Norse Code Part 5

"Eight. Hundred. Dollars."

Hermod muttered and dug into his duffel bag. Out came a jingling, knotted tube sock, which he untied to retrieve a handful of something. He opened his palm under the merchant's nose. Gold coins glittered, even under the gloomy sky.

"Hold on a sec," the merchant said. He produced a balance and set of weights, and with the attention of a neurosurgeon working on a patient's brain, he weighed the coins. "You're a few short," he announced.

Hermod grumbled some more but placed another coin on the balance tray and leveled the scale.

"Four grapefruit at two hundred each," the merchant said. "You want a bag for these?"

Hermod did, and the merchant placed them with considerable care in a brown grocery sack, the paper worn soft as leather. Meanwhile, Mist quietly took her cell phone out to call Grimnir, but the LCD displayed no bars.

Hermod placed the grocery bag in his duffel and took off with long strides. "Are you really a Valkyrie?" he said over his shoulder as Mist struggled to keep pace.

"Honestly? Not in good standing, and I've been one for only three months, but I am a Valkyrie."

"Hmm" was Hermod's only reaction.

He stopped at the edge of the cliff, where a pedestrian bridge crossed high over the Pacific Coast Highway to the beach on the other side.

"Who sent you to bother me?"

"n.o.body. It was my own idea."

"Why?"

"You can find people in Helheim."

His face didn't change, still set in a frank frown of displeasure.

"My sister died with me and took the road, and I want her back. And a man I was supposed to recruit for the Einherjar ... I want him back too."

"Why just them? Something like one hundred billion people have lived and died in Midgard since the beginning of the human race, and nearly every single one of them has ended up in Helheim. So why are you concerned only about your sister and this man, your recruit? Why are some lives worth more than others?"

Mist decided not to tell him of her ultimate intention, to free as many dead as she could. Not yet.

"I seem to have touched a sensitive spot with you."

Hermod's expression shifted enough to let her know she'd landed a blow. He turned and began crossing the bridge.

This stretch of Highway One was the main artery between Santa Monica and the rich enclaves of Malibu, but uncleared mud slides left the road impa.s.sable more often than not. Only rare islands of asphalt in the mud indicated that there was a road down there at all. Again, Mist wasn't sure if this was the result of the world ending or just business as usual in Los Angeles. Earthquakes, wildfires, and landslides were the trinity of natural disasters in this part of the country.

Mist decided to play on what she suspected might be Hermod's vein of fairness. "I want my sister, Lilly, back because I love her and it's not right that I got to live and she didn't. She's more of a fighter than I ever was, and if anyone should get to be a Valkyrie-"

"Yeah, life's arbitrary and capricious."

"And the man, Adrian Hoover: I helped kill him, and I need to set things straight-"

"Making up for past mistakes, I get that. But, no, sorry, I don't do retrievals. I tried that once, and it was a disaster." They reached the other side of the suspended walkway. Hermod jogged down the steps.

"Would you stop long enough to look me in the eye when you turn me down?"

"No, sorry, really, but I'm in kind of a rush. There are these wolves I accidentally freed. Not wolves, really, so much as monsters. And at least one of them is fated to devour the moon and the sun, as sure a sign of Ragnarok as I can think of. So I've got to clean up my mess, and I don't have time to chat."

"Are these wolves nearby?" Mist asked.

"That's what I've been led to understand."

"What if I help you?"

Hermod came to a halt. "How can you help?"

"Well, like I said, I'm a Valkyrie. I can swing a sword."

Now she had him thinking. Mist suppressed a satisfied grin.

"Even if you help me, I'm not agreeing to get your sister and your recruit out of jail. But we can talk about it, I guess."

Better than nothing. And, truly, if the wolves of Ragnarok were free, didn't she have an obligation to help Hermod do something about it? Trying to prevent the end of the world, after all, was why she'd agreed to serve Radgrid as a Valkyrie in the first place.

"Deal," she said, surprised to see relief wash over Hermod's face.

WHAT LUCK! Hermod thought, stomping across the sand with Winston and the Valkyrie in tow. Whether the luck was good or bad, he wasn't sure, but allying himself with a Valkyrie-and a cute, modern one at that-had to be auspicious in one way or another.

The lifeguard stations were little blue huts on stilts that reminded Hermod of lunar landers. He still remembered where he was when astronauts first walked on the moon-rumbling through Western Siberia in a boxcar, between Kormilovka and Ekaterinburg, sharing a bottle of vodka with half a dozen fellow hobos. One of them had a transistor radio, and he declared the mission of Apollo 11 a great folly. "All the suffering on earth, and here's man, trying to become a G.o.d of the skies. The old G.o.ds won't look kindly on that."

"It's too late for the old G.o.ds," Hermod had said, taking a long pull off the vodka bottle. "You little guys outstripped us a long time ago. Tyr's something else with a sword, but let's see him take an AK-47 round in the face. Even Thor-I doubt there'd have been much left of him at Hiroshima. The only real difference between mankind and my lot is that you won't destroy the world unless you decide that's what you really want to do. But us G.o.ds? We think we have no choice but to blow everything up, like it's our job. So go ahead and walk on the moon. Get your footprints all over it. Get your hands grubby with moon dirt. Enjoy it while it's still there."

After that, his fellow pa.s.sengers wouldn't let him have any more drink.

Nearing Lifeguard Station 9 with Mist, Hermod saw bundles lying among the wooden supports: people sleeping, wrapped in blankets and coats. He'd spent the morning asking around the beach until a cl.u.s.ter of homeless men singing doo-wop had interrupted their rendition of "Duke of Earl" long enough to tell him where they'd seen a girl with dreadlocks who kept a big puppy with her.

"You hang back and out of the way," he said to Mist. "I'll have my hands full with the wolves, so if you see a girl with blond dreadlocks stealing away, you tackle her and don't let her go. Clear?"

"Well, it's a very intricately detailed plan, but I think I can keep it all straight in my head."

"Good enough." He continued toward the lifeguard station. The wind carried a strong, stinging odor, something like an amalgamation of p.i.s.s, wet fur, human body odor, and other smells more difficult to identify. The stink reminded Hermod that the wolves weren't exactly wolves. Their grandfather, Loki, was neither man nor G.o.d but a giant and a shape-changer, and other things.

Winston slowed to a hesitant walk and started to whine.

"That's fine, boy," Hermod said, reaching down to scratch the dog's ear. "You stay back." But when Hermod resumed his pace, Winston followed, and Hermod felt an embarra.s.sing wave of affection for the dog.

They continued on across the cold sand, and when they came within a few yards of the station, Hermod unzipped his duffel bag.

"Wolf girl," he called. "It turns out I do want to buy a G.o.d. Let's talk."

There was movement among the bundled forms. "Fug off," someone muttered. A figure crawled out from under a pile of blankets. Dreadlocks hanging in her face, she hugged the wolf to her with both arms. It was bigger now, nearly half Winston's size. Hermod slipped his hand inside his duffel bag and gripped his sword. He glanced quickly over his shoulder and saw Mist standing alert. She'd unb.u.t.toned her coat, revealing a nylon scabbard and the grip of a short Chinese saber.

The girl shuffled closer, peering up at him with bleary eyes. Her face seemed thinner than it had been just a few days before.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey. Do you remember me?"

"Nuh-uh."

"You offered to sell me your wolf."

The girl's eyes flicked away, as if she was looking for an escape route. She spotted Mist and looked back at Hermod. "I didn't mean it," she said. "I wouldn't sell him for a million bucks. He's my darling." The wolf sagged heavily in her arms.

"I see you two have developed an attachment. Where'd you get him?"

"Found him."

"Hear me," Hermod said. "I've got a sword in this bag, and if you're not more forthcoming, I'm going to take Little Darling's head right off. Do you believe me?"

The girl looked at him with fear and smoldering hatred. "Yes," she whispered.

"Good. You found him where, exactly?"

"Here," she said with contempt. "On the beach. He was just a tiny ball of fluff with sand fleas in his fur, crying for his mama. I know I can't take care of a wolf. I can barely take care of myself. But what could I do? It's so cold. And people ... We've all gone crazy. There's people who'll eat him." To Hermod's alarm, tears stood in her eyes.

She set the wolf down and threw an arm around his neck. "Beautiful boy, look at those eyes. How could anyone want to hurt you, hmm? But don't worry, I won't let them."

Maybe there was no problem here, Hermod thought. The wolf might just be someone's lost exotic pet. This was Los Angeles, after all, where people kept ocelots in their backyards. True, the pup looked like the ones in Ironwood. And, yes, it had tripled its size in only a few days.

Hermod sighed as the grim thought came to him: He'd have to kill it in front of the girl.

The wolf shot a jet of p.i.s.s, barely missing the girl, who jumped back with a squeal. Steam rose from the sand where the urine landed. There was a great deal of movement now beneath the lifeguard station. The blankets fell away, revealing not people but five more lean-muscled pups. They stretched their jaws wide in horrible yawns, their teeth like little white knives set in black gums. A gust of wind disturbed the sand at Hermod's feet, or maybe it was gravity drawing the grains toward the wolves.

Winston vibrated in a low growl, remaining at Hermod's side. Mist came forward, closer to Hermod, widening her stance to keep her footing. "Jesus," she whispered.

"More little b.a.l.l.s of fluff you found?" Hermod called out. His own voice sounded distant to his ears.

"No, they just showed up. I think they're my sweetie's littermates."

The girl must have caught the look of murder in Hermod's eyes, because she moved around in the sand to put her body between Hermod and the pup. "Don't you hurt them!" she said with a snarl. "Don't you dare!" She tilted her head back, and Hermod thought she was going to start howling, but instead she screamed, "Help! Rape! Murder!"

The other wolves moved around the girl and their sibling, like slow-moving water around a rock.

"I don't want to hurt you, miss," Hermod said, "so you'd better get out of my way."

"I hate you," the girl spat. "You're a terrible man. We haven't done anything to you. This isn't fair."

With the world-ending wolves approaching, Hermod could only agree with her. Nothing was fair. It wasn't fair that Baldr had died. It wasn't fair that Hod had been killed in punishment when the crime had been Loki's. It wasn't fair that Hermod couldn't spend the last days of the world on a warm beach with nubile island girls, drinking fruity drinks and being fed ham sandwiches.

At least the wolves were nowhere near fully grown yet, and Hermod allowed for the remote possibility that he could kill them, maybe even all of them, and not suffer a fatal wound. Stranger things had happened.

They continued their slow approach, almost catlike in their deliberation, and Hermod felt his balance slipping, their attraction increasing as they grew closer. He almost pitched forward and just managed to plant a leg in front of himself to prevent a fall. Winston flattened himself, digging into the sand. With a small cry, Mist flew past him. Hermod reached out and grabbed her by the arm just in time. She fell to her knees, holding her shoulder. He hoped he hadn't dislocated it.

The five pups formed a circle around them.

"Heel," Hermod said. "Play dead."

One of the pups let loose an ear-gouging yip, and the others took it up, stabbing the air with rising notes that became fully voiced howls.

Hermod waited it out, sweating.

Then, the wolves spoke in words, all joined in a breathy, high-pitched voice that wavered in tone, a wolf howl repurposed. "Is the moon out?" they asked. "We're so hungry."

"It's daylight still," Hermod said, though there was little light and even less warmth on the beach. "Guess you'll have to come back later."

"But we're hungry now" they whined. "You killed our mother, and, oh, we want the moon so badly. The sun too. We'll chase them both until they're tired, and then they'll be ours."

Hermod tried not to look into their open mouths. It was so dark in there.

"What about the girl? She feeds you."

"She can't keep even one of our bellies full. She's such a tiny morsel." And the pup the girl was protecting opened its jaws and leaned forward, and the girl's head was in its mouth. Screaming, she went down slowly, like a rat being devoured by a snake, disappearing up to her shoulders, then her elbows.

"Hey, leave her alone!" Mist struggled to her feet, and Hermod reached out to restrain her but missed.

The other wolves stretched their jaws wider, and Mist shot forward, helpless. She stumbled and fell, somersaulting like a leaf in a windstorm. Hermod dove for her legs, managed to catch them, and held her down in the blast of flying sand grains.

The girl kicked and thrashed to no avail as the wolf continued to draw her down its gullet, until she was gone from the thighs up. Her sobs came in a faint echo, now only her feet sticking out from the pup's mouth, and then it snapped its muzzle shut, and the girl was vanished from the earth.

The pup turned two drowsy circles in the sand and lay down, resting its head on folded paws.

"Will it be night soon?" the other cubs asked.

Hermod's lips moved silently. It took him a moment to find his voice. "Soon enough," he said.

"We'll eat you now. We're so hungry."

"If you want to snack on me," Hermod said, "better digest me quick, because any mutt that eats me is getting cut open from the inside."

"There are six of us," the wolves said.

"Suits me fine. Take turns. I'll slice you one by one."

The wolves pulled their lips back in snarls, displaying their incisors. Their growls made Hermod's eyes hurt. He wondered what it would be like in a wolf belly. Tight, he figured. Hot. Acidic. Would there be enough room to swing his sword? He had reasonable hopes that there might be. The wolves were probably bigger on the inside than they were on the outside.

"The mutts will eat just about anything," Hermod whispered to Mist. "Those b.a.l.l.s I bought at the black market are hand grenades. When I give the signal, grab a couple from my duffel, yank on the pull tab, and toss."

"Excellent," the Valkyrie said. She seemed a little bit impressed with him, and Hermod caught himself grinning. "What's the signal?" she asked.

No sooner had she posed the question than the wolves sprang forward.