“We helped you escape,” Annalisa Dinapoli stated as she pushed her way past Jace and stepped into the hallway. “The least you can be is grateful.”
“We just wanted to make sure everything was on the up-and-up,” Kera said, giving a small smile before adding, “Nothing personal. We would do this with any of the Clans.”
“No problem.” Ski pulled the door all the way open. “Please, come in. Have a look around.”
“That isn’t necessary,” Jace said, still standing outside the doorway.
“Will it make your friends feel better and go away?”
“Probably.”
“Then they can look around.” He winked and gestured her inside with a head nod.
“Beautiful place,” Kera said.
“Eh,” Erin muttered.
“Thank you, Kera.”
He heard Erin chuckle.
“How are you enjoying your Second Life?” he asked.
“I like it,” Kera said with real eagerness, eyes bright.
“And has your dog had wings for long?”
“Since I have.” She shrugged. “Brodie enjoys it.”
“She wasn’t with you when you were dealing with the Russians.”
“She makes Chloe nervous. So we only bring her in when things get really bad.”
“Because she’s a dog with wings?”
“No. Because she’s a breed that the insurance company won’t cover.”
“Do all the Protectors live here?” Erin asked.
“No. Just me and sometimes Ormi.”
“Why you?”
“Because I’m the Keeper of the Word.”
Ski stopped when he heard Jace suddenly choke and begin coughing. He went to her side, lightly placing his hand on her back.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine.” She waved him off and stepped away from his hand. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t believe her, but he wasn’t going to argue with her. “So where are the books?” she asked, probably assuming that the quickest way to get rid of the Crows was to involve dusty old books written in Russian. He doubted she was wrong.
“The library. It’s right down this hall . . .”
Ski stopped and let out a breath, eyes briefly closing. He should have seen this coming. But he’d been so distracted, he’d forgotten to deal with this very situation.
And now . . . he was stuck.
It looked like every local Protector from Southern California was filling up that big, beautiful hallway with the marble floor and walls, where their god Tyr’s rune—the Tiwaz, which resembled an arrow pointing at the sky—was subtly designed into everything.
With arms crossed over chests, they stood and stared down the small group of Crows.
Eriksen glanced at Jace. Poor guy looked mortified as he asked the Protector everyone called Bear, “What are you doing?”
“Making sure our books are safe.”
“That’s my job.”
“It’s not that we don’t trust you . . . we just don’t trust you.”
“What?”
He pointed. “You allowed her in here.”
They all turned to Erin, who looked over her shoulder before turning back around, pointed at her chest, and asked, “Me? What did I do?”
“You spit flame.”
“I don’t spit anything.” She held up her hands and grinned. “I use my hands,” she growled, wiggling her fingers.
“Yeah,” Bear said, “she’s not allowed around the books.”
“You seem very protective of the books, Marbjörn Ingolfsson,” Annalisa noted. “Have you always been this way? Since childhood, I mean. Did your mother like books?”
“Don’t answer her!” another Protector ordered. “At least six of my patients are in prison because of her.”
Annalisa smirked. “They were hardly innocent. And it’s not my fault you were snowed by your sociopathic patients.” She gestured to the Protector. “My friends, this is my fellow forensic psychologist—”
“I don’t care,” Erin whined.
Annalisa shrugged at her colleague. “She doesn’t care. About you. Or your sagging, sad career.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. “You are such an evil witch.”
“Awww.Thank you. It’s so sweet you noticed. I do still try to be that girl I once was. Tormenting the innocent. Destroying the will of the good.” She sighed. “I miss those days.”
“You are freaking me out,” Bear finally stated.
Deciding she was done with this conversation and realizing that everyone was focused on “Fire Hands” Erin and former-sociopath Annalisa, Jace pressed her back against the wall and carefully slid past the Protectors until she reached the library.
As she stepped inside, her mouth dropped open. This wasn’t some rich person’s McMansion library. This was a real library. There were at least three floors, shelves filled with books lining each wall and then stacks across the floor, as well. Near the entrance were wood tables and chairs for people to do research. Several were filled with studious young Protectors. Teen boys who were taken from their families by the time they were eight or so and trained in the art of war and reason in a special boarding school hidden somewhere in the Midwest—but fully accredited so the teens could move on to prestigious high schools and then Ivy League universities.
Tyr was the god of war, battles, and justice. Unlike the other gods, Tyr never lied and was all about self-sacrifice, integrity, and honor. When a Protector made an oath of any kind, a man could know without a doubt that the oath would never be broken. However, if the one who made an oath with a Protector broke his side, his suffering would be legendary. The Protectors, with all their mighty integrity, could be the cruelest bastards in the known universe when crossed. So no one went into a deal with the Protectors lightly.
Which was why Jace, much as she didn’t want to be here today, would go through with her commitment.
Of course, now that she was actually in the Protectors’ library, she was shockingly happy she’d made the agreement with Danski Eriksen.
Her hands clasped together, Jace picked the first bookshelf she came to and began studying each title as she walked down the length of it.
“I see you made a break for it,” a voice teased.
Jace glanced up. Gundo towered over her, smiling.
“Would you like me to show you around?”
No. She really didn’t want him to. But, instead, Jace said, “No.”
Wait . . . that wasn’t what she’d meant to say. Although it’s what she did mean.
Gundo smirked. “Would you like me to introduce you around?”
“God, no.”
“I see. Is it me?” he asked.
“No.”
“Is it because Crows and Protectors were once sworn enemies?”
“No.”
“Is it because you’re truly not a people person and you’d rather walk through fire than have polite conversation?”
Instead of answering, Jace just stared at him.
Gundo nodded. “Understood. If you need anything, let me know.”
And, much to her relief, he walked away, smiling, which she appreciated.
“Sorry about that,” Eriksen said as he reached her. “They really don’t want Amsel in here.”
“They’re holding me hostage!” Erin yelled from the doorway.
“No, we’re not,” a Protector helping to block her replied. “You can leave at any time. In fact, we’d prefer if you left now.”
That’s when Erin warned, “The more you tell me to go, the longer I’ll stay.”
Ski led Jace to the large wood table where they’d placed their newest acquisitions.
“Here we go,” he said, watching her drop a very large backpack onto one of the chairs.
“The ones on the table are from the first box,” he explained. “There are six more boxes right here.” He pointed at the wood boxes beside the table. “Those are the older books. Bear wouldn’t let us touch those, t
hough, without the proper—”
Before he could finish, she pulled out a big box of disposable latex gloves.
Teasing, he asked, “Shouldn’t those be white cotton?”
“No.” She gawked at him. “White cotton is the worst thing you can use on old books. They can still transfer oils and debris from your hands to the paper, which would eventually destroy it over time.” She shook her head. “What kind of librarian are you?”
“I’m just the Keeper of the Word. I basically have to make sure no one sets the place on fire. It’s a job that was given to me. A sacrifice even Tyr himself might make.”
“Books are never a sacrifice.”
“I see I chose well. You should do okay here.”
“You don’t like books?” she asked.
“Of course I like books. But I’m equally happy reading on my phone as I am reading a print book.”
The entire room gasped and they both looked around at the younger Protectors gaping at Ski.
He sighed. “And on that note . . .”
“So, what do you need from me? Exactly.”
“First, we need titles, authors, date of publication. Once we get that sorted, then we can decide what, if anything, needs to be translated and what can be filed away for later. For instance, we don’t need you to translate the Russian version of Stephen King’s Christine.”
“Why not?” she asked flatly. “It’s a good book.”
“If you say so. But since we can get it here in the language it was originally written in, not sure why we would pay you to do it.”
“That’s a valid point.”
“Thank you.”
They both grinned at each other and, for the first time, Ski felt they were connecting.
“And what if there’s nothing here?” she asked. “Nothing of use?”
He pointed to the bookshelves. “Then we’ll code them and shelve them as we do all books that come our way. Does that work for you?”
“Sure.”
“Do you want to discuss payment?”
She kneeled on one of the chairs, her gaze locking on the books before her. “Not particularly.”
“You just want me to leave you alone?”
“Yes, please.”
Understanding her more and more, he turned to leave but asked, “And your friends?”
Without taking her eyes off the books, Jace reached into her backpack and pulled out a pencil. A pencil she threw across the room the same way he’d seen her throw the long blade of the Crows during battle. It hit Amsel in the head, stopping her from tormenting Bear by doing “jazz hands” with fire, flicking the flames between her fingers.
“You can go away now,” Jace muttered at her friends with a toss of her hand.
Annalisa stopped in the middle of torturing the defense lawyers and social workers of the Protectors by arguing for something regarding the death penalty—Ski couldn’t shake the feeling that she actually didn’t care one way or the other about any of that, but was just enjoying the way some of his brothers were getting red and frustrated at their discussion—and walked away.
Erin started to leave but stopped and jerked her hands toward the library. No flame appeared but poor Bear threw his big body right in front of the doorway, ready to go to Valhalla in the attempt to protect the books.
The redhead gave what Ski could only call an evil, throaty cackle and turned to go. But Kera walked around Bear and asked, “Are you sure, Jace?” She glanced at Ski. “We did hold this one hostage once.”
“I wasn’t really a hostage,” Ski reminded her. “I was just insurance. So no hard feelings.”
There was that forced smile from Kera. It came out anytime she didn’t understand Viking life. He wondered if Ludvig Rundstöm saw that expression a lot, since word among the Clans was that the pair had become quite close.
A remarkable thing considering how smart and caring Kera Watson seemed to be and how Rundstöm appeared to be the polar opposite.
“Jace?” Kera pushed when the other woman didn’t respond.
Frowning, Jace looked up. “What?” Her frown deepened at the sight of her sister-Crow. “Why are you still here?”
“Okay, then,” Kera said. “I’ll take that to mean you’re fine. Call me when you’re ready to come home.”
With that, the Crows were gone, leaving devastation and horror in their wake . . . something they were known for, so it wasn’t exactly surprising to Ski, but his brothers turned to him, all of them glaring.
“Don’t look at me,” Ski told them. “It was Bear who insisted we needed a translator for these books.”
“I didn’t know she’d bring her insane friends!” Bear feebly argued, because of course Jace had brought her insane friends. Crows never went into another Clan’s territory without at least one of their own.
Although less for protection than as a witness.
Ski glanced down at Jace to see if she was offended. She wasn’t because she wasn’t listening.
He’d lost her to the books.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Jace didn’t know how long she was sitting in the same spot, but every time she bothered to glance up from her work, something had been added to the table. First it was a high-priced laptop, already set up with a spreadsheet so she could begin inputting information about the books. Then, a little later, a small printer that could print out about a hundred pages at a time, plus a few reams of plain white paper. Another time she found a Russian-English dictionary, in case—she assumed—she needed help with a word here or there. Then there was that bronze statue of an owl.
It was the owl she couldn’t stop staring at. What did it mean? Owl statues were often used to scare off crows from someone’s house or a building. Especially if a large number of crows were leaving a healthy load of shit everywhere. But what exactly were the Protectors trying to tell her with this? Were they threatening her? Trying to scare her away? Playing a joke? Or just . . . putting an owl statue down?
It was hard to tell from the statue itself. Those cold, bronze owl eyes were not friendly.
“You have to eat.”
Jace finally turned away from the owl to find Eriksen standing over her. “I’m not hungry.”
“You have to be hungry. You haven’t eaten since you arrived. You haven’t had any water. I don’t think you’ve even urinated.”
“Probably because I haven’t had any water.”
“I tried to get you some earlier. But my brothers physically”—and he sounded so annoyed—“dragged me back to the kitchen.”
“I understand that. Until we know how important the books are, we shouldn’t have food and water around them. It could damage the—”
“I don’t care. I just need you to eat.”
“But I’m not hungry.”
He crouched down, staring at her through those glasses. “I don’t care that you’re not hungry. What I’m not going to do is have the Crows think I’m starving you. Because they don’t complain quietly or calmly.”
“It’s not even lunchtime.”
“It’s three in the afternoon.”
Jace turned and looked out the big windows. The sun had moved, suggesting a later hour. “Oh.”
“Yeah. Exactly. So . . . please?”
Jace looked down at the books. She wasn’t nearly as far along as she’d like to be. She’d only just started on the first box of books after finishing the ones on the table and she—
“They’re not going anywhere,” Eriksen practically snarled, cutting into her thoughts. “So get your cute butt up and let’s get you something to eat.”
Jace blinked. “Cute?”
“Very.” He smiled. “Didn’t you know?”
“Don’t really look. But . . . thanks.”
“Welcome.”
Jace grabbed the desk and lifted herself off the chair since she was still resting on her knees. Once she had her feet on the ground, though, her legs sort of gave out from under her and she was suddenly sitting on her ass.
r /> “By Tyr’s missing hand!” Eriksen snapped, sounding angry. “Is this literally the first time you’ve gotten up since you arrived this morning?”
“Well . . .”
He crouched beside her, putting his arms around her waist. “I see I’ll need to keep an eye on you to prevent you from losing your legs from blood loss.”
“Don’t be so dramatic.”
He lifted her into his arms and stood. “You can’t walk. I think I’m allowed to be dramatic. Isn’t it bad enough I have to take care of these guys? Now I’ve got to take care of you, too.”
“I can take care of myself.”
“Clearly not.”
He walked out of the library, with Jace still in his arms. As they moved, she gazed up into his face until she finally asked something that had been bothering her since she’d arrived here, “Why do you and most Protectors wear glasses? And I’m pretty sure some are wearing contacts. Why didn’t Tyr give you all better eyesight?”
“He gave us excellent eyesight. And if we were just running around, hunting our enemies, none of us would need glasses. But the glasses help us adapt so that those around us don’t notice the . . .”
“Freakiness of your owl eyes?”
“They’re not freaky. They’re unique.”
“You can also turn your heads three hundred sixty degrees.”
“No, we can’t,” he quickly corrected her. But then, a few seconds later, he added, “It’s more like two hundred seventy degrees.”
“A difference of ninety. Uh-huh.”
“Tyr likes owls. They’re very thoughtful predators. So he gave us many of their wonderful attributes to enhance our fighting skills.”
“How come you don’t have talons, like we do?”
“We have talon-like skills when we fight, but Tyr thought his warriors having actual talons would not be very masculine. He’s still a Viking, you know?”
“Uh-huh.”
They walked into the kitchen, where several Protectors were already sitting at the table. None of them were talking. They were all either writing or reading, each of them seemingly deep in thought.
Eriksen walked up to one of his brothers and kicked the chair. Then he grunted at him.
“What?” the brother asked.