Soul Fire (Darkling Mage 8)

Chapter 24

Odin stared at Banjo, dumbfounded, then back at his truck, then back again. He threw his head back and laughed. Behind me, Mama Rosa gasped in panic. The glass door and floor to ceiling windows of her restaurant were vibrating.

“Hah,” Odin boomed, his voice carrying down the street. People were peering out of windows now, cracking doors ajar. “Perhaps the little beast is not such a disappointment after all.”

“He’s a perfectly good boy,” Carver hissed, collecting Banjo from me and pressing him against his chest. Banjo stopped barking immediately, peppering Carver with a barrage of sloppy doggie kisses. “And I’ll thank you not to attack my domicile again.”

Odin pointed one thick finger at Carver’s face. To my surprise, Carver actually flinched.

“You must be the lich, the one who talked back to me. Destroying one of the four walls of your dimension was the least that you deserved. And I did not even have to lift a finger to accomplish it. Be grateful that the All-Father has a quick temper and a short memory.”

Carver’s growl rumbled somewhere deep inside his chest, but he said nothing.

“Then why are you even here?” I said. “Just you being petty and taking it out on us puny mortals? See, this is why Loki runs an international corporation and you’re serving live goats at a bed and breakfast.”

Ooh. Probably shouldn’t have said that. But Loki did say that Odin’s pride was his weakest point, and that was where I aimed to strike. The sun seemed to go away for a moment, as if covered by a passing cloud. When I looked at Odin, something seemed changed. He wasn’t dressed in red flannel and jeans, but a suit of ornate, bloodstained armor. I blinked. The sun came back, and Odin’s clothes were, too. But his face was a storm.

“Loki is a liar and a cheat,” Odin growled. “Of course he finds success in this modern world of mortals and fools, a world that worships and glorifies heathens that hardly deserve to be called gods.”

I leaned forward, a response already loaded on my tongue, when a hand gripped me by the shoulder, stopping me cold.

“Oh my God, dude,” Asher’s voice said in my ear. “Shut the fuck up. Look who you’re sassing. Remember Izanami?”

My fists uncurled, and I took a deep, long breath to stop myself from talking even more shit. I had to control my anger. I could already feel the Dark Room stirring. Asher was right. The last thing I needed to be doing was giving the mothers and fathers of the world’s pantheons more reasons to want me dead.

“Bleat all you wish, little mortal. Soft, feeble sheep.” Odin planted a foot on his truck’s front tire. “I have something of yours, and you may want it back.”

I stiffened. “What could you possibly have taken of mine that I’d so desperately – ”

Odin blinked innocently. “Oh. Did I say ‘it?’ I was so sure that I said ‘him.’” The All-Father smirked, and my heart pounded against my chest. “That man you like so much. The one that makes ice, an affront to my person, as filthy as the frost giants themselves.”

My blood froze. “No. Herald? What did you do to him?”

The All-Father laughed. “Follow me if you will. Find me if you dare. Perhaps you will discover then.”

“Wait,” I shouted, the Dark Room banging its many fists against my heart, begging to be let out, begging to kill.

“I have said my piece, little human. Find me, or your friend dies.”

Odin patted the side of his truck, and the damage Banjo had done was instantly reversed, the metal inflating and glass reassembling into the shape of a perfect, unblemished cab. Odin swung himself into the driver’s seat, then threw the engine. The next thing I knew he was backing out and off of the ruined sidewalk.

I didn’t know trucks could reverse quite so fast. It rumbled down the street backwards, pedestrians dodging and screaming as it went. Instead of the roar and rumble of an engine, this time the truck thundered with what sounded like a horse’s frantic neighing.

“That infernal contraption is a modified form of his steed,” Carver said, still glaring down the street.

I glared with him. “So it was Sleipnir, after all?”

“Indeed. The All-Father couldn’t go galloping down the streets on an eight-legged horse, now, could he?”

I nodded. “And if Sleipnir works anything like Apollo’s chariot, it means that it holds a portion of Odin’s essence and protects him. It’s like a piece of his domicile travels with him.”

“The All-Father is untouchable even outside his domicile, then,” Carver said, “for as long as the steed remains unmolested.”

I blinked at him. “You’re not seriously suggesting that I’m dumb enough to try and kill him?”

Carver scoffed. “He is in possession of your beloved. You have killed for far less, Dustin. Your anger changes you. Do not argue this point with me.”

Damn it, but he was right.