North of Athens, Greece, Twenty Years Ago

Midnight rain lashed the town with an unrelenting fury, the cobblestone streets swiftly becoming rivers under the weight of the torrential downpour. The droplets pounded so violently against the psistaria’s windows and rooftops, that neither Hector nor Nikolaos heard the door open that night.

The dark form rounded the corner and Hector reached for his weapon, but he wasn’t quick enough. The intruder set one massive hand upon Hector’s shoulder and the other on his head. With a twist and a snap, Hector crumpled to the floor.

“Who are—”

“I am Symmachus, and you will kneel before me,” said the voice, and Nikolaos’s knees hit the wooden floor, unbidden. “Do you tremble at the feet of God? Do you know who you are?”

Nikolaos dared to look up at the man towering over him. Though he could make out no details, the light from the table’s flickering candles illuminated blue eyes that seemed to pierce through his soul. He lowered his eyes.

“Long ago, Fallen Angels took for themselves the daughters of Men, who bore them children, giants all—mighty men of old, men of renown. I have been watching you. You are one of us. You are one of the forgotten sons of God. The Sons of Nephilim.”

“I-I-I—” stuttered Nikolaos. “This is blasphemy. You cannot believe—”

“Silence! Though you are yet weak, the Holy Spirit will descend upon you, and you will be made powerful. I will be your guide. You will take your place by my side; you shall act as my right hand. For there is much to do. We must prepare for the day the Lord Himself will come down from Heaven, crying out with the voices of the archangels and the trumpet of God, and the multitudes who sleep in the dust of the Earth will awake. Some to everlasting life, others to shame and eternal contempt.

We who have prepared the way will be caught up with those in the clouds to meet the Lord in the air. And so, we few Chosen will be with the Lord forever.”

Nikolaos spread his palms flat on the floor. He dared not turn his head, though he was aware of Hector’s lifeless body in a heap beside him. He did not want to see whatever horror remained in his dead friend’s eyes.

Because something within him stirred at Symmachus’s words. Something almost like longing.

As if reading these thoughts, Symmachus uttered a single mirthless ha. “Have you never wondered about your power? Have you never wondered why weak men turn to you for guidance? Why, when you speak, others listen?”

Symmachus lashed out with one foot, landing a forceful kick to the side of dead Hector’s head. “Men such as these? Too pathetic to grasp and take what they truly want? Too willing to follow the will of others?”

Nikolaos stared at Symmachus’s feet, unable to speak.

“Our ancient race will inherit the Earth and ensure our God’s work is done. For it is we who must stop Man’s unholy quest to build a paradise on Earth—there is but one Paradise—the paradise of Heaven. God wills us to do His bidding and answer the call to fight the ultimate battle.”

Symmachus reached out a hand. “If you will take up your birthright, rise. You will be reborn as Uzziel, the strength of God, and you will sit at my table as a brother.”

The longing within Nikolaos grew, expanding until it muffled any concerns he might have felt. He reached for Symmachus’s hand. The man’s skin was unnaturally cold, his grip unnaturally firm, and he pulled Nikolaos to his feet without effort.

“I will take up my birthright,” said Uzziel, and when he followed Symmachus through the old psistaria, past the bodies of the men who’d been Nikolaos’s friends, he did not look back.

Kjerkfjorden Caves, Norway, January 22

The space above them, once a solid dome of oppressive black, began a metamorphosis. Soft points of blue light, imperceptible at first, dotted the ceiling above. As Julia’s eyes adjusted to the subtlety of the glow, she lost her breath at its beauty: a subterranean night sky. The organisms didn’t merely shine; they pulsed, they moved, like stars shifting and realigning.

Like droplets of liquid starlight, the bioluminescent beings moved in harmony. The group below stood transfixed, their faces bathed in the gentle glow.

“It’s amazing,” Dai-Lu breathed. “Positively amazing.”

The tall, intricately carved doors slowly opened. The blue glow faded back to darkness.

One by one, lanterns snapped back on. Beyond the doors was a vast chamber, the walls of which were decorated with more images of Frigg and her devotees—children playing happily in a new world, fresh, young, and green. Ragnarök had passed, and this was the era of rebirth.

At the end of that cavern was another set of doors, at least twelve feet high and ten feet wide. Its surface was a shade of deep black. Graphene, cold to the touch.

Taking off her gloves, Julia approached the door cautiously, her hand outstretched. She brushed her fingertips over the door and shivered—it was smooth but painfully cold to the touch. Hastily she pulled her gloves back on before touching the embedded characters.

Julia wondered if this was what Sam had seen in Antarctica. The characters were as precise as if they had been crafted by skilled hands or perhaps, as she had once theorized, by ancient machines. The door’s surface felt like silk, impossibly smooth given its age and location.

“Do you think you can translate, Betty?” Julia asked, her voice steadier than she expected it to be.

Betty came forward and held up her light.

“It’s the same character as before. The one that means either gift, sacrifice, or offering. But there’s more here, too.” She studied the door, hand covering her mouth. “I think it’s actually meant to mean all three, simultaneously. The context here is so odd.”

“Children,” Julia said suddenly. “Children.”

Betty stepped back suddenly. “You might be right. Holy shit.” She scanned the rest of the door. “Yes. That tracks. A child is a gift. But also—also parents sacrifice for their children. And here, if those murals are a hint, here children are offered to Frigg, so she can repopulate the world after Ragnarök.”

“Are you trying to tell me that people sacrificed their children to Frigg?” James asked, skepticism heavy in his voice.

“No,” Julia said, looking at Gale. “I don’t think anyone sacrificed anything knowingly.”

Even in that dim light, Julia was sure the color had drained from Gale’s face.

“Are you saying you think Nora was taken by Frigg?”

“I don’t know what happened yet, but we’re going to find out,” said Julia. “Reg, help us out here.”

Reg joined Julia and Betty at the door. It had two recessed horizontal levers, both designed for a two-handed grip. Their positioning and design hinted at some mechanism that, when activated, would allow passage. Reg grabbed one handle, while Betty and Julia grabbed the other. They pulled as hard as they could, to no avail.

Julia scanned the door’s surface, searching for any sign of the unique patterns Sam had mentioned. Those conversations were so long ago now, she barely remembered the details. All she knew was that she didn’t have that damned amulet.

He gave me his dog, he gave me the key to his apartment, but did he give me the thing I actually need to get this door open? Signs point to no.

Lars and Gale’s torches cast long, quivering shadows that flickered upon the door’s surface, making their task even more challenging, as every symbol twisted and moved in the torchlight. The door’s entire surface was an intricate tapestry of symbols, each deeply and perfectly etched into the cold, dark graphene. Some, she remembered, mirrored those on the amulet. Others were completely foreign to them. Sweat dripped from Lu’s brow as she traced a series of symbols that seemed promising. But every lead turned cold. Every pattern they thought they recognized from the amulet seemed to distort upon closer inspection.

Running a hand through her hair, Julia sat on the ground. She had to think. There had to be a way to open this door. Brute force was out as an option, but something had to be available. She just had to think.

Sky padded over and sniffed at the top of her head.

“Thanks, buddy,” she said, her head still buried in her hands. She looked up in time for Sky to lick her cheek. Julia smiled and reached up and patted the side of Sky’s neck. The tags upon his collar jingled softly.

Wait. Tags?

There hadn’t been time to do laundry, much less bring Sky to a vet for a city license and rabies tag. Julia peered closer at Sky’s collar and gasped.

There, dangling from the thick leather, was Sam’s Eemian amulet.

Sam Sawyer, she thought, you and I are going to have a conversation when I get out of this.

She unbuckled Sky’s collar and pulled the amulet free. She pressed it hard into matching depression. Suddenly, the chamber reverberated with the sound of two heavy, metallic thunks originating from the door.

One more time, Julia and Reg grabbed the levers and pulled. The lever started to budge. James reached over and lent a third set of hands, and the lever clicked open. They looked at each other for the briefest of moments, then wrestled open the second, lower lever.

The ground trembled beneath them, and a gust of ancient, stale air rushed out as the door slowly slid open.

Vail, Colorado, January 16

Magnus arose at dawn, rubbed his swollen blue eyes, drank a glass of water, and headed to the hotel bathroom for Tylenol. A few minutes later, he lurched downstairs to meet Tommy and their hunting guide. His head was still reeling from the lunch-turned-dinner the day before. The last thing he wanted to do was spend the day swaying on the back of a horse, but maybe time alone with Tommy would give him the chance to set the record straight, remind Tommy that once those bills were paid, Magnus would be back on top.

And Tommy? Well. Tommy’s services would no longer be required. Not that Magnus planned to spend much time on that topic. Hell, sometimes Tommy talked like he owned Empire, when all he’d done was provide a seed loan at an astronomical interest rate.

They drove to a trailhead in Minturn that Magnus wasn’t familiar with. Saddled horses already waited for them. Magnus mounted a chestnut mare, Tommy an appaloosa. The group plodded up a narrow snow crusted gully alongside a frozen stream that meandered through an aspen grove. Magnus buttoned the top latch on his jacket and pulled his knit cap over his ears. After an hour, they stopped and dismounted for lunch in a quiet snowfield. Two of the guide’s men, following with the pack horse, rushed over to help Tommy and Magnus off their mounts.

The packers set out portable propane heaters and pointed them at a lunch spread on a folding table. They opened cans of beer, and motioned for everyone to sit next to one of the heaters. As they ate, one of the packers spotted something in the brush and motioned for quiet. He crept past the table, pulled his rifle from its scabbard, and checked to make sure it was loaded. Tommy gulped the last of his beer and dropped his sandwich. He nudged Magnus to follow. The packer put his finger to his lips. They peered through thick frozen brush at a large cow elk who had broken through the ice of a small pond and was drinking from the cold water.

Excited, Tommy tapped the young packer’s shoulder. “Give me the gun,” he whispered, his voice muffled by the sound of the creek. “I can get a clean shot.” The man looked at him for several seconds.

Magnus understood the hesitation; taking an animal down while it was drinking, oblivious to danger, wasn’t sporting. A real hunter, a good hunter, didn’t need to resort to that kind of cowardice.

Reluctantly, the packer handed over the rifle. Tommy disengaged the safety without a sound, raised the stock to his shoulder and pulled the trigger. Missed. The animal bolted at the crack of the shot. Tommy fired in rapid succession, and one round struck the fleeing cow’s back. She fell a hundred yards away, struggling to rise onto her front legs.

Magnus’s ears rang with the reverberation of the shots. He lingered a little behind as Tommy and the packer rushed to where the cow was floundering on the snowy ground. Tommy, still grasping the rifle, walked across the frozen stream and stood looking at the wounded cow. She was bleeding badly but still struggling to escape, bellowing with pain.

Looking away from the cow, Magnus happened to glimpse Tommy’s face. It was shining with perspiration and a certain gleefulness that made goosepimples rise on Magnus’s arms. It’s almost like he’s enjoying watching her suffer.

The packer reached out a hand to Tommy. “Sir, give me the rifle. I’m going to put her down.”

Tommy pull the rifle close and glared at the young man. “The hell you will. This is my kill. If there’s any more shooting to be done, I’ll be the one pulling the trigger.”

The guide backed away. “Okay, okay. But . . . sir, she’s suffering. You gotta put her down. Now.” The elk stopped struggling and lay panting in the snow, her deep brown eyes wide.

“No one’s going to shoot her. She’s mine, and I intend to enjoy her till it’s finished.” Tommy turned and gazed down at the animal, a feral smile on his face.

Magnus, swallowing hard, moved next to him. “Tommy, this ain’t right. Put the thing out of its misery and let’s finish lunch. This ain’t the way we Texans handle things.”

Tommy directed his smile at Magnus. “No, Magnus, it’s not.” He leaned in close and whispered, “I just want to make sure we both understand who’s runnin’ the show here. ’Cause I think maybe you forgot. I think all that attention you get at them rallies is getting to your head. I think you might have forgotten just who they are really cheering for. Tell me, Magnus. Who is it they are really cheering for?”

Magnus cleared his throat. The dying gasps of the elk rang in his ears. “You are.”

“There’s a time to be born, a time to die . . . and a time to kill. I get to decide who does what. No one’s gettin’ in my way, Magnus. Not you. Not Jack Henley. Not a bunch of pussy protesters. You’re with me or against me. There’s no in between, Magnus.”

Tommy stared at Magnus for another endless moment before turning toward the cow elk, his face still shone with an eerie pleasure. The elk’s thrashing increased the closer Tommy got. Tommy stooped to look right into the cow’s eyes. The cow gave a series of short, gasping grunts. Magnus closed his eyes as a shot shattered the silence of the aspen grove and echoed off the valley walls.

The sound had only just disappeared when Tommy’s was at Magnus’s side once again. He looped his arm through Magnus’s and said cheerfully, “Now wasn’t that exciting? Worked up quite an appetite. Come on, Magnus. We’ve got a party to plan, don’t we?” Tommy grinned. “Let’s blow this one out of the water.”