Kevin Hearne - Hammered

“This should be pleasant, then,” I said, watching the level of blood rise in the glass. “Though I’m afraid I can’t help you with the smells of fear or desire. Would you say that you’re as strong as ever, then?”

“Not precisely,” Leif said. “Your blood helps tremendously, however. There is something about it, as we have discussed in the past.”

“Yes, I’d be curious to know precisely what it is,” I said. The goblet was nearly full, so I bound my torn tissue and skin back together to cut off the flow. “You’re welcome to as much as I can afford, of course, in the coming days. I owe you at least that much, since you came to such harm on my account.”

I wiped a couple of stray drops off my arm with a washcloth and then handed him the goblet. He thanked me and said, “Helping me kill Thor will settle that account quite nicely.”

“The same goes for me,” Gunnar chimed in. Presumably he was referring to his dead pack members, but they had come to the Superstitions on their own. I’d never asked them to come. If their deaths were on anyone’s head, it was Gunnar’s, but I let the comment slide. If he’d consider his imaginary account settled by something I was already going to do anyway, there was no need to dispute him.

“A toast, then,” I said, raising my bottle. “Perhaps one of you should offer it, since you have stronger feelings on the matter than I do.” My feelings were that I’d already done more than enough damage on the Norse plane.

Leif and Gunnar spoke at once as though they’d rehearsed it in stereo: “To killing Thor!” I think one or both of them spit on me in the process, their vehemence was so strong.

“Hear, hear,” I said, attempting to sound hearty about it, and we all clinked our drinks and drank deeply. Leif looked visibly healthier almost immediately.

Oberon said.

Would you like a treat as a consolation prize?

I gave Oberon a treat from the pantry and said to my guests, “So. Have you come to play video games? Maybe kick it old school with a few rounds of Yahtzee?”

“In happier times, perhaps,” Leif said drily. “I rather hoped we could discuss details of our trip to Asgard.”

“By all means. Please, be seated.” I waved at my kitchen table and we all took seats. The map I’d drawn earlier was still there, lying faceup. I turned it over so that it wouldn’t distract them. I’d show it to them a bit later. “May I ask who else is coming besides Gunnar?”

Leif steepled his fingers together, elbows on the table, and peered at me from one side of them. “Of course. There are three additional parties joining us. They await only the location of our rendezvous and a meeting time.”

“I can give you GPS coordinates. Will that suffice?”

“Admirably.”

“Who are these three other parties?” Gunnar demanded. I think Leif had been about to say their names anyway, but he hadn’t spoken up quickly enough for the werewolf. If Leif was irritated, he disguised it well.

“Perun, a Slavic thunder god; Väinämöinen, a shamanic culture hero of the ancient Finns; and Zhang Guo Lao, one of China’s Eight Immortals.”

Oberon said. He situated himself on the floor by my feet and I caressed his neck.

Zhang Guo Lao, of course. He’s alive and Pai Mei is dead .

Kill Bill: Two . He’s probably on Facebook right now. Look him up.>

“That’s it?” the alpha asked. “Six of us against all of Asgard?” Gunnar was used to having more than six with him on even the most routine hunts.

“I don’t care about all of Asgard,” Leif explained. “I only care about Thor.” Leif had the opposite problem. He’d been fighting alone for so long and shredding everything that he probably thought the six of us would be overkill.

“All of Asgard is going to object,” I pointed out. “And they have resources we need to address.”

“Such as?” Leif asked. I explained to them what I’d seen while stealing the golden apple—Thor’s chariot, Gullinbursti, the ravens Hugin and Munin, and twelve pissed-off Valkyries, plus Odin and all the rest of the gods, not to mention the possibility of calling up the Einherjar, the fallen Vikings who dwell in Valhalla.

“The Einherjar fight every day, preparing for Ragnarok,” Gunnar mused. “They are slain and raised again each day on the Field of Vigrid. They have no fear of death, and their numbers must be huge. They’re the perfect army. My friends, we are good—but not that good.”

“We will not have to face the Einherjar right away,” I assured them. “It’s just a late-game possibility. The faster we are in attracting attention, the smaller the possibility that the Einherjar will be a problem.”

“How do you know this?” Leif said.

I turned over the map I had made earlier and showed it to them. “This is a map of the plane, which I know to be at least partially accurate,” I said. “We are going to emerge from the root of Yggdrasil. But see here? The Field of Vigrid—and Valhalla—are on the opposite side of the plane, according to my source.” Ratatosk had told me that and more during our trip up the root from Jötunheim.

“Who’s your source?” Gunnar asked.

“Well, he’s a … he was … a squirrel.”

“A squirrel!” the alpha spluttered. “You can’t trust a squirrel!”

Oberon said.

“Look, his information saved me a lot of trouble. He was very accurate about what I could independently verify. There’s no reason to believe the rest of it is wildly off-kilter. If we can get Thor to come out and engage us somewhere on the Plain of Idavoll—the closer to Yggdrasil, the better—the Einherjar will not be able to mobilize in time to make any difference. They don’t have flying horsies like the Valkyries. They’ll have to march the whole way, and it will take them days.”

“Yes, I see,” Leif said, “but how do we get Thor to come out? Won’t he simply sit behind the walls of Gladsheim, or Bilskirnir, and wait for us to come to him?”

“Nah. All we gotta do is ridicule his strength or say something about his mom. He’s a bully, right? Bullies don’t fight wisely.”

“Come now, Atticus,” Leif said. “How will he know we are even there, much less respond to a shouted taunt about his dubious parentage?”

“Oh, he’ll know all right,” I said. “I have a plan, though in its current form it doesn’t take into account the abilities of the other members of our party.”

“Let’s hear it,” Gunnar said, and Leif seconded the motion. I told them what I’d been cooking up, and they approved everything but the rubber suits and the climbing gear.

“We will not be needing those, trust me,” Leif said. “So when is this going to happen?”

“We leave tomorrow night.” Leif looked pleased at this news, but Gunnar seemed less than sanguine.

“Must it be so soon?” the werewolf asked.

“The Hammers of God plus an actual god are coming to slay me, so, yes, it must be. I’d rather be a slayer than the slain.”

Gunnar looked at Leif. “That moves up your timetable significantly.”

“Yes, but not impossibly,” the vampire replied. “Especially if the Druid helps.”

“What are you talking about?” This was the part where we were supposed to wish each other good night and meet back here tomorrow at the same bat time. They sounded like they needed me for something else.