Autumn Bones

fingers.

I raised mine in acknowledgment.

And then the clouds closed, obscuring the sun. The bright shaft of golden autumn light vanished, and the Oak King vanished with it, fading back into the pine shadows without a single motion.

I let out a long, shuddering breath I hadn’t realized I was holding. Beside me, Sinclair did the same.

“I don’t think Jojo’s coming back, Daisy,” he whispered. “Not ever.”

I reached out to slide my hand into his, entwining our fingers, and squeezed. “Yeah. I know.”

Some things come to an end.

And some things begin, too.

You may have noticed that I haven’t mentioned Hel. Well, that’s deliberate, because I’m still trying to figure out how I feel about what happened the night that she summoned me to Little Niflheim in the aftermath of the Halloween affair.

It’s . . . complicated. As usual.

I don’t mean the visit to Little Niflheim. Although I was a bit apprehensive, far from satisfied with how I’d handled the whole crisis, that part went fine. I should have known it would. It may have come down to the wire, but I’d upheld Hel’s rule of order, which was all that mattered. Whatever mistakes I’d made along the way were forgiven and forgotten in light of the fact that I’d produced the desired results. If Hel were a CEO rather than the Norse goddess of the dead, I’d say she was outcome-oriented. She even let me keep the spirit lantern as a bonus. Well, more of a precaution, but still.

It was on the way out of Little Niflheim that the first disconcerting thing happened. As Mikill and I approached the sacred well beneath the canopy of Yggdrasil II’s massive root system, one of the Norns stepped forward and held up a hand to halt the dune buggy.

I clambered out of the buggy for a little soothsaying. At a distance, the Norns don’t look terribly intimidating. At close range, it’s another matter. It was the youngest of them who beckoned to me now, fingernails like long silver talons, her eyes as colorless as mist.

“Young Daisy,” she said to me, her voice echoing as though it came from the depths of the well that lay beneath the roots of the world tree. “Embrace your mistakes. Learn from them. When the time comes, the fate of the world may hinge on the choices you make.”

Oh, great.

“Do you have any counsel for me, my lady?” I asked her.

The Norn maiden reached out with her long, long silver talons to caress my cheek, razor-sharp edges rasping against my skin and drawing a shudder from me. She gave me a faint smile, the pale mist that filled the hollows of her eyes swirling. “Trust your heart.”

I waited to see if any more sooth was forthcoming, but she withdrew her hand and returned to rejoin the other two Norns in the endless process of tending Yggdrasil II’s roots, drawing buckets from the well.

“Any idea what that was all about?” I asked Mikill, climbing back into the dune buggy.

The frost giant shook his head, the ice in his beard crackling. “The Norns see many possible futures.”

“Are they ever more specific about them?” I asked.

“No.” Mikill revved the engine. “They reveal as much as they may without breaking the skein of time.”

“Okay,” I said. “It’s just . . . um, the fate of the world? I mean, no pressure or anything.”

Mikill gave me a long, grave look and for a moment I thought he was going to say something profound about how no one chooses their destiny no matter how humble or terrifying, or something reassuring about the many possible futures, or maybe a pep talk about how I was only just coming into my own, and I possessed reserves of strength and courage I hadn’t yet begun to tap. After all, we’d spent a fair amount of time together on our excursions to and from Little Niflheim by now.

But no.

“Keep your limbs well within the vehicle during the ascent, Daisy Johanssen,” he said quietly to me before gunning for the rampway that spiraled up the inside of Yggdrasil II’s mammoth trunk.

So, yeah, that was the first disconcerting thing that happened the night Hel summoned me. I didn’t know what to think about it or even how to think about it. On an intellectual level, of course, I’d always known about the danger my existence posed to the Inviolate Wall. It’s why I tried to tread lightly when it came to the Seven Deadlies and why I resisted even considering my father’s temptation scenarios. But as long as I maintained my hard-fought self-control—or at least enough of it not to breach the Inviolate Wall itself—those were only hypotheticals.

This . . . this was different. This was an immortal soothsayer, one of the Norns, telling me that a moment of choice was coming for me and the fate of the world would hang in the balance. Or may hang in the balance, what with the many possible futures and all.

I sighed, a distinctly unsettled feeling in the pit of my belly.

It didn’t help when Mikill pulled into the alley beside my apartment and the dune buggy’s headlights tagged the sleek, matte-black form of a Vincent Black Shadow motorcycle parked there.

“It appears you have company, Daisy Johanssen,” Mikill announced in a formal tone.

“So it does.” I got out of the vehicle. “Thank you, Mikill.”

He raised one hand in farewell, put the dune buggy in reverse, and backed out of the alley, chugging away into the night, his frosty beard wagging in the breeze.

“Daisy.” Stefan, leaning against the wall, peeled himself upright. The lamp above the door cast his eyes in shadows. “I wanted—”

“I’m fine,” I interrupted him. “You don’t need to check up on me at every turn.”

He frowned. “Is it—”

I talked over him. “I mean, it’s just the fate of the world, right?”

“—so difficult to believe that . . .” Stefan paused. “What?”

We stared at each other. “Nothing.” I swallowed. “Just something one of the Norns said to me. I’m sorry. What?”

“Is it so difficult to believe that I’m here because I wished to see you, Daisy?” Stefan said gently to me.

“A little, yeah,” I said honestly.

He smiled. “I wanted to tell you that Cooper is lucid enough to express his apologies to you.”

“That was fast.” Based on what I knew, it took at least a week for a ghoul to stop ravening.

Stefan shrugged. “Cooper has considerable strength of will. Still, I will see that he is kept in seclusion. It will be some days yet before the ravening has fully passed.”

“Okay.”

Oh, in case you’re wondering, this was definitely the other disconcerting thing to happen that night.

“The Norn?” Stefan prompted me.

“It’s nothing,” I said. “I mean, it’s nothing yet. And it’s nothing specific. Just that the fate of the world may hinge upon the choices I make.”

Stefan took a step closer to me. I was acutely aware of his presence; of his height, of the breadth of his shoulders, of the impossibility of his immortal existence. “That has always been the case, Daisy.”

“I know,” I whispered. Part of me felt crowded by Stefan’s presence. Part of me felt elated by it. “Is that why you came? To tell me about Cooper?”

“No.”

The air between us hummed with possibilities. I forgot about the Norn’s soothsaying. “Um . . . Stefan, wouldn’t it be dangerous? You and me, together?”

“Are you afraid of losing yourself in me?” His pupils dilated in a rush. “You could. Or I could let my control slip and you could send me ravening. But that’s part of the allure, isn’t it?” He was close enough that I could feel the warmth of his skin. “You’ve been with one of the eldritch, Daisy. There may be no future for you and the wolf, but do you really think you could go back to ordinary mortals?”

“No, but . . .” My mind was reeling. “There’s no future for us in the long run, is there? And Cooper said it’s human companionship you crave. In case you’ve forgotten, I don’t entirely qualify.”

Stefan cupped my face in his hands. “Your heart is human, Daisy. Human and more.”

He kissed me.

It was one hell of a kiss. I’d been impressed by the last one, but Stefan had definitely been holding back. If