“Ask her yourself,” Bard choked. It was getting difficult for him to speak and swallow with his neck pulled back so far and the metal pushing into his throat. “I have done nothing to her that she did not want me to.”
“Is this true?” Leif looked down at Kemma. His voice was filled with desperation.
“I think so,” she said shakily.
“That answer is not good enough,” Colby said as he came into the room and went to her. “She is not of right mind.”
“It’s the ale,” Jerrik said from the doorway.
“What?” Leif didn’t loosen his grasp on Bard as he questioned Jerrik.
“There’s something in the ale, I think. Maybe it’s what is making her act so strangely. It’s like she’s under the influence.”
“But, we’ve all drunken the ale.”
“Yes, but maybe there was something different about it before we did. Kemma was here well before we all arrived.”
“Did you put something in the ale?” Leif asked Bard as he pushed the knife deeper into his skin.
“No”
“I don’t believe you.”
Colby worked to pull Kemma out from under Bard’s body. He grabbed her under her arms and tugged until she was free from beneath him and could stand beside the bed. Then he carefully retied her bodice. “Kemma,” he said gently. “Did you drink the ale here before we came?”
“Yes, I think so.”
“We’re leaving now,” Leif said. His voice was so filled with hatred and disgust as he spoke that his words spit on Bard’s mouth.
“You can try,” Bard replied, unprovoked by Leif’s threat to take Kemma from Valhalla.
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“Valhalla is protected. We can’t have anyone trying to sneak into our world or steal our honored warriors from it. You are only allowed entry with favor, as you seem to have had thanks to your father. But that protection works both ways. In order to leave Valhalla, you must wish to do so. No one can be taken from Valhalla by force.”
Leif looked over at Kemma, who was standing in Colby’s arms right in front of him. She looked conflicted and confused, and Leif knew they had been outmatched. He looked back at Bard as anger rose within him.
“It doesn’t appear she wishes to go,” Bard smiled.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Erik had missed the apartment. He had missed the earthly world in general, more than he thought he had. Valhalla was preceded by tales of its greatness, and by all accounts, it was a wonderful realm of the afterlife. But Erik had found himself to be more suited for a simpler existence among friends than the honorable warrior’s path in Valhalla, a revelation that had surprised even him.
He sat in the apartment, in one of his old chairs, drinking a hot cup of plain black coffee, just the way he liked it. He stared out the window at the city below. The plague was starting to consume the streets. It came in waves, and the people had started to see a pattern and had begun to stay inside. Even so, he knew their apartments and brick homes were not full-proof and many were already dead, with many more to follow. It was eerie to see the city so empty, and even from within the loft, he could almost smell the presence of death outside the glass windows.
Matt and Helia had not left their bedroom the entire time the others had been gone. And Erik was perfectly pleased with that arrangement since he had wanted time in his old home alone. But Lopt’s incessant pacing up and down the hallways had started to drive him more than a little crazy.
“Why don’t you just go already?”
“I can’t,” Lopt replied. “I need to wait a bit longer.”
“For what? You can summon them back regardless of what realm you’re in. Just go to Alfheim already and check on your woman. If there were any sense in you waiting around, then you should have just gone with them.”
“You’re right,” Lopt said. “I’m going to go. If they need me when they get back, then I’ll return.”
“Good plan.”
Lopt hadn’t even lifted his hands to the air before Brenna summoned him for their return passage from Alfheim.
Perfect timing, Erik thought sarcastically. I was almost rid of that god-awful pacing.
When Brandt and Brenna appeared, they looked stressed and full of bad news. But it wasn’t the two of them who caught Lopt’s eye; it was the woman who had hitched a ride on the coattails of Lopt’s magic to return here with them. They hadn’t even noticed her until they saw Lopt was looking at something behind them. When they turned to see what it was, there stood the third Fate, the one with the purple eyes.
She stood with her dark hair covering her body like a robe. Her eyes were wide open and fearful, but her posture was strong and defiant, even for her thin frame.
“She’s one of the Fates,” Brenna said to Lopt.
“I know of her,” Lopt said. “I’ve seen her before. Why are you here?”
She looked at him and said nothing; then she looked at Brenna.
“You shouldn’t be here,” Lopt continued. “From what I know of you and your sisters, you are not permitted to leave each other.”
“She looks afraid,” Erik said as he got up from his chair and walked toward them.
“I’ve come to warn you,” the Fate said directly to Brenna. “My sisters have forbidden it, but I have come anyway.”
“What is your warning?” Brandt asked.
She shivered. The climate on Valhalla was conducive to being unclothed, but the air conditioning in the Manhattan apartment was not. Erik brought a blanket from the couch and wrapped it around her shoulders. She flinched and watched him cautiously with her cat-eyes.
“You have put yourself in a great deal of danger coming here,” Lopt said.
“I know.”
Brenna went to start the teapot for some warm drinks. Then she went to the Fate and motioned to the comfortable chairs in the living room. “Please, will you sit with us?”
The Fate followed Brenna to a chair, and they all sat down. The girl looked out the large windows at the sparkling city with lights that had just fallen under the cascade of the evening darkness. Her eyes twinkled from the reflection of the city lights, and she half smiled in the delight of the view. Brenna was sure the Fate must have seen countless sights more impressive than the New York City skyline, but the girl sat in complete and utter awe of it. They watched and waited without disturbing her moment. The Fates were revered and said to be temperamental and delicate creatures.
“When you use your magic to cure the plague of the dark sorcery,” she began abruptly. “The plague will end.”
“Hey, that’s good news!” Erik said.
“Quiet,” Lopt scolded. “Don’t interrupt her. There must be more.”
“Yes. The cure will heal the immortal realms, and it will destroy the mortal realm entirely.”
“Told you there was more,” Lopt said to Erik in dismay.
“But we already knew that,” Brandt said. “You and your sisters told us that on Valhalla before we left. Why have you come all this way at risk to yourself?”
“To tell you that my sister’s do not want you to use the cure.”