The Valkyrie's Guardian

by Moriah Densley

  “A solid food prepared from the pressed curd of milk, often seasoned and aged.”

  “Cheese. Thanks a lot, Jack.”

  “What? Sorry, I guess.” The kid was obsessed with cheese yesterday. He went crazy rifling through my fridge. Maybe he doesn’t even have a name.

  She scowled at Jack then turned to squat down, eye-level with the boy. “There. Your hair looks better. Very handsome.” She handed him a mirror — he startled and dropped it. “That’s okay, we’re not superstitious. Go put your shirt back on, it’s almost time to meet our friends.”

  Jack was shirtless too; he had to take his off before the boy would remove his. Cassie couldn’t complain. They dressed and she swept the clippings and glass shards off the kitchen floor just as Kyros and Lyssa arrived. She rushed to the door, eager to be the one to set the tone for the meeting.

  Kyros herded Lyssa through the doorway as though he expected sniper fire. Cassie locked gazes with the man who had been her father and mentor since age six. Their blood relation was strong despite the generations separating them, and she had always been proud of the resemblance. How anyone fell for his ruse of twenty-something genius physics professor, she couldn’t say. Kyros had the same perpetually scruffy jaw Jack did and as many scars. Several lifetimes of pain and triumph, generations of battles fought and lost shone in his fathoms-deep dark eyes. That same shrewd gaze burned through her now, and she felt three inches tall.

  He knew.

  Just like that. No explanation. Maybe he’d picked up a clue from someone’s thoughts, or maybe that exotic tell-tale scent thick in the air, branded in her skin gave them away. Could even be the heated magnetism that maintained a dull hum whenever she came within fifteen feet of Jack. Something similar always buzzed between Kyros and Lyssa.

  Kyros waited to see if she would deny it. Cassie mustered what remained of her courage and met his stare unapologetically, buoyed by the conviction that she wouldn’t have her circumstances any other way. Not even for her short, mortal life.

  “Cassiopeia,” his bass voice wrapped around her like an embrace as he held his arms out for her. She fell into his bear hug and hid her face in his shoulder, unable to hold back tears. Of relief or apology, she couldn’t say. He ducked to kiss her on the temple and gently rocked her. His mind was closed to her for a while, then reluctantly he brushed her thoughts with cautious acceptance. The soothing power of his mind relaxed her nerves and cleared her mind. It had been too long since she’d been held by her grandfather. She missed his quiet strength, the feeling like being sheltered under a mighty redwood.

  Easy, love. Take it one day at a time, agapoula mou. We’ll think of something.

  Thank you, Kyros. She knew he would understand she meant, “Thank you for not making this an ugly scene.”

  She wiped her face and pulled back, then wished she hadn’t looked in his eyes. Sorrow etched his face, making him look old and tired. She hated putting that weight-of-the-world-on-his-shoulders look in his expression when he already had more to bear than any human could handle. He forced himself to smile, and it broke her heart.

  Kyros cradled her cheek and whispered, Be happy, daughter. He didn’t filter her out of the conversation when he looked over her head and said to Jack, Of her own free will she makes a great sacrifice. Never forget this, Viking, as long as you live.

  Aye, sir.

  “Light! Music!” Everyone startled at the treble voice and looked to see the boy pointing at Kyros and Lyssa as though they were Mr. and Mrs. Claus. “But who, if he be called upon to face, some awful moment to which heaven has joined, great issues, good or bad for humankind, is happy as a lover, and attired with sudden brightness, like a man inspired, and through the heat of conflict, keeps the law.”

  All in one breath. Wow.

  Kyros and Lyssa turned to stare at the newest addition to the academies for extra-sentient children, Network-One. Kyros had established the schools for this very situation. Where else could a boy like him go without being treated either like a lunatic or lab rat? Cassie held her breath, eager for Kyros to take measure of the boy.

  Kyros crouched down and answered the boy with the next stanza of Wordsworth’s poem, “In calmness made, and sees what he foresaw, or if an unexpected call succeed, come when it will, is equal to the need.”

  The Happy Warrior, a favorite for Cassie. No wonder Kyros had memorized it sometime over the past few centuries, but the kid? Weird.

  The boy beamed, and actually made a sound like laughter.

  “You’re right. I am a keeper of the law. My name is Kyros. And this is Lyssa, and again you discerned correctly that she makes music.”

  The boy scowled, puzzled as he read Kyros’ snarky T-shirt: Astronaut of the Year.

  “Kyros likes to wear silly T-shirts. His sense of humor is a bit off-kilter,” Lyssa explained.

  The boy turned to look at Lyssa, and a smile brightened his face. “So rich our human pleasure ripes, when sweetness on sincereness pipes, though nought be promised from the seas, but only a soft-ruffling breeze, sweep glittering on a still content, serenity in ravishment.”

  “Yes, she is very good,” Kyros nodded. “A world-famous violinist.”

  The Lark Ascending, Lyssa commented silently. Romantic-era poetry as well as a violin piece. His memory is astounding.

  “And the foresight equal to the need — is that you, my young friend?” Kyros asked softly.

  “Free from error or defect; consistent with a standard, rule or model.”

  “I am correct.”

  It was obvious the boy wished he could nod, or somehow acknowledge his assent. Instead he tensed, unable to express himself.

  “Can you say correct?”

  The boy blinked then started to shake.

  “Never mind it. But can you tell me your name? Give me a hint, and I will guess.”

  Cassie recognized the excitement in Kyros’ expression. He kept it in check to avoid frightening the child, but he sensed an imminent breakthrough, and this is what he did best.

  When not on the battlefield or in bed, Lyssa interjected on a private channel to Cassie, and the two exchanged looks of amusement. Lyssa was a mindbreaker, and Cassie ceased to be surprised when Lyssa heard her thoughts regardless of her mindshield.

  “I see you stand like greyhounds in the slips, straining upon the start.”

  Kyros leaned his head back and chuckled. “A worthy match of wits. I sure hope you aren’t named Shakespeare, because my first guess is Henry. Is that it?”

  “To come to one opinion or mind.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Henry.”

  They traded victorious smiles.

  Magic. A welcome reminder that most extra-sentient disorders were worked around rather than cured. Kyros explained his family as it included Lyssa, Cassie, and Jack. Henry agreed to visit the academy and decide if he could make his home there. Kyros sent him off to play, asking to see the shortwave radio Jack told him about, but could he please convert it to single sideband so they could call out to ships at sea with it? Kyros’ diversion bought the adults some time to speak privately, but it wouldn’t be as much as Kyros supposed. Cassie and Jack had learned that the hard way yesterday.

  Once Henry “Cheese” trotted off to tinker with the radio in the garage, Cassie brought everyone a glass of water in Jack’s newly repaired living room.

  “He senses abilities in others,” Kyros explained without preamble. “In addition to the usual über-genius marks for an extra-sentient. The strength of his mindshield indicates he is telepathically able but either lacks knowhow or is wary.”

  “Oh, he knows how. He’s an amplifier,” Lyssa explained. “Tough nut to crack, but I saw it all. American, kidnapped from New Jersey social services. Seven years old. He was taken to Russia and kept in dark closets for years, exploited by K
rav. When he’s in pain, he can’t control his mindshield. Krav used Henry’s power to magnify the landslides, among other things.”

  Lyssa turned to Cassie and smiled with bone-chilling anger. “Thank you for ridding the world of Krav. Now you need to get the other one.”

  “Who?” Comically, Cassie, Jack and Kyros all said it at once.

  “Boris?” Jack guessed.

  Lyssa shook her head. “No. Henry never saw the man, but he is scared to death of him. Henry knows his voice, but only saw him in shadows. Sorry, that’s all I got. ”

  “Since Boris worked for Krav, we can assume Mr. X is also affiliated.” Kyros combed his fingers through the variegated auburn strands hanging over Lyssa’s shoulder, a gesture of affection he seemed to make without thinking.

  “Well that’s just perfect, since we managed to take out everyone but Boris yesterday,” Jack groused, rubbing his knee.

  “It is perfect. If we play it right, Boris will lead us to Mr. X — who I assume is the one behind Merodach’s operation by proxy.” Kyros lowered his voice, “Jack, did you know two security guards were assassinated outside the admiral’s office yesterday around eleven-hundred hours?”

  The blood drained from Jack’s face, and he shook his head once. Cassie remembered Kyros had arranged for her to hide in the admiral’s office yesterday to keep her away from the combat. Jack’s instincts had been right on. He’d probably saved her life by taking her along on the operation.

  On the heels of that thought came the revelation that she was in the thick of the Justice League’s secret clubhouse meeting. No one sent her away, no one censored their information to exclude her. It would be unbecoming to leap up and cheer, so she arranged her features in a thoughtful expression. Lyssa caught her eye and winked.

  “Cassie, did you get a good count of the OpFor yesterday?” Kyros retrieved a strange device that looked like a flattened flashlight and started punching buttons. Probably some classified prototype, an intergalactic communicator stolen from the set of Star Trek.

  “Eighteen guarding the station, four inside, and at least twenty guns in the peripheral ambush.”

  Jack explained, “Chechen mercenaries. I’m not sure what their MO was, since we screwed up their plans. I think they expected only me. SEAL Team Three cleaned up.”

  “But the ambush,” Cassie argued. “I didn’t hear them. Not until they came right on top of us. I should have heard their thoughts. Nothing.”

  “Henry,” Kyros answered gravely. “Krav kept him in the shack, using him to broadcast his mindshield onto the soldiers.”

  It went without saying that Krav had to have kept Henry in debilitating pain to do so. Cassie bristled, remembering his broken legs.

  “Did Henry cause your … ah, episode, Cassie?”

  How diplomatic.

  Jack interrupted, and he sounded miffed. “No way. The kid’s mind was sealed shut when we engaged Krav. Cassie is a valkyrie, I’ve felt it before. She just needed to be provoked. Anger is the trigger, just so you know.” He smirked with his cheeks making those to-die-for sexy lines. Had they been alone, she would have jumped him.

  Kyros raised his brows. “What was it like?”

  “I lost control. It felt like one of Jack’s rages, except for the lightning. It was intoxicating. It made me very, ah, violent.”

  Kyros nodded. “Supposedly berserkers and valkyries descend from the Norse line of Odin. Some interesting story there, generations back.”

  Jack had said something similar. It was still news to her that valkyries even existed.

  “She was magnificent, Kyros,” Jack boasted. “Her affinity is with static electricity, drawn from the ground. It doesn’t feel quite like your electromagnetic power. She pulled a storm down from the sky, and the lightning bolt weapon isn’t a myth. She fried Krav.” Jack glanced sideways at Lyssa and apologized, “Not to be gross or anything, but he kind of melted.”

  Lyssa shrugged. She’d vaporized Merodach with a homemade anti-matter bomb a few years past and confessed she’d laughed like an evil sorceress. Cassie understood the feeling, because in the throes of her own power yesterday, Cassie was wicked and pissed off and still lacked a twinge of regret for enjoying it. Maybe it wasn’t healthy or PC, but there it was.

  “Welcome to the superhero club,” Lyssa teased, grinning.

  “I guess that leaves us with two matters.” Kyros narrowed his eyes and stared Jack down. “We have an appointment with the chaplain. And although I like the idea of your punishment, I should see what I can do for your knee.”

  Chapter 18

  “Excuse me, but you look a lot like my future wife.”

  —Jack MacGunn, King of the Bad Pick-Up Line

  Astounding, modern technology. For a small fortune, Jack’s traditional regalia had been overnighted from Inverness to California. Cassie thought she was savvy for scaring up a dress off the rack and a wedding band large enough to fit Jack on such short notice. SEAL Team Three showed up, occupying every spare inch of space in the office. Kyros and Jack barked a unison No! when someone suggested they move the wedding outside. A security nightmare, when they didn’t have tabs on Boris yet.

  Oh yes, Jack looked smokin’ hot in a kilt. Black plaid striped in red and gold, with a matching banner that pinned over her shoulder, symbolic of her joining his clan. His team forgave him for not wearing Navy dress whites when they saw the ceremonial sabers crossed over his back in a battle scabbard engraved with wolf-dragon monsters and runes. How he’d gotten them through customs, she could only wonder.

  Memphis stood up for Jack, and Cassie heard him mumble, “Not to be an ass or anything, Doolittle, but I told you so.”

  Not to be outdone, Pops, a dashing all-American hero in his uniform, stage-whispered to Cassie, “Hey Thundercat. Baby. It’s not too late to bust out of here. I’ll let you do to me what y’all did at the clinic. Rowr!”

  Great. So everyone knew.

  Jack threatened him with bodily harm, the men chuckled, and minutes later she was Mrs. MacGunn, again. It surprised her that the ceremony felt redundant. The hand-fasting was real to Jack, so it was for her too. Kyros, posing as her brother, managed to give her away without looking too grim. He didn’t shoot daggers at Jack but wasn’t jovial enough to put to rest the suspicion that this was a shotgun wedding. Kyros sort of looked like he wished he had a shotgun.

  Cassie expected Jack to use the Celtic knot in the ceremony. He comprehensively redeemed himself of all past wrongdoing when he drew a diamond from his pocket. A simple solitaire, but two carats, and nice. She hated thinking about it at such a moment, but she couldn’t banish the worry that Jack didn’t have the money to buy a two-carat investment-quality diamond, and she already knew he would never take money from Kyros.

  Apparently Jack didn’t expect her to wear both rings. For an awkward moment he waited, asking her silently, Where should I put it, lass?

  Left hand ring finger, of course.

  He waited again, giving her time to remove the traditional band to make room for the diamond. She didn’t.

  Ah, Jack? Everyone is waiting.

  It sparkled with white fire, next to his great-grandmother’s Celtic knot. His narrowed eyes glinted radiant green, and she preempted the chaplain by throwing her arms around Jack’s neck and kissing him dizzy. She was overcome by the strong, tender emotion floating in waves from his mind, but she also meant to give him time to get himself under control. He shouldn’t go around flashing civilians with his spooky Green Lantern eyes.

  She saw Henry smiling. His voice was lost in the commotion, but it was clear he said, “Fire.”

  • • •

  Kyros’ prognosis on Jack’s knee sounded too much like her own: The damage was so extensive he was lucky his body even produced scar tissue to heal it, however inadequate. Neither she nor Kyros was a magician
; they couldn’t fabricate something out of nothing. It remained to be seen if the destroyed cartilage would grow back. For the first time in his life, Jack didn’t know if he would heal to normal function. Cassie couldn’t bear to think of what it would mean to him — immortal, a berserker — to live the rest of his life hobbled, unable to do what he did best.

  Kyros used phrases like “periodically scrape out damaged tissue” and “risk of sepsis and nerve damage.” Jack ground his jaw so tightly Cassie thought he’d shatter his teeth.

  Drastic, like putting down a lame horse? he said privately to her, and she joked back, Yeah, but only if a few months of bed rest doesn’t do the trick.

  He groaned, making it clear he’d rather be shot.

  Jack lay on his back across the kitchen counter while Kyros worked on his knee. Both men sweated in concentration, Kyros attempting a delicate operation against the reckless force of Jack’s pulse, and Jack trying to bear the pain without screaming like a girl. Cassie always teased him, but in his defense, he truly was several times more sensitive to pain than normal humans. From the hyper activity in his nerves to the concentration of quadruple the normal pain receptors in his brain — proof that the gods have a sense of humor.

  Cassie heard Kyros’ frustration, his task tantamount to untangling a nest of fine thread in a hurricane; that’s what the giant, rowdy waves of Jack’s pulse seemed like to a healer. Also distracting was what she mystically referred to as his ‘life force,’ the spiritual, intangible presence of his soul. His was noisy, rumbling, ADD times ten, always on the verge of boiling over. That energy source is what made him a berserker, a fascinating entity when it wasn’t annoying.

  Cassie couldn’t take another moment of the sympathetic pain raking her spine and throbbing in her own leg. It clenched her womb and made it contract, which couldn’t be good for the baby. The pale, strained expression on Jack’s face as he sucked in labored breaths was killing her. He’d already burned though triple doses of morphine, and it wasn’t safe to give him more. Without permission she slipped outside. The men wouldn’t want her alone unguarded, but she didn’t care. She needed to think.