A spread of tasting food dubbed the Turkish Delight sat untouched on the table before us. Bowls of olives and Beyaz peynir cheese, a platter of cucumbers and tomatoes, a basket of katmer flat bread, and several tiny bowls of rose jam and fig marmalade. We had ordered this as a nicety and as a distraction, giving us all something to munch on.
The reason Marlow had chosen Kahvalti to meet wasn't the food anyway--although the food was fairly good. It was the long, slender cigarillo she held between her fingers with its pungent bouquet of smoke hovering over us. Kahvalti was one of the only places in the city that still allowed smoking tobacco.
"If I'd known he was going to be so late, I would've taken the time to touch up my hair," Marlow said.
Her bleached-blond hair had begun to grow out a bit, leaving a sliver of black roots along her scalp, but it had been styled well, hiding most of that flaw. Marlow had really done herself up today. Her makeup was a bit heavier than normal, with thicker eyeliner and false lashes, and her form-fitting black dress had long sleeves and a short hem.
Marlow exhaled smoke from the corner of her mouth and cast her scrutinizing gaze on me. She reached out, running her fingers through the thick stubble on the shaved side of my head.
"If you're going to insist on this ridiculous haircut, you ought to keep up with the shaving," she chastised. I leaned away from her touch, so she let her hand fall away. "It's getting long."
I dug through my messenger bag, searching for my phone so I could text Asher and find out what the holdup was. He was already twenty minutes late.
We were poised at a table right by the front entrance, and when the door opened, I looked up to see Asher. He'd cleaned up some since I'd seen him last, appearing a little less grizzled and a bit more rested.
I smiled and waved toward him, then realized that might not be the appropriate response for this meeting. His eyes met mine--as hard and dark as the ocean during a storm--and he nodded once, so I let my hand fall awkwardly back to my lap.
He turned, speaking quietly to a woman who had followed him in. Her jumpsuit was perfectly tailored for her tall frame, and a sarong was draped elegantly over her shoulders. With her glacial white hair meticulously styled and oversized black sunglasses covering most of her face, she looked stunningly regal.
Pursing her lips, she lowered her sunglasses to look at Marlow and me, and I could almost feel the daggers she was shooting piercing into me.
"Who is that woman?" Marlow leaned over and asked me.
"I don't know," I whispered, but they were already on the way toward us, and I suddenly felt so nervous that I wasn't sure I could do this.
Marlow set her cigarillo in the ashtray and stood up as they reached our table. "Hello," she said, flashing her most winning smile. "I'm Marlow Krigare."
I realized belatedly that I should've stood, but now my mother was leaning over to shake Asher's hand, and it felt too forced.
"I'm Asher Varja," he said, casting an uneasy glance down at me as he shook Marlow's hand. "This is my grandmother, Teodora Varja."
Marlow extended her hand to Teodora, but she just sniffed and sat down, ignoring Marlow's offering. My mother cleared her throat uncomfortably and took her seat across from Teodora.
"So, my daughter told me that you were looking for me," Marlow said, her eyes bouncing between Asher and his grandmother.
"You could say that," Teodora said with a weary sigh. She took off her sunglasses, and they clacked loudly when she set them on the table. "You really sodded things up, didn't you?"
"Beg pardon?" Marlow asked, and her plaster smile began to waver.
"Amma," Asher said, using the old Norse word for grandmother. "They invited us here. We should hear them out."
"He's right," I said, desperate to diffuse the growing tension between Teodora and Marlow. "We thought maybe if we could meet and exchange ideas, we might be able to track down Tamerlane."
"We did just want to be of help," Marlow replied, but her words came out stiff and robotic. She held her head and shoulders so high and straight, it looked painful.
"Oh, please." Teodora leaned back in her chair and gave a dry laugh. "How old are you?"
"I don't see what that has to do with anything," Marlow replied tightly.
Teodora rolled her eyes. "Fine, play that game. I turned seventy-five last May. I worked as a Valkyrie for almost fifty years before I retired." She leaned forward, resting her arms on the table and staring directly at my mother. "And do you know how many of my assignments I failed to return?"
I looked helplessly over to Asher, and his panic-stricken expression nearly mirrored my own. We were powerless to get our matriarchs to behave.
Marlow's lips twisted into a bitter smile. "You think I asked you here to listen to this shit? I thought I could help you."
"Yes, you're a real saint, aren't you?" Teodora continued with a nasty smile. "Inviting the family of your victim here to commiserate."
"My victim? I never even met your daughter."
"She wouldn't be dead if it weren't for your failed actions," Teodora countered.
"You don't know that," Marlow insisted coolly. "Maybe she was always meant to die. Only the gods know the true plan."
I actually winced when she said that.
"So that's why you called us here?" Teodora asked. "So you could convince yourself that you did nothing wrong?"
"I wanted to try to make things right. I wanted to help you. But now I see that you don't want my help. You just want to spew all your anger and hate out at me, and I won't let you." Marlow pushed her chair back and stood up. "I am not your punching bag."
"We're all emotional," Asher said, his voice taking on the same pained tone as it had when he was in my apartment. "Let's all just calm down for a second."
My mother shook her head as she grabbed her jacket from the back of her chair. "No. You had your chance. Good luck getting justice for your mother."
"Marlow, please." I reached out, meaning to grasp her hand, but she pulled away from me. "They just--"
"I'm out of here, Malin," she said and slid around me on her way to the door.
"Marlow--" I repeated and started to get up, but Teodora held out her hand to me.
"No, stay. I'll go after her." She sighed as she slowly rose to her feet and grabbed her sunglasses from the table. "I can make nice if it means that I can avenge my Adela."
Asher turned to watch Teodora follow after my mother. Through the window blinds, I could see Marlow standing on the sidewalk, smoking a new cigarillo. When Teodora reached her, she didn't immediately punch her, so that was a good sign.
"I'm sorry about that," I said to Asher once it seemed like Marlow and Teodora were talking.
"No, I'm sorry. My grandmother said she just wanted to come for support...."
"It's a very complicated situation," I said.
I spread jam on the flatbread, mostly so I'd have something to do, and Asher reached for the small butter knife at the same time I was putting it back, so our hands bumped against each other. His skin felt rough brushing against mine.
"Sorry," I said.
"Don't be," he said gently, his dark eyes meeting mine, before he roughly spread the marmalade on his own bread, but like me, he never actually took a bite of it.
After a stretch of silence, Asher cleared his throat and asked, "So, you call your mom by her name?"
I nodded. "Yeah. Marlow told me that most Valkyries call their moms by their first names."
"Well, it's starting to sound like Marlow has a bit of a skewed view on what it means to be a Valkyrie," Asher said, and the truth of his words stung hard--harder than he'd intended them to, based on the apologetic expression on his face.
"It seems that way," I agreed with a heavy sigh.
"Did she tell you why she didn't kill Tamerlane Fayette?" Asher asked directly.
"She did." I paused, trying to figure out how exactly to word it, but the hopeful look in Asher's eyes underneath his gathered eyebrows compelled me to
just tell the truth. He deserved to know. "She said that he was good, and she thought the world would be better with him in it."
He laughed darkly. "Yeah, the world is real great with him in it."
"She knows she made a mistake," I hurried to say, defending my mother even though I really knew there was no defense for her actions. "She wants to make it right."
"How?" Asher asked skeptically.
"She wants to kill Tamerlane," I lied, because I wanted it to be true.
Marlow hadn't shared any of her intentions with me or even why she'd wanted to meet with Asher. I had no idea how she planned to try to make this right, or what she even thought the right thing would be anymore.
"Do you think she really will?" Asher asked honestly.
"I don't know," I admitted. "A few days ago I would've said yes, definitely." I took a deep breath. "But it doesn't matter. If she doesn't kill him, then I will."
He smiled then, crookedly because of a scar he had on the left side of his top lip. It was a small gash, like a comma dropping down from the smooth skin of his face to his full lips. But his smile softened his whole face. Even his eyes seemed lighter.
It wasn't until that moment that I fully appreciated how handsome he was. He had this ruggedness about him--unshaven, with slightly disheveled hair, thick eyebrows, leathery hands--and it clashed wonderfully with the beauty of his other features--high cheekbones, full lips that were almost pouty, eyes that were a disarming shade of blue.
He wasn't much older than me, but he had a world-weariness that made him seem older, like he'd been through things I couldn't even imagine. It was in the rumbling tenor of his voice, and he still somehow managed to be soft-spoken.
Everything about him seemed to be a contradiction--weathered but youthful, gruff but gentle, angry but forgiving. Yet it all seemed to work for him.
"I do appreciate you meeting with us," Asher said finally. "I know this all must be very hard for you. The position that you're in."
"Nobody's in a good position. I mean, I can't imagine what this all has been like for you and your grandmother."
"It hasn't been easy," he admitted.
He looked out the window, at the animated conversation between Teodora and Marlow. Both of them were waving their arms and shouting at one another.
"But I do really want to thank you." Asher turned back to me and reached across the table.
He took my hand in his--strong and rough and warm--and I noticed the paracord bracelet around his wrist. It had a small metal plaque imprinted with the three horns of Odin on an eagle. That was the insignia for the Vordr--the Evig Riksdag police.
Competition to get into the Vordr was harsh, and the job itself was renowned for being grueling. Recruits had died going through the relentless boot camp, but the Vordr had to be the best of the best to protect the Riks from vengeful immortals or rogue Valkyries.
I lifted my gaze, letting his eyes meet mine, and I felt heat flush through me as he smiled at me.
Then Teodora came in like a blizzard, her sarong billowing around her, and Asher pulled his hand back from mine. She walked over and sat down heavily in her seat beside Asher.
"We managed to come to an agreement." Teodora motioned vaguely out the window, where Marlow was still standing on the sidewalk. "She's out there waiting for you when you're ready."
"What's the agreement?" Asher asked.
"She's going to work with you to find Tamerlane Fayette," Teodora explained as she poured herself a cup of black coffee. "And then she's going to kill him."
Asher raised an eyebrow and glanced over at me, before asking her, "That's your agreement?"
"Yes." Teodora sipped her coffee. "Well, that and if she doesn't kill Tamerlane, then I'm going to kill her."
SEVENTEEN
Marlow was waiting outside for me, just as Teodora had said. But as soon as she saw me, she turned and started walking back toward her brownstone, and I had to jog to catch up with her. I was actually half an inch taller than my mother, but she'd always had these long strides that I had to struggle to match.
"Teodora said you reached an agreement," I said as I caught up with her.
"If you can call it that," Marlow snorted.
We stopped at a crosswalk, and a woman with a small child at her side glared up at Marlow--more specifically, she was glaring at the cigarillo in her hand.
"That's disgusting, and you're polluting the air for everyone around you that has to breathe in that noxious smoke," the woman reprimanded my mother.
Marlow turned to face her, putting her hand on her hip, and leaned forward, reminding the woman of her size and strength. "Look around, honey. This whole city is nothing but pollution."
She gestured wildly with her cigarillo, and unfortunately she wasn't wrong. Even on a sunny day like today, a thick haze hung in the air. No matter how many attempts were made to be more environmentally friendly, there were just too many beings living too close together.
The light changed, and the woman huffed on ahead. Marlow laughed to herself, but she tossed her half-finished cigarillo into the gutter anyway.
It was late afternoon, and the sidewalks were full. They usually were, but today had the added benefit of being unseasonably warm for autumn. The air was still brisk, and Marlow pulled her coat more tightly around her as she stalked down the street.
Plus, it was the Friday before a holiday weekend. Sparkling black and purple garlands were wrapped around light poles, while images of skeletons and coffins were pinned up everywhere. All the storefront windows had flyers proclaiming their sales and specials for the Feast of the Dead celebrations.
"You know, I got an assignment from Samael last night," I told Marlow, since she seemed to have no interest in discussing her conversation with Teodora.
"He's got you busy, busy, busy," she said, and I swear she picked up her pace again, so I was nearly jogging to stay at her side.
"I was thinking tonight we should stake her out," I said. "She lives in the Gold Coast, which isn't too far."
"Tonight's no good. I've got to work at the call center."
"Tomorrow--"
"Tomorrow's no good," Marlow cut me off. We'd reached her brownstone, so she stopped and turned to face me. "Honestly, this whole weekend is no good because of that damned feast."
I glanced toward the front door, but apparently she wasn't going to invite me up, so we were going to have this conversation on her front stoop.
"But when we get an assignment, we're supposed to make the return within seventy-two hours if at all possible," I said, reciting the rules I'd been taught.
She shrugged. "Well, I'm telling you it's not possible for me to help you this weekend."
"Should I call Samael?" I asked.
"Why don't you take care of it yourself?" Marlow asked.
"I'm not licensed."
She rolled her eyes. "Can you handle it yourself or not?"
"I can," I replied, trying not to sound as uncertain as I felt.
"Then what do you need me for?"
"You're supposed to go with me," I persisted.
"Who cares? You got it covered."
"I know. I would just feel better if--"
"I'll only drag you down." She rummaged through her purse and pulled out her keys as she walked up the steps toward her place. "I just screw things up, Malin. I ruined everything with Tamerlane, and I don't think I'll be any good to you tonight. Go take care of this yourself."
I stood outside her brownstone for several long minutes after she'd gone inside. Some part of me hoped that she would come back out and apologize, explain that she was all worked up about the meeting with the Varjas, and she didn't mean any of it.
But she didn't, and really, I shouldn't have been surprised. In the nineteen years I'd been alive, I'd never known my mother to apologize. Not even once.
Marlow had left me with very limited options.
Samael had been okay with meeting him on my own, but there was no way he'd be cool with me actua
lly going out on the assignment by myself. If I told him that Marlow was too busy to help me, that would most likely result in some kind of reprimand for her, and if there was an inquiry that went along with it, Tamerlane Fayette's name would almost certainly come up. That would lead to termination for her--and I didn't just mean of her career.
The second option was that I could just wait around for the weekend, and hope that Marlow changed her mind come Sunday or Monday. But that was a long shot, and I would most likely end up back where I was. But by then I'd already be extended past my deadline.
And the final option was just to follow Marlow's advice and take care of it myself. Assuming there were no hiccups in the assignment, then everyone would be none the wiser. The target would be killed, and neither Marlow nor myself would be in trouble.
So I headed back to my apartment to do as much prep work as I could. Samael had sent me all the files on Amaryllis Mori in my drop box.
I told Oona of my plan, so she made supper, which freed me up to spend as much time as I could studying everything I could about Amaryllis and the best ways to fight Jorogumos in general. Oona made tofu meat loaf, which I slathered in hot sauce and ate while hunched over my tablet, with Bowie curled up at my side.
Finally, it was time. According to the information Samael had sent me, Amaryllis should be getting off work in a few hours, and I wanted to be sure that I got there with enough time, in case she got out early.
I geared up--my sword Sigrun was sheathed around my waist, my dagger was in my thigh garter, and I had my asp and acidic pepper spray in my messenger bag.
"I still don't think you should do this," Oona told me for the hundredth time as I dropped my messenger bag over my shoulder. She stood in the center of the living room, cradling Bowie in her arms and frowning at me.
"I know, but it has to be done," I insisted. "I can't just let it go, or I'll end up with another Tamerlane situation on my hands. And we've all seen how that turns out."
"What if something happens to you?" she asked.
I walked closer to her and scratched Bowie between his antlers, and he nuzzled up against my hand. "If I die, you get Bowie, and you have to take care of him, because I said, and that will be my deathbed declaration."
She gave me her I'm-not-kidding-around look. "Mal. I can handle Bowie. He's not what I'm worried about."