Demons (Eirik Book 1) (2 page)

We seemed to walk forever before Modgud stopped and bent down. We were in front of a massive black gate. Flaming torches flickered alongside it, but the mist made it impossible to see how high it went.

Right in front of the gate was a huge rock. Was the giantess talking to it? It moved and growled. Then the rock stood, and I was staring at a massive dog with one… two… six eyes. It towered above us. Even in the dim lighting, its dripping fangs were visible underneath the fur covering its face.

Hel’s hound. Garm.

“Come here, boy,” Modgud said and patted her knee. I took a step back as he wagged his tail and moved to the giantess. She laughed, rubbed his neck, and buried her face in his fur. “Good boy. We have visitors, so behave. If you are nice, you can meet them tomorrow. Sit,” she ordered.

Garm sat, his tail slapping the ground, a small tremor following on the earth.

Modgud looked at us. “He is harmless and loves attention. Come on.” As soon as she went to open the gates, Garm stood and moved toward us, blocking our path. A growl escaped his colossal jaws.

Echo cursed and stopped walking.

“Chicken,” Viggo said.

“I dare you to tell him to move!” Echo shot back.

“You know what, if you don’t learn your place and start showing us some respect, I’ll teach you how. Eirik might be squeamish about seeing you brave the Gjöll, but I have no problem whatsoever.”

Silence followed, and I grimaced. Viggo’s loyalty might prove to be a problem. Being a pampered son of a powerful god, he treated Mortals, Immortals, and soul reapers the same. They were beneath him. For the first time since I met Echo, I smelled fear from him, but I doubted he feared Viggo and his dagger. Echo was scared of the dog.

“Leave him alone, Viggo.”

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward and kept going until I was at the hound’s front paws. They were as huge as my head, which meant one could crush my skull with a swipe. Swallowing, I looked up. Maybe I had a death wish, or maybe in the inner recesses of my mind, I knew he wouldn’t hurt me. Animals feared me for reasons I’d never understood. Whenever Raine and I would go to the animal shelter to look for a pet, cats would hiss or dogs would shuffle backward with their tails between their legs. Since that had often happened when Raine wasn’t around, too, I had known I was the cause.

The hound lowered his head until his warm, foul breath bathed my face. “Sit,” I ordered. The growl became a whiny mewling sound, but he sat and watched me with unblinking eyes.

“Stay.”

He lowered his head onto his paws.

“Good boy.”

“I’ll be damned,” Echo said.

I ignored him, and walked past Garm to the gate. Modgud opened it to reveal a dark castle with walls that disappeared to our left and right. There was no indication of a celebration. No welcoming lights at the window. No music. Maybe they celebrated differently here in Hel. In Asgard, there were always lights. Music. Food. Mead. Things appeared to be the opposite here.

The doors swung open and a man stood in the doorway before we reached the entrance. I couldn’t see his face properly until he stepped forward and the moon fell on his blond hair. The tall, slender build with white pants, tunic, and cloak were familiar. I’d seen his portraits and a mural chronicling his untimely death on the walls in Asgard.

“Father,” I whispered.

“Grandpa,” Viggo said at the same time.

“My son has arrived,” he yelled. “Let the celebrations begin.”

Lights turned on inside the castle, lighting up the stained glass windows running along the right side of the building. The left wall had tiny windows high up, typical of castles. A second set of doors led to that side of the castle. Music started and voices rose and mingled with it, but my focus was on my father. He stepped back and the light fell on his face.

Our resemblance was uncanny. I could be looking at an older version of me.

“Son,” he said. “Finally.”

He pulled me into his arms in a warm hug, pressing my face against his shirt. I didn’t consider myself an emotional person, but my chest tightened when he cupped the back of my head.

For a dead man, he was warm and smelled nice, which were odd observations to make, but the laws of nature didn’t work in the magical realm of the gods. My father had probably showered and changed his shirt for the occasion. My arms tightened around him as my throat seized up. I hadn’t expected this. After growing up with cold and distant Immortal guardians, his warmth was a welcome change.

The Norns should not have taken me from here. No matter how cold and desolate it was or how terrible my mother might be, I would have traded all earthly luxuries to live with my father. This was my home.

“What in Hel’s Mist are you doing here, Eirik?” he hissed into my ear.

I tried to take a step back from his arms, but they tightened.

“I didn’t sneak you out of this realm to have you stroll back here now that your grandfather has confirmed you are to inherit his throne,” he continued. “You do not want to be here. Not now. Not ever. It’s not safe. As soon as the feast is over, leave.” He leaned back, slapped me on the back, and yelled, “Welcome, Son. We’ve been waiting a long time for you to find your way home.”

~*~

Had my mother known I’d take over Odin’s throne before she sent her reapers after me? If so, what did she hope to achieve? By the time I took over the throne, she and all the major gods and goddesses would be dead. She had nothing to gain by having me here. In fact, she should be happy her son would be the chief god.

I lost track of time, my mind going in circles as my father’s words echoed in my head. By the time I focused on my surroundings, my father, Viggo, and I were seated at a round table for four in front of the room. One chair was empty.

Servants piled food on plates and filled our tumblers with mead. I ate without tasting the food, even though it looked and smelled good. Viggo dug in like a starved convict, but then he had a ferocious appetite. He sat to my left while my father was across from me. The seat beside me was the empty one. My mother would soon sit there. The thought sent both dread and anticipation through me.

I studied my father slyly. He must have been young when he’d died because he could pass for someone in his early thirties.

I glanced around at the rest of the guests and sighed, wondering what I’d be doing if I weren’t here. I’d probably be at Raine’s place watching
Supernatural
and pigging out on pizza. Instead, I was having a five-course meal with dead royals. I recognized a few from online pictures, textbooks, and the
History Channel
. They occupied about half a dozen long tables and came from all walks of life—men and women of various sizes and races, some young, some old. Mixed with them were deities like my father, Asgardian and Vanir gods. The gods were recognizable by their unique clothes, cloaks, and colorful brooches. The Elves’ pointed ears were a dead giveaway. And I had to be blind not to recognize the Dwarf kings. They might be short and stubby, but they were a boisterous lot with larger-than-life personalities.

Men and women in black dusters occupied the rest of the tables. They had Grimnir written all over them and seemed to come and go as the evening progressed. Probably leaving to reap. They seemed to enjoy a friendly relationship with the deities and the royals, and from their laughter and easy camaraderie, this wasn’t the first time they had mingled. Performers moved between tables, some playing instruments while others danced.

Things were definitely different from Asgard. Even their servants and performers were different. Asgard had Immortals, humans, and light Elves, while Goddess Hel, it appeared, employed Dwarves and giants—
Jötun
.

Where did I fit here? My mother was still missing and my father didn’t seem to care. I glanced at him and found his eyes on me.

“How are you enjoying the food, Son?” he asked, playing the part of a perfect father and host for the sakes of his guests.

“It’s good.” My appetite had long disappeared.

He pushed a loaf of bread toward me and nodded as though urging me to eat. I took the loaf, broke a piece, and dunked it in the meat stew. The food wasn’t bad. I just couldn’t eat while on edge.

“Where is she?” I asked.

My father raised his tumbler. “Your mother will join us when she’s ready. More drink?”

I shook my head and went back to chewing the hard bread and studying my surroundings. The hall wasn’t dark or cold as I’d been led to believe by Asgardians. The floor and the columns were made of black slate with etches of snakes, dragons, and wolves. The tables had granite tops and the chairs were cushioned. Torches lit the hall, and semi-circular steps led to the throne, which was all black with snake carvings along the arms and the high back. It was wide enough to lie on. Black cushion and pillows covered the seat. The chair to its right was smaller and not as fancy. That was probably my father’s chair. The room was black and gray, yet it was welcoming. Even the stained glass windows depicting various scenes were done in shades of gray.

Silence swept the room, and one by one, the people stood. I stumbled to my feet and tried to see what had caught their eyes. Was my mother finally making an appearance?

No, she was making an entrance. Flanked by two guards, everything about her commanded the attention of the entire room. Half her face was pitch black and the other pale and flawless. Half-black and half-white silky hair flowed down her back. Her hair and skin were mismatched, black with white. Her long-sleeved, white dress hugged her body to her hips and fell to her feet, leaving both legs bare from the hips down. The neckline of the dress dipped so low at the front heat crawled up my face. The cloak, also white as snow with satin lining, trailed several feet behind her.

Like her face and hands, one leg was dark and the other pale and smooth. A simple white hairpiece held down her hair like a Gypsy and a matching choker was around her neck. The long scepter she held had a large clear crystal at the top and etches of snakes coiled along its length. She was both scary-looking and fascinating to watch.

As she came closer, I noticed several interesting things. Glowing runes covered the left, normal side of her face, highlighting her brilliant blue eye, pert nose, and lips painted black. Her skin on that side was unblemished.

The right, black side wasn’t dead or mummified like the pictures I’d seen online. They’d gotten it wrong. It was regular skin covered with black runes. They coiled under her skin like layers of tattoos, covering every inch of it and giving the illusion of dead skin. Occasional glowing runes mingled with the black ones. No wonder some Mortals drew her with a half-skeleton body. The glowing runes could be mistaken for bones. Her right eye was nearly all black and oddly shaped. I’d bet the dark core was made up of runes too.

Sighs came from around the room, and I stole a glance at the others. She mesmerized them. Warmth crept up my face at the naked lust in the men’s eyes and the envy in the women’s.

Seriously? That was my mother they were lusting after.

My father hurried to her side and escorted her up the steps to her throne, instead of our table, where she reclined in the cushioned seat. A pale, red-haired girl I hadn’t noticed arranged her cloak around her, covering her exposed legs and sandaled feet. The servant brought my mother a drink and a tray of fruit, which she placed on the wide arm of her throne. My father took the chair to her right and stayed, talking to her in a low voice.

Viggo dragged his chair, so he sat facing the throne, his expression dopey like the village’s idiot. “Hot damn,” he said. “She is—”

“My mother,” I said, trying to scold him, but my words lacked the heat.

“Glorious,” Viggo corrected. “Gorgeous. And she hasn’t aged since Alfadir sent her here. I’d heard stories about her, but I didn’t believe them, until now.”

I almost asked Viggo about the stories, but decided against it. Better to learn by watching and listening than by accepting rumors as facts. I’d wondered about how my parents hooked up. Asgardians had insinuated that she’d seduced my father. They were wrong. Going by his expression, my father adored my mother. The people in the hall, Grimnirs included, wore the same expression.

I also reached another conclusion. Odin hadn’t given my mother this realm to rule because she was evil. He’d done it to keep peace in Asgard because my mother was the type of woman who could cause riots. Men would want her, and women would plot her demise. Even Goddess Freya, who was a renowned beauty, could not compare to my mother. Or maybe I was just biased.

She lifted her hand, and I was sure she was going to summon me. I tensed, but she indicated to everyone to sit down. They did and went back to their food. I played with mine, my nervousness increasing with each second that passed.

In Asgard, Valkyries stayed in Valhalla, a vast hall built specifically for slain warriors. They trained, ate, and lived together. Not once had I seen Valkyries socialize with the gods. Here, the Grimnirs were treated like the gods. The entertainers didn’t just focus on the deities and royalties. Of course, the fact that they were dead and their souls were the ones being entertained might have something to do with it. Or maybe it was how my mother ran things. Might explain why they adored her.