CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
There was chanting.
So. Much. Chanting.
Plus, there were a few chickens in cages, and a goat.
Dear God, where had Erin found the goat?
Jace glanced over at poor Kera. She was still on her knees in front of the big Fates statue. It had been made in the twenties when the first Crows had moved into this territory.
The bronze statue had been quite a source of pride, as well as the location of the occasional sacrifice back in the day. But the Crows, like many Californians, became less comfortable with using animals for anything other than pets. In fact, these days there was an entire Strike Team out of Portland that was openly vegan.
Right now, however, the statue was being used for no other purpose than to torture poor Kera.
That would be her name for a while now. Poor Kera. Because Erin was really making the kid’s life a living hell.
Especially when the chanting—something Erin had taped days ago using the Crows’ worst singers, and then made into a continuous loop so that it played over and over again, ad nauseum—was completely nonsensical! And had been going on for an hour!
Thankfully, one of the sister-Crows peeked around the pillars and motioned to Alessandra, letting her know everything was set and the party was in full swing.
Letting out a relieved sigh—because to be honest, Poor Kera wasn’t the only one suffering through this—Alessandra motioned to Erin, letting her know it was time to wrap this shit up.
Some were hungry, most needed a drink, and all were more than ready to party with the others.
Erin nodded and reached down, pulling Kera to her feet. Very necessary, since she’d been on her knees so damn long, she probably couldn’t stand on her own.
“Come, sister. We’re at the final step.”
“Thank God,” Kera complained. She hadn’t hidden her annoyance at this for one second. Everything seemed to be pissing her off. She sighed constantly. Rolled her eyes. And there was definitely some growling. It was clear she just wanted this to be over with.
Of course, so did the rest of them.
Dressed in white robes that Erin had borrowed from the set of a sword and sorcery TV show that one of the sister-Crows worked on as a costume designer, they walked up the long flight of back stairs that led them into a room where Erin had fixed up a table filled with the boring, cheap food she’d insisted on buying, including some cans of Bud Light beer, more cans of Cheez Wiz than seemed necessary, and a sheet cake from the local grocery store with “Welcome Insert Name Here” written on it in pink frosting.
Disgusted, Kera faced Erin. “Are you kidding?”
“Wait, wait! Don’t get too excited.”
“Excited?”
“One more step before we can begin the festivities.”
“Kill me now.”
“Again? You were already killed once.”
“Can we just finish this, please? So I can watch some TV or set myself on fire.”
“But this will be fun!”
“What is it?”
“We strip and dance naked in the moonlight. Covered in goat’s blood, of course.”
“Don’t touch that goat, and there is no moon tonight.”
“Pretend there is.”
Kera sighed and shook her head. “I’m done,” she said, pulling the robe over her head and tossing it at Erin. She wore shorts and a black tank top under the robe, even though Erin had told her she had to be naked. “I am so done.”
“But—”
“No. I’m not dancing naked. There will be no blood. I’m not kneeling anymore. I’m not singing any more goddamn Zeppelin songs. I’m not getting hit any more with sticks.”
“That was Odin’s staff.”
“Shut up!”
Erin grabbed Kera’s arm. “Calm down.”
“Let go of me.”
“Would you stop?”
“Let go of me.”
“Let’s just go outside and—”
“You want to go outside?” Kera asked, finally snapping. She turned and grabbed hold of Erin by the throat. “Be my guest, sister-Crow!”
Using Erin like a shotput, Kera threw the smaller woman at the back door, the force taking the whole thing down.
Kera cracked her knuckles and followed. She reached down and again grabbed Erin by the throat, lifting her up until Erin’s feet didn’t even touch the ground. Jace raced outside and grabbed her friends, desperately trying to separate them.
“Kera, let her go!”
“Just let me snap her neck, Jace. Or choke the life out of her. Just let me choke the life out of her!”
Realizing Kera was too angry to see anything but the one irritant in front of her—namely Erin—Jace grabbed Kera by the hair and snatched her back and around until she was forced to drop Erin.
“Ow, Jace! Get off me!”
Jace swung Kera around again, forcing her not to look, but to see.
Three hundred Crows from around the States, Europe, and Africa gazed at the “new girl.”
Kera froze, mouth open.
Chloe—who’d told Kera she wasn’t coming to the ritual “out of principle, nun-lover”—stood in front of the crowd of women who were all dressed in black, their wings out and proud.
Chloe grinned at Kera, her arms crossed over her chest. “Ni-iiiiice,” she purred, staring at Erin.
Gasping and coughing, Erin got to her feet. “Welcome to the Crows,” she finally wheezed out.
“I don’t . . . what . . . I can’t . . . what’s happening?”
“This is your party,” Jace explained. “Your real party.”
“Surprise!” Yardley called out, but when Kera’s dark eyes locked on her, she stepped back into the crowd of wings and designer black clothes, attempting to hide.
Kera rounded on Erin. “This whole thing was a prank?”
Erin’s chuckle was shockingly oblivious. Even for her. “Pretty good, right?” she asked, her grin revealing how proud of herself she was. “Like I’d ever give you a shitty party.”
“Why would you . . . what purpose . . . why can’t you . . .”
Erin shrugged. “Is it my fault you’re so fucking gullible?”
Kera’s head dipped down—Alessandra called it “Kera’s angry bull look”—and Jace tried to grab her, but Kera caught hold of Erin first, lifting the redhead off her feet, unleashed her wings, and took off, flying higher and higher until they could barely see either of them.
Jace went to follow, but Annalisa put her arm around her shoulders and held her in place.
“Let Kera handle this.”
“But—”
“No. It’s something she needs to do.”
“I don’t know why you’re getting so mad!” Erin argued from far up in the night sky. “I was just kidding! Don’t you know how to take a joke?”
“This has been a long time coming,” Annalisa added.
“You’re being unreasonable! I don’t know why you’re acting like—hey! Hey, hey! Wait! Shittttttttttt!”
They heard a splash that suggested Erin had gone headfirst into their Olympic-size pool, meaning Kera had used her new gods-given strength to throw Erin down rather than merely dropping her and letting her wings save her.
A few seconds later, Kera landed, brushing off her hands. “Now . . . where were we?”
“See?” Annalisa said to Jace. “They just needed to work their shit out.”
Chloe motioned to Rachel.
“Music!” Rachel called out and the DJ rolled some tech because Erin had found out that was Kera’s favorite dance music.
“Feel better?” Jace asked Kera.
Her smile was small, but there. “A little.”
“Well, then.” Jace hugged her. “Welcome to the family, Kera.”
Ski stood beside his brothers in front of the Bird House, their heads tilting so far over they were nearly upside down as they gazed up at the seven-foot man staring down at a clipboard.
“Your names aga—” His eyes widened at the sight of the Protectors. “What’s going on with your necks? What are they doing with their necks?” he suddenly called out.
One of the Crows quickly stepped up, smiling at Ski. “Don’t worry. That’s normal for them.”
“Freaks,” the man muttered, again looking at his clipboard.
“Alessandra said to be nice to our guests. So be nice.” The Crow gestured to Ski and his brothers. “Untwist your necks, guys. You’re freaking the freaks out.”
“I’m not a freak. I’m a grizzly.”
The Crow giggled. “I like how you say that as if it’s supposed to be normal or something.” She gestured at the door. “Why don’t you guys go in? The party’s already at full swing.”
But before Ski and his brothers could step inside, the Ravens appeared beside them.
In fact, it seemed as if all the Ravens were there.
“Name?” the large man asked.
“Ludvig Rundstöm.”
The grizzly gestured with a jerk of his head. “Go.”
Rundstöm stepped between the grizzly and the Crows and went inside. The rest of the Ravens attempted to follow but the man threw up his big hand. “Name?”
“Stieg Engstrom.”
The grizzly quickly flipped through the many pages of names, then said, “Nope.”
“What do you mean ‘nope’?”
“I don’t know how much clearer ‘nope’ can be.”
“What about Rolf Landvik?”
“Nope.”
“Wait,” Siggy Kaspersen cut in. “Are you saying the rest of us Ravens weren’t invited to the party?”
Ski watched Gundo physically recoil from that sentence structure.
The grizzly shrugged. “If you’re not on the list . . .”
“Vig was invited,” the Crow pointed out. “Not you.”
“But we’re his brothers.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” the Crow replied, expression earnest. “But tragically we don’t care.” She pointed at Ski. “You and the Protectors can go in, though.”
“But,” Ski said, “I was so enjoying . . .” He turned to stare at Engstrom and finished, “the burn.”
Engstrom was reaching for Ski when the grizzly stuck his big arm between them. “No fighting, freaks.” He motioned to the other security members. “We’re not afraid to maul. And we already have permission if things get out of hand.”
“I’m sorry,” Bear said, staring at the bigger man before him. “I’m confused by you people.”
Ski and Gundo winced in each other’s direction because the man they were talking to was African American.
The shifter’s eyes narrowed. “You people?”
“Yes,” Bear went on, oblivious. “Are you genetically a bear? Or just mystically?”
“What?”
“I was wondering that, too,” Haldor pushed. “Is your DNA strain different from other humans? I mean, we’re enhanced mystically, but genetically we’re no different from anyone else. But I’ve heard that you people test differently.”
Borgsten, who dabbled in science on the side, leaned in. “You do? In what way?”
“I heard they can’t involve themselves in anything that might lead to blood testing of any kind, like the Olympics, or professional sports.”
“That must be disappointing for you,” Gundo noted. “Since you could win all the Olympics all the time. Are you angry about that? Do you have a form of grizzly rage? They are a very aggressive animal. Are you aggressive like that?”
Haldor nodded and asked, “And are your children born furry?”
Kera received really warm hugs from Crows out of the Philippines, and promises in Tagalog to get together for dinner soon.
The Philippine sister-Crows walked away and Kera realized she didn’t remember their names. She didn’t remember anyone’s name. There were so many people here! Crow reps from all over the world. All here to see her.
And to drink.
Kera knew these ladies were also here to drink. Heavily.
Someone tapped her shoulder, and Kera took a breath, ready to meet someone else whose name she’d never remember. But to her relief, standing behind her was Vig.
She threw her arms around his shoulders, hugging him tight. “I’m so glad you’re here!”
“You knew I wouldn’t miss it.” He kissed her, his hands tight on her waist. “How has it been going?” he asked when he finally pulled back.
“I dropped Erin in the pool.”
“Well . . . that doesn’t really surprise me.”
“Did you know about this? About the party fake-out?”
“Yeah.”
“And you didn’t tell me?”
“You didn’t ask.”
Kera stepped back. “I have to ask you if someone’s faking me out?”
“Only if it’s another Crow. I’m not getting between you and the Crows. That way only leads to death. Or, at the very least, harsh, harsh criticism.”
With a sigh, Kera turned in time to see her dog bopping through the dancing crowd. Wings out, Lev on her back. Everyone greeted Brodie. It was like they all knew her. Even people she’d absolutely never seen before.
“I think everyone likes my dog better than me.”
Vig put his arms around Kera from behind, his chin resting on the top of her head. “Yeah, they do.”
Erin came up to them. She’d changed into dry clothes—black denim shorts, black racer-back tee, and black flip-flops—and her wet hair was in two short ponytails. She had a Long Island iced tea in one hand and a mini-pizza in the other. Smiling, she moved to the music.
“So?” Erin asked. “What do you think of your party?”
Kera tried to make another grab for her, but Vig wouldn’t release her.
“If you’re hoping that she’s even thinking about what happened an hour ago,” he whispered against Kera’s ear, “you’ll be very disappointed.”
“I dropped her into the pool from, like, three hundred feet in the air.”
“She just doesn’t care.”
Kera wasn’t sure she believed him until she watched Erin for a good minute.
The redhead raised her glass in the air, greeting the Japanese Crows walking by. Then she snapped her fingers at one of the waiters and took several of the hors d’oeuvres from the silver platter since the mini-pizza was long gone.
“This is Kobe beef,” Erin explained before shoving one in her mouth. “Yummy!”
“Oh my God,” Kera whispered to Vig. “She really doesn’t.”
“Erin never holds grudges. Not the way you and I hold grudges, I mean.”
“I threw her through a door.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
The Los Angeles Valkyries walked into the backyard. They didn’t wear much. Mostly bikinis or very tiny shorts and T-shirts. But it was all silver. And headbands with wings. The leader threw her arms in the air and screeched out, “Valkyries in the house, bitches!”
“You invited the Valkyries?” Kera asked Erin.
“No, but they come anyway.”
“I thought we had security.”
“My sister’s a Valkyrie,” Vig reminded them.
“We do have security,” Erin went on, ignoring Vig. “But our security is made up of shifters, which means that like all wild animals, they are slaves to their basest instincts.” She gestured to the now-dancing Valkyries. “So, yeah, who’s going to stop the whores from coming into the party?”
“Again,” Vig said, “my sister.”
Kera glanced around. “Where’s the guys?” she asked Vig and when he stared at her, “Your Raven brothers?”
“Outside.”
“Yeah.” Erin held up her empty glass, gesturing at one of the waitresses for more alcohol. “They have been denied access.”
“Why? I like the guys.”
“Yeahhhh, but this really irritates them, which amuses me, soooooo, yeahhhhhh—”
Kera shook her head. “What is wrong with you?”
Annalisa suddenly appeared beside them, as if she’d been waiting for just such an opening. “You know, many have asked me that about Erin. And you’d think she must have some kind of personality disorder. But surprisingly . . . she doesn’t. Erin is just kind of a dick.”
Erin gratefully took the fresh Long Island iced tea and, grinning, nodded her head in agreement.
Jace perched in the trees overlooking the party. Birds surrounded her on all sides, the crows and ravens keeping her company as she watched her sisters dance, laugh, and have a good time.
She wished she could say she was unhappy being up here. She wished she could regret not feeling comfortable enough to be part of the action.
But that would be a lie.
Jace was so very comfortable right now, being a part of and apart from everything. She used to dream about living this way in those days when she was the Great Prophet’s wife. Those days when she had to be right by her husband’s side, smiling, shaking hands, holding conversations with idiots not smart enough to realize they were being used and manipulated. Being part of everything. Fully involved.
Gods, how she always hated it so.
But when Jace had become a Crow, during her own welcome party she’d gone to the trees and the Crows hadn’t said a word. They’d noticed. They’d cared. But when they realized Jace was more comfortable observing rather than participating, they’d backed off and left her to her own devices. Then such a show they’d given her, filled with fights and laughter and rude pranks directed at each other and the visiting Clans. They’d made sure that Jace had something fun to watch.
Her party had been amazing.
Kera’s was turning out to be even better.
The birds surrounding Jace suddenly took flight in a large panic of wings. When they settled back down, they were all on Jace’s left, staring.
Jace looked to her right to see what had her friends so concerned.
Ski and the Protectors were now perched beside her. Some had plates of food. Others had drinks. After a few minutes, they politely switched with each other. They were sharing.
It was so civilized. Not what she was used to at all. A fight over bread sticks broke out among the Ravens once at an Olive Garden. That’s what Jace was used to.
Ski smiled at her. Gods in the heavens, he was just so damn handsome.
“Sorry I’m late,” he said. “The guys were harassing the shifters.”
“We weren’t harassing,” Gundo argued. “We were just asking questions.”
“But they certainly are sensitive for wild beasts,” Haldor said between bites of Kobe beef and chicken wings.
Jace winced. “You didn’t call them that to their faces, did you?”
“No. Of course not.”
“Of course not,” Ski repeated. “They just called them wild animals and freaks.”
“In our defense, Jacinda,” Haldor added, “they did call us freaks first.”
Jace didn’t bother to argue and instead pointed out, “You guys don’t have to sit up here with me, you know. You’re more than welcome down there with everyone else.”
The Protectors suddenly looked uncomfortable.
“Well,” Haldor finally said, “the crowd is so large—”
“—and the music is so loud—” another Protector chimed in.
“—and there is so much pushing and shoving—”
“That’s called dancing,” Ski muttered.
“—and whoever invited the Giant Killers should have told the men that deodorant is not optional but a mandatory accoutrement—”
“—which is to say—”
“—we’ll be much happier up here—”
“—than we would be down there—”
“—if it’s all right with you, Jacinda,” Haldor finished for them all.
“It’s absolutely fine with me,” Jace replied, understanding the language of introverts better than any other language she knew. “Whatever you guys want to do. That’s what Crow parties are all about. Within reason, of course. No random murder. Chloe hates that. And no grabbing entire trays of food and going somewhere to sit down and feed . . . everyone else hates that.”
“Wait.” Bear’s eyes grew bright. “Does that mean we can—”
“No,” Ski stated firmly. “You can’t harass the shifters.”
“Questions are not harassment.”
“That grizzly was moments from tearing your head off. I promised Ormi no one would die tonight.”
“Actually,” Jace said, “I chatted with one of the bartenders before I came up here—”
“You chatted?” Ski asked.
“About global warming.”
“Of course.”
“—and she’s a neuroscience major studying for her master’s. She was exceptionally friendly for a shifter, and I’m sure she’d be more than happy to answer your questions as long as you refrain from calling them freaks or wild beasts. Want me to ask?”
“No,” Ski said.
“Yes, please!” the others replied.
Ski waited until Jace flew off before glaring at his brothers.
“Really?” he asked.
“We’re curious,” Borgsten replied for them all.
“Curiosity killed the owl.”
“No. It killed the cat. The owls flew away.”
Jace returned. “Whenever you want, stop by the bar. Her name is Wendy. She’s actually an African wild dog . . . and yet,” she went on, obviously fascinated, her wings keeping her aloft in front of them, “not black. Korean American, fifth generation. But she apparently comes from a very long line of African wild dogs.” Her grin was wide. “Fascinating, right?”
“Fascinating!” his brothers parroted back to her, their grins equally wide.
They weren’t mocking. They really found that information fascinating.
Jace perched on a branch next to Ski, and he looked over at Borgsten.
Ski raised his brows and tipped his head. Borgsten frowned. Shrugged. Oblivious as always.
Ski mouthed, Go away.
“Oh! Yeah.” Borgsten pointed to more trees across the yard. “Gentlemen, we’re going there for a better view.”
Bear looked at the distant trees, then back at Borgsten. “A better view of what?”
“A better view of everything.”
“But I’m comfortable.”
Borgsten pointed. “Move.”
With an annoyed grunt, Bear flew off and the others followed. Borgsten stopped long enough to wink and blatantly nod at Ski.
Idiot.
“They are so cute,” Jace said, laughing.
At least she was laughing.
“I think you mean oblivious.”
“Why oblivious? Because they won’t allow themselves to be forced into society’s norms of good behavior?”
“No. Because they can’t tell when one of their brethren wants to spend time alone with a beautiful woman.”
“Who?”
Ski closed his eyes, shook his head. “Gods, no wonder you get along with them. You’re oblivious, too.”
Oh. He meant her.
He meant her!
“Uh . . .” Jace didn’t know what to say.
“Are you blushing?”
“No. Shut up. No. Asshole.”
Ski laughed. “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.”
“I know. I’m just not used to compliments.”
“Because no one gives them or because you’re too busy ignoring everything and everyone around you?”
“Uhhhh . . .”
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Rolf waited until Josef handed the keys to his Bugatti to the valet before he approached.
“They won’t let us in,” Rolf told him.
“What?”
“They won’t let us in. They let Vig in, but we’re ‘not on the list.’ And the grizzly at the front door is being kind of a dick about it, and Stieg and Siggy are about two seconds from starting a National Geographic documentary–style fight on the African plains.”
“All these years and you still haven’t figured out how to get into a Crow party?”
“Not since you divorced their leader, no.”
“I didn’t divorce her. She divorced me.”
“Do we really have to have this discussion again?”
“I say we fly in there,” Siggy volunteered.
“And get pecked to death by those crows? I mean the birds, not the women.”
“The raven birds will back us up.”
Rolf studied his brother. “You’re really relying on actual birds to protect us from other actual birds?”
“Everyone calm down,” Josef said. “I’ve got this covered.”
“You gonna divorce Chloe again?” Stieg asked.
Their leader’s eyes narrowed. “You are such an asshole.” Josef motioned to a small truck that had followed him in.
Three men came out, pulling something from the back of the truck’s cab.
Josef walked to the front door with the Ravens behind him.
The grizzly didn’t even look up. He just sniffed the air—which was weird—and said, “Again . . . you’re not on the list, fellas.”
“Can you grab one of the ladies of the house, please?” Josef asked. When the grizzly finally looked at him, he added, “Before you start getting lippy, we can drag you up and drop you from five hundred feet in the air before your friends can even flash a fang. So just get whoever is running this shit show. Thanks.”
A minute went by, then two before Alessandra arrived at the front door. Rolf quietly let out a breath he’d been holding. He’d been worried it would be Annalisa. Of all the Crows, he found the former sociopath the most disturbing to deal with. It seemed she could just look at a person, instantly figure out what their insecurities were, and design a way to fuck with them in a matter of seconds.
And honestly, Josef was just too easy to torture.
“Gentlemen,” she purred, looking hotter than ever. “Can I help you?”
“We’re here for the party,” Josef replied.
“I know you are, but Chloe hates you. She hates you a lot. And with good reason. Valkyrie stripper, Josef? Really?”
“I can’t believe you’re judging another woman.”
“I might believe your lame attempt at feminism if I didn’t know the only reason she’s a Valkyrie is because of Odin and his love of big-tittied strippers.”
“Odin knows what he likes.”
“Maybe he should leave the Valkyrie decisions up to Freyja.”
“Those are god decisions I don’t involve myself in. I suggest you do the same. But for now—”
“Yeah, sorry, but—”
“I brought a gift.”
“Come on, Josef. Do you really think you can buy your way into a Crow party?” She chuckled and turned to go back into the house.
“Even if I brought Barrique de Ponciano Porfidio?”
Rolf had no idea what Josef was offering or why the man was suddenly speaking Spanish, but Alessandra froze in midstep and several Crows appeared in the doorway.
Slowly, Alessandra faced Josef. “Are you lying?”
“No. I have one hundred bottles just for you lovely ladies.”
“Are they counterfeit?”
“Got them from a Norwegian Raven brother who was in Japan recently.”
“The Japanese are the biggest buyers,” Leigh Matsushita said to her sister-Crows, voice low.
“Show us one,” Alessandra prompted.
Josef, always one who enjoyed being the center of attention—just like their god, Odin himself—silently gestured to one of the three men behind him.
The man came forward, holding one of the handcrafted bottles in his hands.
“Alessandra.”
The beautiful Crow leaned in and studied the bottle. Rolf had seen her do the same thing with diamonds. The woman knew expensive.
“It’s the real deal,” Alessandra said. “One of the best tequilas to come out of Mexico. At least two grand a bottle, and our dear Josef there says they have one hundred bottles for us.”
Leigh pushed past Alessandra and opened her arms wide. “My Raven brothers! Welcome!”
“I have absolutely nothing to say to you.”
Ski nodded at that out-of-nowhere statement from Jace. “Wow. Okay.”
“I wish I did. I wish I could have sparkling, fascinating conversation with you. But I’m sitting here, looking at you . . . and there’s nothin’.”
“Okay. I get that. You’re not a big conversationalist.”
“I’m really not.”
“But you wish you were.”
“Not really. I mean . . . I wish I had something interesting to say to you. You know, so I could entice you into my sexual web.”
“I’m a guy. A Viking guy. Enticing me into your sexual web is pretty much you breathing. So no worries there.”
“Good to know.”
“But, to be honest,” he admitted, “I was hoping for more than just—”
“A one-night stand?”
“Yeah. But if that’s not what you want . . .”
“I’m really not a one-night stand kind of girl. When I think about it, it just makes my skin crawl rather than get me all worked up. So . . . yeah. That’s not the issue.”
“But talking to me is?”
“I don’t mind talking to you,” she matter-of-factly replied. “I just have nothing to say.”
“Well . . . what have you been thinking about? While you’re sitting here next to me.”
“Ivan the Terrible,” she instantly replied.
“Uhhh . . . okay. I make you think of Ivan the Terrible?”
“No, not at all.”
“I guess that’s something.”
“It’s just . . . I saw a documentary on him last night. It was really fascinating. Did you know that he dragged out a man he’d been having tortured in freezing cold water just so he could boil him alive later?”
“What did he say to piss Ivan off?”
“How did you know he pissed Ivan off?”
“Why else would Ivan bother doing all that? Do you know how much effort it takes to get a big pot, fill it with water, get a fire going, then bring it to the point of boiling? Then you have to get the guy in the boiling water. Or keep him in the water while it gets to the boiling point. So the tortured guy must have said or done something to piss off Ivan. What was it?”
“He told him hell was coming for him.”
“That’ll do it. Especially because Ivan the Terrible was very religious and believed, like most monarchs of that time, that he was chosen by the Christian God Himself, so to imply that he had fallen from the grace of his God . . . Plus, Ivan did have what I’m sure many psychologists of this time would call paranoid personality disorder.”
Eyes wide and bright, she leaned forward, placing her hand against his forearm. “I thought the same thing last night!”
“Have you studied personality disorders?” Ski asked her. “I’m sure that every monarch, dictator, and terrorist leader has suffered from one if not several.”
“I’ve been realizing that. The more history I read, the more nothing seems to change.”
Ski smirked at her. “Want to figure out the personality disorders of the Tudors?”
“No.” A beautiful grin spread across her face. “The Borgias! Oooh! And the Medicis.”
Laughing, Ski nodded. “You’re on!”
“Did you even notice we were stuck outside?”
Vig looked up from his plate of fried chicken and replied to his Raven brothers with sincere honesty, “No.”
Rolf laughed, but Stieg and Siggy were just pissed.
Still, as they sat down at the table with him, they already had at least two plates of food each, piled high. And microbrew beer from Germany and Norway. With all that food, they weren’t about to get into it with Vig about deserting them.
“Where’s Kera?” Rolf asked.
“Dancing with the Crows.”
As one, they all turned to look out over the nearby dance floor. Kera was with Erin, dancing and laughing, their past issues forgotten. Vig was so happy for her. She’d found her place. She’d found where she belonged. It wasn’t easy for some of the Crows, coming into this world. A new world the rest of the Clans were mostly born into. New Crows had so much to learn, so much to get used to, but they also had each other.
The Crows weren’t an easy group to get along with, but once you found your place, you found your home—in this life and the next.
Jace walked by with a Protector. The one Stieg always called Pointdexter. They were in a deep, animated conversation . . . about serial killers.
“Don’t you think Ted Bundy was overrated?”
“No way,” Jace said, talking more than Vig could ever remember. “Between his body count, his high IQ, and the fact that people around him were completely unaware of his sociopathic tendencies because he was so good at faking everyone out . . . he’s definitely not overrated. But then you have your Henry Lee Lucas types . . .”
The Ravens turned back toward the table—and found their food gone.
They looked around, Vig wondering if the staff hired for this event had whisked their plates away for some reason. But he didn’t see anything.
After they stared at each other for a few seconds, they shrugged and stood to get more food.
Sitting in the trees above the party, the Protector brothers enjoyed the food they’d stolen.
“Isn’t it almost too easy?” Haldor asked Gundo and Borgsten around a large rib eye.
“No!”
“I have to disagree,” Bear said. “You need a real challenge.”
“Which is?”
“Steal liquor . . . from the Killers.”
When Gundo and Borgsten smiled, Haldor quickly reminded them, “We promised Ski there’d be no fights.”
“There can only be a fight if they catch us.”
Kera danced with Vig’s Valkyrie sister, Katja, because Erin had suddenly walked off the dance floor.
Erin wasn’t pissed, but something else had her attention. It took Kera a while to figure out that was just Erin. She didn’t say “good night” or “good-bye” or “I’ll call you later” like most people. She just . . . walked away. It was one of the few times when she wasn’t purposely rude or instigating a fight. She just figured the conversation was done so . . .
“Are you having a good time?” Katja asked Kera over the pulsing music.
“Yes! This is great!”
Erin returned, two cold beers in her hand and a Diet Coke. She handed the beer from Sweden to Katja; and the one from Boston to Kera. The Coke was for her.
“So, you still pissed at me?” Erin asked Kera.
“I should be, but—”
“My charm has won you over?”
“You have no charm. I’m surprised you hadn’t been killed sooner than you were.”
“Well—”
“I’m surprised your parents didn’t suffocate you in your crib. That schoolchildren didn’t stone you. That the United States government didn’t send you to a war-torn country . . . by accident. That you weren’t tossed into a zoo’s lion display during a school trip. That you weren’t—”
“Okay!” Erin barked, while Katja bent over at the waist from laughing so hard. “I get your point.”
“I wouldn’t say that I’ve dealt with worse than you during my time in the Marines. But I have dealt with the equivalent. And I figure if I could put up with guys as annoying as you, I can give the same opportunity to a fellow female. But I only do that out of my innate feminism and because Jace will yell at me if I don’t.”
“Thank you,” Erin replied dryly. “I appreciate your goodwill.”
“As you should.”
“Oh, by Odin,” Katja choked out between laughs. “You two are priceless together. You should take your show on the road.”
“Shut up,” Kera and Erin snapped.
It was one thing for them to mock each other, but to get it from a Valkyrie? Uh . . . no.
Chloe was choosing between the Mexican food table, the tapas table, and the fried food table—she eventually decided to hit all three—when she realized that she was surrounded by fellow Crows.
The leaders of the Alabama Crows, the Maine/Canadian Border Crows, the Tri-State Crows, the Florida Crows, and all four of the Texas Crows—representing Houston, Dallas, Austin, and San Antonio—gazed silently at her.
Without their saying a word, Chloe knew what they wanted to discuss.
“Yes,” she told them, “I know my ex-husband’s here. Whatever.”
“We don’t give a shit about your ex-husband, darlin’,” Serena of the Alabama Crows replied. “Lord knows, I have four of my own, and they just ain’t that interesting.”
“You got in a fistfight with a nun?” Neecy of the Tri-State Crows asked. “I mean . . . really? A nun?”
“Oh, like you’ve never been in a fight with a nun.”
“Of course I have. They’re a bunch of ball-crushing, soul-destroying, demon-stomping bitches who I happen to adore.”
“Only because the New York ones are nice to you.”
“I survived a Catholic orphanage. That gives me automatic acceptance points with the nuns.”
“Look”—Serena pushed her hair behind her ears—“we’ve all had our run-ins with the Chosen Warriors of God. I still have the scars from where one of them tried to destroy my spleen. But none of us purposely fucks with ’em. It’s not like the old boys’ network from the Vatican. These ladies can actually do some damage.”
“I didn’t seek them out. They came to me.”
Sadie, of Maine, held up her hand. “Instead of going around and around about this . . . why don’t you just tell us what’s going on? I sense it will be easier that way.”
“Okay,” Kera said, sounding exasperated. “Then who is Fenrir again?”
“He’s the giant wolf that bit off Tyr’s hand when Tyr bound him,” Erin patiently explained. “Because it’s foretold that he will one day begin Ragnarok.”
“Tyr?”
“No. Fenrir.”
“And why don’t they just kill him? I don’t understand!”
“Because you’re using logic. How many times do I have to tell you that logic and gods are not a mix that will ever happen? Ever.”
Erin watched Kera grapple with the backstories of all the Nordic gods and giants. She was clearly struggling . . . which Erin had to admit she was thoroughly enjoying.
Erin motioned to one of the waitresses for more drinks. Not so much for her as for Kera. Her years in the Marines had taught Kera well how to hold her drink, but not exactly when to stop. Erin, however, had hit her two-drink limit a while ago.
“Hey!” a Giant Killer suddenly yelled in the middle of the party. “Who the fuck is stealing our liquor?”
Kera gazed at the screaming Killer for a long while before she asked Erin, “How many monster children did Loki have?”
“Loki has lots of children, but the ones you have to worry about are the three children he had with the giantess Angrboða. Fenrir the wolf. Jörmungandr the serpent. And Hel. All delightful beings,” she joked.
“Where’s our liquor?”
Kera pointed at the still-screaming Killer. “Should we be worried—”
“Nope.”
“Okay, then.”
A waitress placed a beer and a diet Coke in front of Kera and Erin.
Stieg Engstrom suddenly appeared beside them, his eyes across the dance floor. “What’s that?” he asked.
“What’s what?”
He crouched beside Erin and Kera, and pointed. “That.”
They looked where he was pointing, and Kera replied, “That’s what we in the normal universe—”
“The Nordic gods are the normal universe,” Erin reminded her.
“—call a hookup.”
“And you’re okay with this?”
Erin glanced at Stieg. “You act like they’re fucking on the table.”
“A Protector with Jace? It’s not right.”
“Do you have a thing for her?” Kera asked.
“She’s like a sister.”
“A sister you want to fuck? Like a stepsister?”
Stieg gazed at Erin. “What is wrong with you?”
“It’s a valid question.”
“It’s a sick question. I’m just protective of her. She’s weak and . . . docile.”
Erin and Kera again looked over at Jace. She sat at one of the tables—shocking, really, because Jace usually stuck to the trees when there was a party—with Ski Eriksen. They were both laughing and talking.
Jace Berisha was talking. Willingly!
Only a Raven could have a problem with that.
“I think they’re a cute couple,” Kera argued. “And he’s so sweet to her. How could you have a problem with this?”
“Ignore him, Kera. Engstrom’s just pissed because the Protectors call the Ravens stupid. Like Thor stupid.”
Stieg leaned in to Erin because he was probably going to yell at her, but a Giant Killer stood in front of the table and screamed, “Did you steal our liquor?”
Erin shrugged. “No.”
With a grunt, the Killer walked to the next table and yelled, “Did you steal our liquor?”
“We are not Thor stupid,” Stieg insisted, the three of them watching the Killer walking to all the tables and yelling the same sentence. “We’ll never be that stupid!”
“Sweetie,” Kera reminded him, “that’s not saying as much as you think it is.”
Jace had no idea how they’d ended up at this table near the dance floor. She usually stayed in the trees but Ski had said he was thirsty, she’d decided to come with him to get a soda, and they’d never quite made it back to the trees. Instead, they sat at a table and continued their conversation.
Their lovely conversation. About the Second Punic War.
True. She couldn’t think of many people who would find the war between Rome and Carthage as interesting as Jace always had, but she adored Roman history.
Was glad she’d never lived it, but still loved reading about it and, now that she was free of her First Life, watching movies about it. Couldn’t get enough.
The movies, filled with battles and good-looking British guys with tight abs, always caught the interest of her fellow sister-Crows and the viewing room filled up quickly, everyone passing around popcorn and candy, cheering during the battles or pointing out battle-technique flaws. It was one of the few things Jace enjoyed doing with other people. But trying to talk to any of the Crows but Chloe about the real history behind those movies and . . . forget it. Her sisters’ eyes would glaze over or they’d start making “I’m bored” noises. So Jace didn’t bother.
She wouldn’t have bothered discussing any of it with Ski, either, except that he was well versed on most military history, from the earliest wars in Mesopotamia to the recent battles throughout the world.
Shockingly, he knew way more than she did. He could rattle off statistics—the death toll, the number of legions involved, how many cities and small towns were decimated, even how many slaves were sold for some of the Roman wars and battles, because the Romans kept such meticulous records of everything—while thoroughly understanding the politics that drove the world at that time.
He was magnificent. Smart and good-looking.
God, was she drooling? She felt like she was just staring at him and drooling.
She was pathetic, wasn’t she?
It wasn’t like she had much experience with men. Dealing with her ex-husband and his sycophants just didn’t count as real experience. And hanging out with the Ravens recently because of Kera didn’t count much, either. They all treated her like a little sister with a hair-trigger temper. And because they had no interest in her sexually, she could talk to them without worry. She wasn’t trying to entice them, just preventing Erin from insulting them or Annalisa from messing with their heads.
Yet listening to Ski Eriksen . . .
Listening. Shit. She wasn’t listening. She was just staring at his face and he was asking her something.
“Sorry?” she tried not to wince.
“I asked if I was boring you. Guess I am.”
“No,” she said too quickly. “No, it’s just . . .”
“It’s just . . . what?”
“I just really don’t know what I’m doing.”
“What you’re doing? What do you think you’re supposed to be doing?”
“I don’t know. That’s the problem. I don’t know what I’m supposed to be doing. I just enjoy sitting here, listening to you go on and on about death tolls and the number of horses and elephants in Hannibal’s cavalry. I could listen to you go on for days about that, but that’s not exactly a dialogue that helps a relationship grow.”
“No. It just makes me your college professor.”
Jace shrugged. “I wouldn’t know. Never went to college.”
“You should. The Crows will pay for it. Although you should understand, you already know way more than any of your professors will know. That might irritate some of them and bore you.”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Trust me, it does when you’re sitting there listening to them completely screw up the Viking portion of their Norwegian history class. It’s almost physically painful.”
“No, I mean, it doesn’t matter—at least not yet—because I don’t have a high school diploma.”
Ski frowned. “You don’t?”
“I was”—she raised her hands and made air quotes with her fingers—“ ‘homeschooled.’ Because those people were only going to teach me evil and lies.”
“I don’t understand. Then how did you learn so many languages?”
“Well, once you get the basics of Latin, which my father started teaching me before he died, the Romance languages become almost frighteningly easy. Plus, my grandmother taught me Romanian, which has a lot of French and Italian and Spanish at its heart. She and my uncles also taught me Albanian, which is an Indo-European language. And then the cult insisted I learn Hebrew, ancient Persian, ancient Sumerian, Coptic—which is ancient Egyptian—Arabic, and Aramaic.”
“And, um . . . the Russian?”
“My grandmother started me on Russian, and by learning Russian, you can learn Polish, Czeck, etcetera, much easier, and I enjoyed Russian so much, it was really easy to teach myself what my grandmother never had time to do.”
He gazed at her for a moment before admitting, “I know Old Norse.”
“Yes, you do. And you should be proud of that. It’s hard.”
“You already know it, don’t you?”
Jace shrugged and admitted, “Sorta.”
“Yeah.” Ski sat back in his chair. “We need to get you your GED, so we can get you in and out of college as quickly as possible.”
“Why?”
“So you can earn your master’s and PhD in languages.”
“Why?”
“Because talent like yours can’t go unnoticed. And, to be quite honest, if it hadn’t been for Bear being quite the annoying pain in my ass, it would have.”
“So I know different languages? So what? What’s the big deal?”
Ski leaned over and spoke to the Giant Killer sitting at the next table. He spoke in Norwegian. After glaring at him, the Killer snapped back, “English, dude. This is America. Duh.”
Now Ski stared at her. “That’s why. Duh.”
Jace shook her head. “What do you mean, the Protectors have been stealing the Killers’ liquor?” she asked in a whisper, having easily understood what Ski had said to the Killer.
Ski laughed. “They’ve been doing it all night.”
“Don’t pick on the Killers,” she laughingly chastised. “They serve their purpose.”
Resting his arms on the table, Ski leaned in and asked, “Which is?”
Jace thought long and hard on her answer . . . because she really didn’t have one. But, at the last second, she came up with, “We’ll understand their purpose,” she said, raising her index finger for emphasis, “when Ragnarok comes.”
“Very nice save.”
“I thought so!”
She found the Great Prophet sitting in the backyard, gazing up at the sky. When she looked, all she saw was stars and clouds, but she knew the Great Prophet saw so much more. He always had. Even as a child, he’d been . . . a presence. A presence in this world that they were all undeserving of.
These people who tried to entrap him, tried to jail him in the hopes of containing his truths . . . they would suffer greatly when the world ended. All of them would.
But especially that girl.
She’d been given the greatest gift of all. The gift of being his wife. The wife of the Great Prophet and she’d turned away from it. Like a fool. A lost, heartless fool.
In the end, that girl had deserved nothing she’d been given, and her suffering for letting it go would be great. In this world and the next.
Sitting beside him, she patiently waited for him to speak.
He’d requested her and she’d come. Without thought, without question. As it should be.
He didn’t speak for ten minutes, but when he finally turned to her, she felt awed by his presence. By the mere fact that he was looking at her.
“She needs to come back,” he said. “We need to save her. She’ll talk to you.”
She swallowed and asked, “And if she won’t come?”
“Make her.”
With a nod, she left him. She’d put a small team together that would help. But he was right, of course.
Jacinda would talk to her. She was, after all, Jacinda’s mother . . .