Odin's Murder

“It wasn’t a date. Not that I wouldn’t date him. I would, I suppose, if there was enough mutual attraction.” She looks up from the computer with a frown. “Though, after this afternoon I don’t feel as though our sexual chemistry is very noticeable. Maybe he has low testosterone—or maybe it’s too high? He does have that warrior thing going on. Tribal soldiers were known to have extreme amounts of testosterone, which made them perform better on the field.”

I think about Ethan and his broad shoulders and the constant anger roiling beneath the surface, wearing medieval armor. “I don’t imagine low sex drive being a problem with that one,” I mutter.

“Oh, do you find him appealing?”

“He’s attractive, I guess.” Attractive as a magnet, though we’re opposites, repelling with that bubble of friction that pushes and spins, misaligned and wrong. “Did you get any photos?”

“Yes.” She nudges the laptop in my direction. “Ethan sent them to me to go over. He seems to use some kind of filter, or a program, I suppose. See how each one has a different tint?”

I lean over and clicking through the photos, one by one. She’s right; there is a strange effect on the images, almost like an aging process. “They’re actually really good, aren’t they?” I push the screen back, but the images still flick through my mind’s eye. “Julian is going to freak about the manipulation. He’ll say it could take away their benefit as primary sources. I suppose Ethan can print them out normally. Did you found anything else interesting?”

“Vitsippa and smörblomma. Nordic varieties of wood anemone and buttercups. They shouldn’t be growing here.” She points to the piles of green stuff. “Don’t touch that one. It’s an inflammatory.”

“I meant about the chapel. Anything we can use for our project?”

“Nothing conclusive. There are some architectural aspects that I should be able to use to date the building. The materials and a few design elements can tell us a bit, but there isn’t much to work with, and what’s there is odd. The whole building seems out of place here, and out of time, too. I’m going to compare it to some other places with similar motifs.”

“Let me know if you need help,” I offer, and she gives me a vague nod, already absorbed in her work. I move over to my bed and open the book Dr. Anders gave me.

*

Jeremy makes good on his promise, and slips into the seat next to mine three minutes after the movie starts. Making out with him in the dark of the student theater is definitely a good way to pass the time. His lips are soft, and full, and he knows how to kiss, hands in all the right places, letting me lead. I’d led him on a fair bit that first night we’d hung out.

“Let me,” he said between kisses, “go check on everything, okay?”

“Sure.”

An auditorium seat behind me squeaks open, and the springs groan. I pull out my powder compact and flip open the mirror to check, wishing Jeremy had the brains to take the last row of seats, but it’s Ethan, not a teacher.

He’s alone. I’d seen him at dinner, stuffing his face while Danielle yammered at him, but he’d disappeared before we all left the dining hall. I roll my eyes and mutter, “Great.”

The movie lights up his face, casting it in an ethereal wash of color. His eyes are in shadow, dark as night, cheekbones high and sharp. For once his body is relaxed. A knot coils in my belly.

Jeremy returns to his seat, throwing an arm over the back of my chair, ready to start back where we left off. I let him, kissing back, but this time, my eyes are open. I know I shouldn’t, but I look at Ethan and dare him to look at me, to see me. It’s only a matter of seconds before he does.

While Jeremy’s lips move to my neck, my eyes are glued to Ethan’s and his to mine. His expression doesn’t change, and the tangle in my stomach tightens, and Jeremy’s kisses on my neck now seem too moist on my skin. I close my eyes, breathing deep to find my way back to the moment. I’m not going to let some angry boy with deadly eyes ruin a good evening.

The hinges of the seat behind us bang in release and light slices the back of the theater as the door creaks open and closed. Ethan is gone. My belly turns hard and cold. I push Jeremy back with two hands on his chest. “Um...I’ll be back.”

Outside, I turn around to look for the boy I cannot stop baiting, and he’s right there, behind me. His eyebrows are light brown, framing the blue eyes stabbing into mine. I press back against the closed door, defensive and annoyed that I let this guy get to me.

“What the hell was that about, Cherry?”

“What?”

“Stop playing games.” He draws away, taking his body heat with him. His head is down and his shoulders are high, tense, like a hawk ready to strike prey.

I pull my hair off my neck, letting the evening breeze cool my overheated nerves, but it doesn’t help; Ethan’s stare is too hot. I keep my face calm, but it takes effort. “I’m not playing games.”

He shakes his head, gestures inside. “Then what was that?”

I have no idea what I’m doing or why I’m pushing him. Our chemistry is crazy fascinating, but he’s oil and I’m water, and there is no blend, no give and take, just surfaces rubbing the wrong way, repellent and opposite. “It’s you. You make me—”

“I don’t make you do anything.” He steps closer.

“I can’t think around you.” I snap my mouth closed, before I blurt out anything else that doesn’t make sense. He smells of soap, and sweat.

“I know the feeling.”