Hestera’s gaze drilled into hers. “Do you know what it means to become a witch? It means you must cut out your heart and replace it with hate. You must be molded to fit the needs of the coven, to become a weapon that can be wielded against our enemy. Are you ready for that, witchling? To become a weapon against our enemies?”
Abigail nodded, unable to speak past the lump in her throat.
“Then you can prove it by betraying your dearest friend.” Hestera cackled. “That will surely prove the kind of witch you are.”
“So I can go with him?”
Hestera drummed her fingers on her cane and then nodded. “I will expect regular reports. My ravens will check in with you. Do not disappoint me, Abigail, or you will find the consequences to be dire.”
Abigail curtsied. “Yes, Madame Hestera. I won’t let you down.”
“And do not involve Calla in this. The girl has a future and a powerful gift of magic, delayed as it was. I won’t see her ruined by your foolishness. I intend to see she replaces me one day.”
Abigail nodded and slipped out, shutting the door behind her. Her heart hammered in her chest. How was she ever going to pull this off—protect her coven and fix all her mistakes without failing everyone?
Chapter 6
Hugo rapped his knuckles on the door of the small cottage. The shutters were drawn, and the place had an air of neglect, as if no one had been there in ages. He rapped again, leaning over to peek through one of the slats, but he couldn’t make out anything. Maybe Professor Oakes had moved.
Just as he was about to leave, a sudden noise made him stop.
“Psst, Hugo, is that you?” The voice came through a tiny crack in the door.
“Yes. It’s me.”
“Does anyone know you’re here?” The professor widened the door and looked from side to side frantically.
“No. I don’t think so.”
“Then come in before someone sees you.”
The door edged open, and an arm shot out and yanked Hugo inside.
He blinked in the dim interior. He could make out a small sitting area and kitchen with dishes piled up. Books were strewn everywhere, as if an entire library had been tossed on the floor.
Oakes lit a small lantern. “Excuse the mess. I’ve been doing a bit of research in my spare time.”
“A little?” Hugo stepped over a pile of books and followed Oakes into the kitchen.
The professor pushed some books off a chair and motioned for Hugo to sit. “What brings you to my humble abode?” He twitched, hollow-eyed and nervous, as if he hadn’t slept in weeks.
“Er, I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Me?” The professor blinked. “Am I okay? You mean after being fired from a job I was exceptionally good at for no reason other than I made a comment that war is an unproductive way to progress?” His voice rose to a high pitch, and he shook himself, settling back. “Sorry, Hugo, I should be more polite to my visitor. What really brought you out this way?”
“I had a question, one I thought you could answer.”
“Go ahead.”
“What can you tell me about giants?”
“What kind of giants? Orkney has several types. There are the giants that came with the rest of the magic folk when Odin brought the isles here from Midgard. They’re puny compared to a real giant. They live up north in a place called Rakim and haven’t been heard from in centuries. They call themselves the Vanir, though they’re neither frost giants nor descendants of the Vanir gods. They took the name centuries ago because they considered themselves as powerful as the gods and as fearsome as the real frost giants.”
“They sound interesting, but I was talking about the kind that live in Jotunheim.”
“Jotunheim?” Oakes blinked at Hugo. “You mean giant giants. The kind that are”—he pointed at the ceiling—“as large as the bell tower at school.”
“Are they really that big?”
“According to every book I’ve read. Of course, I’ve never met one.” His eyes narrowed. “Why the sudden interest in Jotunheim?”
“It’s for a … uh … school assignment.”
“Well, it’s not a very nice place. I think I have a map of it somewhere.” He went to his shelves and thumbed through his books until he found the one he wanted. “Here it is.” He flipped the pages until he came to a hand-drawn map. “It’s mostly frozen over. There’s a palace called Utgard, which is made out of carved blocks of ice. The air is so cold your nose will freeze off if you stay outside too long. Not to mention it’s infested with all sorts of horrid and unspeakable creatures.”
“Creatures?” Hugo immediately flashed back to the viken that had stalked them in the swamps. “What sort of creatures?”
Oakes’s lip curled with disgust. “Trolls. They work the forges for the giants to make their weapons. The troll hags roam the woods, setting traps for the unwary passerby.”
“Sounds like a nice place to visit,” Hugo joked, studying the map. There were mountains. Lots of mountains. And deep forests.
Oakes snapped the book shut. “What is this really about?”
Hugo weighed out what to say. “What if someone were trying to come up with a way to stop the witches from winning this war?”
Oakes hissed, looking around the room as if the shadows hid lurking figures. “That’s treason, Hugo. I could be hanged for even discussing it.”
“This is just hypothetical. For a class assignment,” Hugo reminded him.
Oakes leaned back, folding his arms. “Go on then.”
“If one were going to find a powerful object that could stop the witches, or at least slow them down, something like, I don’t know, hypothetically speaking of course, maybe something like … Thor’s hammer …”
The professor gasped, one hand going to his mouth. He bit down on his knuckle, then nodded at Hugo. “Go on.”
“I was just wondering how one might go about finding it. Or convincing a god like Thor to help out. I hear he often travels to Jotunheim.”
The professor’s eyes filled with understanding, and he stood, pacing back and forth in the small kitchen. “Hypothetically, of course, there are several ways one could get Thor’s attention. He has been known to favor mankind. He isn’t the smartest god, but he has a kind heart. He hates giants. Loathes them. Of course, it will do you no good to get his hammer without his Belt of Strength and gauntlets. They’re a complete set—can’t use one without the other.”
“What could we bargain with?”
“As I recall, Thor was once humiliated by the giant king, Utgard-Loki.” Oakes pulled down an ancient-looking tome and flipped through the pages. “Here. This is the story. Thor was wanting to test his strength out against the giants, hoping to rid the land of a few of them in the process. He was traveling with the mischief-maker Loki and his human companion Thialfi in Jotunheim when it became dark, and they took shelter in this strange hall. It kept rumbling and shaking. Lo and behold, turned out it was the metal glove of a giant named Skrymir.”
“That’s a big giant,” Hugo said, “if they could shelter in one of his gloves.”