Honeyed Words (24 page)

“You have my thanks, Sarah Jane Beauhall. You are a light in the darkness.” Then she was gone.

I stared at my own reflection for a moment, and then slid the mirror, facedown, under the couch.

Christ on a crutch. This was out of control. I just wanted a normal life. How the hell was I supposed to take on a full clan of dwarves and rescue Ari? Maybe Skella could sneak me in, use a gate to travel north. Pretty neat trick. Of course, there were the eaters to consider. And to think, I used to be worried about silly things like bills and such. At least I didn’t have to watch out for giant spiders every time I opened the freaking door.

But, even having killed Jean-Paul and faced down more than one dragon, I’m not a superhero. I’m just me. Berserker or not, I was not indestructible. And Odin was pissed, that much was obvious.

Damn it. I had a life to live. Obligations to meet. I just couldn’t make a suicide run into the heart of dwarf country, not to mention the King of Vancouver and whatever madness he had cooking up. It was all just overwhelming.

Oh, god. And Anezka and Bub. My life was a carnival.

Time to pull out the hide-a-bed and catch some Zs. I just knew I was going to dream about this madness. Dinner Wednesday with Katie couldn’t come too soon. I just wish she was here to cuddle with. I was getting sick of sleeping alone.

Thirty-one

I met Anezka out at Triple Loop. Actually, she met me since I beat her there. It was nice, for once, not to be the straggler. I was inside talking with Mr. Culver when she pulled up in an old F150. Thing looked like hell, and sounded like it needed an engine overhaul, but she’d made it.

After introductions and some swapping of general gossip with Mr. Culver, Anezka and I headed out to the barn. The horses were ready to do some running by the look of them, so Mr. Culver let them out into the pasture while we worked on his two ponies. I liked working ponies as a general rule, but they were so damn short, it took more bending and was harder on the back.

Anezka dove right in, asking me a few questions, but really fell back into the rhythm of shoeing. The ponies were fairly placid and gave her no trouble.

The horses were another story. The little mare rolled her eyes and stomped, bucking and blowing. We couldn’t get her under control until Anezka left the barn. She spent the rest of the day working on shoes for me to lay down.

I had a sneaking suspicion it was as much the aura of Bub, and his scaly stench, as Anezka that got them stirred up.

Gave me plenty of good practice, and Mr. Culver was quite relieved to be getting the herd tended. Later, as he was writing out a check, he confided in me he’d called around to see if anyone else would give him a quote.

“Hell, I even called Jude Brown over at Broken Axel Farm, and he said that if Mary Campbell over at the Circle Q spoke that highly of you, then I’d be better off waiting for you folks to get to me.”

We hadn’t even called Jude Brown. He only kept a couple mules he plowed with, no horses or ponies, so we didn’t see him much. I’d have to give him a call.

“Well, with Julie laid up, and the smithy burned down,” I said, shrugging, “it’s been rough.”

He grew solemn then, crossed himself and leaned in to speak away from Anezka. “You done right by my lot, but that woman is a little odd.”

I smiled and nodded. “She’s doing us a favor by helping out,” I said. “Good to have someone with expertise along to make sure I toe the line.”

He patted me on the shoulder. “You tell Julie we’d love to see her out as soon as she’s able, but I’m more than fine with you coming out on your own.”

I glanced at Anezka. She was packing the little propane forge we’d used to adjust the shoes I’d brought. If she heard or noticed, she didn’t give any indication.

It was the first time I’d taken the money while someone else cleaned up. Felt good and awkward all at the same time. Like I was the big kid for once.

We’d driven down to the fence line and through the gate when Anezka waved me over.

“Wanna stop over at The County Line for a beer?” she asked, once Mr. Culver had closed the gate.

“Sure, could use something to knock down the dust.”

We drove north toward Gold Bar and hit the wide spot in the road that was The County Line. It was a real hole-in-the-wall that catered to bikers and farmhands. My ugly sedan stood out among the bikes and trucks.

We went inside and sat at the far end of the bar. Anezka bought the first round, boilermakers. A tall beer and a shot of whiskey each. We tossed back the whiskeys, smacked the bar, and picked up the beers. I can drink most girls under the table, but she beat me to the bottom of that glass. It was impressive.

She belched like she was about to explode and asked to be set up again. I opted for just a beer and trundled off to the bathroom.

By the time I got back, she was standing at the jukebox plugging in quarters. Soon Def Leppard was shouting about pouring some sugar, and Anezka was out on the floor shaking it for all she was worth.

I sat at the bar, nursing my beer and watching her. She threw herself into dancing like I did with fighting. Like I had that night with the cowboys. She was drawing some serious attention, and I was getting a bad feeling.

When the song ended, I scooted across the sawdust and tapped her on the shoulder.

“You wanna dance?” she asked me.

“Tempting,” I said, smiling despite the eyes staring at us. “But I thought we should grab a seat and talk before things got too wild.”

I could tell she didn’t really want to stop dancing. She hadn’t been out much since Justin left her. Who could blame her for wanting to cut loose? But I wasn’t in the mood to be mauled by cowboys, and, while there was a part of me that wouldn’t mind a bit of a tussle, punching someone would do bad things to my knuckles.

Instead, we landed in a booth with an order of nachos and two tall glasses of sweet tea. She wasn’t too happy, but kept her party face on.

“Tell me about Bub,” I said after the waitress left.

Anezka watched her walk away, whistling quietly. Pretty brazen, but I doubted those denims peeled off for just any cowgirl that strolled into the bar.

“Bub says you’re one crazy bitch,” she said, turning back to face me, laughing. “Didn’t see a second of fear in you, and the way you kept jumping around Kelly’s place, taunting him. You’ve earned his respect.”

Good to know, though that wasn’t exactly how I remembered it. “Glad he’s not in the mood to kill me and eat me,” I said, fishing through the chips for a jalapeño.

She nibbled, and sipped her tea, making a face. “If I wanted to be sober, I’d have stayed home.”

“Don’t want you getting into trouble.”

She screwed her face up, gnawing on something sour. “You’re harshing my buzz,” she said. “Maybe I want to get hammered and go home with a couple of these young fellas—”

The waitress walked by again, her midriff showing with her T-shirt torn and tied under her breasts.

“—or she might make for a fun evening.”

The waitress, Angie by her name tag, rolled her eyes and cleared the next booth over. When she bent over the table to wipe the far end, several of the patrons whooped and hollered—Anezka among them.

“Look,” I said, pulling her back around to sit in the booth.

“Back off, Snow White,” she said, standing up and stumbling toward the bar. “I’m a big girl.”

Snow White? What the fuck?
Of course, I just sat there while she lined up three shots and knocked them down one after another.

Next she was out on the dance floor having the time of her life.

I dropped some money on the table, slipped out of the bar, and called Katie. This night was not going to end well. Hell, I didn’t want to sit around and watch her get hammered and nailed.

Katie said I wasn’t responsible for her, that Anezka was a big girl. Maybe I should just head on home, let her live her life the way she wants.

I just had a very bad feeling.

Thirty-two

Frederick Sawyer stood in front of the bank of windows overlooking his city, holding a letter in the sunlight. An opened box sat in the middle of his large desk, the Bubble Wrap sticking above the edge of the open flap. “Surely you understand what this means?” he asked, excitement coursing through him in waves of fire. He glanced across the room to where Mr. Philips stood. “If this is true, imagine the influence I could wield.”

“Of course, sir,” Mr. Philips said. “So you believe this is true?”

Frederick looked down at the page again. There were two sets of writing there, English and a language that resembled Old High German. The letters were blocky and trended more toward runes, but it was a language that tickled the back of Frederick’s mind. “I believe this is Dwarvish,” he said, letting the glee rise in him. “There is a legend among the ancient ones of a mead such as the one described here. To own it would be invaluable.”

Mr. Philips clasped his hands behind his back. “I find it interesting that this revolves around parties in Vancouver, but excludes the self-proclaimed King.”

“Quite right,” Frederick said with a toothy grin. “All the more reason to pursue this. Obviously this King does not have total control over the city as it first appeared. Best to spread our efforts to all opportunities.”

“We will require a testing of this brew,” he said, not turning. “This mead gives the imbiber the voice of the gods, a power to move men’s hearts and enthrall their minds.”

“If I may be so bold…” Mr. Philips interjected. He looked at Frederick for permission to continue. Frederick nodded. “You have had your eye on the Montgomery lad for some time. Perhaps this potion, if authentic, could be used to boost his natural abilities, providing you a greater asset, regardless of the outcome of the auction for a superior vintage.”

Frederick nodded. “I like the way you think, Mr. Philips. Let’s invite Mr. Montgomery to dinner.”

Mr. Philips turned to the computer and began tapping on the keys.

“Find him a suitable dinner companion as well,” Frederick said, stroking his chin. “Someone buxom, and fawning.”

The
click-clack
of the keys continued unabated for several minutes. Finally, Mr. Philips looked up. “Invitation has been sent, sir.”

“And the girl?”

“Redhead, five-six. Bikini barista from that quaint little shop on Burnside.”

Frederick nodded. “Excellent. She will do just fine.”

She was a handsome lass, and not so intellectual as to intimidate young James.

Yes, this would be delicious,
he thought.

“Invite some of the regulars,” Frederick added. “Let’s see if we can dazzle Mr. Montgomery.”

Mr. Philips nodded and returned to his work. Frederick took a fat hand-rolled cigar from a humidor on his desk, snipped off the end, and settled down in his leather chair. He pulled a slender wooden shaving out of a different box and held it to his lips. With a breath he set the twig alight, then put the cigar in his mouth. Blue smoke rose around him as he sucked the flame into the tobacco.

“I love when things go my way.”

Thirty-three

I gathered my ideas for props, costumes, sets, and an estimated budget into a spreadsheet and e-mailed them to Jennifer. Julie had been sawing logs long before I went to unfold the couch.

My hand was hurting more than usual, so I broke out the knitting. I’d read about people who knitted with wire. I thought it would be cool to do, but I promised Katie I wouldn’t do anything outrageous until I’d finished the scarf I was working on. I held it up. Foot and a half of crap. Somehow, about halfway through, I’d increased the width without really knowing how. Katie had offered to help me figure it out, but I just had to finish it my own way. It would suck, but I would own that suckage.

I checked the mirror periodically, hoping to catch some word from Skella, but the mirror never changed. After thirty minutes, I gave up … the mirror went back under the couch, knitting went into the satchel of shame, and I crawled under the blankets with Anezka in my mind’s eye. While she wasn’t a real looker, I got the impression she could have just about any man or woman she fancied. Not a bone of fear or doubt in her.

As I drifted to sleep, I thought of her at Burning Man, dancing naked around a bonfire, covered in body paint and shouting her joy at the cold stars.

The screams of joy mingled with screams of horror when I looked into the sky above the village.

Village? I spun around, confused. Where was I? Several of the thatched huts were burning, and the sound of crying filled my ears. There, on top of the long house, the dragon raised its long neck to the sky and roared, its great wings beating the flames that rolled across the roof.

“You have failed to give me tribute,” the dragon roared.

I recognized that voice, something in its timbre reminded me of another I’d grown to loathe.

A large man with pale skin and a full, shaggy beard burst from one of the huts brandishing a long spear. His wild hair haloed his face as he skidded across the dust of the gathering circle, flinging the spear with a roar. He cursed as the dragon batted aside the spear with one of his great wings.