Hrimgrimir thumped out the door of the suite, his lieutenants at his heels, all taking on more ordinary forms as they left. Loki stared at the door, lost in thought. On the city streets far below he could hear the wail of a siren, approaching and then fading away.
There were likely to be plenty more where that came from if the Jotunar broke too soon. But he didn’t think they would. He was no fool, and they knew it.
He was certainly not fool enough to tell them what he had discovered about Freya’s plans for Mist.
Returning to the bathroom, Loki untied the robe and let it fall to his feet. He conjured up a conservative, rather ordinary-looking business suit and critically studied the effect. He’d already made arrangements to have representatives from Saks, Wilkes Bashford, Armani, and Bottega Veneta come to his room at eight in the morning with their best selection of fine ready-made menswear.
But nothing could match the hedonistic pleasure of having a $10,000 handmade suit cut from the finest fabrics mortal money could buy, even if he could only wear it in private for the time being. When he was satisfied with his appearance, he placed a call to Fredkin and Associates and made an appointment for the next morning. After making clear to the tailor that he would be giving them regular business and was more than willing to pay for a rush order over the Yule holidays, he grabbed his cane and went downstairs to the magnificent dining room. He was shown to the best table in the place and ordered a Blood and Sand.
He sipped the drink, his mind busy with strategic calculations.
Sometime over the next few days, while he handled any number of other problems and concerns, he would be meeting Briggs for a long and very private discussion about his vital role in shaping the senator’s very promising future. And then there was the matter of the criminal element, who would soon learn that this city was theirs no longer. And once he had opened the bridges again, he wouldn’t only bring more Jotunar into Midgard.
Fenrisulfr, Loki thought, would be first. They had not always been on good terms, but the boy knew that his failure to kill Odin was a nearly unforgivable black mark against him and would therefore be unquestioningly obedient and enthusiastic in his work. The crisply dressed server, a young man with bedroom eyes and very kissable lips, expertly delivered a second cocktail, smiling with more-than-professional enthusiasm. A female server had stopped a few feet behind him, a water tray balance on one hand, and was staring at Loki with a rapt expression. She licked her lips.
Midgard, Loki thought, was a world of endless opportunities. He sipped his drink again and crooked a finger.
13
Ryan and Gabi huddled together in the darkness, sitting on the sleeping bag Mist had dug up for Gabi. The house had grown quiet, which meant Mist and Dainn had probably gone to bed . . .
Together? Ryan wondered. “Cousin,” Mist had said, but Ryan didn’t believe it. There had definitely been something going on between those two.
That was one reason he couldn’t seem to sleep.
“Caramba,” Gabi said, her voice thick with drowsiness. “I don’t remember when I had so much to eat.”
Ryan couldn’t, either. He knew it was right to be here. He’d known it since Mist came to his rescue. It was already more than he’d ever expected.
And he was scared shitless.
“Hey,” Gabi said, punching him gently in the shoulder. “What’s wrong? You change your mind or something?”
“No.”
“I know you’re not loco, Ry, but everything else about this is crazy. Magic swords and giants and all that shit . . .”
Ryan drew his legs up to his chest. It amazed him that his only friend in the world had trusted him enough to accept the things he’d told her and hadn’t just decided he wasn’t worth bothering with anymore.
“And elves,” he said, “and dwarves.”
“Oh, yeah. Almost forgot about those. And what about her?” She pointed toward the door as if Mist were standing right outside it. “Who is she, anyway? Sure, she looks tough, and she’s supposed to be some kind of warrior. But she don’t look so important to me. Shouldn’t she live in a castle or something?”
“This isn’t a fairy tale, Gab,” Ryan said, resting his chin on his knees. “It’s real. There are going to be more of those giants, and a war that could destroy the whole world.”
“Yeah. I seen that movie, too.”
“Bad stuff is coming. We have to be ready.”
“Then we should get out of here.”
“You know I can’t leave.” He touched the center of his chest. “It isn’t just the dreams. It’s knowing I’m supposed to be here. You, too.”
“Me?” Gabi laughed. “I’m only here because of you.”
“So you’d go back to the streets if you could?”
“What makes you think we’ll still be here tomorrow? She didn’t say nothing about us staying after tonight.”
“No,” Ryan said, closing his eyes. “But we will.”
“It’s not like you’ve ever been wrong before, Ry, but I’m the one who keeps us alive.”
“I haven’t really been alive in a long time,” Ryan said. “Neither have you. We both have a new chance now.”
She snorted. “To get killed.”
“He won’t let that happen.”
“He?” Gabi looked at him out of the corner of her eye. “The elf guy? If it wasn’t for the pointed ears, I’d never believe it. Everyone knows elves are those little things with wings.”
“That’s fairies,” Ryan said, flushing.
“Elves, fairies, whatever.” She lowered her voice. “You like him, don’t you?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Ryan said, his own ears beginning to burn. “I barely even talked to him.”
“Lot of people would say he’s pretty hot. All that long black hair.”
“He didn’t even look at me. And even if I was interested, which I’m not, it’s obvious he and Mist . . .” He trailed off, unable to meet Gabi’s worried gaze.
“Maybe not so obvious to them,” Gabi said.
“As soon as I met Dainn, I knew he was important, like Mist. I mean, to save the world from the giants and the Sauron guy. Loki, I mean.”
“Loki. Sounds like some kid’s toy or something.”
“That’s not what Mist told me.” He turned to face Gabi, willing her to understand. “I know we can help them. And they’ll protect us from the giants and everything else.”
“I always protected you, Ry,” she said, sadness in her eyes.
He clasped her hand. “I know. But it’s not just you and me anymore. It’s everyone.”
Gabi’s jaw set. “If you say so. But the second something looks funny, I’m outta here. You can come with me or not.”
Ryan knew better than to keep arguing with her. He always ended up giving in, and he couldn’t do that this time. “If you have to go,” he said softly, “I’ll understand.”
“Shit,” Gabi snapped. She laid a small, warm hand on his shoulder. “Sorry, Ry,” she said. “I know this is important to you.”
“We should get some sleep,” Ryan said. “I think Mist is going to be asking a lot more questions tomorrow.”
“Yeah.” Gabi got up. “You’re still taking the bed.”
“Okay.” Ryan tugged at his oversized pants, not minding at all that they didn’t fit. He had a bandage on his chin where the giants had cut it. He was clean. He wasn’t hungry. And he didn’t have to walk the streets, hoping he’d earn enough to get him and Gabi through one more day.
“G’night,” Gabi said, stretching out on the sleeping bag. “And try not to dream, Ry.”
He shivered and pulled the blanket all the way up to his chin.
“Are you ready?” Dainn asked.
He sat across from Mist on the living room rug, gazing steadily into her eyes. She was still tense, and all too aware of Dainn’s natural elvish scent, clean and brisk as a cool wind over the mountains of Alfheim.
She averted her gaze fro
m the swallowing darkness of his gaze, focusing on the next thing she saw. Unfortunately, that was still Dainn: his long, elegant hand resting palm-up on his knee. It was the kind of hand that could bring pleasure with the lightest touch of a fingertip.
And she’d asked Dainn if she was a problem for him. Did this glamour thing work both ways?
Curse it.
“Is your rib troubling you?” Dainn asked, a muscle twitching almost imperceptibly at the corner of his mouth.
“It’s nearly healed,” she said. Which it almost was, giving her capacity for fast healing, though she hadn’t helped it by working in the forge and it still hurt like Hel.
“I’m ready,” she said.
“Very well.” He hesitated, as if even he didn’t quite know where to start. “There are several kinds of magic among the peoples of the Eight Homeworlds.”
“I know,” she said, ticking off her fingers as if repeating a rote lesson. “Elf, growing things; Dwarf, earth and stone; Jotunn— two kinds, fire and ice; Galdr, the Rune-magic, ranging from the most powerful kind Odin uses to what any Valkyrie can do. And Seidr, Freya’s magic.”
“Known to only a few of the Aesir,” Dainn said. “It was once the sole province of the Vanir, but Freya taught it to Odin. And there is a magic more ancient still, also of the Vanir but long forgotten.” He glanced toward the door to the hall as if he had heard something outside it, then turned back to Mist. “Your Jotunn abilities will come more naturally in time. I do not know the Seidr or the ancient magic, and you would not benefit from elven magic now, which only very few non-Alfar can master. We will concentrate on the Galdr.”
“Fine by me.”
“First I will teach you to breathe. It is the foundation for everything that follows.”
“I know how to breathe,” Mist said. “That’s one of the first preparations any fighter makes before practice.”
“This is different,” Dainn said. “It is the awakening of the mind to accept what as yet lies beyond your reach.”
“Take the pebble from my hand, Grasshopper,” she quoted.
“I beg your pardon?”
“I don’t suppose you ever watched television back in the seventies.”
“Is there some significance to the reference?”
“Never mind.” Mist sighed, aware that she was only putting off the inevitable. “You said you studied with a lama in Tibet. I should warn you that I’m no more a New Age groupie than a sorceress.”
“I do have some difficulty imagining you at the feet of an ancient wise man in a mountain cave, sitting absolutely still for days at a time.”
Only the slightly wry tone of his voice told Mist that he was teasing her. “I hope you’re not suggesting that’s what I’m going to be doing,” she said.
“I am only moderately wise, and I anticipate hours, not days. We both have bodily needs.”
Bodily needs. She could no longer tell if he was joking. “Go to it,” she said, swallowing hard.
Dainn cleared his throat. “Given your own long time in Midgard, you may not be surprised to learn that there are many diverse disciplines that can enhance the shaping and controlling magic. In India . . .”
Mist did her best to listen attentively, but when Dainn began to speak of chakras and how they corresponded to the Runes, her eyes nearly glazed over. Once the actual breathing exercises began, however, she saw the value in his seemingly pointless instruction. They dulled her awareness of his physical body, and her own.
Dainn seemed pleased with her progress. Like Mist, he had gradually become more relaxed, his shoulders slightly dropped and his eyes half closed.
“Very good,” he said. “We will always begin every lesson in the same way.”
At that rate, they’d never actually begin the lessons. Mist almost wished she could encourage more procrastination.
“You sure you haven’t taught magic before?” she asked dryly.
“Not during my time in Midgard.”
“You could have fooled me.”
He tilted his head, his gaze turning inward. “It is late. Do you wish to continue?”
“Do you?”
“I am not tired.”
“Neither am I.”
“Remember that I will need to touch the surface of your thoughts. Until you can hold the Runes in your mind and fully utilize their power, I will have to guide you.”
Her muscles began to tense up again. “I can handle it,” she said.
“Then let us work through the Rune- staves one by one. First is Fehu, of Freya’s Aett. It is the Rune of abundance and plenty, success and happiness.”
“I know what it means,” Mist said, too sharply.
“You know the surface meaning,” he said, “but that is only of use in the rudimentary magic you required as a Valkyrie. When you aided me before, you simply held the shapes in your mind. Now you will learn every major and minor aspect of each stave in the Runic Alphabet so that every Bind-Rune and charm you choose to employ will create the precise result you intend. Each of the Runes must become a part of your very being, summoned with the merest thought.”
“And what is the price?” she asked.
“The price?”
“Just fighting the Jotunar took nearly all of your strength. Loki was weakened by trying to leave Midgard. What’s going to happen to me?”
“You are already paying a price in losing the life you knew and taking on the grave responsibilities your mother has bequeathed you,” he said.
“That’s not what I meant, and you know it,” she said. “If I’m going to have to hoard my magic to keep from burning out—”
He gathered himself to rise. “If you are not prepared to continue—”
“Sit down, Dainn. Fehu, right?”
Dainn resumed his position, his body stiff and his expression guarded. “Fehu,” he said, as if he were reciting from a book. “The Rune can bring great good fortune to those who master it. Fehu reversed is failure, discord, bondage. Like all the Runes, it can be used for good or evil. And there is a fine balance between the two aspects. It requires great skill to keep that balance and not fall into that place where the Merkstave, the Reversal, takes precedence.”
“You sound as if you think I’ll be tempted to use it.”
“You must walk both paths before you can control either aspect. It is the darker way in which you will need the greatest guidance. If you surrender to hubris, the magic will fail you when you most need it.”
Was Dainn speaking from experience? Had he walked that same path and gone astray when his own magic had flowed freely?
She knew better than to ask.
“Are you ready to open your mind?” Dainn asked.
Mist nodded and closed her eyes, bracing herself as if for attack. She could never forget what it had been like when they’d touched minds the first time—the way his emotions came to her so clearly, the anger and the shame and the sorrow. She didn’t want to feel that again.
But her personal fears didn’t matter now. She tried to relax, and after awhile she began to sense Dainn’s mental presence, resting feather-light on the surface of her thoughts.
“Let go,” he said. “Release your barriers.”
“What barriers?” she whispered, as if a louder voice might jar their fragile connection.
“There are doors in your mind. Let them open.”
Mist tried to envision such doors, but they didn’t seem to exist. “I’m not trying to keep you out,” she said. “If there’s something in the way, I can’t feel it.”
“It is there, I assure you.”
“Then show it to me!”
After a long silence, Mist opened her eyes. Dainn was staring at her, his eyes black and cold.
“Very well,” he said.
Dainn attacked.
He threw everything he had into the assault, every Merkstave he had avoided so assiduously, every particle of anger and hatred he had nurtured since the fall of Asgard. He remembered the laughter in Loki’s e
yes when he had revealed his hideous deception . . . remembered each humiliation, each betrayal, the contempt on the faces of the Aesir and Alfar as they pronounced his punishment.
With rage and black Galdr he constructed a Rune- etched blade sharper than anything made by god or man, swinging it mercilessly at the wards Mist denied, aiming for the very heart of her being.
Still she resisted him, utterly oblivious to her own power, shattering the blade and casting him off as easily as a hound sheds water from its coat. The fierce icefire gale she had thrown at him so unwittingly in Asbrew—the terrible weapon that could have destroyed him had its owner understood what she possessed— remained quiescent behind the gates.
This was the trial Dainn knew would come when his mind touched Mist’s again. She hadn’t known what she’d done in Asbrew; she couldn’t drop her instinctive barriers unless she accepted that they were there. He would have to rouse those frigid fires once more, hoping that Mist could control them when she understood that they, and the wards that bound them, were equally a part of her nature.
One more weapon remained to him. He would never have considered it if he believed Mist was incapable of protecting herself. If Mist had failed to recognize the true nature of the beast before, now she would see it for what it was. She would know. And there would be nothing he could do to call that knowledge back.
Nor could he be sure he could ever again defeat the thing he had fought so long. The cage had already been weakened by his use of magic, by Freya, by Mist herself. If he was lucky, he would keep enough control to avoid causing damage. He would have to.
Pushing himself beyond the restraints of rational thought, Dainn unleashed the beast. The creature, fed by his rage, was as strong as it had ever been. It slammed its bulk against the bars and burst through, roaring in triumph, slashing through Dainn’s defenses as if they were built of ancient, crumbling parchment. Dainn had just enough will left to send it outward, leaping for the enemy walls.
Mist screamed.
Dainn had no time to brace himself. Mist’s counterattack came hard and fast, slamming against the beast, driving it back with ice and flame and air and stone. It scrambled for purchase on formless ground, snarling and slavering and howling defiance.
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