“Miss Røderic,” he smiled dryly, determined not to show his terror or contempt. The old man rose to his feet, standing proudly as a member of the Order present there, his true name and origins hidden to all but Lita Røderic. His eyes gleamed with the threat of tears. She nodded to all at the great long table under the black sun painted on the ceiling and stood up. Lofty in her stature, her hair fell forward over her shoulders, making her eyes all the more starkly striking as she pinned each member with her gaze. In her hands she held the antique silver vial, playing over its beautiful design with her fingertips.
“Would you do us the honor of consuming the vial in the name of the Order of the Black Sun? It is a privilege to be chosen for this task, as you are all aware. I have bestowed the honor upon one of my most trusted and oldest associates, Professor Herman Lockhart, who had, through many years, any trials and tribulations, remained loyal to the Order and assisted me, personally, in many a successful ventures.”
She rested her deceitful eyes on him, her smile revolting him.
‘Privilege? The only privilege you afforded me was the location of your doomed hive, you bitch,’ Lockhart thought as he nodded in agreement and mock-respect. ‘I hope The Brotherhood hangs you with your own goddamned tail, demoness.’
When Lockhart opened the vial a strong and putrid stench escaped the mouth of the container, so powerful that the few men flanking him recoiled.
“Keep it down, Professor!” Slokin jested. “Hope you can hold your liquor.”
Without a much desired retort the old man swallowed the elixir. The party present all winced at the sight and moans of disgust emanated around the room. His face pulled in repulsion, but he quickly realized that it was nothing more than well rigged Absinthe, cleverly used along with a collection of extracts to mimic the true tincture brewed by whatever ancient seiðkona Odin trusted to concoct it.
His heart smiled at the deception Lita was unaware of and he intended to keep her in the dark about it. Now Lockhart knew the liquid could not harm him apart from a bit of a headache and maybe a case of the runs in the morning, but he decided to wear his mask well. Drinking every drop, he fell slightly against the table in a feigned dizzy spell and quickly the people around him helped him to his seat.
A mild cheer came from the party at the emptying of the flask, satisfied that soon the old scholar would show them the way to Valhalla to bring to fruition their age-long goal, the very goal of the Führer himself. Through his dramatic rendition as the oracle of the Order, Professor Lockhart’s heart cheered at the thought that he was unperturbed by any drug or nefarious concoction. It afforded him the insidious privilege of being the cancer of the Order, the resident virus inside the body that would be their undoing. He smiled.
How sweet his demise was going to be, knowing that he was the architect of the Black Sun’s destruction.
Chapter 29
It was evening in Thurso. The picturesque steeples disappeared in the soft thickness that slowly descended upon the coastal town as night enfolded its merry streets and frigid beaches. Close to the western head of the grand landscape, Sam, Nina, and their friends moved into a smallholding owned by a friend of Alex’s. It consisted of a circle of small structures, built around a huge fire pit near one of the small inlets where the ocean could secretly impose and spread its beautiful saline fragrance late at night when the tide exhaled a crisp breeze onto the land.
While Erika prepared The Brotherhood and the riders of Sleipnir for their mission, Gunnar had a look at Nina’s wound. Every time his eyes caught the Tiwaz rune his wife’s arm used to bear, his heart would ache just a little, urging him more to take action and fuelling the vengeful flame he kept burning like a pilot light.
He sat her down at the dining room table and she placed her arm on the embroidered table cloth. In the background bustle of the club members outside, roaring, toasting, and eating around the bonfire, Nina embraced the odd feeling of freedom, entwined with a persisting nudge of terror for what her life had evolved to in the past few weeks. It felt as if she was living another life altogether. Looking at the giant calloused hands of Gunnar Joutsen, who had decided against the advice of his brethren to accompany Sam and Nina alone to Valhalla, she realized that she would never be as safe as she was right now.
From nowhere, Sam sank down beside her and she could not help but smile. The two men flanked her with care and friendship, an emotional warmth she never got from Purdue — not even in most intense throes of passion. She regretted nothing, as her relationship with the billionaire was a means to an end, but she did lament the lack of closeness. It was something which had always eluded her, no matter how deeply in love she was. But Sam, her trusty old friend and confidant, object of her affection of late, was the only man who ever exuded that protective favor she craved and made no secret that it was intended specifically for her.
“How are you holding up, Dr. Gould?” he teased.
“I’m doing great, thank you, Mr. Cleave. Manage to stay upright for a whole two hours, I see,” she snapped playfully, referring to the two fainting spells Sam suffered during his tattooing session. He had neglected as a show of pride to share his terrible fear of needles with them and subsequently passed out when he dared look in the wall mirror. Seeing Eldard pressing the pulsing needle into his back unnerved him and reminded him of the aversion he had for silver hole-makers. The only productive thing he could boast was his visions.
Sam shook his head and wiped back his black tresses, a look of willing defeat gracing his countenance. Then he whispered, “I’ll never live it down, will I?”
Gunnar smiled at the jest as he carefully removed the bandage to see what kind of wound the historian had hidden under the light brown stains on the bloody wrapping. As he peeled it away, she winced from the pain where the fabric had settled into the coagulated blood of the wound and hitched on the stitches.
“Sorry, love,” Gunnar apologized without ceasing his tugging, but Nina felt Sam’s hand wrap around her other hand, comforting her.
“Good god, it hurts like fuck!” she moaned through her teeth with her eyes pinched tightly.
“Almost done,” the big biker soothed in deliberately subdued tone. “Sam, I hate to say this, but you have to see if you can produce more revelations tonight. Regensburg is full of historical landmarks. I need you to see if you can find something in your visions to narrow down what we are looking for, you see?”
Sam nodded, “I reckon if I pick a fight with Jimmy or Rolar, I’d get us to Valhalla in one go, hey?” Nina and Gunnar laughed at his masochistic enthusiasm. The two members he referred to dwarfed most specimens short of WWE heavyweight wrestlers. They would certainly deal him a pummeling he would not survive.
“No, one of the ladies from The Brotherhood should do the trick,” Nina remarked as she sucked in air through her clenched jaws when the last part of the bandage tore free from the wound.
“On that note,” Sam’s boyish interest came to the fore again, “will pleasure perhaps give me the same effect as pain?” Nina looked at him in amusement and shook her head. “You know, just in case I feel the need to get some… extra information…”
Gunnar chuckled heartily, “I don’t know, brother, you could give it a try. Right now we’ll take any help we can get. But the ladies will not be here much longer, so you had better get to it.”
Nina’s eyes pierced Sam’s. She did not have to voice her envious protest for him to know she secretly agreed to be his guinea pig, should he decide to test the theory. He knew this and reveled in it.