Home > Endure (Need #4)(26)

Endure (Need #4)(26)
Author: Carrie Jones

“—that I’m going to let you go to Hel, Zara. You’ve just been attacked by that monster woman, you’ve nearly died saving his life.” He glares at Astley. “You just got back from Valhalla. No, just no,” he finishes, standing up and glowing as if he’s on fire.

A whole bunch of emotions rush through me simultaneously and I can’t sort them out anywhere near quickly enough. He cares enough to be worried about me even though I’m a pixie. I’m grateful that he cares, but mad that he thinks he has power over me to “let me go.”

I shake my head, and I’m about to say something when Betty speaks instead. “We don’t even know how to get there. It’s like Valhalla all over again.”

“No,” I say. “We’re smarter now. Before, we didn’t know if Valhalla was real. We don’t even doubt this stuff anymore.”

“Smarter now? Smarter?” Nick sputters. “You want to go to Hel, Zara. You want to chase after some zombie-beast-woman thing that just beat you up. She could have killed you.”

“But she didn’t,” I argue, standing up. Astley grabs the face-cloth as it topples off my head. I wobble a little bit but manage to stand okay.

“Right. She didn’t. Because she was playing with you the way cats play with their prey, the way pixies”—Nick spits out the word—“play with their prey.”

Astley drops the limp washcloth on the coffee table. “Do not insult us.”

“Why?” Nick asks.

Astley’s eyes twitch. Without a word, he stands up next to me and then takes a step toward Nick. Nobody else answers either. The room is just a chamber of tension and worry. I close my eyes.

“It’s not up to you to decide if I go or not,” I say, opening my eyes again and staring at Nick.

He meets my gaze. “Why? Because it’s up to him?”

“No, because it’s up to me,” I say. “Or it’s a group vote.”

My head spins from the stress of it all and I sit back down. I try to figure out who would vote what way if we did have a group vote. I can’t predict anyone’s response except Nick’s. How can he be so bossy? He ignores me and then boom! he’s all protective again? Maybe this isn’t even about me. Maybe this is about him losing his place as alpha, as pack leader and protector.

“People are so complicated,” I groan into my hands.

“What?” Cassidy asks.

“Nothing,” I say, pulling my head back up to look at everyone.

As usual, Devyn has been pretty much blowing off all of the tension and says in a totally level way, “A ton of people have already postured that the gate to hell—and I am saying hell with two l’s, not the Viking Hel with one l—has been in numerous places. Some believe it’s in the Fengdu County in the Chongqing Municipality, some believe—”

“Where?” Betty asks.

“China,” I say. One good thing about writing all those Urgent Action letters for Amnesty International trying to protect people’s human rights is that it makes me good with geography.

“Then there are people who think it’s in Africa,” Devyn continues, pressing the screen on his phone. “Specifically Erta Ale in the Afar Region of Ethiopia. It’s a volcano. Locals call it ‘the gateway to hell.’ “

“That sounds promising,” Astley says.

We all agree and Devyn tells us that some people think hell’s entrance is in Clifton, New Jersey, where there are Satanic sacrifices and a thousand-pound ax allegedly blocking the doors to hell. Once you get through the doors you have to battle a glowing skull.

“But the best option is Iceland,” Devyn finishes. “Iceland is where we’ve had activity before. They have an entire three-hundred-year period called the Viking Age in their history. There’s a connection there that doesn’t exist with Guatemala or Kansas.”

“Damn it, but no.” Betty puts her hand over her eyes and then recovers. She walks to the wood stove and opens the door, pokes the log into submission, and puts another one on top.

“Iceland,” Astley repeats, looking at me. We both remember what’s happened there, I bet. That’s where my biological father died, eaten by a giant wolf that was meant to kill us. That’s where Astley learned there was a traitor in our kingdom. We hadn’t realized then that it was Isla, his own crazyass mother.

“It’s a volcano again,” Devyn begins.

“Of course,” interrupts Nick. He throws up his hands like it’s all too ridiculous and frustrating for words.

“A volcano by a resort—Namaskaro is the volcano. Lake Myvatn is the resort. This is named after the lake, which is entropic,” Devyn continues, but Issie interrupts him and demands he speak in English, understandable third-grade English. Basically, there is a volcano in a remote area of Iceland that has some interesting geographical aspects to it.

“And people think it’s an entrance to Hel why?” I ask.

“Well, close by is a crater called ‘Viti,’ which means ‘hell’ in Icelandic.” Devyn’s eyes stay fixed to the screen as he paces back and forth in front of the fire.

“It does not seem definitive enough,” Astley says.

“True.” Devyn meets his eyes.

“It’s more than we usually have,” I say. “It’s been called an entrance to Hel. It’s got a Norse/Viking connection. We know there’s activity in Iceland from the last time we were there.”

Astley smiles at me, maybe because I’m being Optimistic Zara, I don’t know, but it distracts me and I’m completely unprepared for Nick’s freak-out.

“Don’t smile at her!” he snaps.

Astley’s eyebrows lift up toward his hairline. “What did you just say?”

“I said, ‘Don’t smile at her.’” Nick stands up again. “You keep smiling at her and touching her like she’s your possession.”

“Touching someone does not indicate ownership.” Astley stands up too. “Your logic fails you.”

The air ripples with male anger, all testosterone charged. Betty’s hand rests on my shoulder as I announce, “I’m nobody’s possession, Nick. People don’t possess each other. They care about and support each other, but they don’t—”

   
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