Thief Eyes

Chapter 8

A woman stood before me, gray eyes smoldering, blond hair swirling like flame around her, so long it pooled at her feet. Her red cloak was bright against the gray sky. She reached for me, but I drew away.

“I waited for you. For days I returned to the cave. When I could no longer return I searched from my home, whenever I could escape the eyes of my family. I sought you on my wedding day, and past it as well, until Thorvald was gone and my anger was quenched. All that time you hid from my spell. Why do you wake it now, after all these years?”

The coin burned against my hand. The air held the stench of sulfur. It hasn’t been years, I thought. The woman shimmered, as if with heat. For an instant the air seemed to blur, and I knelt—not in a cave this time but on a yellow autumn hillside, beside a wooden house with a grass-thatched roof. I wrenched my focus back to the woman and the beach. My eyes hurt, the way they do when you try to make a fuzzy picture clear, but I didn’t let the picture go. I stared at Hallgerd—at Svan’s kinswoman, who had killed her three husbands, and who Katrin thought had also killed my mom—yet no one knew, because Mom had never been found.

Hallgerd reached toward my singed hair. I felt a hot shudder as her fingers passed right through me. “You are either very brave or very foolish to gift so much of yourself to the realm of fire. I gave them but a few dozen strands when I cast my spell.”

The ground still shook, but that seemed a small thing. I’d come here for answers. I looked right into Hallgerd’s gray eyes. “What did you do to Mom?” Nothing mattered more than the answer to that question.

The earth went still. Hallgerd frowned. “She accepted my gift. But then she ran, and the spell consumed her. I did nothing. She did everything.”

“You killed her.” I waited for Hallgerd to deny it.

“Indeed.” Hallgerd met my gaze without shame. “What compensation will you seek for this, Haley?”

“Compensation?” How did Hallgerd imagine there could be compensation for such a thing? “You can leave me the hell alone, is what you can do!”

Hallgerd laughed. “You price your mother’s life far too low. Thorvald has been dead many years, and my second husband as well. I desire escape no longer. I’m content to live and die by Gunnar’s side. Gladly I’ll leave you alone. I release my claim on the coin—and on the spell. Do with them as you will. Farewell, Haley.”

Hallgerd faded away. I dropped the coin, scrambled to my feet, and lunged at her. “Get back here!” My hands grabbed someone’s shoulders. I began shaking them, shaking hard, and only when I shoved the person to the sand did I realize it wasn’t Hallgerd.

Ari looked up. His lips were blue now, and his teeth had begun to chatter, but an ironic grin crossed his face. “It’d be easier—if you could remember—who I am.”

Not funny. I scrambled away from him. My mother was gone, and he was making a joke—a stupid joke. I began coughing, dry empty heaves. Gone. I’d come to Iceland to find my mother, but there was nothing left to find. Tears ran down my face, hot as the fire that had burned my hair away.

It was Mom who’d always talked me out of cutting my hair. Mom who’d held me after nightmares, who’d kept my life from falling apart a million different ways. Nothing had been as hard as the year she’d been gone. I coughed harder. My chest ached. Nothing could make this right. Never, ever, ever.

I felt Ari’s hand on my shoulder, and I jerked away. “You knew!” I screamed. He’d known she was gone for a whole year, while I waited and hoped and fought off nightmares, telling myself that the worst possible thing couldn’t be the true thing.

“I thought my mom was crazy.” Ari shivered harder. I heard him, didn’t hear. “I wanted her to be crazy, about this at least.”

My nails dug for my palms, but it wasn’t enough. I rolled up my jacket and dug my nails into my arm. Still not enough—I couldn’t seem to break skin. I dug harder, waiting for the pain of hot flowing blood.

“Haley!” Ari grabbed my wrists. I fought him, and as I did a hot sulfurous smell filled the air. The coals in me flared hot, heat roaring through me as I struggled. The fire roared outward, toward the one who held me. The ground shook.

“Bloody hell!” Ari dropped his grip. I fell backward onto the sand. A few raindrops landed on my face, but they didn’t feel cold. My clothes were still steaming. I saw red welts on Ari’s palms as he staggered back.

You will take our fire into your blood. Sweat trickled down my neck as I remembered the words. You will take our fire into your world.

“What have I done?” I whispered. I thought of the heat in Hallgerd’s coin, but the fire inside me had nothing to do with her spell. It came from my own bargain with the fire creatures. Once before, we accepted such golden locks as a gift.

I thought of the winter storms back home, how they doused the desert’s summer heat and turned dry washes to cold flowing rivers. I thought of cold rainwater rushing over my bare feet. The fire—and the anger—inside of me subsided down to banked coals.

Ari shoved his hands into his pockets, green eyes wary. “You okay?” he asked, shivering still.

No, I’m not. Okay was part of some other world, the world I’d lived in before my mother went to Iceland, before I’d known there was any such thing as magic.

Ari’s skin was icy pale. How could he be so cold? I barely remembered what cold felt like. “Your arm,” he said.

My arm stung, but when I looked down, I saw only the fading imprints of my fingernails—no broken skin, no blood. I pulled my sleeve down to cover it. My palms had bled, just a little, but the wounds were already clotted over. Had I really seen smoke there? What did it mean to take fire into your blood? “I’m fine,” I said.

Ari drew his hand from his pocket and reached for mine. His palm was still red. I’d burned him without half trying—that’s what taking fire into your blood meant. I didn’t take his hand.

Soft waves lapped at the shore. Ari stared at me, teeth chattering, body trembling. Whatever he was looking for—reassurance?—I couldn’t give it to him. I couldn’t even promise I wouldn’t burn him again. I still felt warm coals somewhere deep inside me.

At last Ari pointed into the distance. “I think maybe—the sorcerer—has started—a fire.” I followed his gaze. A faint orange glow shone against the gray hills.

Like I needed a fire. I had all the fire I needed within me. Would that fire consume me as it had consumed Mom? Would that be such a bad thing? my treacherous thoughts asked me.

Hell yes. If the fire destroyed me, there’d be no one left to make Hallgerd pay. Somehow she had to pay for this.

Wind picked up, cutting right through my jacket. I barely noticed, but Ari shuddered. “Please, Haley. It’s cold—out here. Let’s go—to—the fire.” He started toward it, and I followed. Where were we, anyway? Not Thingvellir, though the gray hills and black sand did look volcanic. Back in Iceland, at least?

The sand gave way to the dirt-and-gravel road, which was slick with water. The rain fell harder. The wind grew stronger. We bent our heads into it. Water streamed from Ari’s white hair and black leather jacket.

The wind began to moan. The fire turned to a faint orange smudge through the blowing water. Ari stumbled and fell.

I helped him up. “I’m all right,” he said, but his breath came out in gasps. I felt a ripple of fear. He’ll be fine. I just need to get him to the fire. He leaned on my shoulders as he staggered on.

The road gave way to sucking mud. We climbed a short slope, ducked beneath a craggy overhang, and then we were beside the fire. Svan was sitting there, staring into the flames—ordinary flames that couldn’t speak. “Took