Hunted (The Iron Druid Chronicles, Book Six)

like ass napkins. There’s something beyond our petty squabbling that requires your attention. It’s Loki and Hel and the end of the world as we know it. Despite what Michael Stipe might think, you will not feel fine when it gets here. You should poke your head outside Olympus once in a while. See, if Loki finds me and manages to kill me, Ragnarok will begin. And most of the Norse gods who were supposed to act as a check on that have checked out prematurely. The threat of Loki is real. He’s destroyed the planes of two thunder gods already by himself—Perun’s of Russia and Ukko’s of Finland.”
    The Olympians flicked their eyes to Perun, who gave them the barest nod of confirmation. The exchange surprised me, because I thought the Olympians would have known about Perun’s plane already, but apparently they hadn’t been paying attention to recent events.
    “If Loki is able to unite his power with that of Hel and Muspellheim and pull off Ragnarok,” I continued, “Olympus goes down in flames with the earth. So the world could use my help and yours. What do you say we put aside our differences for a bit and fight a commonenemy? Odin’s with us, I can assure you of that.” Namedropping couldn’t hurt at this point.
    Jupiter’s expression of impending wrath modulated into a frown of concern. Zeus’s leer underwent a similar transformation. At least they were listening, I thought. But there was no give in Jupiter’s tone as he uttered his reply.
    “We cannot put aside differences until our pantheons are whole again,” he said.
    “Okay, I’m sure we can work something out. Let’s talk so everybody wins. But, first, could you maybe dispel those storm clouds?” I jerked a thumb at the sky. “That’s weird and it’s going to draw attention.”
    “Attention from whom?” Zeus snorted, and glanced toward Windsor Castle and the distant helicopters buzzing like flies around carrion. “I care not what the mortals think.”
    Oberon said,
    My hound’s gaze was fixed on the northern sky. Following it, I saw a familiar orange meteorite with a heart of white phosphorus headed our way. “Aw,
damn
it!”

Chapter 26
    Get right behind me and stay low!
I ordered Oberon, and then I shouted, “Don’t kill him or Ragnarok begins!” a few scant seconds before Loki landed in our midst and sprayed his surroundings with fire, just to make sure we noticed him. My cold iron amulet protected me and my body shielded Oberon. Perun didn’t think fast enough to protect Flidais and she hadn’t expected such an attack, so she got tagged badly and screamed as flames engulfed her. Perun and the Olympians weren’t harmed by the fire but didn’t like the intention behind it; Hermes avoided the fire altogether by flying above it. Zeus and Jupiter called down lightning bolts on Loki from their portable storm clouds overhead but didn’t know from experience that he was as immune to them as they were to his fire. Perun did know, however, and he’d obviously been thinking about how to handle Loki Flamehair if a rematch became necessary. He summoned wind and snuffed out Loki’s flames as if they were candles.
    The mad fucker just laughed that insane laugh and pulled his sword out of his ass. Zeus, now afflicted with acute priapism, gasped and asked him to do that again. Jupiter slapped him to the ground and barked at him to get his priorities straight. Obviously there was some tension between them.
    Perun had the right of it. Neutralization was more important than defeating Loki right now. But Perun had already crouched down to aid Flidais rather than press his advantage. Before I could step into the fray, Herne called up his lads; Loki’s initial fire burst had set the edges of the clearing aflame, and since it was all part of Windsor Forest, that shot Loki right to the top of Herne’s list of people to kill.
    “For the King’s Forest!” he yelled. He and his hunters charged, confident, hounds at their heels, and Loki grinned and waved them on.
    “Yah! Yah! Yah!” he said, a wide smile of malevolence splitting his face. That didn’t seem right; the charge of an armed ghost cavalry should have scared the scars off his face. Behind him, a giant hound, six feet tall at the shoulders, winked onto the clearing and woofed, then vanished as suddenly as he’d appeared.
    “Herne, wait!” I called. But it was too late. The first huntsman, eager to strike a blow for England, did