Dark Currents (9 page)

I sighed with regret. “Me? Not even close.”

Fourteen

A
fter dinner, Cody insisted on escorting me home.

“I want to take a look at that Dumpster,” he said in a pragmatic tone when I objected. “And I’ll sleep better knowing at least you got home safe. You’re in the thick of it now, Daisy Jo.”

“Oh, fine.”

We poked around the Dumpster behind the apartment. No one was lurking back there. Cody shone his flashlight beam on the dented lid to examine it. I had to warn him not to step in the puddle of dried Mogwai puke that obscured the boot print, but I showed him the photo I’d taken of it. Across the street, a handful of guys were playing a late game of pickup basketball beneath the streetlights over the court, the ball thudding rhythmically, a poignant reminder of Cody’s younger days.

“Looks like it may have been a peeper,” he said. “I still don’t like it. You’re sure you won’t stay at your mom’s tonight?”

I nodded. “No way I’m putting her in danger.”

“What about the other friend you mentioned?” he asked. “The one who helped out with the naiads?”

“Yeah, um . . .” The memory of Lurine’s coils wrapped firmly around my waist was a little too fresh. I felt my face grow warm, and cleared my throat. “For reasons I’d rather not go into, no. Not tonight.”

Cody gave me a dubious look. The light above the side door that opened onto the stairway leading to the apartments upstairs did him all kinds of favors, casting shadows on his chiseled features, glinting on a new growth of stubble that I very much wanted to touch again. Plus, he still smelled good. “Okay. You’ve got my number?”

I clasped my hands behind my back, concentrating on willpower and self-discipline. “Yep, sure do.”

He shrugged. “Then I’ll see you at the station in the morning.”

I waited until Cody was out of sight to open the side door . . .

. . . and froze.

Al the Walrus, the big pool-playing, mustache-sporting ghoul from the Wheelhouse, loomed above me on the bottom stair. His eyes glittered, all pupil. He lumbered toward me, his hungry eyes like twin abysses. “There you are!” His voice was low and grating. “Give us a taste, just a taste!” His nostrils flared, and I felt my terror drain unnaturally, and spike again. “Oh, yes! More!” He licked his lips with his thick tongue. “More and more and more!” He leered at me, coming closer. “You’ve got all kinds of
more
, don’t you?”

I unfroze enough to back away, raising my voice. “Get the fuck out of here!”

“That’s right.” He kept coming. “Go ahead, get angry.” He made a nasty slurping sound. “I
like
angry.”

In a panic, I let my anger rise, feeling my hair lift. The lightbulb in the lamp above the door burst with a popping sound.

Al the Walrus moaned, draining my anger. “Oh, so delicious! Keep it coming, little girl!”

Gah, gross! I could
feel
my emotions going into him, and it was disgusting, like a part of me was trickling into a sewer. Also terrifying.

Since I didn’t know what else to do, I screamed. High, loud, and piercing, like a victim in a slasher film.

Across the street, the thudding basketball went silent.

Cody came tearing around the block, moving so fast he was a uniformed blur, his eyes flaring phosphorescent green. I caught a glimpse of his face, and it was distorted with fury. Like, really distorted, as in he was beginning to shape-shift. With a growl, he flung Al away from me and up against the wall of the bakery, pressing one forearm hard across his throat.

The big ghoul laughed. “Oh, he’s an angry pup!” He licked his lips again, eyes glittering. “I’ll take that, too.”

Cody backed away uncertainly, shaking his head in confusion. “No feeding on the unwilling.” His voice sounded thick and strange, maybe because his mouth suddenly had too many pointed white teeth in it. His ears were awfully pointy, too. And furry. He bared his teeth and laid his ears flat against his head. “You know the rules.”

“Yeah.” Al’s pupils shrank, then dilated. His gaze fixed on me, his leer returning. “But rules were made to be broken.”

From across the street came the sound of running feet. “Hey!” one of the basketball players called. “Hang on; we’re coming to help!”

I grabbed Cody’s arm. “Mundanes coming, Officer Down-low.” He glanced at me in the dim light, his ears twitching slightly. I gave his arm a shake. “Better rustle up some of that famous self-discipline and get ahold of yourself.”

In the few seconds it took him to reassert control, Al the Walrus took off across the park at a dead run, moving surprisingly fast himself for a bulky guy, and the basketball players arrived. From the far side of the park came the distinctive sound of a Harley-Davidson roaring to life.

“Hey, hey, everything okay?” one of the ballplayers asked anxiously. “You okay, lady? We heard a scream.”

“I’m fine.” I made myself smile at him, keeping my grip on Cody’s arm. “Just some pervert. I was lucky Officer Fairfax was just around the corner.”

“Yeah.” The ballplayer glanced at Cody with awe. “Dude, that was sick. You’ve got some mad speed.”

“I shouldn’t have let him get away.” Cody sounded disgruntled, but his voice was normal again. So was his face. Full control, huh?

“It’s okay.” I squeezed his arm. “We know where to find him. Thanks,” I said to the ballplayers. “Everything’s okay, really.”

“You’re sure?”

I nodded. “Positive. But I appreciate it. You were collectively awesome.”

“Thanks, guys,” Cody added, extricating his arm from my grasp. “Nice work. I’ll take it from here.”

They drifted amiably back across the street, four college-age kids by the look of them, frat boys maybe, not much different from Thad Vanderhei and his friends. Except these guys had run to the aid of a lady being attacked by a ghoul, even if they hadn’t known that was what they were doing, and Thad Vanderhei and his friends had done . . . what? We still didn’t know, except that it involved ghouls and ended with dumping Thad’s body in the river.

“That settles it,” Cody said.

“It does?” Lost in my thoughts, I had no idea what he was talking about.

“Pack a bag.” He nodded at the side door. “You don’t want to stay at a friend’s place, fine. You’re not staying here, not until we pick up Al.”

“And charge him with what?” I asked.

“Assault.”

“He never laid a hand on me,” I said. “The police can’t enforce Hel’s rules, Cody. That’s
my
job. If this Stefan Ludovic is really in charge of ghoul territory here, that’s who I have to report Al to.”

That muscle in his jaw twitched. “You expect
him
to do something about it?”

“Yeah,” I said. “I do. If he wants to stay in charge, he has to.”

“Unless he’s at the bottom of this business,” Cody said grimly. “We didn’t have this kind of trouble before he showed up.”

I stifled a yawn. “Well, if he is, then I’ll have to report him to Hel. If he’s broken mundane laws, we’ll have to negotiate between authorities. But right now, I’m not going anywhere but to bed.”

“Right,” he said. “So pack a bag. You’re staying at my place.”

Another time, I would have jumped at the opportunity. But I was tired and cranky. I’d started my day at the crack of dawn being insulted by naiads, and ended it with a totally creepy encounter with a hungry ghoul who’d apparently fixated on my tasty, tasty emotions. In between, I’d learned that it looked like we were dealing with a murder; I’d managed to further alienate my estranged best friend; and Cody’s response to my declaration of affection could pretty much be summed up as dismissive.

“No,” I said. “Look, I don’t think Al’s coming back tonight. I’ll keep my doors locked. Mrs. Browne will be here in a few hours.” I put my hand on the doorknob. “I’m staying.”

Cody placed his hand flat on the door, holding it shut. “No, you’re not.”

“Yeah, I am.”

He raised his voice. “No, you’re
not
!”

Before I could summon a suitably immature retort, a dune buggy pulled into the alley.

Oh, crap.

Cody lifted one hand to shield his eyes against the glare of headlights. “Hey, there!” he called out. “This isn’t a through street.”

The headlights blinked out, and a large figure climbed out of the buggy, raising its left hand. The spear-headed rune Teiwaz, indicating one of Hel’s guards, shimmered silvery on its palm. “Daisy Johanssen?”

I sighed and lifted my left hand in answer. “Yeah, hi. Nice to see you again.”

The figure inclined its head. Now that I wasn’t blinded by headlights, I could make out who and what it was. To mundane eyes, it would appear to be an ogreishly tall, long-haired, and bearded man sweating profusely—and I do mean profusely, actual rivulets running down his skin and dripping from his beard to puddle on the concrete beneath him. I, on the other hand, saw an ogreishly tall man with bluish skin rimed with melting frost, his eyes as pale and colorless as dirty slush, icicles dripping from his head and chin to puddle on the concrete.

Cody’s hand dropped instinctively to his holster. “What in the hell is that?”

“Frost giant,” I said. “His name’s Mikill. It means ‘big,’ right? Or ‘large’?”

“True.” Mikill lowered his hand. “Daisy Johanssen, I am bid to summon you to an audience with Hel.”

Great
.

Fifteen

A
t least it put an end to my argument with Cody. Even a stubborn werewolf on the down-low knew I couldn’t ignore a summons from Hel herself.

“I don’t mean to belabor the obvious, but will he”—Cody lowered his voice—“
melt
?”

I shook my head, climbing into the passenger seat of the dune buggy and putting on my seat belt. “Not anytime soon.”

“So, you’ll—”

“I’ll see you at the station!” I had to shout the words as Mikill clambered into the driver’s seat and turned the key in the ignition. “Tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay!”

A wash of cool air, accompanied by a pelting of icy droplets, rolled off Mikill and gusted over me as we headed out of town.

“Forgive me.” The frost giant shot me an apologetic look. “It cannot be helped.”

I shivered. “I know.”

Steering with one massive hand, Mikill reached into the tiny storage area in the back and hauled out a thick fur coat. “Here.”

I draped it over me, snuggling under it. “Thanks.”

The Pemkowet Dune Rides was a mile or so north of downtown, its gaily painted sign promising thrilling family-friendly fun, vistas of the lake, and even a glimpse of Yggdrasil II, the famous world tree. At this hour, it was closed for the night, all the big, tricked-out dune schooners in their stables, the windows of the gift shop dark. Mikill gunned the engine and roared around the establishment on a narrow side track before plunging into the wooded dunes beyond. Bouncing involuntarily in the seat, I clung tight to the roll bar as we hurtled into the darkness, careening around steeply banked curves at death-defying speeds. In daylight it might be exhilarating. At night, lit only by the buggy’s headlights, it was pretty much heart-stopping. I admit, I closed my eyes a few times.

The official Dune Rides trails were graded and maintained, both for the sake of safety and the environment. They had to be. Sand dunes are sort of like living things. They don’t stay put, moving and shifting, especially if they’re not anchored by indigenous flora.

This fact escaped the attention of the settlers of Singapore, who built a logging town here on the shores of Lake Michigan in the 1800s.

Yeah, a
logging
town. Brilliant, right?

And once they’d cut down a sufficient number of white pine trees, the dunes rolled over the town and pretty much swallowed it. Talman “Tall Man” Brannigan, the lumber baron responsible, slaughtered his entire family in a fit of madness and despair. Supposedly, the Tall Man’s ghost roams the dunes wailing for forgiveness, and if you see him, it means you’re going to die.

According to local legend, Hel moved into town during World War I. It is a fact that the most powerful earthquake ever recorded in Michigan took place in the late summer of 1914, which was when Yggdrasil II was first spotted erupting from the sands. It’s pretty tough to hide a pine tree the size of a large missile silo.

And yes, I know, the original Yggdrasil was an ash tree. Like any immigrants, even goddesses have to adapt. Apparently the species of tree wasn’t as important as having the Norns water its roots. I don’t know; I’m not an expert.

Altogether too soon we crested a rise, and the buggy’s headlights tagged the mammoth tree in the distance. This was where the tourists would be let out to gape at Yggdrasil II and enjoy a photo op, and the schooner driver would tell them about Garm, the terrible hellhound who guards the world tree, warning them not to
think
of getting any closer.

I’m not sure about the Tall Man’s ghost—that’s one of those urban legends where everyone knows someone whose friend’s cousin’s brother knew a kid who saw the Tall Man and died three days later. Garm, however, is another matter.

“Hold fast,” Mikill advised me unnecessarily, gunning the engine again as he departed from the graded trails.

The dune buggy flew and jounced over the sands. Dune grass whipped at the sides of the vehicle. I narrowed my eyes as a hail of icy pellets from the frost giant’s dripping beard stung my face. Ahead of us, there was a deep-throated howl.

I poked around at my feet. “Mikill? Where’s the offering?”

“There is a loaf of bread in the rear of the vehicle!” Mikill shouted, both hands gripping the steering wheel hard. “You must reach behind you to retrieve it!”

Another howl arose, drowning out the sound of the engine.

Oh, great.
Again.

Holding the fur coat in place with one hand, I rummaged awkwardly behind me with the other. Easy enough for a frost giant to do, but I could barely brush the crusty surface of the loaf of bread with my fingertips.

At fifty yards away, Yggdrasil II loomed out of the darkness like a colossus. A piece of the darkness seemed to detach from it, bounding toward the dune buggy, yellow eyes aflame.

“Daisy Johanssen!” Mikill called. “Now!”

“Yeah, yeah! Just don’t crash, okay?” Reluctantly, I released the catch on my seat belt, craning my upper body backward. The buggy bounced on its oversize tires, and the top of my head hit the roll bar. “Ouch!”

Garm howled, a long, belling peal, the sound of a hunting dog on the trail, if the hunting dog had an awesome sound system.

“Now!” Mikill repeated impatiently. “I do not wish to do battle with the hound.”

Lurching, I managed to get my hand around the loaf. “Got it!”

The frost giant slowed and downshifted as Garm bounded toward us, jaws slavering. The hellhound was approximately twice the size of the buggy. Why it attacked the very denizens of Hel’s realm of Niflheim it was meant to protect, and why it was pacified by a loaf of bread, I could not tell you. I asked the first time and was told that was simply the way it was. Happens a lot in the eldritch community.

“Good doggy, good boy,” I said encouragingly. “Want a treat?” Garm halted, regarding the loaf of bread with flaming yellow eyes. I hurled it as far as I could. “There you go!”

And like that, Garm the hellhound took off after the bread, bounding into the dune grass, where a contented snuffling and munching sound arose.

“Well done,” Mikill said.

I dragged my arm over my forehead, wiping away anxious sweat and frost-giant residue. “What did I say last time, Mikill? Put the bread up front!”

He glanced at me. “Forgive me. I had forgotten the lack of stature that comes of human blood.”

I sighed. “Just drive.”

Mikill put the buggy in gear. “Keep your limbs well inside the vehicle during the descent.”

He wasn’t kidding.

I’ve never been to California, but I’ve seen pictures of giant redwoods with a hollow so big you could drive a car through it. Yggdrasil II was bigger. You could drive a car
into
it.

Which is exactly what we did.

The path to Niflheim spiraled downward and downward, hewn into the living wood inside the trunk of Yggdrasil II itself. How far down it went, I couldn’t say. Local legends say the town of Singapore settled deep beneath the sands during the earthquake of 1914. They don’t say
how
deep.

I kept my elbows tucked firmly at my sides, ignoring the curving wall of heartwood rushing past me inches from my face.

An icy mist arose from the distant realm below. The deeper we went, the colder it got. Mikill stopped dripping, his icicled hair and beard hardening with crackling sounds.

Shivering, I huddled under the fur coat.

At last we reached the bottom, emerging beneath a vast canopy of spreading roots tended to by the three Norns, who drew water in wooden buckets from a deep wellspring beneath the very center of the canopy and poured it lovingly over the massive, fibrous roots. One of them glanced at me as we passed, smiling. She looked like a kindly old grandmother, except her nails were long and curved like talons.

“Ma’am—” I began to call out to her, hoping for a little soothsaying as long as I was here.

Shaking her head, she laid a taloned finger against her lips.

The frost giant grunted and gassed the dune buggy. “They have no counsel for you, Daisy Johanssen.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “To undertake a hero’s quest, you must first become a hero. That is the way it is.”

See what I mean?

There’s not a lot to the buried town of Singapore, also known as Niflheim II or Little Niflheim, or, if you’re feeling really flippant safely aboveground in the daylight, Deadwood. Basically, it’s one road and a handful of buildings. Thanks to the stabilizing presence of Yggdrasil II’s root system, as well as the prodigious efforts of the
duegars
, or Old Norse dwarves, it’s . . . well, stable.

It’s also dark, cold, and misty.

The dune buggy’s headlights cut through the mist. Mikill pulled up beside the abandoned sawmill that served as Hel’s headquarters and killed the engine. “We have arrived,” he announced.

I climbed out of the buggy and shrugged into the fur coat. Its long sleeves hung well below my hands, and its hem trailed on the ground, making me feel like a little kid playing dress-up. Still, it was better than freezing.

Mikill ushered me into the dark, cavernous interior of the sawmill, the only light source patches of glowing lichen on the walls. I actually see pretty well in the dark, but it takes my eyes a minute to adjust.

“Daisy Johanssen.” A sepulchral voice tolled out of the murky dimness. “Welcome, my young liaison.”

I took a knee and bowed my head. “Thank you, my lady.”

“Rise.”

I obeyed.

The goddess Hel was seated on a throne made from immense saw blades salvaged from the abandoned mill and repurposed through the cunning of dwarfish craftsmanship. It was hard to look at her, or at least half of her. The right side of Hel was fair and beautiful, a white-skinned woman with a clear, smooth brow and a benevolent gaze. The left side of Hel was black and withered, like a charred and burned corpse, only it was a black so dense it seemed to drink in what little light there was. In a sunken eye socket, her other eye glowed like an ember. A handful of shadowy attendants stood beside her throne.

“It has come to my attention that a mortal boy has died,” Hel said. “And you are making inquiries among my subjects.”

“Yes, my lady.”

Her ember eye closed in one long, slow blink. “Is one of them complicit in the boy’s death?”

“I don’t know yet,” I said. “I know there are ghouls involved, but I don’t know how or why. One of them attacked me tonight.”

“It is very important that you uncover the truth, Daisy Johanssen.”

“I’m trying, my lady.” I held out my hands, my long sleeves dangling. “Do you have any counsel for me?”

Hel was silent a moment. “Ghouls. What do you know of
ghouls
, young one? It is an unkind name that the age of modernity has accorded them.”

“Not much,” I admitted. “I know they subsist on human emotion, and they’re more or less immortal.”

She inclined her head. “In a sense, they are tragic figures. They are beings who were once ordinary mortal humans, slain at the height of great passion and rejected by heaven and hell alike. Because they are immortal creatures born of surpassing passion, they require emotion to sustain their existence. I possess an imperfect knowledge of the particulars, for they did not exist in my own cosmology. But it is true that they can no longer be killed by mortal means. It is well that you know this.”

I swallowed. “Am I . . . Are you saying I’m going to have to kill ghouls, my lady?”

The fair side of Hel’s mouth curved in a faint smile, while the wizened, charred side didn’t move. Creepy, yet at the same time, oddly reassuring. “I am not omniscient, Daisy Johanssen. Such is not my gift. The time has come when you may venture into danger in my service. I would be remiss if I did not offer you a measure of protection.” Raising her black, shriveled left hand, Hel beckoned, and a pale blue frost giantess stepped forward, a bright, shiny little dagger lying across both her cupped hands. She offered it reverently to the goddess, and Hel’s claw closed around the hilt. “
Dauda-dagr
.”

I blinked. “I beg your pardon, my lady?”

“It means ‘death day.’” She surveyed the dagger, the length of it etched with runes, then reversed it, grasping the blade. “When first you swore yourself into my service, I marked you with the hand of life, did I not?”

My left palm itched, and I closed my hand into a fist beneath my sleeve. Almost a year ago, Hel had traced the rune onto it with her forefinger, her right forefinger. Ansuz, the rune of the messenger, the liaison between worlds. “Yes, my lady. You did.”

Proffering the dagger’s leather-wrapped hilt, Hel extended her left arm. It hung in the murky, misty air like a dead tree branch. “Tonight, I offer you a gift from the hand of death.” This time, it was the ruined left side of her mouth that lifted in a grim rictus. Definitely so not reassuring. “
Dauda-dagr
can slay even the immortal undead.”

“Oh?” The word came out sort of squeaky.

“Come and take it from me, Daisy Johanssen.” There was a hint of impatience in Hel’s voice.

“Um . . . okay.” I made myself approach the throne, putting one foot in front of the other, trying not to trip over the hem of my fur coat. Hel sat motionless, her right eye closed, long lashes curling gracefully. “You’re sure about this, my lady?”

Her ember eye gave me a baleful glare. “Take it!”

Pushing back my overlong sleeves, I grasped the dagger’s hilt and felt a frisson of pure cold pass through the weapon as Hel relinquished it.

“Well done.” Her other eye, her compassionate eye, opened. “I hope that you do not have need of
dauda-dagr
, young one, but it is best that you have it in your possession. Order must be enforced, lest we all be imperiled.”

I took a deep breath.

The dagger was heavy, heavier than I had expected. Also bigger. Hey, everything looks small in a frost giantess’s hands.

“Find the truth,” Hel said in an implacable tone. “Find it and report it to me, Daisy Johanssen. If you need to dispense justice, you have my leave.”

Great
.

I dropped to one knee, bowing my head. “Thank you, my lady. I’ll do my best.”