by Ayer, T. G.
"I told you. You're wasting your time," he said to Worthington. "She doesn't have the book. I must have misplaced it somewhere else."
"Your father wants the book, Mr. Lee. That means we have to find it. Besides, we've been ordered to terminate Miss Halbrook. And despite your reservations, we will do as we are ordered."
Aidan scoffed. "I doubt one little girl could possibly be a serious threat to a man as powerful as my father."
"Nevertheless, we have our orders," said Worthington, his voice cutting. "You were supposed to come here, get the lay of the land, and return with the information. The only reason you were sent here was because you could fit in. But you can't do a single thing right. Your father is not impressed."
"My father is never impressed, Worthington. Haven't you realized that yet?" I stiffened in the darkness. I could just picture the sneer marring Aidan's lips. "But you see, there's one difference between you and me," he continued. "I don't get paid to be impressed. I don't owe my father anything."
Worthington remained silent. I wondered if he stared at Aidan in disdain or ground his teeth in frustration at the upstart son of his boss.
Aidan sighed. "How much longer do you want to wait here? She would have been here by now if she was coming home at all."
"Perhaps the old woman was right," Worthington conceded. "Anywhere else she used to go to if she didn't come straight home?"
"The Craven Town Library," Aidan answered.
"Fine. Let's wrap it up here, then check the library. I'll have Martinez get in touch with the local police to put an APB out on Miss Halbrook. Suspected theft, possession of a weapon."
"Is that really necessary?" Aidan's voice flooded with alarm. As did my entire body. Things were not panning out well at all. These creeps were supposed to find nothing and leave. Not get the police involved in a statewide girl-hunt. Who were they? More to the point, who the hell was Aidan?
"We need that book back. We wouldn't be here if it hadn't been for your carelessness."
Aidan's hand slapped the kitchen countertop. "Don't kid yourself. You would definitely be here. My father would still want her terminated whether we find the book or not."
Worthington spoke, his voice dangerously soft. "Keep your voice down. The old lady's not deaf. Let's go. We can come back and keep an eye on the place. If she really has run away, then the old woman is safe. If I find she's been lying to cover for the mutant, then she goes too."
My heart iced over. I'd endangered Ms. Custer. The small closet closed in on me and I struggled for air, praying they would leave the kitchen so I could escape this cloying space.
The kitchen door swung and their voices receded into the hall. I turned the handle, inching it open as silently as possible, and stepped out into the empty kitchen.
All clear.
I pulled the back door open and snuck out, keeping an ear out for Aidan's goons, so afraid they'd heard me and would have me surrounded in the next second. My heart thudded as I crept around the corner.
During my sojourn in the broom closet, the sky had darkened, and shadows had taken control of the streets. I rounded the corner of the house to observe them as they left. Only then would I reenter the house.
Worthington and another man—Martinez, I presumed—left the porch. Aidan followed, a dejected slope to his shoulders. He turned and stared at the house, at my room's window, his face filled with sadness and longing. As he stepped into the dark car he scanned the garden and looked in my direction.
He couldn't see me where I crouched, encased in shadows. A violent longing stirred inside me, filling my eyes with heated tears, spicing my blood with need, spurring me to step forward.
What was I going to do? I wasn't exactly sure. Maybe all I wanted was for Aidan to know I was safe and well.
I never found out.
I took a step toward Aidan, but made it no further.
A sudden gust of wind buffeted me.
The rough breeze whipped around me, throwing my hair into my face and away again. My nostrils flared as a spike of ozone assaulted my senses. A tiny tornado threatened to consume me and I flailed, then fell forward, shoved by the wild momentum of the rushing air.
My muscles tingled, twisted as if pulled through the wash cycle from hell. My vision blurred and Aidan and his thugs were smudges across the yard.
Then a strong arm grabbed me around my waist and someone spoke in my ear. The last thing I heard was, "You do not want to do that. We have to go. Now!"
Chapter 14
I came to with a soft groan, taking stock quietly. Whoever had shoved me to the ground hadn't intended to hurt me. My body, and all its parts, seemed to be in good working order, though my heart still thumped, wild as a cornered bear. What had just happened? Who had knocked me unconscious? And who did that voice belong to?
It had to be Aidan and his goons who'd taken me down. Maybe they'd shot me with some kind of FBI dart-weapon thing and I was now locked away in a cell in a dark basement, at a secret location, awaiting my death. But that didn't make any sense. They'd made it clear they wanted to kill me. From the way they'd spoken, they would've been happy to shoot me on sight.
Aidan must have stepped up and convinced them to keep me alive. Even so, I wouldn't be the most grateful captive. This entire, awful mess was all his damned fault. I was still reeling from the shock of his presence in our house, still mad at the way that Worthington thug had pushed poor Ms. Custer around. And she was not the "poor Ms. Custer" type. She'd put up a fight at any rate. Protected me. Lied for me. Told me with her actions and her eyes to leave. Run. Hide. I blinked back tears, so grateful to my foster mom. I had to thank her. As soon as I got some feeling back into my limp muscles.
With any luck, I'd fainted and was still lying in the garden, tucked away beneath the dead hydrangeas at the corner of the house. I focused my thoughts, listening. No trees whispered, no wind blew. No icy breeze scraped my cheek, no cold hard ground lay beneath my warm body.
Instead, soft, luxurious fur caressed my skin. A fire crackled happily nearby, spitting occasional sparks, its cozy warmth toasted my cheeks. I cracked open an eye, confirmed I was alone, then sat up slowly.
Groaning again, I placed my hand on the spinning top attached to my neck that masqueraded as my head. I waited until it stopped its hurdy-gurdy motion and swallowed hard. Bile coated the back of my tongue, though I couldn't recall throwing up. I held on to my stomach, moaned, then gasped.
A soft white fabric covered my midriff, along with the rest of my torso. The garment reminded me of my peasant blouse hanging in my closet at Ms. Custer's house. The dress, long enough to reach my ankles, fell in soft, silky gathers.
My heart thundered in my chest. Then I shivered. I'd been undressed while I was unconscious. I probed my hip and gave a shuddering sigh. I still wore my underwear, thank heaven, but my bra had disappeared along with my jeans, polo, jacket and scarf. Not that I needed warm clothes right now.
Fear swam through me as I grabbed at my neck. Then I relaxed a bit. My amber pendant remained tied around my neck. At least they hadn't taken it.
I sat still, disinclined to test the steadiness of my legs, just happy to be conscious. Awake so strangers couldn't dress and undress me without my consent. My eyes adjusted to the dim light, and I scanned the strange room. Walls of unpainted pine surrounded a space as large as my room at Ms. Custer's house. Above my head were bare log-beams lacing their way across a high stud ceiling.
The fire crackled and I studied the open stone fireplace. The darned thing was large enough to roast a whole person in. I changed track, refusing to follow that train of thought.
I decided to try opening the door, and if it opened, finding a way out of here. Pushing away the thick fur covers, I rose to my feet, testing each limb one at a time.
I'd made it halfway to the door when it opened and a girl walked in. I froze, staring straight into a pair of clear grey eyes. Eyes a perfect match to the silvery-grey wings rising behind her shoulders. Wings that
drew my memory back to Aidan's book and Brunhilde, the Valkyrie. The grey-eyed girl's bronzed chainmail armor, her confident posture, all said that she was the one thing I knew was downright impossible.
A Valkyrie.
I couldn't decide if I was astonished or horrified. Even the possible horror of my creation in a petri dish hadn't floored me the way this dark-haired, winged girl did. Her beauty, grace and power left me dumbstruck. Held me in a trance.
"I see you are awake. I was beginning to worry." Her voice was a honeyed wine, soothing and tender.
I clamped my mouth shut and frowned.
She said, "The first time can be hard on the body."
"First time?" I wondered if she was talking about my fall. But she didn't enlighten me any further. And her next words made no sense.
"The . . . what would you call it?" She thought for a while. "Ah, yes, teleportation."
Teleportation? Are you serious?
I stared at her, annoyed and angry. "What do you want with me?"
She tucked a stray ebony lock of hair behind her ear, and the firelight glinted on the band at her wrist. A dainty filigree clasp locked the hinged band in place while intricate triple swirls snaked across the face of the dull gold-edged silver.
"You are special," she said. "I was told where to find you and instructed to bring you here. Safely. I am sorry if I scared you, but I did not want you to get hurt. Those men would have hurt you."
"Not all of them," I blurted out. I managed to defend Aidan despite the distraction of the entrancing bracelet, but deep down I sensed I didn't entirely believe that. Would he have hurt me if he'd been forced to?
And suddenly my knees shook, threatening to fold and take me straight to the ground. She grabbed hold of me, helped me move closer to the bed and waited while I sank onto the blankets. Satisfied, she perched at the foot of the bed. "You were in very grave danger. It was my job to bring you here safely. I had to wait outside the house while those men talked and talked. I was glad when you finally left the house." She grinned.
Did she really expect me to believe such nonsense? She'd just admitted she'd abducted me. I figured I'd play along for now. "What do you want with me? Why have you brought me here? And where exactly is here?"
Her bright grey eyes sparkled as she laughed, little pink spots appearing on her cheekbones. "Oh, you are going to be fun. That is good. You will pull through faster than some of the other new ones."
"Pull through what?" My heart kicked in my chest.
Just a horrible hallucination, Bryn. Nothing to worry about. Probably just a side effect of some newfangled drug meant to force the victim into a state of total delusion.
Or was my mind rebelling and turning against me?
"Never mind that for now. Shall we get you ready? You will find out in a few minutes anyway, and besides, I do not have permission to spoil the surprise." She winked, then rose and walked to a bench beside the fire, bringing with her an armful of bronzed chainmail similar to her own. "Come, you have to dress. We must not keep them waiting."
She spread the armor open. It was fashioned into a single coat-like garment, which opened at the back. Odd, but I said nothing, merely poked my hands through the arms, waiting as she pulled and tugged at straps and buckles behind me.
I glanced at the door, longing to make a run for it, but the armor was deceptively heavy and I wasn't confident I would be quick on my feet. And my captor seemed too strong to knock out in one blow. Ropy muscles knotted her upper arms, and sinewy calves peeped from slits in the hem of her dress. I didn't stand a chance.
I craned my head to get a view of the back of the armor. My back was bare from neck to waist. Strange.
"Come now. We have to hurry." She rushed me with both her command and the urgency of her tone.
A trickle of fear ran through me. Was I about to follow her to my death in some sort of arena? Or maybe a crazy gladiator fight-to-the-death reality show? Everything was too surreal yet a traitorous part of my consciousness screamed it was real. I should really find out more about this place if I was going to try to get the hell out of here.
"What's your name?" I demanded, the confidence in my voice sounding way too weak to my ears.
She glanced at me, impatient with my question which no doubt would delay us further. But when she saw my face her expression softened. My fear, my trepidation, were both clear in my eyes. "Oh, I should have introduced myself when I arrived, but I do not meet new people very often, so I rarely get many opportunities to dust off my manners. My name is Sigrun. You are Brynhildr, yes?"
It was a statement, not a question. I didn't answer. She nodded, then led the way out of the room. I followed, tracing the warm curve of my amber stone, planning, plotting.
"Where are we, anyway?" I asked.
"Oh. Yes. That is the best part." She smiled broadly. "We are in the marvelous city of Asgard."
Chapter 15
Asgard!
When Sigrun uttered those words, my jaw dropped and I stumbled, certain that I was caught within a fantastical dream. Maybe I'd been reading far too much of Aidan's abandoned book of translations because this wasn't possible. Not possible at all.
My feet slowed their pace, and I soon stopped moving altogether. Needing to breathe, needing to think. Needing to be back home, thanking Ms. Custer for being such a wonderful protector, such a wonderful mother.
I didn't want to be here in this strange place, with a strange girl telling tall tales of magical locations in unknown lands that simply should not exist. Asgard was a darned myth told by ancient peoples to explain the way the world was.
Asgard couldn't possibly be real.
Could it?
Up ahead, the girl glanced over her shoulder and hurried back to me. "Yes. I brought you here, to Asgard, from your world, Earth, or as we call it, Midgard. But we have to be going. I am sorry." She spoke with a kind sweetness that lightened my mood slightly. "I know this must be hard for you, but all will be explained soon and I promise you will feel much, much better."
Midgard. Yes. A vague memory from basic Norse Mythology.
Sigrun tucked her arm into mine, and with a gentle tug she set a rapid pace through darkened passages lit by a scattering of flickering torches. I allowed her to pull me along, grateful for the human comfort of her body beside mine. The entire building was pleasantly warmed so even my bare feet could handle the stone floors.
We hurried through passageways, broken here and there by large archways opening into more passages. The arches, rimmed with intricate carvings, were strikingly similar to the ones drawn in Aidan's leather volume. I slowed, drawn to the lines of almost familiar script, but Sigrun tugged at my elbow. And I allowed her to pull me away. If I'd had time I would've been able to decipher much of it.
The density of the air heightened my awareness. I assumed we neared our destination as Sigrun slowed her pace.
"Just a few rules before we enter." Her voice was soft as she drew to a halt before a magnificent, enormous doorway. A small knot of anxiety twisted again in my stomach. What awaited me beyond that gigantic door? She turned to me, taking both my hands in hers. "Do not speak unless you are directly questioned. Keep your eyes lowered, or at least your chin. You may look upon our Lord, but do not affect an attitude of defiance. Our Lord does not appreciate insolence."
Sigrun held me by the shoulder. "Everything will be fine. Do not be afraid."
"So who is this Lord you are talking about?"
"Oh, our lord is the Lord of All Things, the Blessed One. The Wielder of Power, the Great Warrior."
When she paused, I frowned, hoping she would reveal the All-Powerful One's name. I asked, "So? Who is he?"
"You will find out soon enough, Brynhildr." With those words, she gave me a little shove, sending me through the arch and into the bright, warm cavernous hall.
The way she spoke my name sounded strange to my ears, as if I were really hearing it for the first time. As if it had a new specialness imbued within each syllab
le.
With a tiny sigh, I walked into the welcoming brightness of the magnificent hall. When I looked upward, I stopped and stared, entranced by the height and beauty of the ceiling.
Yikes! How would the artisans have gotten up so high? The ceiling was sixty to seventy feet at its highest point, but like the Sistine Chapel it curved, joined by six separate beams carved with entwined branch-like figures.
I squinted to make out the finer details of the carvings, which resembled those on the six monstrous pillars that seemed to hang from the ceiling. Each pillar was thicker than the body of a large man, and intricately etched with serpentine creatures and tree-branch curves. My eyes blurred from the confusion of trying to figure out what the carvings were.
Entranced by the architecture of the ceiling and pillars, I'd forgotten I was meant to meet Sigrun's powerful Lord. Her low hiss brought me back to my senses and propelled me further into the hall.
I walked toward the back of the Great Hall and silenced a gasp at the magnificence of the thrones. A matched pair sat on a raised stone dais. Here too, hypnotic carvings edged the entire dais, beautiful and entrancing. Music echoed around the room, and a strange tune floated by, as if it rang out from a long-forgotten memory.
The thrones, carved from a grey-white marble, were beyond amazing. Legs and armrests were normal, carved again with the curving, serpentine design, while the seat itself provided sufficient space to sit five hefty men. The backrests both rose at least eighteen feet in the air.
Stunning!
A hunched old man occupied one of the marble thrones, gnarled fingers curling around a dark hand-carved cane.
Sigrun had claimed this was Asgard. If I had my mythology straight, the god she spoke of must be the Great Odin, the ruler of Asgard, husband to Frigga and father of the famous Thor, god of war.
But surely she must have been mistaken. This ancient man hardly resembled a king. Neither did he resemble what the modern depiction of the Great Odin would be.
