Page 3 of Veil of Blood and Bone

Too gloomy here, a few travel guides have touted. But if you like haunted houses...

Instead, we have the Longship Festival.

Long, rectangular docks cut across steely water with twin longboats already anchored for tourists to explore. Had any Norse explorers managed to get this far inland, I doubt they’d have stopped here.

Nightshade Hollow capitalized the steep drop to the banks with dangerous stairs, covered bridges, and of course the death trap of the zigzag handicap ramp like the lines of the runes.

Someone painted the banner for the Viking-coded festivities a decade ago and pinned it in place against the torrent of autumn wind. Edges flap and curl and announce the two day event as “Fun for All Ages! A delight! Games and Rides! Food.”

My stomach grumbles. Food is good.

I race to the sidewalk and veer left to dodge a couple of women with strollers who angle to join the line waiting to walk through the yellow ropes into a glimpse of the past.

“Try not to mow them over while I’m in this chair, Helene,” Audra warns. “They’ll blame me. Although that could be double points…”

The breeze catches her hair and sends the brown curls spiraling in a messy halo.

I shake my head. “No, they won’t. You get a blanket pass. It cancels out the point value.”

Her kind of diagnosis almost guarantees it.

“No one is going to give a shit if we’re late,” she insists. "Besides, what are they going to do?"

“Mitzi Jones will care,” I counter. “And since she’s our neighboring tent then she’ll have plenty of shit to say to her BFFs on the town council.” My throat closes.

“It will stress you out less if you listen to this story. It’s fascinating. No one else goes into depth about Hellevi. The Fallen Shieldmaiden.” Audra mock shivers, rounding her lips on a spooky ooh.

“Because they want to hear about Brunhild. Or Sigrún.” The names float up from the abyss of my brain. “Those are the famous ones. right?”

“Hey. Fifty points if you hit him dead on.”

Her voice echoes off the blistered tin roof of the central pavilion, and the him in question turns rheumy eyes at us. He tightens his grip on his walker.

They always hear her. She makes sure of it.

The tip of my shoe hits a particularly vicious pile of soggy autumn leaves, and I lose my balance, landing hard on Audra’s shoulder. The straps of my borrowed costume pull tighter.

“I’m trying to dodge people, not mow them down with your chair. And you’re not helping by giving pedestrians point values if I hit them,” I say.

I’m done.

I’m absolutely finished if I don’t get to my booth fifteen minutes ago.

“If I’m fired, we’ll have to start selling organs on the black market,” I add. “I am fond of my kidneys. I don’t know about you.”

Audra scoffs, the sound wet in her throat and loud enough to disguise her groan of pain. “You’re worth more. And seriously, how many kidneys does one person need?”

She white knuckles the book, her index finger taking the place of a bookmark.

“I’d love to keep both, but I know it’s greedy.”

I plaster as much fake chipperness into my voice as possible. I’d be lying if I said I was sure of anything these days, but I know without a doubt that one more infraction means death.

Unemployment and eviction.

The wind trails frosted claws along my vertebrae and leaves unease and anxiety in its wake. The festival always feels wrong. Like something gathers when enough people come together.

Sounds of the crowd grow louder as we descend to the river. Through the curlicues of mist, spears of tents poke toward the unfeeling sky.