by Renée Jaggér
A storm of freezing sleet erupted over her head in a tight-enough column that it startled her and obscured her vision without much affecting Roland. She launched herself straight back, dodging the wizard’s blade, and retaliated with a fireball that blasted through the freezing mess toward him.
He easily hopped aside from it, summoning an arcane shield in front of and around himself for good measure, then tried to catch her in a crossfire of two horizontal lightning bolts that intersected to form an “X” of blazing white light.
But Bailey was already airborne, slashing her sword downward, directing its course through her magic. It landed at the point where the two electrical bolts crossed and absorbed their energy before spinning laterally toward the wizard.
“Shit!” he exclaimed, doubling his shields and rolling aside.
Bailey floated earthward as her fiancé narrowly evaded the powerful attack. Her sword crashed into the trunk of a tree, getting stuck after passing halfway through it and then unleashing a torrent of sparks and smoke. The tree burst into flames.
While the girl dived for her blade, the wizard summoned atmospheric moisture to coalesce around his own weapon, then flung it at both Bailey and the burning tree in a tight wave, enough to cause concussive damage or even cut through matter like a knife. Bailey shielded herself, ignoring the foaming white spray that collided with the arcane barrier as she pulled her sword free of the trunk. The leftover water extinguished the blaze.
Then Roland was upon her, his side sword lashing nimbly. Though the werewitch’s sword was heavier, she had more formal training in fencing than the wizard did, and as a lycanthrope, her paranormal strength more than made up for it, anyway.
Their blades smashed together, each now trying to overcome the other through brute force. They pulled them apart, and each sent a feinting strike at their opponent’s eyes, only to lock steel once more, straining and striving against the other’s will with waves of psionic fear and despair attacks.
Neither yielded.
They separated again, looking into each other’s faces as they heaved for breath and smoke rose from the scorched earth around them. Roland gently waved his left hand in a healing spell and a soft green light flowed over the ground, undoing the worst of the damage so that the grass would return soon.
“Yeah,” Bailey panted, “I’d say that’s enough for today. We’re at the point of it being a ‘damn good workout.’ But if we go much past that point, it’s legit exhaustion, and it takes too much damn time to recover from that. And we don’t know how much time we have. Can’t be caught when we’re weak.”
Roland sheathed his sword with an unnecessarily elaborate flourish, though he missed getting the point exactly in the scabbard and had to readjust at the last second. “Well, I tried,” he mumbled, then, “Yes, let’s take a shower and get some food. Can’t save Asgard from destruction on an empty stomach, can we?”
“Probably not.” She walked over, planted a kiss on his cheek, and led him toward her truck, their arms linked.
* * *
Things at the Bristling Elk, the combination country-western bar and diner that had sometimes been called the heart of Greenhearth, Oregon, were quiet. They were moderately busy, but things were normal. Bailey smiled. The warm feeling of peace and familiarity...she needed it right now.
Tomi, the main full-time evening waitress, greeted them with a wave. “Hi, Bailey. Hi, Roland. Go on ahead to your usual seat, and I’ll be right over.”
“Thanks.” Bailey waved back, and she and her fiancé headed over to their standard place, nodding or saying hello to most of the other patrons en route.
Bailey ordered her usual steak sandwich and fries, along with regular coffee, whereas Roland went with chicken alfredo and decaf. The plan, they agreed, was to drink out of each other’s cups half the time so each of them would get some caffeine, but not too much.
Tomi laughed. “Whatever. I’ll bring you a third cup to mix it if you want. Anyway, I’m happy that things are finally getting back to normal around here. By the way, I haven’t seen your brothers in a while?”
Bailey shrugged. “They must not be hungry. And business is good.” Everyone knew that Tomi had a crush on all three of them, or at least on Jacob and Russell, the elder two.
The couple chatted about cars, sports, and the weather as they waited for their meals. Roland had first come to Greenhearth in the spring, and he was curious about what winters were like here in the mountains, compared to his hometown of Seattle.
“Ehh,” Bailey told him, “they vary. Probably colder and snowier some days, and warmer and drier others. We’re not far enough east to be completely out of the stereotypical PNW climate zone, so it isn’t likely to be that different from Seattle.”
“Hmm.” He sipped his half-caff coffee. “I’d expected them to be comparable to Siberia, but perhaps not. Your summers are certainly hotter than ours are. Was hotter, anyway.”
Tomi brought out their food, wished them a nice meal, and excused herself. They thanked her and dug in.
A minute or two later, someone wandered into the diner. Bailey’s finely-honed senses picked up slight abnormalities in the person’s tread and demeanor. She turned at the same time she noticed Roland, who was facing toward the diner’s entrance, widening his eyes.
It was Loki. Today he was a slender, pale man in a dark coat with black hair, the mortal guise of the Norse god of mischief.
“Well,” Bailey murmured, swallowing a mouthful of beef and bread, “this oughta be good.”
Various other patrons turned to look at the odd man as he strode by. He had a way of attracting attention to himself despite moving smoothly and with minimal noise.
Loki stood beside their table. “Good evening,” he stated in his low, smooth voice, pinching a steak fry off of Bailey’s plate, sniffing it, and popping it into his mouth.
“Oh,” Roland reacted, flapping his hand in annoyance, “just help yourself then, by all means. Take whatever you want.”
The deity smirked. “If you insist.” He picked up Bailey’s fork, which she wasn’t using, and stabbed it into Roland’s pasta, twirling it around and adding a chunk of chicken to the tines before sampling it. “Not bad. Not superb, but acceptable.”
The werewitch looked up at him. “So, why are you here? I’m hoping for good news, but not holding out much hope, we’ll say.”
“Oh, ha! Good news!” Loki chortled. “No, no, of course not. But not bad news either. I merely wanted to check in and see how you were doing.”
Bailey shrugged. “Fine. Keeping up with our training and staying alert, but also trying to get enough rest, that kind of thing. Working at the auto shop sometimes. I’d rather make money the honest way than conjure it out of thin air. Shouldn’t you be hiding somewhere, though? In case you-know-who appears out of nowhere? He doesn’t know you’ve been sneaking around and helping us, and I’m pretty sure he’d have a few objections to that.”
Turning his eyes to the ceiling, Loki pointed out, “Well, he has objections to everything, doesn’t he? My existence, for example, among many, many other things. Anyhow, what exactly have you been training in? I’m curious.”
Roland answered him. “Magic and swordsmanship, most recently. I’d say I have more of a knack for the latter than I would have guessed.”
“Oh,” Loki replied, “good, I suppose. Don’t forget the subtler arts, though. This struggle won’t be won solely by brute force. Subterfuge is a powerful factor.” He arched his black eyebrows to emphasize the point.
The girl had to agree with that. After all, Fenris had employed layers upon layers of deception in order for his plans to advance as far as they had.
“Yeah, I know,” she told the god. “We’ve been planning and drilling ourselves in what to do and say if we have to play along, or if he asks us certain awkward questions. And how to slip quietly through an area without being seen. I only hope it’s enough.”
Loki flexed the long fingers of his left hand. “Perhaps
it will be. You’re better positioned for the task to come than anyone else. You have a good shot, though of course, nothing is certain. And on that note, I lied. Sorry! I did, in fact, come here to warn you and deliver bad news.”
Roland threw up his hands and shook his head. “For fuck’s sake.”
Grimacing, Bailey responded, “All right then, let’s hear it.” She pretty much knew what he was going to say.
The traces of amusement left the trickster god’s thin face.
“I suspect that Fenris is moving to trigger Ragnarök sooner than anticipated. Exactly how soon, I cannot say, but we believe he’s taken to lurking within Asgard, our homeworld. Our agents have spied him here and there, under ‘innocent’ circumstances, but that is all. He’s keeping a low profile, not making a scene. Slowly but surely, he is setting up the ritual that will culminate in his self-sacrifice.”
Bailey gave a single slow nod at that. They all knew that Fenris’ real plan was to sacrifice her in his place.
“And,” Loki continued, “once that little shenanigan is completed, it will trigger the Norse apocalypse, leading to the end of Asgard and quite possibly its associated sub-domains, and perhaps your world, as well. Our dimensions are all connected, and the destruction may easily spill over from one to the other.”
The werewitch rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. None of this was a shock to her at this point; she’d accepted it a couple of weeks ago. But that didn’t mean she liked hearing about it.
Several nearby patrons could not help overhearing the conversation, and their hands began to shake as they gripped their forks and knives. The town of Greenhearth had suffered through witch invasions, wolf pack wars, and battles in the streets. The last thing the people needed to deal with was the end of the goddamn world.
Roland asked, “Okay, then why hasn’t he made the final move yet? What else is he doing at the moment? There has to be more to his plot than only trying to trick Bailey into taking his place.”
“Oh, ha.” Loki snickered. “Of course. There is much more. While he was in your presence and you in his, Fenris seems to have forged alliances with the monstrous species that live in the outlands of our dimension. There has been an increase in border skirmishes between them and Asgard. We believe Fenris is behind this. It’s likely the next phase of his scheme.”
Bailey’s jaw dropped. “Wait, what? You mean like the frost trolls and the dark elves?”
Loki helped himself to Roland’s glass of ice water and took a sip. “Yes, of course.”
“But,” the girl protested, “I was with him. We went to their realms together to fight those assholes! How could he go from helping me kill a hundred of their warriors to making deals with their leaders in the same fuckin’ excursion?”
Loki gazed at her with a fatuous expression that might have been a sardonic sort of pity.
“That’s easy,” he answered her. “He excused himself off to somewhere else at some point, didn’t he? And the monstrous peoples are less concerned about individual lives lost, as long as they benefit collectively or their kings approve it. Fenris could have easily convinced them to sacrifice a paltry number of grunts in exchange for a share of the spoils of Asgard. All he had to do is lie, and he’s been doing a lot of that lately.”
Bailey felt her guts coiling up within her, turning to ice and fire in alternating cycles.
Fenris had been her mentor, her teacher, and her friend. Or so she’d thought. He had officially released her from the obligation to marry a random pack alpha by her twenty-fifth birthday, the Sword of Damocles that had hung over her head her entire life. He had freed her, lifted her up, and helped her gain respect in her community. They had fought side by side against mutual foes.
And it had been a lie.
She breathed in through flaring nostrils, calming herself. “Yes. I understand.”
“Right,” Loki affirmed. “Fenris will attempt to distract us with his hired thugs, and then he’ll move on to something still more devious. For all our wisdom, we cannot say what, for certain. I don’t claim to know what his final moves will be, so you must remain vigilant. But we, the gods, will be watching out for you, watching your back, whether in person or from a distance. You are not alone.”
She sighed. “Thank you. You’ve done a lot.”
The god of mischief grinned. “I have, haven’t I? In any event, knowing that, enjoy the remainder of your meal.”
He walked back toward the main doors from the diner. Bailey looked away for a second, and when she turned back, he was gone.
Roland stabbed his fork into the fettuccine on his plate, his mouth twisted with disgruntlement. “Such a charming fellow. You’re right, though. He has done a lot to help us. I only pray it’ll be enough. What about the others? Shouldn’t we be hearing from the whole pantheon by this point?”
“Hell if I know,” Bailey grumbled. “If I have to, I’ll pop into the council chamber and ask them. After supper, at any rate.”
Fortunately, that proved unnecessary.
The front doors opened and in walked multiple pairs of feet—at least a trio, by Bailey’s count. She turned around to look and was impressed, if not exactly surprised, to see three more members of the divine council stride into the diner.
An old man at a table near the entrance stiffened and shook his head. “What in Sam Hill?” he blurted. The deities ignored him as they strolled past.
The three had not taken any particular measures to disguise themselves. Thor, the Norse god of battle, still wore a studded helmet atop his red-bearded face, along with leather boots and chainmail armor. Thoth, the Egyptian god of wisdom, wore a blue shenti and an ibis headdress. Coyote, the Amerindian trickster god, had assumed his mundane persona of a fiftyish Native man with salt-and-pepper hair and was dressed in blue jeans and a maroon shirt, but something about his eyes suggested the animal he represented in the pantheon.
Bailey called to them as they approached, “We were wondering when you guys would make an entrance. Wasn’t expecting something this, uh obvious, though.”
Roland waved a hand with a flippant motion. “Oh, it’s okay. The good people of Greenhearth are used to supernatural beings barging in whenever they feel like it by now.”
The three deities ignored the wizard’s comment and congregated beside the table, as Loki had done, though they had the decency to refrain from picking at the couple’s food.
On the other hand, they also sat down next to the pair, scrunching in against them. Bailey found herself smashed between the broad, dark shoulders of Thoth and the paler but even broader shoulders of Thor.
“Hi,” Roland said to them. “Remind us some time to teach you guys about the mortal concept of ‘personal space’ and ‘social distance boundaries’ and things like that, okay?”
Thor guffawed, but Thoth only looked at the wizard and stated, “Very well.” Coyote bit his lip as though trying not to explode into laughter.
Bailey pinched the bridge of her nose, though it was difficult to move her arms much. “Okay, yeah, fine. Loki was here five or ten minutes ago and gave us the general update about how he’s reasonably certain that you-know-who will be making his move soon. Do you guys have anything for us beyond that?”
Thoth quickly reviewed the main facts, which, unsurprisingly, were about the same as what Loki had revealed. But he added something else.
“It is true,” the lord of wisdom intoned, “that we shall support you, watch your back, and do all that we can. But for the time being, we must distance ourselves from the scene around you.”
Roland, sweating from the heat of so many bodies packed together, muttered, “Great! Start distancing yourselves as soon as possible if you would, please.”
The trio of divinities paid him no heed.
Coyote quipped, “We will sneak in when we’re able to support you without being seen. Without revealing our aid and complicity in your quest to undermine the werewolf god. We must not disclose our hand too soon. Fenris must be allowed to
think that no one suspects him and that he is getting away with it. Until the time is right.”
“Aye,” Thor echoed, pounding his fist on the table with what was for him a light, gentle pressure, though it was powerful enough to rattle the wood as well as the floor beneath their feet. “But we need a favor, Bailey. There’s battle-work to be done, make no mistake. And you might notice that there are three of us instead of four. Balder, one of the few combatant gods, has gone missing. Vanished without a trace! Foul business may be afoot.”
Thoth nodded and stared into the werewitch’s eyes. “We fear Fenris may already have struck against him, and we want you to find him.”
Chapter Two
The large group of gods and Roland decamped from the diner and, once out of easy sight, flew to a secluded spot in the wooded hills surrounding the town. It was getting dark, and the trees covered them all with deep shade.
The deities collaborated on a psychic and magical scan of the surrounding area to ensure no one was watching. What they had to say could not be overheard by Fenris or his agents at any cost.
A moment later, they were satisfied that they were alone and no magic was being employed to scry on them.
“Okay,” Bailey began, “tell us the rest. Like, where do you think Balder might be? Any idea? Any hints he might have dropped before he disappeared? I’ll need something to work with here.”
Thoth stroked his chin. “Nothing, in truth. No sign of him nor word from him, and we do not detect any traces of his specific magical signature anywhere obvious, either.”
“Well,” Roland interjected, “where does he usually go? Or occasionally go, at least. Someplace you might expect to find him if he’s not at your headquarters in Asgard.”
Thor turned to the wizard and squinted at him. “We were getting to that, lad. If it answers your question, I was about to suggest the training grounds where we sent Bailey before she was permitted to assume her position in the pantheon. Balder manifests there from time to time, and especially when there’s a bevy of new trainees, as there’ve been lately.”
