“Our final piece,” he says. But now I notice that his eyes don’t crinkle right at the corners when he smiles, and his teeth are too sharp. “I was worried for a moment that you weren’t going to join us, but when Miss Erikssen arrived, my fears were alleviated.”
I try not to react to Memory’s name, but from his raised eyebrow, he knows my interest. “I’m here. So now what?” I say. “Burnett has called the authorities. I’m sure Jeremy blabbed about how I jumped him.”
College Boy has probably claimed that I attacked him in jealousy, how he fended off Memory’s unwanted advances, the victim in everything. That’s the way it usually goes.
“Ah, Jeremy, well, I don’t think he’s a problem for you right now. We have larger things at hand.”
“Right. The crows,” I say. I have no idea what the hell is going on, but giving a vague answer usually keeps people talking.
“Have you figured out your role in all this?”
“War, right? You want me to be War. None of the others seem to fit that category as well as I do.”
“And you would be very correct.” He smiles again. “See? You did get something from your time as my student, Tyr.”
“Huh?”
“Tyr. It means “war”. It’s your name, in the original Norse, before your bloodline diminished into humankind.” He sneers as he says the word human. “I’ve waited a long time for this, but especially for you.”
My defenses rise as he gets cryptic. Every kid who’s been through the system knows the first sign of a creep is when a guy starts talking about mysteries and secrets, like he knows more about you than you do yourself. Predators do that—hold information over their victims to keep them enthralled—but I’ve dealt with scumbags before, and I’m not weak. I slide into a protective stance, hands ready at my sides, one foot in front of the other, forcing more personal space.
“Why me? You’ve got a campus full of geniuses. The best I got is a GED from Dare County Detention Center.”
He smiles, and I remember he’s seen my file, and the test scores that convinced the judge to give me a chance at this place. “Don’t pretend you don’t have a preternatural vision.” His eyes flick to my camera bag. “Your photographs? Only the smallest blink of how far you can see.”
I am creeped out now, and my spine snaps straight and my fingers curl up into my palms, knuckles tight, flat. I haven’t even told Memory that I can see through her eyes when I look through my viewfinder.
“I’ve spent the last nineteen years following your petty exploits—the others were easy, coming from their stable, affluent homes. We nearly lost you after your parents died, but Mimir has managed to keep you safe all these years.”
He’s lying, I can feel it in the air between us, can see it in the way his eyes shift as he speaks.
“Don’t talk about my parents. You know nothing about them.” I spit on the ground, trying to clear the bitter taste from my mouth. Got to remain calm, can’t let this guy get to me. Ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five— “And who the hell is Mimir?”
“You haven’t been paying attention, boy. Mimir is the guardian of this sacred ground, since the dawn of time. She has also protected your bloodline through every age of man. I command her.” Again there is a wrongness to his words, and I wait. “You know her as your diligent caseworker and advocate, Mary.” He meets my eyes. “The first witch, born of Ymir’s bones. Even she had difficulty keeping you safe and sheltered. Always so ready for battle, even tho
se you could never win. Can you doubt your role in all this, my young warrior?”
He smiles at my clenched fists, rough scabs cracked and oozing a trickle of blood as they flex.
Ten-nine-eight-seven-six-five-four— I have never killed anyone, but the anger is there, boiling deep in my stomach. “I’m not your anything.” My words sound childish. —Three-two-one. “Mary was helping me for you?”
“Of course. We couldn’t lose you to a system of corruption and your own self-destruction. She used every resource she had to keep you safe. Haven’t you ever wondered how you managed to survive? She manipulated every placement, corrections officer and judge, including this latest one, for me.”
“I survived on my own,” I say. “By myself.”
Now I’m the liar, and the faces of every over-protective older foster sister, every big hearted and dumb cellmate twice my size stare back at me. Mary, always jerking me out of each situation I’d managed to screw up, keeping me in functional homes and quality schools. Even when I landed myself in juvie incarceration, she had me shipped off to ones with good education programs. And how many hard cases manage to keep the same social worker through their entire career in the system? I know of only one. Me.
I stare at Anders for a moment, stalling, trying to figure out how to take back some control of whatever is going on. “Alright. So now what?” I ask.
He lifts the lantern, and the light bounces around the cavern. There’s only one exit from this place. “You passed the first test, son. Can you guess what comes next?”
“Did the others? Pass?”
“Yes, of course. They’re waiting for us.”
My fingers itch for my camera, to look for Memory, but I don’t want to take my eyes off Anders. He looks strong under his sloppy clothes, though he’s smaller than me, at least two inches shorter. I could take him. I breathe for a second, processing the terrain. His lantern jostles, swishing the flammable liquid around like a threat. Psychos fight dirty—and this jerk may be the biggest nut-job I’ve ever met. I’m not willing to take the chance of lighting spilled kerosene.
“So you, what, throw us down a well, to see if we’re shape-shifters?”