CHAPTER NINETEEN
Kera was filling Chloe, Tessa, and Betty in on what was going on—that the last she had heard, their sister-Crow had disappeared with a Raven and a god—when Erin abruptly walked into Chloe’s office.
“Hi,” she said, surprising them all.
“Are you okay?” Kera asked, watching Erin’s gaze quickly sweep the room. “Ski told me—”
“Yeah, we need to talk.”
“Okay.” Kera motioned her into the room. “Talk.”
“Not here.” Erin walked out and Kera looked at the others.
Chloe immediately got to her feet and came around her desk. “Now I’m fascinated.”
Erin led them down the back kitchen stairs until they reached the lowest levels of the house, where the first LA Crows had erected a large statue of Skuld and on more than one occasion had held blood sacrifices. Thankfully those days were over. If they weren’t, Kera would have made it her goal in life to shut that shit down.
But other than to torture her just before her welcome party a few weeks ago, the Crows had told Kera they never used this area. It was “weird” and “creepy” and many simply didn’t want to be “down there if there’s a goddamn earthquake.”
Erin looked around the main room and nodded her head. “Okay, good. This will work.”
“To talk?” Kera asked. She didn’t understand why they couldn’t just talk in Chloe’s office.
“Well, that too.”
“What is going on with you?” Tessa finally asked.
Erin faced them. “Okay, this is the deal. We need to find the Carrion.”
“Find them? How do we know they’re here?”
“They’re here,” she insisted. “And I need to track down the one with Hel’s rune on his palm, cut it off—”
“His palm?” Tessa demanded.
“Most likely his whole hand. And this space . . . we need to set it up like a little den and allow Tyr to come here quietly so he can read our books.”
When no one else asked, Kera did. “Why?”
“Because that’s how I got him to give me the map.”
“What map?”
“The map of the Nine Worlds.”
“Is it magical?” Betty asked.
“It’s something. When I looked at it, there was movement on the page. I didn’t really have time to study it, though.”
“But you made a deal with him for the map?”
“Yes.”
Chloe frowned. “To use our house to . . . read in?”
“Privately read in. And access to our library.”
“Our library? You mean our books?”
“Well . . . yeah. You know, our Stephen Kings. Our Nora Roberts. Our Dean Koontz . . . ezzzzz.” Erin frowned. “Koontzeses? No. That doesn’t sound right. Let’s just stick with Dan Browns.”
“Erin,” Kera tried, “I need you to focus, sweetie.”
“I’m sorry.” A phrase Kera had heard Erin Amsel say only once before. To anyone. “I’ve got a lot on my mind right now and I sense things are speeding up exponentially.”
“Look at you with the big words,” Betty teased.
Erin smiled. “I have my moments.”
Betty’s connection with Erin was one of the reasons Kera kept the woman close. She was considered an “elder” Crow, a term that pissed Betty off to no end. “I’m not that old,” she’d complain, but she’d been a Crow for many years. And a talented one, considering she’d lasted as long as she had.
More important, she knew how to cut through Erin’s occasional bullshit like a samurai sword through a side of beef.
“So what else did you agree to?” Betty asked, one eyebrow raised.
“Nothing, surprisingly. The Four Horsemen just wanted to give me information.”
Chloe’s back straightened. “You talked to the Four Horsemen alone?”
“No. Stieg was there. And Jace’s grandmother, but don’t tell Jace that. Even though she seems to already know, pretend you don’t know anything when she asks.”
“Why not?”
“She’ll just get crazy and we can’t deal with that now. That’s why I knocked her out at Ski’s place.”
Betty laughed. Loud.
But Kera was desperately trying to understand the logic of the one woman she’d tried to kill with her bare hands. Because Erin was that frustrating! “You knocked her out?”
“Sleeper hold. Do it just right and you can put her out for ten, maybe fifteen minutes.”
“Or kill her!”
“Doubtful. She comes from very strong blood. Jace’s grandmother didn’t even nod off before Stieg pulled me away—”
“Her grandmother?” Kera bellowed.
“She—”
Kera pointed her finger at Erin. “Don’t you dare say she started it!”
“Except that she did,” Erin said under her breath.
“I don’t understand what’s wrong with you. Why were you even at her grandmother’s?”
“She told me to come over and not to tell Jace. And until the Horsemen walked into her backyard, I had no idea the mean bitch had some weird, twisted relationship with them. That,” Erin suddenly added, “was probably sexual, because the woman looks as old as Methuselah. She probably knew the Four Horsemen when they were still teens.”
“Why,” Tessa abruptly cut in, “is Stieg Engstrom involved in any of this?”
“I can’t shake him,” Erin admitted with an annoyed sigh. “You sleep with a guy once . . .”
Kera pressed her fingers to her temples. “Jace said that was made up.”
“It was, to hide the fact there was a hit out on me—”
“What?”
“—but then I was almost burned alive by that religious cult—”
“What religious cult?”
“—and afterward, I was so worked up, and he was, you know, there, and kind of vulnerable so I just took advantage. Now I can’t get him to go away. It’s like my pussy is magic or something.” She shook her head. “Erin’s Magical Pussy Tour.”
Betty and Chloe were laughing so hard, they had to lean against each other to keep upright. Tessa just seemed confused, and Kera could only say one thing. “You are clinically psychotic.”
“There is that school of thought—oh my god!” Erin suddenly burst out, forcing Kera to step back from outright fear. “I left Engstrom upstairs!” Erin tore out of the room.
Kera’s mouth opened as she watched her friend run. “I was a United States Marine,” she finally said to a quiet Tessa. “The pay was shit, but I had respect, an important job, and I helped save America from our enemies. Now I’m reduced to doing this—and oh, my God! Would you two stop laughing!”
* * *
Erin ran into the kitchen just as she heard Stieg tell a room full of her sister-Crows that, “Yeah, I never thought she’d pimp me out to a god.”
Accusing eyes focused on her and Erin froze in the doorway. “Okay . . . before anyone judges me—”
Pelted with donut holes left over from that morning’s breakfast, Erin turned and covered her head.
“You pimped him out?” Leigh—her own teammate!—accused, her hand resting on Stieg’s oversized shoulder while the big bastard ate—again!—a large bowl of cereal.
How much food did the man need? How had he survived on the streets if he needed that much food?
“Do you know what he’s been through?” Maeve whispered, as if Stieg wasn’t sitting less than five feet away from her and listening to everything.
“Well, since you guys keep telling me . . . yeah,” she whispered back.
“Then how could you?”
“Why do you keep whispering? He’s sitting right there!”
The sound of running feet had Erin turning, but she only had a chance to glimpse Jace’s face before her friend tackled her to the ground.
* * *
Spooning more cereal into his mouth, Stieg looked around at the Crows, waiting for them to get in between Erin and Jace. But when no one moved . . .
Sighing, Stieg dropped the spoon back into his bowl, and walked over to a screaming Jace and a laughing Erin.
How the woman could laugh when all this was going on spoke to the very high level of insanity she must deal with on a daily basis. Most people would have crumpled by now, but not Erin.
Never Erin.
He grabbed Jace around the waist and lifted her off Erin. He was debating what to do with her when Eriksen rushed in. Late as always.
Damn Protectors. Stieg handed Jace off to the smaller man before helping Erin back to her feet.
“I have to say,” Erin announced, “I am a little surprised and disappointed at the lack of loyalty in this room and I think—don’t you dare throw that donu—”
The chocolate glazed donut hit Erin right in the forehead and when it fell away, it left a smear of dark chocolate behind.
Deciding it was best to get out of there before Erin incinerated the entire room, Stieg grabbed her around the waist and walked out. He went out the first door he came to, which took them into the big backyard. He set her down, already thinking what he hoped were soothing words that would make her feel better about the whole thing. What came out was, “What is wrong with you?”
He asked that question because, with that chocolate glaze still on her forehead, Erin was hysterically laughing. Arms around her waist, she bent over, tears dripping from her eyes.
“You’re crazy,” he finally told her, when she was laughing so hard she couldn’t answer his first question. “You’re ridiculous and you’re crazy.”
* * *
Kera and the others made it upstairs to find Erin and Stieg gone and their fellow sister-Crows crowded around the kitchen windows.
Kera stopped and watched, listening to the women whispering about whatever they were watching.
“She’s oblivious, isn’t she?”
“Oh, my God. He likes her so much.”
“You think? It’s so hard to tell with him. He always looks like he’s working the customer service desk at the DMV.”
“I always thought he looked like a postal worker who’s about one write-up away from losing it completely.”
“Personally, I think the last donut throw was a bit much . . . Annalisa.”
Kera’s fellow Strike Team member smirked before replying, “It slipped from my fingers.”
“You wanted to see if you could make her snap,” Alessandra accused Annalisa, which was probably true.
“And yet, I can never find anything that sets Erin off . . . except Kera.” Annalisa jerked her thumb back at Kera and everyone glanced at her before turning back to watch Erin and Stieg through the window.
All except Maeve Gadhavi, who walked over to Kera and asked, “Do you have an ETA on when all this stopping-the-Apocalypse thing might be happening?”
It took a lot for Kera not to narrow her eyes at Maeve, but her sister-Crow was sensitive to all physical reactions to anything she said or did. Instead, Kera replied, “Actually, no. At this time, we do not have an ETA. Why?”
“I think I’m getting a cold. Possibly the flu.”
“Uh-huh.”
“My throat’s scratchy.”
“And you want me to delay the end of the world for you because your throat is scratchy?”
Maeve crossed her arms over her chest. “Why do I hear tone?”
“Because there’s tone.”
“I’m just trying to—”
“What? You’re trying to what?”
“Well—”
“We don’t have time, Maeve, for your illness. If you have a cold when we have to battle Gullveig and her minions, then you drag your skinny ass out of bed and you get on the line with the rest of us. If you have the flu. Rickets. Measles. Ebola. An advanced form of venereal disease.” Kera was no longer speaking to just Maeve. She was talking to everyone in the room, pacing back and forth in front of the women who’d stopped watching Erin and Stieg and were now focused on her.
“If you have lost two legs but you still have arms, then you will drag yourself to the line,” Kera went on. “Because I—and humanity—don’t have time for anyone’s issues. Have I made myself clear?”
“Uh . . . yeah?” Alessandra said quietly.
“I can’t hear you!”
“Sir, yes, sir!” they all barked back. Probably because they saw it in a war movie, but Kera would take it.
“Good! Now where’s Jace?”
“Here,” Jace called out.
“I need to talk to you.”
Her friend started to walk toward her, but so did her boyfriend.
Kera held up her hand, halting the Protector in his tracks. “I said I need to see Jace. Not Jace and Ski, just Jace. So why don’t you stay here and relax, while we go talk. Have something to eat. It’s a fucking kitchen—there must be food here.”
“Uh . . .” The Protector blinked behind his adorably dorky glasses. “Sure. I’ll get something to eat.”
Kera nodded and motioned Jace to walk out of the kitchen ahead of her. She followed, leaving the others standing there staring. They walked down the hall and as they neared the front door, Kera grabbed Jace’s arm and yanked her into the bathroom.
Kera slammed the door shut, then dropped to her knees in front of her friend and panted out, “I can’t do this. I can’t do this. I can’t do this.”
* * *
Jace watched in horror as Kera had a major meltdown. She’d kind of known it might be coming. They were expecting her to be War General for a situation that could easily lead to Ragnarok. That was a lot to ask of anyone, but especially a woman who’d only been an active Crow for such a short time.
“I’m going to get them all killed, Jace. They’re all going to die and it’s going to be my fault.”
Jace went down on her knees in front of Kera. She was still a little taller than her friend, but it was better than towering over the woman when she was feeling so vulnerable.
Suddenly Jace felt like shit. She’d been in full avoidance mode the last few weeks, just like she used to do when she still lived with her husband and his congregation. Focusing on books. Playing with her dog. Getting into fights with Erin. But not helping.
Not helping her sister-Crows. Not helping Kera.
Her friends deserved better.
Jace dropped her hands on Kera’s shoulders. “You can do this, Kera. I know you can.”
“They’re all going to die and it’ll be because of me.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“I’m going to get them all killed and destroy the world. Me. I’m going to do it all because I’m a fuckup.”
“Stop it.”
“I’m going to be the reason a big serpent crushes the world. I’m going to be the reason hell’s unleashed. It’ll all be my failure. Mine. No one else’s. But you know what?” Kera babbled on. “I’ll probably survive. I’m going to survive all of it so that I can live with my failure and the corpses of all those my weakness has destroyed!”
Knowing the rant was only going to get worse, Jace did the only thing she could think of at the moment—she twisted Kera’s nipple. Hard.
“Ow! What the fuck, Jace!”
“I need you to listen to me. I’ve been watching you. We all have. You’ve been amazing. Even now . . . the way you handled Maeve? Brilliant. Otherwise, she can start spiraling out on you, thinking she’s got every killer bee–transmitted tropical disease ever created. You’ve been amazing with the Silent, never letting them get the best of you. Freida and the Giant Killers respect you . . . and they don’t respect anyone. I would also say that you’ve been handling Erin great, too, but no one can handle Erin. You just let her be and hope for the best. But that’s okay. That’s how everyone deals with her. You’ve been smart enough not to push her.”
“But if I fail—”
“You can’t think like that. We’re all in this together. All of us. Every Crow. Every Clan. Gullveig brought this battle to us, and we won’t back down. Vikings never back down.”
Kera gave a small chuckle. “What? We’re all Vikings now?”
“Damn right we are. True, most of the Clans might not think so. But I’ve always felt being Viking was less about bloodlines and more about fuckin’ attitude.”
“Then, sweetie, your grandmother’s a Viking.”
“I wouldn’t actually argue with you about that. I don’t think Odin would argue with you about that.”
Both woman were laughing and Kera put her arms around Jace, hugging her tight.
“Thank you,” Kera whispered against her ear.
“Any time. Because if there’s one thing I know how to get through, it’s panic attacks.”
* * *
Erin stood still while Stieg used a napkin to wipe the chocolate glaze off her forehead.
Well . . . she thought she was standing still until he said, “Stop wiggling.”
Erin grinned. “Does it make you hot?”
“No. It makes me think you need to be on Adderall. Have you been tested for ADHD?”
“I had an appointment booked with a specialist in Manhattan, but I went to a Mapplethorpe retrospective at a gallery downtown instead.”
Stieg stepped back, frowning. “How old were you?”
“I don’t know. Twelve. Maybe thirteen.”
“A twelve-year-old should not be checking out a Mapplethorpe anything.”
Erin gawked at the big Viking. “You know Mapplethorpe? You?”
“I got knowledge.”
“Do you? Really?”
“This gallery owner used to pay me and Karen to work some of his art shows. I handled security and Karen cleaned up.”
“Galleries need a lot of bar-like security, do they?”
“The gallery was in downtown LA, near Skid Row. My job was basically to keep the riffraff away from the Hollywood glitterati, which wasn’t hard because the locals all knew me. Anyway, the owner was really nice and he liked to explain the work to me and Karen. I learned about Jackson Pollack and de Kooning and Dorothea Lange. It was all interesting but not really my thing.”
Erin sat down on the metal picnic table, her ankles crossed, legs swinging. “Stieg Engstrom . . . what is your thing?”
He dropped the dirty napkin into a nearby trash can. “Financial management.”
Erin laughed until she realized that he wasn’t joking. “Wait . . . what?”
“Financial management. I’m good with numbers and making money. When you live on the streets, you have to become good at hustling or become a hustler. Neither me nor Karen wanted to make our money on our knees or our backs, so we found other ways to make money.”
“Holy shit!” Erin laughed, absolutely delighted. “That’s amazing! Do you and Karen work together?”
“She deals with all the clients and I handle the money and the investments because, according to Karen, I am”—he made air quotes with his fingers—“‘terrifying’ and a ‘drain on business. ’”
“So that stack of money she handed you the first night I met her . . . ?”
“Oh, that was cash from a client. A rabbi who runs a synagogue in Santa Monica. We used to go to their soup kitchen all the time. They had a tomato bisque that was amazing. Anyway, the rabbi is a really good guy and he was one of our first clients. We help invest the synagogue’s money and give them money to help keep the kitchen open for our fellow street kids.”
“So Karen’s not a stripper?”
“I told you she wasn’t a stripper!”
“Yeah, but you didn’t say, “She’s not a stripper, she’s my business partner in our financial management company!’” Erin shook her head. “You are so weird.” Erin turned and watched Kera and Jace walk toward her. “Hey”—she pointed at Stieg—“did you know he has a financial management company?”
“Yeah,” they both said together.
“And neither of you told me?”
“Well,” Kera explained, “I figured you already knew since, you know, you’ve been here longer than I have.”
“You have a point.”
Jace nodded. “And I knew you wouldn’t care.”
“You’re right. I wouldn’t have.” Erin smiled at her two sister-Crows. “So what’s up?”
“We need to talk.”
Erin let out a long sigh, head dropping back so she looked up at the sky. “That sounds serious and boring and I want no part.”
“Don’t worry,” Kera promised. “We’ll keep it short and pithy. Perfect for your itty, bitty—”
“Titty commitee?” Erin asked with a wide grin.
“—attention span.”
“Oh.”
* * *
“What do you need from us, Erin?” Kera asked, cutting right to the heart of the matter, which was definitely her way.
How she managed to tolerate Erin Amsel as well as she did was a constant discussion among the Ravens. Many wondered if she could be nominated for sainthood despite the fact that she was no longer considered a Catholic.
“What do I need?” Erin glanced at Stieg.
He gave her a shrug. How she proceeded from here on out was up to her.
“What I need is . . .” Her voice faded out and she looked directly at Jace. “I need you to stop looking for a way out for me.”
“But—”
“You asked what I need. That’s what I need. And my God, no crying!”
“I’m not crying!” Jace screamed back.
But she was. A little. She was desperately trying not to, though.
“Instead,” Erin continued, still talking to Jace, “I need you to focus on how I’m supposed to use that Key. It should get me in.”
“A way in to Helheim,” Kera said.
“It won’t get me to Helheim, but Jace, I need a spell or whatever to get in and get out. As far in as you and that Key can get me.”
Jace sniffed, nodded, sniffed again. She stood straight, shoulders back. “Okay.”
“And you need us to find the Carrion.”
Erin shrugged at Kera. “That’s all we can do at this point. My suggestion is we send out the Strike Teams to hunt them down. But do not engage. Getting the Key will take a little more than one of our raids. We’ll need to be . . . subtle.”
Kera frowned. “Do we know how to be subtle?”
“Not even a little, but we have no choice. We can’t fight and actually defeat the Carrion on our own.”
“But if the Ravens—”
“It won’t matter. Not with the Carrion.”
“She’s right,” Stieg agreed.
Kera scratched her neck. “But you do want us to hunt them down.”
“We find ’em first,” Erin said. “Then we decide what to do from there. And I think I have an idea of where to start.”
“Good. What else?” Kera asked.
“You need to prepare.”
“For what?”
“We can’t do guerrilla tactics with Gullveig and her people, Kera. We need to issue a direct challenge and face them head-on with the other Clans.”
“Are you sure?”
“Positive. Random attacks won’t mean shit to her once she’s at full power.”
The color drained from Kera’s face. “She’s not at full power?”
“Not even close,” Erin replied. “So we’ve got to move fast.”
“She’ll never accept a direct challenge from us then.”
“The good news,” Stieg cut in, “you know, if there is any, is that Gullveig’s troops are warriors of Hel. Unlike Gullveig, they won’t turn down a direct challenge.”
“Why not?” Kera asked.
“They’re Viking. No true Viking will ever turn down a direct challenge. Because, in the end, it’s about honor, and if that means dying, you better die with a sword in your hand and your enemy’s blood on your face.”
“That should be a poem,” Kera replied with great sarcasm.
“It may sound wacky to us, but he’s right,” Erin agreed, surprising Stieg.
He didn’t think she’d ever said he was right before.
“So we call Hel’s minions out for what purpose?” Jace asked
“If I can get the sword . . . I’ll meet you on the battlefield, and kill the bitch myself.”
“And if you don’t get the sword?” Kera asked.
“Then we all burn anyway.”