Page 98 of Valkyrie Unknown

“Exactly.” Azzie looked smug.

“That’s not an answer.” But I still wanted more. “It’s got some sort of addictive chemical in it.”

“Nope. Just candy.” Azzie handed us each another piece, and held up the package so I could see the ingredients.

As long as the home-printed label wasn’t lying, it really was just sugar and fruit and water. The combination of flavors though… I wasn’t going to give her the satisfaction of admitting there was something to it, but this was definitely one of those things it seemed a mortal got right without magic.

She closed the package and shoved it in her pocket. As with the gift from Enid, there was no lump or indicator she was carrying it.

We continued our trip down the street, pausing in front of some store windows, and spending a few minutes inside others. There was clothing, furniture, and least surprisingly a tattoo shop. Azzie stared at that window the longest, gaze drifting over the designs.

Early on after she arrived, Zeke offered a few times to make a design for her, and even to ink her himself if she wanted. She always refused, because she’d promised her mother she’d never scar herself willingly. She didn’t even have her ears pierced.

I was glad I’d never had to talk her out of it. Malsumis didn’t want her vessel scarred; especially not with another god’s marks, like Zeke tended toward.

“I’m still wrapping my brain around the fact that a street like this exists. Out in the open and deceptively dull, but really magic.” Zeke looked up and down the sidewalk. “Don’t normal—sorry,average—people ever stumble on this place?”

Azzie shrugged. “Probably. If they’re actually just the boring masses, most of the things sold here would just be things. If they do have a little bit of magic—more likely for them to get past the weak wards—a lot of these things still don’t do anything unless you know what you’ve got.”

There weren’t a lot of places like this in the world, but they did exist elsewhere, and what Azzie was saying was true about any of them. For the most part shops that sold magical goods were part of street markets hidden behind a stronger entrance, or a one-off shop that served everyone, regardless of magic or not.

“So is there a quirky street in London that you can only get to if you tap on a brick, and they sell cauldrons and witch hats?” Zeke asked as we walked along the sidewalk.

I clucked and shook my head. “Humans make better steel than gods—you know that.” It was an arrogance thing—gods thought they did everything best, so there was no reason for them toactuallylearn how. “A witch buys a Dutch oven from their favorite camping store, and a hat from their favorite boutique or gas station, like anyone else.”

We paused in front of the most featureless building on the street. Aside from three steps of concrete, leading up to a single glass door, the facing was beige stone with no decoration or sign.

A shiver of anticipation raced over me as we approached. I’d wanted to get in here for a long time, but entrance was barred without a recommendation or accompaniment. In other words, I had to know someone.

Having loved a seer who kept most of her visions to herself meant I was persona non grata with a large number of gods and other immortals, and those I hadn’twrongedknew me by reputation and name.

No one was going to do something as simple as get me an introduction to a place like this. Azzie was happy to show me though.

Twenty-Seven

Finn

We walkedthrough the entrance toThe Libraryand a shiver of glee raced down my spine. The lobby was as simple as outside, with beige linoleum, off-white walls, and a man sitting behind a black desk that had as many sharp features as his face.

A book sat open in front of him, each half at least five centimeters thick, and the entire tome consuming a large portion of his desk. He looked up as we approached, and fixed us with a level stare.

“We’re here for knowledge.” Azzie spoke with a level of deference I rarely heard from her.

It wasn’t right that the beings who ran this place kept an actual god of knowledge out, but we were about to rectify that.

The man looked her over, then glanced at us. “Names?”

“Azrael Carroll. My companions are Ezekiel Samson Issacs and Fionn MacCumhill.” It was rare to hear my full name these days, and I had to admit she pronounced it flawlessly, with a level of respect I appreciated.

The librarian let his gaze linger on me, and I stared back with a sternness that made most people flinch.

He simply continued to watch me. “Do you understand what’s involved in vouching for them?”

“I do.” Azzie almost sounded meek. Almost.

The librarian made a grunt that implied disbelief. “This one.” He pointed at me. “Do you know him?”

“I do,” Azzie repeated. “I trust him with the lives of those closest to me.”

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