them
there with a shrug.
When a trio of other women staggered out onto the front porch, Regin held up the head and made an
exaggerated curtsy. They cheered drunkenly. Witches, no doubt. They were the Valkyrie’s al ies and
notorious drunks.
One laughed, tripped over her own feet into a pratfal , then laughed again.
Regin turned back to face his direction. With her skin glowing brighter and her expression animated,
she punted the ghoul’s head like a footbal , then shaded her eyes melodramatical y. As it sailed far above him toward a nearby swamp, she cried, “It. Might. Go. Al . The. … Way!”
She cannot be one thousand years old.
The witches cheered again.
That task completed, she plucked a sat-phone from a holster on her belt. She texted something, her
fingers so fast they were a blur, then strol ed over to her car and hopped inside. The engine purred when
she started it. She pul ed up in front of the house, honking the horn and rol ing down the windows.
“Nïx!” she cal ed. “Get your ass out here!” She said something to the witches in a lower voice, and they
howled with laughter. But when Regin turned from them, her easy grin faltered, her demeanor
preoccupied.
Another Valkyrie sauntered from that madhouse, a black-haired one with vacant eyes, cradling what
looked like a paralyzed bat in one arm like a babe.
She had to be Nïx the Ever-Knowing, a powerful soothsayer. Though she looked to be in her mid-
twenties, she was one of the oldest—and most crazed—immortals on record.
She wore a long, flowing skirt, cowboy boots, and a T-shirt that read VALKYRIE in big block letters with
an arrow pointing up at her face.
Flaunting themselves. The arrogance. Christ, how he hated them.
She too proffered a braid to the wraiths— a toll of some sort? —then joined Regin in the car, blowing a kiss to the witches. The two Valkyrie pul ed out, some asinine song blaring from the car stereo—the only
lyrics were “Da-da-da.” They bobbed their heads in unison to the music.
As they passed, he drew back into the brush, his heart thundering. But the dark-haired one turned,
looking directly at him with eerie golden eyes.
Just as the hair on the back of his neck stood up, the soothsayer mouthed, You’re late.
Regin the Radiant sensed some enemy was hot on her ass as she sped down dark country roads.
But she simply didn’t have time for a fight to the death just now. Regin had to reach Lucia before it was too late.
She adjusted the rearview mirror. “Are we being fol owed?”
Nïx nodded happily. “Usual y.” She tapped her chin with her free hand. “You know, you think you don’t
like it, but actual y you’l miss it when it’s gone.”
Regin scowled at her sister, doing her damnedest to ignore Bertil—the bat Nïx carried. It’d been a gift
from a secret admirer . “Seeing as we’re on our way to the Loreport, you probably should tel me where I’m flying out to tonight.” Nïx’s last report on Lucia had her in the Amazon, of al places.
“Hmm. Should I remember?”
“Me. Meeting up with Lucia. Who’s gearing up to slay Cruach, her worst nightmare.” Crom Cruach was
the ancient horned god of human sacrifices and cannibalism—and the monster who’d tricked Lucia into
leaving Valhal a. Every five hundred years, he tried to escape his prison. For the last two times, Lucia—
with Regin as her trusty wingman—had forcibly denied his parole. “Any of this ringing a bel , Nïx?”
Blankness.
“Gods, I don’t have time for this!” Lucia was out there alone; Cruach was rising nowish. And Nïx was
spacing ?
“Don’t shriek,” Nïx chided. “You’l hurt Bertil’s ears, and he needs them for echolocation.” As she
stroked her new pet in a love-him-and-pet-him-and-cal -him-George kind of way, her eyes were even
more vacant than usual. Her visions of the future had been hitting her rapid-fire lately, and they were
taking a tol .
Assholes were laying odds in the
there with a shrug.
When a trio of other women staggered out onto the front porch, Regin held up the head and made an
exaggerated curtsy. They cheered drunkenly. Witches, no doubt. They were the Valkyrie’s al ies and
notorious drunks.
One laughed, tripped over her own feet into a pratfal , then laughed again.
Regin turned back to face his direction. With her skin glowing brighter and her expression animated,
she punted the ghoul’s head like a footbal , then shaded her eyes melodramatical y. As it sailed far above him toward a nearby swamp, she cried, “It. Might. Go. Al . The. … Way!”
She cannot be one thousand years old.
The witches cheered again.
That task completed, she plucked a sat-phone from a holster on her belt. She texted something, her
fingers so fast they were a blur, then strol ed over to her car and hopped inside. The engine purred when
she started it. She pul ed up in front of the house, honking the horn and rol ing down the windows.
“Nïx!” she cal ed. “Get your ass out here!” She said something to the witches in a lower voice, and they
howled with laughter. But when Regin turned from them, her easy grin faltered, her demeanor
preoccupied.
Another Valkyrie sauntered from that madhouse, a black-haired one with vacant eyes, cradling what
looked like a paralyzed bat in one arm like a babe.
She had to be Nïx the Ever-Knowing, a powerful soothsayer. Though she looked to be in her mid-
twenties, she was one of the oldest—and most crazed—immortals on record.
She wore a long, flowing skirt, cowboy boots, and a T-shirt that read VALKYRIE in big block letters with
an arrow pointing up at her face.
Flaunting themselves. The arrogance. Christ, how he hated them.
She too proffered a braid to the wraiths— a toll of some sort? —then joined Regin in the car, blowing a kiss to the witches. The two Valkyrie pul ed out, some asinine song blaring from the car stereo—the only
lyrics were “Da-da-da.” They bobbed their heads in unison to the music.
As they passed, he drew back into the brush, his heart thundering. But the dark-haired one turned,
looking directly at him with eerie golden eyes.
Just as the hair on the back of his neck stood up, the soothsayer mouthed, You’re late.
Regin the Radiant sensed some enemy was hot on her ass as she sped down dark country roads.
But she simply didn’t have time for a fight to the death just now. Regin had to reach Lucia before it was too late.
She adjusted the rearview mirror. “Are we being fol owed?”
Nïx nodded happily. “Usual y.” She tapped her chin with her free hand. “You know, you think you don’t
like it, but actual y you’l miss it when it’s gone.”
Regin scowled at her sister, doing her damnedest to ignore Bertil—the bat Nïx carried. It’d been a gift
from a secret admirer . “Seeing as we’re on our way to the Loreport, you probably should tel me where I’m flying out to tonight.” Nïx’s last report on Lucia had her in the Amazon, of al places.
“Hmm. Should I remember?”
“Me. Meeting up with Lucia. Who’s gearing up to slay Cruach, her worst nightmare.” Crom Cruach was
the ancient horned god of human sacrifices and cannibalism—and the monster who’d tricked Lucia into
leaving Valhal a. Every five hundred years, he tried to escape his prison. For the last two times, Lucia—
with Regin as her trusty wingman—had forcibly denied his parole. “Any of this ringing a bel , Nïx?”
Blankness.
“Gods, I don’t have time for this!” Lucia was out there alone; Cruach was rising nowish. And Nïx was
spacing ?
“Don’t shriek,” Nïx chided. “You’l hurt Bertil’s ears, and he needs them for echolocation.” As she
stroked her new pet in a love-him-and-pet-him-and-cal -him-George kind of way, her eyes were even
more vacant than usual. Her visions of the future had been hitting her rapid-fire lately, and they were
taking a tol .
Assholes were laying odds in the
Similar Books
