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Wolf exhales, looking slightly uncomfortable. “Skarde was a warrior, fighting for the Norwegian monarchy, when the plague hit, around 1350. He fled into northern Norway, I’m talking the Arctic Circle, hoping to escape the death. But the plague followed, killing large numbers of the population along the coast. The Sami people, from Finnmark, weren’t as affected by the plague because of isolation and diet. They didn’t eat the grains in which the plague was often found. They ate reindeer and fish instead, kept to themselves, far away from the populations of the other countries.”
I listen, enraptured. I’ve studied a bit abou
t the Sami people, fascinated with Lapland as a child, but even so, this is all new to me.
Wolf goes on. “While most Finns and Swedes were Lutherans at that point, a lot of the Sami were still committed to Paganism. Skarde lived with a certain sect of the Sami, adapting to their ways, taking on Paganism, Shamanism, but still the death followed…” He trails off.
“And?”
“And it’s never quite clear what happened,” he says carefully. “We don’t have any texts, you see, it’s all passed down verbally. Skarde struck a bargain with someone dark and powerful. The bargain was for eternal life, so he wouldn’t die from the plague. What he got instead was, well...” He gestures to himself. “Some might say he was screwed over. Others say he was cursed. Same difference.”
“That means you and I are cursed,” I tell him.
“Some days it does feel that way,” he says. Then he gives me a quick smile. “Other days, it’s fucking awesome.”
I let out a caustic laugh. “Yeah, been a real hoot so far.” I pop the cherry from my drink into my mouth and immediately think of Elle.
Elle.
Elle, who probably thinks I’m still in Joshua Tree with my parents.
Elle, from another life.
I hadn’t even thought of her until this moment and, fuck, it hurts me.
Is the rest of my life just going to fade from my memories?
I close my eyes briefly, trying to squash the feeling. There’s already too much to be worried about. I’m just a few thoughts away from truly unravelling.
“So where does Absolon come from then? Same as you?” I ask him, trying to move past the pain.
Wolf nods. “More or less.”
“And what’s his story? When was he born?”
“Solon is guarded about his past. I’ve learned not to open my mouth,” he says. “You’re better off asking him.”
“Like hell he’s going to tell me,” I mutter, taking another sip of the drink, feeling the booze go straight to my brain.
“You never know,” he says, turning the beer around in his hands. “He doesn’t indulge many people, but he might indulge you.” He pauses, takes a gulp. “He’s fascinated by you, you know.”
Absolon? Fascinated by me? I’m the one who is fascinated by him. I mean, how can I not be? Ignoring the fact that he’d kill me in another life, that he’ll probably send me off to some terrible doom I refuse to think about, he’s…well, mind-blowing.
“I guess he did call me mythical,” I say under my breath.
“Mythical?” Wolf raises a brow. “He said that? Oh, he’s definitely enamored then.”
I nearly laugh. Enamored is a totally different word from fascinated. Enamored implies having affection for someone, and Absolon views me as nothing more than fucking cold currency. But still, the word gives me hope.
“Enamored enough to let me go?” I ask, hating how hopeful I sound.
“We’ll see tonight,” Wolf says, taking another swig of his beer.
“Tonight? At the party?”
He eyes me thoughtfully. “I thought you knew. The party tonight is for you.”
“For me?”
