Conspiracy of Ravens (Crawford Investigations Book 1) Page 17

  Raven bit back the words she wanted to say—you know this is a greasy spoon, twenty-four-hour diner, right? Instead, she forced a smile on her face, repeated her mental “be nice” mantra and said, “We serve predominantly pub-style food and cater to the more carnivorous members of society. This might go easier if you just tell me what you want, and I’ll find a way to bring it to you.”

  The woman’s nose and mouth scrunched up and she opened the menu without a word, holding it high enough to cover her face.

  “Can I get any of you something to drink to start?” If anyone needed a cool drink right now, it was Raven.

  “Um.” One of the brunette customers glanced at her mute friends. “I think we’ll take a look at our menus first.”

  “Sure thing.” Raven maintained her fake smile and willed her legs to carry her away from the women. They planned to dash. Raven knew that shifty look customers got when they wanted to leave but didn’t have the guts to tell the server they planned to eat elsewhere.

  Raven turned to the woman sitting alone at a window table. With dark hair cascading down her back and dark slashes for eyebrows, her severe expression didn’t invite anyone to join her. The sharp cast to the customer’s features and drawn mouth gave Raven the impression she plotted the gory murder of everyone in the restaurant, including her less-than-talented waitress.

  Raven shook herself and her over-the-top imagination. Maybe the mysterious woman just had a bad case of resting bitch face. Regardless, Raven’s job meant she not only had to approach the customer but serve them.

  Raven’s skin tingled as she walked up to the table for two and ice clamped up her spine. “See anything you like?”

  The woman turned toward Raven. Her dark brown gaze studied Raven down her straight nose. “Not at all.”

  At least she was honest. Having two tables in a row balk at the menu, though, meant Raven’s customer batting average took another dive.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” Raven said through another fake smile. “Is there anything I can get you?”

  The woman pursed her lips and continued to appraise Raven head to foot. “Not at this time.” She pinched the corner of the laminated menu between her manicured forefinger and thumb and dangled it in the air as if it were actually a dead rat.

  Raven plucked the menu from the snooty woman. “Have a nice day.”

  The woman smirked before sliding off her chair and walking out of the diner without a response or even a look back. Weird.

  Well, this was Dan’s Diner. Weird wasn’t a side effect of awesome here. Nope. Here, it may as well be a requirement for service…like a shirt and shoes.

  After delivering a bill to the elderly couple coming down from a gambling high, and the third round of refills to the burnouts at table three, she returned to the pass-through window behind the counter. While her back was turned, the table of women “snuck” out of the restaurant. She could’ve turned and called out to ask them questions. Watching them squirm would’ve been entertaining, but not tonight. She just didn’t care.

  From his spot by the grill, Mike glanced over his shoulder and laughed. “Nice scowl.”

  “Okay, little fox. Continue with the lecture. Teach me, oh, wise-one.”

  He straightened from the grill and turned to her. “No lecture. Just a hunch. The author of the original reference, or at least the oldest reference I could find, was a poet, not a historian.”

  She tapped her fingers along the smooth counter. Mike would eventually get to the point, given the time. Whether she had the patience to wait him out was the more important question.

  “I think, in this instance, glaive is a metaphor for something else,” he said.

  “Not an analogy?”

  Mike rolled his eyes. “Did you pass English in high school? An analogy compares one thing to another, and a metaphor is one of the figures of speech you can use to make that comparison.”

  “So, we’re both right?”

  Mike let out a long, loud, suffering sigh. She loved to push his buttons. Maybe she should call the metaphor a simile next, and watch his face go red.

  “Anyway, I think glaive is a metaphor,” Mike grumbled.

  “For what?” She pulled the collar of her blouse in and out to send air rushing under her shirt in an attempt to cool down.

  “A weapon of some sort.”

  “So, now we’re looking for a weapon of light…instead of looking for a weapon of light?”

  Mike’s dimple deepened as he lost his pensive expression and grinned. “Exactly.”

  Raven groaned.

  “What did you find?” Mike asked.

  She hadn’t had time to explain what happened at Bear’s apartment. He’d been in class all day and they didn’t carpool to work together. She’d texted the basics but had to wait for lulls during their shift to go into detail. “A feather. Probably one of mine. I’ll need you to sniff it later.”

  “Why would your feather be at a place you’ve never been?” Mike crossed his arms, the broken one in the cast over the healthy one. “A lot of supernaturals are associated with crows.”

  “Ravens.”

  “Whatever. The Morrigan, Odin, Valkyries, Lloth, Athena, Apollo—”

  “Me.”

  Mike shrugged. “But one thing’s for sure.”

  “What’s that?” She pinched the plastic-like material of her pants at the thighs and pulled. The polyester blend peeled from her skin with a wet suction-like slurping sound. Well. That wasn’t attractive at all.

  “Most of those I listed are associated with the Underworld.”

  “And death.” She poured herself a coffee.

  “Sort of. Makes sense, though.”

  “How so?” She peeled open the lids on three creamers and dumped the contents into her coffee. Sure, she was overheated, but coffee made everything better.

  “The Claíomh Solais is from the Shadow Realm.”

  “I thought you said it was a weapon of light?” A drop of sweat ran down the side of her face. How did Mike stand by the grills all shift? She grabbed a spoon and stirred her coffee.

  “Since when did anything or anyone from the Other Realms make sense?”

  “True.”

  “Cole is also from the Shadow Realm…”

  “Mike…”

  “What?”

  She pointed her spoon at Mike. Some coffee dripped onto the counter. “We’ve already been over this.”

  “You can’t trust him, Rayray.”

  “I don’t. I trust that he will keep his sealed promise, as he’s fae.” She fanned her body with her blouse again.

  “Why do you think he made this agreement?” Mike narrowed his eyes. “I know why you did, but why would he bother when he could just follow you around like a perverted shadow?”

  Raven took a sip of coffee and winced. Dan used an inexpensive blend. Despite smelling great, the coffee was sharper than she preferred. She took another long sip and thought about what Mike said. The same question had plagued Raven’s mind and she didn’t like the answer. “I think he’s using me.”

  Mike grunted and gave me his “I told you so” stare-down. My little brother. He was a genius, but that didn’t mean he knew everything.

  “I think he’s using me as bait, just like Bane wanted to use me as a trade. Frankly, I prefer Cole’s method, and in the end, who cares? He gave our family much needed protection and promised not to harm Bear.”

  “No. He promised not to kill him.”

  “No. The agreement was he will protect our family to the best of his abilities. He promised not to harm Bear when we find him, and in return I work with him, not for him.” She drank more coffee, enjoying the heat as it slid down her throat. It still tasted awful.

  Mike frowned.

  “You were there!”

  “I was in pain,” Mike grumbled.

  She folded her arms. He had a point. His arm had been broken and he was recovering from the trauma of getting caught in a leg-hold.

  “Yo
u’re thinking too much with…” Mike waved his hand at her.

  “With what?”

  “You know.” He waved again, directing the finger wave at the center of her body.

  She inhaled the sweet coffee scent and arched a brow over the rim of her too-small, white diner mug. “Are you trying to point at my crotch?”

  Mike’s cheeks turned a deep shade of red. His silence answered for him.

  Raven jabbed her index finger at the air between them. “Listen—”

  The door to the diner swung open, jingling the bell, and Cole walked in. The deep forest scent unique to him—the smell she’d come to associate with the shadowy transition between day and night, dark, salacious promises, and something oddly reminiscent of her childhood—rushed in with the stench of a late summer night in North Burnaby.

  Tonight, he looked every bit an assassin, with tall boots, pants, breastplate and gauntlets made of supple black leather and sword belts criss-crossed low at his waist. A dark cloak flowed behind him like one of the shadows he controlled. Black Other eyes pierced the room and left little doubt to his origin. Fierce authority radiated from his solid form. Customers cowered in their booths. The young couple by the door flattened against the wall to stay out of his way.

  Her knees wobbled. She reached out and grabbed the counter edge. Her cheap blouse suddenly felt limp and her pants a size too tight. Crap! Her hair had so much grease embedded in the strands it looked wet. Why couldn’t he visit at the beginning of her shift when she looked relatively fresh? She must resemble a reject from a 1950s greaser movie. The urge to check her reflection surged up. She swallowed and tightened her grip on the counter.

  Mike groaned and turned back to his grill.

  Cole stopped at the counter in front of her. His dark gaze locked on hers. Focused. Intense.

  What she wouldn’t give to keep that pointed attention on her, that look of unwavering intent? She gulped, not liking the answer.

  Anything.

  One crook of his finger and a promise of his affection, even for a night, and she’d stumble over her own feet to reach for him. She wouldn’t even pause to wipe the drool from her chin.

  A slow smile spread across his gorgeous, striking face. “Good evening, Einin.”

  “Hi.” He called her little bird again. It took every ounce of control not to swoon.

  His smile grew.

  “Uh…why are you here? It’s certainly not for the food.” And sadly, probably not to hook up with a sweaty waitress.

  “Certainly not.” His black eyes sparkled. “Your request with Odin has been granted.”

  Chapter Twenty

  “I’m looking for a concealer that will hide my exhaustion from the last ten years.”

  ~Raven, at the department store make-up counter

  The knock on her apartment door sent Raven’s heart into a thudding mess. With a deep breath, she stepped forward, flipped the deadbolt and opened the door.

  “Good evening, Einin.” Cole stood tall and regal wearing a dubious amount of leather. His intimidating presence radiated wicked potency and made her ovaries ache. If she reached out, would he push her away, or pull her close?

  She didn’t think he could top the look he had when he’d barged into the diner last night to announce her audience had been granted. She was wrong. Very, very wrong. With black armour, he vibrated with violent purpose. Instead of polished metal to shine under the austere lighting of her apartment building, the protective metal of his breastplate, gauntlets and tall boots muted the light with their matte black finish. He looked like a living shadow.

  A long black cloak hung from metal shoulder pieces and descended to his heels. It billowed silently behind him as he stepped into her apartment. His ensemble matched his features and look, letting him blend perfectly with the looming shadows that clung to his presence like a dark cloud. Only his pale skin glowed in the darkness.

  When he walked into her apartment, his boots, which covered his legs to just above his kneecaps with the plated matte metal, hit the ground silently.

  Lethal.

  Raven gulped. “Hi.”

  “Are you ready?”

  “To visit the Allfather? No, of course not.” She bent to pull her black riding boots over her dark jeans. Not exactly summer attire, but she wanted to look more respectful than cut-off jean shorts allowed.

  “What do you know about Odin?”

  “Not much. Big bad fae lord who’s so powerful his eyes glow bright blue instead of black.”

  Cole’s expression turned thoughtful. “I wouldn’t say they glow, but they are bright. And only one eye is bright blue. He’s blind in the other eye, so it’s white with hints of blue.”

  Okay, then. Raven pulled on her second boot and straightened. “He surrounds himself with an army of loyal undead soldiers and prevented regs from utter annihilation when the barrier came down by creating some rules and exerting his considerable power to enforce them.”

  Cole nodded. “Odin keeps the warriors, or einherjar, in Valhalla, but not out of the tender warmness of his heart. He wants a large army to support him when Ragnarok comes.”

  “And when will that be?”

  Cole shrugged. “Some thought the barrier coming down was a sign of the apocalypse, but the regs turned out to be...” Cole frowned.

  “Humans without any power?”

  “Pretty much. Some say Ragnarok is a delusional story existing only in Odin’s mind.”

  “They say that?”

  Cole chuckled. “Not to his face.”

  Raven stood and straightened. Her heart continued to beat spastically. She was going to meet the Allfather with the Lord of Shadows by her side. Her. A waitress from Burnaby. She wasn’t even a good waitress. The last few days had really turned her already shitty life upside down.

  And she liked it.

  Raven licked her lips.

  Apparently, inherent danger and the promise of utter demise was preferable to the night shift at Dan’s Diner.

  Shocking.

  Cole’s gaze softened as he watched her. He stepped forward and she flinched.

  “If we’re going to see Odin, we need to go now,” he said. “Arriving late or standing him up aren’t options I’d advise.”

  She squeezed her hands into fists and nodded.

  He wrapped his strong arms around her and pulled her in. The shadows wrapped around them like a cocoon.

  “We’ll have to make a series of transports to get to his main gate,” he whispered in her ear. “It won’t be as fast as going to the Shadow Realm.”

  She nodded against his hard chest and inhaled his intoxicating scent. “Why don’t you tell me more about Odin?”

  She sensed more than saw him smile. He held her close. The apartment around them disappeared as they slipped into shadow.

  Cole’s deep voice rumbled against her ear as he explained Odin’s history and his domain. She already knew a lot of what Cole told her from searching the internet and Mike’s research. She didn’t stop him from talking though. Doing so would involve breathing and she’d held her breath from the moment he arrived on her doorstep looking like the Lord of Sin.

  She had other reasons for letting him speak, of course.

  One, she loved the sound of his voice too much. Two, she didn’t want to disrupt him cocooning her in his warmth and heady scent. And three, she’d discovered long ago, letting people assume her ignorance paid off in unexpected ways. Their demeanor and the information they provided told Raven more about them as a person.

  Raven learned much from Cole’s deep voice whispering in her ear. He clearly wanted her informed and provided pertinent details in a no-nonsense manner that lacked any condescension. She didn’t interrupt once. She did, however, visualize ripping his clothes off and jumping on his naked body.

  After a series of dizzying portals, the shadows slipped away and left them at the bottom of stone steps.

  Raven stepped back and Cole’s arms tensed before releasing her. The red mo
ons of the Underworld bathed her in warm light and illuminated the stonework in front of her. Two oversized wolves sat at the top of the stairs under an archway. Clinking glass, shattering plates, loud shouts and laughter from Odin’s Hall stampeded down the steps toward them.

  She turned back to Cole. “Why not plunk us into the middle of the hall and save us the intimidating entrance and walk?”

  “His main hall is shielded.”

  “So, you can’t?”

  Cole smiled.

  Oh, he could. “Then why not?”

  “It’s considered a rude and aggressive move some would interpret as an act of war. I have no wish to anger the Allfather just for convenience and a flashy entrance.”

  And who would want to start a war with the dark fae lord who made his reputation based on it?

  “Let’s go.” He hooked her arm around his and walked toward the steps.

  She could remain frozen and force Cole to drag her up the stones, but she somehow managed to regain control of her body to walk beside him. She wanted to meet Odin on her own two feet with whatever pride she had left.

  Raven’s muscles twitched as she tried to ignore the hunk of man beside her. His shadows draped around them, almost in a comforting manner, though she doubted he meant it that way. With one move, she could reach out and lick him—taste his smooth skin, nip at his ears, run her teeth along his rippling muscles, suck on… She shook her head.

  Cole Camhanaich, the Mouth of the Night to First Light, escorted her through Odin’s hall of fallen warriors. Battered shields lined the walls and swords hung overhead as rafters. The air, laden with the smell of metal, wood and earth, drifted by on swaths of heat. A gold roof reflected the light from the fire pits. If Raven’s stomach hadn’t busied itself by twisting into knots, she would’ve enjoyed the sight. Maybe. Imminent death had a way of ruining the moment.

  Feasting tables filled with battle-worn fighters lined the aisle. The warriors, some handsome, some not, all with the eerie, slightly off aura that often adhered to the once dead, sat on the edge of seats made from breastplates of victims. At least, that’s where she assumed they came from. The fighters sat in stiff silence—their boisterous partying paused the moment Cole and Raven stepped past the wolves guarding the gates and walked through the entrance.