AN: Only two after this. Enjoy!

Chapter Eight

Cairo, Illinois

Shadow guided Betty into the sloping drive of Ibis and Jaquel Funeral Parlor, but was unable to pull as far up as he had the day before.

"Ah!" Wednesday chimed in a glad tone. "They're here."

Shadow turned off the ignition and eyed the small fleet of motorcycles skeptically –all of which looked like a Harley.

"Who?" He asked sarcastically. "The Hell's Angels?"

Wednesday let out a laugh that Shadow had heard more than once, that loud, almost-too-happy laugh that normal people didn't use.

"Not far from the truth, my boy." He replied. "They are my angels, Valkyries –vicious warriors who sail into battle astride their equally vicious wolves. The most beautiful women you have ever seen in your life, stronger than any man, and the last thing a warrior sees before being shuffled off to Valhalla."

A twinge crept across the back of Shadow's neck, a twinge that threatened to raise the hair if he had any.

"Tove," He said.

"And her sisters." Wednesday said as he stepped out of Ol' Betty. Shadow joined him. "Or at least what's left of them. Come on."

Shadow followed a step behind as they made their way into the funeral parlor. He recalled everything he'd learned about the mythical warriors. Like most everything he found himself surrounded by, there were multiple stories about Valkyries. He had no idea which of them was true without speaking to one of them. Maybe he would, he couldn't say. A lot had happened to him since he'd met Tove at that weird old maze of a house. He wasn't as timid as he used to be.

Shadow remained close in toe as Wednesday led the way. Whatever guided the old man, Shadow couldn't feel, so he was simply along for the ride.

They entered the greenhouse, an open space with dusty pots, long-since-abandoned gardening tools, and the growing tree that –Shadow could have sworn- was a twig only a day prior. The room wasn't empty, either. Scattered throughout were five women, only one of whom he recognized.

On a table to his left, Shadow saw a woman with skin so fair it glowed. Full lips, high cheekbones, fluorescent blue eyes, and ashen-blonde hair pulled back tight –she looked formidable. A cool, icy aura surrounded her. She met his gaze unblinkingly. He felt himself being pulled into something he couldn't explain and had to physically force himself to look away.

Sitting in a chair not far from her, with her feet up in an adjacent chair, was another young woman very similar to the first though her face was a little longer, more in an oval shape than her sister. Her hair was by far the shortest, perhaps only an inch or so in length while long bangs swept down across her face, shielding one of her equally-bright blue eyes. She too stared at Shadow.

To the right, leaning against the column that formed the archway that separated the half of the greenhouse he was in from the half with the tree was yet another stranger. Just as beautiful, just as intimidating was a woman with auburn hair that fell to her elbows. Unlike the previous pair, her eyes (while the same color) were filled with calm and deadly focus. They made Shadow have to fight a cringe, as though her eyes were more than enough to tear his very soul from his body. It was an odd thing to think, entirely out of left field really, but it was how he felt.

Just beyond her was another woman with blood-red hair. It was braided away from her face in an Old World sort of way. She wasn't looking at Shadow like the others were. Instead, she had a long spear in her hands. She was practicing with it, swinging it through the air, lunging and twirling it with a beautiful, but deadly precision. It was enchanting and even though it looked like a dance, Shadow knew how dangerous it was.

Tove was just beyond her, standing in front of the tree with her back to the room, staring at it.

"Shield Maidens,"

The air immediately shifted, somehow becoming oppressive and thick. All movement ceased from the woman with the red hair, and attention shifted to Wednesday. He grinned while they approached. The two to Shadow's left stood and took a few steps closer. The one to his right approached as well, alongside the redhead. Tove was slower to, but eventually did.

The five women stood before Shadow and Wednesday in a semi-circle with Tove in the center. Shadow's gaze danced along all of them. His skin prickled. He couldn't explain the feelings rushing through him because he hadn't felt them before, but he knew something was wrong. It wasn't as strong as 'fight or flight', but he knew without knowing that the women standing in front of him were dangerous. They exuded that same kind of 'otherworldliness' that surrounded Chernobog, Bilquis, and Ostara. It was almost as if, like them, these five didn't bother attempting to be human like Wednesday. They let their power flow.

"Shadow," Wednesday said. Shadow flinched. He hadn't expected to be addressed for some reason and it surprised him. "These are my Valkyries, Sigrún," He motioned toward the woman with the ashen hair and then proceeded from left to right, "Hildegund, Tove you know, Skuld, and Grimhildr." Their collective gazes landed on him. Tove was the only one who offered a little, comforting smile. "Ladies, this is Shadow Moon."

"Hi," He mumbled out of some need to be polite. The fiery Skuld grinned wickedly as though she was amused by him. Shadow had the sneaking suspicion that she was the cat, and he was the mouse.

"Shadow, my boy," Wednesday's voice brought him back to the moment. He reached for the case still clamped in Shadow's hand. The young man gave it to him. "Give me a minute with them. Get some sleep, okay? You need it."

"Sure," He replied. Shadow looked back to the congregation. "Nice meeting you."

He couldn't say if that was a lie or not, but like before, he felt compelled to be polite.

Turning his back on them felt wrong, but he wasn't going to back out of the room. That would have just been further proof that they unnerved him.

Shadow was indeed tired, but not tired enough to fall asleep immediately. To waste some time, he decided to explore the funeral parlor. He'd been through the floor plan before, but this time he lingered in some places, looked at the house plants that were meant to add life to the house of death, and the portraits on the walls of people he didn't know. Probably a half an hour later, he decided to head up to his room.

He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. The moment he heard it latch shut, Shadow sensed he wasn't alone. It was almost as though closing himself off from the rest of the house made the feeling even more noticeable.

He spun around to face whatever had snuck into his room. More than once already he'd had visitors whether he wanted to or not, and now was no different.

"Hello, Shadow Moon." Her voice was like silk, soft and comforting enough that his eyes actually fluttered under the sound of it.

"Hi," He muttered unsurely.

She slinked closer, gliding across the floor wearing a gossamer gown. It fell from strong shoulders in multiple layers, but the fabric was so thin that he could see the shape of her body underneath. Her blood-red hair was down this time, cascading around her body in long, luscious waves. The braids were gone.

As she continued to approach him, Shadow began to retreat –slow and gradual.

"Skuld, right?"

Her full lips twisted into a smile and she nodded.

"Uh, why are you in my room?"

She said nothing at first, only continued her advance. Shadow clenched his jaw out of habit, or because he thought it would help him in some way. It didn't.

Skuld was graceful and silent as she walked, like a cat, which only served to remind Shadow that he was the prey in this situation. No matter how hard he tried to keep his eyes on hers, he couldn't. They were too overwhelming, and his gaze drifted as a result.

Through the layers of pale, translucent fabric that covered her body, Shadow could see the curve of her waist. There were hints of black tattoos wrapped around her sides and likely sprawled across her back. The round slope of her thighs showed him just how curvy she was. He could see every detail of her ample bust pressing against the gown, which made his heart beat a little faster than it should have.

His back hit the door and a shock of fear bolted through him. "Did you need something?" He felt compelled to ask.

She giggled and it was disturbing. The sound was far too delicate and innocent for her.

Skuld reached forward and cradled his cheek in her hand. She drew his gaze to her and it was then that Shadow realized she stood roughly an inch shorter than him. He was six-foot-two, which meant she was easily six-feet.

"You," She replied simply.

The word barely had a chance to seep into his brain before she leaned forward and kissed him. Shadow felt a rush of magic, or something equally as strong and invigorating. At first, he didn't want to return the affection, but it was futile.

He let out a sigh when he felt her tongue sweep across his lips, begging for entrance. He gladly deepened the action. Shadow wrapped his arms around her body and held her close and passion rose very quickly.

She gripped his shirt and tugged him toward the bed before promptly shoving him into it. Shadow's knees caught the edge. He grunted from the force and bounced slightly on the mattress. He didn't like being in such a vulnerable position, so he quickly sat up. Skuld was still smiling down at him.

Her fingers gathered the fabric of her dress, raising it higher and higher until she could hold it comfortably around her waist. She stepped forward and climbed into his lap, planting a knee on either side of his thighs. Shadow leaned back only enough to accommodate. Skuld immediately kissed him again.

His mind was clearing and good sense followed it.

Shadow barely registered Skuld tugging at the waist of his jeans, or pulling his erection free before she lowered herself onto him. He fought a groan, breaking their kiss as he his senses were overrun. She never gave him the chance to acclimate and immediately began to rock into him.

His mind immediately began to drift, clouded by the intensity of the woman enveloping him. He held her tightly. Skuld, moving faster than he could see, tugged the gossamer off her body. It fluttered to the floor and exposed her milky body to him completely.

He didn't know what was happening, or how he found himself in the situation he was in, but he was more than willing to continue.

Tove was sat outside halfway down the stairs that led to the garden. The moon was nearly full and that, accompanied by the soft glow of the lamps that surrounded them, the entire space was cast in an eerie glow. Towering gravestones in the background didn't help things. But this was where Tove felt comfortable. She felt comfortable surrounded by death, surrounded by the dead.

She leaned back, resting her elbows on the steps behind her, and with her legs splayed out in front. A soft black haze danced through the graveyard. It held her dwindling attention. It twisted and curled around the bits of stones, through trees and into shadows. It looked like wisps of ink dropped into water, and moved in a similar way.

They were souls.

Tove heard footsteps and turned her head a bit to the side. It was her sister, Sigrún.

Sigrún was a quiet woman. She spoke only when there was a need, not one to bother wasting breath. She was a typical soldier in a lot of ways –prepared to fight, good at her job, and followed orders to a T.

There was a ranking to them that suited their personalities. Tove was the General –the shot-caller and the one in charge of wrangling the others. She was the eldest, after all, so it fell to her shoulders.

Grimhildr was the Lieutenant General, the second in command and Tove's right hand because her mind was without equal when it came to strategy. She was invaluable in times of war, and Tove was smart enough to know it.

Sigrún was the Major General, Tove's left hand. Sigrún was dangerously intelligent, and calculating. She was lethal and knew how to exploit an enemy in a way different to Grimhildr. Sigrún went for the knees, for their opponent's weaknesses and preferred to attack them from the sides. She was deceptively sneaky and cold.

Their sisters Skuld and Hildegund were different. The pair of them was more like Privates, or Gunners, or simple Troopers –whichever word would best describe a grunt. They didn't care about strategy or subversion. They wanted blood and thrived in it. Skuld especially. The fiery Valkyrie was, without a doubt, in love with bloodshed. She adored the crimson that spilled from people. Hildegund was more a fan of hand-to-hand combat, which was why she had been a cage fighter for so long.

They may have only been five strong, but it was more than enough in most cases.

Sigrún sat near Tove on the stairs and too looked out into the graveyard/garden.

"They're sad." She said after an extended silence.

"I know." Tove replied. Sigrún was talking about the souls left to wander. She could sense it, too. "Where are the others?"

"Grimhildr is in the library. Hildegund is drinking. Skuld is fucking the boy."

Tove took a deep breath and shook her head, slightly disappointed in her sister. She knew something like that would happen the moment she noticed how Skuld stared at Shadow. Tove wasn't one to preach self-control, but sometimes she wished Skuld had at least a little bit.

After another silence, Sigrún said, "Death is strong here."

"It's a funeral home."

Out of the corner of her eye, she could see the blonde look at her. "That's not what I meant."

Tove took another deep breath and sighed before softly replying, "I know."

Without another word, Sigrún rose and retreated back inside the home. There was death in the air, a sense and smell that always accompanied places like cemeteries and funeral homes, but that wasn't what Sigrún meant. She meant the fresh veil of death that was slowly descending on the property.

Someone would die at Ibis and Jaquel, and it would be soon.

New Orleans, Louisiana

Mad Sweeney woke in the cemetery, lying on the raise, grass-covered grave that he'd seen lying on to watch Maman Brigitte dance the night before. His shirt was gone, the beater too, and he was lying there with his trousers undone.

His head throbbed with an ungodly hangover that nearly caused him to vomit all over poor so-and-so's grave. Sweeney grumbled and groaned as he leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees and allowing his head to fall. He gathered the spittle that was forming in his mouth and launched it at the cracked concrete ground beneath his boots.

His memory of the night before was hazy as a fair share of his memories were, but he could remember the highlights. Sex with Brigitte, sex with Tove, then sex with Dead Wife. He'd had an eventful night and knew logically he hadn't been with three women. Obviously not, but he didn't appreciate the third woman in that grouping, anyway. And to shove her into his head right as he was on the brink of orgasm was a nasty trick on Brigitte and Samedi's parts.

Sweeney reached for a crinkled, but still intact cigarette he'd rolled the night before yet hadn't smoked. He placed it between his lips and fished for a lighter.

"Fuckin' Loa." He grumbled before he put flame to it and breathed deep.

When he was certain he could walk without vomiting or simply falling over, Mad Sweeney staggered back to the Noir Coq only to find it practically abandoned. The only 'living' thing within the entire building was Laura Moon.

He felt his upper lip twitch into a grimace as he remembered last night briefly. She hesitated when she saw him, too, and it was then he knew she'd been showed the same. He shifted uncomfortably under the unreadable look on her face.

"You alone?" He eventually asked.

She scoffed and shook her head. "I don't know why you came back here." She said to him. "I'm leaving."

When she tried to leave, he reached out and grabbed her arm. "Hey," He said, drawing her gaze. "Where you goin'?"

"Away,"

She tried to leave again, but as anger rose inside him, his grip tightened. "You're not leavin'."

"Don't make me hurt you."

He clenched his jaw and his anger continued to rise, fueled by frustration and a vicious hangover. "We had a fuckin' deal. You get your life back, an' I get my coin."

"Well, I didn't get my life back, did I?" She snapped at him. "So, fuck you, deal's off, and I'm keeping your fucking coin."

Laura peeled his hand off her cold arm and walked around him, giving the Leprechaun a wide berth so he couldn't touch her again.

"The fuck you are." He growled.

Sweeney charged for her and stood in front of the young woman so much smaller than he was. He barked at her, asking her what went wrong. She flipped whatever switch there was in her mind that kept her normal. Soon, biting, angry, and hateful words poured from her lips, words designed to cut deep. And they did.

"I knew you were Wednesday's bitch, but I didn't know you were his whore, too."

Sweeney breathed deeply. His body was charged, primed with the need to throw his jacket down and fight. He wanted to punch her, to grab her limbs and tear them off at the joints. He'd seen it happen before and even though she wasn't as rotted as she had been, apparently she was still dead enough it could work.

"What happened last night was not part of some grand fuckin' plan, you stupid cunt!" He yelled. "They're Death Loa. They fucked us! And I don't run Wednesday's errands because I like 'im." He approached her, his back straight which meant he was so much bigger than her. "I do it cos I fuckin' owe him." His voice was tight and filled with rage. "I hate that one-eyed cunt more than you can ever know."

The Mad King's muscles twitched. He felt them spasm beneath his skin, aching for him to act. Even he wasn't that stupid. Dead Wife would kill him without a second thought, no matter what Samedi made her see the night before.

Her voice was calm and even when she spoke again. "You do Wednesday's errands because you're desperate for a war to die in, but you're too much of a coward to find one of your own."

He clenched his jaw to a painful degree as he loomed over her. He was done, done dealing with her shit, done listening to her fucking voice –just done.

"Dangerous things happen when you break a deal wit' a fairy."

She leaned forward just enough to instill her point. "Fuck you."

And with that, Laura stepped around him and left shortly after. Sweeney remained on his own, seething, and furious with how things had transpired. He should have had his coin, tucked tenderly away in his hoard where it would never again fall into someone else's hands. He should have been swimming in luck like he used to be.

Sweeney openly cursed the dead woman as he drew a cigarette from behind his ear and placed it in his mouth. The Ancient Gaelic rolled off his tongue with practiced ease.

He lifted his lighter and struck it multiple times, but it refused to light. He could feel his luck withering, felt it drifting further and further away with each step Laura took. He'd have chased after her if he thought it would do any good.

The next time he saw Tove, he'd ask her to fulfill her promise and rip that fucking coin out of Laura Moon's chest.