by Jenn Stark
Like it or not, my days of slipping through crowds unnoticed were behind me unless I changed my look. And I’d have to either change it fast or become a much better shot, if today’s ambush was any indication.
The guard gave a little shrug. “As it happens, Mr. Bjornsson does not know precisely where the Gods’ Nails are. His first order of business, before making a tidy profit on the artifacts, is to find them. Being an efficient man, he decided that the best finder would also be someone capable of paying for the artifacts as well.”
“Pay for them?” This was getting weirder all the time. “I’m not going to pay you for the artifacts.” I was here to steal the stupid things, and the guard’s faint smile indicated he knew that as well.
“Mr. Bjornsson believed otherwise. Of course, none of us expected you to come for the nails yourself.” Williams frowned, though he wisely decided against berating me further. Instead, he reached into his bag and pulled out a familiar deck of cards, then passed them over to me. As I hefted their familiar weight in my hands, he unshouldered his bag, removing a pair of pants, a shirt, and even socks. These he placed on the bed, then stepped back, bowing again. “Please hurry, Madam Wilde. We do not have much time.”
“Right.” I reached for the clothes. The guard turned respectfully to face the wall as I dressed. I eyeballed the robe that I’d dropped on the bed as I pulled on the fresh pants and shirt, but there was no point in being OCD. My DNA had been splattered all over their limo. A few skin cells sloughed off on the robe weren’t going to add that much to the picture.
I refocused on Williams. “So, what’s the part about me being in danger?”
“We have very recently been made aware that a full contingent of finders has landed on Iceland’s shores, eager to find the artifacts.” He paused. “They are even more interested in finding you, which Mr. Bjornsson plans to use to his immediate advantage. If I don’t return with you in approximately three more minutes, we’ll be joined by the chief of security, and you’ll be coerced at gunpoint to take on the task of locating the artifacts. If you fail, you’ll be held captive. Another finder will be brought in to secure the artifacts, and then you will be sold to the highest bidder as a matched set.”
I snorted. “Your employer is awfully sure of himself.”
“He’s had a lifetime of money and influence to help him get that way.”
I considered that. Setting aside my own personal issues with being sold as a toy pony, there was the Arcana Council’s response to consider. Even if Armaeus would never admit it, I knew for a fact that he felt a little proprietary toward me. Sure, he’d be curious to know who was willing to go to such lengths to capture me, because that was exactly the kind of information the Magician loved to know. But he wouldn’t risk me getting sold into a meetup with a firing squad simply to find out who was at the other end of the negotiating table.
Would he?
Ultimately, it didn’t matter. I sent Williams a hard look. “I think trying to make me do anything by force would not be your employer’s best bet.”
He nodded. “It was not his original intention. He came upon it only after we realized the sudden and…vigorous interest in you. And to be fair, we had no way of suspecting that you would come to us so readily.”
“Happy to help.” I picked up the deck of cards, shuffling it. “The nails are here, right? In this house. You know that much, surely.”
“So the family legend holds,” he said. “Most of the original exterior walls remain, and many of the interior rooms are unchanged beyond those most frequently used. So if, as Mr. Bjornsson suspects, the nails were bricked into the walls, they should be here. It’s simply a matter of finding them. Unfortunately, time is of the essence. No one is aware he doesn’t have the nails readily at hand.”
“Fair enough.” I pulled three cards out of the deck in rapid succession, tossing them to the bed before bending to slip on my socks. I decided to opt for my own boots, though. Blood soaked or not, they were at least the right size.
By the time I returned to the bed, Williams was leaning over it, peering in consternation at the three cards. I understood his confusion. The Three of Wands, Emperor, and Hermit didn’t look like much on the surface, and truth be told, they could fit together in any one of dozens of ways. It was never good to take the card interpretations too far before you figured out what the first one meant, though. That was where people usually screwed up.
“Throne room?” he asked, glancing up at me. “There’s a receiving room near the main doors. It does contain a large carved chair, but the chair isn’t original to the house.”
“I’m thinking more on the water.” I didn’t spill any more of my candy, though. Williams said he worked for the House of Swords, which was lovely in theory, but there was no way for me to prove that while cooped up here in Castle Odin. Nigel and Ma-Singh certainly hadn’t tipped me off about him as a possibility. “You got a room like that, something with a view?”
The guard nodded, then pulled out his radio and spoke in rapid Icelandic. When he holstered the device, his lips twisted with the smallest indication of derision. “Mr. Hilmarsson is the special envoy of Mr. Bjornsson because of his knowledge of this home and its passages. He has the paperwork on the nails but no knowledge of their exact whereabouts. However, he has Mr. Bjornsson’s absolute trust in this regard.” He shrugged. “His predilections are also easily managed and were not considered to be problematic for this venture. Mr. Hilmarsson will never handle the artifacts directly, so he would be in no risk of losing them. And as he doesn’t know specifically where they are, he couldn’t betray their location.”
“Tidy,” I observed dryly. Nikki’s unique skill hadn’t been necessary after all, but she’d still more than done her job. I could see many intriguing bounty hunts in our future. Assuming we worked our way out of this one.
Williams led me from the room. I followed him down long, austerely appointed hallways, eventually reaching an enormous living room that looked out onto Faxa Bay. Mist curled up over its surface—looking wholly placid at the moment.
I glanced around. The chamber appeared to have been carved out of the bedrock of the earth, but it was comfortable enough. The marble-laid floor was partially covered by a thick pile carpet, and a large fire roared at the far end, casting light upon the occupants of the room. Nikki, I recognized at a glance, mainly because she towered over most everyone else. Agnar stood beside her, and they were flanked with security guards who had their guns drawn.
Unconsciously, I slowed. “What’s with the guns?” I muttered.
“As I said, your life is in grave danger,” Williams replied quietly. “Succeed in finding the artifact, and you become a player in this game. Fail, and you’re merely a pawn.” He sighed. “I can do no more until it comes to a fight, if I’m to remain unnoticed.”
“Agreed.” I didn’t know whether or not to trust Williams, but he didn’t have to tell me anything about what was going to befall me, and his words would be proved out quickly enough.
“Miss Wilde.”
It was Agnar who spoke, stepping forward nervously, his hands extended. While he might have preferred to speak in Icelandic, his English proved serviceable enough. “It appears I am in your debt twice today. I believe you can help us to locate an item of an, ah, unusual provenance…?”
I nodded, cutting to the chase. “The Gods’ Nails.”
Agnar inclined his head, clearly relieved at my understanding. “We are in the position to come to a fortunate financial arrangement with you, should you find the item and be able to pay for it.”
Beside him, Nikki watched me with an expressionless face. If she’d gathered any new intel from Agnar, it wouldn’t do me any good until this business was done.
I pointed to the large French doors opening out onto the windswept balcony. “We need to go out there. How protected is that ledge?”
Agnar’s gaze darted to the balcony, and his chief of security grunted something to the guard nearest the doo
r. Then the chief addressed me.
“It’s protected from external attack by two broad walls and an overhang. Of course, the wind can be damaging during a storm. Nothing permanent remains out there.”
“It’s part of the original fortress, though.” Agnar clasped his hands eagerly. “It’s reasonable as a location for the nails.”
I didn’t miss the glance shared between the head of security and Williams. Some of what the guard had told me was undoubtedly true. How much, though, was impossible to guess. Nevertheless, the nails wouldn’t do me any good buried under cement, and none of these people were Connected, unless my senses were tremendously off. They wouldn’t be able to wield the nails against me…I was pretty sure.
“May I?” I gestured to the door.
“Yes—yes!” Agnar hurried forward as the security chief nodded. The doors opened onto a bleak and, as I’d suspected, windswept balcony, easily twenty feet long and every bit as deep, a true three-sided room.
It was an old room too, one that clearly had served as an overlook to the wide bay below, an excellent vantage point to watch one’s ships come in—which was exactly what the Three of Wands presaged. I walked toward the balcony, hugging my arms close in the stiff breeze, and peered over the barrier.
“Whoa.”
Roiling ocean boiled beneath me, far more active now that I saw it up close. Momentarily confused, I turned and met Agnar’s gaze. “This isn’t the original temple, is it. I seem to recall that it was farther inland, over some kind of moor.”
“You’re thinking of Helgafell. This building was built later, by one of Thorolf Most-Beard’s sons. And not as a temple, but a holding.” Agnar gestured to the water. “It’s well positioned for security and trade.”
“And windburn,” Nikki said wryly, but she didn’t move from her tidy cluster of security guards. It was clear she couldn’t move, in fact, without causing a mild uproar.
I scanned the space surrounding us. The stone wasn’t as rough-hewn as it originally looked, but it was definitely hewn. Chairs, benches, and ledges had been carved into the wall in sharp relief, including a dais that had once no doubt held a throne of some sort. I studied the space for a few too many seconds, and Agnar fairly bounced on his toes.
“You think they’re on the dais? It makes sense. That was the position for the chieftain to rest and take refreshment, gazing out over the sea.”
“Where’s the chair, though?” I didn’t like the location, frankly. There were no pillars around the dais, or anything to echo the Three of Wands or even the second card in the reading, the Hermit. I was looking for something tall and straight, possibly with a light attached. This…this didn’t feel right.
Agnar nodded happily enough, puffing up with pride at being able to answer my question. “It wasn’t attached to the dais. It was carved separately, out of marble. It began to show wear within the first decade of its creation, according to the historical journals, so it was removed. It was stored for several generations in the basement, if you can believe that, and—”
“Where is it now?” The question from the security chief was clipped, and Agnar flinched.
“I—I don’t know, it’s been so long since I’ve…” He frowned, clearly trying to remember, then his face cleared. I expected him to tell us the throne was in the receiving room Williams had mentioned, but he surprised me. “The suite. Has to be—it’s the only reason why I wouldn’t have remembered it.”
“What suite?” the chief growled.
“Mr. Bjornsson’s private quarters.” Agnar was speaking quickly now, his excitement mastering him once again. “I rarely enter those rooms when I visit, but I’m sure—I’m positive that’s where it is. Yes. Come—quickly.”
We exited the overlook in a controlled rush, the men leaving the doors open as we strode across the living room and down a series of broad halls. No one held a gun on either Nikki or me, but there was still a feeling of being herded that I didn’t like. This was supposed to be a negotiation, not a command performance. Of course, if I didn’t find the nails, I was nothing to these people but another flavor of artifact, to be auctioned off to the highest bidder.
Something about that sat wrong with me, beyond my obvious interest in self-preservation. It hadn’t been so long ago that I hadn’t needed to fly so far below the radar. I’d never even hit the radar. In the world of intercontinental Connected static, I was barely a digitized burp. Now I was a hotter commodity than Han Solo. What had changed?
I frowned, trying to work through it. The House of Swords promotion certainly hadn’t hurt my standing, but I didn’t get the feeling I was going to be dangled for ransom. I wouldn’t let the House ransom me anyway, I resolved. There was no way I’d be returned in any shape worth caring about if it came to that. Death would be easier.
There was also my connection to the Council. But anyone who knew about the Council knew better than to try to leverage my return to them. And, arguably, wouldn’t want to risk killing me.
Yet the family Bjornsson did seem to be risking exactly that. A lot.
“Here,” Agnar said triumphantly as we strode into a large antechamber. Two guys in shirts and cargo pants stood on either side of the doors that presumably led to Thor’s bedchamber, both of them with guns parked at their hips.
A thought sprang to mind. A thought Nikki gave voice to immediately.
“You guys stand here like that all the time?” she asked, craning her neck to peer past her closest guard. “You know your boss isn’t here, right?”
The men didn’t respond, but Nikki’s question had served its purpose, opening up the space between her and her entourage. Only a few steps, but those could matter.
Agnar waved the men aside, and we passed them, Nikki eyeing them pointedly. Including these two goons, there were at least six minions, the security chief, and Agnar to get past. Agnar didn’t count for much, but he might be armed. Something to keep in mind.
We stepped inside the master suite. Fortunately, we didn’t have to go all the way to Thor’s actual bed to find the throne we were looking for. It sat in a place of honor to the right of his study, a large upright chair carved out of what looked like granite, not marble, resting on a contrasting stone dais.
“The Gods’ Nails.” The head of security turned to me. “They’re here?”
“That’s right.” I nodded crisply. “It’ll be the work of a half hour to free them, and at that point, I’ll happily buy them from you, wiring the money anywhere in the world you would like. What’s your price?”
Agnar’s eyes lit with excitement, but the chief of security stepped forward.
“I think you misunderstand, Miss Wilde,” he said aggressively.
It wasn’t something I planned to do. The man’s abrupt step, his snide tone, his hard, cold eyes—something here wasn’t right. So when he lifted his gun to point it at me, I could be excused from my immediate knee-jerk reaction.
A ball of fire crackled to life between us.
Chapter Four
For a moment, nobody spoke, nobody moved. The security chief, who’d no doubt seen a few things in his day, nevertheless went white, his entire body stiffening—including his gun hand, which kept his weapon trained on me.
Nikki had shifted forward, easing away from her guards another crucial step, every muscle in her body poised for fight. I suspected that, if things went south, she’d become her usual disarming self and come up with our own guns for use.
But things didn’t have to go south, I decided. I relaxed my mind more, adding to the size of the ball of flame, as I’d done so many times in Armaeus’s penthouse. I wasn’t much on practicing this particular form of illusory magic, because for me, it wasn’t an illusion. The heat rolling off the sphere made my skin feel like it was broiling. Small crackles of flame spit from its center, dropping burning embers onto the carpet. Which began to smoke.
“Enough, enough!” Agnar finally found his words and spluttered them out, his horrified gaze on the carpet as he addr
essed his security chief. “We have the authority to negotiate, agree to terms. There’s no need for violence—put that out!” He said this last part to me as he waved his hands at me, as if he could shoo the ball of flame away.
“Lower the gun,” I said, my voice sounding hard even to my ears. Part of that was anger, certainly. The other part was a bluff, since I didn’t actually know how to make the fireball go poof on its own. Armaeus usually handled that part.
My emotions weren’t helping either. Rather than diminishing, the flame grew in size, now as large as my head. More scattering embers flipped into the carpet, and I held my stance as Agnar started to bleat.
The security chief finally dropped his gun, but only to gesture me toward the hearth. “If you would?” he murmured.
More grateful than I hoped I let on, I moved the fireball away from us—but it still didn’t dissipate entirely. Instead, it took up residence in the fireplace, crackling merrily against the thick stone wall. Show-off.
“Your terms, Miss Wilde?” Agnar asked quickly. I considered him, then smiled as I felt Nikki’s gaze on me.
Unfortunately, I didn’t get a chance to play Price is Right. Beside me, the security chief raised his gun once again. I whirled to stop him but could instantly tell that his pistol was pointed away from both me and Nikki. What was he…?
My momentary hesitation proved fatal. But not to me.
With two quick shots, Agnar crumpled to the floor.
His face was caught in a perfect expression of elegant bemusement, as if he’d just been served the wrong wine with dinner. The execution had been swift and professional, and I barely had time to blink before the security chief turned back to me, making a show of holstering his weapon.
“Mr. Hilmarsson has lost the confidence of our employer,” he said.
I kept my gaze on him, but the man made no more move toward me, the other guards showing no sign of aggression, including Williams. “It would appear so.”
