Valknut: The Binding (41 page)

I’m just sayin’ there must be somethin’ to
her, is all.

The thousand thousand souls tethered to
Fenrir’s will stirred restlessly, straining against his control.
Sweat beaded on his brow.
 Enough! Your pathetic attempts to
interfere will work no more!

It was time to end this impasse. It was time
to begin his true destiny.

Carefully, carefully, he focused his will on
the girl. He must release her to allow her to destroy Jarvis Cook,
but her hand still radiated the Allfather’s power. He must reach
into her mind and instill one last compulsion—

Hey! Look! Ain’t that the Allfather sittin’
on that there rafter?

Startled, Fenrir lifted his gaze.

***

The color of anger is yellow.

The knife rested heavy in Lennie’s hand,
deadly, cold, ready to drink warm blood. There was no warehouse, no
Junkyard brooding in the shadows, no Briggs, no gangbangers...not
even Fenrir, evil incarnated sitting on a hobo throne. There was
only her father, the object of longing and hatred so balanced that
she couldn’t move.

Kill him.

Yes...

Kill him, kill him, kill him kill him kill
himkillhimkillhimKILL—

Abruptly, the voice stopped, leaving her
alone in her own darkness. She was free to move. Free to kill.

And why not?

She gazed at the slack, tortured face of her
father, the question cycling over and over in her mind. Why not?
Sweat dripped from the handle of the knife and she still didn’t
strike.

Because—because—

Something flickered in the emptiness of her
father’s eyes. Not the terror evident in the lines of his face. Nor
the yellow reflection of Fenrir’s will. For a moment—just a
moment—Lennie saw compassion.

Her knife-hand wavered, stopped by that one
look, that single touch of her father’s gaze. A fierce, human
warmth blossomed in her chest, blasting the darkness from her mind.
She spun away from her father, faced Fenrir and met his eyes once
again.

“Because,” she shouted, hurtling herself at
the monster, “he is my father.”

And she thrust the blade at his heart.

Her aim was true. His eyes widened,
flickering brown and yellow. His body shimmered, outline blurring.
As the knife’s tip touched his white shirt, he seemed to flow
aside, and the blade plunged into the back of the throne.

Momentum carried Lennie into Fenrir. His body
swelled, changing shape, as if something huge and terrible writhed
under his skin. The reek of corrupted flesh radiated from him.
Gagging, Lennie tugged at the knife, but it stuck fast. With a
howl, Fenrir lifted her like a child and cast her from the throne.
She sprawled, rag-doll helpless, at Junkyard’s feet.

“Kill her!” Fury distorted Fenrir’s face. He
hardly seemed human. “And bring me her hand. I would have the
Allfather’s mark as a trophy.”

Before she could move, Junkyard dropped on
her and trapped her to the floor with a forearm across her chest.
Her tattooed hand burned almost beyond endurance. Sparks swarmed
the air around her, lifting her hair. She flexed her fingers but
didn’t dare look away from Junkyard to take aim at Fenrir. And she
couldn’t, even now, turn the power on Junkyard. Eyes blazing, he
raised the knife. She caught his wrist and strained to hold it
back, knowing it was useless. He was too strong, too quick.

Then his grin faded. With a puzzled
expression, Junkyard looked at the knife in his hand and back at
Lennie. “What...”

Yellow and brown warred in his eyes. What
twisted memories did he see?

“Fight it, Junkyard,” she whispered.
“Whatever he’s showing you, it isn’t real.”

His knife arm wavered. But how could he fight
what he didn’t understand? He hadn’t had visits from weird sisters
or one-eyed hobos, and he didn’t have Ramblin’ Red’s mark on his
hand. His eyes bloomed fiery yellow. The knife came down.

Lennie saw the change and twisted free. The
blade chinked on the cement behind her. Gathering her legs, she
threw herself forward in a sprint start. He dove and caught her
ankle, and she hit the floor hard. He was on her in a blur.
Straddling her, he knotted his fingers in her hair and yanked her
head back against his chest. The cold blade pressed under her chin.
She could hear his heart pounding, the harsh rush of breath in his
throat. His arm tensed and she closed her eyes.

A new voice called out. “Harding! What
the hell are you doing?”

Briggs. Lennie had forgotten about him.

“She killed Austin,” Junkyard snarled, his
voice so strangled with anger that Lennie could hardly understand
him. “She’s got to die.”

“No! That’s not true.” Briggs’s voice cracked
hoarsely, then became calm. “It was Bill Sutter—”

“Silence! Kill her now, Douglas.”

Lennie sensed the compulsion behind Fenrir’s
command, but still the knife didn’t move, and Briggs kept talking
in an even, clipped voice. “Sutter was the Hobo Spider. We found
evidence in his house. Let her go.”

“Shut up! You lie to protect this bitch.”
Junkyard’s blade bit into Lennie’s skin. She gasped, not daring to
move.

“We got a confession out of him. He killed
them all, Junkyard. It was Bill Sutter, not the girl. He said El
Lobo made him do it.”

A deep growl shook the metal siding. “I said,
be 
silent
.”

There was a loud thud. Briggs grunted and
said no more.

***

The old rage swelled, unbound, in Junkyard’s
chest. A clean rage that shredded the yellow-tainted images in his
mind of Lennie rising bloody-handed from Austin’s corpse. He saw
her now as she really was—small, afraid...and beautiful. She hadn’t
killed those hobos. She hadn’t killed Austin. He let go of her
hair, feeling the soft curls slide from his fingers.

Briggs said Bill had killed Austin and Tin
Can Petey and all the others. But Junkyard didn’t believe Bill was
any more responsible than Lennie.

El Lobo was the real Hobo Spider.

Junkyard didn’t understand how it could be
true, or why. It didn’t matter. He rose to face El Lobo, leaving
Lennie on the warehouse floor. The dark man exuded power, both in
his oversized build and in the yellow glow of his eyes. That didn’t
matter, either. Junkyard hefted the knife in his hand and smiled.
The rage that filled him felt more like joy.

Austin’s murderer would finally pay.

***

Lennie felt Junkyard’s weight lift from her
back. Relieved, she sighed and laid her head on the cool floor. But
the moment didn’t last. The Ragman rammed into Junkyard, knocking
him down onto Lennie. The sudden weight crushed her against the
floor. Junkyard rolled off, and the Ragman was on him, smashing a
fist down at his head. Junkyard blocked it and threw an awkward
punch to the Ragman’s ribs.

Winded and gasping, Lennie dragged herself to
her feet and looked for a way to help Junkyard. It would be easier
to separate a pair of fighting pit bulls. There was only one thing
she could do to stop this madness.

She bore the mark. She had the power. She
could do what she was sent to do.

Hardly able to control her quaking limbs,
Lennie faced Fenrir before his throne. To one side, Briggs hung
limp, suspended by the ropes that held him to the chair. His head
sagged to his chest and fresh blood dripped from his nose. To the
other side, her father stared stupidly over her head.

No help from them. No help anywhere. Nothing
but Lennie and her fickle tattoo to face Fenrir. Though every
muscle ached with exhaustion and every nerve twitched with fear,
she stretched her palm toward him. Sparks jumped finger to finger.
There was still power in that hand.

Fenrir merely grinned. “You are too weak,
girl. I will never be bound again.”

Lennie ignored him and focused on the tattoo.
Power crackled through her body and flowed into her hand. Her
spark-filled hair floated around her, and still the power grew,
until it seemed her hand would catch fire.

Now, she thought, willing the tattoo to let
loose.

Nothing happened.

“Oh, come 
on
!” she screamed.

Shadows swirled at Fenrir’s feet. He seemed
to grow larger, towering over her as he had in the parking lot.
Against her will, her legs took her closer to him. His mouth opened
in a dog-like grin, saliva dripping from sharp fangs. He took her
by the shoulder and pulled her close, and she could do nothing to
stop him, though her hand hummed like a high voltage power
line.

As she waited for those teeth to sink into
her flesh, a bewildered thought fluttered through her mind. But I’m
his great-great-whatever-granddaughter. He isn’t supposed to be
able to kill me! That crazy woman with all the beads—Verdandi, that
was her name. She said Fenrir couldn’t kill his progeny.

So how come I feel drool running down my
neck?

“Because, my dear—” Fenrir answered, though
she hadn’t spoken out loud, “—I find that I can kill you, after
all.”

Sharp-toothed jaws clamped onto her throat,
puncturing skin, crushing airways. Something tore in her
neck...something vital. Blood and saliva soaked her shirt in a hot
rain. Her vision distorted, lights flashing at the edges. I’m
dying—this can’t be happening—I’m really dying...

As the strength drained from her limbs, a
black shape swooped at Fenrir’s back, croaking her name. Death is a
raven? Perhaps she would fly away with it...

And then Fenrir stiffened and threw his head
back, his teeth tearing from her flesh. His eyes had gone wide, his
blood-smeared mouth stretched in a shocked oval. Lennie slid from
his grip and fell to her knees. She clapped her hands to her neck,
trying to stop the flood of blood pouring through her numb fingers.
She tried to cough, to gasp, anything, but the damage was too
great. She would bleed out at Fenrir’s feet.

But even as she gave in to despair, she felt
the wasp-nest hum in her tattooed hand. A warm tingle ran up her
arm and spread through her body. The wounds began to close. Air
rushed into her lungs, stinking of cigarettes, blood, and decay,
and feeling wonderful.

But Fenrir was still there, towering over
her. She scrambled back, expecting another attack. But he was
statue still. The staff slipped from his fingers and clattered on
cement. His eyes drained to a dull, unfocused brown. With an almost
contented sigh, he pitched headlong and crashed to the floor.

Behind him stood Jarvis Cook, a bloodied
knife in his upraised hand.

He lowered his arm and blinked groggily, as
if awakening from a long nightmare. Then he looked at Lennie and
she could see the man who had taken her swimming in the bright
sunshine all those years ago.

“Dad!” Her fingers slipped from her bloodied
throat, her wounds already closed and forgotten. She ran past
Fenrir’s body and fell into her father’s arms, not caring about the
filth that coated him, not noticing the fleshless bones beneath his
ragged shirt. He let the knife fall and wrapped his arms around
her.

“Lennie!”

That was Junkyard’s voice. She should go to
him, make sure he was all right. She should check on Briggs, call
the police. But for now, she just wanted to feel safe from the
world, as she hadn’t felt since she was a child in her father’s
arms.

“Lennie!” Junkyard’s voice exploded with
urgency. The raven screamed and fluttered at her head. She stirred
reluctantly. Then the smell hit her, worse than before—animal
filth, rotting flesh, blood in a septic wound. She gagged and
turned her head, still clinging to her father.

A dark shadow boiled around Fenrir’s body,
expanding like a loose second skin. And as the shadow grew, layers
of gray fur sprouted in waves along its length. Its head lifted,
the curly black hair straightening, thickening, lightening to a
silvery gray. The human features remained a moment longer, a
mockery of the monster’s stolen shape. Then the muzzle elongated
and opened, revealing a long red tongue and teeth like railroad
spikes.

Lennie’s hand began its hornet buzz. Gnat
wings against such a monster. Its eyes sprang open, yellow and
hate-filled, and Lennie knew the beast was Fenrir in his truest
form. A wolf. Impossibly huge, eyeing her with a slathering hunger
beyond the need for mere flesh.

But this was no ordinary wolf. She could feel
his ancient power, more vast than could be contained in any body.
An eater of worlds. He needed no jaws to crush her.

He rose on four slender legs, leaving his
human husk broken on the ground. Panic sprang from Lennie’s deepest
animal core. She stood wild-eyed, waiting for death. Fenrir
crouched and licked the drool from his teeth, his muscles tensing
to spring.

Then the raven screamed overhead, shocking
Lennie from her paralysis. It plunged from the rafters and clawed
at Fenrir’s face, beating his eyes with its wings. Hackles raised,
the wolf snarled and reared at the bird, catching tail feathers in
his teeth. The raven squawked and fluttered upwards. Fenrir’s eyes
returned to Lennie. She avoided his gaze and backed away, crowding
Jarvis Cook toward the warehouse door.

“Get out of here, Dad. I-I’ll stop him.” She
didn’t believe it. What weapon would work on a monster like that?
But she had to try.

Jarvis Cook had a different plan. His scrawny
arm caught her from behind and pushed her out of the way. She
crashed into a metal shelf, scattering stacked weapons to the
floor. She scooped up a gun and whirled to face Fenrir, fumbling at
the safety.

Jarvis Cook drew himself straight and thrust
his hand at the monster, palm outward. A faint swarm of sparks
gathered around it. “You can have me, mongrel, but you can’t have
her.”

His voice sounded rusty, weak. His words were
futile. And Lennie loved him for them.