CHAPTER SEVEN
Jace didn’t know how long she was sitting in the same spot, but every time she bothered to glance up from her work, something had been added to the table. First it was a high-priced laptop, already set up with a spreadsheet so she could begin inputting information about the books. Then, a little later, a small printer that could print out about a hundred pages at a time, plus a few reams of plain white paper. Another time she found a Russian-English dictionary, in case—she assumed—she needed help with a word here or there. Then there was that bronze statue of an owl.
It was the owl she couldn’t stop staring at. What did it mean? Owl statues were often used to scare off crows from someone’s house or a building. Especially if a large number of crows were leaving a healthy load of shit everywhere. But what exactly were the Protectors trying to tell her with this? Were they threatening her? Trying to scare her away? Playing a joke? Or just . . . putting an owl statue down?
It was hard to tell from the statue itself. Those cold, bronze owl eyes were not friendly.
“You have to eat.”
Jace finally turned away from the owl to find Eriksen standing over her. “I’m not hungry.”
“You have to be hungry. You haven’t eaten since you arrived. You haven’t had any water. I don’t think you’ve even urinated.”
“Probably because I haven’t had any water.”
“I tried to get you some earlier. But my brothers physically”—and he sounded so annoyed—“dragged me back to the kitchen.”
“I understand that. Until we know how important the books are, we shouldn’t have food and water around them. It could damage the—”
“I don’t care. I just need you to eat.”
“But I’m not hungry.”
He crouched down, staring at her through those glasses. “I don’t care that you’re not hungry. What I’m not going to do is have the Crows think I’m starving you. Because they don’t complain quietly or calmly.”
“It’s not even lunchtime.”
“It’s three in the afternoon.”
Jace turned and looked out the big windows. The sun had moved, suggesting a later hour. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Exactly. So . . . please?”
Jace looked down at the books. She wasn’t nearly as far along as she’d like to be. She’d only just started on the first box of books after finishing the ones on the table and she—
“They’re not going anywhere,” Eriksen practically snarled, cutting into her thoughts. “So get your cute butt up and let’s get you something to eat.”
Jace blinked. “Cute?”
“Very.” He smiled. “Didn’t you know?”
“Don’t really look. But . . . thanks.”
“Welcome.”
Jace grabbed the desk and lifted herself off the chair since she was still resting on her knees. Once she had her feet on the ground, though, her legs sort of gave out from under her and she was suddenly sitting on her ass.
“By Tyr’s missing hand!” Eriksen snapped, sounding angry. “Is this literally the first time you’ve gotten up since you arrived this morning?”
“Well . . .”
He crouched beside her, putting his arms around her waist. “I see I’ll need to keep an eye on you to prevent you from losing your legs from blood loss.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
He lifted her into his arms and stood. “You can’t walk. I think I’m allowed to be dramatic. Isn’t it bad enough I have to take care of these guys? Now I’ve got to take care of you, too.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Clearly not.”
He walked out of the library, with Jace still in his arms. As they moved, she gazed up into his face until she finally asked something that had been bothering her since she’d arrived here, “Why do you and most Protectors wear glasses? And I’m pretty sure some are wearing contacts. Why didn’t Tyr give you all better eyesight?”
“He gave us excellent eyesight. And if we were just running around, hunting our enemies, none of us would need glasses. But the glasses help us adapt so that those around us don’t notice the . . .”
“Freakiness of your owl eyes?”
“They’re not freaky. They’re unique.”
“You can also turn your heads three hundred sixty degrees.”
“No, we can’t,” he quickly corrected her. But then, a few seconds later, he added, “It’s more like two hundred seventy degrees.”
“A difference of ninety. Uh-huh.”
“Tyr likes owls. They’re very thoughtful predators. So he gave us many of their wonderful attributes to enhance our fighting skills.”
“How come you don’t have talons, like we do?”
“We have talon-like skills when we fight, but Tyr thought his warriors having actual talons would not be very masculine. He’s still a Viking, you know?”
“Uh-huh.”
They walked into the kitchen, where several Protectors were already sitting at the table. None of them were talking. They were all either writing or reading, each of them seemingly deep in thought.
Eriksen walked up to one of his brothers and kicked the chair. Then he grunted at him.
“What?” the brother asked.
“Move.”
Growling, the Protector picked up a large load of books and papers and moved down the large wooden table to another free spot. Then Eriksen placed her in the vacated chair, her feet against the seat, her knees raised.
“What do you want to eat?” he asked. But when Jace just stared up at him, he shook his head. “Forget it. I’ll give you something to eat, and you’ll eat it.”
He walked away and Jace rested her chin on her raised knees. That’s when she realized the other Protectors were staring at her. And they kept staring until she finally demanded, “What?”
“So, what have you discovered?” Bear asked. Or demanded, depending on your perspective.
“About society?” Jace replied.
And Ski, who’d been buried arms-deep in their big refrigerator, had to look up from what he was doing to see if she was seriously asking that question.
She was! She was gazing at Bear with that kind of blank expression, waiting for his answer.
Poor Bear, he didn’t know what to do with that.
“No. About the books.”
“You’ll have to be more specific. That is too vague a question.”
Bear looked at Ski, but all he could do was shrug and point out, “That was a very broad question.”
Bear tried again. “Are the books helpful? Are they a waste of your time? Are they informative?”
“So far they’ve been all three. Kind of like life,” she added, glancing up at the ceiling. That’s when she grinned. “A skylight. How beautiful. No wonder you guys eat in here.”
As one, Ski’s brothers looked up. He was sure that none of them had ever noticed the skylight before. Even Ormi never noticed. Ski had it put in during a holiday weekend. The few brothers who’d come in and out, for whatever reason at that time, walked by the construction guys like they weren’t even there.
“That is nice,” one of the brothers noted. “Has it always been there?”
Shaking his head, Ski pulled the fixings for a sandwich out of the refrigerator and placed them on the kitchen island. He then pulled out several bottles of cold water. He opened one and walked over to the table, holding it in front of Jace’s face. Her gaze slowly moved down from the skylight to the bottle. After a moment, she smiled, and admitted, “Thank you, I am a bit thirsty.”
Of course she was. She hadn’t had anything to eat or drink in hours.
He knew that he’d have to keep an eye on her while she was doing this job. She was like his brothers, easily consumed by things that interested her and hiding from things that didn’t.
At least four of his brothers had lost their homes and/or cars over the last few years because they’d forgotten to take care of important personal business like mortgages and loan payments. They didn’t like dealing with money, so they didn’t bother and then they’d watch, stunned, as their car was towed away from the front of the house or they’d return to their home or condo to find the locks had been changed and a sheriff’s deputy waiting to serve them with papers.
It became so bad that Ski finally hired a financial manager. He didn’t trust anyone from the other Clans to deal with the rather large sums of cash that many of the Protectors had access to, but he didn’t want someone who could expose them to the world. So he’d settled on a shifter. A man and wife team who, when not managing the Protectors’ money, could shift into leopards and lounge in trees. Something they often did in the backyard of their Beverly Hills mansion.
The shifters—a rather bland moniker for those who could shift into another species with a thought the way the Protectors could fly—didn’t actually like the Nordic Clans. In fact, from what Ski could tell, they sort of loathed them, especially the Crows. But they did like Clan money. And with both groups needing secrecy to function, they put aside their differences and found ways to work together to each other’s benefit.
Jace tipped up the bottle and took a drink. Then she took a longer drink. By the time Ski went back to the counter, grabbed another bottle, and brought it to her, she’d finished the first one and was eagerly reaching for the second.
“You need to remember to take breaks,” he told her. “If you die at the desk, your friends will make our lives hell.”
“She can’t drink around the books,” Bear reminded him. “Or eat. What if she dumps water on them? Or gets food crumbs in the pages?”
“The world will end?”
“That’s not funny.”
Ski chuckled. He thought it was kind of funny.
He went back to the island and began to put together a nice large sandwich for their guest. While he did, Gundo asked Jace, “Are you Russian?”
“No. I’m Albanian on my father’s side.”
“So why do you know Russian?”
“I was forced to learn multiple languages in order to find evidence of the end times in the writings of other cultures.”
Ski debated putting mayo on the sandwich. Something told him she wouldn’t be a mayo fan. He could ask, but he’d rather figure it out on his own. Maybe a vinaigrette for the top of the sandwich would work well with the turkey and kale.
“The Crows made you learn languages to do that?”
“I didn’t think the Crows cared about any of that,” Bear muttered.
“Not my sisters,” Jace replied. “The cult I was forced into when I was a child made me learn. As the wife of the Great Prophet it was considered one of my duties. As was smiling . . . and talking . . . and being loyal.”
Holding the top of the seeded wheat bun over the sandwich, Ski looked up in shock, his gaze meeting Gundo’s. They stared at each other until Bear asked, “You were in a cult?”
“Since I was ten.”
“What cult?” Gundo asked.
“The Patient Dove Congregation out of the Valley.”
Ski dropped the bun top onto the sandwich before leaning in and asking, “The group the Feds referred to as ‘Another Waco about to happen’? That cult?”
She nodded, the second water bottle still gripped in her hand.
Borgsten pointed a finger at Jace and said, “You’re the wife that leader guy tried to kill. He buried you in the backyard.”
“He buried my corpse in the backyard. The ATF caught him while he was tossing dirt on me. Skuld brought me back . . . and I woke up cranky.”
Ski’s brothers stared at her for a long time until Bear asked, “Do you know Aramaic?”
“Yes. Plus, Greek, Latin, Hebrew, Arabic, several of the romance languages. Ancient Egyptian. Some African languages like Setswana and Hausa, but I read those better than I speak them. Most of the Slavic languages, reading and speaking. And since I’ve been with the Crows, the fundamentals of the Scandinavian languages, which wasn’t too hard because I already knew German; and I’ve been taught to curse in Japanese, Korean, Hindi, and since Kera arrived, Tagalog. At some point I hope to get to Cantonese and Mandarin. I asked Chloe about it, but she’s, like, third-generation Chinese American and she just stared blankly at me. And that’s when I realized I’d be better off taking a class at UCLA . . . preferably without her.”
“Those people you attacked the other day . . .” Gundo said, staring at her. “The ones everyone are talking about, they were from that cult, weren’t they?”
“Yes. They were.”
“Because why else would you beat them up?”
“Everyone else thinks I killed them.”
Gundo snorted. “No. You suddenly snap and start killing random people, the Crows will put you down themselves.” When Jace stared at him, a little confused, he added, “The Crows don’t talk about it, but they don’t tolerate that level of crazy. So when the rumor spread through the Clans that you wiped out an entire old folks’ home—”
“Oh, come on!”
“—we all took it with a grain of salt.”
Bear suddenly pointed what seemed to be a damning finger at Jace and said with grave concern, “We might have some extra work for you translating things when you’re done with the Russian books.”
Jace jerked slightly, as if she’d been expecting him to say something else. Then she nodded and replied, “Okay.”
Bear nodded. “You’re not as worthless as I thought you’d be, Crow.”
Ski placed the food in front of Jace. “Bear meant that as a compliment.”
Appearing mildly confused, she replied, “Yes. I know.” She paused, then added, “What else would it be?”
“Jacinda?”
“I’m not hungry,” she told the persistent Protector. Earlier the man had actually come to her and asked if she’d “used the bathroom in the last three hours.”
What kind of question was that? And why was he so concerned?
Of course, with him staring down at her with those big green eyes, she’d finally gotten up to use the toilet, only to discover she really did have to urinate. Then she’d heard not-as-funny-as-he-thinks-he-is Gundo remark, “We may have to get that one a diaper to prevent accidents.”
Har-har-har.
But, Jace was forced to admit, she did like working around the Protectors. Unlike her sister-Crows whom she loved so dearly, the Protectors were wonderfully, unabashedly, almost obsessively quiet.
Not one of them was an actor or a musician or a model or a superstar with an entourage. They were all lawyers, social workers, judges, police detectives. They took the ideal of justice very seriously and tried, in their own Viking way, to give back to the community.
She admired that even while knowing she could never do it herself. Their jobs required too much time talking to people. Listening to them. Dealing with them. Since she was a child, there was nothing Jace hated more.
Much to her grandmother’s great annoyance, Jace would often disappear with a pile of books and a candy bar, forcing the entire family to come looking for her. She was often found up in trees, under the house, in the backseat of someone’s car, or in the attic of a family member. Any place she could find peace and solitude was where one could find Jacinda Berisha.
But that idyllic life had ended when her mother had come for her. When she’d taken her to the cult, where peace and solitude were not allowed. Alone time meant introspective thoughts that, even at a young age, Jace knew would lead to life outside the cult. Something the Great Prophet of the time would never allow. So, for sixteen years, Jace never had any time to herself except when she was studying or searching out proof to back up the current Great Prophet’s claims about the end of the world.
Then she’d become a Crow and all that had changed. True, in the beginning, the Crows tried to make her feel welcome. Tried to get her to join in. But, eventually, they realized that she didn’t want any of that. She mostly wanted to be left alone, and when she didn’t, she’d let them know. Much to her surprise at the time, the Crows were fine with that.
Until Rachel, for some unknown reason, had decided to make Jace her personal pet project.
Maybe she was hoping to show Skuld that she would be a good leader, but from what Jace had seen of other Crow leaders she’d met, including Chloe, they didn’t have to show anything. They just were and Skuld knew it.
The problem with Rachel, though, was that she was painfully hardheaded. Explaining to her that none of this would help her or Jace was just a waste of breath. She believed exactly what she wanted to believe until proven wrong. And it was hard to prove that being left alone was in a person’s best interest. It was human nature to assume that everyone wanted to be part of a pack. That everyone wanted tons of friends, popularity, and things to do on a Saturday night.
In Rachel’s mind, Jace was just a tragically shy girl who would get her rage under control once she went barhopping a few times with “her girls.”
Jace realized the Protector hadn’t walked away and she glared up at him. “I said I wasn’t hungry.”
“I’m not offering you food,” he replied. Although he didn’t sound angry, more amused.
“Then what do you want?”
“For you to leave.”
“Huh? Why?” She rushed to explain what she’d been doing all day, pointing at the computer they’d given her. “I already have the first two boxes of books listed with title, author, and basic theme. I haven’t gotten to the other boxes, but I will soon and—”
“Jace, I’m not firing you.”
“You’re not?”
“No. I’m telling you to get out because we don’t allow non-Protectors in the library when we’re not here.”
“Where are you going?”
“On a job.”
“In the daytime?” she asked, shocked. Did Tyr protect his warriors in the day? Why didn’t Skuld do that for her Crows?
But instead of answering her, the Protector grabbed the back of her seat and turned the entire thing around so that she was facing the big, floor-to-ceiling, UV-protected windows. It was dark outside.
“Oh.”
“Yeah.” He turned the chair back, the scraping noise of the non-wheeled legs making her wince, and stepped beside her. “We’ve got work to do. We are nocturnal, after all.”
Eriksen was wearing the typical Protector fighting outfit. A white, sleeveless hoodie T-shirt, revealing his god’s rune branded onto his left upper bicep; blue jeans; thick work boots. Like the Ravens, he carried no weapons. Unlike the Ravens, the Protectors didn’t turn everything around them into weapons. Their hands and feet did enough damage on their own.
“And, unfortunately,” he went on, “I can’t have you stay while I’m not here since you’re my responsibility.”
“I am?”
“If you suddenly snap and destroy all the books, that’ll be on me.”
“Most say if I suddenly snap and kill everyone in the room.”
“We care more about the books.”
So did Jace.
“Okay. So you want me back tomorrow?”
“I’m sorry, did you think you were done? Because the guys already have a list going.”
“A list? For what?”
“The jobs they want you on after this. Nedolf is a public defender and he has several clients for whom English is a second language, and for some reason he doesn’t trust the current translator he’s working with. Sevald has been working with several Eastern European countries on some political issues, but his Polish and Ukrainian are sketchy at best, and he’s afraid he’s pissing people off.”
“He probably is.”
“Yeah. Then there’s Fredgeir—”
“Who wants a better name than Fredgeir?”
“No. He needs you to—”
“Forget it. Forget it.” She waved her hands to stop him. “Forget I asked.”
“You don’t want to be involved?”
“I didn’t say that. I just mean . . . I can only deal with one stress at a time and I’m pretty into these books right now. They’re my whole focus at the moment.”
“Good. Because that’s exactly what I want and the reason I started the list. I love my brothers, but one must get control of them from the very beginning or risk panic and whining. I hate the whining.”
He smiled and Jace thought about looking at something else in the room. He was just so . . . handsome. But then she couldn’t think of a reason to look away. Her divorce had been final for ages, her lawyer getting it through the system as fast as humanly possible along with a permanent protection order against her ex.
But as Jace gazed into this particular handsome face, she began to worry. So she asked, “You don’t pity me, do you?”
The smile faded. “Why would you ask me that?”
She scrunched up her nose a bit. “The cult thing.”
“Oh.” He thought a moment and she appreciated he didn’t reply with an immediate—and most likely bullshit—“No, no. Of course not. No!”
After several seconds, he replied, “I was surprised you told us about it. Because it’s clearly something you don’t discuss. Otherwise, it would have been fodder for the other Clans long before now.” He thought a little more. “But . . . I am glad that you trusted us enough to tell us about it. Still . . . in answer to your question, no. I don’t pity you. But I must admit, my heart did break a little for the girl you once were. And that your freedom was taken from you without your consent.”
Jace was shocked at such a thoughtful and caring answer. Not only did she appreciate it, but she adored the way he didn’t just react. Crows and Ravens were all about just reacting.
“Thank you,” she said. “I appreciate that.”
“Of course. But if those people bother you again, let us know. We have connections with the police, politicians, everyone. You don’t have to fight them alone.”
Jace had to smile. “I’m a Crow. I never fight alone.”
“True. But you don’t have to physically fight them either. So if you’d rather take a more rational approach . . . the Protectors are here for you. I’m here for you.”
Jace got the feeling he was trying to tell her something beyond what his words were saying, but before she could reason it out, a banging at the windows startled them both and they looked to see Stieg Engstrom standing on the other side of the glass, glaring.
“Do I need to kill him?” Eriksen asked.
“No, no.” She quickly shoved her few things into her backpack. “I’m sure he’s here for me.”
“He couldn’t come to the front door like a normal person?”
“Stieg? No. He rarely does what normal people do.”
Jace slung the backpack over her shoulder and motioned to Stieg. “Front door!” she yelled at him. “Go to the front door!”
“Are you sure you’ll be all right with him?” Eriksen asked after Stieg slowly moved away, his glare locked on the Protector.
“I’ll be fine with him, though I doubt you would. He’s not a Protector fan.”
“You two together?”
“We’ll be together in the car.”
Eriksen frowned in confusion, then said, “No. Are you two together? Like dating. Or something.”
Jace laughed. “There’s no one in the world who would let that happen.”
Ski opened the door and allowed Jace to walk out. As he did so, he made sure to keep his gaze fastened on the Raven glaring at him.
Actually, they glared at each other.
There was simply no love lost between Ravens and Protectors. They tolerated each other the way cats and dogs tolerated each other, which was to say not at all unless they were in a situation that required it.
“Why are you here?” Jace asked the big, slow-witted Raven.
“Kera asked me to pick you up.” Still the Raven stared at Ski. “I can’t believe they let you come here and stay here . . . alone. With them.”
“Are you just going to keep staring at him?” she asked Engstrom.
“Maybe.”
“It’s weird.”
He finally looked down at her. “Whose side are you on?”
“My own?”
“Typical.”
“Can we just go?” she asked, walking toward the car. “And I’m driving myself here tomorrow.”
“Do you even have a license?” Engstrom asked, still staring at Ski.
“Ski, you ready?” Gundo asked from behind him.
So, Ski turned just his head around so that he could look at his friend. He heard the Raven growl.
“Fuck! I hate when you bastards do that.”
Ski swung his head back. “Then fucking leave, Raven.”
“With pleasure,” he shot back, arms thrown wide in obvious challenge as he walked backward toward the car.
Jace tossed her backpack into the car, then returned to grab the Raven by the back of his neck.
“Ow!”
“In the car! Jeez!”
She pushed the Raven toward the vehicle and waved at Ski and Gundo. “See you tomorrow.”
They waved back and watched her get in the car and drive off with the Raven, the pair bickering the entire way.
“They dating?” Gundo asked.
“She says no.”
“Good. Because you like her.”
Ski nodded “I do.” He faced his friend. “I don’t think she gets that, though.”
“Oh no. She doesn’t get it at all.”
“Why do you always have to be a dick to them?” Jace asked Stieg. “Can’t you be nice? For once?”
“No.”
She let out a sigh and stared out the window.
“And I don’t know why you’re being so bitchy to me. It’s not like he was any friendlier.”
“That’s not the point. You’re on their territory and you bang on the window like a mental patient!”
“I did that to protect you.”
“Protect me from what?”
“He was giving you ‘the look.’”
“The look? What look?”
“The I-want-you-to-be-my-concubine look. Like he would have been more than happy to toss your chunky ass over his shoulder and carry you off to his pompous, book-lined Viking boat.”
“My ass is not chunky.”
“Well, it ain’t small.”
Jace pressed her fists against her forehead. “Explain to me again why we’re friends?”
Stieg shrugged. “You’re one of the few people I get along with.”
“And that doesn’t tell you something?”