll probably see me anyway.
Crap.
A bolt of lightning illuminates the yard, turning night to day. It lasts only a second, but it’s enough for everyone to get a nice, long look at each other. Mrs. Appleton’s gaze meets mine and her eyes flash wider. “Mrs. Bear?”
The wind whips the hair around my face. No doubt Haddr told her I was asleep or some other nasty lie.
The older woman’s mouth pops open. Before her question’s fully formed, I’m off, sprinting toward the woods where I’m plunged into blackness.
My hands shoot out in front of me to ward off branches and protect my face. Without Alarr’s power, I must rely on my own dwindling strength. I change direction often, hoping to confuse my path in the depths of the forest. Twigs snap beneath my feet. A branch digs into my neck as I rush past. Moisture trickles from
the spot, but there’s no time to check if it’s blood.
With every snap and crack of foliage breaking beneath my feet, my imagination plants thoughts of Haddr in pursuit. Soon after, my fears are realized as I hear him, crashing through the undergrowth, swearing, and plowing my way.
As he nears, his breath comes in short, spasmodic puffs. Lightning flashes once more and highlights a small ravine to my right. I pivot, skidding in the leaves as I swerve and make for the ditch.
My heart pounds inside my chest as though it will burst. It beats a frenzied rhythm in my head. A few sprinkles patter the sides of trees, escalating to a downpour in an instant.
Haddr’s thudding feet match the beat of mine, step for step—right behind me. His fingers scrape my back as he grabs my sweater.
“Help me, God,” I pray. Do you want Jeff free? Do you care anymore? Calf muscles tighten as my feet push off the ground to avoid his grasp. Movement records in static flashes. Haddr’s hands wrap around my shoulders, and we spiral through the air together like a football spinning in slow motion replay.
Alarr glimmers against Haddr’s neck. I reach for the pendant, grasping until my nails bite into his flesh. My fingers curl around the stone. Electricity ignites my body as I try to break the chain, but he clutches at my fist. I look up and glimpse the knife he has poised above me in his other hand. Metal blinks silver in the storm’s light.
I scream, but no sound comes. The view around me blurs. My body contracts, and the tug of the Hoover vacuum spins my world, sucking me up into the straw of another age.
Haddar slashes at me with his dagger. It slices the skin at my breast but the pain fades as the blade carves shadow instead of flesh. My body turns transparent, ghost-like. I’m beyond Haddr’s grasp now.
The faint knowledge it must be midnight seeps into my brain. Haddr and I disintegrate, our essence swept into the past.
The dawn of Gunnarr Blot is here.
• • •
Crows call to one another in my mind. The ground beneath me is still and cold. With eyes cracked open, I find I’m lying in a bed of leaves dusted with snow. Did I pass out? I stretch, testing my limbs, and there’s no pain. Surrounded by dense woods, there’s no sign of Haddr either.
Oh my freaking gosh, what just happened?
I sit up and pull my sweater away from my chest. An angry red gash glows where his knife grazed me. You didn’t get me, though, did you?
He’s not here to answer. Where did he go?
It’s not like I know how all this voodoo, hocus pocus works.
Faint wisps of purple thread themselves through a few clouds, but whether dawn or dusk, it’s hard to tell. I ignore my stiff body and push to my knees. It appears I’m not quite healed after all, and I can’t stifle the groan that comes out as I move.
Nor can I stop the barrage of thoughts exploding in my head like bugs on a windshield. Get up. Get moving. You need to get warm. It’s Gunnarr Blot. Have I missed the fighting? Where’s Jeff? Could Grey be here?
Shut up already!
I put my face in my hands and take a deep breath. I haven’t come this far, through everything I have, to go all psycho now. One thing at a time, girl. Pushing up to a stand, when I look down, something winks at me through the leaves. I almost black out as I bend over, and nausea threatens to overtake me, but I don’t care as I dig out the sparkling item from the mulch. My hand lifts it high over my head in triumph.
Alarr.
• • •
Twenty minutes later, and with my amulet back in place, I climb to the top of the tallest tree I can find to get a lay of the land. Snow covered forests broken by patchy meadows stretch as far as my eyes can see. Less than ten miles away, a large encampment of soldiers lie bedded down near a wide stream. Friend or foe, I had to start somewhere.
I leech the strength of Alarr for complete healing. Rejuvenated, I fly through the woods, weaving in between the trees toward what I pray is Jeff’s camp. I’m as hopeful and confident as I’ve been since I started my journey.
One way or another, it all ends today.
As I near their fires, I decide to drop down and walk. There’s no use freaking anyone out before I know who they are. Reports of a girl gliding around in the woods will likely get me burned at the stake, and I don’t want to alert Haddr to my presence.
A stream runs along the southern border of their camp. I stop for a drink and to wash up—my bloody, pink sweater isn’t exactly helping me stay incognito. The icy temperature of the clear water steals my breath as I splash my face and neck.
Up ahead, multiple ropes tied between trees are covered with articles of clothing. Beyond the creek bank, the camp stirs, and a few soldiers carry wood or saddle their horses.
I hurry to the clothesline and grab whatever my hand touches. When I study the odd bundle in my arms, I realize I don’t know how the heck any of this stuff is worn.
Several boys stand atop the crest of the hill. The buckets they carry hinder their balance as they slide and pick their way over rocks down toward the creek. I dash behind a tree.
The boys wear heavy animal skins. They remove woolen caps and lift the skins over their shoulders, tossing them against the steep knoll before wading into the water. Skinny bodies are covered by long shirts that look like artist smocks, belted in the middle to take in the slack. Baggy pants wrap their legs from the knee down in strips of cloth. I’m as thin as some of these kids but taller. This worries me because I obviously need to pass as a boy, not a warrior.
I slink off to the bushes, shed my clothes, and copy their dress as best I can. I use the leggings to wrap my breasts and flatten them down. I’m not big breasted, but bigger than the boys I saw in the creek. ‘Nough said.
Alarr’s chain broke when I took it from Haddr’s neck, so I withdraw the pendant from my jeans pocket and drop it inside the tight wrappings at my chest. The stolen, fuzzy underclothes ignite my wool allergy. Pants and tunic go on next, and I braid and stuff my hair under a woolen skull cap that makes my skin itch as bad as my underwear does. Heaven help me, I’m miserable and dance around scratching and clawing.
Where to find shoes and one of those furry hides the boys wear, I haven’t a clue. I’m about to snoop in the camp when a horn blasts.
I race up the hill, and as I near the top, the men are breaking camp. The boys I spied on earlier douse fires with their buckets of water and hurry for more.
“Err, lad, what are ye about?”
The ground drifts away as an enormous man lifts me by my shirt into the air. Pain registers, colors explode in my head, and my ears ring.
“I’ll have no shirkers on my watch, boy-o! Bow, off with ye. Get a bucket on those fires, or I’ll be boxin’ yer ears yet again.”
Boy-o? I’m in the English camp! Haddr. Crap, crap, crap. I bow and scrape and do my best English accent that sounds more like Indian to me. “Yes, sir. Right away, sir.”
The big man cocks his head to the side. The guy weighs three hundred pounds, or I’m a dude. Oh, wait … er, never mind. Brown hair and watery, red-rimmed eyes, scraggly beard—the bloke’s a real looker. The disgusting hair that protrudes from the opening in his tunic hardly differs from the animal hide around his shoulders. He smells like a cow—all that’s missing are the flies.
I suppress my gag reflex, worried he’ll hit me again. He eyes me between bushy brows and crooked nose. I scratch at my neck, my thigh.
“Are ye dancin’ with the lice, lad? And where be yer shoes?”
I stop scratching. “Uh, no, s-s-sir. I lost ’em in the crick?” Crick? Who am I now, Tom Sawyer?
He swings again, but this time I duck. Tubby grabs me by my shoulder and hauls me to a nearby tent, mumbling all the way. The giant throws me to the floor and barks an order. I can’t understand him. He talks as if his mouth is stuffed with cotton, but it sounds something like, “Git yerself fitted, lad, and git to work. I’ve no time fer babbies what need tending this day.”
He brushes his pudgy palms together
as if he’s washing his hands of me and storms off.
Ugh. Good riddance.
Men yell at me to move as they disassemble the tent I sit in, accomplishing their task with precision and skill. I grab a pair of shoes, another set of leggings, for my legs this time, two sheep skins and scramble over to a nearby oak to finish dressing.
No sooner do I stand than Tubby makes a bee line straight for me. He loads me down with satchels and tells me to follow a horse-drawn wagon piled high with weapons. At this point, I just go with it. I have no idea if Grey was able to tell Jeff what we found in the monk’s book, but if he didn’t, I must. A lump forms in my throat as I think of Grey and Fenris. I need to get to the battlefield. Following a wagon load of weapons seems like my best bet.
Ground troops fall in behind the wagons. Horse hooves tamp the earth around us. We all form a train, setting out for war I’ve been expecting for a month. I’d like to slip away and warn the Vikings the English are coming, but I’m not sure how many battle events can be altered under the laws of the curse.
Boys trail behind me. I don’t want to get caught up in conversation. My accent sucks, and I can barely understand them.
Two heavy draft horses are tied to the back of the wagon I follow, their feet the size of dinner plates. They scare me, but make good cover, so I settle in between them. Massive heads turn toward me, snorting as I plod along amongst them.
I lift my chin. “’Sup there, horsey, dudes, fellas, … guys.” I pat one of the horse’s ginormous cheeks and smile. If horses can roll their eyes at stupid comments, I swear they do, but they shuffle along and leave me alone.
The sun never appears, but the day grows bright under a hazy sky. Wind blows through our ranks, so blasted cold even the hardened warriors pull their furs tight around their shoulders. I have Alarr.
Boys are called to pass bread and moldy looking cheese from baskets to the men. I don’t want to be caught shirking again, so I report for duty, yanking my hat as far down over my head as possible, and do my job.
The stink of the soldiers is overwhelming. There’s no gym locker, no Porta-Potty, no sweat-soaked, beer-barfed NASCAR stadium to rival the aroma. I’ve lived in a house with boys before, baby sat, and accidentally walked in on someone changing.
