Page 127 of Valkyrie Unknown

The feeling in Tania’s place was familiar, and I couldn’t put my finger on it. If I focused on the sensation, this was warmth. Friendliness. Acceptance.

When I turned my attention away though, it was as if I caught something out of the corner of my eye. Except this wasn’t visual. It was the lingering horror of a dream—a nightmare—that left my skin crawling, but that I couldn’t quite remember.

Putting a thought on paper had never been a problem for me, but now I hovered the tip of the pencil over the blank white sheet. What did I fear the most?

The world ending. That the people I was raised around were right. That I might get hit by a truck when I walked out the front door. That life was fleeting. That my mother’s death was —

That Finn’s faith in me was deserved. That I might actually kill Azzie and ascend. That she might succeed instead of me.

It was as if an invisible hand guided mine as I wrote,That the prophecies are real.

The words glared at me, stark black ink on flat white. I forced my gaze away to see everyone else folding their own notes in half. We all slipped them under our plates.

“This is just for me.” Azzie’s shift in tone sent off alarm bells in my head.

“No. I’m hungry too, and I’d like all of you.”

Before Tania finished speaking, I was reaching for my gun. The instinct kicked in, and I had the weapon drawn.

Azzie and Davyn were trying to stand, but Finn was just sitting there. Then Davyn was on the floor on his ass, unconscious, and Azzie and Finn were passed out in their seats. It all happened in the half a second it took me to thumb off my safety and level the weapon where Tania should be.

Fingers on my shoulder told me she wasn’t, and I froze.

Hot breath brushed my cheek. Tania’s face was next to mine. “You should’ve had the beer.” Her voice was lilting. Temptation and beauty. “The hangover isn’t as bad.”

The bakery vanished and my hand was empty.

Light streamed through a window near the top of a vaulted ceiling, and dust particles danced in the beam. With the sun hitting me so brightly, the rest of the attic was in shadows. I knew this place, but how did I get here? I was just?—

Just what? I was with?—

Who?

I hadn’t been up here since after Mom’s funeral. This was our old house. The reminder brought back the pain, fresh and potent, as if it happened yesterday.

Didn’t it?

No.

Compulsion pushed me toward a stack of boxes against one wall, and one sitting open in front of them. I was going through all our old things, but as I looked inside, none of this was familiar.

I extracted a wooden box that was maybe three inches long and almost as wide and tall. The edges of the finish on the deep red wood were worn, and the hinges tarnished. A knot formed in my chest before I pressed the latch open with my thumb.

Don’t open it.

Why not?

I lifted the lid, to find a pocket watch inside. The bronze was as tarnished as the hinges, the darker color clinging to details on the engraving. Why couldn’t I focus on the image? It was a flag. Or a wolf. Or a shotgun.

It’s a dragon.

The voice in my thoughts was mine, but younger and filled with awe. As I looked again, the carving solidified. Itwasa dragon. Intricate and winding, unconstrained by the circle of the watch.

I almost didn’t dare touch it. What if it changed again? But as I ran my fingers over the bumps and lines, it was all familiar. I could close my eyes and know what I would feel next while I traced the design.

My thumb landed on the watch's latch, and I looked again as I pressed the button.

The top flipped open smoothly. That made sense. I’d cleaned and oiled the hinges the first time I found it, and Mom didn’t know I snuck up here on a regular basis, to look at it.

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