by M. D. Massey
“You used to hang out with wizards?” I asked distractedly as I trimmed a nicely crisped piece of casing from a sausage on the grill. My efforts earned me a rap on the knuckles from Click’s tongs, but I popped it in my mouth just the same. Delicious.
“Ásgeir once moved in some rather lofty circles,” Bryn stated haughtily as she strolled out of the shadows. “You should ask him how he gained such status with the gods, druid.”
I hadn’t heard her approach, and the Oak only warned me of her presence a few seconds prior to when she made her presence known. Whatever weird form of teleportation or cloaking the Valkyries used, it was effective. I realized she’d been testing me the night previous, when we hid from Jay and Bob in that alley.
Or gauging my strengths and weaknesses. Naughty, naughty.
“Enough, Bryn,” Click said abruptly, in a voice that had just enough edge to be threatening. “I’ll not have ya’ ruinin’ my meal with yer’ stories. ’Sides, we all have a few skeletons in our closets, do we not?”
The valkyrie drew her mouth into a thin line. “Indeed. Forgive my manners.” She looked at the steaks sizzling over the fire, softening her expression as she licked her lips. “The ride here was long. If you have room for one more, I could stand for a bite and a drink.”
“That’s the spirit, lass,” Click said as he tossed her a cold one from the cooler. “Hard times ahead, so ya’ best tank up whilst ya’ can.”
The Welsh trickster’s tone was way too cheerful for such an ominous remark, no matter how offhanded it might have seemed. If Click was happy, things were about to go to shit. As I met his gaze across the fire, the wink he gave me tied my stomach in knots.
Ah, fuck.
11
Except for Click, we enjoyed our meal in silence. The trickster was determined to entertain us with bawdy jokes, despite the mood of his audience. His earlier comment had put a damper on my enthusiasm and appetite, and our other two companions pointedly ignored each other while they ate. All in all, it looked like this was going to be one hell of a fun rescue mission.
But before we could move forward, we needed to speak with Loki. Once we’d finished our dinner, a snap of Click’s fingers removed all trace of our trash, plates, and scraps. I doused the fire with some druid magic while silently instructing the Oak to return the forest to its original appearance. The fewer clues we left of our passing, the better.
Across camp, Bryn was adjusting the tack on her pegasus. As she worked, she said something to Ásgeir in Old Norse that I didn’t understand. In response, he scratched his head with only his middle finger extended. The valkyrie hissed before turning back to her task. I had a feeling I would regret my choice in road companions when this whole mess was over.
“Are ya’ ready?” Click asked as he appeared at my elbow. “Once we get started with Loki, there’s no turnin’ back.”
“Why do I have a feeling I’m going to regret this?”
“Because ya’ are, but there’s no gettin’ around it. Trust me, I’ve looked fer’ alternatives.”
“Fine. Let’s get it over with,” I said with finality.
Click clapped his hands and rubbed them together like a child anticipating a rather delicious treat. “Thought ya’d never ask.” A portal large enough to walk a horse with wings through opened up in front of us, and the magician stepped aside, pushing me out of the way with one hand. “Ladies first, o’ course. An’ don’cha worry, Loki knows yer’ comin’.”
“Would that normally be a problem?” I whispered after Bryn had led her winged horse through.
“Possibly,” Click said with a frown. “The Valkyries were the ones who ferried him ta’ the island after Odin had him poisoned. So, I s’pose there might be a bit o’ bad blood there.”
“Great,” I sighed. “Anything else I should know?”
“Invest in companies that make surgical masks an’ other personal protective equipment. Ye’ll make a mint. Oh, no, wait a minute,” he said, tapping his finger on his chin. “Scratch that, wrong timeline.”
“Why do I get the feeling I just dodged a bullet?”
“Because ya’ did,” Click said as he signaled that the mountain troll should head through next. “Bad business, that.”
“As bad as the Hellpocalypse?” I asked.
“Worse.” He nodded at the portal. “C’mon, lad. Destiny awaits.”
“One of many,” I quipped.
“An’ believe me, it’s fer the best.”
Despite my reticence I walked through the portal, leaving Click to take up the rear. We exited onto Loki’s front walk behind the retaining wall. Apparently Click had the foresight to keep the valkyrie’s steed away from prying eyes. I could only assume that a mortal would see her pushing a motorcycle, or see nothing at all, but those of the supernatural world might wonder.
When the portal closed, I turned to say something to Click only to be interrupted by a tug on my pant leg. I looked down, and there was the ventriloquist’s dummy, staring up at me with hateful glee.
“Gah!” I screamed, jumping sideways a good five feet. “Keep your hands to yourself, alright?”
“As you wish,” the dummy said, bowing deep at the waist. “My master requests your presence in the garden. Follow me.”
The pint-sized mannikin did a clumsy pirouette, as if it were fighting gravity and a bad case of vertigo all at once. Then it took off toward the side of the house in a loose-limbed, awkward gait that gave me the willies. I shook my head in disgust, then I queued up an immolation spell, just to be safe.
Bryn pulled up alongside me, leading her horse like a dog at heel. “Honestly, druid. It’s just a toy.”
“Uh-uh, nope. What it is, is an abomination. Did you see the murder in its eyes when it startled me? The thing enjoyed seeing me jump.”
“For once—and let me say, probably for the only time—I’m in agreement with the valkyrie,” Ásgeir said. “It’s harmless, if somewhat unsettling.”
“Pfft, harmless to whom?” I groused. “And what the hell is animating the damned thing, anyway? It obviously has sentience, and a lot more than a golem would. I think there’s something inside that little murder puppet, and it ain’t good intentions.”
The troll sniffled, scratching his nose through his scarf. “Well, whatever you do, don’t harm it. Loki may be attached to the entity that inhabits it. The last thing you’d want to do is insult him by attacking his majordomo.”
“Fine. But if it touches me again, I’m cursing it with termites,” I said as I stared holes in the dummy’s back.
The damned thing kept walking forward, leading us to what I assumed was Loki’s backyard. But after I made that comment, its head did a one-eighty like an owl, and it winked at me. Then it laughed like a maniac in its weird, faraway voice as its head slowly spun to face front once more.
I was just about to incinerate it when Click grabbed my wrist in an iron grip. “Do not even think about it, lad. Now, chin up—our host awaits.”
We followed the Howdy-Doody doll from hell around the side of the house, past a series of neatly-trimmed putting greens. The grass was real and not fake turf, and most certainly magically maintained. Just past the greens, we were led through a metal and wood origami portcullis that opened sideways by folding over on itself, instead of swinging out like a normal gate.
And beyond that, it was a bachelor’s paradise.
Loki’s backyard was huge by Reykjavik standards, easily the size of three tennis courts laid side-by-side. Most of the side closest to the gate consisted of a massive in-ground pool, complete with a swim-up bar, a waterslide, and a hot tub. It was obviously heated, as steam rose from the surface in wisps of moisture that rose lazily until they dissipated in the cool night air.
To our left sat another portable bar that had been set up next to a DJ’s booth, the kind that you might see at a music festival rather than in someone’s backyard. Scantily-clad women were everywhere, each one more beautiful than the last—some engaged in convers
ation, some enjoying the pool, and the rest either dancing or chasing each other around the garden.
The DJ was a familiar face, although I couldn’t remember her name. As for the guests, I recognized at least three supermodels, one Hollywood actress, and a member of the Greek royal family. For grins, I scanned the yard in the magical spectrum, revealing at least three sylphs, two undines, a rusalka, and a succubi. Besides Loki and present company, there were no other men in sight.
“What. The. Fuck,” I said, just before Click closed my gaping jaw with a gentle lift of his hand.
“Don’t gawk, lad. Makes ya’ look like a newb.”
Loki sat at the edge of the pool opposite us, a drink in each hand as he held court for a bevy of young, voluptuous women. He noticed us soon after we entered, acknowledging our presence by leaping to his feet and sloshing alcohol on his nearest companions.
“Colinlingus, Clicktastic, you made it!” he exclaimed exuberantly. “Mare, grab these fellas a drink, will ya?”
I followed Loki’s gaze to see who he was ordering around, since I hadn’t noticed any staff when we arrived. The dummy was nowhere to be found, but a short, thin man with ginger hair and freckles now stood behind the portable bar. He wore an old-school dark-blue suit and red bowtie that matched the dummy’s outfit to a T. When his eyes met mine, the little bastard winked and flashed me an evil grin.
Meanwhile, Ásgeir had faded into the background, taking up post by the caterer’s table. He seemed content to avoid notice, and busied himself by sneaking food when no one was looking. Bryn stood nearby, arms crossed with a mildly annoyed look on her face, tapping her foot in time to the steady techno beat of the track the DJ laid down.
Loki’s now glamoured servant shoved a couple of frou-frou drinks toward Click and I, complete with fruit garnish and little umbrellas. One look into his creepy, hate-filled eyes had me setting my drink down on a nearby table in due haste. Unperturbed by the source, Click took a long pull off his and gave it a nod of approval.
“Shite, but that creature makes a bangin’ piña colada,” the magician said as Loki walked over to embrace him, still soaking wet. He nodded to me, and to the troll, pointedly ignoring the valkyrie.
“Ahem,” Bryn said, clearing her throat loudly enough to be heard over the music.
Loki slowly turned his head, smirking as he looked the valkyrie up and down. “Oh, didn’t see ya’ there, Mankiller. Where’s your horse?”
“Grazing on your putting greens,” she replied, deadpan. “When I left him, Tordenvejr was leaving a huge shit on your lawn. Looked to be a hole in one.”
The god of mischief waved the insult off with a slosh of his glass. “Meh, it needed fertilizer anyway.” He turned his back on the valkyrie, throwing an arm around my neck and Click’s. “Walk this way, my fellow brohemians. I’m about to introduce you to a couple of Brazilian beach volleyball players who are just dying to meet my new American friend.”
I cast a sheepish backward glance at Bryn, who merely rolled her eyes in return. The valkyrie grabbed the drink I set down and parked herself on a nearby lounge chair, feet kicked up in feigned indifference. Her neutral facial expression said she could care less about Loki’s insults, but way she chewed the ice in her drink told me otherwise.
Personally, I was all set to meet those volleyball players, but then Click had to ruin it by slinging Loki’s arm off his shoulder. “We didn’t come here fer’ a remake of a National Lampoon movie, Loki.”
I raised my hand meekly. “For the record, I have no objections to meeting Brazil’s finest athletes.”
Loki smile broadly. “See, Clicktonator? The kid’s down to party, and we have the whole night to talk business. So, why not relax and enjoy yourselves before I send your apprentice off to his doom?”
“Yeah, Click—say what?” I said as I did a double-take. “What’s this about apprentices marching off to their doom?”
“Did I say doom? I meant ‘room,’” Loki replied. “Mare—refill—now!” he yelled across the pool before addressing me once more. “Yeah, I most definitely meant to say room, as in the bedroom you’re gonna bang those volleyball players in later. I got guest rooms out the yin-yang, so feel free to take your pick.”
“Oh, I think there’s a young female ’thrope who might have somethin’ ta’ say about that,” Click said, scowling at me.
“Now, now—I was only going to chat them up,” I said with a shrug. “Besides, it’s been seven months since I heard from Fallyn. If she intended to continue our relationship, she’d have at least answered a text by now.”
“Ghosted ya’, eh?” Loki replied. “Happens to the best of us. And there’s only one cure for that, Bromeslice—”
“Enough!” Click barked, snapping his fingers. Instantly, the music stopped as everything and everyone in the yard froze in place except for Click, Loki, and me.
“Loki, we don’t have time fer’ this shite,” Click hissed, his voice cutting through the unnatural silence that had fallen all around. “The lad is on a mission, and if we don’t get on with it immediately, very bad things’ll happen.”
“Týr’s missing hand, Gwydion,” Loki sulked. “When did you become such a drag?” The god of mischief whispered behind his hand to me in an aside. “I still have it—the hand, I mean. Fen barfed it up a few days later, so I kept it as a souvenir. Kids do the darnedest things, ya’ know?”
I gave Loki a polite smile and nod before I addressed Click. “What ‘very bad things’ are we talking about here? And why didn’t you mention this to me earlier?”
Click had the grace to at least look flustered. “It’s best that ya’ not know yer’ own future, lad. Knowin’ll cause ya’ all sorts o’ trouble. Ye’ll go tryin’ ta’ change things, an’ if yer’ not careful, ye’ll create more problems than ya’ solve.”
“He’s right, kid,” Loki said. “I’ve always told the Gwydster he was nuts for messing around with time magic, but he wouldn’t listen. Powerful mages are always like that. Tell ’em not to mess with necromancy because they might start a zombie apocalypse, and they’ll say something like, ‘Oh, but think of the problems we could solve,’ or ‘And what’s so bad about that?’ More hubris than scientists, and way more dangerous.”
Despite the nagging curiosity at the back of my mind, I didn’t want to ask the obvious question. Click was right; it was best if I didn’t know. But fuck destiny—I’d cheated death enough times to know that you make your own fate. Sure, there were millions of alternate outcomes to every decision a person made, but the only one that mattered was the path you chose. If life was a sea voyage, then choice was your rudder—no matter what the gods tried to make people think.
Click crossed his arms as he stared down his nose at the pale deity. “Speaking o’ which, I seem ta’ remember that a certain god was supposed ta’ cast an augury fer us.”
“And I did!” Loki exclaimed as he raised a finger skyward. “I know exactly where that Diane Keck chick is being held, too. Thing is, I can’t send you there myself—I’m too weak. But I know some dudes who can show you the way.”
“Great, then introduce us and we’ll be off,” I said.
Loki frowned and scratched the back of his head. “Yeah, about that—”
“Loki…” Click said in a warning tone.
“Don’t get all pissy with me, Brodhisattva,” Loki objected. “It’s not like I was the one who cursed them and turned the whole clan into draugar. That’s was Odin’s deal, man. I had nothing to do with it.”
“Feckin’ shite,” Click said, hanging his head and covering his eyes with one hand. “I knew this was goin’ ta’ be a dog’s breakfast.”
“‘Draugr’—as in undead?” I asked. “What’s the big deal about a bunch of zombies? We just go in, kick their asses, and make them show us the way to Jotunheim.”
“Eh, not quite,” Loki replied. “Our undead are a bit more, shall we say, complex, than what you’ve seen in the States.”
“How so?”
&n
bsp; “Hmm, let’s see. They retain all the skills they had in life, so if they were a warrior, they’ll fight just as well dead as they did alive. They also have giant-like strength, they can shape-shift, and the really nasty ones can do magic. Weather control, dream-walking, altering their size and mass, and the like.” He snapped his fingers as if remembering something important. “Oh, and they’re resistant to most weapons. Iron will ding ’em up a bit, but it won’t kill them. You pretty much have to drag them back into their graves to defeat them. Yeah, I think that’s it.”
“One draugr can be a handful fer’ a single hero,” Click added. “An’ if a whole clan were cursed—”
“It won’t be a cakewalk, that’s for sure,” the god of mischief said. “The good news is, all you gotta’ do is beat their leader, Jerrik. Once you kick his ass, the rest will fall in line.”
“Oh, joy,” I replied. “Anything else I should know?”
The Norse god nodded. “Beating Jerrik probably won’t convince them to help you. All that’ll do is settle them down.”
“So, how do you suggest that we get them to show us the way to Jotunheim?” I asked.
Loki looked around, framing a nearby model’s ass with his hands. “I dunno. Lift their curse, maybe? That’d probably work. Pretty sure they’re tired of being undead by now.” He glanced at Click. “Mind lifting this stasis field? I have a party to get back to.”
“Uh-uh, nope,” Click replied. “This is yer’ plan, so yer’ comin’ with us.”
12
Needless to say, Loki wasn’t too keen on accompanying us to the draugars’ location. At first, he refused to help us at all—until Click reminded him of our deal.
“No trip to Jotunheimr, no trip ta’ Vegas,” the magician had stated with finality.
After Loki pissed and moaned for several minutes, Click promised he wouldn’t have to do anything other than advise. That seemed to mollify the immortal fuckboi, and Loki finally agreed to tag along in an advisory capacity. The god was still hacked at having to leave his own party, though.
