Valkyrie Rising (9 page)

I pushed the window open as wide as it would go, smelling the jasmine in my grandmother’s garden mingled with the trees in the pine forest beyond. I stepped onto the window ledge and tested the rain gutter and steel shutters to make sure they still held my weight. Sure enough, they were as solid and still as a ladder put there just for me. In three quick steps, I was up on the roof, overlooking the fjord.

I leaned back against the steep slant of the peaked roof, picking at the blades of long, weedy grass. The sod roof was my favorite thing about my grandmother’s house. In Norway, living roofs were pretty standard, and I’d even seen the neighbors put a goat on their house, to give it a trim. The night was that much more magical when I was suspended in the air, two stories above the ground, yet at the same time securely rooted to earth and green.

I’d been sitting there for about ten minutes when I heard a tapping noise to my right. I crawled along the edge of the roof and peered over until I saw its source.

Tucker.

He was looking up at me or, more specifically, at my ankle hovering above the lawn.

“Ells, move back. You’re making me nervous,” he said, leaning out his window.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed?” I asked, even though I welcomed the company.

“I wish,” he said softly. “I was thirsty. Now I can’t get back to sleep. Then I heard this scampering noise, like a mouse. And there was your shoe dangling out in space.” He paused. “That’s dangerous, you know.”

“Lots of things are far more dangerous,” I replied, leaning back on my elbows and dangling both my legs off the edge of the roof.

“Don’t,” Tuck gasped. Which made it all too tempting to tease him like that. I sat up and scooted forward until I was perched precariously on the edge, looking down at him.

Tuck made a funny noise in his throat. “God, Ells. Seriously, please, just lean back again.”

“Of everyone in the whole world, you’re the last person I’d expect to be so uptight,” I said, leaning forward farther still.

“If I come up there, will you lean back?”

“If you come up, I’ll jump.”

“Oh.” He sounded hurt. His head disappeared back through his window.

“Tuck?” I called softly—actually feeling sorry. Tuck so rarely displayed any emotion other than impenetrable arrogance that I wasn’t quite sure how to deal with his reaction.

“I was just kidding,” I said. “I won’t jump. I promise. Join me. It’s incredible—you can see the whole fjord. You just need to mind your manners. This is about silent appreciation.” I slid backward, making room for him.

“I’m all for silence,” Tuck said as his hands appeared on the edge of the roof seconds later. He hauled himself over the side. “And appreciation.” His teeth flashed white, and I could picture how he’d look if I could turn on the lights—perfect smile, rumpled T-shirt, and the myriad assorted details that made him our Tuck.

“Really?” I said.

“Of course,” Tuck replied, like he couldn’t fathom the meaning behind my sarcasm.

“Pardon me for being skeptical,” I said softly. “It’s just that parties and senior cheerleaders are usually more within your purview than quiet moonlit contemplation.”

Tuck just settled on the grass next to me, like he hadn’t heard. “Wow,” he whispered, looking out over the twinkling lights of the slumbering town. Beyond that, the water of the fjord reflected the path of the moonlight and the dark mountains straining toward the stars. “You weren’t kidding,” he whispered.

I leaned back again, pressing my elbows into the soft sod of the roof. “You should listen to me more often.”

“Amazing,” he said. “I was thinking the same thing.” I braced myself for the jab that would follow. He’d most likely rattle off a few examples of times I’d suggested something stupid or childish. Life with Tuck was a never-ending chess match—you had to plan ahead at least ten moves or you’d be toast.

But Tuck was silent as he stared out into the night. His profile was so serene and un-Tuck-like that I did a double take.

I couldn’t help but wonder what Tucker Halloway was thinking about while sitting alone in the dark with me.

As if in answer to my unspoken question, he said, “It’s funny. Norway almost reminds me of Oregon. My father and I went on a few fishing trips, back before he got remarried. I loved it there. I think I love it here, too.” I could hear the smile in his voice as he added, “Thanks for sharing your roost with me.”

“It’s not like you gave me much choice,” I said, even as my mind was scrambling to figure out what he was up to—why he was acting so bizarre. Sure, Tuck sometimes decided to be sweet, but it was usually a side effect of whatever ridiculous thing he’d set out to do in the first place. “If I’d left you downstairs alone, you’d probably be halfway through the bottle of schnapps Grandmother keeps under the sink.” As I said it, I reached over and pinched his arm just above the elbow, like he always did to me.

“Nah. Would have gone back to bed.” Tuck glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “Would have been a shame to miss this.” He slipped his hand over mine as I set it back down on the grass. I did my best not to let it be strange when he just left it there.

But it was.

More than a few anxious minutes passed as I waited for the first—or any—shoe to drop, but gradually, inch by inch, I started to relax. It was as if we were just two friends sitting on the roof in the middle of the night.

Tuck was so still that if not for the warmth of his fingers pressed against mine, I could have forgotten he was there. I was alone with my thoughts of Valkyries and white-on-white eyes. Something about Tuck’s steady, constant presence at my side made everything that had happened, everything other than that moment, feel a million miles away. Like it had taken place in a dream.

The silence wrapped its arms around us until a drop of water brushed my cheek. I looked up at the sky. While it had been clear minutes ago, a storm had rolled in from the ocean, and my upturned face was instantly coated with a thin film of droplets. Each was smaller than a grain of sand, more a mist than rain.

“We’d better go in,” I said. “Slippery is not a good thing when you’re climbing down from a roof.”

“I guess,” Tuck said as I scooted forward. “You need a hand?”

“Nope.” I gripped the edge of the roof and expertly shimmied down the side of the house. “Do you?” I looked up as I reached the windowsill and sat with one leg dangling outside and the other resting securely on the hardwood floor of my room. All I could see was the flash of his teeth in the darkness as he peered down at me.

“Is that really all you’ve got?” he asked, grabbing the edge of the rain gutter and lowering himself back into the window of his room without using his feet. It was an impressive display of upper-body strength.

“Show-off,” I said.

“I’m glad you were impressed.” His head popped out the window just enough to look at me. “And for the record, I hate heights.”

“Is that meant to dazzle me even more?” I replied.

“Dazzle? Overshot my mark.”

I rolled my eyes, even though he couldn’t see. It was a reflex born of years of enduring Tucker Halloway’s ego. “Good night,” I said, ducking my head back under the window frame and lowering the window enough to keep the rain out while letting the breeze in.

“Night, Ells.”

I could hear Tuck moving around in the adjacent room, searching for something in his suitcase. Then I heard the scrape of the chair he dragged to the window, probably to look out over the fjord awhile longer. I curled up under my comforter and closed my eyes. Even though Tuck spent all his time in our house back home, he never stayed overnight. What was the point when he lived two doors down?

That night, his proximity was a splinter in my brain as I drifted off to sleep. I kept straining my ears for any sounds from his room. Finally I was rewarded with soft footfalls as he padded across the hardwood floors, followed by the creak of the bed under his weight. Only then was I able to sleep.

T
HE NEXT MORNING
, the sun woke me at six, shining right into my face. Early as it was, by the time I made it to the kitchen, Tuck and Graham were scarfing down their breakfasts like they were in a speed-eating contest. There was a soccer ball on the table, wedged between the saltshaker and a vase of flowers.

As I sat down, Graham rose.

Something metal flashed around his neck. “What’s that?” I asked, pointing at the thin chain sticking out above his shirt.

Graham gave me a sheepish smile. “Grandfather’s old good-luck charm.” He pulled the small metal disk out of his T-shirt. It was identical to the necklace Kjell had carried the other night to ward off Astrid. The charm Grandmother had given to him.

“I promised Grandmother I’d wear it always,” he said, sounding none too pleased about it. “Guess I’ll humor her for a few days.”

“You should at least wear it the whole time you’re here, then,” I told him, gathering one more scrap of evidence that Grandmother was guarding some hefty secrets. “You don’t want to hurt her feelings.”

“I s’pose.” Graham shrugged. “We’re going to find a field to practice,” he said. “You want to come?”

“Nah,” I replied. “I thought I’d finish my book. Maybe go for a run.”

After braving Margit’s hostility and being attacked by an old lady in the bakery, I wasn’t all that eager to venture into town. But I wasn’t about to tell Graham. That was exactly the type of problem he’d be determined to help me solve.

“You’re in Europe. Right outside is the kind of stuff people write books about. You can’t sit around reading all day.” Tuck nudged the spot between my shoulder blades with his knuckle. “Come with us.”

I narrowed my eyes, wondering why he cared—what he was up to. We fell into an awkward silence. I waited for him to tease me, to steal my book or yank the rubber band out of my ponytail. But he didn’t. He just smiled like it was perfectly normal for us to get along. And then I realized he was waiting politely for me to reply. Which was just too weird. It was as if the unspoken truce we’d forged the night before had carried into the daylight.

Suddenly I wasn’t sure how to act. What to say. It was horribly unfair that he was changing the rules on me. I had enough things on my mind already, without being hyperaware of Tuck’s hand brushing mine when he passed me the box of cereal.

“I’ll come later,” I said, rising to escape Tuck’s scrutiny by pouring myself a glass of orange juice.

The screen door snapped shut behind Graham. He was already outside, talking to Grandmother while she watered her flower beds. When I turned back toward the table, Tuck was standing in the middle of the room. Waiting for me.

“Promise?” he said.

“Promise what?” I asked, honestly confused.

“That you’ll come later.”

His disconcerting gray eyes were watching me, unreadable as ever. I’d never noticed the way his eyelashes cast them in shadow, making them even harder to pin down. Then again, I’d never stood this close to him before unless we were exchanging fire—when all my concentration was channeled into what I’d say next.

For an instant, my natural reaction was held in check by the memory of the roof the night before. The sweetness of our shared silence. But then the words came tumbling out anyways. “Only if you promise to tell me why you’re suddenly pretending to care,” I said. “You’re up to something.”

“I won’t deny that.” He flashed a private smile that sent my stomach floating away, like someone had just reached out and switched off gravity. It made me feel wary and confused and a little bit hopeful, all at once. “But it doesn’t follow that it’s something bad.” It was the flirty voice he usually used on everyone but me.

“I’ve known you too long. Yes, it does.” Fortunately, my voice held steady even if my hands wouldn’t.

He frowned. His forehead creased with an emotion that I couldn’t quite place—I just knew it wasn’t a happy one. But Tucker Halloway was never one to dwell too long on anything unpleasant. He shrugged, and that troublemaker’s grin settled back into its rightful place. Then he was gone.

By the time I glanced out the window, Tuck was jogging to catch up with Graham, who was already halfway down the long, rocky driveway. I watched as Graham tossed Tuck the soccer ball and Tuck bounced it off one knee, sending it flying down the hill. They both tore after it—until Graham took Tuck out with a brutal shove that sent him crashing into a shrub.

Boys.

I opened the fridge again, debating what to eat. There was a slip of paper secured to the side by a ceramic magnet I’d made in first grade.

ELLIE—KJELL HAS THE DAY OFF WORK AND WANTS YOU TO CALL HIM IF YOU ARE FREE.

Beneath was Kjell’s cell phone number.

I took one more look at Graham and Tuck as they disappeared around the corner toward town. My eyes lingered on Tuck, on the square, determined set of his shoulders and the way his hair looked brown but had streaks of gold in the sunlight. It was strange I’d never noticed that before. Then again, I’d been looking at Tuck a lot more carefully lately.

I removed the magnet, crumpled my grandmother’s note, and dropped it in the trash.

I
SPENT MOST
of the afternoon reading in the kitchen or, more accurately, using my book as cover to mull over my crackpot theories without having to chat with Grandmother.