The three fates stood.
“That is all we can tell you,” Skuld said.
Vereandi stooped and dipped her hand into the bucket of water, then pulled out a scroll and a small pouch. She handed both to me. The pouch felt like it had small rocks in it.
“The scroll will guide you to the Valkyrie. The pouch contains helpful tools.” She leaned close. “Stick close to your war god. He will be your greatest aid in this. Go only with him.”
“Only Cade can come with me?”
“He is the only one who can accompany you where you are going. He is a god. Your sister has not transitioned yet.”
“Okay.” I nodded. “Thank you.”
The Norns nodded, and the tree of life disappeared.
Suddenly, I was back in the cave. It was dark now. I spun in a circle. Moonlight glittered on the water that pooled within the cave. Magic shimmered in the air.
In my hand, I clutched the scroll and the little bag, confirming that this had been no dream.
“Right, then. Off to Valhalla.”
I was sweating and exhausted by the time I made it to the top of the cliff. My muscles trembled with strain and my lungs burned. Barely—just barely—I managed to avoid going to my knees.
All those years riding around on the buggy hadn’t been the best for my fitness. I could fight. But climb up a cliff like a mountain goat?
Nope.
Cool wind whipped my hair back from my face as I used the moonlight to find my way toward the castle. In fairness, it wasn’t hard to miss—giant thing with sparkly golden windows and all.
Warmth enveloped me as soon as I trudged through the massive doors into the entry hall. The scent of mulled wine welcomed from somewhere deep in the kitchens, where Hans occasionally had a kettle brewing regardless of the season.
I ignored it, opening the scroll instead.
Scribbled writing greeted my eyes, something I didn’t recognize. I squinted.
Old Norse, maybe?
Had to be. I’d seen it in the books in the library but hadn’t learned how to read it yet. I sighed and rerolled the scroll, then dug into the bag of what felt like rocks. I pulled one out.
Yep. A rock.
I turned it over and squinted at the carving on the front. It was a squiggly shape, but hard to tell what exactly. I inspected the rest of the rocks, only able to identify one carving that kinda looked like a face.
“All right, then,” I muttered. “Off to the library.”
I headed down the hall to Florian’s domain. Fortunately, it was evening, so I could expect to find the ghostly night librarian instead of the grumpy Potts, who handled the day shift.
Thank fates for a little luck.
If my luck extended, he’d come out quickly and help me, then I could run all of this by Ana before getting started.
The library contained no people when I entered, but as usual, the fireplaces burst to life, warm orange flame filling the room with a pleasant glow. Two of the Pugs of Destruction slept in beds in front of the largest fireplace on the right wall, but movement on my left caught my eye.
I looked up.
Mayhem fluttered high in the air, a rag in her mouth. She rubbed it against the spines of the books, shaking her little head back and forth.
“Oiling the leather again?” I asked.
She gave a yip, but didn’t cease her work.
I grinned. Yesterday, Florian had explained that the spines of the books needed to be oiled to keep the old leather from cracking. It was Mayhem’s job to do the books high on the shelves because she had wings.
In return, Florian read bedtime stories out loud to her. Particular favorites were The Dogs with the Giant Ham and Skipping Through Bacon Valley: A Good Dog’s Memoir.
“Florian!” I called, hoping he’d hear me. Sometimes he was off doing who knew what. He certainly never explained why it took him so long to come when I called. The best I ever got was, “Ghosts have lives, too, you know.”
Fair enough. Florian had stuff to do.
But I needed help. Pronto.
I found a seat near the fire, wanting to rest my legs for a moment before I headed back into the darker section—the ghost library—to get some books. I might be able to find them on my own without Florian’s help, but it was a freaking labyrinth back there.
I’d give him a few moments to show up while I rested my legs. I leaned back in my chair and sighed, enjoying the warmth of the fire.
Ruckus and Chaos snuffled loudly and shifted in their beds, but didn’t wake. Chaos’s horns glinted in the firelight. I stuffed the carved stones in the pocket of my jeans and unrolled the scroll again, studying it.
After a while, my head began to hurt, but eventually, I swore that the letters began to move.
I blinked. “What the heck?”
Warmth glowed in my chest, almost like magic. But it was a bit different. Subtler. Not the intense wham! of developing a new power.
But the letters began to form words I could recognize.
In the cave where one can build and repair, the boat will arise that transports good and fair.
“Holy crap!” I said.
“Can I help you?” Florian’s voice sounded.
I jerked my head up. “Florian!”
He looked elegant as always in his eighteenth century apparel. His ruffled cravat was stark white at his neck, and his waistcoat gleamed with blue metallic thread. The wig towering on his head was an unusual choice, since he often went wigless. He must have been out partying with some old-timey friends or something.
He bowed. “Ever at your service, my lady.”
I laughed. “You know that’s not true.”
He sniffed. “Fine, then. Sometimes at your service. When it is convenient.”
I grinned.
“But can I help you?” he asked.
“I thought so, but it seems I can read Old Norse now.” I recited the first line to him. “Do you know what that means?”
His face brightened. “Norse, you say? But of course I know. That is referring to the Cave of Seers.”
“But I was just there.”
“Ohhh.” He leaned forward. “Did you learn anything good?”
“Maybe, if I can figure out what that line from this scroll means.”
He sat in the plush chair across from me and crossed one ankle over his knee, then tapped his elegant fingers on his chin. “Not to worry, my dear. I know what it means. Long before the Cave of Seers was used as a visiting place for seers, the cave was used by Viking seafarers who came to our fair shores. They pulled their boats in for repairs and often overwintered there.”
It clicked in my mind. “That’s what those tools were. The ones that were scattered around. And the wooden beams.”
“Exactly.”
“Why didn’t you guys ever move them? Surely they should be in a museum.”
“Heavens no! Most archaeological sites should be left undisturbed, particularly by laypeople. While it is true that those artifacts are on the surface and subject to the cruel vagaries of weather and fate, we cannot touch them for any reason. Not even for conservation and display. Magic prevents it.”