Secrets of Valhalla by Jasmine Richards

itself faded away as they pulled up in front of the red door.
    Red, just like my lucky underpants ,Buzz thought. The luckiest color there is. What a joke.
    â€œBuzz, you should know that I’ve had an expert squad combing Tangley Woods for the last hour or so.” Uncle Mark’s face looked yellow and mottled under the harsh street lamps. “All off the record, of course.” He frowned, deep lines wrinklinghis forehead. “My squad members do not feel the need to ask questions. They are looking as a favor to me. But they texted me to say there is no sign of this tree you were talking about.” His fingers splayed across the steering wheel. “It doesn’t exist.”
    Buzz opened his mouth, ready to say that there must be some mistake, but all words seemed to have emptied from his brain. He just nodded instead.
    â€œBuddy, you need to get yourself some rest.” The furrows in Uncle Mark’s brow got deeper. “It’s Saturday tomorrow. Have yourself a lie-in. And go easy on your dad, okay? He’s doing the best he can.” Uncle Mark squeezed Buzz’s shoulder reassuringly. His hand was warm.
    Buzz’s only reply was to open the car door and walk back toward the house, the whole time wishing he was about to face a dragon instead of his father.

CHAPTER SEVEN
Saturday Pancakes
    B uzz yawned and rubbed at his eyes, which felt like they were full of grit. He reached for his phone to check the time but cursed as he noticed the bubble that blobbed wetly behind the dead screen. “Thanks a bunch, Theo,” Buzz said to the quiet room.
    He rolled onto his back and looked at the ceiling. His tired, sore eyes traced the painted constellations of stars that stretched above him.
    His gaze lingered on the big dipper.
    Some called it Odin’s Wagon.
    The fact dropped like a pebble into a still pond, sending powerful ripples out.
    He focused on the ceiling again, remembering when he’d painted it with Mum and Tia the day he turned six. They’dwaited for the Prof to join them all day before starting, but he hadn’t come home from Tangley Woods. It was the day Buzz had started to hate mythology. The day he realized that his father’s obsession left no room for family.
    Some called it Odin’s Wagon.
    Newer memories of the dragon, Sunna, and Eleanor Bright slammed into him, chasing away the sad childhood reminiscence.
    But were these memories just fantasy?
    â€œOkay,” he said out loud. “Last night I saw a woman being kidnapped by a dragon. True or false?”
    True , the voice in his head responded straightaway. You can even smell the dragon in your nose still—brimstone and mulch. It’s true. You just need to believe it.
    â€œBut what’s the real evidence?” Buzz shot back, and the voice in his head did not answer because it knew there were no witnesses other than him and Mary.
    He swung his legs out of bed and rested his feet on the wooden floor, welcoming the coolness of the creaky planks . He held on to the sensation and forced himself to think logically . I hit my head yesterday. Hard. And I haven’t slept properly for weeks. His toes dug into the wood . “So maybe I made the whole thing up.” He nodded. “Maybe I did hallucinate about a dragon, a missing weatherwoman, and a Norse god with a grudge.” He dug his toes even deeper into the wood, the nails scratching the varnish. Mary had been talking about Loki just before they went into the woods . That’s why the name Loki was even in my head.
    Buzz touched the gash at his temple, feeling the roughness of gauze and underneath it the contours of the scab that had formed overnight. The doctor who had dressed the wound the previous evening had told Buzz and the Prof not to worry. “It was quite a whack,” she said. “But I don’t think you need an overnight stay in the hospital. Just make sure you get rest anddrink lots of water.”
    Buzz