Page 43 of Fallen Gods

Odinfather:As do I. Daily.

I swallow the lump in my throat.

Me:May Thor’s storm rage on in the sky, eternal and unbroken, in the Hall of Bilskírnir, the largest hall of the Gods.

Odinfather:May he find his peace amongst the storms he created.

I set the phone down and stare at the words. I never met my half brother. But something about the silence beneath Odin’s answers tells me he loved Thor—in his own twisted way. And if Mjölnir was forged to reflect its wielder, then what is it now without him?

Grief and power wrapped in a relic that doesn’t forget?

If the hammer is mourning, then I understand it better than I thought.

And I know one thing for sure:

Mjölnir belongs with the Gods. It belongs with my family.

And I’m going to be the one to bring it home.

I glance at my phone. Fifteen minutes before I need to head downstairs for orientation—just enough time to tug on some fresh clothes and pull my hair back. I fix my face in the mirror. Lip gloss. Powder. High ponytail. I look like a girl who slept well and has zero blood on her hands.

I grab my orientation packet, sling the rucksack over one shoulder. The notebook and blade stay tucked under my mattress—until I need them.

Aric might think he has the upper hand, but he overplayed today. He wants me. And I can use that.

Like I told Ziva…I need some answers.

Chapter Nineteen

Aric

Sometimes I hate Sigurd. He knows I don’t do crowds, don’t do people, and yet he’s insisted that his grandsons—both of them—will be the draw that gets students to sign up for the sunset campus tour. So here we are.

I’ll admit, Reeve can pitch Endir like nobody else, making it out to be some Ivy League utopia. It’s almost impressive—if you ignore the fact that he’s never once attended class on time.

Besides, pleasing our grandfather by agreeing to these tours comes easy to him. Everything comes easy to Reeve. He’s the golden child. Always sunny, always popular.

Yet despite his many admirers, the one who loves Reeve best has always beenReeve. I swear, the sound of his own voice could probably give him an orgasm at this point. He’s a great brother, loyal, trusting, but the narcissism is strong in that one, and he isn’t even apologetic about it.

I’m waiting outside our dorm for him to grab the rest of his school spirit rah-rah tour shit when he rolls out the front doors with a giant green flag in his hands.

“No.” I point at it. “You are not holding a flag like we’re in some parade. Put it back.”

He grins and flips it over. “It has my face on it.”

“For fuck’s sake, can you give it a rest? Just once?”

He tilts his head. “No, I don’t think I can. Plus, it’s comic relief for what’s going to be the most boring two hours of these new students’ lives. I was seriously tempted to make brownies laced with weed just to help them through it, then realized that, even though it’s legal in Washington, I’d still be drugging people without their knowledge.” He seems genuinely sad about it.

“Wow, how astute of you.”

“I do have boundaries,” he says, but even he can’t keep a straight face while saying it.

“No you don’t.” I pinch the bridge of my nose, already feeling a headache coming on.

He shoots me a sloppy grin, then puts his stupid Gucci hat on his head and starts walking away. I follow him to the tour meeting location, and when I get there, I choose a spot next to the Endir University welcome sign, conveniently placed a few feet away from where about forty students have already begun to gather.

Everyone’s chatting and laughing like it’s going to be the best tour of their lives. I know they’re just running off the whole freshman first-week-of-school thing, but I wonder what it would really be like to look forward to something like that, with pure, unadulterated joy.