Descendant

“But . . . you made them that way.”

“I did.”

“Why?”

“Different reasons.” The ancient god’s face remained impassive, but his gaze clouded. “Some had debts, some made bargains. . . .”

“And you turn people into creatures of nightmare for those reasons? Because they owed you something?” Mason could hear the judgmental anger in her voice. She was too stressed out by everything to even try and hide it.

The clouds in Rafe’s gaze grew darker. “Not anymore. Not in a very long time. And not for just those reasons. Also? I am a god, Mason Starling. And you’d do well to remember what I told you about gods and bargains.”

His voice took on an ominous, rumble-of-thunder quality and for a moment, Mason was afraid that she’d way overstepped a boundary. But then Rafe took a deep breath and seemed to shake off the surge of emotion.

“And that’s really all I’m going to say on the subject, all right?” He grinned wanly at her. “As a god—even one in exile—it’s in my job description to be occasionally inscrutable.”

Mason nodded and looked away. “Okay,” she said, wondering what any of them in that room might wind up owing the ancient deity when all was said and done. Not that it mattered in that moment. They were running short on options.

Mason crossed her arms over her chest and looked from face to face in the room, trying her best to convey a coolheadedness and a calm rationality that she really didn’t feel. She turned to the television again and the pictures that kept flashing up on the news report.

“If we can’t go through the fog wall,” she said, “can we go over it?”

Toby’s gaze sharpened as he looked at her. He was big on strategy, and Mason had a plan.

“What are you thinking, Mase?” Fennrys asked quietly.

“The Roosevelt Island Tram,” she said, pointing to the TV, where it sat in the corner of the room, scrolling pictures of the terrifying phenomenon plaguing the city of Manhattan. In one video feed, it appeared that one of the tram cars running from Roosevelt Island directly into the heart of Manhattan was still running, even though no one was on it. “Look. No one’s bothered to shut it down. The cable cars might be empty . . . but they’re still running into the city.”

Toby’s mouth curled into a wry smile. “The elevated tram. Ha. A hit, kiddo,” he said, just like he did when she scored a point in a fencing match. “That’s the thing about the ancient curses. . . . They were designed to afflict ancient man. Used to be, all you needed was a wall high enough to keep the average human out. The cable cars ride high enough to clear the top edge of the barrier. Brilliant.”

Douglas nodded in agreement, a steady, satisfied look on his face.

Two fans of the plan, Mason thought, and looked over at Fennrys.

She sensed that he was torn between supporting her idea—which would mean following her into the heart of the danger—and just plain getting her the absolute hell away from there. She understood the impulse. He’d come to Asgard for her, found her, saved her . . . and now? Now she was about to ask him to risk losing her again.

Just like you’re about to risk losing him.

Even the thought of that was unbearable, and Mason shoved it brutally from her mind. “Fenn?” she said. “What do you think?”

Fennrys held Mason’s gaze—a calm, unwavering faith in her shining from his pale-blue eyes. “I think we do it. I’m in.”

Mason felt the tension in her neck loosen a bit. Until she looked over at where Cal was standing rigid beside the table that held the water jug. His reaction was the exact opposite of Fenn’s.

“Am I the only one here who thinks this is a supremely stupid idea?” Cal asked, his expression stiff with stubborn opposition.

A small, angry voice hissed in the back of Mason’s head. How dare he? Who did he think he was? Hell—who did he think she was? Weak? Small? A coward? Well, yes. He’d already told her as much, hadn’t he?

You hesitated, he’d said. He’d blamed her. Made her feel less than the warrior that she was—

Whoa. Okay . . . let’s just get a grip there, Starling, she thought, suddenly aware that in her anger, she’d started to frame her participation in this . . . this whatever, this weirdness, in the kind of language that her father might have used. Warrior . . . ? No. You’re not a Valkyrie, Mason, she chastised herself silently. You didn’t take the spear. And you’re not like Cal. You’re human. And you’re going to stay that way.

“Well? Am I?” Cal asked again, looking to Rafe for support.

“Yes,” Mason snapped. “You are.”

Fennrys put a hand up over his mouth, hiding a grin.

“Look what is happening to the city, Cal.” Mason pointed again to the television. “Our school is in there—our friends. . . .”

“So what?” Cal snorted. “Bunch of stuck-up rich kids? Don’t pretend you care about any of them any more than I do, Mase—”

“Heather’s in there,” Toby said quietly, his gaze fixed pointedly on Cal.

Mason felt herself grow cold. “What? But I thought . . . I mean, Heather was with me on the train. Didn’t she just cross over the bridge into Queens? Like you did, Toby? I thought she’d be safe. I thought . . .”

In truth, Mason hadn’t had much time to think about Heather at all. Heather, who’d come to warn her at the gymnasium. Who’d proven to be a better friend to Mason than she ever would have imagined before everything that had happened. She felt a stab of guilt.

“Yeah, Mase,” Toby said. “She was on the train. After the crossing, your dad wanted me to . . .” The fencing coach scowled at the memory. “Well, suffice it to say, he didn’t exactly want me to let Heather go.” He put up a hand to forestall Mason’s outrage. “But I did let her go, and I sent her back to Gosforth, because I actually thought she’d be safe there. So yeah. She’s in Manhattan.”

“Cal?” Mason turned to where he stood, shifting his weight from foot to foot, a look of conflicted reluctance on his face. “Don’t you care about her?”

“Of course I do. I just . . .”

His hands flexed at his sides as if he wanted to reach out and grab something. Mason noticed the water in the pitcher on the table near him turned suddenly cloudy and cracked as it froze solid. Cal didn’t seem to notice.

“It’s dangerous, Mason,” he said in a voice as icy as the water. “I don’t want anything to happen to you.”

“You don’t have to worry about me,” she said. “I can take care of myself.”

A twist of anguish skewed Cal’s handsome features and made the scars on his face pull deeper at the corner of his mouth. Mason remembered what Heather had told her about Cal’s feelings for her, remembered how he’d acted toward her in the last few days . . . but all she could manage to feel for him was a deep pity that she wouldn’t ever let him see. She could do that much for him, at least. But no more. She glanced over and saw that Fennrys’s calm, blue gaze was fixed on her. His expression was placid. Trusting. He would go with her to the ends of the earth. And if it came to that, she would ask him to. Because that was what love was.

She turned back to Cal. “Fine. You do what you want, Calum. I’m going into the city. I’ll just have to convince your mom that you really are okay.”

“Right.” Fennrys took a step forward and cracked his knuckles as he flexed the hand that gripped the blade sheathed at his waist. “Ready when you are, Mase.”

The blood sang in her ears at the prospect of a fight, and Mason realized that she might just be developing a taste, not just for fighting—but for war. “I’m ready now.”