Mirror of the Gods, page 4
The early morning sun splashed against the cobblestones, illuminating the path beside the river. Seagulls dove and soared on the soft morning breeze. But the constant bite of the cuffs into her arms pulled her focus.
It had been a miracle that she’d gotten them through airport security in Oslo. She’d sweated bullets as she stood in line for the full body scanner. How was she supposed to explain that some magic bracelets were now basically glued to her body? She’d be carted away in a straightjacket before she could even blink.
Paralyzed by panic, Lucy was thrust forward by the sharp elbow of a grouchy woman muttering in German under her heavily Liverwurst-scented breath. Lucy tugged the sleeves of her long-sleeved T-shirt down, hoping for the best, and praying to any higher being who might be listening.
Convinced the German woman behind her could hear the rattling of her knees, Lucy swallowed thickly as she stepped up to the metal detecting chamber of doom.
She prepared for the worst.
And was left in complete shock when nothing happened. The security officer waved her through quickly, so she didn’t hold up the line. Lucy blinked, confused beyond all belief as to how huge metal cuffs hadn’t set off extremely sensitive body scanners. Just what were these things?
“Come on, Lucy.” Jane seized hold of Lucy’s arm. “Okay, you sleep-deprived little gremlin. Let’s get some coffee in you.”
The coffee had gotten her onto the plane, and she plopped heavily into her cramped seat. She was asleep with her head against the window before the rest of the passengers were even done boarding.
It wasn’t the mystery of the bracelets that had been keeping her awake. It wasn’t even the fear that she would be stuck wearing them for the rest of her life.
It was the dreams.
Since the day she’d put the cuffs on, they came the instant she closed her eyes, crashing over her subconscious like a tsunami, dragging her under as she struggled to claw her way back to the surface. It was a torrent of emotions. Voices. And then fire. The red and orange flames danced through her mind. Then, as if dropped straight into hell, she was there.
Screams echoed around her. There were people trapped in there, inside a great hall with impossibly tall ceilings. Its wooden beams were engulfed in flames. A woman at the back of the hall stood motionless, thick hair like spun gold cascading down around broad shoulders, her blue eyes glowing with fury, with dread. With heartbreak. Then the woman looked through Lucy as a voice hoarse with agony screamed.
“Mor!”
Something inside Lucy twisted painfully as she turned, coming face-to-face with the same golden hair, the same blue eyes, but younger. The girl was no more than fifteen.
Mother, Lucy realized. She had screamed for her mother.
As mother and daughter stared at each other through the flames, Lucy felt her heart tightening in her chest. The smoldering beams creaked overhead.
The woman smiled, her shoulders squared as she stared at her daughter, and nodded.
An arm wrapped around the girl’s waist, hauling her backward as she thrashed and clawed and reached futilely for her mother.
Three figures appeared behind her mother, a large hand settling on her shoulder. Creaking above turned to groaning. She stepped back, standing shoulder to shoulder with the other three people whose faces were obscured by the smoke.
The woman’s lips moved, and despite being all the way across the hall, the whispered words floated to Lucy’s ears.
“Innitil Valhalla.”
The beams shuddered and splintered, then came crashing down, and Lucy’s heart shattered. The sound of it all rang in Lucy’s ears even as she shot up in her seat, tears streaming down her face. The smell of smoke stung her nose still, and she swore she could still feel the heat against her hands.
And the dreams had continued, even after she was home, in her own bed. She hadn’t slept in forty-eight hours. Because she couldn’t get past what she’d seen.
Now, beside the dark, choppy waters of the river, Lucy came to a stop, folding in half as she rested her hands against her knees and tried to breathe. She needed to breathe.
Just a dream. It’s not real. Everything is fine.
That became Lucy’s mantra as she walked, cooling down, slowing her erratic, drumming heart. Sweat rolled down her temples, and she lifted her arms above her head to try to alleviate the stitch in her side.
Logically, she knew it wasn’t real, but it felt real. From the smoke choking her lungs to the heat pulsing against her skin, the screams of innocent people dying, and a child losing her mother. It was too much.
Thankfully her classes would start that afternoon, so she’d have something to throw herself into. Something to focus on besides the dreams, the broken gardening shears she’d tried to cut the bracelets off with, or the runic symbols she’d been researching. The ones that showed up every time she brushed her fingers over the smooth metal. The ones that weren’t in any hidden crevice of the internet, no matter how hard she searched.
With a frustrated groan, she climbed the worn red brick stairs of her townhouse and slipped the key from beneath the mat. Running with keys always bothered her.
Said mat boasted a large Howdy that never failed to make her smile. Her mother had sent it from Texas, giving her a small piece of home to keep her happy in the land of Yankees and actual seasons.
It was still early, so Lucy decided to make herself some coffee before getting her things ready for the first day of classes. She kicked off her tennis shoes in the entryway, and hesitated before putting them in the small wicker basket beneath the bench.
Her townhouse wasn’t anything impressive, especially compared to the ones her more well-off peers lived in, or their luxury apartments. But Lucy made do, and she’d turned the barren, slightly dilapidated place into a home for herself.
It had once been a rental property owned by family friends, and when they heard she was moving from New Haven to Boston, they’d insisted on giving it to her. She’d been hesitant, not wanting to take away their income, but they wouldn’t take no for an answer. Their children were all grown and doing their own things, and none of them wanted it. Plus, they’d need to do a lot of work on it before anyone would buy it.
So Lucy agreed to take the place from them, sight unseen.
Maybe that hadn’t been such a smart move. Despite the previous owners being family friends, “in need of slight work” was a brazen understatement. After driving cross country to help her move in, her mother had taken one look at the place and promptly blown a fuse. Thankfully, after thirty-plus years of marriage, her father knew how to calm her down.
WWIII blessedly avoided, the team of three set to work. Before Lucy could move in any of her new furniture, and the pieces her parents had brought from their storage unit, the entire place needed a thorough cleaning.
Luckily no one was better at cleaning than Emily Sheridan. With the skill of a seasoned general commanding her two-man battalion, she soon had it scrubbed from top to bottom and sparkling. Lucy was proud of all she had done to the space in the last few years, painting over stained walls, fixing and replacing things slowly but surely, until it was all but unrecognizable.
She flitted about the kitchen, preparing the coffee maker that had stood by her through the four painful years of her undergraduate program, as well as the two years of her master’s degree, and now two years into her six-year doctorate program. Patting the silver machine fondly, she padded over to the fridge and began pulling out all the ingredients she needed for a fruit salad as the coffee bubbled and its rich aroma filled the air.
Her kitchen was warm, with small pots of herbs sitting on her windowsill, and a few silver appliances scattered over the white linoleum countertops. Splashes of yellow brought bursts of color into the otherwise clinical space. A hand towel with lemons here, a sunflower pitcher there—it all meshed together into a feminine jumble of patterns and light.
Biting into a tart cube of pineapple, Lucy practically spun around the kitchen, checking the moisture of the soil in her few potted plants with gentle, prodding fingers. She finished her breakfast, and poured herself a mug of steaming dark coffee, which she took upstairs. She had just enough time to shower and get ready.
The master bedroom was down the hall, with two other guest rooms on this level and back on the first floor. She passed the guest bath that had been painted a royal blue before she left for Norway, smiling as she moved toward her room.
Her father had helped her paint the back wall a deep forest green last spring break. Her bed, looking like a hurricane had swept through it, was covered by a plush white comforter and matching sheets. Grimacing, she set down her coffee mug and tugged everything back into place, fluffing her throw pillows with a little too much vigor, reminded quite rudely that her lack of sleep had caused the mess in the first place. And that brought the dream back to mind.
And the frustration.
Great.
In the bathroom, she tugged her leggings and sweatshirt off, tossing them onto the tiled floor. She flipped on the hot water and went back out to her closet as it warmed up. Despite the late summer warmth, she didn’t want to wear a blouse with short sleeves, or even a T-shirt. The silver cuffs glinted mockingly up at her, and Lucy sighed, pulling a thin white button-down off its hangar. Hopefully it would be light enough that she wouldn’t sweat excessively. She tossed the blouse onto her freshly made bed along with a pair of green canvas shorts that went to the middle of her thighs, and dark brown leather sandals.
The bathroom was thick with steam now, and she happily stripped off the rest of her clothes and stepped in. As she scrubbed her hair, Lucy tried to focus on the mundane tasks she needed to do when she was done with classes. Like grocery shopping, picking up new laundry detergent, folding the clothes she had taken with her to Norway, and getting a new pair of garden shears. Her old ones now sat at the bottom of her trashcan.
Tipping her head back under the spray of hot water, she sighed. Just as the dreams had, the vision came without warning.
If her dreams were like waves violently dragging her under their dark peaks, this was like the room was swaying and she was the only thing not moving, until she wasn’t being dragged down, but backward, a firm tugging in her navel that grew and grew until the world spun out of focus. The sight of her white subway-tiled shower faded into a factory—no, a warehouse. She was outside its gray stone walls. And she could hear people talking. Shouting, more like.
Lucy tried to peek through a dirty, broken window. Five figures stood under cold fluorescent lights. The image felt familiar, but at the same time not. The ground was littered with bodies, all dressed in black, weapons scattered about. And there was blood—a spray of dark red droplets covered the dusty gray concrete.
Her stomach churned as she gripped the edge of the windowsill, fingers trembling.
A shot rang out, a deafening crack ringing in her ears as one of the four figures crumpled to the floor. A man with black hair and broad shoulders.
The scream that pierced the air was so familiar it shook her to her core. It was her.
“No!”
As suddenly as the moment came, it was gone, leaving Lucy kneeling in her shower, shoulders quaking, eyes stinging. The seal on the cuffs glowed for a few moments before dwindling and then disappearing once more.
She replayed the scene in her mind as she shakily stepped out of the shower and numbly got herself ready, hair still drenched and darkening the back of her blouse as she gathered her school supplies and left the house. Dazed, terrified, and filled with dread, Lucy began the long walk toward her bus stop.
From the shadows of a building across the street, a pair of bright blue eyes tracked her every movement.
Chapter Five
2016 CE
Boston
Dira had traveled all over the world. From the mountains of her home to the savannas of Tanzania, the ancient ruins of Greece, and even temples hidden deep in the mountains of China.
But nothing was quite like being in the United States. The mixture of historical buildings and towering skyscrapers was nothing new to her. But walking around the city had made her realize just how young this country truly was.
She remembered when the colonies had decided to declare their independence. A smirk tugged at her lips as she recalled the particularly rambunctious night when the Sons of Liberty tossed case after case of tea into the harbor. She and her siblings had watched from the shadows as history was made, and the oppressed rose up, fought back, and stood for what they believed in.
It was odd, being back and seeing all the changes and the growth. But she was here for a reason.
It had been pitifully easy to find the woman from the picture.
She trailed her from a distance, easily blending into the crowd of students on campus. The dazed look on her face faded as another woman called out to her, red hair blazing in the afternoon sun. The brunette smiled warmly, but Dira could still see the tension in her shoulders.
She watched as Lucy Sheridan went from class to class, and even to what she recognized as the Peabody Museum. She must work there, Dira mused.
By the time she left the large brick building, the sky was darkening, and Dira noted that the woman’s face was pale. Tired. And she rubbed almost relentlessly at her wrists.
Dira had tried to find an opening, but it was proving harder and harder to just step up and ask about the bracelets. The woman kept them almost obsessively covered, periodically tugging at her sleeves to keep them pulled them down at all times.
Dira could feel her frustrations mounting as she followed her.
***
Lucy felt eyes on her, the phantom weight of a stare, and clutched the plastic handle of her grocery bag a little tighter. She had felt it all day, though it had taken her a while to pinpoint exactly what she was feeling.
Her mother had warned her about big cities, about monsters that lurked in the dark, and how a woman alone was their easiest target. Cursing her absent mind, she realized she’d left the bright pink taser her older brother had gotten her on the table just inside her door.
Figures.
As if the cuffs weren’t enough, now she had to deal with the paranoia that came with being defenseless while walking alone at night. Footsteps echoed against the concrete behind her. They were heavy, and . . . more than one person.
Lucy began walking faster, all the muscles in her body tensing. Preparing to flee. Her legs burned. Could she outrun them? She fought the urge to glance over her shoulder, to catch a look.
For about ten seconds.
Lucy took a cursory glance over her shoulder, and her blood ran cold.
Two men, both dressed in black, were closer behind her than she realized. They both glanced away when she turned to look at them. Foreboding slid over her skin, and terror wrapped its cold stiff fingers around her heart.
The slap of her sandals almost masked the sound of their quickening pace.
Maybe they’re just out for a walk, she told herself.
Run, another voice whispered in her mind. And her body obeyed without a moment’s hesitation. Clutching her cross-body tote to her side and cradling her grocery bag like a football, Lucy ran.
Her breath came in sharp pants, her throat tight as every hair on her body stood on end.
Then the men were gone. Vanished, as if they had never been there. Confused, she slowed and stared over her shoulder.
Where did they go? Jesus, I must be going insane—
Lucy collided with a solid wall of muscle, sending her sprawling backward onto the sidewalk with a dull thud.
“God, I’m so sorry,” she began to say as she was hauled up, thick fingers wrapping around her upper arms. Tightly.
“Well, well, well. Look at what we’ve got, boys. Seems we didn’t need to go looking for her too hard. She came right to us. Didn’t you, love?”
Lucy stared up at the man who held her like she was nothing more than a pitiful rag doll, his grip never lightening. The sharpness of his British accent jarred her almost as much as his appearance did.
He was tall, muscled, his skin pale and tinged red. A ghastly scar cut across the right side of his jaw, the skin puckered and pink. A new scar, then. The smell of cigarettes burned Lucy’s nose as he yanked her close, sneering into her face. “We’ll take those cuffs from you now, darling.”
She froze. A bead of nervous sweat rolled down the back of her neck, and she shuddered.
“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about,” Lucy stammered.
He said the cuffs.
He wanted the cuffs. The two men who had been following her stood close behind her, watching with emotionless faces. She looked back at the man who held her, shaking her head, lower lip trembling.
The man’s face twisted into a look of pity, and his hand tightened on her bicep. She gasped as pain shot through her arm, tasting the acidic twang of fear.
“A truly pitiful liar, aren’t you? No matter.”
Still holding her upper arm with one meaty hand, he clutched her forearm with the other, tugging the sleeve of her blouse up.
The cuff glinted in the dim light of the streetlamps behind her. Her captor’s dark eyes narrowed, and he bared his yellow-stained teeth.
“If you had just handed them over to us, this wouldn’t have happened. Now, be a good pet, and give us the cuffs,” he ground out.
“I can’t! I can’t take them off. Just let me go. Let me go!” Lucy cried.
He frowned, examining her forearm for a moment. In the silence, Lucy could only hear the pounding staccato of her heartbeat and the roar of blood rushing in her ears.
“Well, no matter. You’ll just have to come with us.”
Her mind went blank, and her jaw fell open in shock. Then, for the first time in her life, the terror, the anxiety, the chill of dread sliding down her spine faded away, leaving room for something much stronger.
A white-hot tempest of wrath pulsed inside her. It was as if her blood turned to oil, the shock of anger sparking and igniting a wildfire that raged through her veins. She bared her teeth at him and snarled in defiance.
