Page 50 of Soul of Shadow
She was right. Even Abigail had asked someone—the girl she sat next to in her history class, Bex Winters. Lou and Charlie had known Bex their whole lives; she was shy, never raising her hand to answer questions in class or volunteering to read out loud.
“Bex is queer?” Lou had asked. “I never knew.”
“I wasn’t sure,” Abigail admitted. “But last weekend, I saw her post from the Chappell Roan concert in Detroit, so…” She shrugged. “Figured I’d shoot my shot.”
Now, Charlie put the Bronco into park and said to Lou, “That’s what you get for dragging us into this.”
“I draggednothing.” Lou wagged a finger at Charlie as she unbuckled her seat belt. “You willingly agreed to this arrangement.And you have no right to complain; your date is the hottest guy in school.”
Charlie made a noncommittal noise at the back of her throat.
They were going dress shopping—an activity that Charlie had only begrudgingly agreed to, and only because she had nothing suitable in her closet. The last time she’d gotten dressed up was probably for homecoming the year before. Lou was the one who originally suggested it, but as they unloaded from the car and onto Main Street, her best friend looked like she would rather be anywhere else.
Charlie still wasn’t used to her new sight. She wasn’t used to the vines that wound around the streetlamps, the whispers and scuttles she heard in nearby bushes, the splash in the town fountain as a bright-blue face with midnight hair emerged from the water. Dripping wet, blue fingers curled over the rim of the fountain, beady eyes trained directly on the girls.
Before slamming the driver’s door shut, Charlie leaned down to where the vätte sat beside the brake pedal. “Listen,” she whispered. “You’re staying here.”
The vätte wiggled his beard in a way that made her think he was pouting.
“I’m serious. I can’t worry about the girls seeing me talking to you while we’re shopping. You have to entertain yourself here.”
He twitched his nose.
“Fine.” Sighing, Charlie dug into her back pocket and pulled out her phone. She clicked into the Netflix app and pulled up episode two ofThe Witcher. “Knock yourself out,” she said, setting it up against the footrest so the vätte had a good view of the screen.
He squeaked gratefully and settled in to watch.
“Charlie?” Abigail called from across the street. “You coming?”
Charlie popped up, slamming the door and plastering a smile on her face. “Be right there.”
Abigail was the only one who seemed genuinely excited to shop. Out of the three of them, she had by far the best style, and this boutique was one of the only shops in the area that had a selection she genuinely approved of. When they reached the front door, she pushed it open with a flourish. Just as Charlie was about to follow her inside, something bright and silvery flashed in her periphery. When she turned, she spotted two enormous, shirtless men rounding the corner. They both had long hair and braided beards, topped off with silver helmets. They wore padded armor that covered only part of their bare chests, including huge shoulder pads inlaid with fur—a bizarre choice for the September heat. Giant steel belts clung to their waists, laden with swords and axes of all varieties. They looked, in the middle of small-town Michigan, completely absurd.
Charlie glanced around. No one else paid them any notice, which only confirmed her theory: no one else could see them.
“I’ll be right back,” she said to no one in particular, taking off down the block.
A short jog brought her to stand before the two Viking-esque warriors, though neither paid her any attention. They were speaking to each other in low voices, one brandishing an axe at his side as if it were no more dangerous than a handbag.
Charlie cleared her throat. “Uh…” She shifted from foot to foot. “Sirs?”
The Vikings turned slowly to face her. They exchanged glances, as if confused.
“Are you…” said the one on the right, who had ratty blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. His voice was lightly accented,as if English were not his first language but he had been speaking it for a long time. “Are you talking to us?”
“I sure am,” said Charlie, sounding more confident than she felt.
The one on the left, who had black hair and a far thicker beard, said, “You can… see us?”
“I can.” Charlie looked over at an older couple crossing the street. “I’m assuming most people can’t?”
“No one can,” said the blond Viking, puffing out his chest. “We are warriors of Asgard, fallen in battle and taken by the Valkyries to live forever in the great halls of Valhalla.”
Charlie squinted. “Then, what are you doing here?”
“Er.” The blond Viking glanced at the dark-haired one, who rolled his eyes. “We were sort of… kicked out.”
“Kicked out?”
