Page 23 of Heart of Mischief

“Harald?” Vidar scoffed. “You mean, the same Harald who claimed he ended up in Valhalla because he faced down Alexander the Great? Even though Alexander died over a thousand years before his time and never even made it close to Scandinavia?”

“Hmm.” Bjorn scratched his chin. “You make some good points there…”

“Sophie tasked us with finding Rattatosk’s master. If we figure out who’s controlling him, we can stop them before anyone else dies.”

Vidar snorted. “Good luck with that. Rattatosk’s leash is infinitely long. That’s how Odin was able to send him up and down Yggdrasil as the messenger squirrel. He controlled Rattatosk right from Asgard, no matter which realm the creature ran to.”

“Of course he did.” Charlie walked over to the armchair and collapsed into it. The day had already been too long and filled with too many unwelcome surprises. Maybe she and Henry should just curl up here and sleep for a few hours. “Is there anything else you can tell me about Rattatosk?”

“They say he has a red swirl on his head,” said Bjorn, tracing a small vortex at the center of his forehead. “Both in squirrel form and… whatever his other form is.”

“And that his claws are venomous,” Vidar added. “If he even scratches you, you’re done. It will be slow, but eventually the poison will make its way to your heart. You’ll die.”

“Gods. And there’s no antidote?”

“No antidote to a poison that only exists on the claws of one specific supernatural creature?” Vidar raised his eyebrows. “Not one that we have on hand.”

“But there’salwaysan antidote,” said Charlie. “That’s how fairy tales work.”

“Not this fairy tale. I mean, you could always drink the blood of a god. That cures just about anything.”

“Seriously?”

“Of course. Immortal blood is the best antidote out there.” He snorted. “But good luck getting any of the gods to offer up a vein. They’re all self-centered as Hel.”

Great, Charlie thought.A murderous squirrel with claws covered in a venom that has no antidote. Just perfect. “And you don’t have any advice on how to locate his magical golden leash?”

“We don’t,” said Vidar. “But there is one creature who might.”

“Oh?” Charlie perked up. “Go on.”

“We found those mortals in this forest, did we not? And there is one creature who knows more about these woods than any other.” He paused. “Their mistress.”

His words shook loose a memory in Charlie’s mind. A clear September afternoon, the day after she ate the eyaerberry. A walk through the forest with Elias. A story of two gods who sliced their palms and swore an oath of brotherhood. A hand over her mouth, another over her chest, being pulled backward into a torso like a brick wall, Elias’s lips at her ear, his breath like sweet ice…

And a woman. A beautiful, terrifying woman with hooves for feet, seated atop a sparkling golden reindeer, a falcon on one shoulder.

That’s a skogsroa, Elias had whispered against her skin.A wood wife. Mistress of this entire forest—except the ash trees, which are considered the most sacred and each have their own ash wife that lives within them.

A wood wife knew about almost everything that went on in her forest. Her knowledge would be an invaluable resource to Charlie’s mission—if she could find her. Elias said that wood wives rarely made themselves known to humans, preferring to disguise themselves as trees or animals. And even if shecouldfind the skogsroa, there was no guaranteeing that the creature would help Charlie. Like all spirits of nature, wood wives were highly mercurial, just as likely to curse a human to wander in circles forever as to help them. Would seeking a skogsroa out even be worth the risk?

Unfortunately, Charlie had a feeling the answer was yes.

Sighing, she stood up from the armchair. “I know what I have to do. Come on, Henry.”

The vätte squeaked in protest. His tiny arms were full of popcorn kernels.

“We go now, or there’s no chocolate after dinner tonight.”

He dropped the popcorn.

“Be on your guard, okay?” Charlie said to the Vikings as Henry scampered up to rest on her shoulder. “Elias could show up here at any moment, and I doubt he would come wearing his human body.”

“You needn’t worry about us.” Bjorn puffed out his chest and patted the hilt of his sword. “We’ve survived far worse than some puny mare of night.”

“I’m sure you have,” she said, turning to walk down the hallway.

The words sounded false even to her.