Champion. Really? No, really? I’m not even in high school yet, and they expect me to fight some giant serpent and save the world?

This isn’t just some boxing tournament. It’s the world.

Matt didn’t quite get how that worked. Kill the serpent; save the world. That’s how it was supposed to go. In the myth of Ragnarok, the gods faced off against the monsters. If they defeated the monsters, the world would continue as it was. If the monsters won, they’d take over. If both sides died—as they did in the myths predicting Ragnarok—the world would be plunged into an ice age.

What if the stories weren’t real?

But if the stories aren’t real, then Thor isn’t real. That amulet around your neck isn’t real. Your power isn’t real.

Except it obviously was. Which meant…

Even thinking about that made Matt’s stomach churn and his head hurt and his feet ache to run home. Just race home and jump in bed and pull up the covers and hide. Puke and hide: the strategy of champions.

Matt thought of his parents catching him, and his heart pounded as he struggled to breathe. They expected him to do this, just like they expected him to walk home after practice and make his own science fair project. They expected him to be a Thorsen.

Something tickled his chest, and he reached to swat off a bug. Only it wasn’t a bug. It was his amulet. Vibrating.

Um, no, that would be your heart, racing like a runaway train.

The tickling continued, and he swiped the amulet aside as he scratched the spot. Only it wasn’t his heart—it really was the pendant. When he held it between his fingers, he could feel the vibrations.

Weird. It had never done that before.

“You are looking for Odin,” said a voice behind him.

Matt wheeled. There was no one there.

“You are looking for Odin,” the voice said again, and he followed it down to a girl, no more than seven. She had pale blond braids and bright blue eyes. She wore a blue sundress and no shoes. In this weather? She must be freezing. Where were her parents?

“Hey,” he said, smiling as he crouched. “Do you need help? I can help, but we should probably find your parents first.”

The girl shook her head, braids swinging. “I do not need your help, Matthew Thorsen. You need mine.”

Strange way for a kid to talk. Formal, like someone out of an old movie. And the way she was looking at him, so calmly. He didn’t recognize her, but in Blackwell, there were so many little blond kids that it was impossible to keep them all straight.

“Okay, then,” he said. “You can help me find your parents.”

“No, you must find Odin. He will help.”

“Help what?”

She frowned, confused. “I do not know. That is to come. That is not now. I know only what is now, and nowyou must hear.”

“Hear what?”

She took off into the crowd.

Matt bolted upright. “Wait!”

The girl turned. She looked at him, her blue eyes steady. Then she mouthed something, and he understood her, like she was standing right there, whispering in his ear: You must hear.

She turned and ran again. Matt hesitated, but only for a second. As safe as Blackwell was, no kid her age should be wandering around alone.

He raced after her.

SIX

LAURIE

“OWEN”

At the parade, Laurie had seen that the shield was missing, and she’d known that Fen must have gone back for it. She wasn’t sure if that’s where he got the black eye, and he wouldn’t tell her what had happened. All she got out of him was that he was “handling it,” but he looked like whatever it was had handled him.

Her temper wasn’t often horrible, but as she waded through the carnival games and crowds of people standing in lines to buy food or tickets to the rides, she was shaking mad. Even the smells of popcorn, funnel cake, and cotton candy didn’t distract her. Admittedly, she still kept looking at all the games of chance that were set up to convince people to spend all their money on games with pretty lame prizes. She won at those. She had a weird luck with carnival games and had toted home enough stuffed bunnies and creepy dolls over the past few years that her mother had taken a trunkful to the kids at the hospital. Maybe if Laurie wasn’t so mad she could stop and play just one, but she wasmad. If Fen got caught with the shield, he would put them both at risk. If her mom weren’t so adamant that Fen wasn’t welcome, or if her dad was around, or if Matt weren’t the sheriff’s kid, or if… well, if Fen weren’t being so stupid, things would be better, but none of the ifs were truths. The worst possibility was that Matt told the sheriff and she and Fen were both arrested. The best case was that Fen would get in trouble—and she’d lose him. So, even the best case was horrible.

Unless Matt doesn’t tell.

Even before this, Laurie had needed to talk to Fen about the weird fish dream, but she hadn’t been able to get him alone since the other night at the longship. Even at the science fair, he wasn’t available. He’d actually invited his friend Hunter to join them. She wasn’t going to be ignored any longer. She’d talk to him whether he wanted to hear it or not. Maybe if they turned the shield in, Matt would keep their secret.

As she walked around the festival, she kept a lookout for Fen. She stopped at the Ferris wheel, the Tilt-A-Whirl, and the teacup ride. No Fen. She wandered through the petting-zoo area. No Fen.

“Where are you?” she muttered. She’d call him, but he didn’t have a cell phone.

“Hello.” A boy a few years older than her stepped up beside her. “I wondered where you were.”

“What?” She paused.

He looked like he belonged… well, anywhere but Blackwell. He wore a pair of black-and-blue tennis shoes, black trousers that hung low, a blue shirt that looked silky, and slightly longish hair that was dyed blue. Odder still, the boy had on jewelry that was almost girly: a pair of tiny black bird earrings in one ear and a twisted metal ring on his finger.

“Are you looking for me yet?” he asked.

“No.” She scowled. “I don’t know you. Why would I look for you?”

“I’m Odin.”

“Uh-huh. Odin.” She did laugh then. Anyone who grew up in Blackwell knew the basics of their mythology. Between school, parents, plays, a well-stocked myth section in the library, and some pretty terrible videos in every grade, it was impossible to completely avoid myth in Blackwell. That didn’t mean it was real.

“So, Odin, I guess there’s another play this year?” She hadn’t picked up any activities listing for the fair, but even if she had, she wasn’t so much up for watching another play on some battle or other. Some people in Blackwell took their Scandinavian heritage far too seriously.

“Would you like to play a game?” Odin looked around for a moment and then pointed to a booth where some sort of gambling game was set up. “You’d be good at that one.”

It was supposed to be a game of luck, but she’d been banned from it the year before when she won every time. The man running it insisted she was cheating somehow; she hadn’t been. This year, she was staying out of trouble—no games of luck for her. This boy obviously had heard about the ugly scene last year when she’d had to give up every dollar she’d won andthe money she’d paid to play.

“Very funny,” she said.

Odin gave her a weird little smile, but didn’t reply. He just stood there waiting. It seemed odd, but she didn’t have the time or interest to waste on some blue-haired boy. She shook her head and turned away.

“You’re leaving already?” he asked.

“I need to find someone.”