Dead Embers(20)

I watched the street over Mika's shoulder, growing more and more anxious as time went by. Mika was similarly aware of every movement in the café around us. Karim sat with her bodyguards, eating and drinking, and checking her watch every so often.

A grim-faced waiter closed in on their table, and I tensed. Then relaxed as he refreshed their coffee and left. I let out a breath and glanced at Mika. We both smiled at the false alarm.

And then a blast ripped through the cafe.

Mika launched to her feet, her chair skidding behind her and tipping over as glass fragments rained down onto her like a million little diamonds. I shot out of my chair, still unsure of what I meant to do. What could I do?

My ears rang, first from the gunshot, then from the screams. I remembered our einherjar and glanced over at her. My heart twisted as bright red blood spread across Medeia's neck and soaked into the fabric of her hijab. No doubt her body was protected by Kevlar, but what protected her head and neck? Her killer was smart. I glanced quickly outside, scanning the street and the building across from the café.

Nothing.

Just silence outside and pandemonium inside.

With her bodyguards crouched around their fallen leader, I had a clear view of Medeia Karim. Amidst the terror and the bustle of frantic movement, I stood very still, staring at the dying woman. Hot tears strained to get out of my tight throat as I watched the light leave her eyes.

At the very last second she turned her head to look at me. Her gaze shifted and focused somewhere over my shoulder. And she smiled. Her face shone, not only with the brightness of her Warrior glow but with an almost tangible happiness.

I trembled as I recognized the expression. As I watched her lids flutter shut and her body slump forward onto the table, I realized that in her last moments she been a witness to something extraordinary, and impossible.

The moment before she died, Medeia Karim had seen my wings.





Chapter 17




I could only think of blood; the entire bike ride back to the little house passed in a blur. Balancing the weight of my wings was the last thing on my mind, especially when that mind overflowed with memories of rich red blood and the emptiness of death.

What the hell was wrong with me? I was a Valkyrie. In some ways, I myself was a harbinger of death. So why should the death of a soon-to-be einherjar affect me so much that given half a chance I'd be bawling my eyes out? She had to die to fulfill her purpose in Odin's service.

Besides, I'd known she would soon die. Maybe I hadn't expected it to happen while I sat a few feet away from her, but I'd been forewarned. And yet the horror remained. The horror of bright red blood as it bloomed on her neck in her final moments.

As far as I could see, Mika remained unaffected by the whole horrible episode. Unfazed, she recapped the events for the rest of the team, a recap that was really a bullet-by-bullet replay. I had to remind myself that she was a centuries-old shape shifter with decades of killing under her belt. Mika was used to blood and death. Besides, she didn't have the same picture of Karim burned into her retinas. Or the memory of Karim's tiny smile in the moment of her death.

What would Karim have been thinking? Would she have convinced herself that she'd only imagined my wings? Would she have thought she'd seen an angel? I paused for a minute, unsure if a Valkyrie would make sense within the rebel leader's faith. I recalled my own astonishment and disbelief the first time I'd seen Sigrun's wings.

I'd witnessed so much in the last few months, things that surprised and amazed me, over and over again. If the gods of old Norse legend were living breathing beings, then who knew which other cultures had a mythology that wasn't just a figment of their imaginations?

Fen strode into the room, back from staking out the hospital with Joshua, so deep in thought that he didn't see me perched carefully on a short wooden stool that was so not Valkyrie-proof. I rose, and the wood creaked, relieved of my Valkyrie weight. I gave the fragile stool a disgusted look. Might as well stand.

With a quick step I caught up with Fen before he barged right past me. "How was Karim able to see through my glamor?" I asked.

My random question seemed to pique his curiosity, enough for him to come to a dead stop—although he did still scowl and tap an impatient finger on one muscle-bound arm. "What do you mean?"

"She saw my wings. In the split second before she died, she saw my wings." I shook my head and swallowed, the memory of her expression still clear in my mind.

"Ah." Fen didn't bother to ask me how I knew. He simply took my word for it, and nodded. "This happens sometimes. It depends on the person and upon the clarity of her thoughts and beliefs. Her soul. Her true essence."

So, it seemed that Medeia Karim had been more than just a rebel with a cause. Her life had been fraught with pain and strife, and yet she'd found her essence in the crazy hell of fighting for freedom, endangering her life for her fellow man.

I focused on his now motionless finger and said, "I think I understand. She had a pure heart and mind. That's how she saw my wings." A thought struck me then, and I glanced up at Fen. "Do you think she was always able to see through the glamor?"

"It is hard to tell, but I would say that even had she been capable, she would have had too much to think about to spend time honing that particular skill."

A sharp voice interrupted our conversation. "Fenrir, could I have a word, please?" Beside us, Ingrid's pale face promised more bad news. Great.

Fen walked off with the blonde Valkyrie, both of their faces dark and worried. Though I was tempted to follow and find out what the hell was going on, I stopped in my tracks. My gut was screaming bad news.

Could things possibly get any worse?

***

We bided our time, wolfing down sugar-encrusted tortilla-type breads and washing them down with hot mint tea. An hour later, we'd just finished freshening up when we were summoned again.

The Asgard team headed out to join Ingrid's operatives in the hot, dry streets of Cairo. Thankfully, this time we had the privilege of four wheels and an engine to get where we were going, as opposed to two wheels and a prayer.

I battled the knives of heat that stabbed my lungs as I stood in the blazing Cairo sun, watching and waiting. The street and sidewalk overflowed with people, heedless of the midday heat. Chanting, singing and wailing filled the air as the coffin passed us by.

The sun, high in the clear sky, gleamed on the white fabric covering the coffin; the bright blue stripe that bordered its edges spoke of strength and purity to me. The casket floated by, borne on the shoulders of eight men whose faces twisted with their own personal grief. I choked on a mixture of dust and unshed tears. What the hell was wrong with me? Why should the death of this woman, this stranger, touch me so deeply as to draw tears?

I knew she would soon be revived to serve the All-Father and fight the enemies of Asgard. And yet I still felt bereft.

Fen and Joshua positioned themselves across the street, cut off from me by the seething crowd that flowed behind the coffin. We were visible, with only our wings and weapons hidden from human eyes. Our attire helped disguise us. Forced to fit in, the team donned rebel uniforms and joined the mourners, keeping close to the coffin.

A shout up ahead, loud enough to hear over the din of the procession, caught my attention. I pushed my way toward the sound, one frustrating step at a time, struggling between bodies pungent in the searing Egyptian sun. National army officers lined the streets, scowling at the mourners as they passed. The government couldn't stop such a large contingent of followers, not without a bloodbath. But the threat of violent opposition was enough; the army displayed troops who stood watching, hands on their guns and hard eyes inspecting every face, ready for any unrest.

As the crowd mourned for their leader, I craved a moment to dwell on my own grief.

Throughout the Cairo trip, the job had occupied all my time, leaving too few moments to think about Aidan. Just as well. What good would it do me anyway? What good would it do me to miss him, miss his crooked smile, or long for his arms around me? I suppressed a sigh, breathing away the remnants of a sob that would never be.

I concentrated on the procession, fighting back tears when the mourners lowered the coffin at the entrance of a ceremonial hall. A rising cry filled the street, a muted echo of sadness, both eerie and painful to listen to as women and men lamented the loss of their warrior.

The casket followed a solemn imam inside a small hall, where they would perform the funerary rites. Ingrid had said they wouldn't take too long to send Karim's body to the graveyard for the final burial.

Fen nodded at me over the heads of the crowd, and I followed him as he and Joshua retreated. We'd seen nobody suspicious. The Asgard team rode back to the house in silence. I guess none of us had anything significant to say, not after being steeped in grief and heat for so many hours.

Ingrid's team remained with the funeral procession to keep a close watch on the body. Whoever had cursed all our other einherjar with the dreaded black substance had to get to the bodies somehow. So far, there had been no hint of anything untoward. Perhaps this Warrior was safe. Perhaps.

For now, all we could do was wait.

***

A full moon hung low in the black sky. We approached the cemetery, bordered by desert and not much else. A low iron fence ran around the site, more a demarcation than a barrier to protect its contents or keep people out. We pushed the gate open, and it squeaked loudly, announcing our entry to all and sundry.