Page 66 of Valkyrie Confused

My shoulders itch worse than ever. They ache. There’s a ripping sensation and a popping sound, and then the itchiness is gone.

I open my eyes.

Pan is staring at me, slack jawed. Even before I check over my shoulder, I know what I’ll see there.

Fucking. Wings. Stretching from about the top of my head to mid-calf. And they’re a deep, vibrant red.

Awesome.They look cool, even if the sudden addition of their weight makes me stumble when I stretch backward for a better look.

Pan is on his feet, gathering me close, his arms easily finding their way beneath my wings. “Easy now,” he whispers in my ear. “I got you.”

Something digs into my skin when he presses me to him. I look down at the armor encasing my body. It’s intricate and gorgeous, a true work of art hammered in metal, though it doesn’t seem very practical.

As if she reads my mind, Kirby says, “The armor is mostly for show—designed by a male god, you know?—but you also get a pretty cool magical shield you may call at will.”

I’ll have to try this out. “What about weapons?”

“You have your sword,” Pan says.

I pat my waist. No belt loops. “But… where do I put it?”

“You summon it, and when you’re done with it, you send it away,” Kirby says. “To—like—a pocket dimension.”

Boy, do I have alotof new stuff to learn. “Is that all? This is it? I’m a Valkyrie now?” I need to sit.

I begrudgingly free myself from Pan’s embrace, and he helps me sit back in my chair.

Kirby smirks, and in the blink of an eye, her jeans and T-shirt give way to armor matching mine, only her wings are black. “What? The new look doesn’t confirm that?”

Sitting in a chair is extremely uncomfortable when you have wings. I choose to focus on that, instead of the rest of the crazy.

I point to my shoulders with both hands. “How do these things work?” I wish they’d go away.

And they do. The weight disappears, and I slouch backward, dressed in Pan’s overly long T-shirt and sweats again.

“Hey, you can control them already. Great job.” Pan may as well call melittle buddy, when he’s using this voice.

I stare at him, nostrils flared. “Watch the condescending tone, or I’m going to go Mean-Valkyrie on your ass.”

He slaps his chest with his hand. I think he’s being dramatic, until I see his face is scrunched up in shock, and it’s not over my threat.

He rubs the spot over his heart. “Something is wrong with Arnlaug,” he says.

I hop upright. Is it the ascension or adrenaline making my legs feel sturdier than before? “Where is he?” I ask Pan.

“I dropped him off at Olympus.” He grimaces, still rubbing at his chest. “He’s hurt.”

I’m almost not surprised when my wings spring back out, my clothes are replaced by my armor, and my sword materializes in my fist. “Take us there.”

But Kirby is back in her plain clothes and pulling out her cell phone. “Let me talk to my guys. Maybe they have him.”

Her implication is clear. Arnlaug may have attacked her people. I refuse to believe that.

“We’re going to Olympus,” I say. “Find us.”

I intertwine my fingers with Pan’s, and the kitchen disappears.

TWENTY-ONE

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