Valhalla Virus by Nick Harrow (best management books of all time TXT) 📕

and cold lay ahead. Killing Arthur would slow its approach and give them time to build out the lodge, but the tide of chaos couldn’t be held at bay forever. Not even Odin Allfather had that power.

The völva followed a path she’d seen in the vision that Freya had sent to her, tracing a route out of the casino, through a side exit, and on the first steps of a journey that would take her hours to complete. She really, really wished she knew how this all ended. She hadn’t been able to see all the way to the end of her future. The vision had abruptly ended after showing her captured by jötnar.

She didn’t know what that meant, but she knew it had to happen if Gunnar was to have any chance of finding the ring. Because the jötnar had their own völva, and she’d hidden Draupnir so well Mimi wouldn’t be able to see it.

She sang snatches of Everclear’s Santa Monica to herself in a whispery, thready voice. She hadn’t heard that song in ages, and it brought a smile to her lips. Despite everything, Bridget still found joy in the simple things. A snatch of music, the feel of Gunnar’s hands on her body, the spears of early morning sunlight that picked sparks of light from the broken glass and burned facades of the Strip.

Even the knife strapped to her inner thigh felt right. Bridget had swiped the weapon and its narrow scabbard from Deke’s when everyone else was playing with their guns. She didn’t know why, but she’d been sure she’d need it.

At some point.

“You’re doing the right thing,” a woman’s strong voice said, so close to Bridget she nearly jumped out of her skin.

Freya was only a few feet to her left. Her eyes sparkled in the early morning light, and an impish grin quirked her lips.

“You scared the shit out of me,” Bridget snapped. “I should—”

“Shhh.” Freya raised a finger to her lips. “Don’t wake the babies. They need their sleep.”

A tangle of jötnar lay in the street, five males wrapped around a female as tall as Gunnar. One monster suckled at her enormous breasts, black milk drooling from the corner of his mouth to form a sticky puddle in the hollow of his throat. The beasts were less than twenty feet away from Bridget. If they woke up, she’d never escape them.

“This way,” Freya whispered, and guided her into the shelter of a row of palm trees. When they’d put some distance between them and the jötnar, she put a hand on Bridget’s shoulder. “Do you trust me?”

Bridget considered the question. Freya had come to her on the night Gunnar had rescued them all from the madness. While the fever burned in Bridget, the goddess had sent her a vision and showed her a path that would lead her to more than mere survival. Freya had promised Bridget an important part to play in the war for Midgard.

“I trust that you’re doing what you think is right,” Bridget said with a frown. “But I wish I’d known how this would end when I decided to join the team. Something tells me this will really suck.”

Freya laughed softly. “Your fate is still undecided, Bridget. I am sorry your road has been difficult. It will only get harder. But what you’re doing is our only chance to stop Hyrrokkin.”

“You’re the chief völva, right?” Bridget asked.

The goddess pointed out another group of jötnar and guided Bridget onto a side road. “Some say I am the first völva. Why?”

“All of this.” Bridget shrugged. “I mean, I wouldn’t have to stick my neck in the noose if the bad guys didn’t have a völva who hid Draupnir, right? It would have been a lot easier if you’d just, you know, not let the jötnar have witches of their own.”

Freya’s eyes twinkled as she considered the question. She put a hand on the völva’s shoulder, then pulled her in for a fierce hug that took Bridget’s breath away. The völva smelled crisp pine boughs and felt a cold wash of winter wind over her face.

“My child,” the goddess whispered, “did you stop to think that maybe having a witch in Arthur’s ranks was exactly what you’d need?”

The goddess held Bridget at arm’s length for a moment, her eyes shining with unshed tears. “You have done well, daughter. Now I must go. Your escort is here.”

A gust of freezing wind blasted across Bridget, and she blinked and raised one hand defensively. When she could see again, the goddess was gone.

In her place was a squad of jötnar, their leader pointing a golden gun at Bridget’s chest.

“Well, well, well,” the towering monster said. “Look at what we found, boys. We figured all the humans were either dead or smart enough to keep their heads down.”

Bridget steeled herself for what came next. She knew what she had to say, but the words stuck in her throat. She struggled against tears. The völva couldn’t break down. Not now. She blew out a deep sigh, stiffened her spine, and stared at the jötunn.

“I need to speak to Arthur,” she said resolutely.

The leader of the jötnar frowned, puzzled. “Come on now, you sexy thing, don’t be like that. Talk to Bogie. If you’ve got something interesting to say, I’ll give it to Arthur. After we finish with you.”

A cold chill settled in Bridget’s gut, and she had to stop herself from reaching for the knife. No, it wasn’t time. Not yet.

The naked lust in the jötunn’s eyes made her want to vomit. Instead, she held her ground. “No,” she said. “What I have is for your master’s ears, only.”

The jötunn leered at her and shook his head. “You’re a fine piece of tail, I’ll give you that. But I don’t have a master. I found you, so finders, keepers. Now get on your knees and—”

“I can give you Gunnar,” Bridget said, her voice cold and hard as deep winter ice. “But I won’t tell anyone