The Black Pool (Valhalla Book 3)

by Jennifer Willis

  Sally laughed. “That phrase from Hamlet you’re always quoting at me?”

  Clare nodded glumly. “There are more things in heaven and earth than are dreamt of in your philosophy.”

  “That’s the one.”

  Clare stared down into her chowder. “All this time, I’ve been waving my wand and telling you how to do real magick . . .”

  Sally took a sip of her tea. “Pretty much, yeah.”

  Clare sank back against the curved wooden bench that formed their corner booth. “I feel like a jack-ass.”

  “I’ve been there,” Sally offered with a smile. “You get over it.” Sally rested her teacup in its saucer and picked up her soup spoon. “So. Tell me.”

  Clare straightened her spine against the back of her chair. “Yeah, okay.” She took a deep breath. “So, I wanted to do something nice for you. For both of us.” She glanced sideways at Sally. “I could tell you it’s because you’ve been so nice, and so tolerant of . . . well, all my stuff.”

  Sally scooped up a sticky spoonful of the thick chowder and nodded at Clare to continue.

  Clare dunked more bread in her soup bowl. “But I was just trying to show off.”

  Clare swallowed her chowder-soaked bread. Sally sipped her tea and waited.

  “So I’d gone before to Dublin Castle to sort of introduce myself to the local energies? I read that in a book, that you’re supposed to do that.”

  Sally nodded.

  “Well . . .” Clare emptied a sugar packet into her cup and poured more dark tea from her small pot. “Then I got that special talisman at the marketplace, so tonight I was working a real spell—”

  “What kind of talisman?” Sally cut her off. “And why go back to Dublin Castle instead of staying in the apartment?”

  Clare looked at Sally. “Well, of course I’d go there. Why wouldn’t I?”

  Sally didn’t answer.

  “Oh, man. You mean, you don’t know?” A slight smile played at the corners of Clare’s mouth. Sally could tell her roommate enjoyed knowing something that she didn’t. “You know the history of the city, right?”

  Sally hesitated. Maybe she should have paid more attention to Freya. “I know it was founded by the Vikings.”

  “So then you know about the Black Pool.” Clare watched Sally’s face.

  Sally shook her head and sipped her tea. She looked down at the table.

  Her features brightening, Clare turned in her seat to face Sally directly. “Okay, so the Vikings set up their settlement at the confluence of the Poddle and Liffey Rivers, where there was kind of a lake. They called the place Dubh Linn.” Clare slurped down some tea. “It means Black Pool.”

  Sally ate more of her chowder. “Let me guess: The grassy area you’re so hot for at Dublin Castle is what used to be this pool.”

  Clare nodded with enthusiasm. “That whole garden area is actually sitting on top of it. They filled it in in the 1700s. I guess they needed the space.”

  Sally kept eating. Clare had been trying to tap into the source of the country’s magick by going to Dublin’s literal starting point. It actually made sense. Sally wondered how much information she could find online in a hurry, in an attempt to get a couple of steps ahead of her roommate—or if that would even do any good.

  “So I figured, what better place to work some magick and connect with the locals, you know?” Clare said.

  Sally swallowed the last of her fish-and-potato chowder and rested her hands on the wobbly table. “Any specific locals?”

  Clare stirred more sugar into her tea. “Just some I looked up.”

  “How much research did you do?”

  Clare emptied another sugar packet into her cup. “Enough.”

  Sally wrapped her hands around her own teacup. “Listen, Clare, I know something about this kind of stuff—thinking you know everything you need to know, and then it all blows up in your face.”

  Clare looked at Sally. “Like what?”

  Oh, you know, Sally thought. Calling up Berserkers by accident, unintentionally joining the wrong side of a battle for the Cosmos, almost brining about Ragnarok single-handedly . . .

  “Some other time,” Sally said. “You still haven’t told me what you were after.”

  “I thought it would be fun to have some faerie friends.”

  Sally nearly choked on her tea. “What?”

  Clare shrugged. “Some pixies or something to sing to us and help with the housekeeping.”

  Sally’s mouth twisted into an incredulous smile. “So this was all about a magickal feather duster?”

  “It’s not silly.”

  Sally shook her head. “You’re right. It’s not. Particularly if you were trying to force your own will onto some other creature to get it to do your bidding. I want to see that talisman.”

  Clare pulled the object out of her bag and rested it in her lap. “I guess I didn’t think of it that way.”

  “Well, you’d better start,” Sally replied. “What if I put a spell on you to go on a date with someone you don’t like?”

  “Okay. I get it.”

  Sally lifted her teapot and refilled her cup. “Aren’t pixies the mischievous ones?”

  Clare looked up at the ceiling. “I keep getting them confused.”

  “You have to be sure about these things, Clare! Now, show me the talisman.”

  Clare placed the object on the table and pushed it toward Sally. “The guy said it’s made with real faerie wings! So I can commit to my magick and to help me make a real connection with the Little People here.”

  Sally glanced at Clare. “I think ‘Little People’ refers to human dwarves.”

  “Okay, so the Gentle People, or whatever they’re called,” Clare sighed with exaggerated exasperation. “He said it was authentic. It cost a lot.”

  Sally stared down at the talisman. A bit of rough twine tied a blue-green feather to a fragile orange-and-black wing the size of Sally’s palm. Tiny, dried wildflowers were caught in the binding, along with some dried grass. A woven cotton pouch had been bound up tight and attached to the talisman with a piece of silver string.

  “I think you’ve been had, Clare,” Sally said with relief. “This is a butterfly wing.” She ran her finger along the black edge. “And probably an artificial one. The feather looks dyed, too, in case he told you it was from some mythical bird.”

  “A baby phoenix.” Clare sniffed back embarrassed tears.

  Sally rested a hand on her friend’s shoulder. “This is probably a good thing. Think of what your spell might have done if the talisman had been what he said it was.”

  “So all of that mist . . . ?”

  Sally laughed and rested back in her chair. “Just a coincidence. Look, next week we’ll go to the marketplace and get your money back.” Sally started to push the talisman back to Clare, but she froze as her fingers brushed its cloth pouch. The thrill of magick danced across her palm and ran up her arm. Sally snatched her hand away.

  “Clare, what did the vendor tell you was in the pouch?”

  Clare picked up the talisman and shoved it back into her bag with considerably less care than she’d shown before. “Enchanted herbs,” she said with disdain. “Probably just some parsley.”

  Sally shivered.

  “I’m disappointed, but maybe you’re right.” Clare giggled. “If things really can go wrong . . . I just always thought good intentions would kind of supersede any mistakes. That’s what the books always say.”

  Sally thought back to the missing pages from her copy of Stuart Kleinhaber’s Rhythms of the Runes and how they’d cost her her own youth—not to mention the whole unexpected Berserker thing—and she wondered just what kind of texts Clare had been consulting. If a diligently researched treatise on divination had been instrumental in nearly bringing Odin to his knees, what chaos might result from Clare’s fluffy bunny books?

  “Maybe we should get you some better books,” Sally muttered. She stared at Clare’s bag and puzzled over the talisma
n inside.

  Clare ate large spoonfuls of soup as she prattled on. “So you know real magick! Will you teach me? What do you want to do for Samhain?”

  Sally was too distracted by the possibly not-so-fake faerie charm to cringe at Clare’s continued mispronunciation. Should she call Frigga, or send a note to Heimdall? Probably Freya would know best, but Sally wondered if there was still that weird tension between the Vanir twins and the rest of Odin’s Lodge she’d seen before she left.

  Clare paused long enough to swallow. “I still think it could be fun to make friends with some pixies or sprites or whatever. Especially if they could help with the housework.”

  Clare patted the top of the table in excitement. “We should go visit the faerie mounds! You know, those old earthworks all around the country? I mean, if you want to. Can you see faeries, Sally? Sally?”

  Sally blinked back into focus. She rested her hands in her lap and turned to face her roommate.

  “I want you to tell me everything you’ve done with that talisman, from the moment you first touched it.”

  Clare laughed. “I thought you said not to worry about it.”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  Clare dug the talisman out of her bag again and dropped it on the table. “You’re really confusing me, you know? First you say magick is dangerous. Then you tell me it’s no big deal, and now you’re getting all serious and gloomy again.”

  Sally’s attention was drawn by the glint of three tiny lights dancing just outside the barrier Sally had conjured around the table—the same sparks she’d seen outside the castle.

  “Those are no fireflies,” Sally muttered.

  Clare frowned. “What are you talking about?”

  Sally balled her delicate hands into fists. “And they’ve heard every word we’ve said.”

  “Absolutely not!”

  Odin’s bellow rattled the glass in the den’s picture windows, and Freya felt his angry words reverberate in her rib cage.

  “Just hear her out,” Heimdall suggested.

  Frigga sat beside her husband and ran tense fingers over her short, black hair.

  “This was settled ages ago,” Odin replied angrily. “The terms were explicit. The hostage exchange is permanent, not just until one of the hostages gets homesick.”

  Freyr leapt up from the sofa where he had been sitting next to his sister. “We’re trying to help here, if you would just listen—”

  “How do we know this isn’t a trick?” Thor eyed Freyr. He wiped a thick hand across his greasy lips and gave an impressive belch. Family crisis or not, nothing could keep him from enjoying the feast. He growled as he swallowed a mouthful of bratwurst.

  “Yeah, that’s exactly it.” Freyr stomped across the hardwood floor to stand over Thor. “My sister and I, in some deeply devious plot, convinced our people to go to war against the Æsir for freaking centuries, and then had them agree to this nefarious peace plan that would get us traded to you guys as permanent hostages, away from our own kin, so we could lie in wait for I don’t even know how many more centuries, all so we could one day rise up—just the two of us—and say, ‘Hey, you know what? I think we need to go fix something for you.’”

  Freyr took a deep breath. “Because Freya and I are just plain evil that way!” he bellowed.

  The nature god’s tirade sent Baron the cat leaping off of Freya’s lap and scurrying through the open door to the outside deck. Sally’s cat was living at the Lodge while his mistress was overseas, and the rotund feline had taken quite a liking to Heimdall’s wolf-dog, Laika. In an attempt to regain some of his dignity after his fearful retreat, the cat settled between Laika’s forepaws on the deck and set about cleaning himself.

  Thor stared up at Freyr and chewed thoughtfully. Finally, Thor swallowed and shook his head. “Nice try. But my money’s on Loki.”

  Exasperated, Freyr walked back to the sofa and sank down into the cushions next to his sister.

  “There was a reason banishment was written into our peace agreement.” Odin leaned forward on the black leather sofa opposite Freya and Freyr. “I do not question your motives, young ones. You are as much a part of this Lodge, as much a part of this family, as my own children.”

  Freya braced herself for the qualifier that was sure to follow.

  “I cannot release you to go, but I do need to know why you make this request.”

  Freya scooted to the edge of the sofa. “All I can tell you is that something very bad is going to happen. Very soon.” She glanced at each of her Æsir kin—Odin, Frigga, Heimdall, Saga, and Thor. “You know I am not an alarmist. I wouldn’t bring this to you unless I gauged the danger to be real.”

  She looked at her brother. He was grinding his teeth and scowling.

  “Something dark, that has been buried for a very long time, is stirring.” Freya brushed tears from the corners of her eyes. “I’m concerned for the lasting peace between our peoples.” She cleared her throat and looked at Odin directly. “And for the safety of the Moon Witch.”

  Frigga perked up at the mention of Sally. She opened her mouth to speak, but Thor lifted a hand to silence his mother.

  “There’s something you’re not telling us.” Thor eyed Freya with suspicion.

  Freya grabbed her brother’s elbow before he could erupt again.

  “You’ll have to trust me on this,” she said to Thor.

  Heimdall rested his dinner plate on the stone ledge that bounded the room’s central fire pit. Frigga looked at his untouched food and sighed.

  “Freya has been a worthy kinswoman.” Heimdall glared a challenge at his brother, but Thor just dug into another bratwurst.

  “If she says this needs her attention, then I believe her,” Heimdall continued. “I will travel to Vanaheim with the twins.”

  “Me, too!” Saga broke in, swallowing a mouthful of potatoes. “I want to go.”

  Odin gave his youngest child a sideways glance.

  “I really need a vacation.” Saga slid back into the sofa cushions. Her gaze fell on Thor. “Do you have to come into the bookstore to see your girlfriend every single day? It’s icky having to watch my manager get all gooey smooching with you all the time. It’s impossible to work with her afterwards.”

  A slow smile spread across Thor’s face, and his cheeks flushed pink. “She’s really like that after I leave?”

  The perpetual teenager crossed her arms over her chest. “Forget I said anything.” Saga looked again at her parents. “Except the part about the vacation. Please let me go with Heimdall.”

  “You’ve already taken quite a bit of time off from work this year,” Frigga reminded her. “With the Late Medieval History Convention, and all of the American Civil War re-enactments you’ve developed such a penchant for. Those activities don’t pay for themselves.”

  “I’ll work extra shifts when I get back,” Saga protested. “Seriously, you don’t know what it’s like. I don’t want to have to transfer to another department.”

  “If anyone is to go, it will be Heimdall and Thor.” Odin said. “I will not put more of my children in harm’s way unnecessarily.”

  “But you can’t send them in without us!” Freyr objected. “They won’t understand what they’re dealing with, and you know no Æsir can set foot in Vanaheim without violating the treaty—”

  Freya tapped her brother on the elbow, urging him to be silent. Odin didn’t appear to notice.

  “They will be your escorts,” Odin replied.

  “To keep an eye on you,” Thor interjected.

  “To protect you,” Odin corrected. “And to protect the treaty between the Æsir and the Vanir.”

  Freya drank from her stein of hard cider left over from the last harvest of Iduna’s immortality-sustaining apples. Freyr leaned close to her.

  “It’s about the best we can hope for,” he whispered. Freya nodded and drank down her cider.

  “I’ll look into the travel arrangements,” Heimdall announced.

  Freyr pi
cked up his dinner plate. Frigga lifted her eyebrows in approval as he dug into a mound of roasted cabbage.

  “Any unexpected expenses have to be run through your mother and me. Understood?” Odin waved a stern finger in his Heimdall’s face.

  “I’m telling you, it wasn’t us!” Thor belched. “It was those bloody Køjer Devils. Tore apart the rental house and the Vanagons.”

  “I don’t care who did what,” Odin growled low in his throat. “We’re still paying off the damage.”

  Odin glanced between Thor and Heimdall, then adjusted the leather patch that covered his right eyelid.

  Thor and Heimdall locked eyes across the fire, each daring the other to object. Finally they both shrank back, shoulders slumped. “Understood,” the brothers responded in unison.

  “The sooner we can leave, the better,” Freya cut in.

  “I’ll email Sally to let her know to expect you,” Frigga said. “Though I won’t mention these premonitions of Freya’s. I think we’ve put the Moon Witch through quite enough of late.”

  A hush fell over the room as Maggie entered the den from the hallway. Rod, Frigga’s human handyman, followed close behind.

  Maggie offered a light smile as her eyes met Heimdall’s, and he responded with a polite nod. Without a word, Maggie turned toward the kitchen and started filling an empty plate with crusty rolls, roasted meat, braised turnips, and samplings from several different casseroles.

  “See?” Saga sighed at Thor. “Why can’t you and Bonnie be more like Heimdall and Maggie? You don’t see them climbing all over each other all the time. They understand how to restrain themselves.”

  Thor shook his head and lowered his voice. “Careful there,” he warned Saga.

  Frigga smiled up at her handyman. “How’s it coming, Rod?”

  Rod picked a stray piece of dirt from beneath his immaculate fingernails. His biceps strained against the fabric of his flannel shirt. “About as well as can be expected.” He paused, then smiled awkwardly. “No pun intended.”

  Freyr laughed politely between bites of buttered bread.

  “I’ve never constructed a well before, especially not without any professional dowsing.” He glanced at Maggie in the kitchen. “But she seemed to know just where to drill.”