Morgan's Fate (18 page)

The Norn of the Future was mourning her loss once more.

Morgan needed to wipe that look off her face. It tore at him, that she was so sad in such a lovely place. “Hey.”

She glanced over at him, her eyes huge, her face pale. Damn it, she was holding back tears.

He took her hand, caressing her fingers, and her expression brightened. It didn’t wipe away all of the pain in her expression, but it was a start.

Some of the denizens of Alfheim greeted them, more and more coming to watch as Baldur and Tyr marched side by side with Vali the Avenger. They understood something was up. That the Lord of the Vanir had come home in such company had them optimistically cautious if their actions were anything to go by. If they could see Kir and Travis, mighty leaders of the gods, fighting over the last bit of pizza, or Uncle Val cuddling with the new kitten he’d found in the dumpster last week, some of that hero worship might fade away.

Logan would have had a fit at the number of people who stopped them just to touch the sleeve of Kir’s shirt and offer their blessings. Maybe it was best he’d been left behind. By the time they got out of Alfheim he would have been a growly mess and Kir would have been grounded to his room for life.

Morgan chuckled quietly.
That would go over real well.

“What’s so funny?” Skye’s voice was soft as yet another Lios Alfar stepped toward Kir, eager to touch him.

“The thought that Logan would ground Kir to his room for years if he saw this.”

She bit her lip. “Oh gods, he would, wouldn’t he?” She cleared her throat, no doubt trying to stop her laughter. “But if Logan has pizza ordered daily and Jordan stayed naked all the time—”

“Ugh.” Morgan gagged. “That’s my sister you’re talking about.”

“And that baby in her belly came from under a cabbage patch, right.”

“Damn straight.”

“It’s a virgin birth.”

“Totally.”

Ahead of them, Val’s shoulders began to shake as if he, too, were stifling laughter.

Magnus shot them a disgusted look. “I saw them in the elevator, remember? There ain’t nothing virginal about our baby sister anymore.” He scrubbed his eyes as both Travis and Val lost it. “I still can’t get the vision of Logan and Kir’s asses out of my head.” He sniffled. “I have nightmares, bro.
Nightmares.
” He shuddered. “It was horrible. I think I have PTSD.” He grabbed Travis around the waist. “Hold me?”

Travis pushed him off. “Asshole.”

Something, or someone, dashed by them so quickly he couldn’t tell whether or not it was one of the Lios Alfar, killing the jovial mood Morgan and Magnus’s banter had created. “Damn. Who was that?” It had gone by so fast he couldn’t even tell if it was humanoid.

Kir scowled and picked up his pace, jogging toward the border and Heimdall. They were nearly to the edge of Alfheim and the last leg of their journey to Asgard and Valhalla. “If it was one of the Old Man’s lackeys, we’re in trouble.”

“Could it have been Hugin or Munin?” Skye was forced to run to keep up with the taller men surrounding her.

“Doubt it. They’re enchanted statues. They can’t change into men, only ravens.” Kir pulled
Gungnir
from the chain around his neck, the pendant growing until he held the Godspear in his hand.

“Who do we know that can run that fast?” Magnus pulled
Mjolnir
from his neck, but unlike
Gungnir
it remained a pendant.

“It’s possible it’s Hothead, trying to get ahead of us.”

“I don’t know, but keep your eyes open. The Old Man has more allies than just Rina and the ravens.”

Morgan cursed under his breath. For all they knew, the figure that had dashed ahead of them could have been one of the Jotun, or one of the gods who followed Frigg. Morgan wasn’t certain whether or not Frigg was still working with Grimm. He doubted it, but stranger things had happened. While she might be ticked he’d picked another woman as his queen, he was still one of the most powerful gods in the pantheon. If he got his hands back on
Gungnir
, he’d be practically unstoppable.

One thing Morgan
was
certain of. If Grimm got the Godspear, the first thing he would do would be to go after Logan, Kir and the gods who followed them. He would kill each and every one of them to ensure that Ragnarrok was nothing more than a fairy tale.

They crossed the border of Alfheim at a run, making for that small patch of land where the Guardian’s residence rested. Himinbjörg rested at the very end of the Bifrost Bridge, and marked the beginning of Asgard.

There, in front of the gates, stood Heimdall. On either side of him stood…

“Holy fuck.” Morgan stopped dead in his tracks, staring in shock at the double Logans.

“Which one is the real one?” Skye stepped forward and placed her hand on Morgan’s shoulder.

Morgan edged slightly in front of her. If this went south, he needed to make sure he stood between her and any danger. “Skye, does this look familiar?”

She shook her head. “No.” She shook her head. “Wait. There’s something, but I can’t quite place my finger on it.” She squinted, watching the scene before them as the two Logans argued loudly with Heimdall.

Heimdall stood and listened to them argue as if he had all the time in the world. Which, technically, he did. Heimdall’s dark hair was pulled back from his face. His piercing, crystal-gray eyes reflected the glow of the bridge, dancing with burning rainbow colors. Heimdall studied both of the men before him with a cold calculation that sent shivers down Morgan’s spine. Heimdall’s horn, the
Gjallarhorn
, was strapped to his right side, his sword strapped to his left. The unusual sword, embossed with the face of a man, was said to symbolize his connection to mankind. The silver nails of his left hand tapping against his leather pants, a sure sign that he was about to act.

Travis turned to Kir, his eyes glowing brightly. “The one on the left is—”

Heimdall pulled his sword and plunged it into the chest of the Logan on the right.

“No!” Kir held aloft
Gungnir.
A vicious wind began to blow across the bridge, nearly knocking Morgan off his feet.

“Kir, stop!” The Logan on the left held up his hands, stepping toward them with all the caution of a mortal approaching a rabid animal. “Blondie, it’s okay.”

The impossible was happening. The branches of Yggdrassil swayed violently as the storm Kir was summoning began to descend on the Bifrost Bridge.

“It’s me, Blondie.” The left-hand Logan took another step toward them. “Do you need me to prove it?”

Kir growled an animalistic sound that had nothing to do with sanity. Morgan was shocked. He’d never heard such a sound from his easygoing brother-in-law.

Logan put his hands over his hips and cocked his eyebrow arrogantly. “Tone it down, tiger. They’re not ready for Plan A-1.”

The wind died abruptly, sending Skye to her knees. Morgan helped her back up as Kir took a step toward the man claiming to be Logan.

“As if a shape shifter could fool me.” Heimdall pointed toward the body on his right. “Look.”

Morgan cursed under his breath. There, lying in a pool of blood, was the frost Jotun Rina Sutherland.

Val turned his back to them all. The Avenger sighed deeply. “Shit.”

Skye ran to Val, hugging him from behind. “I’m so sorry.”

Val shook his head, and Morgan would have given quite a lot to see his expression. “No, Skye. I knew something like this would eventually happen.”

“Still. She was your mother.”

“She gave birth to me. She was never my mother.” Val turned back around, his expression grim. “She chose her path, and she died on it. C’mon. We still need to get to Sleipnir.”

“You were the one we saw on the bridge, the one that passed us?”

Logan nodded as he pulled Kir into his arms. “Sorry, but the phone call I received, supposedly from Jordan? It wasn’t her. I figured it out pretty quickly. When I realized I was dealing with someone pretending to be her, I tried to get out of them what they really wanted. Rina taunted me, said she was going to make sure none of you lived long enough to get past Heimdall. I ran as fast as I could, hoping I could keep Heimdall from attacking you.”

“How’d you make it through the portal so quickly?”

He shrugged. “Sleipnir isn’t the only one who can move really quickly when motivated.” He laughed softy. “Someone pretending to be my wife, hoping to hurt Kir? That’s serious motivation.”

Kir smacked him in the arm. “They weren’t after me, blockhead.”

“No. Turns out she was after me.” Logan glanced back at Rina and shuddered. “I hid and listened to her egging Heimdall on. She wanted him to attack me.”

“It would have fulfilled the prophecy, and in turn devastated Kir.” Skye shook her head. “Grimm put her up to this. The man’s a weasel.”

Heimdall shrugged. “I doubt it. Rina was vicious before she met Odin.” His expression turned smug. “I knew who she was before she even started. I don’t think she ever fully understood the differences between a frost Jotun and the Guardian.”

Logan nodded. “He saw right through her.”

Travis, the glow in his eyes dimming, patted Kir’s back. “If you have the vision, it’s easy to see if someone is pretending to be someone else.”

Heimdall’s expression chilled once more as he stared at Logan. “How do you think I tracked you down that time when you stole Freya’s necklace? Seal or no, I knew immediately that it was you.”

Logan rolled his eyes. When he tried to pull free of Kir to face Heimdall, Kir growled again in that utterly inhuman tone. Logan shushed Kir softly before answering Heimdall. “I was young and foolish.”

Heimdall cocked an eyebrow at Logan. “And now you are old and foolish.”

Logan stuck his tongue out at Heimdall.

Heimdall ignored him. “You’re going to Valhalla.”

Before anyone else could respond, Skye stepped forward, making her way gracefully to stand before the Guardian. “We are. We need to save Sleipnir from Odin.”

Heimdall stared at her for so long Morgan began to fear for her safety. He still held the bloody sword in his hand, the tip resting against the bridge. Sparks flew from where the blade met the fire of the bridge. “Sleipnir was gifted to the All-Father.”

She nodded. “But that was done under duress. Logan was under the influence of Idunn’s apples and labored under the belief that Sleipnir was nothing more than a beast.”

Was that surprise that flashed momentarily in Heimdall’s eyes? “And he is not.” Perhaps the Guardian did not know everything.

She shook her head. “No. He is not. He called us twice, both times to warn his father that Odin had something planned for me.”

Again, some emotion, there and gone in an instant, flashed across Heimdall’s face. “You are no longer truly Skuld.” Morgan saw her shoulders stiffen. “You are Skye, simply another Norn.”

“A Norn who knows when prophecy has been fulfilled.” She gestured toward Rina’s body. “As it has been here.”

Kir gasped, lifting his head to stare into Logan’s eyes. “You’re not going to die.”

Logan held him close. “No, Blondie. I’m safe.”

“For now.” Heimdall eyed them all coldly, but his expression when he turned back to Skye changed drastically. He warmed, his smile gentle as he took Skye’s hand.

Morgan wanted to rip it off and beat him over the head with it.

“In honor of your service and devotion to the Well and Yggdrasil, you may pass.”

Skye smiled sweetly. “Thank you, Guardian.”

“You are welcome.” Heimdall raked his gaze over the rest of them, only nodding to Travis. “You may all pass.”

Travis returned Heimdall’s nod regally. “Thank you.”

Morgan sometimes forgot that Travis, aka Tyr, had himself been the leader of a pantheon. It had, in fact, been the pantheon Heimdall belonged to. Did the Guardian still see himself as one of Tyr’s?

“Go. What is happening in Valhalla is…” Heimdall grimaced. “If I could interfere, I would.”

Logan swayed. “Shit. The Old Man really does know we’re coming.”

“Yes.”

“Kir?” Logan’s tone was uncertain, afraid.

“Let’s go.” The dark storms still dashed across Kir’s eyes. The clouds had lightened, but not by much.

Morgan wasn’t looking forward to what they would find when they entered Valhalla. If the Guardian felt the need to warn them, it was going to be very, very bad.

Chapter Thirteen

She’d forgotten exactly how large Valhalla was. The principle seat of the former king of the gods, it was imposing and intimidating. Valhalla stood before them, the enormous hall guarded by the golden tree Glasir. The hall’s roof, thatched with the golden shields of fallen heroes, glittered under Asgard’s sun. Mingling on the grass were the spirits of those the Valkyries had called home, heroes and kings who’d fallen in battle and been taken under Odin’s banner. The spirits stared at them curiously, but upon seeing
Gungnir
clasped in Kir’s hand drifted away.

The doors of the ancient gate Valgrind guarded the entrance. They would have to pass through Valgrind in order to reach Valhalla. If they’d been going for the front door they would have had to deal with the wolf Grimm had hung in front of its west doors. It struggled against its bonds, but instead of whimpering and crying it howled and snarled, snapping at any who were foolish enough to approach it. Who that wolf was, she did not know, but it was vicious.

She glanced up, not surprised to see an eagle hovering above the hall. That eagle had been there before Valhalla was even built. She sometimes thought it had been there long before, when Yggdrassil was nothing more than a sapling and the only worlds were Muspelheim and Nifleheim.

“We need to make our way to the stables. That’s where Sleipnir will be.” Val loosened his sword, making sure he could draw it easily. It was a familiar gesture, one she’d seen countless warriors perform over centuries of watching them.

“I can sniff him out, I think. I still remember his scent. If he’s not in the stables, we’ll need that to find him.” Logan shifted into a bloodhound and began scenting the air. He quivered once, then looked up at Kir and woofed softly.