CHAPTER NINE
Erin stood in front of the makeshift sign that led into the rundown but expensive property of the church that had put out a hit on her. “Nice to know that while they’re busy trying to have me killed, they still have time in their hectic schedules to openly disparage homosexuals with their fancy signs.”
Stieg grunted, his usual response to most of her observations.
But then he suddenly added information. And used words! “When I lived on the streets, Karen and I ate at a lot of church soup kitchens. Most just wanted to help, make sure we ate. But we learned to actively avoid some.... because their bologna sandwiches came with a huge side helping of indoctrination and hatred.”
“Did you ever deal with these people?” Erin asked.
“No. But they’re all alike. The names may be different, but the hatred is always the same.”
They walked down the long road toward the church, passing more signs with horrible, hateful slogans every few feet until the church itself came into view. The shitty, barely standing wood building looked like it had been pieced together by the original American settlers.
“Something tells me they don’t have that million to pay for my death.”
“They’re doing this for their Lord, so they think it’s okay to lie. You know . . . to murderers.” Stieg suddenly looked at her. “I guess it’s not worth it for me to ask you to wait here while I deal with this?”
“No.”
He rolled his eyes and started toward the church, but Erin stopped him.
“Or we can compromise,” she suggested.
“Compromise? You compromise?”
“Yeah.”
“I don’t.”
“Oh.” She took his arm and led him off to the side. “Well, it’s time to try something new.”
* * *
The thing that Stieg loved about every human being on the planet, the one thing they all had in common no matter the race, religious belief, or political ideology . . .
They all had to pee.
And when the preacher was coming out of the port-a-potty—because the ramshackle church apparently didn’t have indoor plumbing, which was the most horrifying thing about all of this as far as Stieg was concerned—Stieg grabbed the man from behind, quickly covered his mouth and dragged him off to a shed a few hundred feet away.
Erin let them in and closed the door
“Scream and I’ll snap your neck,” Stieg warned. “Understand?”
The preacher gave one nod and Stieg released him.
Stieg had honestly thought he’d spend the short amount of time they’d have with this man trying to drag information out of him. That was usually how such things worked.
But as soon as the preacher saw Erin, his eyes lit up. “It’s you!” he exclaimed, sounding ridiculously happy. “God has sent you straight to us!”
Erin playfully clapped her hands together and replied with great sarcasm, “Praise the Lord and pass that dag-gum ammunition!”
Stieg kind of enjoyed how she had no patience. It was almost like she had no fear. Or, at the very least, she was determined to find the humor in any given situation. Stieg’s mother always considered that a gift. Humor was what she’d used to handle dying of cancer.
Shame his father didn’t have the same set of skills.
“You’re trying to kill her,” Stieg said to the preacher. “Why?”
“Because if she succeeds in her quest, she will stop the End Times. She will prevent our Lord’s second coming.” The preacher’s eyes were wide and wild, suggesting he believed everything he was saying. So desperate to shed this world that didn’t treat him right, he was willing to sacrifice everyone else.
A philosophy Stieg could never truly get behind. “Quest? What quest?”
“To stop the End Times.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get that,” Stieg said. “I’m asking for specifics.”
The preacher smiled and Stieg knew that now the struggle would come. Whatever the man knew about the how, what, and why of what Erin needed to do—if he knew anything—he was not about to give up easily.
Stieg reached out to grab the preacher’s throat to start the coercion when Erin stopped him, placing her hand on his wrist.
“What?” he asked.
She lifted her nose, sniffed the air. “Smell that?”
“Smell—?”
Erin suddenly kicked the shed door open and shoved Stieg and the preacher out of the hut. But before she could follow, two women slammed the shed door closed and another man placed a metal bar across it.
Stieg ran toward the shed, but a chain was thrown around him and he was yanked back by four, then five men. Once they had him on his back, chains were wrapped around his throat and arms.
But these were just humans. The Unknowing.
Stieg immediately began to toss his captors off. He used the chains to yank others to him and, once close, knock them out.
The preacher quickly saw that Stieg couldn’t be contained and screamed at the women still pressed against the shed. “Do it! Do it now!”
Ignoring the sounds of Erin on the other side trying to beat her way out, the women stumbled back and one took out a lighter.
That’s what Erin had smelled—turpentine. They’d doused the area surrounding the shed with turpentine.
“No!” Stieg shouted, but the shed was already in flames and Erin was still inside.
Then the preacher and his flock began to cheer and sing hymns.
Stieg’s rage slid through his body like blood through veins, and he got to his feet. Ready to take vengeance. Ready to destroy.
But before he could begin, the fire began to . . . pull back. Pull back and under the walls of the shed. Pulling back until it was completely gone.
The cheering and singing faded away. The banging from the inside of the shed also stopped.
Stieg’s rage slipped away as well and he began to move back.
“Run,” he told the idiots. They were stupid. Had no idea what they were doing. They’d all have to meet their Christian God eventually and when they did, he’d impress upon them the error of their ways.
But this . . .
“Ruuuuuuun!”
Some of them seemed to snap out of it and did as Stieg ordered, but others were still standing there when the first line of flame snaked from under the door and wrapped itself around the preacher’s waist. The heat cut through flesh easily and sliced the man in half.
The line of flame slipped back under the shed walls. A brutal moment of silence followed until the shed exploded out, the roof, flipping fifty feet away, leaving only Erin standing there.
Calm, quiet Erin.
And that told Stieg that Erin was angry. Not a little angry. Crow angry. The kind of angry that had started wars between countries. The slaughter of entire villages. The decimation of entire armies. The onetime near destruction of all the Clans.
Stieg lifted his hand toward the Crow. “Erin . . .”
Her green eyes cut toward him, and at that point, Stieg just dove for cover. He had no other choice.
He landed behind a tree and watched as Erin lowered her arms to her sides and opened her fingers, palms up. Her lips curled and thick lines of flame burst from her hands, sending a wall of fire straight into the preacher’s flock.
The flames were so high and thick that Stieg could see nothing else, but the screams of the victims filled the air, along with the smell of burning flesh.
The wall of flame moved across the land, burning everything in its path, including the church, and leaving nothing behind but scorched earth. Once the fire had finished feeding, it died. The surrounding trees and the town several miles away left untouched.
Amazing, really. It didn’t take much for a wildfire to start in California, and Erin had started a few in her time. But she’d clearly gotten control over her flames. He just hadn’t realized until now exactly how much.
He stepped out from behind the tree and went to her.
She was still in the remnants of the shed, on her knees, her head bowed, her chest rising and falling from her hard panting.
Stieg crouched beside her, ready to comfort Erin as he’d often done for Jace since they’d become friends. Her berserker rage sometimes led to bouts of hysterical tears.
But he didn’t expect tears from Erin, just remorse. He placed a hand on her shoulder. “Erin—”
Stieg didn’t know what happened. One second he was trying to comfort Erin, and the next . . . she had her tongue down his throat.
She dug her hands into his hair, leaned into him.
Stieg grabbed her around the waist with every intention of pushing her away.
You know . . . that was his intention. But instead he yanked her close, lifting her up a bit so that he could pull her in tight.
Then, as suddenly as it started, it stopped.
Erin pulled away, stood, and Stieg followed. She let out a breath. “Come on.”
She took a step but abruptly stopped and turned to face him. She pressed her forefinger into his chest and leaned in close.
“I . . .” She took in a deep breath. Let it out. “I fucking love being a warrior for a Viking god.”
Grinning, she turned and walked away, heading back to the car.
The thing was . . . Stieg couldn’t argue with her. He loved it, too.
* * *
The acolytes stripped the priestess of her robes and carefully handed over the gold-and-diamond-handled knife, placing it directly into her palm.
The priestess folded her fingers around the hilt and walked past the kneeling acolytes, chanting in an ancient language she’d taught to them. As she approached the jewel-covered altar, her victim yelled for help, trying desperately to get loose from the leather bindings.
She leaned over the young man, stroking her hand down his face, before kissing his screaming mouth. Raising the blade high above her head, she brought it down on the sacrifice’s chest, burying it up to the hilt, deep into his heart. She yanked the blade out, splattering blood across the chanting acolytes. She did it over and over until the blood touched them all.
She lifted her hands and chanted loudly along with the others, backing away from the altar.
There was a sound like something tearing and she watched the body, waiting to see the sacrifice split open. But the mystical doorway opened behind the altar and she quickly realized why. There wasn’t just one, there were many.
It was the leader she focused on. He came through the doorway first, forced to crouch a bit in order to get his entire body through. He was at least seven feet tall, the leather wings extending from his back double that.
Long blond hair braided loosely swung across his right shoulder. His thick beard covered the lower half of his face. Cold blue eyes looked over everything and everyone as he moved around the altar.
He saw her and came forward until he stood in front of her.
With her head forced all the way back, she looked up at him and smiled. He did not smile in return. His hand wrapped around her throat and he lifted her off the floor. She pawed at him, desperate to be free, while the worshippers panicked at her shocked squeal and made a run for the doors in the large hall of the private mansion.
Still holding onto her, he turned toward each exit and she watched the doors slam shut before her people could reach them. They tried to pry them open but the exits were magically locked.
He wasn’t just a warrior, he had strong magical powers as well. “I am Önd. These are my men. Our great lady Hel has sent us here to help your Gullveig in any way she may need. But first”—he pulled her close so they were eye to eye—“I have needs. And you, priestess, will fulfill them for me. And your disciples will satisfy my men until they are done with them.”
With that, he carried Jourdan Ambrosio to the altar by her throat, pointing out the cases of champagne she had ready for popping in the corner of the hall. “Drink and fuck, my brothers!” he yelled over her acolytes’ screams and slammed her onto the remains of the sacrifice, pinning her there.
She slapped and punched at him, to no avail. He simply stared down into her face, hand still around her throat, cold blue eyes gazing at her like she was no more than a rabbit caught in a trap.
“For soon,” he said low for her alone, “battle will come and Ragnarok will follow close behind. That is what you want, isn’t it, priestess?” He leaned in and grinned. “Then let it be my honor to give you a taste of what it will be like when that time comes. . . .”