Page 55 of Veil of Blood and Bone

“Hey there! Having a good day?” A man in skin-tight polyester jogs in place in front of me.

He’s got white earbuds in and the distinctive croon of Kenny G feels like a strange choice for an exercise beat.

I send a wave of compulsion out toward him. “Leave.”

His eyes go unfocused for a moment, and then he grins at me, a bright and sunny gesture compared to the slate gray ceiling of sky, and cuts off down the street again. “Sure thing, take care!”

Gods, this town.

Even the compulsion slides strangely here.

I could have pulled him against the building and had a snack before dispatching him.

Growling, I hunch into a sudden spike of arctic wind that sends pyramids of flame-orange and curling brown leaves tumbling into sewer grates. The breeze picks up, and the damp heaviness of incoming rain thickens the air.

The hair on my neck prickles, and goosebumps bring attention to my suddenly spiked nerves.

Something’s coming.

Slate darkens to pewter, erasing the sun and sending the already gloomy town into a downward spiral toward bleak. The storm comes on swiftly with unreasonable cold. Senses screaming, I push off the building and step into the street, pinpointing the source.

There.

The distinctive thud of footsteps announces the troll before I see it. The creature’s craggy face breaks into a contemptuous expression with ragged points of teeth.

“Kari's creature.”

His winds deliver the creature to her doorstep, ready to do the bidding of the old Norse god of the north wind. In human mythology, Kari is the oldest son of an ancient frost giant. In reality, he is a commanding spirit of snow and ice, blizzards, storms.

“Are you doing his errand now, Kari?” I sneer. “Bending over for Odin just like the rest of us.”

The troll won’t even glance my way. It perches in the dead center of the street outside the bookstore and waits. Frost crackles along the sidewalk and the stoplight a block over freezes.

The traffic goes mad in protest.

Odin has never called on a God before, only monsters.

My ribs grow points sharper than stakes, and my fangs lengthen. Something is different about this cycle. The guardians of Asgard are getting desperate.

And Kari is heavy-handed.

A raging blast of air shatters the front door to the bookstore, and inside, Audra screams.

No one else notices the song carried on the squall. No one else sees the troll crouched and waiting for its specific prey. They will keep trying. They’ll come for her repeatedly until they win, and we fail.

Relax. Wait.

Those two words have been my motto for the last four hundred years. Patience is not a virtue. It’s punishment. Today, I’ll be content to watch, knowing that despite the cold, Forest and Helene will handle the troll.

They always do.

They’ve fought worse monsters than trolls, but they’ve never had to deal with one of Kari’s creatures before.

Will it tip the scales?

Forest is the first through the door. The wind tears the hair free from his braids as he draws dual longswords from the holster across his spine.

I shudder at their dull gleam even in the dim illumination.