Tom turned around to look out the window. The football team was running around the field, and farther past them he could see students out eating their lunch in the scant sun.
When he turned around, there was a woman sitting in the chair across from his desk.
Hel Lokidotter was elegant, and her smile, half-hidden under her white mask, was knowing in a way that was terribly uncomfortable to look at for long.
“The school is very handsome after being rebuilt,” she commented, her delicate accent flavoring every word as if she told a story of ancient heroes. “And in such a short time.”
Tom looked around, not sure what to make of her sudden appearance, and the way her eyes, one clear and blue, the other covered by barely-transparent white gauze, seemed to see much more than they should.
“We received several generous grants to rebuild,” he said cautiously. “Contractors above and beyond the emergeancy aid we received.
He still had nightmares about the twelve terrible hours he spent, trapped in the rubble with one coworker and eighteen teenagers. About the sound of water under them, and the cries of three boys who were almost killed, if not for one girl who was far more than anyone ever thought.
“Building always goes faster with the right sort of help,” Hel smiled, amused at some private joke. She sat back in her chair, feet clad in impressively high heels, and legs crossed neatly at the ankle, a lady to the last. “Cassandra told me what happened.”
Tom froze.
“I don’t’ know what you mean,” he tried to deflect the comment casually, and sank down to sit on his desk. “It was… pretty terrible, in all honesty, but Cassandra did good. All the kids did good, honestly. I don’t’ know if I could have kept it together like that at their age.”
“But not all of them could lift a steel beam,” Hel said, sweet, but with the watchful air of a preditor on the hunt, or a queen who saw weakness in her opponent. “Or hear the rushing of a broken pipe floors beneath them.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Tom said stubbornly, and Hel laughed at him.
“Of course you do,” she said, delighted with him for some reason, her lips curled in a wicked smile. “But you are a good liar. You saw her use Jormandgr’s Blessing to save your life, and her own. Only a little while later, you watched her lift a beam no five men could lift together. Look me in the eye, human, and tell me who you think we are.”
There was a trap in there somewhere. Tom could feel the hairs on the back of his neck raising as she watched him, completely still.
She wasn’t breathing.
“It’s not really a guess, is it?” he asked slowly, and met her gaze. “Loki only ever had one daughter in the stories. Should I be calling you Your Majesty?”
Hel threw her head back, laughing, and Tom caught a glimpse of flackened skin and white bone under the curve of her jaw, where her high collar and the mask didn’t quite meet.
“Silly mortal,” she said, and patted his hand, fingers cold even through her gloves. “Can you imagine Cassandra’s face if she heard you say that? No, I think not. You know my name. Use it.”
“I feel weird calling a goddess by her first name,” Tom muttered, and fought the urge to kneel before the Queen of Helheim. “Please don’t kill me.”
“Why would I do that?” Hel asked curiously, and waved for him to take a proper seat. “Your work is not yet finished, Healer.”
“I’m just a guidance counselor,” Tom protested, but quieted when she raised a hand to stop him.
“You heal the minds of the young,” she told him kindly, and with a very wise smile that was more reassuring than it should be. “Perhaps if someone like you had been there for my family, we would not have had such tragedy.”
“So, tell me how I can help?” Tom never had been able to resist a lady in need, and he still couldn’t now. “What can I do? You said it yourself. I’m just a human.”
“A human who protects the children,” Hel murmured. She caught his hand in one of hers, and pulled out, of all things, a blue sharpie. With quick, sure strokes, she drew a line of runes down his palm, following his life-line. The ink was cold, and Tom tried to pull away, only to discover that she was far stronger than he. “Stay still.”
“What is that?” Tom asked, entirely spooked as the ink changed on his skin and took on a soft glow. “What are you doing?”
“Carry with you, my Blessing,” Hel told him, and let him go, before dropping the sharpie back into her elegant leather purse. “You will know what it is for when you need it.”
+++
The Last of Loki’s Brood:
Cassandra Brann is a Troubled Student. She is difficult, at best, defiant at worst, and has more secrets than a dozen spies.
