Soul Fire (Darkling Mage 8)

“Please,” Loki gasped, clutching at the spear in his chest with both hands. “All-Father, please.”

Odin took one step, then reappeared right by Loki’s side, his arms folded. So Odin could teleport? Hell, he could probably do a ton of other things. I mean – All-Father, right? Good to know. Loki shuddered, wriggling away, at first, then yowling when he realized he was pinned in place.

“Mercy, All-Father,” Loki stammered. “Please.”

“Yes. Now you beg for mercy, trickster, when I know that you will betray me the very moment I let you slip from my fingers. No. It is time you and I had a very long conversation.”

“Anything. Please, anything but this agony.”

“Perhaps I will start by seizing some of your power, to see whether it’s worth redistribution,” Odin said. “It is impressive, what you have built over the decades. But this is what happens when you have access to too much, trickster.”

Oh, shit. Did that mean Happy, Inc. was going under? Could I live without their burgers, I wondered. Could Banjo live without Puppy Yum biscuits? And could Artemis live without Snacky Yum-Yums?

Wait a minute. Artemis. My agreement with Apollo, the favor he wanted me to fulfill.

“All-Father,” I called out. “A favor. Loki’s actions have affected us all, and I think we only deserve to be granted a small request at his expense.”

“Was a tour of headquarters not enough?” Loki spat.

Odin held out a finger. Loki flinched. “Careful. Now, mortal. Speak again. What is it that you ask?”

“Loki’s domicile is enormous. It’s not just headquarters, he told me as much. I happen to know a goddess who was affected by Loki’s actions, enough that she’s been left without her own domicile. Vulnerable. Will you help?”

“A plot of land, then?” Odin said, a twinkle in his eye. I had a feeling this would work. Odin fancied himself a kind of savvy entrepreneur, what he saw as the equivalent of creativity and leadership in a world with new gods. This was his chance to play real estate agent. “A small domicile. A pocket dimension to start. Yes. Far be it for the All-Father to let a sister goddess languish in the streets.”

Odin muttered softly to himself, gesturing over Gungnir still lodged in Loki’s chest, threads of pale blue light following his fingers. The wisps wove together into what appeared to be a tapestry, which solidified into a piece of parchment. Odin gestured again, and droplets of Loki’s blood splattered against the parchment. Loki whimpered, but the spell didn’t seem to cause him any pain – at least not physically. Odin cast his hand out. The parchment rolled up into a scroll, then appeared in my hand. Huh. Convenient.

“Present this deed to the goddess. Artemis, is it not? Tell her that her new home comes with Loki’s compliments.”

Loki sat silently, but his expression spoke volumes. His eyes burned into me, glaring, vengeful.

“Excellent,” Odin said. “Now, I will take my leave. Loki and I have much catching up to do.” Odin grasped the end of his spear and pulled. Loki threw his head back and screamed as fresh blood spurted from his wound. “Time to go.”

Loki clutched his chest, breathing heavily, his forehead glistening with sweat. All at once the agony fell from his features, and he grinned. “Never.”

I didn’t even have time to blink. The trickster god was gone in an instant.

“Every time,” Odin bellowed. “Every bloody time, the scoundrel slips from my fingers. Very well. If Loki wishes to run, then the All-Father will follow. A Wild Hunt it is then. Sleipnir!”

The truck was gone, in its place a majestic horse, its mane flowing and white, each of its eight legs muscular and sleek. The ground thundered as Sleipnir galloped towards his master. Odin mounted his steed, the curious casuals he wore transformed into a suit of shining armor.

“You. Lich. You may keep your little hound. I hereby release him.” Odin pointed a finger at Banjo. The blue rune on Banjo’s forehead glowed, then vanished. He yipped happily, unharmed. “Now,” Odin said, “the Hunt begins.” Sleipnir reared with a great, thunderous neigh, and in a flash, horse and master were both gone.

I turned, searching for the remains of the great witch Agatha Black. But she, too, was gone.

Chapter 34

The good news: no one was dead. The bad news: that included Agatha Black. A generous dose of shadowfire, an actual dragon’s breath, and a good and thorough trampling from Sleipnir himself hadn’t been enough to destroy even one of her copies.

Next time, I thought, we would just have to work faster. Never let up, and never give her time to recover, to heal from a constant barrage of attacks. Next time, we would stop Agatha Black forever.

And yet – and yet I had to remember that there were thirteen of her.

A problem for another day, I told myself. It was more of a lie, really, because the more I avoided the question, the more it thrashed inside my chest, like a wriggling, corrupted parasite. I’d find the answers eventually. But I know I owe you answers right now, at least for what happened to the Boneyard.

Asher was fine. Or he was going to be, at least going by Carver’s diagnosis. If I was going to believe anyone when it came to an analysis of magical eyesight, it was the undead dude who decided that mystic vision was worth the price of gouging out one of his own eyeballs.

Sterling had comforted Asher throughout the entire time we battled Agatha Blac