Two Ravens and One Crow - 4.5 Read Online Free PDF Page A

willing to make Faustian bargains. They tend to focus on the results rather than the costs to achieve them.”
    She turned away, signaling an end to the conversation, and I sighed in defeat. I hoped Padraig would think it was worth it in the end.
    We exited the shop, closing the door on the tailor’s rapture and ruin, then hailed a cab. The Morrigan told the driver to drop us off at the corner of Kirkegata and Rådhusgata.
    There’s a seventeenth-century building at that location that currently houses one of the finest gourmet restaurants anywhere. It’s the sort of place where you have to dress up to walk through the doorand even the toothpicks are posh. Dinners are served in four to six courses, and there’s not only a professional waiter but a professional sommelier at your elbow.
    At some point the building had been painted a belligerent shade of mauve—it was
mauve
, damn it, and proud. It was a generous two stories tall, with frequent narrow white-framed windows blessedly interrupting the Great Mauve Wall. Above a gray cornice loomed a black-shingled roof, which had architecture of its own, allowing for an attic room or three and their concomitant windows. Movement up there drew my eyes, and I spied two enormous ravens perched on the eaves, seeming to look straight at me with equal parts gravitas and gloom. Each one of them had an eye that gleamed white.
    “That’s an overdose of Poe, isn’t it?” I said.
    The Morrigan, seeing the ravens, gave a short bark of laughter. “There’s no Poe involved at all. Use your head, Siodhachan.”
    I remembered we were supposedly meeting members of the Norse pantheon and said, “You don’t mean
he
is here—”
    The Morrigan slapped me. “I said use your head, not your mouth.”
    “But how can he—”
    I got slapped again.
    “Right. Sorry.”
    The Morrigan took a deep breath and closed her eyes, clenching her fists at her sides. It was the first sign I’d seen that she felt the least bit nervous about this encounter.
    “How do I look?” she asked, and I wondered again at how she could be simultaneously so ruthless and insecure.
    “Fearsome. Deadly. A bit delicious.”
    She smiled. “You always know what to say. Let’s go. And, remember, no magic.”
    Once inside, we were greeted with a large smile by the maître d’, an impeccably scrubbed and barbered man dressed in black-tie livery. He ushered us to a window table in the Cleopatra Room, where waited none other than the goddess who gave her name to Friday. She rose to receive us.
    Frigg glowed the way stained glass does; she had that sort of beauty, very colorful and beatific yet flat and gauzy with the suggestion that you’re missing quite a bit of depth. The question was whether the depth was carefully hidden or if it was simply missing.
    She appeared cordial yet tense, like a little boy who’s being forced by his mother to be nice to his aunt Ethel
or else
, except that Aunt Ethel is the one with the hairy mustache and it’s all he can do to keep from screaming when she arrives and wants a kiss. The pleasant expression on Frigg’s face, with a ghost ofa smile, didn’t reach her eyes; they were cold and unfriendly. She wore a royal-blue sheath gown circled with a wide black sash just beneath her ribs. Circling her neck was an extremely shiny something, set with enough diamonds to feed several families and a stable full of ponies for a year. I was about to check her out in the magical spectrum when the Morrigan grabbed my jaw and yanked it right to face her. She spoke in Old Irish so Frigg wouldn’t know what she said.
    “Remember what I said about magic?”
    “Not supposed to use any,” I managed to say while she had an iron grip on my chin.
    “That’s right. None. But you were about to cast magical sight, weren’t you? See my eyes? They’re brown instead of red because I can’t use magic right now. Pretend they’re red, Siodhachan. I’m watching you.”
    “Got it.”
    She let me go and then