The light providing the silhouettes wasn’t coming from behind them, I saw as I drew closer, but rather surrounded them in various shades of purple. They seemed like silhouettes because they wore black, but the lights swirling around them were familiar and lit up some faces I knew. They were wards I recognized; these were the Sisters of the Three Auroras, the Polish coven led by Malina Sokolowski, with whom I had signed a nonaggression treaty years ago.
Malina was in front, her wards the most colorful and undoubtedly the strongest, and her long blond hair was still breathtakingly beautiful. She hadn’t aged a day in twelve years, and neither had I. But circumstances had certainly changed. The other members of her coven that I recognized—Roksana, Klaudia, Kazimiera, and Berta—were grouped close to Malina.
She had eight new members of the coven who had never signed the treaty, and I had Granuaile, who hadn’t signed it either. If Malina wanted to get nasty, she technically could, via her proxies. Granuaile wasn’t protected from spells, as I was, but she could get nasty too.
Through Oberon I communicated to Granuaile that we should shift back to human and slow down. She shifted simultaneously with me and we approached at a slow jog, weapons in hand. “They fight with silver knives,” I muttered to her before we came into hailing distance. “Faster than human.”
“Got it.”
“And don’t stare at their parts. They use alluring charms to control people.”
“How lovely.”
<Sounds complicated. They could control me by using kielbasa.>
Malina sounded surprised when she addressed me, though it might have been an affectation. “Mr. O’Sullivan? What are you doing here?” She did not add, “naked, in an onion field,” but it was in her expression.
“Miss Sokolowski. I could ask you the same.”
“It’s Sokołowska in Poland. There are genitive endings on names here that I didn’t bother with in America.”
“Ah. Thank you. I really do need to learn Polish. It seems congratulations are in order. Your coven is strong again.”
“Yes, we are. And it appears there is another Druid in the world.”
“Indeed. Malina, this is Granuaile.”
The two of them exchanged pleasantries, and then Malina, as was her habit, got straight to business, ignoring our nudity.
“We divined some great cataclysm to come. Might you know anything about that?”
“Well, yeah. It’s Ragnarok.”
She thought I was being flippant. “I’m serious, Mr. O’Sullivan.”
“So am I. The last time we met, at Four Peaks Brewery in Tempe, I was about to screw everything up for everybody. I’m fairly certain I succeeded. Now I’m trying to do what I can to delay its coming or soften the blow if I can’t stop it. I think we have a year left before it all goes pear-shaped.”
“Why a year?”
“Well, Loki is free from his long imprisonment, and Hel has a massive army to deploy against the nine realms. They could have started it already, you see, but they haven’t because we’ve distracted them and wounded their confidence. And I’m counting on a prophecy, which pointed to next year.”
Malina scoffed. “Whose prophecy?”
“The sirens who tempted Odysseus.”
Malina exchanged a look with Klaudia, the waifish witch who always looked like she’d just completed erotic exercises. She managed to wear her clothes in such a way that you were certain she hadn’t been wearing them a minute ago. “The sirens told Odysseus that Ragnarok would begin next year?”
I shrugged. “Not in so many words, but the evidence does point that way. They said the world would burn. Loki is quite the pyromaniac, and I have no doubt that, once Surtr leaves Muspellheim, there will be much aflame. But, honestly, I don’t know what the prophecy truly means. Maybe they’re talking about lots of forest fires during an especially hot summer.”
“I doubt that. The sirens did not speak idly to heroes of insignificant events.”
“Ah, so you’ve heard about their accuracy?”
“Indeed. Is there something we can do? Because our divination suggested some sort of fire would be started here.”
“It did?”
“Yes. You know I do not joke about such things.”
“Well, yeah, but I don’t know why a fire would start—what?” Granuaile had tapped me on the shoulder to get my attention. Once she had it, she pointed up. “Oh,” I said. “Now it makes sense. Incoming!”
A large ball of fire was headed straight for us, arcing out of the western sky. We gave ground, and a palpable shock wave buffeted us when the fireball hit the earth. A twelve-foot-tall madman cackled in the midst of it while clasping his hands together in glee.
“There!” Loki said, his face intensely pleased. “Fff-fff-fffound you!”
Chapter 5
I drew Fragarach and charged him; there was no time to talk. He could set everyone on fire with a wave of his hand, so I preferred that he focus on me rather than watch him cook Granuaile and Oberon to ashes.
I was a little fire-shy after getting cooked myself by some dark elves, but Loki’s fire was the magical sort and I knew my cold iron aura would protect me from it. He giggled as his right hand disappeared and the stump of his wrist became a flamethrower. Heat rained down on me as I leapt at him and slashed down with my sword. He was quick and stepped back, but I opened up a long wound down his right thigh.
Loki roared and turned off the flames. His eyes boggled at me as his head twitched. I should have been barbecued but clearly wasn’t. “You can’t burn us, Loki Firestarter,” I said. “We’re all protected.”
You’re not protected, I told Oberon with a quick thought. Get Granuaile out of range.
<Right.>
Loki waggled a finger at me and squinted. “You are nuh-no construh-uh-ukt,” he stammered. “Dwarf-ff-fffs sssay they don’t nuh-know you. Llllliar!”
“Who cares what the dwarfs know or don’t know?” I smiled in a fashion that I hoped was unsettling. He was already mentally unstable and might therefore be more susceptible to intimidation. “All you need to know is this: I’m the guy who’s going to kill you.”
Loki’s eyes widened and he took a couple of steps back as I advanced. But then his right arm disappeared behind him, he arched his back a bit, and the arm reappeared holding a very long sword that ignited from guard to tip as I watched.
I frowned. “Now, where, exactly, did you pull that from?” His daughter, Hel, had done something similar; she kept her knife, Famine, lodged between her lower ribs on her left side. She must have learned the trick of using the body as a scabbard from dear old dad. As shape-shifters, they would have the knack.
<Kind of recasts the meaning of the word badass, doesn’t it?>
Oberon, tell Granuaile to talk to the witches. They need to charm Loki if they can.
<Okay. But it makes you wonder what he’d look like on one of those airport body scans.>
Loki’s eyes went dark and he raised his sword. Hurry, Oberon! The flaming blade fell, but I wasn’t there. I leapt directly at him again, because the best thing you can do when facing someone with enormous reach is to get inside it. I didn’t hack or stab at him but delivered a straight kick between his hips, right in his center of gravity. He doubled over, let go of the sword as he staggered, and then fell heavily. I heard Polish behind me but kept my eyes on Loki. He shrank and morphed and sprang to his feet—this time as a Vedic demon with blue skin, four arms, and a blade that he pulled directly out of his body in each hand. He smiled with especially sharp teeth and twirled the swords at me, and I didn’t have time to wonder until much later how he’d ever come across that particular form.