Page 6 of Heart of Mischief

Sliding his axe back into his belt, Vidar grunted. “We’re Vikings, not therapists.”

“You humans are so soft these days,” Bjorn agreed as he stomped out of the bushes. “When we were alive, there was no ‘right way’ to give feedback. You let your instructor whip you for messing up, or you got locked in the cellar.”

Lou wrinkled her nose. “I’m pretty sure that’s child abuse.”

Bjorn waved one huge, meaty hand. “No such thing back in the Viking Age.” He whacked Mason’s shoulder and pointed forward. “Now, walk.”

They did as they were told, Charlie limping while the others chattered merrily. They were completely at ease in the forest, knowing the Vikings were there for protection. Henry nuzzled into her neck. He knew she was in pain. He could always tell.

“So. Abs,” said Lou. “Made any progress on the riddle?”

After homecoming, Abigail had volunteered to take the lead on deciphering the Fenrir’s riddle.

“I started doing the crossword in theTimeswhen I was six,”Abigail had announced to the three of them the Monday after homecoming. “I’m more qualified for this job than the rest of you combined.”

Unfortunately—and perhaps unsurprisingly—none of the skills honed by Abigail over a decade of crosswording seemed to have translated into the skills necessary to decipher a centuries-old prophecy.

“Ithinkso,” said Abigail now, like she always did when Lou asked about her progress. “I discovered a connection between the phrasedance in the moonlightand the setting of one of Shakespeare’s older plays. I’m thinking that if I can link the two, then—”

“So, no,” Lou interrupted. “No progress whatsoever.”

Abigail huffed. “Look. Just becauseyoudon’t understand the finer points of codebreaking doesn’t mean that no one else does.”

Charlie tuned out the conversation, letting her eyes drift up to the treetops. Red, yellow, and orange leaves swayed in the light morning breeze. She watched them twitch and crackle, yearning to break loose from their branches. Above, a falcon with too many wings soared past, its feathers too bright, its cry unnaturally loud.

One might think that Charlie would be used to Asgard by now. To the vines that wrapped around streetlamps, the strange noises that came from neatly trimmed hedges, the glowing eyeballs that seemed to follow her wherever she went outside, the ash trees that came to life without warning. And, to some degree, shewasused to it. Or, at least, she’d grown to expect it.

Expect everything, and nothing will surprise you.

Her friends had each taken in their new reality in their own ways. Abigail had accepted Asgard the way she accepted everything she didn’t like: by ignoring it unless it directly benefited her goals.

Lou was a different story entirely. After she awoke from being possessed, they’d given her the final eyaerberry. Ever since, she’d been like a kid visiting a theme park for the first time. More than once, Charlie had to forcibly drag her away from getting too close to the vicious-looking mermaid that lived in the town fountain.

So, no. Charlie still wasn’t used to it, this new version of the world she grew up in. The woods where she played as a child and partied as a teenager. Its bones were the same—pine trees, birches, oaks, tangling roots, clusters of moss, rocks made to trip the boots of those who didn’t pay enough attention—but its skin was completely different. Brighter. More colorful. Crawling with magic and creatures that lurked just out of sight. Far more beautiful, and far more dangerous, too.

“Matt and the other guys are driving up with me tomorrow to deliver the goods,” Mason was saying when she tuned back into the conversation. “We’re taking three separate cars.”

The upcoming weekend was a special one for Silver Shores High School. On Friday, all 150 of its upperclassmen would load onto two rusty old school buses and chug up north to a state park for the annual overnight Outdoor Education Trip (commonly referred to as the “OET”—pronounced like the breakfast food). As juniors, it was Charlie and the other girls’ first time attending. To say that Lou was excited would be the understatement of the century.

“Excellent,” Lou said, clapping. “More room for booze.”

“Isn’t it, like, a three-hour drive to the park?” Abigail asked.

“Sure is,” said Mason.

“Good God,” said Abigail. “You guys are going to be exhausted.”

“Goodgods,” Lou corrected her. “Don’t forget. Now that we know there are so many, we can’t risk excluding any of them. You know how petty gods can be.”

“I don’t, actually,” said Abigail. “Seeing as I’ve never met one.”

“Yes, you have,” said Lou. “You were in the same room as Loki for, like, five whole minutes. Right before he announced Charlie and Mason were his kids, then vanished back to the underworld. A perfect exit, if you ask me.”

Mason groaned. “Not this again. That guy was off his rocker, and you know it.”

Charlie bristled. It grated on her when Mason said things likethat. She knew how far-fetched the idea sounded, and it’s not like shewantedto be his daughter—not when he was a famous liar destined to bring about Ragnarök (aka the end of Asgard, aka the apocalypse).

No, her irritation with Mason had nothing to do with any sense of familial loyalty to Loki. She was annoyed that her brother refused to evenentertainthe idea that the god might be their father. He had no interest in digging into the mystery with her, in seeking out the truth. He was the only other person in the world who could understand what she was going through (other than Sophie, and the gods only knew where she was), and he wouldn’t even speak to her.