Fall (The Ragnarok Prophesies) (39 page)

“I know,” Ronan hissed back.

He strolled through the door behind Dr. Michel into the office, his expression thoughtful.

I shook my head and trailed after them.

Dr. Michel’s office looked like a library exploded in it. Books were piled pretty much everywhere. They weren’t new books either, but the kinds with ancient, cracked spines and yellowing pages. Little slips of paper and pieces of napkins poked from most of them where he’d marked specific pages. Sheaves of paper littered his desk, some as old as the books scattered around. Others were new, and filled with scrawled notes and highlighted phrases.

“Excuse the mess,” Dr. Michel said, making his way around the desk. He dropped the pile of papers in his hands on top of the mess on his desk and shot us an apologetic smile. “Research can be a nasty business.”

Didn’t I know it. I shuddered in remembrance of the piles of books at my dad’s house.

Dr. Michel motioned for me and Ronan to take a seat. I settled onto the edge of one of the chairs facing his desk. Ronan leaned back against a file cabinet near the door, crossing his arms over his chest.

Dr. Michel looked at him again, and then quickly away. His gaze settled on me. “When you called this morning, you said Dace Matthews sent you?”

“Ah, yes, sir,” I said, smiling politely.

“I haven’t seen him since….” Dr. Michel trailed off with a vague grimace. “How is he doing?”

Since what?
I wanted to ask. “Ah, he’s doing really well. He lives in Beebe, Arkansas now. He’s a teaching assistant at the college there,” I offered instead, not really sure how much Dr. Michel knew about Dace or Ragnarök or any of it. Everyone seemed to get half-truths, vague smiles, and evasive maneuvers from me these days.

“Good for him. He was always a smart kid.” Dr. Michel smiled fondly.

“He is,” I said.

“I have to admit I’m not too clear on why he sent you to see me.” He said this as if it were a statement of fact, but a question lingered in his expression. “You say Dace is writing a book?”

“My father is writing the book,” I clarified. “Dace is pointing him in the right direction. He seemed to think you might have a little insight into Sköll and Hati you’d be willing to share with another mythology professor. Or,” I laughed innocently, “a mythology professor’s daughter in this case.”

Dr. Michel’s gaze flickered from me to Ronan and then back to me. I could see the moment he put two and two together. Something akin to regret flashed across his face. He looked almost… dejected. “So, it is true then,” he said.

For a heartbeat, I wasn’t sure if I should fess up or play dumb.

Ronan saved me from having to decide. “What’s true?” he asked.

I didn’t even have to turn around to know he loomed over me. I could feel the tension snapping around him like little bursts of electricity crackling in the air.

To his credit, Dr. Michel didn’t shrink away from the menacing picture Ronan presented. He eyed him levelly, his expression shrewd. “What are you?” he asked quietly.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re definitely not a Mimic, but you are something. Skin-walker? Shapeshifter?”

Ronan said nothing.

Dr. Michel took his silence as acceptance. “Shapeshifter, but too arrogant to be a wolf,” he mumbled, trying, I think, to work it out for himself. He tipped his head to the side and studied Ronan through squinted eyes. “Too stoic for a leopard. Not loud enough to be a lion.” His nostrils flared again. “Raven?”

I glanced back to see Ronan standing still, his expression as stoic as Dr. Michel said. He stared down at Dr. Michel, barely seeming to breathe, and then he nodded a fraction of an inch.

“I thought so.” Dr. Michel leaned back in his chair, a self-satisfied smile on his face.

“You know shapeshifters,” Ronan observed coolly.

“I’m guessing Dace didn’t tell you how he knew me?”

“Ah, no, sir,” I said when Ronan didn’t answer him.

Dr. Michel shifted his gaze back to me. “His father came to me for… help with Dace’s problem. He was quite fanatical about curing Dace of his affliction before he died.”

Affliction? I narrowed my eyes. “You
helped
him try to cure Dace?”

“No,” Dr. Michel said, “of course not. The boy didn’t need to be cured, and that’s exactly what I told Soren Matthews. He refused to hear of it, of course, and demanded I put my books to use to help his boy. I promised him I’d see what I could find, which appeased him for a while.” I’m not sure if Dr. Michel saw something on my face or what, but he paused. “Dace didn’t tell you any of this, did he?”

I shook my head. No, Dace hadn’t told me any of this. I think the messed up crap Dace’s dad did was easier for Dace to live with when he didn’t talk about it. I doubted I would ever know the extent of it.

“Well, let’s just say Soren eventually grew impatient, and I was forced to tell him Dace couldn’t be cured and that he needed to accept that. He didn’t take it well at all.” Dr. Michel sighed. “A month later he died, leaving Dace alone. Dace stayed with me and my wife for a few days while they tried to work out a more permanent situation for him. They wanted to send him to a foster home, but I convinced them a private boarding school would be a better fit for someone as sharp as Dace.”

“And you haven’t talked to him since?” I asked, stunned. I didn’t know any of this. Not even a hint of it.

“The last time I saw Dace was the day he graduated.” Dr. Michel folded his hands together on top of his desk. “We had dinner, and he hopped a bus that night. He still sends my partner birthday and Christmas cards every year, but no, Miss Jacobs, I haven’t seen him since.”

Poor Dace. And poor Dr. Michel.

“I’m sorry,” I said, incredibly sad for Dace and Dr. Michel.

Dr. Michel smiled kindly. “Don’t be, Miss Jacobs. Soren really did a number on Dace, and I was a reminder of a time best forgotten. I don’t blame him at all for not looking back. I’d have done the same. I have to admit I did wonder if he ever accepted what he was though. From the looks of things, he’s finally accomplished it.”

“He’s working on it,” I said softly. Dr. Michel’s story made my heart hurt. I wanted to wrap my arms around Dace and hug him. I think Freki wanted the same thing. A melancholy sigh whispered from the small hole in her prison.

Dr. Michel nodded. “That’s all we can expect, I suppose.” He shot me another smile and then sobered again. “But that’s not why you’re here today, is it?”

I didn’t fight the inevitable. He knew enough of the truth not to bother with evasive maneuvers, anyway. Instead, I did the only thing I could do. “No, it’s not,” I admitted.

Our hastily-erected cover story died a quick and painless death.

Dr. Michel’s gaze flitted to Ronan briefly, and then back to me. “Why don’t you start at the beginning?”

As expected, Dr. Michel didn’t have much to offer once we gave him a sketchy overview of the situation, but he promised to reach out to see if anyone in his circle knew anything of use. Ronan and I didn’t expect much to come of his promise, but I was grateful all the same. Maybe someone else would have more luck than we’d had thus far.

We thanked Dr. Michel for his time, and filed out of his office in silence. The late evening sun was a dying ball on the horizon, reflecting through the row of windows. Crisscrossed patterns of light tilted this way and that on the walls, a product of tree branches and clouds swaying with the wind.

I expected to feel deflated, leaving with little more on Sköll and Hati than we came with, but I didn’t. I felt… sad more than anything. Sad for Dace who lost touch with Dr. Michel because it was easier than facing constant memories of his father, and sad for Dr. Michel who never forgot the young shapeshifter he tried to help.

“What was your life like as a kid?” I asked Ronan, fastening my seatbelt into place as the Yukon rumbled to life.

Ronan tensed, but he didn’t seem caught off guard by the question. “Not like yours,” he said, easing out of the parking spot and taking a left out of the empty lot.

I frowned. “What does that mean?”

“My dad skipped town when I was three, and my mom worked two jobs until she started hitting the bottle,” he said, his mouth set in a grim line. “She dropped me off with my grandmother when I was seven and didn’t look back.”

“Oh,” I sighed. “I’m sorry.”

Ronan shrugged. “I didn’t have it as bad as Dace.”

“Did your grandma know about any of this?” I asked, settling back into my seat, exhausted. I hadn’t slept peacefully in longer than I cared to count. The lack of actual rest was beginning to catch up with me.

“Nope. I never told her.”

“Why not?”

Ronan tapped the brake and coasted through a yield sign. He cut his eyes in my direction for a moment. “Are you asking because you want to know about me or because you’re trying to make yourself feel better about Dace’s crap childhood?”

“I’m no―” I didn’t bother to finish the lie. I was trying to find some positive aspect of Dace’s childhood… some little kernel that made me feel better about the desolate way he grew up. It wasn’t fair to use Ronan’s sad situation to do that though. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “Dace had a hard life. I get the need to put it into perspective, but I can tell you all about my life as a kid and it won’t make his any less brutal. You grew up with an Apple Pie life. You’ll never understand what things were really like for him.”

“Doesn’t mean I can’t try.”

“No, it doesn’t, but if Dace wanted you to understand, he would have told you. Sometimes, you have to put the past behind you and move on. Sometimes, people have to let you do that.”

I felt suitably chastised, but I refused to apologize for the way I was raised, even if Ronan made me feel like I should. Besides, I think maybe he was right. Dace didn’t want to talk about his childhood, and I owed it to him to respect his wishes on that front.

“Are you hungry?” Ronan asked a few minutes later.

“No.”

I sat quietly until we arrived at our hotel, listening to the crunch of the road beneath the Yukon’s tires and the hum of the heater. Ronan didn’t say anything else either. When he pulled into the parking lot, I yawned loudly.

“We’ll stay here tonight,” he said, sliding the key from the ignition.

I sat upright with a frown. “We need to get on the road. We can drive to Downers Grove in four hours!”

“I know, but I’d rather not have to explain to your boyfriend why you’re sick from exhaustion.”

I opened my mouth to argue and yawned again.

Ronan shot me an “I told you so” look.

“Fine,” I muttered, reaching for the door handle. “But we’re leaving as soon as we sleep for a few hours.”

“Fine.”

I climbed from the Yukon, missing Chelle desperately. Talking to her was so much nicer than talking to Ronan. She wasn’t a pain in the―I stopped abruptly. “Have you heard from Gage since this morning?”

“No.”

I fished in my pocket for my cellphone. No missed calls.

“Chelle hasn’t called again either,” I said, frowning.

“Call her.”

I scrolled through my contacts for her number and pressed dial. The call went straight to voicemail. I hung up and dialed Gage, still frowning.

“Voicemail,” I muttered when his phone kicked me straight over to his voicemail, too.

“They’re probably out of the service area,” Ronan suggested, circling around the Yukon toward me. He couldn’t quite hide the worried gleam in his dark eyes though. They should have called one of us by now.

I hesitated with my finger hovering over my phone screen for a moment, unsure if I should call Dace or not. I didn’t want to worry him unnecessarily, but… I dialed his number, not even bothering to tell myself I wanted only to check on Chelle. The desire to hear Dace’s voice again overwhelmed me.

“Arionna,” he said, picking up halfway through the first ring.

His voice filled me with warmth. I closed my eyes for a moment, letting the silky, soft way he said my name wash through me.

God, I missed him.

“Hey,” I said, cradling the phone to my ear. “What are you doing?”

Ronan rolled his eyes as if to tell me I was such a girl.

I stuck my tongue out at him.

“Waiting for Chelle and Gage to get here,” Dace said.

“Have you talked to them this afternoon?”

“Yeah, they should be here within the hour.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “That’s good. I wasn’t sure.”

Fuki howled from the room above. His claws scraped against the door.

Uh-oh.

I looked to Ronan.

“Yeah, I got it,” he said, turning to jog up the stairs.

“She’s safe, love,” Dace murmured. “I promise.”

Love.
I leaned my head back, looked up at the darkening sky, and let that word work its way through me. Knots unfurled, loosening a little of the ice shards still clinging to my heart. Something else in there tightened and twisted, reminding me of how wide the chasm between us had grown.

Neither of us said anything. Silence stretched, as awkward and painful as it was before I left. I let my gaze wander from place to place, unsure what to say. Aside from Ronan’s Yukon, the only other car in the lot had seen better days. So had the motel, for that matter. The paint around the trim was faded and chipped. The white stucco was dirty and grey. Rust ran the length of the balcony railing.