The Black Pool (Valhalla Book 3)

by Jennifer Willis

  “And why does he get the seat with the best view?” Clare pointed at Phelan, whose sudden presence in the group no one had even attempted to explain to the tourists. “He’s seen it all already.”

  Still cramped at the back, Thor leaned forward and rested a meaty handy on her shoulder. “I want you to sit there and shut up. I’m not telling you again.” He had no patience for teen angst or drama even when he wasn’t trying to avert all-out war between immortals.

  To Sally’s amazement, Clare complied. It was the calmest ten minutes anyone had had all day.

  When the group stepped out of the van outside the Gresham Hotel, Thor’s jaw dropped.

  Every single window in the building’s classical façade had been blown out, and chunks of stone had been chiseled away. Screaming guests covered in noodles, bits of egg, and an impressive variety of condiments ran out of the building after what looked like a massive food fight. Their clothing was soaked through with what Thor hoped was beer and soup.

  But just as many people were running toward the hotel, seeking shelter from the mayhem on O’Connell Street.

  Eamon hurried Eva and Frederick back into the van, then turned to Thor. “You think you can handle this?”

  Thor gave him a curt nod. “Get them to safety.”

  Just before Eamon reached for the sliding door, Thor lunged into the van and pulled Phelan out of the vehicle. “No, you don’t. You’re with us.”

  Eamon pulled the door shut and ordered Eddie to drive on.

  The Red Top Tours van was swallowed by the traffic moving in fits and starts. The traffic signals’ multi-colored blinking lights had turned the entire street into a motorized disco, and a troupe of winged elves were lined up on the pedestrian islands doing a wild, shrieking rendition of the River Dance.

  Some pedestrians stood gawking on the pavement and snapped photos of the dancing faeries. Others looked on with expressions somewhere between awe and horror. Those who tried to weave their way up or down the street had to dodge merchandise being hurled out through retail windows by unseen hands. A young man covered in lacy brassieres dashed by Sally as he headed north on O’Connell. He was followed closely by a woman shrieking and holding her hands to her face as she ran. Her hair was dusted with shattered glass, and Sally could see blood dripping down through her fingers.

  Clare rested her hands on her hips as she surveyed the scene. She exclaimed with delight at the elven river dancers. “This is what I call a real Ireland experience!”

  “We must no longer assume the average human can’t see the faeries,” said Freyr, standing next to Thor. “The question is, where to begin?”

  A loud explosion boomed from inside the hotel. Pulling Phelan along by the back of his dark shirt, Thor moved toward the front entrance. “We start by saving what people we can.”

  Freyr grabbed the big god’s arm and tried holding him back, but succeeded only in being dragged along with him and Phelan.

  “We don’t know what’s happening in there!” Freyr shouted above the rumbling barrage that erupted from the Post Office across the street. “We need a safe quiet location to decide on some kind of strategy.”

  Thor turned sharply to Freyr and growled. “I know exactly what I’m facing, cousin. Too many of your kind up to no good.”

  Thor tried to shake him off, but Freyr held on tighter—and Phelan nearly lost his footing.

  “If you gents don’t mind, I can just be running along now.” The pooka flashed an obsequious smile.

  Thor yanked on Phelan’s shirt and pulled the pooka to his feet. “Not a chance.”

  Freyr gestured toward the dancing faeries. “They’re under the influence of Badbh! We don’t know what mission she’s set them on.”

  Thor pushed forward, but Freyr got his legs deliberately tangled up in Thor’s stride and stopped the thunder god in his tracks. Phelan went down on his knees, but Thor yanked him back up again.

  Narrowly missing being decapitated by a flying mirror, Heimdall sprinted toward the others outside the hotel. Niall and Freya arrived a second behind him.

  “Wait!” Heimdall yelled at Thor and Freyr.

  Thor took a deep breath and balled his free hand into a fist. “The people are innocent!”

  “If we just go charging in there, we might be putting them all in even greater danger!” Freyr shouted.

  Still catching her breath, Freya nodded to the O’Connell Bridge at the end of the street. “I think I know what they’re after.”

  She pointed at the smoky figure of a woman in dark robes standing on the bridge. Long, silver-streaked black hair streamed out behind her, and her robes rustled in the breeze. She spread her arms wide as she faced the chaos of the street.

  “Is that . . . ?” Thor asked.

  “It’s her specter,” Freya replied. “A projection.”

  “That’s a neat trick,” Heimdall said.

  Badbh’s eyes glowed silver as she opened her mouth. “COME!” Her dark voice echoed off of every building and rattled the vehicles on the street.

  “Oh, cripes.” Niall shuddered. Beside him, Clare clapped her hands in glee.

  “I told you I know how to invoke the goddess.” She turned to Sally with a condescending smirk.

  Sally grabbed Clare’s arm. “If you really are responsible for all of this, I don’t think it’s a good idea to go bragging about it.”

  “COME!” Badbh’s shadow called again.

  “I really do believe that I’d prefer to be on my way now, if it’s all right with you.” Phelan tried to edge away from Thor, but the big god had a firm grasp on the back of his shirt.

  Creatures Sally had seen only in fantasy picture books poured out of the hotel and the shops that lined the street. Short, bearded men with rounded bellies crawled through metal gratings in the pavement. Lithe, winged beings floated down from the surrounding trees. Long-legged, leafy creatures in green, red, and yellow uprooted themselves from flower beds. Not a single one of them was more than three-feet tall.

  “Why are they all so short?” Sally whispered to Freya. “You and Freyr aren’t so little. And you don’t have wings or pointed ears, either.”

  “We conformed to the appearance of the Æsir when we went to live with them,” Freya replied as a pair of thin girls with green skin and short, diaphanous gowns strolled past.

  “Many of the Vanir—the Tuatha de Danann—enjoy the same stature as you and I do,” Freya continued. “After the war, and after my kin so foolishly slew the Æsir hostages, they were driven underground by invading human armies . . .”

  Freya’s voice trailed off as she stared at the dark figure on the bridge. “I know what she’s up to.”

  “COME!” Badbh called a third time.

  Freyr took a step forward, but Freya grabbed his arm and held him in place.

  “Don’t you dare,” Thor barked at him. He pulled Phelan closer to prevent the pooka from trying to sneak off as well.

  “No, I wasn’t . . .” Freyr protested, then fell silent. His eyes were locked on his grandmother’s specter. She lifted her arms and seemed to reach directly for him even from blocks away.

  Heimdall stepped in front of Freyr and broke the line of sight. “Listen to me!” he shouted. “She has no hold over you that you don’t freely give.”

  Freyr shook himself out of his daze. “I think you all should get me out of here. Right now.”

  Thor wrapped his free arm around Freyr and hustled him through the shattered front doors of the Gresham Hotel, with Phelan being pulled along behind. The lobby was empty of humans and faeries alike. Small tea tables and elegantly upholstered chairs had been overturned and were strewn across the marble entryway and carpeted floors of the adjacent lounges.

  A solitary figure stood in the right-hand parlor with his back to the hotel’s grand entry way.

  Thor took one look at the man’s short, slender frame and shoulder-length black hair streaked with silver, and he erupted in a snarl that echoed off the high ceiling. “No!”
<
br />   Loki turned and offered a warm smile. “A pleasure to see you again as well.”

  Thor let go of both Freyr and Phelan as he pointed an accusing finger at Loki. “You’re the one responsible for all of this? I could have been at a fondue party with my girlfriend right now!”

  Caught between Thor and Loki, Phelan scrambled out the way and sought safety behind Heimdall.

  Recovered from his shock of moments before, Freyr tried hard not to crack a smile. “I’m not sure a pot of melted cheese really compares, cousin.”

  Thor cut his eyes at Freyr. “You’ve obviously never had Bonnie’s fondue.”

  Sally stumbled into the lobby from outside and pushed past Thor. “Thank goodness you’re here!” She rushed toward Loki and gave him a warm hug. “With all of the chaos, I almost forgot that you were coming.”

  Thor narrowed his eyes at Sally. “You’re saying you invited him?”

  “Well, yeah.” Sally said. “I emailed him about the weird stuff happening here, when it first started. You know, to ask his advice.”

  Thor’s jaw clenched tight. “You’re telling me that at the first sign of trouble, you elected to contact Loki? Not a representative of Odin’s Lodge?”

  Loki raised his hand. “Actually, I am kin to you, as you’ll recall.”

  Entering the building long after the others, Freya gasped at the sight of Loki. Then she smiled.

  “Uncle,” she said. “You are most welcome. When did you arrive?”

  “I got in last night.” Loki looked at Sally. “It was fairly late, and I didn’t want to disturb you. I did come to your campus apartment this morning.”

  Sally shrugged. “Sorry about that. We had kind of a change in plans.”

  “And some unwelcome pixie house guests, from what I saw.” Loki smiled.

  Thor took a step forward. “I thought the god of chaos couldn’t fly. Unless he’s unconscious and being transported by Frost Giants.”

  “What do you call it? My ambient death ray of chaos?” Loki mused with raised eyebrows. “It’s not quite as uncontrollable as it used to be.”

  “He’s been curling in Norway,” Sally said.

  “And keeping an eye on the Frost Giants,” Loki added. “They’re almost as much fun as I remembered from before the war.”

  “You know, curling?” Sally continued. “Like shuffleboard on ice?”

  “I know what curling is,” Thor grumbled.

  “It’s done wonders for focusing my particular talents.” Loki grinned at Thor. “It takes practice not to melt the ice.”

  “Did you take a boat?” Thor’s tone was raw accusation.

  Loki sighed and looked down at the floor. “How many times do I have to reassure you that I had nothing to do with either the Titanic or the Lusitania?”

  Thor eyed Loki carefully. “The jury’s still out.”

  “It really isn’t,” Freyr offered. Thor turned to him and growled a string of unintelligible syllables.

  Phelan peeked out from behind Heimdall to see what was happening. Thor grabbed the pooka by the collar and dragged him toward Loki.

  “You say you’re not involved? This one here turns into an ugly black dog.”

  “Take it easy on the ugly bit,” Heimdall suggested.

  “Just like the Wargs,” Thor continued. “You’ve gotten the locals riled up and their queen coming up out of the dirt, just so your pooka cousins can have dominion over Ireland.”

  “That’s really not—” Loki began, but Thor cut him off.

  “You probably packed Fenrir in your suitcase!” Thor’s voice rattled the crystal chandelier above his head.

  Phelan tried to ease his way out of Thor’s grip, to no avail. “For what it’s worth, this ugly dog doesn’t know what you’re talking about. And please mind the shirt, if you will. I’m rather fond of it and would hate to have it ripped.”

  Loki stood silent for a moment. “Thor, you’re my kinsman,” Loki said in an even tone. “But you do jump to the most outrageous conclusions. You naturally assume I’m at the very center of whatever nefarious plot you come across.”

  “And one of these days, I’m going to be right!” Thor bellowed, then loosed Phelan. The pooka fell to his knees on the floor.

  Phelan straightened his collar. “Cheers.”

  “So. Badbh,” Loki said pleasantly. “I see you’re having some trouble with the guardian of the cauldron of death and rebirth.” Loki gestured toward Freya and Freyr. “Your grandmother, as I recall?”

  Freyr glanced warily at Thor. “It’s kind of a sore subject.”

  “It’s been a long time since the Tuatha de Danann were out in such force,” Loki commented. “I imagine there’s a good deal of pent-up energy there just begging to be released.”

  Thor snorted. “Tell us something we don’t know.”

  “All right,” Loki turned to him. “But I don’t think you’re going to like it.”

  While Thor’s complexion turned redder by the second, Heimdall walked across the marble floor to the tea lounge, righted one of the upholstered chairs, and gestured for Loki to have a seat. “Tell us.”

  The others moved toward the sitting parlor and found chairs for themselves. Phelan watched them for a moment, then climbed up off the floor and made a break for the door.

  “Where do you think you’re going?” Thor shouted.

  Phelan slunk away from the main doors and joined the party in the disordered parlor. Loki gestured for him to sit down. Thor eyed the pooka.

  “Whatever you have to say, do it quickly,” Heimdall said.

  “Right to the point,” Loki replied. “Not quite my style, but I’ll play along. There is a way to drive Badbh back underground without further immediate incident.”

  Heimdall scooted to the front edge of his chair. “So she can be defeated?”

  “I didn’t say that,” Loki replied.

  An explosive ruckus sounded outside, followed by a chorus of human shrieking and inhuman laughter.

  “Could we move this along, please?” Thor said. He looked at Heimdall and sighed. “I’ll try to control my temper. I promise.”

  Loki looked pointedly at Freya. “There’s no way a piece of local stone was going to make Sally’s magick blend in with the indigenous energies.” He glanced at the Connemara marble ring on Sally’s hand. “Though it is a lovely piece.”

  Loki next turned to Phelan. “And you should have been more careful in passing along the eye. What if you had handed it to Sally herself?”

  “What eye?” Sally asked.

  “There was a natrolite stone in the talisman’s pouch,” Freya said. “One of the eyes in the eel cuff Badbh wore on her wrist.”

  “For the love of Danu!” Freyr roared. He stood over Phelan and glowered down at him. “And just what would you be doing with anything belonging to Badbh?”

  Phelan trembled in Freyr’s shadow. He looked to Loki for help.

  “Well, the simple explanation is that I gave it to him,” Loki said.

  “YOU WHAT?!” Thor stormed up from his chair and moved toward Loki with his meaty hands reaching for the smaller god’s throat.

  Heimdall leapt to his feet and tried to keep his brother from strangling Loki, while Freyr stalked off to one corner of the lounge and kicked at the wall.

  Sally looked around the parlor and back at the lobby. “Wait a second. Has anyone seen Clare?”

  11

  Badbh blinked her long, black lashes at the gentle rain and low-hanging clouds. From the look of the day and the feel of the energies beneath her feet, she guessed autumn was coming to a close, with Samhain fast approaching.

  She smiled.

  That the Black Pool was no longer a proper well was a minor complication.

  “Don’t get too comfortable,” she whispered to the lights in the windows of the stone and glass buildings that surrounded her cauldron.

  Unchecked, the human population had swollen to an unmanageable size. They had paved over sacred land, built too many bridges,
and contaminated the waters. Even air that should have been tinged with mist and magick had been sullied by chemicals and soot.

  But her people were rising again. These things would be set to rights.

  Badbh herself had stilled the cauldron of rebirth to satisfy the peace treaty. Her grandchildren’s sacrifice had bought the freedom of the Tuatha de Danann, at least for a time.

  At first, she had lain in the bowl of her empty cauldron and listened to the voices of her kin as they went about their lives and adjusted to the changing world. The sprites used to come to the edge of the Black Pool’s waters to sing to Badbh and give her news of her people. Their songs had faded to a thin trickle, and then disappeared altogether.

  Badbh had drifted into a deeper slumber than she had ever known. Even now, standing in the thick grass at the center of what had been her sacred pool, Badbh wondered if she had, at least for a time, even ceased to exist.

  She couldn’t say how long she had slumbered—she would be sleeping still if Asgard has kept to itself.

  And she would not have seen what had become of her beloved Éireann.

  Badbh called out to her kin, again and again. She could feel them in the city outside these ugly walls. But what kept them from coming to her?

  A creature with dark red hair approached from beyond the garden boundary. Badbh felt a thrill of hope. But then the girl came more fully into view, and the breath rushed out of Badbh’s lungs in a disappointed sigh. It was just a human.

  Still, the girl walked straight toward the grass circle. Badbh judged her to be dressed oddly, in tight-fitting blue trousers and a warm, long-sleeved tunic that stopped short at the girl’s waist. Was this what the non-magickal creatures wore in these times?

  The girl looked inexperienced and untested for her age, Badbh decided, but there was something familiar about her. Badbh had felt this young person’s presence before.

  The dawn of a smile broke on The Morrigan’s face. Yes. Just like the sprites of old, this one had come to the edge of the sacred cauldron. She had sung to Badbh as the goddess slept.