Odin's Murder (27 page)

I don’t realize I am holding my breath until I hear Julian inhale. Tears track through the dried blood on Faye’s face.

“It’s okay,” Memory whispers to me and the bird. “She’s okay.”

*

               The time between the other side of the portal and this one is short, almost nonexistent. One second the god is in the prism glass and the next it is filled with fog, and a huge
presence
looms behind us. He’s here, walking from the center of the stones, and we’re in the company of a god and no one seems to know what to do.

Memory threads her fingers into mine.

“Do we bow? Or genuflect, or something?” Julian whispers.

“If you like,” he says. His voice is quiet but deep, and resonates in my sternum, like thunder or a subwoofer sound system. “But it is not necessary. This is your home, too.”

His cloak flows over some kind of armor, layers of metal and leather, etched with rows upon rows of runes. Faye squeaks. My heart goes into overdrive. I’m in the presence of a god. Ethan Tyrell; orphan, delinquent, felon.

“Welcome, children,” he says. The air around him is crystalline, a mirage. He stops in front of us, looks us up and down, takes off the battered helmet that shields his face.

“You’re the guy from the library,” Julian says with a gasp. “Waiting on the steps. You had a blue raincoat, and an old Stetson.”

I look closer. One golden eye stares back. “You were at the luau.”

“And at Sonja’s house, walking by,” Memory whispers. Faye nods.

He points toward me. I’m rooted to the spot, gawking at the hand that looks like it’s been carved of marble. Memory tugs on my hand, but when I can’t move, she takes the crow from my shoulder, places her on Odin’s wrist.

He slides his fingers under Sonja’s wings, coaxing them to extend, and then he twists his hands, molding her into shape, easing a girl out of the crow.

Sonja looks around, wild and shaking. Blood trickles from her wrists, her ankles, and the gruesome empty eye socket in her terrified face. Faye whimpers. I swallow the bile that rises in my throat, and press my fist into my stomach to keep it from heaving.

“Muninn,” Odin says. He extends a hand, palm up, grooved like ax marks on stone.

Memory doesn’t let go of me.  She turns her other hand over, where the amber orb sits cupped by her fingers, anchored by the weird setting. He examines it a long time, tugs on the hat brim that hides his left eye. Then he plucks the stone from the silver, and rolls the yellow gem in his palms. “Daughter, come here.”

The god steps forward when Sonja doesn’t budge, and works his hands over her face. She cries out, but when he moves away, her features are whole, fresh scar tissue knitting together around a left eye with an amber iris, a perfect match to his right. She blinks, touches her face. Memory wraps her arms around her when she staggers, but Sonja takes a deep breath. “Where is my mother?” Sonja asks.

“She is not of my blood, and does not cross into this realm,” he says. “Mimir is born of earth, and the well of knowledge.”

“We are your blood? Your children?” Julian shakes his head. “But I look exactly like my dad—”

“I am your first father, a thousand generations ago.”

“The tree, the family tree in Miriam’s dining room! She kept track of all the descendants.” Faye says, and turns to Sonja. “We’re on it?”

She nods. “She hid you all. Your name is behind the china cabinet. Ethan’s is under the baseboard. She hid everyone, except me.” Her voice is bitter and cracks at the end.

“It would have been hard for her to hide you, daughter.” Odin smiles a little from his gray beard.

“But the first crow. Kaunan. It died without children,” Faye protests. “It was in the book. Tyrsdotter raised the stone, because Kaunan didn’t have anyone to do it for her. So how is Sonja one of your children? How did her blood pass through—”

“Shut up, Faye,” I say, as Sonja’s head raises, stares at the god who has stepped to his throne.

“But—” The tiny girl huffs. Julian nudges her.

“
You’re my FATHER?
” Sonja shrieks. Her voice shifts, becomes a crow’s squawk, and with a puff of feathers that drift and disappear, a crow flaps in her place, wings frantic and awkward.

This is not happening. My father is a businessman from Oslo. He sent child support every month and presents on my birthday and Christmas and when I was little I pretended he was Santa Claus, and
the voice trails off into a wail.

Memory holds out her wrist and the crow lands, still muttering. “This is a lot to take in all at once,” she says to Odin.

“It’s been many years, since you were here with me. I’ve been waiting,” he replies.

“Why did you wait?” Julian asks. “Why now? Why us?”

“In order to right the wrong properly, all five of you needed to be there. We needed Sonja.”

“But couldn’t you have just—” Memory’s brother persists.

“Waved a magic wand? Some things, like conception, are best left to fate, and the good graces of the lady involved. Mimir has only just recently forgiven me for—”

Oh. My. God!
The crow’s wings extend. Memory winces as its talons bite into her skin.

“But why not out there? In the real world? Why not just kill Anders there?” I ask. “You were right there, too, at the college.”

“He couldn’t,” Faye said. “That was Yvengvr’s punishment, wasn’t it? Immortality on earth. You had to wait until he wasn’t there to kill him.”

“It all came together quite nicely, didn’t it?” The god’s smile is frightening. “Mimir was most insistent that I not leave my wayward son to walk the earth any more, and now I have you all back in one piece. Together, as the collective you were created to be.”

“You know we aren’t really birds,” Julian says. “Right?”

“You’re just as noisy,” the god says.

“What happened to Anders?” I ask.

“His soul will rest in his mother’s golden fields, victorious in death.”

“That was a victory?” Julian points at the mirror.

“He died fighting for what he wanted,” I say.

Odin nods once. Silence settles into the stones. The crow on Memory’s wrist stares at the god from one brown eye, and then turns her head, watching from the golden one.

“So now what?” Faye asks.

“Now my crows have come home to roost,” the god says. “I’ve missed you.”

“We’re staying here?” her voice is small, and quiet.

“Why would you not?” His smile is sincere. “This is your home.”

I catch the look between Memory and Julian. Under the wonderment, worry lines Faye’s face. They have families and futures, not just a tie to some ancient kingdom and bloodline.  “We have homes,” Memory says.

I don’t.

Julian steps forward. “We appreciate your generosity but I’m not sure we can just come back here. We have college...”

“That is not your purpose. You were created to serve me,” Odin says, gently, as if to a child. “Now, come. Gather round me.”

“Don’t we get a choice?” Faye asks, looking around, like there might be an exit sign she could bolt to.

“No.” The finality of his voice reverberates over the stones. “There is no release from your function. You belong to me.”

“We’re not pets,” Julian protests.

“I’ll stay,” I say, stepping away from Memory. “Let them go. I can be your eyes. Your messenger. I’ll fight for you.”

Memory’s fingers grasp the back of my shirt. “Ethan, no.”

“Memory, you have a home. A future. I don’t.”

“So you
would
choose a god over me.”

“Cherry...”

“Stop it,” Memory whispers.

“No. Go back, live your lives. I’ll do this.” I wipe the sweat off my forehead and look at Odin. “Let me do this.”

“Ethan, don’t!”

“Enough.” The god’s voice is a heavy whip, cracking over the clearing. We stagger. Memory drops to her knees, and the crow on her wrist flies into the air. “I wander the earth for eternities searching for enlightenment, and yet I’m still surrounded by stupidity,” Odin says. He turns to me. “My son made you a similar offer, and you declined. Why?”

“The sacrifice was too high.”

“You chose a girl’s wishes over a god?” His ancient eyes narrow.

I shrug, which is dumb because the pain from the cut spikes up my arm, and I can’t hold back a shudder.

So did you,
the crow says, landing on the head of a stone wolf.  
Just now. You chose my mother over Yvengvr.

Odin’s brows rise in surprise, and then his face cracks with a smile, and he laughs, another huge boom of thunder. The ground shakes, and I kneel, no longer able to fight the pain and my exhaustion.

“And he says we’re loud?” Faye complains, fingers in her ears.

The god of all gods rises from his throne, and lays his hand on my head. I feel it, the connection, hurtling at me like lightning from his vast mind, and the others are there too, a chorus behind his huge presence.

Then all I see is black, and the voices fade.

28.

Minutes

I’m pacing the tiny hallway outside the bedroom when Mimir comes out and shuts the door behind her. “He’s going to be fine,’ she says. “Exhausted more than anything else. This is mild compared to what I’ve seen him get. I made a salve that should help with the scarring.”

We stand across from one another in the tiny hallway. Curiosity gets the best of me. “So you’re his social worker?”

“Since he was six.” She nods once.

“And you are also Mimir. A witch.”

“
The
witch. Yes.”

“I’m not sure I understand all this.”

“Yvengvr had to wait many years for the bloodline to come together. Ethan was the wild card. I had to make sure he was protected after his parents were gone.”

“What happened to them?”

She shakes her head. “That is his story to tell. But you can thank me later for helping him make it this far.”

“But you planned this all along? For Ethan to fight Anders? To fight for us?”

“He was a fool if he thought I would sacrifice my own child, not to mention another one I loved just as much. Yes, all of this was orchestrated. He didn’t know what to do but trust me.”

“Thank you for saving us,” I say. She smiles. I look at the door. “Can I go in?”

“Only for a minute. Dean Burnett called me. He thinks we’re already on our way to the station.”

“But he didn’t do anything! Jeremy started that fight.”

“Jeremy doesn’t have a record.” She places her hand on my arm in sympathy. “I hate it for him, but I have no choice and Ethan knew the consequences.”

“It’s not fair.”

“Nothing much is,” she says and walks down the hall and away from me.

“Wait, Miriam, I have something for you.” I dig in my pocket and fish out the stoneless silver setting.

She takes it from my palm, and murmurs without looking away from it, “We leave in ten minutes.”

Ten minutes isn’t enough time, not for all I want to say, or do, or feel, but it’s all I have, so I suck back my emotions and open the bedroom door. Ethan is lying on the bed. I fight a gasp at the sight of his battered face and body, his arm wrapped in gauze. He’s not wearing a shirt and now is not the time to be checking him out, but I can see how he was made in the image of a god.

His eyes open and a small grin appears and he says, “Hi.”

“Hey.”

“I’m sorry,” he says.

“For what?” I play dumb.

“For scaring you. And making you feel like I didn’t care.” He looks down at the sheet. “Because I do. And couldn’t get you out of there if I was in chains. I had to fake it, pretend like I was with him. I wasn’t, not for a second.”

“Even when he offered you a lifetime of glory?”

“Even then.”

“Don’t ever do that again.”

“I won’t.” His eyes promise, too. I kiss his cheek, and then the other, like I’ve taken an oath, or a vow. He smiles. “Where are the others? Is everyone alright?”

“Yeah, Faye and Julian are in the living room. I caught them going at it earlier. So weird.” I shudder. “Sonja is still down there, with him. She’s really mad at her mom.”

“I’m a little pissed, too,” he says. “Is Sonja still. Um.” His face twists, and he links his thumbs, and flutters his fingers, a hand shadow puppet of a bird.

“Yeah.” I shake my head, still unable to wrap my head around my brother flying, like he had been born for it.

“What about you? How are you doing?” Ethan sits up with a groan.

“Best I can.” I help him tug a T-shirt over his hurt arm. It’s a little tight in all the right places. “Knowing I have only ten minutes with you and the weight of a God’s orders on my shoulders.”

“Close the door.” His voice is rough. I pull it shut, and crowd next to him on the squishy mattress. “Closer,” he says.

“No, you’re hurt.”

“Cherry, I have eleven months ahead of me with no one but a hundred other guys to sleep, eat, and shower with. I can take a little pain to feel you next to me.” His hand is warm on my back, and I relent and curl up into his side.

“Eleven months?”

“Nine, if I can stay out of trouble. Then I’m out. On my own.”

“Not alone, though.”

I feel his mouth against my hair. “No, not alone.”

“I’m worried for you. The rest of us are going back to normal life and we’ll have each other. You’re getting locked away with a bunch of hoodlum thugs for something that isn’t your fault.”

“Hoodlum thugs? What have you been reading?” he asks. “I started that fight, don’t forget that. I’ll be fine. I’m used to it.”

“It shouldn’t be. Jeremy was working under Dr. Anders’ control!” I twist the material of his t-shirt in my fist. “I hate this. Julian and Faye and Miriam keep calling it—what we have, what we can do—a talent or a power, but it’s nothing more than a curse. You know he expects us to be back in a year? A year and a day. I tried to talk him into taking you now, keeping you out of prison, but it was an all or nothing deal. Sonja’s still there, I don’t see why you can’t be.”

“She’s probably a special case. Custody settlement or something.” I can feel him smile, the way his face moves against my cheek. “Is that why I can’t sense her? She isn’t here?”