“Too bad you can’t just pop us through space like Baldur,” I said when Val and I arrived at the outskirts of Mendocino, “teleport or apparate or whatever you want to call it.”
“It’s always been that way,” Val said. “Not sure why. Maybe it’s one way Baldur can limit us and exert some of his own superiority. If I try to, uh, transport you, we would mostly stand around with a lot of popping and ringing in your ears. If I had one of the ancient weapons, Gungir or Surtalogi, they might amp up my battery enough to make a jump with someone in tow, but it doesn’t matter since both items are missing.”
“Gungir isn’t missing,” I said.
Val snorted. “Seeing Odin’s spear in your dream is not the same as knowing who actually possesses it. I think if someone did have it, they wouldn’t keep it a secret for long.”
Thorin had, of course, decided to keep his possession of Mjölnir quiet, but how long would that last if he continued to use it as he had in the desert? Mjölnir’s gold chain suddenly hung a little heavier around my neck. Val sensed the downturn in my mood, and we spoke no more about ancient weapons.
Hours later, when we turned onto the long driveway leading up to the Aerie, I caught the acrid scent of a spent fire. We passed a couple of sheriff’s cars leaving the scene, covered in grime and smoke residue.
“This is going to be ugly,” Val said as we bumped along the gravel path.
“I’ve tried to prepare myself for the worst.” And I did, but my theorizing and imagination wasn’t enough.
The early-morning sun lent enough light to expose the tormented old home, charred and still smoking in spots.
Skyla came running the moment we turned into the parking lot next to the house’s dormitory wing. “Thank the gods you’re here.” She flung her arms around me. She smelled of smoke, and soot had settled on her like a sticky shadow. “It’s been so awful.”
I hugged her back, trying to give some of the comfort she so obviously needed. “I can see that.”
Val stood behind us, arms crossed over his chest, and surveyed the destruction. His face wore a neutral expression, but it looked more like a mask covering something not so amiable beneath. Fiery destruction, smoke and flames… Maybe it all reminded him of Ragnarok and the home he’d lost so many years before. How long did memories like that stay with beings like him? If I was immortal, a million years wouldn’t soften the ache of losing Mani.
“What can we do to help?” I asked.
“I don’t even know where to start,” Skyla said. “One fire truck is still dousing the dormitory wing. Most of it will have to be demolished. We’ve got to go through and see what can be saved, what can be cleaned, what has to be trashed.”
“What about the kitchen?”
Skyla gave me a funny look. “I guess it’s fine. Most of the main house escaped the worst of the fire. There’s no power, though.”
“If the equipment is gas, then we should be okay.”
“What are you going to do?”
“I’m a Southern girl. That means I deal with tragedy and grief by stuffing it full of food.”
In less than an hour, I had turned out pans of hot biscuits and honey-nut muffins. I sent Val into town for extra ingredients, and he came back, packing enough groceries to feed an army. My return to the kitchen, to my routine and my comfort zone, settled my haywire emotions. Seeing the Valkyries finding consolation in my food, when they hadn’t found it anywhere else, reminded me why I liked baking in the first place. Maybe some of the Valkyries were Helen’s agents, but surely most of them weren’t. Right then, they were merely a bunch of women suffering a horrible tragedy, and I knew something about how they felt. The food was my gesture, my attempt, to bring them comfort. And I thought the emergency responders might appreciate having a decent meal, too.
After breakfast, I cleaned the kitchen and started on pans of peanut-butter cookies, oatmeal bread for sandwiches, and sweet-potato biscuits waiting to be stuffed with ham and spicy mustard. Skyla and Val occasionally came in to check on me, but mostly they stayed occupied with cleaning and moving furniture. Keeping busy turned out to be a crucial coping mechanism for everyone.
Near sundown, Skyla joined me in the kitchen to talk while I prepared for dinner. Sweat and soot matted her hair, and dirt smudged her face. Her shoulders sagged. “I don’t think Tori went to Helen after she burned the Aerie,” she said, prefaced by nothing.
Crouched before the oven door, I turned and peered over my shoulder at Skyla. A shadow moved in the doorway, and Val stepped into the room. He was also dirty and disheveled, but he bore it gracefully. He took a seat across from Skyla and turned his chair to watch me. Clad in elbow-length mitts, I reached into the oven, towed out a huge, hot pan of lasagna, and plopped it onto the counter.
“Then where do you think Tori went?” I asked and leaned over to peel back the lasagna’s foil cover. Garlic-and-basil-infused steam rose up and enveloped my face. I inhaled and let the breath out in a satisfied sigh.
“She’s doing this on her own,” Skyla said. “I just have to prove it.”
Val’s brow furrowed as he studied Skyla. His gazed shifted to me, and he shrugged as if to say he didn’t know what Skyla meant.
“How are you going to do that?” I asked.
“I have an idea, but it’s a little crazy.” Skyla toyed with her placemat and gave me an uneasy look.
Her discomfort worried me. She never hesitated, never second-guessed herself.
“Crazier than everything else that’s happened?” I asked.
Skyla shrugged. You be the judge, her expression said. “You remember how I told you that the Valkyries chose which soldiers died in battle so they could bring them to join Odin’s army?”
“Yes?” I glanced at Val, but he shook his head.
“Right.” She nodded. “So, the Valkyries have the ability to commune with the spirits of the dead.”
I held up my hand. “Skyla, if you’re going to tell me you see dead people, I think my head might explode.”
Skyla bit her bottom lip and held it between her teeth, saying nothing.
“Do you see dead people?”
“One,” she said. “I saw one.”
“Who?” Val asked, accepting Skyla’s claim with alacrity.
“It was one of the women who had died in the fire. Her name was Ariel.” Skyla stopped. Her gaze dropped to the floor, and her chin wobbled under the effort of restraining her tears. “I found her body after we hacked our way into the dorm. Smoke inhalation, I guess, because she looked untouched.”
