by Leah Cutter
Then the shield maidens began to raise the others. The gamblers and the braggarts. The discontented. The suicides. The weekend warriors who really wanted a war. The camp followers that believed heart and soul that end days were here. The generals who couldn’t follow orders. The ones the street had frozen that night.
And still the winds came. The ranks around Loki swelled. They shouted their anger. They growled their challenges. They flowed into one another and broke free.
But above all, they grew full of hunger.
The only thing that would satisfy each and every one of them was battle. War.
And to win.
That was the only way to free themselves from this world and all others.
Loki felt himself harden as the ranks of his army grew, his cock standing stiff and proud. He would win with these warriors. Odin’s fallen lived for the glory.
Loki’s troop needed to win.
As Loki finished his chant the third time, his army cheered him on. They needed his blessing. They had to have it, to complete their transformation, to become one with his will, for the spell to finish.
Loki grabbed his cock. With only a few strokes (and less satisfying than that last whore who really did know some tricks), Loki came, spurting come all over the floor, the physical manifestations of his spell smoking and dissolving under the hot liquid. Loki groaned his release, his chant easing, the maidens and his army slipping into the nether worlds, between this space and that.
When Loki opened his eyes, the room remained much the same. Melted toys lay on the scratchy, brown shag carpet, along with his cooling spunk. He took a deep breath, trying to calm his heart. The torsos on the walls had all disappeared. Smoke and blood flowed around where the shapes had been, showcasing the negative space.
Maybe the artist would appreciate the new look. If he came back.
Loki groaned as he stood up, his knees protesting. He knew without looking in a mirror that the scars were back on his face, his energy drained.
But he had an army now.
Odin would never know what hit him.
***
Hunter stayed where he was when he saw Csaba and his “lieutenants” go into Cassie’s apartment building.
As if they knew anything about war.
No one could see Hunter, of course. He hid with the ghosts in the alley across the street. The brick held in the shadows and the cold.
The sun had come out, brightly white. High thin clouds streaked across the thinly blue sky. Hunter hadn’t realized until he’d gone to the desert that only moderate temperatures gave the sky richness, a blue so thick he could swim in it.
The cold kept down the stench of the hulking dumpsters at Hunter’s back. Not that Hunter minded too much. He’d had more than one meal served à la can.
But Josh had bought him breakfast that morning.
Now that Hunter thought about it, Josh had bought him more than one meal, never asking Hunter to chip in.
Whatever agency Josh worked for, at least he had an expense account.
Josh also bought the drugs sometimes. Not from Csaba, though he claimed that’s where they’d come from. But the packaging was always better than the cheap stuff Csaba had. More professional.
And the highs had always been higher grade as well.
A warm flash touched Hunter’s back. When he turned around, he saw more ghosts had come. A group of homeless dudes, scavenging the dumpsters. The faint bump the rubber cover made when it slapped against the brick wall told Hunter they were pretty far away, possibly in time, or in terms of worlds.
They didn’t look as if they wanted to fight. Not yet. That didn’t mean they wouldn’t cross the streams and come after Hunter if they thought he had something they needed.
He hoped they stayed in the future. He didn’t feel like battling, and he had other things to do. So he kept only part of his attention on them while he looked out again, listening and watching for Cassie.
Hunter’s area of knowing wasn’t too big that morning. Fortunately, Cassie’s apartment was on the side of the street facing him, so he could encompass her entire place. His timing wasn’t great, either—maybe five minutes ahead.
Hunter saw the blows before they occurred, passing through his own stomach, hollow and cold.
Of course Cassie didn’t call out. Didn’t ask for help.
No matter what she might say, she was his blood brother. The vision was clear. She saw like he did.
Or she would, soon enough.
Hunter didn’t bother to physically follow Csaba after the dealer and his goons piled into the large van and left. A drug dealer could never be that difficult to find, not if he wanted to stay in business. He did concentrate his knowing on Csaba for a few moments as they pulled away.
The drug dealer was going to meet a police officer. Interesting. So even he had his price.
When Hunter realized that Cassie would sleep now, he knew it would be safe to leave, at least for a little while.
His blood brother could take care of herself, though she also would need his help, whether she realized it or not.
Hunter turned and looked at the ghosts in the alley. There were several more there now. Some were from a nearby future and world, wearing the same heavy coats and boats that Hunter and anyone sane would, given the cold.
A few were from farther away, a time when summer had already come.
The ghosts didn’t see each other, though. They passed through one another, like wind through a screen door.
Was there something going to happen in this alley? Is that why there were so many ghosts here, now? Or was the last batch of the Ghost Tripper drugs really as powerful as Csaba had claimed they were?
Hunter couldn’t tell.
After slipping his darkest shades back on, Hunter strode out onto the street, turning the corner and walking back in towards the more inhabited areas of downtown, where the fancy stores played Christmas music nonstop, as if that was somehow supposed to bring cheer.
Following Josh was useless. His cover was good enough, deep enough, that he’d already fooled Hunter once.
But there were other ways to skin a cat, Hunter knew.
Time to go get the official “services” involved.
***
Of course, the government wasn’t about to admit fault, or that the drugs they’d fed their psychics during the war were purposefully addictive. That so many of this country’s brave soldiers had ended up junkies was just the nature of that particular war.
Their lies, as much as anything else, made Hunter want to retch.
However, he still took advantage of the government’s guilt. He would take their blood money, or wergild.
At least once a month he made his way to the VA hospital, put up with whatever tests they insisted on running, and got a check deposited to his account as a result.
If he didn’t show up, the check didn’t come. Simple as that.
And Hunter hadn’t gone in, yet, for his December check.
He needed information about a liar.
Where better to go than to the source of all lies?
***
Odin watched in dismay as yet another rank of Loki’s army rolled into being, then crushed his own brave warriors. The day reflected the storms in Odin’s visage, with dark clouds broiling above the battlefield. The winter hay had long since been cut, and the dead white stalks lay like bones, already bleached, between the piles of bodies. Crows, ravens, and eagles gathered at the edges, awaiting their rewards.
Campfires smoked darkly in the far corner, where Loki’s warriors waited for their next attack. Odin didn’t need to ask where Loki had found such men and women to battle this way—oath breakers, most of them. Dying without valor or honor.
Loki’s “Valkyrie” had brought them there, to the field, that day, on dark horses with steel swords that shone with green light and cloaks that trailed down their backs like leaves.
The warriors, Odin had expected. He’d known the type of army Lo
ki would raise.
The shield maids, not so much. Not all of them were women, even, though they were all made to appear that way.
Loki had refused to say where he’d found his Valkyrie, or how he’d created them.
Odin suspected that he didn’t really want to know.
However, Odin also couldn’t complain about them. Loki’s shield maidens weren’t against the rules of their contest. No, Loki had said he’d raise an army worthy of Odin’s best.
And he had. They were beating his own men.
At least, for this skirmish, all that was on the line was Sleipnir. They weren’t fighting the final battle, weren’t calling the twilight into being.
As the last of Odin’s troop fell, Loki came riding up. His horse that day was colored like those silly children’s horses, purple with a white mane.
“Greetings, Val-Father,” Loki called as he gracefully slid off his horse. He wore a skeletal mask made of black iron, the mouth twisted into a chilling grin. His armor showed the glory of the battle, spattered with blood and gore.
He looked like death come calling.
“Maybe I should call you that, this day,” Odin said, his back stiffening. “Father of the slain.”
Loki shrugged. “We both have many slain today,” he pointed out.
“True. But you have not as many as I,” Odin said formally.
“I will not ask for more acknowledgment than that,” Loki said with a grin. “Though I would love to hear you eat more crow, calling me the better warrior.”
“Never,” Odin said. “Even at the end of things, we both fail.” Why was he thinking so much of the twilight? It wasn’t imminent. They hadn’t had three winters without the sun, three summers of failing crops.
“We shall see,” Loki said. “When the time comes for the world to renew itself, maybe we’ll both be left standing at the end.”
Odin shook his head. No, fate could not be changed. He’d be swallowed by the great wolf, then avenged by his son, who would live on past the twilight.
Sleipnir came up from behind Odin. He pushed his soft snout against Odin’s shoulder, saying hello. Today, the great eight-legged steed took on Loki’s colors, with a soot-black coat and red-tinged hooves, his eyes as white as if covered by cataracts.
Was the great horse not happy to see his parent? Or did he blind himself so he wouldn’t see the deeds Loki got up to while riding him?
Odin wouldn’t break this oath, however, and told Sleipnir, “Go with Loki. Do as he bids, for the next fortnight.”
“Oh, I won’t actually need that long,” Loki said casually. “I need only three days.”
“What do you intend to do?” Odin asked. Was he better off not knowing?
“Going to visit my other children,” Loki admitted as Sleipnir nuzzled at his shoulder. “The great serpent. The frost giants. Others.”
Was Loki trying to start the great war? To bring the giants in to the fight? It was one of the signs.
Odin would have to consult with the other gods. See if they knew what Loki was up to.
“Feel free to use my steed in exchange,” Loki said, graciously calling the animal closer.
Odin shuddered. The horse stank of Loki’s witchcraft, of blood and the musk of sex. “Your generosity knows no bounds,” Odin said dryly.
What was the trickster up to? Sleipnir bounded away even before the dead could be raised from the great field. They would gather later in Loki’s hall, to carouse and drink and celebrate their victory.
Tonight, there would be no celebrating in Odin’s hall. There needed to be talk, and analysis, and strategies set instead.
Loki was up to something. Something not good. Something worse than usual. Odin just knew it.
If only he could figure out what it was before it was too late and the Twilight Battle had begun.
***
The VA hospital looked the same on the outside as it always did: cold white walls four stories high, sterile, full of order. The flags out front were at half-mast, though Hunter couldn’t remember a time when they weren’t. Too many died, all the time. The concrete sidewalk looked brown and wet. It had been swept clean with military precision, a gently curving ribbon cutting through the snow piled on either side, leading to dark glass doors.
Hunter still stood on the sidewalk outside, examining the building minutely, seeking changes. Was it safe? Or, at least, safe enough for him to go in?
No snipers rested on the roof. No individuals lay patient and buried under the snow, waiting to tackle him when he got close enough. No guard hid behind the sharp corners of the building.
Hunter took another deep breath of the biting cold and marched into the lion’s den.
The receptionist was professional yet friendly, taking Hunter’s information and assigning him a number. If it had been a little less frigid outside, Hunter would have waited there, rather than the cheesy lounge.
However, today, Hunter needed to pass. While he could have waited in the cold without it affecting him too much, it would have been commented on. Noted.
A large aquarium with blue-tinted water and black-and-white striped fish made up the third wall of the lounge. Hunter supposed it was there to be soothing. The walls were painted an orange-brown, like oak leaves just as they turned. The chairs had smooth, blocky, light wood arms and fabric that matched the walls. They lined the walls as well, with nothing in the center, no place where a soldier had to sit with his back unprotected.
Hunter sat in his seat, carefully at attention. He dialed up the range on his senses, keeping track of everyone coming through the door, walking through the halls behind him, relying on his ears and nose instead of his eyes. Hearing the conversations, the footsteps, smelling the sharp chemicals and bleach. He couldn’t look around, over his shoulder. Had to pass.
Two other vets waited as well. One seemed in better shape than Hunter, in a clean shirt and trousers, his hands resting on a cane. The other seemed in worse shape, his hair hanging long and greasy across his forehead, his eyes bugged out. Twitchy.
But he wasn’t a threat—Hunter knew he could take him. The guy wasn’t in shape, not like Hunter.
Before the other two were called back, a nurse called Hunter’s name. She introduced herself as Trisha—a short, overweight black woman with hair tightly braided to show the curve of her skull. Her scrubs had a white background with Hawaiian palm trees, pineapples, and ukuleles on them.
Hunter stood patiently while she weighed him in the hallway (same weight as always) then followed her back to an examination room.
The room looked like the hundreds of others Hunter had been in: examination table with paper sheet, two chairs in the corner, sink and counter in the other. Instruments hung on the walls—all ordinary, nothing new. The standing lamp looked a little bigger, but it was within the normal parameters. The standing desk Trisha used wasn’t standard in all the rooms, however, Hunter had seen them enough times to not be spooked.
“So what brings you in today?” Trisha asked as she logged into her laptop.
“Usual monthly checkup,” Hunter told her. He gave her a smile, as he knew he should.
“Very good,” Trisha said. “You’ve come in regularly now for the last five months. Good job.”
Really? Hunter hadn’t tracked that it had been so regular recently.
He’d have to change his pattern soon.
Trisha took his temperature and blood pressure, then asked for a drop of blood.
Hunter examined the lancing device Trisha handed him. It was still in its sterile wrapper, smaller than his pinky finger, but that didn’t mean anything. It could still be laced with something. It only smelled of paper, though, crackled under his finger when he pressed against it. His area of knowing didn’t show him anything untoward happening, but even he knew that his powers weren’t always reliable.
“All right,” Hunter said, handing the lancing device back to Trish. At least she’d asked. He supposed it was in his chart that they needed to ask perm
ission, and not just come at him, like that one nurse had.
‘Thank you,” Trisha said, pricking him quickly and gathering up two drops.
“You’ll find traces of PHS-370,” Hunter told her. “Or the street equivalent.”
Trisha merely nodded.
This one was well trained, not to react to that.
“But you already knew that, right? Because of the spy you have, following me?” Hunter asked, aiming for innocent.
He knew this wasn’t passing. But this was the reason he’d come in. To find out information about Josh.
Trisha gave Hunter a hard look. “There’s nobody following you. No spy.”
“Of course,” Hunter said, nodding, his tone indicating just how much he believed her.
Trisha gave a great sigh. “I’m not supposed to do this. But you’ve been a decent guy. Let me show you.” She pulled over her computer laptop and showed Hunter his file.
Did he really look like that? So skinny, so white, with blue eyes looking so scared?
“Now, you see that?” Trisha asked, pointing to a large DNR in one corner. “That doesn’t just mean do not resuscitate. It’s also a huge warning to not engage.”
Hunter nodded. It was brilliantly done, hiding in plain sight. The letters must be in a different font or something to let the nursing staff know.
“So no one is following you. No one is engaging you,” Trisha reassured him. “And if you think someone is, you should talk to one of the doctors.”
“No, nurse, I was just testing you,” Hunter said, reassuring her. “There’s no one following me. No one spying on me. I live a regular life these days. I just miss the excitement sometimes, you know?”
Trisha chuckled. “Oh, I hear you. Now, let me run these results and I’ll get you out of here.”
“Thank you,” Hunter said sincerely.
The government wasn’t tracking him.
Which meant that Josh was something much, much worse.
A corporate spy.
Chapter Seven
Maybe my luck was changing. I actually got to sleep all the way through to my alarm. Of course it rang too damned early—I could have really used another few hours of shut-eye.
