“Ah … I’m sure you aren’t a spider at all, ma’am,” Tara stammers. Politeness has worked so far on this trip.
The woman puts the finger of one hand on her lips, and her other hand on her throat. Another pair of hands clasp in front of her stomach, and two more hands go to her hips. “You’re sweet.” She licks her lips.
Putting a hand on her shoulder, Lionel whispers in her ear, “Remember, the Norns don’t write our fates, they only watch them. Not all is lost.”
“They?” whispers Tara, instinctively stepping closer to him.
“My sisters and I,” says the woman, sauntering toward them. From behind the curtain, two other women emerge. One of them looks Asian Indian, and is as round and as plump as the first is thin. She has wide brown eyes, full lips, and a delicate little nose. She’s kind of adorable and looks terribly friendly until she looks at Tara, smacks her lips, and her eyes start to glow. The second sister is tall and athletic. She is as dark as Tara’s father had been, has long, blood-red braids, and looks vaguely African. On her shoulder perches Ratatoskr … currently twerking. “Suck it mofos!” he chitters.
“You’re right, Lionel, son of Odin and Tavende,” says the tall, dark woman. “We don’t control your fates.” She narrows her eyes.
The pale woman smiles. “But we do place bets on them. And you two dears have helped me win.”
Frowning, the tall woman sighs and rolls her eyes at her sister. “Stop gloating.” She looks back at Tara and Lionel. “And you brought Ratatoskr back to us.”
Ratatoskr stops his twerk. “What! I would have gotten out of that cage by myself!” He starts chittering up a storm that doesn’t stop until the woman pinches his little snout with her long, elegant fingers.
“Also,” says the plump one, bouncing on her heels. “Your story has been romantic and exciting.” Tilting her head, she taps her chin while clapping her middle pair of hands, and holding her third pair behind her back. “As delicious as you look, I can’t help wanting to know what you’ll do next!”
“Mm …” say the other two women, nodding their heads.
The tall woman’s fingers slip and Ratatoskr chirps, “I’m freaking exciting! Didn’t you see me dodge Thor’s hammer?”
The tall woman pinches his snout again. “And then you followed it up by getting caught in old farmer MacDonald’s trap,” she hisses.
Tara’s lips purse. The farmer of the very not PC language who’d nonetheless been determined to stand up to Odin for her was the Old MacDonald? She doesn’t know why that surprises her after finding an elf in her alley, meeting a kraken, following a yellow brick road, and becoming an almost-goddess.
“I can’t wait to see what you get up to during Ragnarok,” says the bouncy woman.
Tara feels Lionel stiffen beside her. “There is no certainty that Ragnarok is near,” Lionel says. “There is no fate. You said so yourselves.”
Tara shoots him a worried look. She wants to say, “Don’t antagonize the spider ladies,” but bites her lip instead.
The emaciated one sighs. “Oh, Lionel, it could stop, that is true …”
The tall woman shakes her long braids. “But at this point the momentum …”
“Makes it virtually impossible!” says Bouncy Norn, clapping her hands even faster. Her body stills and the disconcerting light returns to her eyes. Tara shivers and leans against Lionel.
Bouncy Norn whispers, “Think hard about where you want to be for Ragnarok, my sweets, and who you want to be with.”
Looking over Tara and Lionel’s shoulders, the tall Norn says, “Oh look, Odin has left Old MacDonald’s farm.”
Narrowing her eyes, Bouncy says, “He could create a new gate and come through after you, but the only one he’d ever do that for is Loki.”
The pale, emaciated Norn cackles. “You’re so lucky Loki is more important than you, Lionel, Son of Tavende. Odin just can’t win without Loki—he may even leave you alone.”
“Will you let us go back?” asks Lionel. His voice is even, but Tara feels him tremble.
The Norns tilt their heads.
Tara swallows and pats his hand. Cellmates to the end … there is a comfort in that … even if she has a horrible feeling their last cell might be an oven.
“Let’s send them directly back to Chicago,” says the thin one.
“Oh, yes! A bus ride would be so boring,” says Bouncy.
“I like that plan,” says the tall one, smiling widely, her nose wrinkling in a way that would be charming if not for the teeth. “Straight into the drama.”
Tara’s jaw gapes. She almost thanks them, but then isn’t sure if that would indebt her like it would with an elf.
“What is the cost?” Lionel asks, his voice almost a hiss.
The three women laugh. “Oh, it’s not a favor,” says the tall one. “We don’t do favors.”
The other two shake their heads.
The tall woman dips her chin, making her red braids fall before her eyes. “But we occasionally do things for our own amusement.” She smiles wide again, and her teeth gleam.
“Turn around,” they command, smiling wickedly.
Lionel and Tara both stand stock still.
The thin one rolls her eyes. “Oh, don’t be afraid. If we wanted you dead…”
“We’d be feasting on your bodies right now!” says Bouncy, her eyes wide, her smile cheery.
Gripping the hand Lionel’s laid upon her shoulder, Tara pulls him round … and sees her living room shimmering in the wall. Lionel gasps and holds up a hand. “There is a new gate here.” His eyes slide to the three women, his expression horrified.
“I’d advise you to step through,” says the tall one, advancing toward them. “We haven’t had lunch.”
Tara steps toward her home, pulling Lionel with her, and an instant later, they’re in her living room. It smells like lemon-scented wood polish. Inky, her octopus, is right where she left him on the couch. Her laptop is on the coffee table.
Lionel turns around. “The gate is closed again,” he says.
“But they’re still watching,” Tara murmurs, her vision getting blurry. Her heartbeat quickens, imagining the fanged women. “Can they come through and abduct us?”
Lionel shakes his head and scowls in the direction they just came. “No, their power is limited to Nornheim. I’ve never heard of them even so much as slipping a finger into another realm.” He says it defiantly, and Tara holds her breath, half expecting the air to shimmer and one of the women to come raging through … but nothing happens.
“They could have sent us anywhere in the Nine Realms,” Lionel murmurs. “Why did they drop us off exactly here?”
The Norn’s words, “We occasionally do things for our own amusement,” echo in Tara’s mind. She closes her eyes. She thinks of what she overheard in Asgard about “the human problem.” She thinks about farmer MacDonald ready to stand up to Odin and the Einherjar. She thinks of Dr. Eisenberg studying magic and their work together that upsets the All Father … Dr. Eisenberg’s in danger, because their work is worth doing.
She thinks about where she wants to be for the end of the world … she wants to be with Lionel. She also knows where she has to be and why the Norns sent them here. Her eyes get hot.
“They brought us here so they can watch,” she whispers. They’d put them right back into the drama. During a bus ride, she would have had a chance to say goodbye.
“I have to stay,” she says, bowing her head. “Lionel, I love you … but I have to stay for my mother …” and Dr. Eisenberg, crazy Old MacDonald, and people like him who won’t take the apples and will stand up to Odin. Her body shudders, and tears pool in her eyes.
Lionel’s arms are around her a moment later, his hands smoothing her back. “Shh … Tara … Of course you must stay.”
“But I should come with you!” Tara cries, tears spilling over. “I could help you!” Or she could die, without a chance to warn Eisenberg, without a chance to help protect Earth, without anyone to take care of her mother … No matter what she wants, she has to stay here.
“My mother would never forgive me if I managed to get you home and then dragged you back into the swamp,” Lionel says. He pulls her tighter. “Tara, I’m afraid of what Odin might have planned for your people …”
“I know,” Tara whispers. She closes her eyes and lets herself melt into his arms. She can feel his breath on her forehead, and hears his heartbeat. She finds herself bitterly resenting every minute the Norns stole from them by sending them directly here. She would have held Lionel’s hand on that bus, probably cried the whole way, and treasured every second of it.
She thinks of Tavende alone in the Dark Lands. “You’ve got to go,” Tara murmurs, her voice thick with tears.
“I know.” His voice is thick. Squeezing her tight, he lifts her from the ground, and whispers into her hair, “Tara, I don’t really understand how love works among non-elves … maybe on Earth you can’t have soulmates because everything is changing so fast people can’t stay the same.” He pulls back, and his eyes are red rimmed. “But I can’t imagine feeling any more for anyone.”
She nods. “I feel the same.”
Lionel kisses her. Softly, and then frantically, until they pull apart gasping, her lips burning from stubble, and her body feeling like every neuron is alight. Tara runs her fingers over the points of his ears; his eyes slip closed and his hands loosely clasp her wrists.
She can’t believe she’s letting him get away … no, she can believe it. If he doesn’t leave, he’ll resent her for keeping him, and she could never respect him if he let his mother stay in that terrible place, where even his magic doesn’t work.
Her jaw drops. “Lionel,” she whispers. “I can’t go with you, but I can help you!”
Lionel sits at Tara’s kitchen table. She runs into the room and opens a drawer. Without looking at him, she mumbles, “Not in here. Ugh!” She’s exchanged her sorceress gear for a white shirt with short sleeves that exposes long swathes of her dark brown skin and the smoothness of her arms. Below she wears blue trousers, like the farmers had worn but more fitted, and cleaner.
Lionel starts to get up. Spinning to him, she points a finger and says, “Sit! You said magic makes you hungry. Eat!”
He pauses, and she dashes from the room before he can respond.
He is hungry, but he’d still rather catch her in an embrace. Slumping back into his seat, he returns to his meal, a “sandwich.” He thinks under ordinary circumstances it might be delicious. He wants to stay, and he needs to leave. He almost wished she hadn’t understood so well; it would have been easier if she’d been unreasonable.
He forces down the last bite, polishing it off with “orange juice,” when Tara returns to the room, a knapsack of unique fabric and construction on one arm, and a garment of olive green on the other. Somewhat inexplicably, she also has a purple toy kraken.
Dumping the contents of the bag on the table, not meeting his eyes, she says, “Okay, I’ve got signal flares, a lighter, batteries, a flashlight, water bottles, protein bars, antibiotic ointment, antiseptic wipes, pepper spray, and a spare jacket—”
“Mostly gibberish,” Lionel says, trying to sound cheerful and instead sounding morose.
“—and I’m going to show you how to use them as quickly as I can,” Tara finishes, still not meeting his gaze.
When she’s done with all but the jacket, Lionel’s heart feels like it has turned to lead and is slowly crushing his other organs. “These are wondrous things, Tara,” he murmurs, standing beside her, practicing sealing the “Ziploc” bag that protects the lighter and batteries. “I’m not sure I can accept them.”
“You will accept them or … or …” She bites her lip.
He wants to touch her. He lifts his hand and drops it, afraid that if he touches her, he won’t be able to stop.
Taking a deep breath, she picks up the garment. “Turn around. I’m going to see if it fits.” He does as she says and she helps him slide it onto him. He catches her arms from behind, pulling her chest to his back. For a moment that he knows he’ll hold in his heart forever, she presses her cheek against his shoulder blade.
And then she pulls away. “Okay, let me show you how to work the zippers.”
Eyes downcast, she shows him how to operate the alien fastening devices, and murmurs, “This coat was my father’s. He left it here, right before … and I couldn’t give it …” She swallows.
Running his hand along the strange fabric, he whispers, “I’m honored.”
Jaw tight, eyes too bright, she continues, “It’s GORE-TEX, waterproof and windproof … without magic.”
“With human magic,” he says.
She wipes her face. “I put one of my coats in the middle pocket in the backpack for your mother. It’s too big, and bright pink, so not so good in a swamp for camouflage, but I guess you could put mud on it.”
She picks up the last item on the table. “What you’re supposed to do with this is probably self-evident.”
Lionel eyes the toy kraken dubiously. “Actually, it’s the most mysterious.”
She finally meets his eyes, and glares. “It’s for Inky! He saved us from the velociraptors. You have to say thank you … you might need his help again!”
Lionel’s eyebrow lifts. “You and I remember our encounter with … Inky … very differently.”
“Just give it to him!” Tara says, her nostrils flaring a bit. “It might save your life.”
It strikes Lionel that she’s not sure if it will work, but she’s just grasping at anything she thinks might keep him alive. “I will treasure it.”
“No,” says Tara, holding the toy in one hand, gesturing to it with the other. “You’re not supposed to treasure it! Give. It. To. The. Kraken!”
Lionel gives in and folds her into his arms. They stand in her kitchen for too short and too long. The elves have a euphemism called “a long goodbye,” which is what he’d meant to share with Tara that one night in his village, but now the idea seems hollow. Ridiculous. “One night would never be enough.”