“Not many people go hand-to-hand with a berserker and live to talk about it,” he said.
Fuck. “The average high in Salt Lake City in June is eighty-point-two degrees Fahrenheit.”
He raised an eyebrow.
Kirby shrugged. “Are we not swapping random facts?”
“I’ve been spinning bullshit for centuries, practicing the fine art of deception, and yet Brit always impressed me with hers.” Loki dropped the hood on his desk and rested his palms against the edges, gaze never leaving hers. “But you... Lying is one of those things you don’t have a gift for. Kirby, isn’t it?”
Every muscle in her body tensed without permission, and her drink threatened to repeat on her. It didn’t taste nearly as good the second time around. She was never touching tequila again. “Brit. B-R-I-T. I know we all look alike, but it can’t be that hard to tell me from a dead woman.”
“Valkyrie. Resurrected, which you told me yourself that you knew.”
“But I prefer the term dead woman.” Kirby could do this with him for hours when she was Brit, but he’d figured out the truth, and she doubted any amount of banter would dissuade him. How did he find out? She’d slipped several times. Which one busted her? Who else knew?
He drummed his fingers on the underside of the desk’s lip. “You’re not going to ask the questions you want to, because you think it will make you look guilty. I’ll tell you anyway. I’ve known the two of you were a lie since Not-Erek walked in the front gates. Don’t worry, his cover is safe. I’m as unfond of Hel’s Nobles as they are of me.”
Kirby wasn’t reassured. Why had she taken for granted that Loki let her back onto campus so easily? Because she was still free to roam. Idiot. “You’re feeling a little Evil Villain Monologuing, but I thought we were on the same side.”
“I’d like us to be. How is Kirby, by the way?”
“Alive? Fucking a couple of immortals? Really high strung and self-destructive?” The Brit part of her knew that was the expected answer, despite not meaning it. The reality of the words gnawed at Kirby’s core. “Do you want me to provide a psychoanalysis, or are you looking for some other kind of answer?”
“I’m not in the mood for games. I’m being straight with you, because I’m hoping you’ll give me the same.”
Kirby twisted her mouth in disbelief. The immediate threat had lessened. She was loose. Danger was directly in front of her. If he moved or vanished, she could react. Might as well let him talk. “Maybe you’re the imposter, in that case.”
“Heh.” His laugh was flat. “I know Brit was in the warehouse. That she was part of the rescue mission. An unexpected part, but what a fun surprise.”
“What warehouse?” Was any of Brit’s life private? Had he somehow been following her this entire time? No. Gods were capable of a lot of things, but none of them were omnipresent.
“The faithful will return.”
Ice raced down Kirby’s spine, courtesy of Brit’s memory. “Creepy. Is that a new thing we’re doing?”
“I was him. The man she shot. I saw the entire thing. Which is how I knew your story about wandering the world in a fugue was bullshit.” He leaned close and dragged his nose up the side of her neck. “But fuck if you’re not a near-perfect replica.”
“Dolly Parton once lost a Dolly Parton look-alike contest.” She wasn’t fooling anyone, but pride and training—and a lot of what next—kept her from admitting Loki was right.
“I can’t figure out whose magic this is,” Loki said. “But your attitude... Too flippant for the berserker. Too lethal for the trickster. Too well integrated to be anyone but another of our fine, upstanding graduates.”
“Thanks to Hel, we’re in a class of our own.”
“That means you’re Kirby. It must kill you to see how much they love Brit and how much disdain they had for you. Does the reminder of your failure destroy you? Utterly and completely?”
Did he really think anyone here gave a fuck about Brit, beyond what she could do for them? Thank the gods Brit was a master at masking her emotion, because Kirby wanted to crack. To grab that letter opener off Loki’s desk and jab it in his throat. It wouldn’t kill him, but it would convey her irritation.
“Now that I’ve laid all my cards on the table—”
“I doubt that,” Kirby said.
Loki tsked. “You keep pretending I’m wrong, and I’ll know I’m right. Here’s the deal. I’m not going to kick you out or blow your cover. As far as anyone is concerned, you and I had this aggressive talk because you needed to convince me you’re being honest about your reasons for being here. You did. In return, you’ll share anything you learn with me.”
“Learn about...?”
“This big plan of Hel’s to bring herself back, and kill everyone here in the process.”
That was direct. “Looking for a path to your own resurrection?”
“I’d rather not hit the dead point to begin with.” Loki’s tone was flat. “I helped build this place for a reason. Destroying everyone means I no longer have access to this resource. I’m making the big assumption that you’d like to stop this—Kirby never liked unnecessary death. We both have something to gain from this.”
It was a good assumption, and she was too twisted up in what did and didn’t look like admitting he was right, to know how to reply. What he said made sense, though. This was Hel’s plan, not his. Loki was one thing above all else—in everything for himself.
“Tell me why,” she said. “What do these people give you that you can’t get anywhere else?”
“Same thing you’ve always offered—they destroy potentials.”
One, in particular. The woman prophesied to bring about his destruction. “You’d utilize an entire school, to get rid of one little girl?”
“Not the entire school. The Nobles don’t serve me, and they’re going to have to go. But Starkad used it to find one single girl, and I doubt you’re complaining.”
Not technically true. Starkad had been here long before Kirby. Her arrival was lucky for both of them.
The Nobles were Hel’s trusted executioners. If Kirby told Loki that, if she let him take them out of the picture, would that stop anything? She’d like to believe so, but that was the problem—she didn’t know. Hel’s plan was supposed to be foolproof, and removing a handful of people from the equation hardly seemed like a groundbreaking idea. At least without more information.
“You’re undecided still,” Loki said. “I’ve given you enough information that you could walk out of here right now and organize a coup against me.”
“Or this is a game, before you remove me from campus or feed me to my colleagues.”
He sighed. “In Wales, when you and I fought in the field—you being Kirby, because you haven’t changed my mind—I was responsible for the driver dropping you there. You know that already. But I did it to talk to you about this. About what Hel was planning. I picked the open field to minimize casualties. You people are really shoot-first, ask-questions later.”
“We do teach that here,” Kirby said. “A phone call wouldn’t work? A request for an in-person meeting?”
Loki stared at her for a moment, lips pursed. “Is it working now? I wasn’t responsible for the fae who were captured, and neither was Hel. Bad timing on the part of another board member. I was the one who gave the information to Aeval about where to find them. And I was there at the warehouse to make sure everyone got out okay. Turned out I didn’t need to step in.”
“This is all really convenient. Assuming I know what you’re talking about.” And you could have stepped in sooner. What was Kirby supposed to do with this confession? Was that even what it was?
“You’re thinking I could have stepped in sooner. Yeah, it’s true. Important people lived. You could have told me who you were when you arrived on campus, and you didn’t. It’s all about keeping up appearances.”
It all made sense, at least as far as his motivation was concerned. She didn’t buy the, here’s every ti
me I tried to do right by you, wrapped in a neat little package. That was an entire string of implausible coincidences. “Let me see if I understand this. You’re really the good guy—”
“I never said that.”
Honesty. Wow. “Fair enough. Basically, you’re proposing we work together to keep as many people here alive as possible, so you can continue to hunt... her.”
“And so you can say you saved lives. I’m even willing to make a trade with you, as a gesture of good faith.”
Kirby saw a billion different loopholes in this conversation, but she needed a way to move forward, and he might be it. “What kind of trade?”
“Introduce me to the berserker who tore up your clothes—don’t deny that; you’re stained with his magic, and I know my enemies—and I’ll pull your shadow from you.”
Davyn wanted to meet Loki anyway. This was an easy way to deliver. “You can still watch me, even without a shadow.”
“Not when you head into town.”
She was about to yield. To make a deal with the devil. “Which you’ll keep track of.”
“You’re a smart girl, regardless of which one you actually are. You can buy yourself whatever time you need.”
“I’ll take the trade, but I have to think about the rest. I’m still not admitting anything.”
Loki grinned. “We both know you don’t have to.”
Kirby hated this. Would his drive for self-preservation really keep him from turning on her? Only as long as she served his purposes.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Starkad didn’t know what to do with himself. He wasn’t used to being the one waiting at home for answers, and it was making him twitchy. He’d paced the castle for a few days, until Aeval told him he made the other occupants uncomfortable.
In the past, he’d filled his days with drinking, fighting—wars or otherwise—teaching, espionage for the highest bidder...
After he pulled Kirby out of TOM, he had her company. Brit’s leads to verify.
She was the other thing nagging his thoughts. What happened in Spain could be interpreted a lot of different ways, but he kept coming back to the most obvious explanation—Brit’s actions were exactly what they looked like on the surface. Her first instinct had been to save his life, for Kirby, at the cost of her own and those of her former associates.
Starkad wasn’t interested in practicing with her; he didn’t have the same indoctrinated need to always be at his sharpest, that TOM embedded in its students.
Gwydion was taking meals with Brit now. Starkad could join them.
Those thoughts led him back to the dark corner of his mind he didn’t care for. The one Brit dusted off with her questions.
His drive to tear her down my have lessened after Spain, but that didn’t mean he wanted her company.
Starkad’s phone rang. he didn’t recognize the number that popped up. Not unusual—people from Urd liked their privacy. “Yeah,” he answered, excited at the prospect of something to do.
“Starkad.” Davyn pronounced his name in a way Starkad hadn’t heard in centuries.
“What can I do for you?” Polite formalities were never their thing back in the day. And this was the second time, talking to Davyn in just a few weeks, when they hadn’t seen each other previously since back in the day. It made Starkad uneasy.
“We need to meet.”
Definitely not a good sign. “Why and where?”
“Upstate New York. How soon can you get here?”
Near TOM. This kept getting worse. “Why are you there? Why do you want me there?”
Davyn sighed. “I need to get onto that fucking campus. The one the gods own.”
“Don’t do that. They’ll shoot you. A lot.” Starkad’s immortality was a gift from Kirby. He didn’t know what had kept Davyn alive all this time, but it probably wasn’t Valkyrie magic.
“Yeah. That’s what the girl told me too,” Davyn said.
“What girl?” Had the idiot already tried to head onto campus, and this was him, forced to call—
Starkad dismissed the thought. Davyn wouldn’t be forced to do anything.
“Brit. The one who told me to call you. After she said, Ill is it to leave the right undone. She told me if I talked to you first, she’d help me get onto campus.”
Kirby. Starkad had so many questions. How did she look? Was she all right? Did Davyn hurt her? If so, it wouldn’t matter what kind of immortality he had; Starkad would obliterate him. “I don’t know if that’s a promise she can keep.”
“Can you meet me or not?”
“Is she okay?” Starkad shouldn’t ask. He couldn’t help himself.
“She’s fine. Resilient as fuck.”
Thank the gods. “I can be wherever you want.” Wait. That was a bad idea. “You didn’t bring Azzie there, did you?” So close to Loki, the god who would do anything, to keep that girl from killing him?
“No. She’s with Finn. I don’t plan on being here long.” Davyn gave him a town name that was a couple of hours from the TOM campus, and an address. “Can you be there in a few hours? I’d rather look you in the eye when we talk. ”
A sentiment Starkad understood. “Yes.”
Davyn probably wasn’t a threat, but Starkad had no doubt the bear would do anything to protect his ward. Not just because of the oath. Being protectors was in berserkers’ blood as much as violence was.
Starkad wasn’t going so close to TOM without someone skilled, watching his back. How much did he trust Brit?
She’d given him large quantities of good intel in the past. She’d taken bullets on their behalf several times.
She’d also tried to kill him. Watched someone else try to kill Kirby.
In other words, she probably wouldn’t shoot him in the back, but that didn’t mean he had to like her.
Brit wasn’t in her room.
Starkad began a systematic sweep of the palace. Nothing as intense as what they’d done in the warehouse, but just as thorough.
When he reached the back end of the main floor, a large splash of sunlight across the marble drew his attention. One of the double doors leading outside was wide open.
The fresh air and warmth drew him toward the garden. A rainbow of wildflowers lined the lazy stone path he followed. The weather wasn’t always perfect here, but it was close. Maybe he should spend more time outside.
Laughter drew his attention, and he changed direction, cutting across a lawn of clover and wild grass.
“I assume every single one of his, intentional or otherwise, has a deep, significant meaning,” said Gwydion. He sat on a blanket, half-turned away from Starkad, printouts of the book interior from the shop spread out in front of him.
Brit sat next to him. She rested her weight on her arms, behind her, and her legs were stretched out in front of her. “He does strike me as that kind of guy. Then again, so do all of mine. I just don’t have as many.”
What were they talking about?
Gwydion flipped back and forth between two of the photos. From here, they were recognizable. The only two in the set that might refer to Hel, but neither Starkad, nor Gwydion, nor Brit could figure out how.
“With the number of new bullet holes in you, one might think you were trying to catch up,” Gwydion said.
Ah. Scars.
“You didn’t answer for yourself.” Brit turned her face toward the sunshine. Her voice was lighter than Starkad had ever heard it.
“Some of them, I got for deeply personal reasons. To commemorate a time or place or person.” Gwydion sighed. “Others I got because they were pretty or the design amused me.” He tugged up his shirt sleeve and pointed to his bicep. “I got this one in Kuwait, after drinking some of the worst moonshine ever—”
“Do you get drunk?”
Not just scars. Tattoos as well.
“No.” Gwydion shook his head. “But there’s a habit and a ritual in drinking, especially when imbibing something homemade by soldiers. I’ve had some bad hooch in my lifetim
e, but this stuff was utter shit. I wanted a different memory, to wash that one from my mind, and we found a tattoo parlor downtown. Kirby liked the dichotomy of the butterfly resting on the thorns.”
That did sound like Kirby. It was odd to observe this exchange. Starkad had watched Brit grow up and become this, via Kirby, but he’d never seen her outside the bubble of TOM, even after she left. Out here, it was easy to see how she’d deceived Min and Gwydion into thinking she wasn’t a threat.
“So is this the first kind or the second?” Brit traced along Gwydion’s arm.
“Until you asked that, I would have said it was the because it amused me kind. Now I’m not so sure.”
Brit tilted her head back, as if looking at the sky. “Is he right? Do all of your scars have an intensely personal meaning?”
She was talking to Starkad. She probably heard him approach.
“Every single one of them.” He didn’t want to get sucked into this nostalgia, or whatever it was. First Min had decided Brit was trustworthy, and now this. Was there an opposite to Stockholm syndrome, where the captors came to adore the prisoner? “Are you up for another, probably less dangerous mission?”
Brit sat up and twisted on the blanket, to face him. “No getting shot?”
“I almost guarantee it.” Though Davyn might go for her throat if she pissed him off. Not that Davyn needed to see her. “We’re meeting an old acquaintance of mine, and I need you to watch my back. Stay unseen. We’ll only be a few hours from campus, so discretion is crucial.”
Her laugh was tinged with sarcasm. “No shit. I notice you didn’t say friend. You don’t have a lot of those, do you?”
“Observant. That’s why I’d like you there.” No reason to rise to the bait.
“Do I get to know who we’re meeting?” she asked.
“His name is Davyn.”
She raised her brows. “Big bear of a guy? Thing for redheads?” It made sense she knew who he was. She’d hunted Azzie.
“That’s him. He’s literally a bear, and she’s his ward, nothing more.”
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