Hel’s left eye, her ember eye, blazed a furious crimson in the black, withered ruin of the left side of her face. “Have you found the offenders?”
“Not yet, my lady,” I said. “I believe we’re close. We’re hoping to find them in time to save the captive.”
“That is well.” Her ember eye closed briefly so that she might gaze at me with her compassionate one, but then it winked open again, red and baleful. “Are you prepared to dispense justice in my name, Daisy Johanssen?”
I swallowed. “Justice?”
“The offenders cannot be permitted to endure.” Her voice was implacable. “The mortal man I cede to mortal authorities. But the ghouls who violated my order must be dispatched.”
“Oh,” I said again. Dauda-dagr tingled on my hip. “By me?”
Both sides of Hel’s face were stern. “By you or the newcomer who lays claim to authority over their kind.”
“Stefan?”
Hel tilted her head slightly. In the rafters, blue jays squawked and muttered. “Stefan Ludovic, yes. Unless he is complicit in this?”
“No.” Funny how quickly that denial came out of my mouth. I amended my words honestly. “Forgive me, my lady. I cannot be entirely sure. But I believe him to be innocent in the matter.”
Hel regarded me with both eyes, the compassionate and the baleful alike, and I had the feeling she could see straight through my vulnerable mortal flesh to the dense and conflicted knot of pride, anger, desire, fear, confusion, and a thousand other tangled emotions that lay within my restless hell-spawn’s soul, always fighting for ascendance.
I half hoped that she would say something painful and insightful to sever the knot. I half feared that she would dismiss me from her service as unworthy. Or maybe it was the other way around.
Instead, she made her voice gentle. “It is well that you possess hope, Daisy Johanssen. Do not lose it.”
“I’ll try not to, my lady.”
Gentleness fled, and Hel’s ember eye blazed, eclipsing the compassionate one. “It need not be done by your hand, but it must be done. Bear a message from me to this Stefan Ludovic. If he fails to administer my justice to his kind, he will be banished from my domain. Is that understood?”
I nodded. “It is.”
“And if he fails?” Hel asked me.
My left hand dropped to dauda-dagr’s leather-wrapped hilt, my fingers closing around it for comfort. Death day. Its bracing coolness seeped into my palm.
Could I kill?
It wasn’t a threshold I’d ever imagined myself crossing. But I thought about what I had seen on Schtupernatural.com, about the printouts Casimir had given me, the mermaid’s distorted face above an anonymous phone number. About the anguished hunger in Emma Sudbury’s eyes, the entire span of her mortal life sacrificed in service to her sister’s needs. About Twilight Manor, and Bethany’s emaciated frame and hollow-eyed gaze.
Yeah, maybe I could.
“If he fails, it falls to me,” I said steadily. “And I will not fail you, my lady.”
Hel inclined her head. “You may go.”
Thirty-six
The frost giant Mikill was wrong about one thing. As we approached the sacred well at the base of Yggdrasil II, one of the Norns set down her bucket and beckoned to us. I glanced at Mikill, who lifted his massive shoulders in a shrug and braked the buggy.
It was the oldest of the Norns, the one who looked like a kindly old grandmother except for the fact that her fingernails were long, silver talons and, now that I got a closer look, the fact that her eyes were as colorless as mist.
“Yes, my lady?” I said politely.
“Listen well, young Daisy.” Her voice sounded like it came from far away, like some whole other dimension. Maybe seeing the past, present, and future simultaneously will do that to a person. “When the time comes, think on the words the vampire spoke to you today and find a key hidden within them.”
Okay, not what I expected. “Umm . . . any chance you could be more specific?” I asked her. “At least point me in the direction of the right vampire?”
The Norn gave me a vague smile. “The answer lies within you.” With that, she picked up her bucket and resumed her duties.
Huh.
Mikill revved the engine and cautioned me to keep my limbs inside the vehicle as we raced back up Yggdrasil II’s hollow interior.
“You said the Norns wouldn’t have any counsel for me yet!” I shouted above the sound of the engine as we emerged.
“So I said upon your arrival,” Mikill replied. “Perhaps you are not entirely the same person upon your departure, Daisy Johanssen.”
Between coming and going, I’d pledged to kill if necessary, something so grave it made worrying about the Seven Deadlies seem trivial. I let that thought sit in silence for the rest of the drive home.
Mikill delivered me to the alley at some late o’thirty of the night, only just too early for Mrs. Browne to have fired up her ovens. I thanked him for the ride, and the dune buggy sputtered away in a fine mist of frozen pellets, the frost giant’s beard wagging in the wind of its passage.
I climbed the stairs to my apartment, my steps leaden. Despite having taken a nap, I was tired beyond tired. It wasn’t just that this was the longest day of my life and I’d begun it sleep-deprived and hungover. From Meg Mucklebones onward, the day’s seemingly endless series of encounters had taken a serious toll on me.
Mogwai was nowhere to be found, and the apartment felt empty. I filled his bowl, then went straight into the bedroom. I unbuckled my belt and sheathed dagger, laying them carefully on the dresser. I tried to reconstruct every conversation I’d had at the House of Shadows tonight, but I was just too damned tired to concentrate. Instead, I fished the Oak King’s token from my pocket. That was certainly the day’s highlight. I took a moment to sit on the edge of my bed, gazing at the silver acorn in wonder. I couldn’t resist raising it to my lips, letting my breath mist the gleaming metal.
Okay, Daisy. Put down the magic whistle.
I stashed it in the jewelry box atop my dresser, stripped off my clothes, crawled into bed, and fell into a deep, dreamless sleep.
It seemed like only minutes had passed before the unmistakable roar of a Harley chugging into the alley below awakened me, but sunlight was streaming through the gaps in the drapes.
Swearing, I scrambled back into yesterday’s clothing, opened the drapes, and flung the window wide. “Stefan?”
The black leather-clad figure on the bike below cut the engine and removed his helmet, revealing a blond ponytail. Not Stefan, but his lieutenant Johnny. “Sorry to wake you, ma’am,” he called up in a faint drawl. “Stefan’s been trying to reach you, but he’s not getting any phone reception out in the boondocks. He found out where Jerry Dunham’s gone and holed himself up.”
A spike of adrenaline jolted me alert. “He did?”
Johnny the ghoul nodded. “He sent me to fetch you.” His expression was grim. “Said to make sure you brung that dagger of yours.”
“Are they all with Dunham?” I asked. “Ray D, Mary Sudbury, and . . . the hostage?”
“We think so.” He shrugged. “Stefan didn’t want to move in on them without talking to you first. Hel’s liaison and all. It’s a courtesy, I reckon.” He didn’t sound particularly approving, but he didn’t sound particularly disapproving, either. “You coming or not, ma’am? One way or another, this is going down. And I still got to swing by Rafe’s place and pick up reinforcements.”
I buckled dauda-dagr around my waist, settling the belt on my hips. “Give me the location. I’ll call it in to the station.”
Johnny hesitated, scowling up at me. “This ain’t police business.”
I pointed at him, banging my fingertip against the screen. Smooth, I know. “Not your call, Johnny. I spoke to Hel last night and she was very clear about leaving Dunham to mortal authorities.” I didn’t mention that she had a pretty serious message for Stefan, too. That, I’d deliver to him myself. “What’s the address?”
With another shrug, he gave it to me.
I called the station and relayed the address to Patty Rogan with orders to pass it on to the chief and Cody, then clattered down the stairs.
Johnny’s pupils dilated briefly in his gray-blue eyes, then contracted to pinpoints as he wrestled himself under control. He shoved the helmet back onto his head, buckled it, and handed me a second one before straddling the Harley. “You need to hold on to something, ma’am, best you hold on to the sissy bar,” he advised me. “Not me. I don’t need no extra temptation. Okay?”
Donning the helmet, I sat gingerly behind him, trying to minimize contact between us. “Not a problem.”
“All right, then.” Johnny turned the key in the ignition and kicked the bike into life, opening the throttle. I caught a fleeting glimpse of Mogwai crouching beneath the rhododendrons, his fur bristling, before we roared out of the alley.
It had been years since I’d ridden on the back of a motorcycle—since Mom’s old boyfriend Trey Summers, who had introduced me to the blues, had been killed. It was a car accident involving a drunk driver that took his life, but he’d had a motorcycle, too. Sometimes, with Mom’s permission, he’d take me for rides. I’d forgotten how exhilarating it could be. I leaned back against the upright sissy bar, away from Johnny, reaching behind me to take a tight grip on the bars.
The streets of downtown Pemkowet whizzed past us. We pulled out onto the highway, crossing the bridge.
The river sparkled brightly in the sunlight like a promise.
At East Pemkowet’s only stoplight, which unlike its sister stoplight in downtown Pemkowet doesn’t have a changing ceremony of its own, Johnny turned his head and shouted something incomprehensible to me, pointing in the direction of the lakeshore. All I caught was a few words about Stefan’s second lieutenant, Rafe, and reinforcements, but he’d mentioned it earlier.