Hearts of Shadow (Deadglass #2) Read online

  Leif took a sip of his glögg to calm the anger building inside him. Sven, what did you do? “You said Tunta stank,” Leif said. “Are you sure she was alive?”

  “Of course, she . . .” Grace wrinkled her nose.

  “Would you have known then what an old, well-situated aptrgangr looked like?”

  “I don’t know.” Grace’s voice was flat.

  Birgitta rose. She waddled around an aisle stall filled with Yule tomte dolls. “Indulge an old woman,” she called. “I’ve never met a Shadow Walker before. I want to see the runes work their magic.”

  Grace’s fingers tapped on the counter.

  “You don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable,” Leif told her. He wanted to see her work in person. He wanted to study her: magic, power, mind, body and all. If he took her apart and put her back together again like clockwork, would he break some intangible gear that made her tick? Machines were easier to understand than humans. Even Einstein venerated the inexplicable power behind nature, behind the life that threaded the universe together. Leif disliked a mystery until he solved it himself, but he knew better than to mess with a human’s fragile workings. In all his research into the soul, he had never come across a simple explanation that would allow him to duplicate its brilliance.

  “Of course she does,” Birgitta said, returning with a small velvet bag and a square white cloth that she put on the table. She handed the bag to Grace. “She must satisfy my curiosity. What do you think I told you that tale for?”

  Grace pulled out a square plastic tile from the bag. One side was engraved with a Norse rune. The other side was blank. “So let’s say I have this power. Could I use it to banish a demigod back across the Gate?”

  Birgitta clucked her tongue. “Big plans, big plans. That is why Odin feared the runes. We humans are never content with a little knowledge. We get greedy and start looking up. I can’t tell you if you wield enough power. Why don’t you ask the gods? Come now, Lady Shadow, draw us the future.”

  Leif had seen the runes cast before, but he’d never been so intrigued. It had always seemed like a silly superstition. In most people’s hands it was. Did the gods actually talk through the runes? He doubted it. But some inexplicable force allowed Grace to do her work, and it was high time he got down off his high horse and studied it. Science could only explain so much. Grace made him want to believe. If there was hope for him and his kind, he would find it. He didn’t care if the cure was magic, not really, not if in the end it saved his soulless self.

  She closed her eyes, pulled a handful of tiles from the bag, and cast them on the white cloth. Birgitta hummed. Grace opened her eyes and studied the pattern of the marked squares. “Yeah, I got nothing.”

  “You’ve never divined the future before?” Birgitta asked.

  “I just know how to use the runes on the skin for protection, banishing wraiths, and increasing fertility, though that last one I never thought worked.”

  Birgitta laughed. “Well of course not, not if you didn’t believe in it.”

  Grace shot her a sour look. “Why would I want little Norgards running around? It’s a death sentence for a woman anyway. I’m not going to help with that.”

  “My mother survived,” Leif said mildly.

  “Ja, and a Shadow Walker would not have any trouble bringing a fledgling to term,” Birgitta said. “The line between the living and the dead isn’t firm for you. Freya will protect you.” She patted Grace’s hand.

  Grace snatched her hand back.

  Leif shifted uncomfortably. He thought of Grace pregnant with his brother’s child, and a reddish-black rage rose up inside him.

  Grace stood up, putting some distance between herself and memory. Leif watched her pace. Her body moved like a dancer, light on her toes, sinuous in her turns. Her hair fell in a curtain down her back.

  “Using Norse runes against a Babylonian demigod seems illogical,” he said.

  “Not really,” Grace said. “The Norse gods are just another incarnation of the gods who came before. Whatever name you call them, whatever story you tell, they’re the same deity.”

  “If there are different stories, how can we learn anything of the truth? Where is the comparable allegory to Odin finding the runes in Babylonian myth?”

  Birgitta patted his knee. “You think too hard, child. You must learn to use your heart instead of your head.”

  Give up logic for emotion-driven outbursts? Never. His mother had been like that. An opera star, she thrived on the attention. Her dramatic mood swings had thrown everyone into service placating her, until she left again for London and the household could return to calm. In those days men had treated actresses little better than whores. His grandfather had shielded him from that truth, until he’d come of age and seen for himself how it had wrecked his mother’s self-esteem. She would be elated one moment and dashed the next. Her beaus had come and gone with the turn of the season.

  He had never treated a woman like a summer coat, and he wouldn’t now. Grace was in his employ. She deserved his highest regard and nothing more. To put her in an uncompromising position would make him no better than his mother’s suitors. And he couldn’t forget that Grace was grieving her friend. He wouldn’t take advantage of her vulnerability.

  His resolution didn’t mollify his driving need to possess Grace. But if he listened to anything other than his head, he would dishonor the moral fiber that his grandfather had fought so hard to instill in him.

  Leif and his brother might have had the same base urges and immortal detachment, but how they chose to act on those impulses would draw the line between them. Leif could do this. He was a better man than Sven. He would prove it to her.

  Even if it killed him.

  “Kingu is manifesting as a wraith,” Grace said. “No one has seen his physical form except as an outline in the fog. His ability to affect the physical world is limited, but he packs a bigger punch than any wraith I’ve met. The problem is I can’t banish a wraith unless it’s trapped in a human body. I have to draw the rune on something; wraiths have no substance.”

  “So we must wait for him to possess someone?” Leif didn’t like the sound of that. What damage could he do as a human? Who might he haunt that could wreak the most terror? “If you banish all his followers he won’t be able to search for the Heart.”

  “Yeah, but again they have to be aptrgangr.”

  “Could you trap Kingu in an inanimate object?” Leif asked.

  “Like a genie in a bottle?” Grace asked. “‘Cosmic power, itty-bitty living space’—any truth to that?”

  Birgitta shook her head. “Don’t know. Not my line of work.”

  “Can’t a heathwitch summon a spirit?” Leif asked.

  Birgitta laughed. “Only an idiot would summon a demigod. The old Regent took the crazy cake back to the underworld with him.”

  Grace picked up a Christmas decoration. Four candles made a circle around a tall wood stick. On the top twirled four chubby angels powered by the rising air from the flame. “What about a spirit circle?”

  “Have you ever summoned a spirit?” Leif asked.

  “No, but I’ve used circles as extra power to draw some runes. Norgard made me learn when none of my pendants with Freya’s fertile mark worked. He thought I needed more power. He actually lasered off a few of my tattoos to see if they were blocking my abilities.”

  Leif tried not to grind his teeth. “Birgitta, don’t your witches use spirits as guides? You must trap them somehow.”

  “Ja, but little ones. Elementals and a simple ghost every now and then. Heathwitch magic is not strong enough to capture a demigod. We are only visitors to the border between this world and the next. Our magic celebrates life.”

  “If you had a big enough circle, like Stonehenge, I bet you could do it,” Grace said. “Or enough witches.”

  “Enough magic users working together. Maybe the Kivati could do it. They can manipulate the Aether. Corbette has enough power to summon a spirit.” The
Kivati were overly blessed in the soul category. He could admit he was jealous. Slice off Leif’s head and he ceased to exist. But the Kivati possessed their own soul plus that of their totem, formed mate bonds easily, and procreated with great success. What would it be like to bathe in the golden glow of so many brightly burning souls? To share in that divinity, the source of all light, connected to the very Aether of the universe?

  Leif would never know, unless Ishtar’s blessing turned out to be true. Longren’s soul mate tale smacked too much of beauty and the beast, of a fairy story. Impossible. Illogical. In it there was no predestined love, just choice. The choice to risk his heart and forsake his immortality for the love of a human woman. A fickle, dangerous thing.

  He watched Grace flip her hair over her shoulder. Her grey eyes slid over him like he didn’t exist. She was afraid of him. Back up, claws out, ready to take on the world. She hadn’t cried again. Her friend’s blood still stained her fingers. Was this the shock or the denial? She didn’t take time to grieve; she just charged forward like a steam engine putting miles of track behind her.

  Maybe that was enough for her, but it wasn’t good enough for him. Even a strong woman deserved a break. “You’re tired,” he told her.

  “Kingu’s out there. We’ve got the Tablet, but we don’t know how to use it. Kingu does. The clock’s ticking before he finds us.”

  “You need to rest.”

  “I’ll rest when I’m dead.” That would be too soon if she didn’t take care of herself. Dark circles ringed her eyes. Her cheekbones grew sharper the longer she knew him. She weaved on her feet.

  Leif stood. “Thank you, Birgitta. Put some thought into a summoning circle. Buy what you need. Send me the bill.”

  Grace started to protest. “But we haven’t talked about—”

  “Enough for now. You’re running on empty. You didn’t eat anything in the carriage.” Skirting the troll, he ushered her out into the morning sun, and she shielded her eyes. Her skin was too pale.

  When the door closed behind them, she slammed a hand against his chest. “Don’t tell me what to do. I’m a grown-up—”

  “Yes, so start acting like one. You need to take care of yourself.” Bossing women around; what wouldn’t he stoop to? Sven’s silver tongue looked pretty good about now. “We’re going back to the lair. We can make plans tomorrow.”

  “I have my own place, thanks.” She settled her feet in her fighting stance. “Sorry about the coal; you can tack it on to my debt.” She spun on her heel and took off down the street.

  He caught her arm. “Forget the coal—”

  “Forget it? This is my life you’re talking about. My freedom you’re trying to take away. My livelihood. You think I’m slugging through the mud for kicks and giggles? I’m working my ass off so that I can get away from you!” A sob welled in her throat. She shoved him, and he saw new tears in her eyes. He released her. She stormed away. “Don’t worry, I’ll have your money by the end of the week.”

  Ye gods, she made him angry. Smoke trickled from his nose, fogging the air around him. The sun blinded his narrowed dragon vision. “You think I can let you march off alone like that? You think you’re in any shape to earn more cash? Haven’t you seen enough blood for today?”

  Turning, she marched back to him. The beauty of Grace in a temper smacked him again. Her hair streamed out behind her. Pink flushed her cheeks. Her silver eyes sparked. “It’s none of your business what I do or don’t do. I survived just fine before you showed up. I don’t need a fucking babysitter!”

  “That’s where you’re wrong. If you won’t listen to reason, you leave me no choice.” He leaned into her until they were nose to nose. Her lips compressed, unwelcoming, hard as steel, but even then he wanted to kiss her. He twisted the ring on his finger and poured his intent into it across the damned slave bond. “I forbid you from fighting.”

  Chapter 17

  Elsie met Grace at the side door. “You sure about this?”

  Grace slid her hands deeper into her pockets. No, she didn’t want to be here. She wanted to pick a fight and vent this anger with her fists. Asgard had taken that away from her. Just when she’d thought he was different, he’d proved her wrong. “Ishtar was the goddess of war. You have to have an answer in your moldering library. How do I fight a demigod? How did Marduk defeat Kingu?”

  “You won’t make it out the window a second time if Ianna catches you.”

  “There’s always the chimney.”

  “She might put you to work.”

  And wouldn’t that serve Asgard right? He would be horrified that he’d reduced her to paying off her debt on her back. She could see the blood drain from his face now. She felt the weight of Elsie’s appraisal, even in her shiny new threads: skinny hips, hair coming undone from her braid, flat chest that no amount of water could make win a wet T-shirt contest. The Priestess would have a hard time finding anything useful about her that didn’t involve her quick hands or sharp tools. “Whatever.” She shrugged.

  Elsie took her to the library. The Kama Sutra and books like it took up only half the bookshelves. The other half were reserved for the history of the Ishtar Maidens: the Houses around the world and exploits of their most famous courtesans, the kings and businessmen who had fallen beneath Ishtar’s spell, the warriors who had found their Achilles’ heel was a woman. The Maidens took their duty as handmaidens of Ishtar seriously. They worshipped the goddess with their bodies, bestowed Ishtar’s favors to whatever poor soul was in need of mercy.

  House patrons had always been dragons, and it was rumored that this particular House had been the first thing Norgard imported when he set about settling his base in the young city of Seattle. The first Priestess had been famous for her wheeling and dealing. She hadn’t just run whores; she’d facilitated political deals, back-room business mergers, gambling, and opium. As a result, the House had gold paneling, silk-draped beds, and the biggest erotica library this side of the Mississippi.

  The library was still in disarray after Kingu’s visit. Elsie helped her sort through the wreckage. “Is it wrong that I sort of hope Kingu finds his lost love?”

  “Yes, very.”

  “Oh, come on, Grace. Even you can’t be that coldhearted. I think it’s sweet.”

  “Sweet that a psychotic wraith is turning the city upside down looking for his dead lover’s heart? Yes. Love, sweet love.”

  “Who doesn’t want that kind of devotion? He’s waited millennia for her.” Elsie flounced onto a golden settee raising a small cloud of dust. She sneezed. Her voluptuous chest threatened to pop out of her low-cut gown.

  “Remind me why I’m friends with you?”

  “Because I’m horribly good-looking?”

  Grace smiled and threw a throw pillow at her. It was odd that someone with a bad history of sex could be friends with someone who oozed sex appeal, whose every move and thought were designed to seduce. Grace wasn’t a prude by any means, but she wasn’t comfortable with her body in the way Elsie was. To her, it was a weapon, plain and simple. She fed it, clothed it, toned it to be a killing machine. She wore practical clothes she could move in. They gave her a shapeless, boy silhouette, as Elsie had told her on numerous occasions.

  Asgard—the overbearing ass—didn’t seem to mind her shape. Even in ragged, bloodstained cotton, he looked at her like she wore velvet and silk. What would he say if she showed up in one of Elsie’s dresses? She imagined herself in the light blue gown with the silver trim, her chest pushed up, her hair curled. She imagined Asgard in his crimson coat, and warmth curled in her belly. She banished the image. She should hate him, but instead she wanted to jump his bones. It wasn’t fair.

  The leather-bound volume on her lap contained nothing but kinky pictures from the eighteenth century. It didn’t help the daydream in her head—the blue gown unlaced itself and slipped down to pool at her feet. She didn’t have to imagine Asgard naked; she remembered that display quite clearly.

  She needed to concentrate.
She was so mad at him she could breathe fire. Her daydreams should involve ways to flay him, not seduce him. “How do you mute the Drekar pheromones?”

  Elsie laughed. “Mute them? Why would I? They hardly need to use them for Maidens when what we’re offering is freely available. It’d be a pleasure to get a Dreki who was actually set on seducing me. Hot as sin, they are. The whole race of them.” She sighed dreamily. Grace rolled her eyes. Elsie leaned forward. “What’s this about, love? The New Regent putting your panties in a twist?”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about. Did you check those blue books in the corner?”

  “Oh, no. You listen to all my stories, but you never tell me one of your own. I want to hear all about this reclusive brother. Mad scientist, some say. He designed a vibrating hairbrush for Rochelle.” Elsie’s eyes took on a wicked glint. “Said scalp massage got healthy blood flowing beneath the skin, but you know that’s not where she’s getting her blood a-flowin’.”

  Grace hummed noncommittally. She ran her finger down the page in front of her, searching for any mention of Tiamat, Kingu, or Marduk. The words danced on the page. Damned if she needed to hear more stories about Asgard’s thoughtful inventions, or gifts he gave other women, or his involvement with Maidens. Her teeth ground together. She didn’t care what he did.

  “Here’s the thing, Grace. Norgard always turned his pheromones on, because he wanted the world eating out of the palm of his hand. He took what he wanted, and the more resistant the victim or twisted the demand, the more he got off on his success. But his brother is different. A real gentleman, from what the girls say. He wouldn’t seduce a girl that didn’t want to be seduced. If his control is slipping enough around you that you’re hungry for cinnamon rolls at all hours, that means you, sugar, have made an impact that many an Ishtar Maiden has dreamed of making.”

  “Eff that.”

  “No, really. Making a man lose control is our specialty, and no one’s made Asgard snap unless he good and wanted to.”