Chapter 7
Charlie didn’t attend any of her afternoon classes.
The minute she stepped out of that bathroom, she sprinted to her car, Henry clinging to her backpack strap for dear life.
She ripped open the door to the Bronco, started it up, and threw it into gear, taking off for the forest like she was in a high-speed chase.
She wasn’t looking for the demon squirrel’s master. Not yet.
First, she needed to make sure the Vikings were safe.
It was just her and Henry. Mason hadn’t seemed capable of speech after their run-in with Sophie and Linnea.
When she’d tried to talk to him, he’d blinked at her, then turned around and walked out of the girls’ bathroom like a zombie.
Abigail refused to skip class, naturally.
Lou offered to join as backup, but Charlie had waved her off.
“I’ll be safe with Henry,” she’d said. “He has a deadly alter ego, remember? You don’t need any more demerits for missing class.”
At last, Lou had relented, and Charlie bolted off campus.
As she drove, Sophie’s words felt like they were searing themselves onto the inside of her skull.
A beast of great horror.
A monster like none the realms have ever seen.
And, of course, those other words. The ones that directly counteracted what she’d heard from Elias:
I brought your message to the Allfather, and he dismissed it right away.
He can’t be our father.
So, who was telling the truth—Elias or Sophie?
Was Loki their father or not? She knew whom she should believe.
Mason was right: Elias was a compulsive liar.
Not to mention that Odin was the literal Allfather.
According to the myths, he’d done something no other being could achieve by carving out his own eyeball for the chance to drink from Mimir’s well, a spring of infinite wisdom.
As a result, Odin could see the past, present, and future.
He would know exactly who their father was.
He knew everything. It was why he was the god of all gods. The king.
Still, Charlie couldn’t stop returning to that moment in the cave. The moment she saw her own eyes staring back at her. The moment his lips whispered, My children.
She shook her head, focusing on the road. She couldn’t think about that right now. Not until she knew if the Vikings were safe.
One might assume that two warriors who died once couldn’t die a second time around.
One would be wrong. As they had explained to Charlie early on, Bjorn and Vidar were more than capable of dying again—and this time, they would be sent to Helheim, not Valhalla.
It was one of the reasons they were so desperate to gain reentry to their former paradise of an afterlife.
Charlie flew down the back streets of Silver Shores, skirting corners or swerving down alleyways whenever another car blocked her path.
When she reached the turnoff for the forest, she took it at fifty, leaving tire marks behind on the pavement.
Henry squawked as his tiny body soared over the center console and landed in her lap.
“That’s what you get for never wearing a seat belt!” Charlie shouted.
At their usual parking spot, she swerved off the road into the bushes and slammed on the brakes.
She scooped Henry up with one hand, grabbed the Valkyrie knife from the center console with the other, and pulled up the door handle with her elbow.
As soon as her feet hit the forest floor, she slammed the door shut and took off into the trees.
She sprinted down the path to the house.
It wasn’t a real path, of course—no winding trail marked with little yellow ribbons tied around tree branches.
To those who didn’t know what to look for, it was just an empty forest. To Charlie, though, the landmarks that led to the old house couldn’t be clearer: first, the birches that bent away from each other like angry lovers.
Second, the unsuspecting oak trunk Mason had hacked at with a wooden sword while shouting about slaying an invisible frost giant.
Third, the stumps that Lou always leapt up onto, jumping from one to the other with knees held high in a poorly done reenactment of her favorite scene in Mulan. And so on and so on.
Within minutes, she burst out of the trees and into the clearing where the old house stood.
She tore across the grass and up the wooden steps, knife waving dangerously beside her as her arms sliced through the air.
She burst through the door and down the dark, musty hallway.
As she ran toward the living room, her mind wouldn’t stop replaying that first image: Bjorn and Vidar lying on the floor, knives of shadow jutting from their backs; Bjorn and Vidar lying on the floor, knives of shadow jutting from their backs; Bjorn and Vidar lying on the floor, knives of shadow jutting from their …
Charlie plowed into the living room, Valkyrie knife at the ready.
“I told you Martina was having an affair,” Bjorn hollered, slapping his knee and pointing at the TV playing in the corner.
He and Vidar were seated on the worn, cushy sofa, one bowl of popcorn and two mugs of ale frothing on the coffee table before them.
“She and Humphrey are always off talking in some corner, and—”
“Oh, thank the gods.” Charlie slumped over, heaving in deep breaths of air. The knife went limp at her side.
Safe, she thought. They’re safe. They’re alive.
For now.
Bjorn and Vidar jolted, as if they somehow hadn’t heard her footsteps pounding down the hallway—or perhaps had been too engrossed in the reality show they were watching to pay any attention.
“What are you doing here, mortal?” Bjorn demanded, digging a meaty hand into the popcorn bowl. “You’re not due back until Wednesday morning.”
Henry jumped from Charlie’s palm and landed on the carpet, scuttling over to the sofa. He skittered up the leg of the coffee table and plopped down beside the bowl of popcorn, darting one tiny hand out and plucking up a kernel.
Charlie was too winded to speak. “I was”—she inhaled heavily—“just checking”—gasp—“that Elias hadn’t”—gasp—“killed you.”
“What?” Vidar asked as Bjorn leapt to his feet, yelling over his friend.
“The mare is here?” Bjorn said, yanking the sword from his belt and holding it aloft.
“Where? I’ll have his head, the fiend.” He advanced on the wall, waving his sword threateningly at its plaster, as if expecting Elias to step right through it—which, frankly, wasn’t an unreasonable suspicion. “Come out, demon!”
Henry chirped and waved his little arms in the air, egging Bjorn on.
“Is he here?” Vidar asked, picking up the TV remote and lowering the volume. With his other hand, he touched the hilt of his axe, straightening and glancing over his shoulder. “I thought he was in Helheim with Loki.”
“You stole our chance to get back into Valhalla,” Bjorn yelled, stabbing his sword at the wall. “I’ll steal the shadows from your body and shred them to pieces!”
“We thought so, too,” Charlie said, straightening up and sheathing the Valkyrie knife in the hidden pocket she now sewed into all of her pants. “He showed up at lunch today. Just walked into the cafeteria and announced his return to the entire school.”
“His return?” Vidar asked. “As in, he’s living in Silver Shores? Where?”
“I don’t know.” Charlie rubbed her forehead with the heels of her palms. “I thought he would’ve come back to this house, and when I imagined him finding you two here instead…” She trailed off, shaking her head. “I was scared you wouldn’t be alive when I got here.”
At last, Bjorn quit sparring with the wall. He looked over his shoulder at Charlie. “Us? Killed by that puny little beast?” He scoffed, stuffing his sword back into its leather sheath. “Not a chance.”
“What does he want?” Vidar asked. “Why is he here?”
“He claims Loki sent him here to ‘protect’ Mason and me. But then Sophie showed up, crashing straight through the skylight of the bathroom—”
“Wait,” said Bjorn, whose complete attention Charlie had apparently just won, “your twin sister was there? The one who’s a Valkyrie?”
“Yes,” she said. “She was, and she—”
“But that’s incredible!” Bjorn yelled. “Did you mention us? Did you ask about a timeline for our return to Valhalla?”
“It must have slipped my mind.” Charlie rolled her eyes. “Something about my worst enemy returning to town and my dead sister flying through a skylight really clogs up the brain.”
Bjorn sighed dramatically, crossing the room and falling back onto the couch.
“Ignore him,” said Vidar. “Go on. What did your sister say?”
“She wanted to talk about the kids we found this morning. She said that they were attacked by … a squirrel?”
Bjorn wrinkled his nose. “A squirrel?”
“Yeah. A shape-shifting squirrel. One whose name sounds like ratatouille.”
The Vikings’ eyes ballooned in unison.
“Rattatosk?” Bjorn whispered.
“That’s the one,” Charlie said. “She said he’s pretty horrific.”
“Oh, he is,” said Bjorn, his voice husky and crackling.
“Rattatosk makes the Fenrir look like an innocent little puppy. And because he’s always controlled by someone else, you never know what his next move will be.
” He shuddered. “She really thinks Rattatosk is the one who killed those kids we found?”
“She knows he is. Apparently, taking fingers is what he does.”
Vidar grunted. “We wouldn’t know. We’ve never seen him or any of his victims.”
“You haven’t seen him,” Bjorn corrected. “I knew a guy, in Valhalla. Name of Harald. Says he went head-to-head with Rattatosk on the battlefield, back in the day.”
“Harald?” Vidar scoffed. “You mean, the same Harald who claimed he ended up in Valhalla because he faced down Alexander the Great? Even though Alexander died over a thousand years before his time and never even made it close to Scandinavia?”
“Hmm.” Bjorn scratched his chin. “You make some good points there…”
“Sophie tasked us with finding Rattatosk’s master. If we figure out who’s controlling him, we can stop them before anyone else dies.”
Vidar snorted. “Good luck with that. Rattatosk’s leash is infinitely long. That’s how Odin was able to send him up and down Yggdrasil as the messenger squirrel. He controlled Rattatosk right from Asgard, no matter which realm the creature ran to.”
“Of course he did.” Charlie walked over to the armchair and collapsed into it. The day had already been too long and filled with too many unwelcome surprises. Maybe she and Henry should just curl up here and sleep for a few hours. “Is there anything else you can tell me about Rattatosk?”
“They say he has a red swirl on his head,” said Bjorn, tracing a small vortex at the center of his forehead. “Both in squirrel form and … whatever his other form is.”
“And that his claws are venomous,” Vidar added. “If he even scratches you, you’re done. It will be slow, but eventually the poison will make its way to your heart. You’ll die.”
“Gods. And there’s no antidote?”
“No antidote to a poison that only exists on the claws of one specific supernatural creature?” Vidar raised his eyebrows. “Not one that we have on hand.”
“But there’s always an antidote,” said Charlie. “That’s how fairy tales work.”
“Not this fairy tale. I mean, you could always drink the blood of a god. That cures just about anything.”
“Seriously?”
“Of course. Immortal blood is the best antidote out there.” He snorted. “But good luck getting any of the gods to offer up a vein. They’re all self-centered as Hel.”
Great, Charlie thought. A murderous squirrel with claws covered in a venom that has no antidote. Just perfect. “And you don’t have any advice on how to locate his magical golden leash?”
“We don’t,” said Vidar. “But there is one creature who might.”
“Oh?” Charlie perked up. “Go on.”
“We found those mortals in this forest, did we not? And there is one creature who knows more about these woods than any other.” He paused. “Their mistress.”
His words shook loose a memory in Charlie’s mind.
A clear September afternoon, the day after she ate the eyaerberry.
A walk through the forest with Elias. A story of two gods who sliced their palms and swore an oath of brotherhood.
A hand over her mouth, another over her chest, being pulled backward into a torso like a brick wall, Elias’s lips at her ear, his breath like sweet ice …
And a woman. A beautiful, terrifying woman with hooves for feet, seated atop a sparkling golden reindeer, a falcon on one shoulder.
That’s a skogsroa, Elias had whispered against her skin. A wood wife. Mistress of this entire forest—except the ash trees, which are considered the most sacred and each have their own ash wife that lives within them.
A wood wife knew about almost everything that went on in her forest. Her knowledge would be an invaluable resource to Charlie’s mission—if she could find her.
Elias said that wood wives rarely made themselves known to humans, preferring to disguise themselves as trees or animals.
And even if she could find the skogsroa, there was no guaranteeing that the creature would help Charlie.
Like all spirits of nature, wood wives were highly mercurial, just as likely to curse a human to wander in circles forever as to help them.
Would seeking a skogsroa out even be worth the risk?
Unfortunately, Charlie had a feeling the answer was yes.
Sighing, she stood up from the armchair. “I know what I have to do. Come on, Henry.”
The v?tte squeaked in protest. His tiny arms were full of popcorn kernels.
“We go now, or there’s no chocolate after dinner tonight.”
He dropped the popcorn.
“Be on your guard, okay?” Charlie said to the Vikings as Henry scampered up to rest on her shoulder. “Elias could show up here at any moment, and I doubt he would come wearing his human body.”
“You needn’t worry about us.” Bjorn puffed out his chest and patted the hilt of his sword. “We’ve survived far worse than some puny mare of night.”
“I’m sure you have,” she said, turning to walk down the hallway.
The words sounded false even to her.