The elves came to this region just after the Ancients. We’d been banished during the war, and the elves were given a choice—life with the angels, or with us. They chose us, figuring we’d be less likely to interfere with their lives. They were wrong.
Demons weren’t big on traditional education, but history was something every young demon learned. We needed to know of Aaru, of the war, of the unjust way we were treated. Nothing I’d studied had said anything about dwarves and elves sharing territory, but then again, that wasn’t the sort of thing a demon teacher would have bothered with.
The elf whispered a few things under his breath, then held up his hand. A book appeared from nowhere, and he began to leaf through that one.
“Ah yes. There were dwarves here in the early days. Some of them relocated. The rest died out.”
I leaned over the counter. “Is there any mention of an Andvari?”
He shook his head. “No, but the elven histories don’t go into any detail about these particular dwarves—or any dwarves actually. You’ll need to check with them to see if this Andvari is still alive or not.”
My mouth dropped open as I processed what he’d just said. “Two and a half million years ago? You think there might be a dwarf still alive from then?”
I’d always assumed dwarves had life expectancies numbering in the five digits. Either Andvari was long dead, or Terrelle was wrong and he’d perhaps been descended from the dwarves who’d lived here, or he was the Methuselah of the dwarven race.
“I doubt it, but then again I don’t know much about dwarves.” The librarian shut the book and returned it to its place on the shelves with a flick of his wrist.
I got the feeling I was being dismissed. Not that it mattered, because the information I needed wouldn’t be found here. Hopefully it would be found among the dwarves. And I knew the dwarf I was going to visit first.
Oma wasn’t surprised to see me, although she complained for five whole minutes about demons coming and going and eating all her food. Then she set a huge plate of bread, cheese, fruit, and pickled fish in front of me, along with the biggest mug of ale I’d ever seen.
“I’m still not going with you to rob a sorcerer,” she told me. “So if you’re here to pester me about that, then you can leave right now.”
“I’m not here for that,” I said before stuffing one of the pickled fish into my mouth.
“Good. And I’m glad to see that you haven’t been shot again. It seems you’ve been taking my advice to heart.”
I’ll admit I was being more cautious. Me. An imp. But the thought of being stuck in a human prison, or even dying had me concerned. At the end of the day I was pretty sure my impulsive chaotic nature would get me in hot water as it always had, but there was no sense in being even more foolish than I already was.
“I’m actually here looking for a dwarf that most likely lived in the mountains among the Klee—the dark elves, as legend says.”
She shook her head. “Those dwarves left for the western ranges over two million years ago. It’s doubtful any of them are still alive, but if you know their family name, I might be able to tell you who the descendants are.”
Here was the sticky part. “I don’t know his family name. I’ve been told he was a fish shifter.”
“That’s not dwarven magic.” She sat down across from me. “Perhaps he had an amulet that allowed him to change form?”
“Maybe. Or perhaps he was just a good swimmer?”
She laughed. “Now that would be rare. Most of us can tread water and paddle short distances, but we’re not known for have strong swimming abilities.”
“If I knew the dwarven families who’d descended from those who lived in the eastern mountains, maybe I can track down the ones I’m looking for. The original dwarf was named Andvari.”
She frowned, as if trying to remember something, so I went on.
“Legend has it that Andvari was a dwarf who was a fish shifter. He lived among the dark elves and was very rich. He was robbed by Loki who took all his gold and a ring that was spelled to attract wealth.”
“He owned a ring spelled to attract wealth? That he traded an elf for?” she asked.
I shrugged. “I got the feeling he’d spelled it himself, because after it was stolen, he switched the enchantment to a curse.”
She got up and walked to a shelf full of books and knickknacks. “That’s a very specific skill. Any dwarf can enchant metals, but the ability to cast a wealth spell is rare. And the ability to reverse the spell into a curse without even having possession of the ring? I don’t even know how that might have been possible.”
“Could he have put the curse on the ring with a trigger in case it was stolen?” Dwarves were especially paranoid about people stealing stuff from them. I could see someone preemptively cursing an object, with the spell taking effect as soon as someone other than the owner touched it, or put it on or something.
“That was my thought as well.” She pulled a book off the shelf and brought it back to the table. “Let me see if there are any notes in this regarding a wealth ring. If it was stolen, Andvari might have put out a reward for its recovery, as well as the details of the curse so the finder would turn it in for the bounty rather than keep it themselves.”
I ate my cheese, bread, and pickled fish as I watched her page through the book. Finally she pointed at a page, squinting closely at it.
“The Troutswiftsons. It looks like they continued offering a reward for twenty generations.”
“Troutswiftson?” That had to be the weirdest dwarven family name I’d ever heard.
Oma wrinkled her nose. “Those eastern dwarves were odd. It seems this family earned their fortune not only catching, processing and selling fish in Hel, but in the human world as well. Trout and pike were their most popular products.” Oma looked up, a dreamy expression on her face. “Oh, I love trout. I haven’t had it in so long.”
I made a mental note to get Oma some trout. If we could arrange for grocery deliveries and Amazon Prime in Hel, there was no reason I couldn’t get her some fresh fish.
“This curse is very unpleasant,” she went on. “It seems whoever possesses the ring gets ruin and death instead of wealth. The reward offer warns the finder not to wear the ring, and to handle it with gloves on, just to be safe.”
Had I put it on? Again I tried to remember when Lux first brought the rings home, and I stuck one on each finger. Had this ring been one of them? I still couldn’t remember.
“Does the reward notice define ruin and death?” I asked, wondering if the undead rats were just the tip of the curse iceberg.
“No, but let me go back a bit farther now that I know their family name, and see if I can find anything else.”
I drank my beer, then admired the childish artwork I’d carved into her table as she continued to search the book.
With a sigh, she closed it and returned it to the shelf. “Andvari died twelve thousand years after the theft. I could find no details on the specifics of the curse, but I would assume it would follow whoever wore the ring last.”
Which was probably me. Fuck my life.
“Does the curse end when the ring is returned?” I asked.
“Yes, but there’s a bit of a problem in that there are no descendants of Andvari Troutswiftson left alive.”
“No one? Not even a fifth cousin twice removed? Anyone?”
She shook her head. “No. Dwarven genealogy is very thorough. The entire line has died out.”
I stood and started to pace. “Then how do I break this curse?”
Oma chuckled. “I suspected as much. You have the ring. And, of course, you put it on.”
“With my luck? Of course I did—I must have since I’ve got an entire undead army camped out around my house.” I stopped pacing and turned to her. “Please tell me you know of a way to break this curse. Is there a dwarf I can give the ring to, or someone who can reverse the spell?”
She shrugged. “Convince someone more foolish th
an you to put it on?”
It wouldn’t be hard to do that, but Lux would have a fit. Damn it, why couldn’t my adopted kid have been an Angel of Chaos? This would have been so much easier if his moral code was just a little bit more on the flexible side.
“Lux found it in the dirt. Do you think if I bury it, or throw it into the sun, or…”
Her eyebrows rose. “Whoever had it probably died long ago, and the curse went dormant with their death. I’m going to assume it was buried with them, and the curse was reactivated when your son found it and you put it on.”
“How about a sorcerer? Maybe one of them could break the curse?” I thought of Gareth and winced. After throwing my weight around in his office and threatening him, I doubted he’d be at all sympathetic to my plight. And I was sure no amount of money would persuade him to even attempt reversing this curse.
Oma shook her head. “Dwarven magic is unlike elven magic—which is what human magic is based on. A sorcerer might be able to give you something to protect you against the undead, but they wouldn’t be able to reverse the curse.”
“How about a necromancer?” I was grasping at straws here. I didn’t know any necromancers. Wyatt didn’t know any necromancers. For all I knew, it was a completely lost magical art.
The dwarf pursed her lips in thought. “Perhaps. Although their magic is not the same as ours, they have fundamental control over the dead. If the curse is simply raising and sending the dead to attack you, having a necromancer work a counter-spell might do the trick. If there is another component to the curse, such as financial losses or bad luck, those would still remain, though.”
I shoved another pickled fish into my mouth and rose. “Thank you, Oma.”
Dealing with financial loss or bad luck wouldn’t be nearly as horrible as zombies everywhere I went. Fuck, with my weird chaos, bad luck always walked by my side. And although losing money would suck, I’d find a way around that.
I needed to get back home. And then I needed to scour the human world in search of a necromancer.
Chapter 23
I got home to find my house under siege by zombies. This time the rats and other roadkill were substantially outnumbered by human corpses. My horses and the goat were holed up in the stable. Boomer was inside cowering under the dining room table. Lux was peering worriedly out the front window. Nyalla, on the other hand, was entertaining. Standing next to her by the French doors looking out at my pool patio was a woman with short, bright green and blue hair, and an old guy who looked like he’d just come inside from gardening. I assumed they had something to do with Amber’s wedding, although I couldn’t understand why Nyalla would have invited them to meet here and have to run the gauntlet through a zombie apocalypse when she could have asked them to join her at the nearest Panera instead.
“Most unfortunate,” the man said as if he were looking at sub-par rose blooms instead of zombies dragging themselves around my patio.
“Sam!” Nyalla turned around with a smile. “I’m glad you’re back. This is Tamika Pickens. She’s a paranormal investigator.”
The woman with the cap of mermaid curls came up and shook my hand. “Sorry there wasn’t anything I could do. Ghosts are more my thing. Have you tried bashing in their brains?”
“I’ve been doing that, but more just keep coming,” I told her. Nyalla had been busy, and I was thrilled she’d made the effort to assist with my undead problem, even if the Scooby crew couldn’t help.
“And this is George.” Nyalla did the Vanna White thing toward the gardener. “He’s a necromancer.”
My brain did that screechy noise. “A necromancer?”
Nyalla was friends with a necromancer? How the fuck did I not know that? I eyed the man, thinking he didn’t exactly look like the sort of guy who’d be in Nyalla’s social group. Maybe she’d found him on the internet? I should have Googled necromancers after that first dead rat showed up at my door. I sprang forward to shake the man’s dirt-smudged hand, then asked the most important question of the decade.
“Can you resurrect Elvis? I’m marrying the Archangel Michael in Vegas and we’d really like the real thing to officiate instead of an impersonator. Except we’d like him to look like Elvis and not like a corpse that’s been in the ground for decades, so maybe resurrect him back to 1977. Actually, can you resurrect him back to 1960 when he was really hot?”
He shook my hand. “Satan…you’re not quite what I expected.”
I waved away the compliment. “Now, about Elvis —”
“As Nyalla can attest, resurrection is a very difficult process, fraught with disastrous consequences if the slightest part of the ritual is off.”
I shrugged. “I’ll take my chances. Elvis—”
“Elvis has been dead for too long.” His expression was stern. “You’re better off with an impersonator than a skeleton that lacks the vocal cords to speak, let alone sing.”
“Fuck.” I sighed in disappointment. “I was really hoping for the real Elvis at my wedding.”
“Weren’t we all,” the man drawled. “Now, let’s return to the immediate problem of undead surrounding your house and attacking the residents. Have you been able to locate the person who cast the curse?”
I shook my head. “He’s been dead for millions of years. He didn’t curse me specifically, but a ring. So far I haven’t been able to find a way to break it.”
“Ah. Unfortunate indeed.” He walked back over to the French doors and looked out.
“Can you break the curse?” I asked hopefully, digging the ring out of my pocket and extending it to him.
He held up a hand and backed a few steps away from the ring. “Charms and curses are not part of my skill set. I can provide a barrier along your driveway and entrances so that you and others can come and go without being attacked, but that’s all I can do. From what I can see, this problem is only going to get worse. I suggest finding a descendant of the original mage, or possibly one of their students, because ending the curse is the only way to truly stop this.”
Fuck. “I appreciate any help you can provide,” I told him, thinking that at least the pizza delivery people wouldn’t cut me off, and I wouldn’t need to worry about Nyalla being bitten every time she tried to leave the house.
He turned to Nyalla. “I’ll put something temporary in place, but I’ll need to come back in a few days. Until then, make sure you have a weapon with you when you come and go. And tell that little boy I’m so sorry this is happening to him.”
I frowned. “What little boy?”
“The cursed angel,” Tamika chimed in. “He’s a cute little fella, too.”
I swear my heart stopped in my chest. “Lux? He’s not the one who’s cursed. I’m the one who’s cursed. He stole the rings, but I think I put the cursed one on…”
Damn it. He’d giggled and tried some on as well. Suddenly it all made sense as to why the zombies were mostly around the house, and why they’d only started showing up elsewhere when Lux had been with me, even momentarily. Me being cursed I could deal with, but my little angel? That moved this whole thing from a pain-in-the-ass inconvenience to an emergency.
“He’s the one that’s cursed.” George gave me a sad smile and headed toward the front door with Tamika at his heels. “I’m sure you’ll find a way to break it. I hope so, anyway. Angels are practically immortal and it would be horrible for that little guy to have to deal with zombies attacking him for billions of years.”
That was not going to happen. I glanced helplessly outside at the shambling rats, rotted people, and road kill, and felt a surge of anxiety. I couldn’t let this go on. I couldn’t let poor Lux spend his life like this. I had to do something. I had to find someone to break the curse.
Chapter 24
Gregory’s arms came around me and he kissed my cheek. “How was your day?”
“Oh, just fucking lovely. One of the rings Lux picked up is cursed, and that’s why I’ve got the entire cast of Walking Dead extras outside my house. Worse, zo
mbie shit is now starting to appear wherever he…I mean, wherever I go. I can’t return the ring to the fucker who cursed it because he died over two million years ago and doesn’t have one descendant left to break the curse. Nyalla managed to find a necromancer but all he can do is pop by every week or so and basically do the pest exterminator version of a whole-house bug spray. I’m gonna have to fucking deal with this shit for the rest of my life.”
“A necromancer? Can he resurrect Elvis?”
This angel clearly knew what was important. “No. He says Elvis has been dead too long, so we’re out of luck there.”
“Well, can he at least keep the zombies out of your pool?” Gregory honed right in on one of the few good things that had come out of today’s events.
“That’s something the necromancer can do as well as keep them away from the entrances and the driveway. Although he did say drowning them would be an effective control technique. I considered it for all of five seconds, but I like swimming in my pool too much to use it to drown zombies.”
“Understandable.”
I felt his chest shake with laughter and turned to swat him. “It’s not funny. Well, the dead guy crawling out of the casket at the graveside funeral was funny, but the rest of it isn’t. The necromancer isn’t sure he can keep up the protection zones forever. If I can’t find a way to end this curse, I’m going to wind up having to deal with zombies everywhere. No one is going to want to ever deliver food to our house again. I’ll bet we won’t even be able to get package delivery or mail service.” I frowned. “Maybe I’ll have all my mail forwarded to Wyatt’s house. The zombies seem to stay away from his place, probably because he’s gotten quite the reputation for killing the undead in his video games.”
“You’ll be fine.” He kissed my forehead. “I love you, Cockroach.”
“Yeah, I love you too,” I said with far less enthusiasm than usual. “It gets worse.”
“Worse than a cursed ring and zombies following you everywhere?”
With This Ring: Imp Series, Book 11 Page 23
