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CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Valhalla, it turned out, was a banquet hall in a strip mall in the shadow of the interstate. The parking lot was a cracked expanse of asphalt, with faded lines and an outcropping of shoulder-high weeds that had broken through the blacktop. The stucco walls had been painted a fading pink that was streaked with grime and bird shit and despair. A giant neon sign hung crooked over the front door. It read Meadhall Distinctive Banquets, but the first E had gone out, leaving “Madhall” blinking down at us as we approached. We tumbled out of the van and stared up at the billboard on the roof. A whole murder of crows nested between the letters. A tattered banner hung over the entrance. Happy Birthday, Ian! You’re a Big Boy NOW!

“This is not what I was expecting,” I said.

“It’s seen better days,” Esther answered. “Eighties and nineties, this was a great place for a party. Now they rent it out to any wandering convention or corporate meeting they can lure through those doors.”

“Oh, how the mighty have fallen,” Chesa mumbled. “Serves ’em right. Bunch of stuffy warrior babes. Look at me, so fancy, I have wings . . . ”

“Let’s keep the condescending talk to ourselves, shall we?” Esther said. “At least in front of the crows. You never know who’s looking through their eyes.”

With an uncomfortable look up at the murder, we walked through the wide glass doors and into a realm of chaos.

The room was much larger on the inside than outside, which was pretty typical for anything with a trace of the Unreal about it. Gaudy, industrial-grade carpet dazzled the eyes, even through decades of traffic patterns and gravy stains (maybe a little blood, too), matched by wallpaper that looked like something M. C. Escher would have drawn, if Escher had been a frustrated commercial artist with a seashell fetish and an endless supply of glitter. Cheap faux-golden chandeliers hung from the water-stained ceiling. Half the bulbs were out, and those that were still lit cast an unsteady fluorescent glow that cut through my eyes and straight into my soul. The air smelled like spilled beer, burned meatballs that had been sitting in a chafing dish for too long, and congealed fat, soaked into the fabric of the chairs. Dozens of tables, covered with fireproof white linen and set with plastic utensils, spread unevenly across the floor. There was no sign of a living soul.

The dead, though, were everywhere. Stacked like cordwood, splayed across the parquet dance floor, propped against the buffet tables . . . dozens of dead bodies. Hundreds. They were dressed in a variety of formal wear, from corduroy leisure suits to neon cumberbunds, tuxedos lined with flannel, and sequin evening dresses that would have dazzled the sun if they hadn’t been covered in a thin layer of their owner’s blood.

And every dead eye, every slack face, every deceased visage was turned to face us. Like they were watching, and waiting.

“This is more like it,” I said. “Peak Valhalla. I would expect nothing less. When do you think they’ll be serving dessert?”

“Stuff it, Rast. Something’s wrong.” Esther marched between the tables, stepping over bodies and around puddles of blood. “It’s the middle of the day. These corpses should be drunk on cheap beer and halfway through the buffet by now, not lying in state.”

“I’d hardly call this lying in state,” I said. “Unless the state in question is Disarray.”

“Isn’t there supposed to be a volleyball court?” Chesa asked. “With . . . shirtless Vikings? Playing volleyball?”

“Keep it in your pants, Lazaro,” Esther snapped. “Everyone, look around for the valkyries. Something weird is going on here, and I’m willing to bet it has something to do with our domains.”

Grumbling, we set about the task of searching the bodies for their winged companions. It was joyless work, especially since most of the dead seemed very comfortable in their repose, and didn’t want to budge. I began wondering if I would find Solveig among them. I recognized a few of the bodies, but for the most part the charnel carpet contained a steady supply of athletic men and women suffering from grievous and obviously fatal wounds.

We found the valkyries in the kitchen. Or, technically, the valkyrie. The rest were dead. Lined up along the back wall of the kitchen, dressed in an odd mix of ballroom wear and combat gear, they looked like the lineup of a beauty contest with a trial by combat that had gone terribly wrong.

Runa Hellesdottir lay on the dull brown tiled floor, hands tented over the hilt of the dagger that had been thrust into her heart. There was surprisingly little blood. She was dressed in a high-waisted all-black tuxedo with a silver hatchet dangling from the hip. Revna, the raven-winged valkyrie who had escorted us to the throne on our earlier visit, knelt at her side. Revna’s eyes were rimmed with red, and tears stained her cheeks. A brace of spears lay discarded nearby. She made no notice of our entrance.

“What happened?” Esther asked. “Who did this?”

“This is your fault, you know,” Revna said. “Whenever Esther bloody MacRae shows up, it’s valkyrie blood, and valkyrie tears.”

“You know we had nothing to do with this,” Esther said. She knelt by Runa’s side, checking the fallen valkyrie’s throat and wrist. “Why is there so little blood?”

“She was already dead. The mortal you led to this place, the wielder of Totenschreck, struck her down. The dagger was to send a message.” Revna pulled Runa’s hand from Esther’s grasp, then set it gingerly back on the hilt. “We are not safe. Even in our own hall. Even from our own sisters.”

“Who did this?” Esther asked again.

“I don’t know,” Revna said after a long pause. “This is how I found her.”

“Then how do you know it was the Totenpops?” I asked.

“I saw them leaving in your damned boat,” she said. “The whole host of them. They killed their way through the blessed dead, killed Runa, and then fled like the cowards they are. I tried to catch up, but they were too fast.”

“And where were you when all this was going down?” Chesa asked. “Of all the valkyries, only you were absent?”

“I was . . . ” Her hesitation was as thick as wine in a poet’s blood. “I was on a mission.”

“Right,” I said. “What kind of mission? Looking for an excuse to be somewhere else while your friends stole the Hangnail?”

Revna stood and drew one of the discarded spears, setting the tip against my throat faster than I could blink. She stared at me with impassive eyes.

“I did not kill my friend. I do not kill those I love.” She pressed the spear firmly into my skin. “I do not love you.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get that. Not a very lovable guy.” I swallowed and immediately regretted the decision, as the spear drew blood. “Just, you know, curious.”

“I have already lost three members of my team, Revna. If I’m going to solve this problem, I’m going to need you to not kill any of the remaining,” Esther said. “Even John.”

“Even John,” I repeated.

Revna snorted, then whipped the spear away. I rubbed my neck and took a step back, nearly tripping over the dead Runa. Fortunately, Revna was looking elsewhere.

“I was following you and your ridiculous whale,” she said. “One of your companions burned as bright as a bonfire in the Unreal. The British one. Once I locked on to him, it was like following a burning cart down a hillside in the middle of the night.”

“Why were you following us?” Esther demanded. “You already kicked us out of Valhalla. What more could we do?”

“Apparently, a great deal. Runa didn’t trust you. She thought you might go for the Tears. I’ve spoken with Lillie. I guess Runa wasn’t far wrong, was she?”

“So either the valhellions followed Percy, or they followed you. Either way, we led them straight to the Tears,” Chesa said quietly.

“What have I been saying? All of this is your fault.”

“Well, whatever you believe, all we’re trying to do is stop the end of the world,” Esther said. “But this certainly explains a lot. Knight Watch’s compact is with Runa. If she’s dead, even the half-death of the Totenschreck, it will severely inhibit our ability to access the Unreal. Revna, we’ll need to swear a new compact with you. Without our domains—”

“I will do no such thing,” the valkyrie said. “Your bumbling and interference have brought this about. Knight Watch has always overstepped its bounds. Now you are grounded. Good.”

“Who else is going to help you?” Esther asked, gesturing to the line of dead valkyries at the back of the room. “Unless I miss my guess, our fascist friend nicked the whole lot with his cursed blade before scampering off. If they do come back in the morning, and there’s no guarantee that they will, it’s going to be on the wrong team.”

“I will manage. These are my sisters. I will be able to convince them—”

“No, you idiot, you won’t be able to convince them of anything,” Esther snapped. “You were at Dunkirk. You know what they’re going to become. Best you’ll be able to do is keep them from eating you raw, and that’s only if you can run fast enough.”

“We have other allies. I will call upon the Jotun, or the aelves. You are not the only power in heaven, Esther MacRae!”

“By the time you rouse them, and convince them this isn’t some elaborate trick to steal their memories or some such nonsense, it’ll be too late. You said they fled in the Naglfr? You know where they’re going, Revna. You know what this means!”

“Where are they going?” Chesa asked.

“Folksvangr,” Revna said reluctantly. “The field of the people. The place where Freya’s portion of the dead wait for the end of the world.”

“So, like Valhalla!” Chesa said. She bit her lip and leaned forward. “Is there . . . volleyball?”

“Wait a second,” I said. “If you came straight from Lillie to here, how did the valhellions have time to kill Runa and the other valkyries, not to mention the host of blessed bloody dead, before you arrived? We used a shadow gate and barely had time to clear our heads before we came here.”

“It could have been a second team,” Esther said. “One to retrieve the Tears, another to strike at Valhalla.”

“No. Tatertots was in both places. And I’m guessing it takes more than a heartbeat to storm a place like Valhalla, even if you’re ready for it. You saw what this place looked like when we left? Runa had the girls packing for bear,” I said. “Something about this is bugging me.”

“What does it matter?” Revna asked. “They are in Folksvangr by now. Without Naglfr, you will not be able to reach it.”

“Sure we can,” Chesa said. “We got here, didn’t we?”

“Folksvangr is different,” Esther said. “After the war it was cut off from the mundane, to keep someone from accidentally stumbling through the veil. It’s one of the few places that is entirely magical. You would need a magical vessel to reach it.”

“Something like the Hangnail,” I said.

“Yes,” Revna confirmed.

“Then why the hell did you let them take it from us?” I asked Esther. “We could have kept it safe.”

“I thought it might be safer in Valhalla,” she said. “I guess I was wrong.”

“So, you see, it is hopeless,” Revna said. “In the morning they will raise the army of dead soldiers contained in Folksvangr, and they will kick off Ragnarok. The Gjallarhorn will blow, Hrym will descend from his mountain with his shield, the world tree and the serpent will shake the heavens, and mighty Fenrir will break free from his bonds and consume the moon. Then the world will die in ash and flame.”

“Fenrir, you say?” I asked.

“Yes. The mighty wolf, bound only by the trickery of the gods. He is destined to consume the moon, kill Odin, and then—”

“I have an idea,” I interrupted. “But we’re going to need to find some bacon.”

“Bacon? Rast, I know you get hungry a lot, but third breakfast is going to have to wait until after the end of the world,” Chesa said.

“It’s not for me,” I said. “It’s for the dog.”


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Framed