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  “Give us a minute. We’re in the shop; someone will be up to greet you.”

  Jasper took a step to one side of the door and Temple did the same on the other side. Standing in front of the door was not tactically sound, even with a door capable of repelling a medieval battering ram. He cursed himself for wearing the baby Glock on his ankle today, or his hand would have been at his hip poised to draw.

  Temple’s hand retreated to her hip.

  At least one of them was in a better position, more tactically prepared.

  Latches and locks clunked and turned from the other side before the door creaked open a bit.

  “Hello?” a female voice asked.

  Jasper leaned to the left and Temple took a step to her right.

  He waved his credentials and displayed his badge. Temple did the same.

  “We’re with the FBI—”

  “So you said.” A solidly built blonde woman stepped into the light. She wore not a hint of makeup on her strong Nordic features. The only fitting description of her was as if Freyja herself came to life—if his memory of Norse mythology was still any good.

  Jasper’s tongue was suddenly incapable of producing words.

  Temple shook her head ever so slightly, and stepped forward. “I’m Agent Black, and this is Agent Wilde.”

  “What can I help you with?” The woman who answered the door didn’t offer her hand.

  “We need to speak with Carlos Ochoa,” Temple said.

  The woman looked at Jasper. Whose contribution was “Uh…”

  Temple smiled slightly. “What he means is,” she said, “we have a few questions for Carlos and his recollection of a crime.”

  “Yes.” Jasper managed. “We need to speak with him, Miss—”

  “Penny Stahlberg,” the young woman said.

  “Are you the receptionist?” asked Temple. “Is there someone else we should speak with?”

  Penny’s eyes darkened as if ready to swing a hammer or hurl lightning bolts.

  “No, I’m pretty much your point of contact,” Penny said. “I’m part owner of Wayland Precision.”

  “May we come in?” Temple leaned forward.

  Penny gestured for them to enter.

  “You said Carlos wasn’t in any trouble.” Penny offered them a bench in the dimly lit reception area. “Oh, pardon the atmosphere; we don’t receive many people here at the shop.”

  “No, uh, Ms. Stahlberg,” Jasper said.

  “You can call me Penny.”

  “No, Penny,” Jasper said, “Carlos isn’t in trouble. He may have information on the recent kidnappings. I’m sure you’re aware of them?”

  “Oh yes, horrible. I can’t imagine investigating such matters. Care for some water? It’s boiling outside.”

  “No thank you,” Temple said. “May we speak with Carlos?”

  “I’ll send him up.” Penny moved for another solidly built door sporting a combo lock, where a sequence of numbers are pressed and a switch is turned, opening the lock.

  “May we have a tour of your building?” Temple asked.

  “It’s a machine shop—not much to see, really.”

  “I’d be interested.” Jasper couldn’t believe how much of an ass he was making of himself.

  “I’m sure.” Temple poked him in the ribs.

  “How about another time?” Penny said, “We’re quite busy today.”

  “On a weekend? Your business must do okay. What exactly do you do here?” Temple fired away with the questions and remained standing, as if displaying her dominance over the Norse goddess denying them entrance to the temple.

  Jasper shook his head. What in the hell was wrong with him, he hadn’t felt this way since, well, since Lucy way back in the day when they’d first met. Not a good omen, but also not anything to put much stock in.

  “Like I said,” Penny’s stance faltered, “we’re busy, and—”

  The intercom crackled. “Show our guests in.” That was a man’s voice; not Carlos’s, but an older one, projecting gravitas.

  “You heard the man,” Penny said.

  “And who would that be?” Temple asked.

  “Steve Stahlberg,” Penny said. Jasper wondered if that was her husband and suddenly he was crestfallen. But—

  “My father,” she explained. “We own and operate Wayland Precision together.”

  “You can relax.” Temple glanced over her shoulder at Jasper and pursed her lips, as if calling him out over his ribbing of her earlier regarding his friend, Ed White.

  Jasper’s ears radiated heat. Embarrassing.

  Penny bit her lip, trying not to smile, and turned away.

  Damn it.

  “This way.” Penny punched the code into the keypad and pulled open the door.

  They descended a long flight of stairs upon stepping through the door. A vegetal scent filled the air.

  “I thought you ran a machine shop.” Jasper glanced about, attempting to locate the source of the odd scent.

  “We have some strange hobbies,” Penny said.

  “Such as?” Temple wasn’t even trying to hide her skepticism.

  “You’ll see,” Penny said. “For one thing, we like growing mushrooms down here.”

  “For what? Extra mushrooms on your pizza?” Temple’s tone came right to the edge of outright sarcasm.

  “Don’t mind her.” Jasper said to the Norse goddess. “You must have a good reason, I mean, other than loving fungi.”

  Temple shook her head, and yes, he continued making a fool of himself.

  “I’ll let my father speak with you on the finer points,” Penny offered.

  “But we’re here to speak with Carlos,” Temple said.

  “I’m sure that can be arranged.”

  Penny said the last line as if Carlos was indisposed, or a prisoner locked away in a dungeon.

  The group descended into a damp cool. A substance, not slick, but slimy, coated the surface of each step, and Jasper was relieved when they reached the bottom.

  The hallway glowed unnaturally under the current lighting conditions—was the light blue? Violet? Penny flipped a switch and good old incandescent bulbs flared to life, providing a harsh yellowish-white light.

  “Better?” Penny smiled disarmingly.

  A bench lined the hallway on one side, but acted as more of a planter. Mushrooms in varying states of growth and maturity filled the box, planted in the blackest soil. A few of the mushrooms attained gargantuan proportions.

  A strange feeling crept into Jasper’s gut and he tensed up.

  “What is it?” Temple whispered into his ear.

  “Nothing, at least I hope it’s nothing.”

  “There’s nothing to worry about,” Penny said.

  Jasper winced. He’d never had a soft whisper.

  A door opened at the opposite end of the hallway; a figure blocked the light coming from the other side.

  “Bring them along, Penny.” The gruff voice echoed down the hallway.

  “Don’t mind him,” Penny said.

  “Who? Your father? Steve, right?” Jasper asked. Why did he feel as if he were meeting a girlfriend’s father for the first time? He shook his head.

  “Yes. I’m sure we can clear all this up.” Penny swung her gaze around on him and smiled.

  “Calm down there, Romeo,” Temple whispered in Jasper’s ear. Penny didn’t react.

  “Here we go.” Penny stepped through the door past her father, who immediately blocked the entrance.

  “So, you’re FBI, eh?” Steve folded thick arms across a broad chest. He was an imposing man with an equally imposing beard and head of hair. The silver locks fell across one side of his face, which was interesting since the uncovered side appeared as if it’d been terribly scalded—apparently he didn’t care and perhaps wore it as a badge or show of defiance. Regardless of the burn mark or port wine stain, Steve’s appearance resembled the same mythological Norse stock as Penny.

  “Yes, sir,” Jasper said, and introduced h
imself and Temple.

  “Steve Stahlberg, proprietor of Wayland Precision.”

  “Nice sign out front,” Jasper said. “Noticed Thor’s hammer under the name.”

  Steve grinned and glanced at Penny, who stood directly behind him. “See? I told you someone would notice.”

  “May we come in?” Temple asked. “I have to admit, I’m not overly fond of the pungent smell out here in the hallway.”

  “I’m afraid it won’t be much better in here,” Steve said, “but please, come in.” He stepped aside, granting them entrance. “The main office is down here, away from the metal working upstairs. One of the few places we can speak at a normal level and not go deaf.”

  A few aquariums dotted the office, but they were all dim at the moment, and Jasper couldn’t make out what sort of fish lived in them. Typical office furniture filled the room: filing cabinets, desks, conference table, a few computers, and other accouterments one would expect.

  A chair squeaked, and Carlos stepped out of the shadows near the back of the office, as if he’d been hiding.

  “What can we help you with today, officers?” Steve leaned against a filing cabinet, which emitted a screech as it slid an inch or two on the tile flooring.

  “Special Agents,” Temple said.

  “Carlos may have information on the accident and kidnappings. May we speak with him alone?” Jasper asked.

  “Nah, let’s just chat all together here, sound good?” Steve stated, more than asked.

  “If Carlos agrees,” Temple said.

  Carlos stepped forward and nodded. “We can talk about anything you like in front of them.”

  “All right, general question here,” Jasper said. “Why are you growing all those mushrooms? It’s odd.”

  “Let’s say we’re a tad superstitious,” Steve said.

  “I thought I’d heard it all,” Temple said. “I mean, all the random acts people practice because they think it’ll bring them luck or ward off evil spirits.”

  Steve shrugged. “You going to ask anything relevant? If not, I’ll show you out.”

  “Hold on,” Jasper said. “We’re part of a special unit within the FBI—”

  Temple held up a hand, stopping Jasper. He hadn’t realized how proprietary she was regarding SAG. “Yes, I head up an investigative unit called the Scientific Anomalies Group. We have reason to believe there is something going on in the area involving a cult. We’ve also found traces of an element a scientist attached to SAG has never seen before.”

  Temple paused. Steve, Penny, and Carlos didn’t flinch or blink.

  Temple continued, “This element is foreign to our world. My agent thinks it’s alien, from another universe. I think it may be demonic in origin.”

  Penny’s eyes flicked toward Steve. Her father chuckled. “Aliens or devils, huh?” He scratched at his beard. “You’re serious?”

  Temple nodded.

  Carlos stepped forward, appearing eager to get this impromptu meeting over.

  “Ah,” Jasper said, “tell us, Carlos, what were you doing at the Euclid Hotel earlier?”

  Steve and Penny shot each other indecipherable glances.

  “I wasn’t—”

  “Save it, we saw you there. Awfully suspicious behavior.” Jasper raised his eyebrows. “Wouldn’t you agree? And you never glimpsed us following you?”

  “What? No.”

  Jasper focused on Carlos, staring him down. “So, why were you at the Euclid Hotel?”

  Penny spoke up. “He was at the hotel under my orders.”

  “But what could you possibly want with the Euclid Hotel?”

  “Is parking behind a hotel against the law? I frequent a nearby auto parts store, and I’d rather park in the alley.” Carlos seemed proud of himself for that bit of lying.

  Temple sighed. “We’re not your enemy. We’re trying to stop a bunch of senseless murders—”

  “And suicides,” Jasper added.

  “All right. How about this,” Temple said, “do you know anything about mangled bodies and strange figures made of mist or haze?”

  Steve and Penny glanced at one another again—clearly aware of what Temple said, and clearly hiding something.

  Jasper decided to take a different tack. He walked toward and pointed at the aquariums. “What sort of fish do you have in the tanks?”

  “Not fish. Sea squirts.”

  “Salt water tanks, huh?” Jasper bent over and peered inside. “So, you grow mushrooms and have a bunch of sea squirts. This is truly an eclectic machine shop.”

  “We spend a lot of time here,” Penny said, “and we each have our little diversions.”

  “Okay, back to business,” Jasper said, and moved away from the aquariums. “What sort of metal work do you perform here?”

  “We specialize in stainless steel and exotic alloys.”

  “Ah, okay. I see.” But Jasper didn’t, really. His familiarity with machining was passing and, in any event, quite a few years back. One of his cousins in Tennessee had owned a small machine shop, but he and Jasper had never been close.

  He stood near a desk and glanced at the papers littering the surface. Temple spoke up—good, a distraction while he stole a few furtive glances.

  “Ever deal with thermite?” Temple asked.

  “No.” Steve, Penny, and Carlos all answered at once.

  Jasper scanned the desktop: a few papers with Wayland Precision on the letterhead, a notebook, a ledger, and poking from the corner of another notebook, a symbol. No, a hammer, and arcing atop the hammer the words: Völundr’s Hammer.

  “Find anything interesting, Agent Wilde?” Penny asked.

  “You can call me Jasper. Sorry, I was intrigued by the hammer on this piece of paper.” He tapped the paper in question.

  “Oh, that,” she said, waving as if the paper were a trifle. “I considered renaming the company Völundr’s Hammer at one time, but Wayland Precision was my father’s brainchild, so we let the name be.”

  “This may be a silly question, but why Wayland Precision?” Jasper glanced at Steve, Carlos, and settled on Penny. “I mean, no one named Wayland works here, right? Does Wayland mean something to you?” He turned his attention back to Steve.

  “It’s an old blacksmith thing, from Northern Europe—a fairly common tale, that of Wayland the Smith. Do you have any other questions for Carlos? We’re busy, and running a business, you know.”

  “Of course,” Temple said, “but I’m not sure I understand why Carlos was at the Euclid.”

  Carlos started: “I told you—”

  “By my direction,” Penny repeated. “And that’s all I’m going to say for now.”

  “You’re going to leave it at that? Do you have anything you can tell us that will aid our investigation? We’re trying to prevent any further kidnappings and deaths.”

  Steve, Penny, and Carlos remained silent.

  “May I contact you again?” Jasper asked, hopeful Penny would say yes, but Steve stiffened.

  “If we learn anything, we’ll reach out to you. Do you have business cards?”

  Temple and Jasper handed them each one of their cards.

  “You can call me at any time,” Temple said, and glared at Jasper, stopping him from saying the same to Penny.

  They were promptly escorted from the building and back in the oppressive heat.

  “Well, that was different. I’m not sure what to make of them.” Temple squinted and shielded her eyes.

  “We got some info from them, and a bunch of weird hobbies. We need to put all this together and see what we can come up with.”

  Temple’s phone erupted into “When the Saints Come Marching In.” “Ah, that’d be Vance. Hopefully they’ve come up with something on their end.”

  Gravel crunched, the sound of tires rolling over loose rocks and pebbles. They’d almost rounded the building to where Temple had parked on Hump Street, but both of them stopped and gazed behind them.

  A deep blue compact car sped off, but i
n the opposite direction, up Summer Street. A Yaris, perhaps? Jasper squinted.

  “Think the car is related?”

  Temple shrugged and answered her cell. “Hold on one moment, Vance.”

  “Eh. Probably not,” Jasper said. “Maybe I’m paranoid after our bizarre encounter among the toadstools.”

  “No, you’re in a daze after drooling all over Princess Toadstool.”

  Jasper grinned. “Good one.”

  Chapter 21

  “Where have you been?” Rao flipped up his sleeve and twisted his wrist over, examining a gleaming band. He wore the face of his watch on the underside of his wrist.

  Lali’s fascination with the man had begun a few months ago. He lacked distinguishing features, but the man’s oddness remained with her—shaved head, bleached eyebrows, and face dull and smooth. At first, she’d thought the man plastered his face with an off-white powder.

  The mushy-faced man was curious over her relationship with the young Hispanic man, Carlos.

  She’d dated Carlos, but they’d broken up after he decided he wanted to work things out with his wife. He still insisted on coming around the diner afterward, but to what end? Taunting her? Tormenting her? Carlos was lucky she’d never dumped hot coffee in his lap. But the bastard only ordered water.

  “I summoned you well over an hour ago,” said Rao harshly. “If this is how you respond to Rao’s commands, perhaps you need another lesson.”

  Lali’s hand twitched, but she resisted the urge to touch her cheek where he’d slapped her earlier. He’d roughed her up a bit, but she didn’t hate it when Rao did so—she was biding her time.

  “Are you listening to me?” Rao stood a few inches from her, invading her personal space, which he’d taken from her over and over the past few weeks in so many ways. The man had an insatiable appetite.

  “I am listening, Rao.”

  He raised an open hand, but she grabbed his wrist. “Wait! Please. I have information.”

  His hand remained open and raised, but she squeezed harder.

  “You know the consequences of such insolence.” He ripped his arm from her grip. “Rao does not tolerate such.”

  The odd man had invited her to a party, telling her the experience would be unlike anything she ever witnessed. She agreed and he picked her up at the diner after her shift ended. He drove what she called a child molester van—the cargo type with no windows down the sides. She went along willingly with the strange man, not thinking much about the van. She never turned down a good party, and she could take care of herself if push came to shove. Even now, she carried with her a small pistol.