by M. H. Bonham
Luna popped the meat in her mouth and chewed it. “Not necessarily. Most wolf packs are territorial and we generally don’t like other wolves encroaching.”
“But what about Ragnar? He’s from another pack.” Elryn poked her fork around in her salad. I sighed. She was in the best steakhouse in Denver and all she could order was a salad. Typical.
“That’s different, Ragnar is family. But even then, it depends on how well Alaric and Ragnar got along in the past.” Luna cut another piece of meat and ate it.
“So, it’s unlikely the Denver Wolfpack would hide the wolf of Ragnarok?” I mused.
“Well, think about it,” Luna said. “Why would the Wolfpack hide a creature that would bring around the apocalypse? Especially when it would mean our end too.”
“Yeah, but sometimes people do things they think are in their favor, even if everyone sees it differently.” Li’alla took a bite of the steak. “Oh, this is excellent. What kind of creature is this from?”
“Cattle, I presume.” Nana looked at me for agreement.
I nodded. “Luna and I are eating bison steaks, which are related.”
“They’re not sentient, are they?” Li’alla looked down at the meat.
“They feel, but they’re not particularly rational.” I shrugged. “They don’t talk or experience the world the same way we do.”
“Even if they did, we’d still eat them.” Luna grinned, looking more like a snarl than a smile. “They’re too tasty to not eat.”
“Good point.” Li’alla cut another piece and bit into it. “You know plants have intelligence, right?” She looked over at Elryn.
“Yes, but they usually let us harvest them.”
“You think lettuce would want to be grown so you could eat it?” I asked, keeping a straight face.
“Yeah, I’ve watched a documentary on farms. They plant all the seeds, use tons of pesticides, and then harvest them before they can finish out their lives by returning to seed. Terrible, really.” Tuzren grinned at me.
Elryn looked down at her salad and frowned. “Well, I still have to eat.” She took a bite of her salad thoughtfully.
Suddenly, the doors to the bar slammed open and a glowing creature with wings and fiery eyes strode in, carrying a sword.
Chapter Ten
Half the werewolves shifted in response to the new threat. Luna, who lacked control, was a silver wolf next to me; her lips raised in a snarl.
The creature hesitated for a moment and I got a good look at it. It was blindingly bright, as if looking into the sun. It had white feathered wings and an ageless, androgynous face that looked both beautiful and deadly—just like the glowing sword it carried. It wore armor—the type you might see modern troops wear—but completely in white.
“What the fuck is that?” Tuzren was the first one to speak. His voice carried above the wolf growls.
The creature turned to look at Tuzren and smirked, as if dismissing the little demon as a non-threat, and then turned its attention back to Alaric and Ragnar. He strode forward and the wolves parted, as if something simply swept them aside. One were—I didn’t recognize the wolf’s form—tried to leap at the creature, only to be batted away. The wolf yipped as he was tossed into two more wolves, who snapped at him.
“I think that’s an angel.” I stared at the creature. “I thought they were only a myth.”
“You mean, like werewolves, demons, and wizards?” Salazar quipped. Salazar was about six feet tall and gangly with dark hair and Latino features. He looked more like he was fifteen than over twenty, making him the youngest of us three cops.
“Yeah, something like that.” I stared at the angel in puzzlement, wondering what I could do against a messenger of the Christian god. Especially one with a fiery sword.
“Alaric Kerr, we know you have the bringer of Ragnarok.” The angel’s voice boomed out like a thunderclap. “Hand him over and no harm will come to your people.”
Now, I have to give the Denver Wolfpack’s Alpha credit: he didn’t shit his pants the way I felt like I was going to. He and Ragnar stood up slowly.
“Get the hell out of my tavern, Zaphkiel. You are not invited.” Alaric said. “Especially after you attacked two of my people.”
With those words, the angel dimmed and his sword no longer glowed bright. Alaric and revoked Guest Right—a magical bond between host and guest. In both the Supernatural and Normal communities, Guest Right was a privilege granted to guests. With ancient Normals, it meant that the guest had the privileges of being treated fairly, given food and drink, as well as a bed to sleep in. In return, the guest was not to harm anyone within the clan. In the Supernatural community, it meant that too, only that the guest and the host kept their powers, and neither one would harm each other. Trader Vic’s was a place where Guest Right was freely granted. Only Alaric had rescinded that right with the angel.
Now with the light effects reduced, I could see the angel’s features more clearly. The features that had looked androgynous with all that light, now looked decidedly masculine with high cheekbones and a haughty glare from pale blue eyes. His hair, cut in a military fashion, was white, like his clothing. I idly wondered if angels accepted diversity or if it was a “whites only” club.
Zaphkiel shook his head in regards to Alaric’s statement. “That was not me, but there are other players who are willing to do so. Be aware that was just a taste of what will follow should you not hand over Fenrir.”
“I don’t have Fenrir. And even if I did, I sure as hell wouldn’t hand him over, given the way your people attack first and then come to me with your demands.” He crossed his arms, glaring at the angel.
I took a deep breath. I had never seen Alaric so incensed—or crackling with so much power. To my surprise, he didn’t wolf out, which was something I expected. Instead, he simply met the angel’s gaze. At that moment, I didn’t know who was the most powerful. Seeing the angel at first, I would’ve said Zaphkiel, but now I was unsure. There was something to be said on being on one’s home turf, I guess.
To my surprise, the angel was the first to break the stare. I suspected it was more out of politeness than deference. After all, you can attract more unicorns with rainbows than whores. “I do not know any angel or archangel who would attack your people without the will of Heaven behind it. If it were one of ours, I would think I would have been informed of such an event.”
Is he the one? I heard Alaric’s pack-speak to Jimmy.
No, Jimmy said. The angel was like him but not him.
Shall we attack? Tom Ulfhednar asked.
Wait, let us hear what he has to say.
I blinked. This wasn’t the first time I had heard pack-speak. In fact, Spaz, the Denver Wolfpack’s resident hacker and creator of the virtual reality Net-Within-the-Net, The Magic Forest, had teased me about it, even though I could never be infected because of my vaccinations. I hesitated, looking around for him. To my surprise, I didn’t see his face in the bar. Nor was Kira, Alaric’s mate, with the weres.
Curiouser and curiouser, said Alice. Or, in this case, Ironspell.
Alaric gave Jimmy a slight nod. If I hadn’t heard the exchange, I might have missed it entirely. “But it was one of yours,” the Alpha remarked. “It appears someone hasn’t been informing their superiors of their actions.”
The angel frowned and I felt a shiver down my back. “We know Fenrir in somewhere here in the Western US. We must find him before Ragnarok starts.”
Alaric sighed and glanced at Ragnar. “The Cult of the Messiah attacked a Montana pack. Were you behind that too?”
The angel shook his head. “Heaven has nothing to do with the Cult of the Messiah.”
“Oh? And that is why your holy book is filled with words against the Supernaturals?”
“Irrelevant.”
“I beg to differ. It is highly relevant when dealing with Heaven.”
Zaphkiel shrugged. “In this case, it is not. We have already started Fimbulvetr—the long winter before Rag
narok. If the wolf isn’t removed from this universe within a week, the Four Horsemen will ride and the Armageddon will be upon us. Prematurely.”
“But Fimbulvetr lasts three years.” All eyes turned to me. Apparently I had spoken my thoughts out loud. Oops.
“Who are you?” The angel stared at me with those ice blue eyes. Without his full power, Zaphkiel was merely intimidating and not full-out terrifying.
I gave him a thin-lipped smile, reminding myself that I had met gods and had defeated mages far more powerful than myself. Still, I checked the angel’s aura and had my shield ready in case he attacked. “I am Ironspell. I am a police officer and friend of the Denver Wolfpack.”
“And you’re an expert on Ragnarok?” Zaphkiel arched an eyebrow at me.
“No, but given my friends and I have a freaking Valkyrie with us makes us more knowledgeable about Norse mythos than you.” To my surprise, my voice didn’t crack once. I glanced at Sigrún and Duncan. The Valkyrie grinned at my audacity and Duncan gave me a thumbs up.
The angel did something unexpected. He laughed.
Alaric and Ragnar gave me calculating looks, as if noticing me for the first time. Perhaps it was ballsy for me to call out Zaphkiel’s bluff, but hells bells, the angel was trying to force Alaric into a corner. Not I particularly wanted to help hide Fenrir—I had to find him before the other factions found him. Those other factions just so happened to be the Heavenly hosts.
Jesus Christ. Literally.
“You are a bold one.” The angel looked at me. “And you are right, Fimbulvetr would normally last three years, but with the wolf being released early, the timing changes for the Four Horsemen.”
I tried to remember the Biblical version of the apocalypse. Back in high school there had been a fundamentalist girl I had a crush on, so I took her advice and read the Bible. After reading the Bible, I gave up trying to date her. I enjoyed reading the Christian holy book, if, for nothing else, the stories it told. The Book of Revelation was a particularly interesting read, but I hadn’t thought of it as being anything other than that. I tried to recall the chronological order of events, gave up, and pulled up the Book of Revelation on my smartphone. Or rather, the Wiki outline of it.
“Yeah, but the Horsemen are only the first part of the apocalypse, like Fimbulvetr.” I scrolled through the Wikipedia entry. “See? I think Heaven could call them back, if it wanted to.” I held up my smartphone as proof.
Zaphkiel shook his head. “Once the seals are open, they can’t be undone. The horsemen will ride and Heaven will not stop it. It is up to the angels and mortals to end Ragnarok before the seals are opened.”
Great. Another deadline. Like I didn’t already have one with the Norse gods?
“I assure you that Fenrir is not here,” Alaric spoke. “Leave now.”
“Swear on your power that you are not hiding the wolf of Ragnarok.” The angel crossed his arms and met Alaric’s gaze.
“I swear on my power that all the wolves you see here, along with their families, are the only wolves in my pack, save for Kira and Spaz, who are currently in the Enchanted Forest.”
“And you are not hiding Fenrir?”
“As you can see, I haven’t hidden Fenrir.”
I studied Alaric’s aura, but to my surprise, it didn’t waver nor did it lessen with his vow. If he had lied, he would’ve lost much, if not all, of his power as a werewolf Alpha. Instead, his golden aura looked stronger.
Zaphkiel nodded. “Very well, but let me offer once piece of advice before I go. There are others who seek the Bringer of Ragnarok, and not all of them are with Heaven. I would guard your pack carefully because they are a target, no matter how guilty or innocent you are in this.”
He then turned to me, much to my surprise. “Ironspell, I know the task you were given and I will help you, if I can. You may call upon my aid once. Just say my name three times.” With that, he strode to the door and stepped over the threshold. For a brief instant, he returned to the terrifying being of light and power before vanishing.
“Well, that was different,” Tuzren remarked.
Chapter Eleven
The werewolves that had shifted, changed back into humans. Naked humans. Normally I’d be embarrassed, but since dating Luna, I’ve been a little less prudish about nudity. Granted, my mom, Sabine, was the ultimate flower child of the 60s, but somehow growing up, I just didn’t get the carefree acceptance. Maybe it had to do with the few years I attended Catholic school when I was younger. The only ones with bigger sex phobias than the Catholics were the Puritans.
Luckily most weres pack a change of clothes in the event something causes them to change—like a freaking angel with a fiery sword. Those who didn’t were handed clothing courtesy of the pack. Apparently, this was a common occurrence.
I sat back down and stared at my cooling steak, unsure what had just transpired. Alaric had sworn on his power that he wasn’t hiding Fenrir. That might be good enough to get the angels off his back, but I wasn’t so sure about the other powers in play. The Cult of the Messiah might not care taking down a few werewolves, but I did. I had friends in this pack. Real, loyal friends who would do anything for me.
Maybe Zaphkiel hadn’t attacked Jimmy and Lorelei, but someone who looked a lot like an angel did. That bothered me. If Heaven hadn’t given the orders to attack weres outright, was there a freelancer among the Heavenly Host? And who or what were the other factions looking for Fenrir? What could they possibly gain capturing the Wolf of Ragnarok?
Despite Alaric’s sworn statement, I wondered if the Denver Wolfpack was providing refuge for the monster. Zaphkiel had thought the giant wolf was here. I really had to speak to Alaric to find out. At one time, I could’ve pulled in a favor with the Denver Wolfpack after rescuing five female weres from the Boulder 5 Wolfpack. But since the Denver Wolfpack came to my aid with the Drow, I suspected the pack and I were settled up. In which case, I couldn’t expect help of this magnitude, especially if Alaric was hiding Fenrir.
Not unless I saved more pack members from kidnappings.
I muttered a quick warming spell on my steak and took another bite. Sometimes being a magic user could be more convenient than a microwave. My friends were talking around me, but I wasn’t listening. Instead, I pulled up the cultures with apocalypse myths on my smartphone.
Christians. Islam. Norse. Aztec…
None of them really surprised me. Some, such as Buddhism and Judaism talked about a rebirth of the world but without nearly the wars and catastrophes that beset the other religions. My guess was the end of the world wasn’t as horrible in their myths as the others. But there was only one Earth, here. Which meant someone’s view of the end of days had to take over…
“Could you warm my steak?” Luna interrupted my reverie. She had come back from the restrooms wearing a new outfit since the shift had torn up her other clothes. I casted a quick warming spell over her raw steak and looked up as I heard my name.
Elryn and the others were staring at me.
“What?”
“You haven’t been listening?” Elryn gave me the stink eye.
“No, because I’ve been looking up cultures that have apocalypse myths.” I held up my smartphone as proof.
“Nice. Did you only look up human myths or did you go into Supe myths too?” Nana asked.
I blinked. “Other races have their own version of the apocalypse?”
Li’alla rolled her eyes. “Human-centrism in action.”
“Hey! I resemble that remark.” I looked at Duncan and Salazar for back up. “Did you guys know that other races would have apocalypse stories?”
Duncan shrugged. “I would’ve assumed the different races would believe in similar beliefs according to their pantheon.”
“So, Dark and Light Elves would naturally believe in Ragnarok, right?” I said.
“Some Elves are closer related to the Tuatha De Dannen.” Elryn finished her salad and picked up a bread roll. “Their ending has the Sidhe fade away wit
h the magic that ends.”
“So, not really the end of the world, right?” Luna asked.
“Depends if you’re a Sidhe.” Li’alla shrugged. “What I’m saying is that human lore only accounts for so much. We have no idea if there’s another player outside the human pantheons who may be powerful enough to try to capture Fenrir.”
“You mean like the dragons and Orcs might have their own version of the apocalypse?” I started feeling a migraine settle in again just behind my left eye. Apparently I was going to have to call in for another prescription of migraine meds.
“You could ask Smog if dragons have end of the world legends,” Luna said.
“Who’s Smog?” Sigrún asked.
“He’s a dragon and Ironspell’s friend. He helped Ironspell rescue some tourists at the zoo from an evil sorcerer.” Luna took another bite of meat. “That’s how Ironspell and I met.”
“Oh, isn’t that romantic!” Li’alla turned to Nana. “I had no idea my cousin was a romantic kind of guy.”
“Do tell.” Duncan eyed me curiously. “I don’t seem to recall your name being mentioned in the papers.”
I shook my head. “You won’t because the DWTF took credit for it, rather than have a rookie cop in his first week on the job become the hero. I hear the Denver PD was extraordinarily pissed that they did that, but went along, even if the DWTF’s golden boy, Frank Winter, nearly shit his pants with the dragon. Anyway, that was before I fell out of favor with the DPDS.
“How’d you fall out of favor with the DPD?” Salazar asked.
“I went through five partners in five weeks.” I shrugged and took a drink of the ice tea I had the server bring. I didn’t see how getting plowed again would help my headache, so I decided to toughen up and hydrate instead. Even with the nominal caffeine in the tea, I knew I’d be in damnside better shape drinking it than a beer.
“Oh, that’s rough.” Duncan set down his fork and took a swig of ale. “I bet after the first three nobody wanted to partner with you.”
“Apparently I have a penchant for drawing tough assignments.”
