Dark Currents: Agent of Hel

by Jacqueline Carey

  Such a cliché, right? What I wanted to say was that someone had been watching a few too many episodes of True Blood. And yet . . . gah! I couldn’t even begin to make myself formulate words. The blankness in my mind spread to make way for wonderfully depraved thoughts. I’d never really gotten how someone like Bethany could so readily enter into a blood-bond with a vampire, but I’d never been the target of an attempted seduction before. The shadows pressed in on me, a dark voice whispering how good it would feel when those fangs pierced my skin and sank deep into my flesh, those ice-cold lips pressed against my throat to drink—better than sex, better than anything, an intimacy and ecstasy beyond anything I could imagine. My blood throbbed in my veins, begging for release.

  A rill of unholy laughter ran around the ballroom, amused and contemptuous.

  It pissed me off.

  I sat with my head craned at an awkward angle. “Okay, all appearances to the contrary, I do not consent to this,” I muttered.

  “You’re sure?” Lady Eris sounded dubious.

  “Very.” With a considerable effort of will, I shifted my left hand to dauda-dagr’s hilt, wrapping my fingers around it. It emanated a different kind of cold, clean and bracing. “You’ve made your point,” I said under my breath. “I’ll go along with the public humiliation if you accept my apology.”

  Backing off a few inches, she stared at me without blinking. “And if I don’t?”

  My neck was starting to ache. I nudged an inch of dauda-dagr free. “I’ll make it perfectly clear I’m not in your thrall, and you’ll lose face.”

  For a moment, I wasn’t sure if Lady Eris would go for it. She sat without blinking or breathing, motionless and . . . just really, really freaking undead. I began to wonder what would happen if she refused. The idea of fighting my way out of the House of Shadows against an entire vampire brood wasn’t very appealing.

  Then she drew a breath and released me. “Very well, Hel’s liaison. I accept your apology.”

  A murmur of disappointment echoed through the ballroom.

  I sat upright, exhaling with relief. “Thank you.”

  Lady Eris arched one perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Consider it a much-needed lesson in diplomacy.”

  Okay, what is it with the undead and the eyebrow thing? “Duly noted.”

  She made a magnanimous gesture. “What brings you to come seeking audience at the House of Shadows?”

  I fought the urge to tilt my neck from side to side and work out the kinks. “A request, my lady. A reasonable one, I believe. I don’t know if you’re aware—”

  “Yes, of course.” Lady Eris interrupted me impatiently. “A boy has died. I assure you, it’s nothing to do with us.”

  It crossed my mind that Pemkowet’s vampire mistress could use a much-needed lesson in courtesy from the Oak King. Wisely, I kept my mouth shut on that thought. “I know,” I said instead. “I’m just here to ask that you keep your people off the streets until this blows over. That’s all.”

  She studied me. “On whose behalf do you ask this?”

  With the memory of Stacey Brooks flashing me the devil-horns sign fresh in my memory, echoing a hundred times I’d endured similar taunts in high school, it was oh, so tempting to pin this on the PVB. But the fact was, no matter how much I disliked Stacey, her mother was right. Amanda Brooks was good at her job. This was a simple, smart precaution to take.

  And if I didn’t own it, I stood to lose face, which could come back to haunt me in future dealings with the House of Shadows.

  “I stand before you as Hel’s liaison to request this small favor,” I said steadily. “Do you assent?”

  Another long moment passed.

  The music that had been playing in the background had stopped. A multitude of candles flickered soundlessly, casting moving shadows against the walls, reflected in the tall arched and paned windows with their blackout curtains drawn for the night. The ballroom was filled with the unnatural silence of the pale, pulseless, and breathless undead, broken only by the sound of their mortal playthings breathing, and the occasional soft, unnerving giggle.

  Lady Eris inclined her head. The part in her black hair was ruler-straight and perfectly white. “Let it be heard and known!” she said, raising her head and lifting her voice. “Until such a time as I decree otherwise, there shall be no hunting on the streets of Pemkowet. Is this understood, my people?”

  A dozen vampires grumbled without breath, but they bowed to their mistress, acceding to her wishes.

  “Well, Hel’s liaison?” she asked me, her expression unreadable. “Does that suffice?”

  I nodded. “Thank you, my lady. It does.”

  Thirty-five

  Outside, I gulped down air.

  All in all, I hadn’t done a bad job. Okay, apparently I was more vulnerable to vampiric seduction than I’d realized, but I’d managed to hold my own. And I’d gotten what I came for, which was the most important thing.

  On the far side of the parking terrace, Jen and Bethany were still immersed in conversation, perched on the fountain’s ledge. I drifted near them and hovered, unsure whether or not to approach.

  “It’s just so bad at home, Beth!” Jen said, her voice breaking. “Dad—”

  “So leave!”

  “I can’t!”

  Bethany huddled into herself, crossing her forearms and hugging her elbows. “Yeah, you can! I did.”

  “For what?” Jen gestured futilely at the manor. “This?”

  Her sister glared at her. “It’s better than—”

  “Than what?” Jen touched the puncture wounds on her sister’s throat. “This? It’s just another addiction. Just like Dad and his drinking.”

  “You don’t understand!”

  “The hell I don’t!”

  “You don’t.”

  I cleared my throat. Both of them fell silent and looked up at me. “You’re both right,” I said to them. “Jen, I think we underestimated the allure.” I rubbed the side of my neck where my pulse still beat hard, my skin yearning to be pierced. “A lot. But, Bethany, I think Jen’s right. It is an addiction. And I bet it’s one that can be beaten.”

  She gave me a stony look. “How many addictions grant you eternal life, devil girl? Geoffrey’s promised to change me.”

  “Your goddamn bloodsucking boyfriend’s been promising to change you for eight years!” Jen said grimly. “Wake up and smell the plasma, Beth!”

  “He’s waiting for me to reach my prime!” she retorted.

  I gazed at her emaciated figure with sorrow. “Honey, the way you’re going, you’ve already passed it. He’s not going to change you; he’s going to trade you in for a younger, healthier model.”

  That kindled a spark of alarm in her hollow eyes. “He wouldn’t do that. He loves me!”

  “Yeah, and I love a good bottle of scotch, too,” I said. “But when it’s empty, I throw the bottle away.”

  She looked confused. “You don’t recycle?”

  Jen rolled her eyes.

  I sighed. “Yes, I recycle! It’s a metaphor, okay? Listen . . . you know how they say absence makes the heart grow fonder? Why not put it to the test?” I patted the LeBaron’s folded top. “Come home for a few days. Rest up, get some beauty sleep, eat your mom’s good home cooking.” I’d never actually eaten Mrs. Cassopolis’s cooking, but I assumed it was good. Her husband probably wouldn’t stand for anything less. “Give Geoffrey a chance to realize what he’s missing.”

  Bethany eyed me suspiciously. “If you’re right, he’ll just choose someone else for the blood-bond.”

  I shook my head. “Not right now, he won’t. Lady Eris just issued a no-hunting decree. Believe me, there’ll never be a better time.”

  Her gaze shifted back and forth between Jen and me. “Is this a trick?”

  “No trick,” I promised.

  “Cross our hearts and hope to die,” Jen said wryly. “Bethany, please? Just for a few days?”

  A deeply buried longing surfaced behind her eyes
. “I’ll . . . Okay, maybe I’ll ask Geoffrey about it.”

  “No asking,” I said. “You’ve got to tell him. Make him think you’re strong enough to walk away if he doesn’t keep his promise.”

  “But I’m not,” she said in a small voice.

  “It’s okay, Beth,” Jen said, her tone gentle. “He doesn’t have to know that. You just have to make him believe it.”

  She hesitated. “You swear this isn’t a trick? You won’t, like, try to deprogram me or send me to rehab? You’ll let me go anytime I want?”

  “Yes!” both of us said in unison. I was pretty sure both of us were lying through our teeth. I knew I fully intended to research breaking a blood-bond at the first opportunity, and I wouldn’t put it past Jen to lock her sister in the basement. But we’d deal with that when the time came.

  “Okay.” Bethany came to a decision. “But only for a few days. And I have to tell Geoffrey. I can’t just leave.”

  Great, back into Twilight Manor. “I’ll go with you.” I didn’t trust her not to change her mind.

  “So will I,” Jen said with determination.

  The blond vampire looked irritated to see all three of us back on the doorstep, and all the more irritated when Bethany announced her intention in a tremulous voice, but he went to fetch her boyfriend into the foyer.

  Geoffrey Chancellor had the whole Edwardian-rake look going: fancy suit, waistcoat with a chain and watch fob, immaculate ascot, and slicked-back hair. He was very good-looking in a totally supercilious way. I’d met him before and I didn’t care for him. From what I could tell, the feeling was mutual.

  When Bethany told him she planned on visiting home, he scowled at her. “It is foolish and unnecessary. Everything you need is here.”

  “It’s just for a few days,” she pleaded.

  “It is contrary to my wishes.” From the way he said it, I was pretty sure that if we weren’t there to witness it, he would have forbidden her outright.

  Bethany wilted anyway. “All right. It was just a thought.”

  Geoffrey smiled with satisfaction. “Good—”

  “No,” I interrupted him, laying my hand on dauda-dagr’s hilt. “Not all right. She expressed a clear desire to leave.”

  He looked down his nose at me. “She changed her mind.”

  “I changed my mind,” she agreed weakly.

  “You changed her mind,” I said to him, ignoring Bethany. “Do you want me to inform Hel that the House of Shadows is now detaining mortals against their will?”

  Geoffrey fixed his gaze on me, and I felt the tug of vampiric hypnosis coming into play. He wasn’t as powerful as the mistress of the house, but it still made the blood sing in my veins, and I was glad I already had my hand on the reassuring chill of dauda-dagr’s hilt. “After Lady Eris’s display with you upstairs, I confess, I’m not terribly impressed with your authority, Hel’s liaison.” He curled his lip, baring his fangs in a manner that was both a threat and a promise. “You heard her. She changed her mind. Now either go away, or stay and play.”

  Oh, crap. That was what I got for being diplomatic: a supercilious pretty-boy vampire calling my bluff.

  Jen gave me an uncertain look. “Daise?”

  “I’m thinking.” If I drew dauda-dagr and backed him down, Bethany might change her mind. Or she might not, in which case everyone lost face. Damn! This was way too complicated.

  While I was still in the throes of indecision, there was a knock at the front door—not just any knock, but a slow, ponderous knock heavy enough to make the old windowpanes tremble in their lead molding.

  Looking annoyed and vaguely alarmed, the blond vampire opened the door.

  Mikill the frost giant stood on the doorstep, his icicle-laden beard dripping, wisps of frost rising from his bluish skin. Ducking his head, he entered the House of Shadows without waiting for an invitation, his slush-colored gaze seeking mine.

  “Daisy Johanssen,” he said in his booming voice. “I am bidden to summon you to an audience with Hel.”

  I suppressed a grin, silently blessing him for his excellent timing. “Of course, Mikill. Just as soon as we’ve finished our business here.”

  Looming over mortals and vampires alike, Mikill swung his massive head around to take in the scene. His hair and beard continued to drip onto the marble floor of the foyer, a puddle forming beneath him. “What is at issue?”

  “No issue,” I assured him. “Geoffrey here was just saying good-bye to his blood-bonded girlfriend for a few days.” I smiled sweetly at him. “Isn’t that right?”

  He gave me a poisonous glare, but he wasn’t stupid enough to challenge my authority in the presence of an actual inhabitant of Little Niflheim, especially not one who stood eight feet tall. “Be good,” he said to Bethany, trailing one finger down her throat. “And come back soon. I’ll miss you, poppet.”

  “I hope you do.” She sniffed. “I hope you miss me a lot. Maybe it will make you remember your promise.”

  Mikill’s gaze returned to me. “Is your business now concluded, Daisy Johanssen?”

  “Yep.”

  He inclined his head. “That is well.”

  I thought so, too.

  Back outside in the warm summer night, I said good-bye to Jen. Bethany sat in the passenger seat of the LeBaron, staring straight ahead, while Mikill waited patiently beside his dune buggy and dripped onto the driveway.

  “Are you going to be okay?” Jen asked me.

  “I’ll be fine. Mikill will drive me home.” I made a shooing gesture at her. “Go on; get Bethany out of here before she changes her mind again.”

  Jen wasn’t entirely satisfied. “What did Geoffrey the prat mean about Lady Eris’s display with you?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “She tried to put the bloodsucker whammy on me. I let them think it worked.”

  She looked suspiciously at me. “Did it?”

  “No!”

  Jen grabbed my chin and lifted it to inspect my throat.

  I batted her hand away. “Okay, it worked a little! But I was able to break it. Now get out of here, will you?”

  “All right, all right. Call me.”

  “I will.”

  I waited until the LeBaron’s taillights turned out of the driveway before getting in Mikill’s dune buggy. The frost giant solicitously handed me a fur coat.

  “Thanks.” I squirmed into it, pushing back the overly long sleeves. “Where’s Garm’s doggy treat?”

  “It is at your feet, Daisy Johanssen.”

  Oh, so that was what I was stepping on. I reached down and fished up a crusty loaf of bread, hoping the hellhound wouldn’t mind that it was slightly flattened. “Good timing,” I said as Mikill put the buggy in gear. “How did you know where to find me?”

  “I am able to sense dauda-dagr’s presence. The timing was incidental.”

  I rubbed the side of my neck again. “Well, it was good anyway.”

  “That is well.”

  A frost giant of few words, Mikill drove without speaking to the Pemkowet Dune Rides, breaking his silence only to utter his customary warning to hold fast as we departed from the graded trails to jounce over the untamed dunes, Garm’s full-throated howl arising in the darkness before us.

  At least this time I was ready for him. “Here, boy!” I shouted as the slavering figure came into view, yellow eyes aflame. Winding up like a pitcher, I threw the bread loaf as far as I could, watching the hellhound bound after it. “Go get it!”

  And then we were spiraling down the massive trunk of Yggdrasil II, past the rushing wall of heartwood, past the Norns doing their Nornish thing, drawing water from the well and tending to the roots of the giant pine. I gave them a wishful glance as we passed, wondering whether they would speak to me this time, maybe utter a little sooth.

  “No,” Mikill said in answer to my unvoiced question. “They have no counsel for you yet, Daisy Johanssen.”

  “Will they ever?” I asked him.

  He turned his patient, slush-colored
gaze on me. “Perhaps. Perhaps not. I do not know.”

  I sighed.

  I know, I know. But I couldn’t help it.

  This time, there were duegars lining the streets of Little Niflheim, dwarves with forms as hard and knotty as tree roots. They gazed at the dune buggy with expressions that contained equal parts hope and despair.

  “Mikill?” My voice sounded faint. “Why are they staring at us? They never stared at us before.”

  The frost giant pulled up before the abandoned sawmill. “It is the first time you have come carrying Hel’s gift of death upon your hip, Daisy Johanssen,” he said somberly. “In the coming battle, you will serve as Niflheim’s champion.”

  Now my voice rose with alarm. “Coming battle? What coming battle?”

  Mikill ushered me into the sawmill. “Whatever battle is coming.”

  Gah! If I could have reached his neck, I would have throttled him.

  As my eyes adjusted to the dim light of the bioluminescent lichen on the walls, the sight of Hel on her throne banished whatever petty mortal exasperation I was feeling. “Welcome, my young liaison.” Her voice echoed in the rafters, where a handful of roosting blue jays squawked and ruffled their feathers. “I would hear what news you bear. My harbingers tell me that matters are coming to a head.”

  I went to one knee, bowing my head. “Harbingers, my lady?”

  Hel raised her fair and shapely right hand, the hand of life, indicating the roosting jays. “My eyes and ears in the mortal world.”

  “Blue jays?” I felt foolish saying it aloud.

  The right side of Hel’s mouth curved in a gentle smile. On the left side of her face, her blackened lips remained set in a grim line. “They are kin to ravens, the favored harbingers of my kinsman Odin.”

  “Oh.”

  Hel waited.

  Okay, so apparently I was supposed to make a report. I collected my thoughts, wiping my damp palms surreptitiously on the fur coat. “You’re right, my lady. Matters are coming to a head. It appears that a mortal man, with the assistance of a pair of ghouls, has been holding a mermaid captive and selling access to her.”