by Renée Jaggér
Rather than expound upon what he’d been up to, Roland asked how things had gone on Bailey’s end. They snuggled together on the couch as she started to speak.
Though her brothers had heard the story at this point, they half-listened in between watching the game, though Russell left for a bit in the middle of it to make coffee and bring them all a steaming mug.
Roland, however, found his jaw hanging open for half the narrative. In the end, all he could do was shake his head slowly and rub his eyes.
“Astounding!” he exclaimed. “Inconceivable, almost, or some other pretentious adjective. Well, I’m glad you got through it and that they’re also allowing you to come back home instead of having to sit on Mount Olympus or whatever it is all the time.”
“Right,” she agreed, unable to think of anything to add to that.
The wizard leaned back and folded his arms behind his head. “As for me, I was just, oh, you know, doing nothing. Bored. Flirted with tons of other girls mainly since what else is there to do without you around to stir up shit?”
She punched him on the arm. “Hey, now, that’s not funny. Well, not particularly funny.”
“I try.” He shrugged, then rubbed his arm.
It was late morning, and the day was beautiful. Not fully sunny, but close enough for Oregon. After a cup of strong coffee, Bailey and Roland decided to go into town to speak to people they knew and inform them about what was going on.
Jacob waved a hand. “We’ll hold the fort. I need to...ugh, sit here and rest for a while, I think. Yeah...”
Bailey nodded. “No more of Russell’s coffee after like, two or three. Get real sleep tonight.”
The couple stepped outside and made for Bailey’s Camaro.
“So,” she said, “days like today are made for driving damn nice cars if you ask me.”
“Seconded.” Roland kissed her on the cheek, and she revved the engine.
They cruised into town, stopping whenever they encountered someone they were close to who would spread the word.
The first person they met was Will Waldsbach, alpha of the South Cliff pack, who’d acted as Bailey’s bodyguard and one of her strongest supporters during the fight against the Venatori. He and two of his wolves were hanging out in the front yard of a house Bailey didn’t recognize, talking and drinking beer.
“Hey,” the werewitch called to them. “Come on over. I got something to tell you guys. Good news, don’t worry.”
“Bailey!” Grinning, Will ran up. “Things have been pretty boring lately, so hearing that it’s good news is a little concerning.”
She snorted. “Yeah, yeah, enjoy your lack of danger, dumbass.”
He and his friends listened as she told them everything. Will had accompanied her into the Weres’ sacred temple within the Other, so she didn’t hold anything back.
“A goddess,” he marveled, running a hand through his hair and beard. “You now sit on some council that, what, rules the world?”
“Not exactly,” she clarified, “but we watch over a lot of it. Mostly a good thing, but I’m sure I’ll have my work cut out for me.”
Then they stopped by the police station to speak to Sheriff Browne and his deputies. In his case, Bailey left out a few of the more esoteric details, though Browne was well aware that the world was full of strange paranormal things.
“What the hell,” he rumbled, fingering his mustache and leaning his heavy bulk against the wall. He had mostly recovered the use of his injured leg. “So you now have authority over the, ah, elements that invaded our town multiple times? That’s a step in the right direction, if so. Use your position wisely, but don’t forget to obey the law when you’re in my town.”
She laughed. “I won’t, Sheriff. Keep up the good work.”
Next they went to the diner and spoke to patrons and servers alike as they ordered a light lunch.
Tomi, the usual senior waitress, seemed faintly nervous but optimistic. “I don’t claim to understand everything in our universe. It’s a big, mysterious place, and scary stuff has gone down here too many times. If you have the power to keep us safe, well, that makes me feel a lot better.”
“I do,” Bailey affirmed, “and that’s gonna be my top priority.”
With their meal eaten, they wandered outside and stood in the back lot, thinking about what to do next.
“Vacation?” Roland suggested.
Bailey grimaced. “Shit, I dunno. Might not have time for one. My responsibilities have gone through the roof. If things stay peaceful, I won’t be summoned to the council much, but who knows? Still, we have the rest of the day and probably tomorrow.”
He put an arm around her, but she jabbed him in the ribs with a finger. “There’s something we still need to do. Right away.”
Three cars raced down the highway, curving around the eastern Cascade mountains before ascending into the blue peaks. One vehicle was a Camaro, one was an Audi, and one was a Ford Model T.
The Camaro and the Audi were neck and neck near the front, each trying to pass the other while the road was still straight; a curve around a cliff was coming up, and it was too dangerous to attempt a pass there. The Model T chugged along behind them.
Then the Camaro hit a bad bump, swerved, and slowed. The Audi jetted ahead, cutting the other vehicle off the instant they hit the curve.
“Motherfucker,” Bailey snapped. “He’s gonna pay for that.”
A convoy of SUVs came down the mountain from the other direction, honking frantically at them for driving so fast even though they were staying in their lanes. Looking into her rearview mirror, Bailey saw Gunney leaning out the side of the Model T and giving them the finger.
She cracked up, then realized she’d made a serious error.
In the time it took her to look back, the road straightened again. The Model T’s engine roared, and Gunney shot past her.
“Goddammit!” She punched the dashboard. “I’m a goddess, and I won’t be beaten by those scrubs.”
She could cheat, but that wouldn’t be as much fun as beating them the old-fashioned way.
But the mountains seemed to conspire against her; there wasn’t enough road for her to pass both cars, and this time Roland knew the road as well as she did. To both their surprise, though, Gunney managed to force the wizard’s car aside and into the shoulder against the railing, then rocketed ahead.
The girl’s jaw dropped. “You gotta be kidding me.”
The Model T was first to cross the line separating the road from the scenic overlook near the top of the peak. From out the driver’s side window, Bailey could hear a faint “Yeeeeehaw!”
All three cars came to a stop near the cluster of empty picnic tables, and their drivers emerged.
Gunney brushed his hands against each other. “Not bad for an old man. I won’t lie, though, Seattle Boy almost beat me.”
Roland shrugged. “I did better than Bailey, and that’s what counts.”
Fuming, the girl just waved a finger at them both. They knew her well enough to be perfectly aware that a rematch was forthcoming.
With the fun stuff done, they locked their cars and pulled coolers out of the trunks, assembling a light dinner of sandwiches and cold sodas to eat at the picnic tables on the summit’s overlook. No one else was around, and only two cars passed over the course of an hour.
They talked about nothing important, simply enjoying the clear mountain air of the late afternoon.
Bailey heard a distinctive noise behind her and mentally pictured a glowing purple doorway. Heavy footsteps approached as she turned around in her seat.
“Hi, Fenris,” she greeted her mentor. “Want some processed meat and cheese on bleached bread with condiments full of preservatives and shit?”
The wolf-father made a sour face. “No, thank you. I will eat later. I came to check in on you. Things are quiet on the council for the time being. They will summon you when they need you.”
“Good,” she said. “And we’re fine. Kinda needed
a day off.”
He came closer and put a hand on her shoulder. “You’ve earned it. You have come so far, farther than I could have hoped. I’m proud of you, Bailey.”
The girl blushed. “Thank you. You know I get embarrassed by excess praise, though.”
“Right,” Gunney chimed in. “That’s why I stick to insulting her. Seriously, I’m proud of you too, girl. You might be exactly what a council of the gods needs at a time like this.”
She shrugged. “We’ll see. I’ll try my best.”
The mechanic continued, “And to think, this all started because I was dumb enough to mention that the sheriff had some out-of-towner—meaning this skinny guy here—at the station and you were curious. Weird.”
The girl chortled. “Yeah, and things really started when we found out what the problem was.” She slapped Roland’s chest vaguely, and he pretended to recoil in pain. “Those witches wanted his body for breeding purposes. Of course, no one can claim that right but me these days.”
Roland added, “And at a time when you just wanted to evade marriage. Odd, isn’t it?”
“Right,” she confirmed.
The wizard cleared his throat. “So, that reminds me. With you being an official goddess, does that mean you’re out of everyone’s league?”
In a quiet voice, she replied, “I hope not.”
“Good.” Roland stood up, then knelt beside her. “I don’t have the necessary accessories to be doing this, but we’ll work on that later. Still, I’d rather ask now before I, uh, forget.”
She stared at him as Gunney and Fenris watched in silence.
“Roland?” she began.
He spoke before she could ask any questions of her own. “Bailey, will you marry me?”
Her vision spun. She went cold inside, then it turned into an alternating cascade of cold and warmth, light and dark; too many emotions at once to deal with. She felt like she was melting.
Beside her, Gunney breathed, “Well, I’ll be damned.”
Bailey jumped up and bear-hugged the wizard, whom she’d wanted to be with practically since the first time they’d spoken. “You dumbass,” she said. “Of course I will. What kind of question is that?”
Gunney burst out laughing as they kissed.
“Again,” Roland added as their lips parted, “sorry I don’t have the ring yet for a proper marriage proposal, but we’ll deal with that soon.”
“Sure,” she said. “At least you chose a place with a hell of a view.” The mountains were the only witnesses besides the mechanic and the wolf-god.
Shrugging, Roland went on, “I mean, it will be slightly embarrassing, my wife having a better job as a major deity than I do. I’ll be left behind in the house, fodder for a show called Real House-Husbands of I-Can’t-Find-This-Town-on-a-Map, Oregon or something like that. But I’ll manage.”
She laughed. “Yeah, I’m sure you will.”
The four of them passed out the hours of daylight together, talking a little but otherwise content to feel each other’s warmth as the sun went down behind the western peaks.
Velasquez smiled. “I gotta admit,” he began, “I’ve never seen this before. I’m looking forward to it, after all the trouble she caused.”
He looked down at the silvery canister in his hands, which glowed faintly magenta with the arcane residue of the creature that had once been Caldoria McCluskey.
Beside him stood Park, holding the other canister, which glowed greenish and held her life force. “Yup,” he agreed.
The technician who ran the esoteric equipment room came up and reported, “Gentlemen, the dissipator is ready. It’s set up to do the arcane aura first. That way, on the off chance that something goes wrong and the entity’s life force escapes, it will be powerless, whereas arcane essence escaping can cause all sorts of problems.”
“Yes,” said Velasquez. “Good.”
He and his partner walked over to the piece of equipment, which resembled a silver vending machine with a circular slot at the front, along with an array of buttons and a readout screen. Velasquez inserted his canister and waited for the machine to apprise them of the necessary info.
Both agents blinked.
“What?” Park snapped. “Does that mean it’s missing?”
The technician, squinting at the screen, stammered, “Uh, yes. If you captured her according to the procedure, and intact, it should say one hundred percent, relative to the size and nature of the entity.”
It didn’t. According to the readout, only fifty-three percent of an eldritch crone was represented by what was in the canister.
“Bullshit,” Velasquez commented. “We followed the procedure exactly and inspected the equipment beforehand to ensure there were no leaks. That means that she wasn’t intact when we captured her.”
Park quipped, “Well, yeah. She hadn’t recovered her full strength, right?”
“Negative,” Velasquez elaborated. “But there’s more going on, now that I think about it.”
“Yes,” the technician acceded. “She must have dispersed part of her aura. That’s rare, but there is one recorded instance of it happening. You said she was sucking the magic out of random witches to restore herself. Instead of building it all up in her etheric body, she had to have been filtering some of it through her and then sending it out to...I don’t know, bolster someone else, maybe?”
Park gritted his teeth. “Goddammit. Why weren’t we briefed on that possibility?”
Velasquez thought back to the files he’d read. “Bolstering several someone elses,” he surmised. “An eldritch crone’s arcane aura can infect witches like a pathogen entering the bloodstream. That means she was trying to create other crones, probably to act as her minions. Even if Callie is out of commission, those infectees are out there and in the process of transforming as we speak.”
His junior partner stared at him with a mixture of disbelief and faint excitement, while the technician gulped a mouthful of saliva.
“So,” Park said, “we’re potentially going to have to deal with an army of those things. How much time do we have?”
“Yes, and not much,” Velasquez answered him. He turned to the technician. “Finish dissipating this crap for us. We need to talk to the boys, and I’d say a trip to the sub-basement is in order.”
The two agents hustled out of the room, picking up the silvery guns they’d used to defeat Callie and making sure they were still charged. Then they made a beeline for the elevator.
It dinged and opened; no one was within. The men entered and stood side by side, disruptor guns held to their chests, their black sunglasses glinting in the harsh white lights of the compartment’s interior.
Without looking at his fellow agent, Velasquez mused, “So, you wanted action, Park? Get ready for a shit-ton of it. We’ve got a new secret war brewing, and it’s up to us to stop it before it happens.”
“Good deal,” Park commented.
The doors closed in their faces, and the elevator descended into darkness.
Fenris was among the few entities who’d ever bothered to come to such a lonely and foreboding corner of the Other. It was a place formed by the magical residues of dying supernatural beings, the etheric emanations of powers spent at the moment when violence faded and gave way to death.
The sky was a deep rust color, and the land resembled a desert in its stony, dusty hardness, yet there were enough trees for a forest, though all were dead or dying, petrified, hollow, diseased, or withered. Pale, sickly grass grew in random patches between the trees, and all the vegetation seemed to be stained with old blood.
Before Fenris was a black reflecting pool similar to ones found elsewhere in the arcane dimension. He sat facing it, looking at nothing in particular as he meditated.
Behind the wolf-father, footsteps approached, and a shadow grew large amidst the dim reddish light. Then a figure stopped beside him, before falling to one knee.
“Fenris,” said Carl.
The god addressed the scion withou
t looking at him. “Yes? What is your assessment of the situation?”
Carl smiled grimly. “Balder didn’t suspect a thing. He’s the god of innocence, after all. He’s naturally trusting.”
“Good,” Fenris replied. “It’s said that a man cannot serve two masters, but that does not apply when you are serving me. Soon you will inhabit the wasted space Balder currently occupies. Your shapeshifting abilities are perhaps the equal of my own. Thor and Coyote and Thoth will suspect nothing either.”
The scion almost trembled with anticipation. “Thank you, wolf-father.”
Fenris nodded. He had scooped Carl up long ago, recognizing his potential, then groomed and cultivated him to be an infiltrator among gods. He was Fenris’s loyal servant by the time Balder “discovered” him and went through the farce of training him as his disciple.
“And so,” the lycanthropic deity went on, “our work will be half done. Three seats emptied of fools. The remaining three will be that much easier to remove afterward.”
“Yes,” the scion agreed. “How will Bailey fit into the next stage of the plan, now that she sits on the council?”
Fenris paused before he spoke. “The details we will work out as we come to them, but I will find a way—and soon—to set Bailey against the remaining gods while turning them all against one another as well. Divided, they will fall, and if they somehow remain standing, they’ll be distracted while we make our moves. We are close, Carl. Very close.”
As he conjured a small fire and a stone kettle and cups to go with it, Fenris reflected that even Carl did not know the whole story. The scion thought his mentor’s plans ended with taking over all six seats in the crystal chamber and ruling in the pantheon’s stead.
The only one who knew that Ragnarök was the final goal was Freya, and she was dead.
“Let us drink, then,” Fenris proclaimed as he brewed strong and bitter black tea, “to a better world.”
The Story Continues with The Troll Solution
