Chapter 19
Fenris was told that the chest from the back room was Frankish, sixth century, and packed with vellum.
"Carefully, my god, carefully," Von said from the other side of the library, hair tied back in a knot already losing the will to stay up. "If a single page crumbles, I'm lying down on this floor and staying there until next week."
Fenris set the chest on the trestle Arne had hauled out of the hall and lifted the lid. His sensitive nose was bombarded with the scents of old leather, dust, and the chalk-and-salt of vellum kept too dry for too long.
"I love this missionary," Von said, already at his elbow. "The writing is half-Latin, half-runic, like he was trying to pretend he wasn't also afraid of the older gods. Unfortunately, I don't think it is what we are looking for. We are hunting Norse hands today, not French panic."
Von patted his shoulder and went off again, calling out to Layla and Ciara for an update and waiting for their confirmation. The shaman was moving among them like a giddy child, somehow coordinating them all. Fenris couldn't help but be impressed. The gods were right to send them to him.
"Arne." Von's voice carried from beside a glass case. "Up the stairs, my handsome prince. Two flights. The cabinet on the left. Third drawer from the bottom. Bring me the fragment with salt stains on it."
"Your wish is my command," Arne teased.
Von waved him off. "Yes, yes, hurry up. I have no time to flirt with you today."
Across the room, Layla was at the long oak table with sleeves shoved up, going through a stack of bound notebooks Von had set in front of her.
Linnea sat beside her on a stool, her fingers careful on the paper.
From this angle, Fenris could see the small, loose curl of hair at the back of her neck where her sweater dipped.
He looked away before he was caught staring.
Linnea was working and laughing at something Layla had said. She hadn't met his eye since she had come back from the bathroom, and he hated it.
Fenris gave it twenty minutes before he looked again. She had moved a stack of folders and books from one side of the table to the other and was bent over a binding repair Layla had brought her. He knew that despite her smiles, something was off.
Wounded pup, said his wolf. She has put her head down and wants to be left alone.
Why? Did we hurt her? What happened?
Someone did. Find out who.
Fenris set the codex aside and reached for the next. He couldn't corner her and demand answers. She was already skittish, and it would make it worse.
A short while later, Linnea got up from her stool and crossed the room with a small leather-wrapped book. She came around the trestle to his side.
"Von said this is for the Norse pile." She set the book on the wood beside his elbow before she turned and walked back to Layla.
Fenris looked at the book to hide his confusion. She hadn't touched him. She had that morning at breakfast, so what had changed?
Tor came over a few minutes later and dropped a book on the trestle. "Von wants this checked against what you remember of the ritual."
"Sit, then." Fenris pulled the second stool around with his foot.
Tor sat. He hadn't said much most of the morning, going quiet the way wolves got when they were chewing on something they hadn't yet swallowed.
He flipped the book open and turned it so Fenris could see. "Page one is what the skalds wrote about Loki on trial before the gods."
Fenris turned the page. The annotations in the margins were Von's small, precise handwriting in modern blue ink.
"The skalds are wrong about nearly all of it. It wasn't this theatrical." He tapped the second paragraph. "This part is true. Tyr and Hoer gave testimonies."
"Did Tyr really just put his hand in your mouth?" Tor asked.
"We had drunk together the night before, he and my father and I, and he told me he wasn't afraid because I had such strong jaws. I could smell the lie, but he did it anyway."
Tor turned the page. "Over here, when it talks more about your binding, it says Havi sang while the binding closed."
"He did. It was the dragging-down galdr," Fenris said, trying his best not to remember too many details in case the spell triggered again. "The one used to put cattle to sleep when they are sick, and to help mothers rest easier when their labors are too long."
"I have a lot of questions," Tor said after a beat.
"Ask them."
"Not today." Tor closed the folder. "We have enough to do."
"I'll tell you whatever you want to know. I have no reason not to trust you."
Tor looked at him for a moment, tapped the table once with his knuckles, and walked off.
"Wolves, I require you," Von called from the hallway.
Tor was already moving, and Fenris got up to follow.
Von was at the foot of the back stairs with one hand braced on another chest of books. "I need this on the kitchen table against the wall, where the light is good."
"Couldn't have asked Arne to help? You'll bust your back trying to shift it," Tor chided him.
Von dusted off his jeans. "Arne is upstairs already on a task. You two are built for this. Be the brawn to my brains."
Fenris took one end, and Tor took the other. They moved it carefully down the hall into the kitchen and set it where Von wanted it.
"Maybe store things in boxes with wheels next time," Tor commented.
"I don't want to ruin my aesthetic."
Fenris went back to his pile of books while Tor helped Von with the new chest. Linnea was still bent over a folio with Layla and didn't look up when he passed.
She is hiding, his wolf said.
I heard you the first time.
Do something.
She has not asked me to do anything. I won't crowd her.
His wolf made a sound between a growl and a hiss and lapsed back into silence.
It didn't understand that sometimes humans just needed to be alone with their thoughts before they talked about what was bothering them.
Knowing that didn't stop him from wanting to pin her down and demand to know who hurt her.
By the time the windows above the back garden had gone the slate blue that came before the streetlamps, the big kitchen table was buried under sorted piles.
Von had marked three pages with red ribbon, fifteen with blue, and one with a small gold tag he wouldn't let anyone touch.
Whatever system he was sorting them into was known only to himself.
"That one is the maybe," he said when Layla asked. "That one is the maybe of the maybe."
"You should probably try to sleep, Von," Ciara suggested, patting him on the back.
"I slept for four hours last night. It was glorious."
"That is a power nap, not proper rest."
"And what is a power nap if not sleep with ambition?" Von kissed her on the cheek. "Off you go. Home, all of you. Come back at eight tomorrow morning unless I call earlier."
"You aren't going into the club tonight?" Layla asked.
"Gods, no. I have a real job to do right now. The staff will take care of the club. Now, off you go."
The hallway by the front door was full moments later. Arne was holding Layla's coat for her, which she allowed with a fond shove. Ciara had her arm already hooked through Tor's.
Linnea came down the hall last, sweater pulled down over her hands, and a blank expression on her face. Tor met her at the door, slipped an arm around her shoulders, and walked her out. He bent his head to listen to whatever she said as they went down the front steps.
Fenris was the last out. He pulled the heavy front door shut behind him and stood on the step. Tor opened the passenger door for Linnea and helped her in. He closed it after her and came around the front of the car. His eyes met Fenris's across the hood.
Fenris walked the length of the car and stopped a pace short of him. "What is wrong with her? She is upset."
Tor looked at his sister through the windshield, where she was already turned toward the dashboard and pretending to find something on her phone.
"I don't know," Tor replied, keeping his voice lowered. "We are going for a run tonight, so the girls can find out. Don't worry. There is nothing that Ciara and Layla can't find out when they put their mind to it."
Fenris hoped he was right because his little singer was miserable, and he couldn't help but feel like he was to blame.