I hid in the stand of woods behind Norse Falls High for what felt like a very long time. Reliving the chain of events since last spring, I crouched under a tree. I was frightened and sad and exhausted and, above all, ashamed. Had I anywhere to go, I’d have set out for it immediately. California crossed my mind more than once.

What exactly did Marik mean that Safira would seek vengeance? Did he know that Brigid sought her cooperation in unleashing Ragnarök? I already had one queen after me; was a second a mere doubling, or was it an exponential increase? Would Safira truly be led into such an evil and irrevocable act? On more earthly matters: Leira was gravely ill, destined to die, were Marik to be believed. And what of his own dilemma? How much longer did he have? And how would I keep Jack away from him?

In this state of limbo, alone and without my purse or phone, both of which I’d left at the dance, I felt disconnected from the world — all worlds. It was, finally, the memory of Leira’s helpless mewl that got me to my feet.

With our new house in Norse Falls proper, it didn’t take me too long to make the walk-of-shame home, my sandals dangling from my heavy-as-my-heart arms and the hem of my dress frayed and covered in mud and bird guts, for all I knew. Just as I rounded the corner to our street, a familiar green truck pulled up alongside me.

Crap.

The door flung open, and Jack came running toward me, wrestling me into a shoulder-dislocating hug. “I was so worried. Where the hell have you been?”

“Walking.” Feeling unworthy, I wriggled out of his hold.

“But where did you go?”

“I just . . . It was the birds. I freaked and had to get away from there.”

“And Marik?”

“What about him?”

“You followed him.”

“Yes, but —”

“Why would you do that? You saw me, right?”

“I did, but just don’t ask.”

“Don’t ask. Why not?”

Then it occurred to me: I needed a way to keep the two apart. And the way Marik had girls in heat was like something straight out of National Geographic. Why not me? We did spend a lot of time together; we were project partners and neighbors.

“Because . . .” I intentionally trailed off.

“Is there something going on?” The lines around Jack’s eyes creased. More shock. More confusion. More hurt.

“It’s complicated,” I said. It wasn’t an affirmation or a denial, but damning all the same.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“That it’s not . . . easy to explain.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“I just need some time,” I said. It was true. All of it was true, but the damage I was doing was so swift, Jack reeled as if physically injured.

“What the hell are you saying?”

“I need a break.”

His face went red. Anger this time. It, the least rational of emotions, was the one I intended to exploit. He finally held up his right hand in a wait-there gesture and stepped over to his truck. He returned a moment later and pressed my purse and cell phone into my hands.

“These are yours,” he said, and turned back to his car.

I didn’t reply. I didn’t trust myself not to take it all back. To cave and tell him everything. Watching him drive away was horrible. He wouldn’t look at me. His eyes, hard and cold, were fixed straight ahead. When his tires squealed taking the corner, I knew it was because he couldn’t get away fast enough. I had the “break” I asked for but didn’t want.

Coming in the back way, I found my mom at the kitchen table with the home phone and a cup of coffee in front of her.

“Kat. Oh, my God, Kat. Where have you been?” She jumped to a stand.

“I walked home,” I said, hanging my head.

“But what took you so long? You’ve got everyone worried about you. Stanley, your dad, and Jack are all out driving, looking for you.”

“I got confused. Went the wrong way. Had to double back. It was stupid, I know. But that scene at the school was just so . . . crazy . . . I don’t know. I probably don’t even make much sense.”

My mom came forward and hugged me. “You’re all right. That’s all that matters.” She released me. “And what a thing to go through. Especially after last year’s barn fire. I swear that school should suspend all future Homecoming dances. It’s all over the news, of course. They’re saying that mass bird die-offs like that are rare, but not unheard of. But to shower down on a group of kids all dressed up. It must have been awful.”

I lifted my shoulders in the wimpiest of shrugs.

My mom pulled her hand to her temple. “I better let the others know. They’ll be so relieved.”

I overheard her conversations with Stanley and my dad. They were brief but upbeat. She then held the phone out to me. “Do you want to call Jack yourself? The poor guy. When I spoke with him earlier, he was beside himself.”

“He found me a few minutes ago on our street. I got my purse and phone back from him”— I lifted both for my mom to see —“so we’re good.” We weren’t, of course. But my mom probably figured the panic at the school was the source of my sad eyes and faltering voice.

“Can I get you anything? You look shaken.”

“Just tired. I’m heading up.” The stairs to the attic seemed steeper than usual. That or my legs were as heavy as my conscience.

Moments later I stepped out of my dress and let it float down in a shimmery ring. In a camisole and my undies, I crawled under the covers, too weary to even produce tears.

I had a hard time falling asleep. Though the forecasters hadn’t called for it, a storm blew up. I, of course, knew its source. Jack. Another thing to feel all-over awful about. Rain pelted my windows in crashing waves, and the wind battered the house, rattling the panes and yelping like something wounded. He hadn’t used his own powers here on Midgard since last Christmas’s snowstorm, but now two Saturdays in a row . . . I wondered where he was and what he was doing. Was he curled up on his bed like me? Or at the window watching his handiwork? Or, worse still, doing everything in his power to control the outburst, but failing? Just thinking of that scenario was a stake to the heart.

Marik came to mind, too. How was this storm affecting him? His animus was already frail. Without him, an essential, the pact would be broken. Safira — and willing accomplice Brigid — would seek vengeance. Even the goddess Frigg was worried about the treachery their conspiracy would unleash. If there was an occasion for Hulda’s patience-above-all mantra, I felt it was now. There was yet one small glitch in my developing scheme.

In pain and with frustration, I pulled my pillow over my head to muffle my sobs.