Foretold by Rinda Elliott Page B

The media had latched on to Snowmageddon again. They had no idea how close they were to the truth. The sheriff’s office would probably be a hotbed of people arrested for crimes like looting—panic had a way of loosening rational thought. I’d read every rendition of Ragnarok I could get my hands on and one thing that seemed similar across the board was the flood of evil that would take over. Crime would rule.
    Hallur held his cup toward Ari. “Think you can tear yourself away from that pot long enough to share?” After Ari reluctantly took his cup, Hallur frowned at Vanir. “Take Ari with you when the tow truck gets here. I’ve already called them, so that should be soon.”
    Vanir dug into another drawer, shoved his hand toward the back. “I’ll need help if the river’s up more or if her car has moved.” He laid something on the counter, then reached over to snatch a bite of pancake. “What do you say? You’re the one with the biggest muscles.” He grinned, batted his eyelashes comically.
    Ari smacked Vanir’s hand with the spatula. Hard. “Shut up. And keep your grimy hands off my cakes.”
    When Vanir turned to me, he held scissors. He pulled a chair across from mine and propped my foot on his jean-clad thighs.
    He started cutting the bottoms off the pants. My mouth fell open. “You just ruined a perfectly good pair of sweats. I would have given them back as soon as we get my suitcase.”
    “This is a cheap pair—no big deal. I have several.”
    His hand was still warmly wrapped around my ankle and I hoped the table blocked his brother’s view—though it did nothing for my cheeks. I’m sure they could feel the heat from my blush.
    Vanir kept cutting until the pants didn’t sag over my feet. Setting the scissors on the table, he dropped his hands back to my ankles. I immediately tried to remember the last time I’d shaved my legs, then thought about what I jerk I was for even thinking about such a thing with my crazy mother out there.
    “Did Willy call yet?” he asked his oldest brother.
    Hallur shook his head.
    He looked at me. Tightened his hands on my skin. I wondered if he was looking for comfort in the touch because it was easy to see from his changing expression that he’d started thinking of his friend again.
    “I took the cops to Steven last night after you passed out. They have no idea what killed him. The local force is jammed, so we have to wait on a forensics team—I think from Fort Smith.”
    “Can’t imagine why she’d want to hear the details, Van.” Ari came to the table, setting a cup of coffee in front of me. He sat down, turned his gaze to the piles of snow on the porch. “She didn’t know Steven.”
    I preferred Coral’s homemade teas, but the coffee smelled good and gave me something to do with my hands, so I held it under my nose. No, I hadn’t known Steven, but it was possible I was indirectly responsible for his death because my crazy mother wanted to take out my possible killer first.
    Vanir was no killer.
    Still, I couldn’t believe my mother was. I flashed back to the last time I’d seen her smile. Laugh, in fact. She’d been dancing around the kitchen, tossing pieces of apple muffin at Coral. Yeah, it was one of her weird, manic moments but I’d walked into the kitchen and she’d grabbed me and hugged me so tight my world had felt perfect.
    Tears burned the backs of my eyes again. I’d never, ever cried this much. Afraid I’d lose it front of them all, I jerked my leg from Vanir’s grasp and stood. A little coffee spilled over the lip of the cup when I nearly dropped it onto the table. “My head is really hurting,” I offered as an excuse for my abrupt switch in mood. “Can I use this restroom again?”
    Vanir shot up. “Of course. And I’ll get you some Tylenol.”
    The bathroom door opened and his aunt came out. She wore a faded Green Day T-shirt, her long, slim legs covered in jeans with a hole in one knee. A thick blue towel wrapped her head.