Owner (Blood Brotherhood 2)

I could run away now or try some other way of getting out of his possession, but I don’t think I want to. I want to stay with him. I want to see what happens next, in Norway. It’s curiosity that keeps me by his side as he packs us out of the house.

Nina waves from one of the upper windows, a pale American ghost held captive by her brooding husband. I feel sorry for her as I wave back.

“It’s not right, you know.”

“What’s not right?”

“Nina and Bryn.”

“You know nothing about them, or their relationship. Worry about yourself. Believe me, there is plenty for you to worry about.”

The private airfield is not all that far from the abbey. Crichton drives us there. There are no detours through nether realms today. Disappointing. I’d hoped he’d give me another little sneak peek of eternal damnation, but he’s remaining firmly on the mortal plane. I don’t want to go anywhere without him. He’s become like a security blanket for me, a magical, demonic entity who makes everything all better just for me.

“Hey, Crichton. Any chance of you coming with us?”

He shakes his head and appears mournful within the bounds of his own limited emotional range. “I’m afraid not, miss. I am bound to Direview and its immediate surrounds.”

"Well, if I don't see you again, give my love to Crocombe and have my thanks for saving me. If it wasn't for you, I'd be in some real trouble right now.”

“I would not make the mistake of assuming that because you have avoided prison, you are not in real trouble,” Crichton says.

When Thor says things like that, they sound like threats. When Crichton says them, his words sound like a warning from a concerned friend.

“Time to be on your way, I think,” Thor says, dismissing him.

I don’t think Thor approves of the alliance between Crichton and me. He’s angry about the trip to Hell thing, I’m sure. But he didn’t want me being apprehended either, so Crichton did us both a favor, but Thor’s not open-minded enough to consider that. He wants control of the situation, and that means stripping away anybody who might be allied to me. From first we met, he has been trying to keep me from associations of power. I suppose I was trying to steal his hammer at the time, but still. One could call it a pattern.

“Bye, Crichton. See you soon, I hope!” I wave.

Crichton gives me a slight incline of his head, which I know stands in stead of a more emotive farewell. I’ll miss him. I don't know him as well as I might, but I know he was on my side. There haven’t been that many people in my life who have helped when I needed them to. He’s on a very short list, so even the fact that he’s a demon who drove me to Hell doesn’t dull my affection for him.

He purrs away in the parish car and I am left with Thor standing in front of a hangar on a rather uninspiring grass airstrip. If he tries to put me in some rickety tin can of an aircraft, he is going to have some trouble. Flying is unnatural, and if I’m going to do it, it's not going to be in some smuggler’s coke transport.

Thor puts his hands to one side of the hangar and draws the door back. Corrugated iron slides away to reveal the prettiest plane I’ve ever seen. Prettier than any plane I have ever imagined, even. It is jet black with gold embellishments along the wings, wings painted over wings. Like a great big metal bird crouched and ready to take to the skies. It’s stunning. Like a piece of art.

I turn to Thor, who does not seem to be as moved by it as I am. I guess he is used to it. What a dark horse he is. So much of him remains completely unknown to me. So much of everything, apparently. I am surrounded by surprise, and it is making me feel more alive than ever before. The last few years of my life have been nothing but eking out a basic existence, trying to somehow make my limited resources stretch to both support myself and make my life worthwhile.

Now, on the heels of some of the worst things I've ever done, I’m having the time of my fucking life. I have had sex with this man, this absolute fucking god, whether he admits it or not, and it was amazing. I don’t even care that he's probably technically kidnapping me now, because my will doesn't matter at all.

“You have been holding out on me,” I tell him. “This is not a plane owned by a man who doesn't have a thousand pounds for an artifact.”

“I haven’t held out on anything. I told you, I don't own these things.”