by Kate Pearce
“How on earth did she manage to get here like this?” I ask Thora. At my voice, the woman sits up a little and grabs the front of my shirt.
“He’s after you, Hela,” she says. “‘The bitch in charge’, he called you.” Thora’s heels staccato stab the floor as she races across the room to lock the door. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I told him everything, after a while. But I got away.” Her voice is triumphant.
I know her voice, now, though I should have recognized her before. “Priya,” I whisper. “How on earth did you get here?”
A smile trembles on her lips. “Aether,” she whispers, and though it clearly hurts her to do so, she smiles proudly. “I ordered some, like an idiot, from the store I always use. Still, I got here first. But he’ll be right behind me.”
“Lights,” I tell Thora in a loud, hoarse voice that is supposed to pass for a whisper. Thora slaps at the gaslight switches, and the room slips into darkness.
The darkness seems to calm Priya, as well as hiding us from view from the street. I whisper to her, soothing nonsense words. “You’re safe,” I tell her, praying it’s true. Praying I can keep it true.
“Oh, Priya,” Thora breathes behind me. She’s not wearing her heels, and made her way silently across the room to retrieve a cloth from the bar, which she hands me. I take it wordlessly to wipe Priya’s face. She’s slipped into unconsciousness, and though her breathing is regular, I’m terrified she’s slipping away.
The telephone rings, loud in the dark and quiet, and Thora and I meet each other’s gaze, and then, as one, turn to look out the windows.
“Go,” I tell her. “Telephone Eir. You remember the code? And then phone the police—ask for Erikson. Tell him to get here fast. Got it?”
“Of course I do.” Thora’s peevish answer makes me grin—I was worried she’d buckle, but I should have known better. The woman’s unflappable.
I listen to her speak into the telephone, though she’s too far away for me to make out the words. It’s enough to know she’s here, though I wish she was somewhere else, safe in the blue house, or out with her young man.
When Thora rejoins us, her face is lit by a cigarette held in her lips. She scissors it in her fingers and tells me Eir is on her way. She casts a nervous glance at the front door, and I follow her gaze, shiver, and motion for her to take my place. I rinse the cloth in the sink at the bar, return it to her, and then I prowl the room, looking for something I can use as a weapon. I finally find a heavy candleholder, and position myself beside the door. Fortunately, the curtain had already been pulled down, and I lift it just a little to peer outside. When I’m satisfied there’s enough light on the street to see by, and I don’t see anyone, I lower the curtain again.
Maybe he’s not coming. Maybe she lost him somewhere on the way.
The door rattles beneath my hand, I jump, tighten my grip on the candlestick, and reach for the curtain with fingers I’m surprised to see shake.
“Hela!” The word is a roar, and I flinch. “Open up.” I recognize the voice now and reach for the door, pull it open, and slam it behind Two. “What the devil is going on?”
“Did you see anyone outside?”
He shakes his head, takes in the candlestick in my hand, the rest of the room, and cups my face in his hand. “What do you need me to do?” he asks, and my heart thuds hard against my chest.
“Nothing,” I tell him. “A physician’s on the way with a police escort.” I’m breathing hard, and I want nothing more than to collapse into his arms and let him take care of things. That frightens me even more than Priya’s husband coming through the door, and I straighten to put a little space between us.
“What’s going on?” He asks, and I tell him, the words tumbling out.
“This is Priya. You met her, I believe. Her husband is on his way here, to kill her or retrieve her, I’m not sure which, though I’m positive he wants to kill me, because I’m the one who helped her get away from him. That’s what I do. In addition to the Folies, and the Belles—I help women get away from the men who abuse them.”
“Oh, Hel.” It’s definitely my name this time.
He reaches for me. I almost do it—almost melt into him and let him take care of it all. And then I remember: he’s leaving in just a couple weeks, and suddenly, I’m not sure how I’ll handle it. He’s home when I get there, making sure I get fed and otherwise taken care of. He’s helping with the business—even managed to trim the fat of a business that was turning a very tidy profit already. He’s involved in every aspect of my life, and he’s going to leave, and when he does, there will be a hole in my life and heart without him.
My stomach tightens, and I push him away. “Everything’s under control,” I tell him, praying it’s true. “I don’t need anything from you.”
*
Her words hit me like a fist to the gut. “Of course,” I say, and move away from her as if I’ve been burned. I’d thought—well, we seemed to be getting on well enough, and I’d started to think that maybe we could find a way to continue our arrangement—even if I hadn’t worked out the particulars.
I’d even, I’m surprised to realize, begun to think that what we have is more than just the arrangement.
I’m a thousand kinds of fool.
Even as I’m berating myself, things falls into place. Ledger entries I didn’t understand. The little jobs the police did for her. Gods, she’s amazing, this woman of mine—
Only she’s not mine, is she?
It’s like a pain, realizing that.
“I’ll wait until your physician gets here, if that’s all right?” The last bit is almost an afterthought, forced through my teeth, but she nods, so it’s worth it.
A few minutes later, a woman taps on the glass and Hela lets her in. “Eir,” Hela breathes, and the woman—the physician, I realize, when I see her medical bag—nods and steps into the room. Behind her is a man in a fedora pulled low and a long coat. The woman glances at Hela, who motions toward Priya with a flap of her hand. She’s exhausted, and I want to hold her, but I’m afraid to go near her.
Then the physician stumbles, and we can all see the man behind her is holding a gun.
Everything slows, things moving as if through water. I have time to see the individual hairs of the stubble covering his jaw, the way Hela’s eyes widen, then narrow at him, the angry glower Thora shoots at him from across the room.
The physician hits the ground, air escaping her loudly. The man sees Priya, and if there was any doubt he was her husband, it’s shattered by his sudden murderous expression. “Bitch,” he growls.
“I am so tired of that word,” Hela mutters.
Then things seem to speed up, as if time itself is trying to compensate for the momentary slowness. The red haze of the berserker descends over me.
Thora curls herself over the woman’s body, shielding her from her husband. Hela surges forward and aims a kick at the back of his leg. He falls, landing hard on his knees, and I think I hear something crack.
Hela lifts the candleholder, lines it up with his elbow, and I hear the squelch-crunch as it hits. He turns toward her, one meaty fist catching the side of her face so she stumbles back a few steps. I leap forward and drag him away from her. My heart pounds in my ears, and I lift the man with one hand, dangling him in front of me like a broken toy. I growl a curse in the old language that doesn’t translate.
Fear finally replaces the anger in his eyes, and I pull my fist back to slam it into his face. I want him dead, this man who’s hurt my woman.
A shot cracks the silence, and I turn toward the sound. Hela stands there, gun in her hands, a slug embedded in the floor at her feet. “Put him down, Two. We’re all safe. I’m safe.”
I look at her for a long time, the redness receding from the edges of my vision, leaving me tired and a little ashamed. She’d had things under control. I just—couldn’t—seeing her in danger messed with my head.
I put the guy down carefully. He’s unconscious, his arm han
ging at an unnatural angle. Hel aims the gun at him until she sees he’s not going to move, and I cross to her side.
“Oh, Hel.” She sags against me for a blissful moment, and I hold her, pressing kisses into her hair. “You can’t do this anymore.” She stiffens against me.
“What did you say?” she asks, and pushes herself away.
“You nearly got killed, Hela.” My voice is ragged with fear and anger and a thousand other things I can’t begin to name.
“I can’t not do this, Tyr.” She sounds exhausted, and also resigned, like she’s been waiting for this for a while. “This is important.” She withdraws, and I feel cold without her pressed against me, though I’d like to believe it’s the slow leaching of the berserker rage.
She drags herself to the doctor, helping her to her feet and propping her up as they cross the room to Priya. Thora motions for me to join her at the door, and I follow, my feet leaden. “I need you to help me get the real police officer. Priya’s husband left him a block away.”
I follow Thora, leaving Hela, and part of myself, behind.
6
He left.
Just like Loki. Once the dust settled, and Priya’s husband was in jail, Priya herself was in the hospital, and Thora and I cleaned up the club—I’d gone home to an empty house. The key was on the table, the only sign he’d ever been there at all.
Two weeks without him, and it has felt like a lifetime.
And Allfather has telephoned to say he’ll be arriving early. Tonight.
My hands shake as I wash the crystal tumblers, but doing something—anything—is better than sitting around and waiting. I don’t know if Two will be with him. I don’t know if I want to see him or not. I’ve caught myself turning to talk to him, to share with him some observation, or ask some advice on some matter with the Folies, only to find myself speared with pain when I realize he’s not there.
Thora takes the glass without a word and dries it, placing it on the shelf when she’s done. She clears her throat, and I wait for her to say something, but she stops herself again. Finally, she starts to talk, softly, as if she’s cushioning me with her voice.
“Hela, you’re not one of them,” she says.
The words hit me like a punch. “What are you talking about?”
Thora takes the glass from my hand and rubs it with the towel. “These women we help—you’re not one of them, and it’s okay. You don’t need to deny yourself your happiness because you think we—they—can’t respect you if you’re happy with a man.”
I shake my head. “That’s not it.”
“It isn’t?” She pins me with her eyes, blue-green like the sea, and I squirm at her sudden focus.
“It’s hypocritical,” I whisper. “I spend all this time telling these women they don’t need a man, that they can have a fulfilling life without one—and then the minute something goes wrong, I want to call him and tell him all about it.”
“Do you expect him to fix it for you?” she asks, and I shake my head. “You just expect him to share the burden. To listen, and understand. And if he has a suggestion that might help, that’s … a bonus.”
I nod, speechless. That’s exactly how it is. It never felt like I was giving him my problems to deal with—just that I had someone to help me manage the weight of it.
“Do you think that makes you weak?”
“I do, actually.” I start sorting silverware, making as much noise as I can, hoping it will dissuade her from talking.
She just waits until I’m finished.
“Hela, I know you’re…different…from the rest of us.” She doesn’t meet my gaze, and I am afraid to breathe, to ask what she means. “You’re different. You haven’t lived what most of us have lived, for one thing. You get us, in a way that not many people do, but you aren’t one of us. And that’s okay.” I don’t know if she means that I’ve never suffered abuse, or if she realizes I’m not human. I hold my breath, just waiting for her to clarify, bracing myself for the questions, the fear, the recriminations.
Instead, she grabs a cloth and starts wiping down the bar. “You’re our leader.” She pauses. “Would you betray any of us for him?”
“He would never ask me to do that.” I answer without thinking, because the idea of it is insane.
Thora nods like I’ve made her point for her, but understanding this is too much—like it’s too big to fit in my head, and she explains it to me patiently. “He would never ask that of you. It’s not a matter of him or us. It’s not a matter of putting him over the club, or over your short-term tenants, because he will never ask you to. What you do is as important to him as it is to you. You can trust him, and we won’t begrudge you that, because we trust you.”
Oh gods, it’s so tempting to believe her.
She puts her hand on my arm. “That’s love, Hela.”
I snort, a cross between a laugh and a sob. “I don’t think I like it.”
“It’s part of being alive. Don’t cut yourself off from it. Even if it’s not with him—let yourself love.”
I close my eyes and try to let everything she’s said settle into me. It’s like putting together a jigsaw puzzle—I need to figure out where these new revelations fit so they can go into place and be part of me.
It can’t be this easy, can it? I can have him, I can have the club—and it’s okay? Just the fact that I want so much for it to be true tells me something. I want him. I like him. I even trust him, as terrifying as that is. I… “Shit. I think I love him.”
Thora rolls her eyes. “Tell me something I didn’t know.” Then she tosses the cloth into the sink and laughs. “Better yet, go tell him.”
Oh gods. I can’t do that. Can I? I bite my lip. “Okay. I can do that. If he shows up with Allfather, I’ll tell him. And if he doesn’t—” The thought of not seeing him hurts, and I look at Thora for inspiration.
“You can get his telephone number from Allfather and call him.”
“Okay.” I say, and my voice is steady even if my knees aren’t.
She puts a glass on the bar in front of me, fills it with a pale green liquid that smells like fire, and jerks at it with her chin. “Bravery.”
“Thanks.” I take the shot, down it, and let it burn its way down my chest and settle into my stomach. “We need to make that the house specialty.”
She laughs. “You sure you don’t need me to stay for the meeting?” Thora twirls the watch around her wrist, and I shake my head at her.
“I’ll telephone if anything happens you need to know about.”
“I’ll be praying it all goes well.”
Then she’s gone, and I straighten my shirt, tuck a piece of hair behind my ear, and make my way to the bar. Allfather is supposed to be here any minute. The Folies is closed for the evening, and the place gleams, even in the dim light.
When I step through the door, however, there’s a single table with two candles burning on it, and a large figure seated at it.
“Two?” The word is barely a breath, but he seems to hear me and rises to stand by his chair. Waiting for me.
I cross the room, but a few feet from him I stop, unable to get closer because I’ll do something insane like throw myself into his arms. He looks unfairly good in a suit.
We stare at each other for a long time, and he finally motions me toward the seat across from him. And it’s too much.
“Why are you here?” I want him to tell me he’s here because he missed me. That he’s here because he loves me. I’m afraid he’s here to tell me he doesn’t, and he’s convinced Allfather not to support our charter.
He rubs the back of his neck with his flesh hand, an uncertain gesture that makes my heart lurch in my chest. “I asked Allfather to be the one to give you the news.”
Oh gods. What news?
It could be anything. We got the charter. We didn’t get it. Two is moving to the North Pole— I have to concentrate on stiffening my knees, because I feel on the verge of collapse.
“The work you
do — it’s important. You’re saving these women. And it’s not just from their lives, you’re saving them for their afterlives, too, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I whisper.
“No one else ever considered it. No one tried to do anything for them.” He falls into his chair and braces himself with his elbows on his thighs. “I spoke to my father about it, and he’s going to see what he can do about having these women—those you rescue and those you don’t—given a new status. I pointed out we could make the argument that they are warriors, these women, and maybe we could give them the choice of Valhalla or Helgafjell.”
Holy—. “He can do that?”
Two grins wryly. “If he can’t, he’ll convince the rest of the gods that he can. He’s the Allfather, after all.”
If I didn’t know before that I loved him, I know it now, with him sitting there, a little rumpled in his suit, telling me everything I’ve worked for is worthwhile.
“There’s so much to tell you,” he says. “And I’m trying to do it in the right order. I want to deal with business first, so you know that none of it hinges on our arrangement.”
I flinch. Is that what he wants? To renew our arrangement? How had I never even considered that?
I swallow a lump that rises to my throat.
*
“When we came back from The Great War, we—” I stare down at the top of her head, glad she’s not looking at me. “We didn’t fit anymore.” I close my eyes and try to put words to the feelings. “We came back, and people wanted us to be heroes. They wanted to be proud of us. They didn’t want to hear what it was like. To know that we looked men in the eyes as they died, and that it stays with you after.
“When you join up, there are exercises to make you a team before you see action. That team is your everything while you’re stationed overseas. When you get home…you’re on your own. Surrounded by these people who were living their lives while you were gone, without the before and after like you have.” I don’t know if any of this makes sense to her, and now, having said that much, I don’t know what else to say. “Not that people at home had it easy, but…it was a different kind of hard.”
