A Curious Twist of Lime Read online

  A Curious Twist of Lime

  Heather R. Blair

  Trampled Herb Inc.

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Afterword

  About the Author

  Also by Heather R. Blair

  A Curious Twist of Lime

  Kindle Edition

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, organizations and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or organizations is entirely coincidental.

  Kindle Edition, License Notes

  This e-book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This e-book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite e-book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

  © 2019 Heather R. Blair

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

  Created with Vellum

  “It’s no use going back to yesterday, because I was a different person then.”

  ~Lewis Carroll

  “He was part of my dream, of course—but then I was part of his dream, too.”

  ~Lewis Carroll

  1

  It’s funny the shit that goes through your head when death is imminent.

  Again.

  I’m drowning in Niflheim. Sinking in sand so perfectly black I didn’t notice it until it was too late. The woods were dark and deep and all that crap. They still are, not a breath of life in sight, only the trees swaying gently as I sink deeper into the pit.

  Having been given a second chance at life, you’d think I’d have learned to be more careful. Apparently not.

  At least when the angel of death—otherwise known as my friend Carly’s other half, Styx—shows up to eat me this time, he won’t have far to spit out the pieces. I’m right next door to hell, or Hel, as it were.

  See, in the great world tree of Yggdrasil, there are layers. Lots of layers. Just like with ogres. A friend of mine made me watch that Shrek movie about a hundred times. The way humans see fairy-tale creatures is entertaining but not nearly tragic enough.

  I should know, I’m one of them.

  Anyway, layers. Yggdrasil has them. A world of layers or layers of worlds, depending on your view. Asgaard, of course, is on top—the better for the gods to piss on you. Vanaheim is next (more gods), then Alfheim (elves who like to think they’re gods.)

  Then there’s Midgard, otherwise known as Earth. Mostly humans, a few trolls, a few troll-like humans and other things that pack quite a nasty punch.

  You might call Midgard the turning point. Things go south rapidly after that.

  Scartalfheim. (More elves who also think they’re gods, only with edgier makeup and sexier clothes.) Nidavelir. (Dwarves. They don’t give a shit about gods or elves, but they do drink a lot of beer. I like Nidavelir.)

  Jotunheim. Had giants. I say had, because we’re pretty sure they’ve all killed each other. And I say pretty sure, because no one wants to risk a visit and find out we’re wrong. Giants are nasty sons of bitches.

  Finally, the last two layers. Niflheim and Hel itself.

  I’ve visited most of the layers that compose the great tree of life, but I’ve only lived on one. I died there, too. Long story and one I’m fucking tired of relating at dinner parties. Come back from the dead one goddamn time and everyone wants to hear about it ad nauseum.

  Niflheim seemed like the perfect realm to lose myself for a while. Eternal land of mists and dreams, ice and shadows. That was before I tumbled into this cursed pit.

  Cool and silky, the sand is brushing my chin now. There’s nothing quick about Vorpal sand. Call it slowsand—the slowest ever—but however long it takes, without help, death is inevitable.

  My bruin mind speak doesn’t work between worlds, and there are no true shifters of any sort here. At least not any that care to lend a hand. I’ve tried yelling the old-fashioned way, too. No response. Just these fucking trees swaying back and forth. I swear they’re laughing at me.

  I’ve been stuck for a week, maybe longer. I’m losing track of the days in this place.

  What the hell was I thinking? All this wandering-between-worlds, second-chance at life, finding-myself horseshit. That isn’t me. I’m not a wanderer, I am—was—a king.

  A natural leader. I command. I fight and I win.

  Maybe not the girl, but you know, most things.

  And I didn’t come back from Hel to die in some godsforsaken forest in Niflheim.

  The roar that bursts from my dry throat is still powerful enough to bend the taunting wispy trees in front of this pit, but all it makes me do is sink infinitesimally faster.

  Roaring comes easier than shouting because I am in my animal form and the sand won’t allow me to shift. It’s just my shitty luck a half-ton grizzly is even better at sinking than a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound human male. Before the sound fades from the air, sand trickles over my muzzle, fine as powder, sifting into my lungs.

  I growl, seething at the injustice of it all. This can’t be how it ends. I grit my teeth. One last t—

  “Be still!”

  A figure darts out of the forest, slim and straight as the trees around us. Clad in a hooded robe of crimson that ripple over the barren ground, the stranger approaches the pit with quick, sure strides.

  I growl again, this time in a fierce surge of relief.

  “Haven’t you any sense in that huge skull? I said, hush.” A delicate hand extends from the heavy fabric, one silencing slash at odds with that low, cultured voice.

  It’s not in my nature, but given the circumstances, I obey. My eyes follow the figure without blinking as it circles the pool. The sand retreats along the path the stranger takes, like a dark, shrinking tide. Almost as if it doesn’t want to get too close to those light footsteps. I cock my head as the figure circles back around and comes to a sudden stop next to the biggest of the trees.

  This tree is nearly double the width of any of the rest but still slender for a tree, perhaps as thick as my bear’s forearm. Sizing it up, the stranger reaches into a pocket and takes out a metal flask.

  As much as I could use a drink myself right now, impatience has my teeth clenching together. Maybe save the nip for after I’m out of the sucking pool of death, little lady.

  Because cloak or not, that there is a lady. A real one, the likes of which I haven’t seen in . . . ever?

  The cool articulation, those elegant hands, the full pink mouth touching the flask that glints silver in the dull light—an aura of old-fashioned
femininity wraps around this one as completely as that cloak. Just what I fucking need. I’m no stranger to the power a woman can wield, but right now it’d make me a damn sight happier to see someone a little more physically imposing—like, say, an ogre.

  As if the thought is a wish, she seems to get bigger. I blink, wondering if the pit has finally gotten to me. But the top of her head is definitely higher than it was a moment ago. Isn’t it?

  I blink back another trickle of sand. Yep, she’s growing alright. Not turning green, but rapidly gaining height and mass.

  In a few more blinks, she’s as tall as the biggest tree, then half again as tall. I’ve never seen Miracle-Gro for women before, but right now, I’m a big fan.

  Next thing I know, she’s ripping the tree out by the roots and extending the twenty-foot-long trunk across the pit to me as casually as someone passing over a breadstick at Olive Garden.

  “Hurry!” she urges, shaking the roots in my face and nearly poking me in the eye. “The potion won’t last long.”

  I yank my muzzle free of the sand and bite down on the branch with all my strength. Splinters, moss and lichen work their way between my teeth, creating a musty-tasting mulch. Considering I’m half starved, it isn’t half bad either. She gives the branch a testing yank. I growl softly, tugging back. With a satisfied nod, the hooded woman sets a now-enormous foot against one of the smaller trees and starts to pull. And pull.

  Nothing happens. Nada. Zilch.

  Shit.

  Obviously, super strength didn’t come with her super size.

  Our eyes meet across the pit. Hers are big and grey and soft. Too soft. My heart sinks as the sand seems to whisper with a wicked glee. This isn’t a woman used to fighting for her life or anyone else’s. I’m doomed.

  When I chuff sadly, her slightly square jaw tightens, those soft eyes narrowing to silvery slits. Then she throws back that red hood along with a curly mass of dark hair, sets her teeth and pulls. Even from here, I can see a vein starting to pop in that porcelain temple. Maybe she has it in her after all.

  Come on, darling. You can do it.

  Five minutes of eternity later, with the mist winding sly fingers through the trees, it finally happens. Out of the corner of my eye, a tiny, reluctant cascade of grains fine as powdered sugar but blacker than coal. Slowly, the cascade grows to a mini avalanche. The sand is letting me go—grudgingly, stubbornly—but letting me go all the same. One fucking millimeter at a time.

  The pit continues to fight her every step of the way, hissing softly, but she fights right back. That pale, perfect face is flushed red as rose now, her dark hair hanging in damp tendrils, lips pressed in a tight, hard line.

  The shore begins to edge closer. My heart is pounding like a gnome’s hammer, but I’m as silent as the forest around us, not daring to breath. My teeth ache from their vise grip on the uprooted branch. The minutes tick by with excruciating slowness, as if the damn sand is affecting time itself.

  But even as she grows closer, my heroine seems smaller. And smaller. I squint, hoping I’m imagining things.

  All too soon there’s no denying it. She’s only about the height of the smallest tree and shrinking rapidly. Her arms are shaking, barely able to hold the tree up anymore. Odin’s balls in a vise. I bargain with the god in my head, while willing her some of my bear’s strength through the broken bit of wood between us.

  Maybe it works. Maybe it doesn’t. But the lady in red gives one last pull on the branch between my teeth, a pull punctuated by a terrifically unladylike grunt I feel all the way into my chest. Then she tumbles ass over teakettle, the tree falling in the earth with a heavy squelch.

  At the same moment, my front paws plop free of the black sand.

  I stare at them blankly. Then, snarling, I dig my long claws into the damp, moss-laden earth at the edges of my prison, ripping at the sod in a frenzy. Clods fly past my face, bouncing off my skull. I don’t give a damn. The smell of dirt and freedom is in my nose.

  So close.

  Two great lunges—with the pit sucking at my haunches all the way, feeling like it’s peeling the fur from my body—and I’m free at last.

  I belly up onto the bank, half-crawling, dizzy and a little sick. Like stumbling home after a night filled with too much tequila. While I may not be able to get my hindquarters under me properly yet, I damn well manage to put some distance between me and that godsforsaken hole to hell.

  Several yards later, I spit out what’s left of the tree and lie there panting. Next to her.

  My savior in red.

  She’s normal sized again. Her cheeks are cooling back to a milky white. Long blue-black hair is scattered over her face. The leaf-strewn ground makes her look even paler, almost luminescent. One arm is thrown over her eyes, and those sweet pink lips are trembling.

  I could kiss her.

  I almost fucking do—until I remember I’m a goddamn bear at the moment. She’d probably think I was about to bite her head off. Not the thank-you I want to go for here.

  There is the faintest sprinkling of freckles over her nose. I stare at them curiously. Stubborn freckles or hopeful ones? It must be hard to get sun of any kind in this misty realm. I wonder how long she’s been here—and why someone like her is here at all.

  The lady herself says nothing, just sucks at the air as if it’s water. I don’t blame her; my own pounding heart is still trying to crack open my ribs one at a time.

  I roll over and stare up at the sky. Or what passes for the sky here, a featureless white expanse. There is a scent on the air, part of the fog and yet apart from it. I breathe deep, skin prickling beneath my fur. What is that?

  When I turning my head to sniff, my nose brushes the woman next to me. She jumps, rolling away, her eyes wide and startled.

  “Easy,” I manage to grunt. My voice is even rougher than normal for this form, since it’s been so long since I’ve used it for more than roaring.

  At the sound of it, she backs up even farther, eyes wide as she scrambles to her feet. Talking animals aren’t exactly a rarity in most of the realms and since she clearly expected me to understand her order earlier, I don’t get the reaction. Then again, she’s just a slip of a thing, and I’m a huge bear with teeth as long as her hand.

  I pull back and try again, more gently. “I’m forever in your debt, milady. Thank you.”

  She tilts her head, eyes intent on my face. I don’t know what she sees there, but slowly she relaxes.

  “You’re quite welcome.” Her voice is soft but crisp in articulation. She sounds faintly British, which is crazy here in the outer realms, but I chalk it up to a very long week.

  Satisfied we’re making headway, I groan loudly, rolling my shoulders. Gods, does it feel good to be able to fucking move.

  Sand cascades off of me in sheets, making little black heaps on the moss. She watches it fall, eyebrows raised.

  “This is not what I had in mind for a vacation,” I quip, hoping for a smile.

  I don’t get one, but that bemused look sharpens. “You’re not from around here?”

  I cock my head and roll my shoulders again. “Is anyone really from around here? I got the impression Niflheim was mostly uninhabited.”

  “Niflheim. Is that where we are?” Her lips part, distracting me again. They’re exceptionally nice lips. Very full and the softest pink imaginable.

  I blink once and roll onto my side, still trying to get the kinks out along with the infernal sand. My muscles protest and my mind feels just as stiff and slow as my body. “You don’t know where you are?”

  She shakes her head, those soft, dark brows drawing together. It has me wondering if she’s real—if any of this shit is real. It feels so damn surreal. Her. This conversation. That heavenly smell that has both me and my bear on edge.

  Maybe I never escaped that pit. Maybe I’m already back in Hel, hallucinating once again. It wouldn’t be the first time.

  My throat tightens. Death is the ultimate prison and I doubt there’s ano
ther get-out-of-jail-free card in my future. I glare around at the seemingly innocuous forest, a growl slipping between my bared teeth.

  This place has a reputation for messing with people. I guess it’s not undeserved.

  Then I catch her looking at me. Big, grey eyes darkening to black at the edges.

  I breathe deep again, trying to clear my head but it’s hard with that elusive smell tickling my nose. It’s like… lilacs in the rain. But there’s no rain in Niflheim, only mist.

  And I haven’t seen a single flower.

  My bear growls again, though it comes out more like a purr. Then I get it.

  It’s her. That damn scent.

  Who the fuck is this woman?

  “Who are you?” Her question is an eerie echo of the one in my head. With an effort, I tear my eyes away from that misty gaze. Could she be some kind of enchantress? Another of Niflheim’s pits, this one more cleverly disguised than the last?

  “Georg,” I say shortly, leaving my surname out of it. She might not know it, depending on who and what she is, but why take the chance? Part of the reason I left Midgard was to avoid questions about my past. I’m not about to invite them here. But there’s not a hint of recognition in her face as she holds out a hand. Looking at my massive paw, she reconsiders, sticking both hands hastily behind her back, cheeks turning pink.