I turned the corner and saw a book left open on a podium. It was large and well-read. The pages curled in some places as if those parts were the best. I stepped onto the platform and gazed at the book.
Harbingers of the Destined.
I looked up to see the Valkyrie peering at me down the stacks. I smiled and shook my head. She was paranoid. Rightfully so. It wasn’t everyday a reaper gained access into this area. I took a deep breath and flipped to the table of contents.
Just about every type of harbinger was addressed, but I was most interested in the harbinger of Ragnarok. Our Armageddon was shrouded in myth. No one really knew what or who would bring it about. The chapter was filled with gory pictures depicting the end. Thor in chains, Odin beheaded, Freya gutted, her entrails in each of her hands. Divine and Imperium Reapers slain violently on the battlefield of Midgard while Loki looked on with fear. I shivered, but plowed onward.
Some believed Odin himself would call for that final day, while others believed it would be a mortal who would do us in. That interested me. How could a mortal make a divine call? How would they know how to when the heavenlies were so clearly secreted and covered from mortal eyes? But it was here, in this book. A mortal of Odin and Freya’s choosing could find that power. A favored soul. One of rich Norse blood. Ragnarok was the end of divine intervention and the dawn of chaos. A time that would be ruled by no one. Midgard would be a wasteland covered with ash and mayhem. Those who survived would pray for death.
I slammed the book shut.
There was no way that Maxwell was this person—this favored soul of Odin and Freya.
If such a person could even exist. It would be suicide for them to do something as stupid as favor a mortal when there were so many fools to reap. If this were possible, it wouldn’t be a theater loving, do-gooder like Maxwell. It would be some idiot like Loki or a beef-handed bruiser like Thor. The fates were mentioned, as were the elves and giants. All would play a hand at making this mortal the monster he’d become. It was one big cluster waiting to happen. Again, if it could happen.
I left the restricted area with more questions than answers. I’d definitely not gotten what I’d come for. And to my everlasting brooding, Geirolf had waited for me. His book was tucked under his arm while he idly looked about the library’s atrium. He reminded me of when he was a boy and loved going up to the palace. Those had been good days, of peace and accord. He’d always liked beautiful things. Buildings, beings, plants. I hated that I knew that about him.
“They’ve changed the lighting,” he remarked, pointing up to the diamond chandeliers. “I didn’t think it could be any grander, but there you go.” He looked at me. “Did you find what you came for?”
“No,” I pouted. “I don’t know why it’s restricted. I could have walked across Bifrost and into Midgard. They have a better selection in their online bookstores.”
“Is this about Maxwell?” he asked.
I should have seen this coming. Book of potions, indeed. Sure, his wing was wounded, but I should have guessed he’d have an ulterior motive for following along. “What are you, moonlighting detective work?”
“You’re snooping in the wrong places,” his voice lowered. “This mortal is none of your business. You’re going to end up getting hurt or killed.”
“You sound so sure of yourself,” I said, glancing at the Valkyrie. She still had yet to look up from her book. “Why do I get the feeling you know more than you let on?”
He grabbed my arm. “He’s marked for Odin. What part of that don’t you understand.”
His hold irked me, but not because he was rough. Just the opposite. His gentle pressure let me know he was worried; it was almost like he still cared. I looked up into his lavender eyes. They were lit with an emotion I’d seen before.
“Let go of me,” I murmured, yanking free. “It’s not like you’re going to tell me something I don’t know already. Keep your secrets, and I’ll keep mine.”
“Look,” Geirolf said, an exhausted expression crossing his features. “Let’s call a truce for today. Come. We’ll have an ale at the dwarf market.”
I snickered.
“Seriously. It’s the best ale in Asgard and only available on market days.”
“You want me to have an ale with you?”
“I want to talk, Oria. Ale is just an excuse.”
My mouth hung open. He wanted to talk? After all of these centuries, what was there left to say? My eyes traveled the circumference of his divine face. He was so perfect that I could scream. I knew every inch of his body, of his mind, his emotions. Our lives had been so intertwined that we’d been closer than I was to Orum.
“I’ll take that as a yes,” he breathed and grabbed my hand.
The bar was brimming with elves and dwarfs, which was surprising. Loki graced the bar with his presence and he didn’t like either tribe. Geirolf secured a booth in the back of the bar, near the kitchen. The noise level was perfect for a private chat—that is, if one wanted to scream secrets across the table. What a picture we painted. A white Divine Reaper and a black Imperium Reaper having an ale together at the same table. We drew more than one person's attention. Good thing it was market day and anything went in the city.
I sipped past the foam of the ale.
“Good, right?” Geirolf asked. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, staring at his mug of ale with love in his eyes.
I couldn’t help but smile. “Yeah. It’s pretty perfect.”
“And no hair or teeth.” He grinned, lifting his mug before taking a hearty gulp.
“Thank Freya,” I said. “I couldn’t bare dwarf bits today.” I reached over to pick at the bowl of nuts. I picked out the pecans and popped some into my mouth. Eating as an immortal was bland. We didn’t need food, but tasting it was a bonus. Not needing it made it humdrum. Basic and boring. Ale, however, was a different story. Bring on the ale.
“So,” Geirolf said, grabbing a handful of random nuts. “Tell me what you know about Maxwell.”
I eyed him. “You go first.”
He sifted through the nuts and handed me a pecan. “I know he’s marked and that the council speaks of him.”
I took the pecan like I would a dram of poison. Again, I hated him for knowing me so well. “You’re not telling me anything I don’t know already.”
His head tilted as he chewed thoughtfully. “I know you’ve been in league with Jord.”
My eyes widened.
“Yeah. I know about that and your hairbrained scheme to get Maxwell that theater in exchange for his soul.”
My fist hit the table, jarring the bowl of nuts and our ale. “Who told you?”
He glanced around. People were staring. Loki was staring. Geirolf smiled and lifted his ale. “We’re good. Just enjoying the ale.” His fist struck the table. “So good!”
“Who told you?” I hissed.
Geirolf waited for the stares to die down. “J O R D. Now keep your voice down before we are carted out for conspiracy. Loki’s here, for Odin’s sake. Can you use your inside voice and stop slamming things around?”
“Why would she do that?” I asked. “It’s none of your business.”
“Au contraire,” he said. “It is my business. I’m the reaper designated to watch over him. He is very much my business, and Jord knows that.”
“So, are you going to tell me why you’ve been assigned to him?”
“I haven’t a clue other than the fact that he’s got a wicked family tree. All of his ancestors have rested in Valhalla. Even some of his foster siblings have been marked, and they aren’t even strongly Norse.”
“That reeks of divine protection.” I glanced around and noted that the bar was back to business and Loki was leaving. “When Odin stops to mark people that aren’t even blood related to the boy, that is something serious.”
“Don’t I know it.”
“And this doesn’t bother you?”
“No. It’s part of my job. It isn’t up to me to ask
questions. Especially questions I know will not be freely answered.”
“Something isn’t right with him, Geirolf.” I sat back. As an afterthought, I took a gulp of ale and grabbed more nuts. “He has a supernatural aura about him. I don’t like it.”
“Yeah,” Geirolf agreed. “He’s odd, I’ll give you that.”
I opened my hand and shuffled through the nuts in my palm. “But you won’t do anything about it, will you? You’re just going to keep tabs on him and be a good reaper.” Plucking out a pistachio, I handed it to Geirolf. They were his favorite.
He accepted the nut. “What did you find in the restricted area?”
My eyes tapered. “Why are you asking?”
“Because I am worried. You’re right; something is off.” He looked around. “If he’s a halfling, I need to know. If he’s the son of a god, that would be detrimental to how we proceed with things.”
“We? You just said it isn’t up to you to ask questions.”
“Yes, we,” he sighed. He popped the pistachio into his mouth. “I say that I don’t care that he’s odd, but you make it impossible to stay neutral. So, I’ll bite and ask you a question as to what you’ve discovered. You’re like a dog with a bone. I know you’ll never stop and I don’t want to see this go badly. Like Jasper.”
I winced and looked down into my ale. “Like Jasper,” I repeated.
“Exactly,” he said. “That’s why when I found about the contract, I decided to make a truce with you. I think we can cover more ground if we’re in this together instead of fighting about it. I don’t want another soul tossed into the veil. I won’t be a part of that.”
“Neither do I,” I admitted. “But isn’t this asking more questions? Isn’t this making you a part of what is going on?”
Reluctantly, he nodded.
I mirrored his pose and leaned forward. “What do you suggest?”
“I think we both need to do some digging. I have better clearance with the dwarfs and elves, and you have a better chance with the gods. You had no problem getting into the restricted area.” He leaned forward even more. “What did you find?”
“You’re really asking this?”
He nodded again.
If I told him, that meant I trusted him. If I didn’t, he’d probably find out anyway and our temporary alliance would be shattered. I’d be at the mercy of Jord, and she was already blabbing. But, here we were. Sitting in a pub booth sharing nuts and ale, speaking of things that could get us killed.
“I didn’t search any of the halfling documents,” I said slowly. “I already know what they’ll say. The book of halflings I need is highly classified. Jord is working on that.”
“With the elves,” he interrupted.
I scoffed. “Did she tell you everything?”
“What’s worse than designing a contract for one’s soul? The rest of your little workings is child’s play.”
“Fine,” I held up my hand. “Seeing that you know everything via the gossip monger, let’s get to the meat of the matter.” I placed my hand over my forehead and rubbed. “I don’t think he’s a halfling. If he is, he isn’t any kind we’ve ever encountered. I think he’s much worse.”
“What can be worse than a halfling?” Geirolf snorted.
“A harbinger,” I replied. “Or a ploy of the fates.”
“Great Odin.” Geirolf’s shoulders slumped. “We can’t speak of things such as this. It’s mad. Anarchy.”
“I can’t believe I’m telling you this,” I muttered and reached for my ale. “I’ve officially gone crazy. We’re both dead already.”
“And I can’t believe I’m saying this, but you’re finally playing smart,” he said and shook his head. “If that’s what you’re considering, it is best you develop allies in this. A harbinger? For what? The fall of Midgard?”
“How about the fall of Asgard?”
“Ragnarok?” he balked.
I nodded. “Or something like that. There are so many myths and legends, we have a plethora of catastrophes to choose from. There is more than one way to end a world, and we have nine of them. Pick your world.”
“But Ragnarok would end all of them.”
“Worst case scenario,” I said. “The end of Alfheim could be catastrophic as well. Our nine worlds provide balance. An eruption in any of them could create a chain reaction and bring us to Ragnarok.”
“He’s so basic,” Geirolf said, his face contorted with confusion. I had to smile. Hearing him speak ill of a soul was out of character. “The boy collects playbills and arranges his clothing by color. He rides a bike. What human does that on a daily basis?”
“You’ve done some research,” I smirked.
“I’m with him constantly.”
“It takes a lot of time to put that kind of mark over him.” I fumbled with the bowl of nuts, but decided against having more. “You know, it was Jord’s idea to make the contract.”
“Yeah. I know. But whose brain came up with the harbinger notion?”
“Mine,” I said, my voice low. There was no way I was telling him how I’d come to that conclusion. He’d blow a gasket if he knew Maxwell had seen me in immortal form. A mortal privy to the nature of an immortal was a death sentence, and I didn’t have enough faith left in him to be totally honest. If my secret was discovered, the final reap on Maxwell’s soul would be ordered and I couldn’t live with that. I’d never been responsible for an early demise of a mortal.
“It’s a smart idea,” he said. “A little off mark, but we can look into it. I think I can find out more about the harbinger of Ragnarok. Do you have any information as to the nature of this being?”
I folded my arms on the table. Being here with him was getting to me. Conversing as if nothing had changed, sharing our favorite nuts with each other. I’d just kissed a mortal and now I was having silly ideations about my ex. I was nothing but a mental whore even though I was currently full on immortality. “One legend states that it could be a favored mortal. One chosen by Odin and Freya. He’d have a mark.”
“But if it’s Maxwell, wouldn’t he be equally marked? By both gods?”
“How could they protect him? If he was dual-marked, he’d be a prize. The poor soul would be pounded by reapers night and day to win him over.”
“But he’s so basic,” Geirolf repeated. He shook his head. “My personal opinion is that he isn’t the harbinger of Ragnarok.”
“My thought exactly, but we have to be sure. I’ll start at the top and work my way down.”
“I know someone who knows a lot about harbingers.”
“You know a giant that well?” I quipped.
He turned sheepish and instantly, I felt my face turn red. There was always more with Geirolf. I’d forgotten how the sting of jealousy was a constant pain when we were together.
“It’s a Valkyrie, isn’t it?”
“You’re still jealous,” he grinned.
I scoffed and looked away.
“But, yes, my clever, dark reaper. It is a Valkyrie. One who likes to spin tales about how we will all end up bathing in our own entrails on the day of Ragnarok. Makes her quite gleeful. She’s a gory little bugger, but has a wealth of knowledge concerning the end times.”
I rolled my eyes. She may be gory, but beautiful too. He’d left that part out. “Just get the information. We’ll need to know details. All of them.”
“And you’ll lay off the reap until we have all of the information we need—right?”
I glowered. “I’m going to come up with an alternate plan since the first was smudged. One where Maxwell will get that stupid little theater he craves, no strings attached. A happy mortal is a stupid one. If he gets what he wants, he’ll be easy to read and collect if necessary.”
“Thatta girl,” Geirolf said. “Spoken like the reaper I’ve grown to admire.”
“Don’t look so happy,” I groused. “It’s not like we’re friends. Just trying to ensure the universe doesn’t blow up anytime this century.”
/> The air around us changed. Geirolf had a gift of radiating his emotions and had the magic to sizzle the atmosphere with it. The hair on my arms stood on end and my pulse increased. The noise of the pub surrounded us, but we were inside a bubble of what he created. No one could feel what I was and that should have made me feel safe. As with all reapers allowed to keep some of their godly gifts, Geirolf had managed to keep more than his fair share. It was written that his kind soul had given him an edge.
“I’m happy when you’re happy—is there anything wrong with that? Things never changed for me. You must know that.”
I peeked at him. He was still leaning across the table, and now he was reaching for my hand. I tucked my hands into the folds of my garment. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“I’m talking about us.”
My eyes narrowed.
“No one asked us what we wanted when they separated us. It was divine election. That means that I’m a Divine Reaper and you aren’t. It doesn’t mean that I have to like it. We were torn apart in mere seconds and asked to accept it. How can you believe I just stopped loving you? It’s the worst sort of blasphemy.”
“Just stop,” I said, scooting out from the booth. In an instant, he was beside me. Black wings next to white ones; the contrast reminded me of how we would never work. “Look at us. We aren’t even the same beings any longer. Everything has changed.”
“Not our hearts.” He touched my hand fleetingly. His head dipped toward me and for a second, I could remember kissing him. I remembered his taste, his smell. The way he always threw back his head and laughed after stealing a kiss.
I stepped away. “My heart belongs to Freya. This agreement is just that, and it’s temporary. Once we decide if Maxwell is going to end the world or not, we’ll go right back to fighting for opposing teams. That will make me happy.”
I didn’t bother walking away. I flashed out of Asgard and into my chamber in Folkvangr. Only then did I allow myself to feel. I wrapped my arms around my torso and sat on the chaise. I’d have to work closely with Geirolf, and meetings such as these would be frequent. I didn’t know if I could handle seeing him like this. Unguarded and friendly.
Fallen Mortal Page 8
