Starling by Lesley Livingston

his own father had told him who—and what—he was. The secret history of the Starling family was a legacy that had been passed from generation to generation. Since before his ancestors could write down the stories of their gods, they had served them. The Aesir. Thor and Odin and Loki; lovely Freya; fearsome Hel, Mistress of the Underworld; and Heimdall the Bridgekeeper … the gods and goddesses of the Vikings were the guiding stars in the skies above the Starling clan’s heads. The prophecies of those gods demanded an eventual, catastrophic ending, and it was the duty of their devotees to help bring that about.
    Until my own father betrayed that sacred trust , Rory thought bitterly, his hand clenching into a fist on top of the diary page. But that was much later.
    On that night in Copenhagen, Gunnar had found himself at the head of the path. He followed that path in his mind and was rewarded with a glimpse of the glorious horror he would bring down upon the world … but then, suddenly, everything went dim. A thick fog rolled across his mind, and the images were swallowed up in uncertainty. But it was enough. He knew what he must do.
    When I came back to my senses, I was alone. I swept up the acorns that lay scattered on the table, put them in my pocket, and left the bar. The night air was cool and soft, and everything around me was brighter and sharper than it had been before. Down in the harbor, I stopped to gaze out over the dark waters. It was late enough that there were only a handful of people around, and no one paid me any heed. No one—except the famous bronze statue of the Little Mermaid, who sat out on her rock in the middle of the bay. As I gazed out at her, I swear I saw her lips curve in a wicked, beckoning smile as she flicked the tip of her tail fin .
     
    I nodded politely and continued on my way. My own eyes have been opened, and now I can see … but I realize also that such visions hold dangers of their own. I must be careful. But I must be brave—
     
    Rory was jolted out of his immersion in his father’s story by the sharp, insistent ringtone of his phone. He looked at the number and decided not to answer it. His “business transactions” could wait. He turned his gaze back to the last lines of the entry.
    This morning, Father asked me what I seemed to be so very happy about .
     
    “I have met my future,” I said. “I have met the woman I will marry, and she is wonderful. Her name is Yelena Rose. She lives in New York City. And she is as beautiful as I knew she would be.”
     
    With her at my side, I will do what must be done .
     
    It is my destiny. Mine … and Yelena’s .
     
    “And mine, Top Gunn,” Rory murmured as he closed the diary in his lap and stared out over the lake. “Only I won’t give up on my destiny like you did, old man....”
    If he was to believe any of what his father had written, then he knew that his ancestors had dedicated their lives in service to the Aesir—the gods of Norse legend—and awaited their return to the mortal realm.
    Rory had also learned that there were other pantheons of gods, all with devoted clans of mortal followers. He knew that magick existed. He even knew how to use it after discovering the golden acorns hidden in Gunnar’s study.
    Perhaps most surprising of all the things Rory had discovered was that Gosforth Academy wasn’t just a school. It was a safe house. Neutral ground. A place where the influential families—rival clans serving rival gods—could keep their children safe under the same roof. It was both a fail-safe situation and an insurance policy.
    According to what Rory had subsequently learned about the school history, it had worked extremely well from the time the school was founded. No single family had ever gone out of its way to make trouble. Rites were kept, rituals preserved, but so far none of the old gods had come thundering back—either as nuisance or outright threat to humanity.
    Gunnar Starling, however, had