“Hey,” Eric said. He reached for her again. She swung around, stopping him in his tracks with a look that worked about 99 percent of the time.
It worked this time, too. “Hold on,” he said, raising his hands. “I’m not coming on to you or anything. This has never happened to me before, and I’d like to talk about it.”
“What is there to discuss?” Mist asked coldly.
His very blue eyes were earnest and grave. “Look, this kind of thing … it makes you think about mortality. Of what we all have to lose. And I think you want to talk about it as much as I do.”
Think about mortality. It was all Mist could do not to burst out laughing.
“I doubt that,” she said, unable to understand why she couldn’t seem to look away from his face.
“Can I at least walk with you back to your car?” he asked.
Mist could hardly refuse to let him share a public sidewalk. “I can’t stop you,” she said.
He retrieved his bike from where he’d left it leaning against the railing and fell in beside her, jogging a little to catch up.
“You move fast,” he said in an almost teasing tone.
She looked at him askance. “Your legs are long enough.”
Eric broke into a chuckle of real amusement. “I’m not trying to start a contest,” he said.
You’d lose, Mist thought. Strong and fast by mortal standards didn’t cut it against a Valkyrie. Even one as tired and worn out as she often felt she was.
They walked the rest of the way in silence. Eric followed her to the parking lot and her ancient Volvo, which had seemed the perfect mount when she’d bought it at a “pre-owned” car lot around the same time she’d moved into the loft in Dogpatch.
“Quite a … classic you got there,” Eric said.
Mist thrust out her hand. “Good-bye, Eric Larsson.”
He trapped her hand between both of his. She tensed, ready to kick those long, muscular legs out from under him.
“Hey,” he said softly. “Easy. I just want you to know—” He blushed a little, his fair skin suddenly awash with freckles. It made him look as much boy as man. “I admire what you did back there. And I still want to talk.”
All Mist had to do was move just a little, and the man would be flat on his ass. But there was still that something about him, and she recognized why she was fighting it so hard. She felt the same attraction he obviously felt, but she’d been alone too long to know what to do with it. Or even how it was supposed to be done.
She sighed. “Look,” she said, pulling her hand free. “I don’t—I’m not—”
“It’s up to you, Mist,” he said, serious again. “I’m going to be looking in on Bella this evening … say, around six, if they’ll let me in. You want to talk, you come then. If not—” He shrugged. “So be it. But at least take this.”
He handed her a business card. Mist shoved it in her jacket pocket without looking at it. He held the Volvo door open for her, and she thanked him and started the engine. He was still staring after her when she glanced in the rearview mirror.
* * *
“This isn’t how it should be,” Mist told Kara as they paused beside one of the wide, intricately carved pillars that supported the vast roof of Odin’s Hall. Stretching as far as the eye could see, long tables were covered with every type of food and drink, all being rapidly consumed by Odin’s warriors, the Einherjar. The same once-lifeless warriors Mist and her Sisters had brought from the battlefields of Midgard.
But now the Valkyrie were nothing more than servants, carrying platters of mead and ale to each table, ceaselessly filling cup and drinking horn, enduring the ribald jests of the men at their feasting.
The Aesir and Vanir, sitting at ornate tables set above the former mortals, simply ignored the Sisters. But the worst were the elves, the high-and-mighty Alfar, who ate and drank so delicately with their elegant fingers, their long hair elaborately dressed, clothed better than the gods themselves in velvets and jewels. For them, the Valkyrie simply didn’t exist.
They were the ones Mist came to despise the most, they who would never dirty their hands in a real battle but only fight with their Alfar-magic, bending and shaping the forces of nature. That was the quality that made them such superb breeders of horses, but it also threw Mist’s greatest desire back into her face: the aching need to wield a real weapon in battle, a right forbidden her and her Sisters.
Kara sighed and shook her head. “It is our Fate,” she said. “We cannot resist it.”
“Why can’t we?” Mist asked. “Why can we not go to Odin, and—”
“What do you think he would do? Relieve us of our duties and send us to fight every day with the Einherjar? Or join in the battles we ride to when we choose our fallen warriors? Who, then, would supply Asgard with Einherjar to fight at Ragnarok?”
“Ragnarok is the very reason we should learn to fight,” Mist said. “Odin will have no time to send us to Midgard when it begins. He’ll need every warrior to stand against Loki and the Jotunar.”
“He’ll never agree.” Kara laid her hand on Mist’s stiff shoulder. “We are honored above all women. Give up your futile dream, and be grateful for what you are.”
Hrist came to stand with them, bearing the usual platter. “The Einherjar are calling for more ale,” she said.
With a sharp sigh, Mist returned to the kitchen, nearly as great as the hall itself, and filled her tray with flagons of mead. When the Einherjar began to call, she set her jaw and returned to her Fate.
* * *
It didn’t take much Rune-magic to convince the charge nurse to let her see Bella. Just a little misdirection and a few Runes scribbled on a piece of paper Mist quickly burned with her lighter the moment the man looked away.
After that, no one paid any attention to a woman in her late twenties wearing very average boots, jeans, and a leather jacket. She’d hidden her knives, just to be on the safe side.
She was only a little surprised to find Eric at Bella’s bedside, holding the older woman’s hand and laughing at some joke between them. Bella was smiling, if a little sadly, and a few more of Mist’s suspicions about Eric began to dispel. When he and Bella noticed Mist standing in the doorway, he beamed with open pleasure. No fear of preserving his masculine dignity here.
“Mist!” he said, jumping to his feet. “I knew you’d come.” He grinned at Bella. “Didn’t I tell you?”
Bella’s eyes filled with tears. “I have so much to … I don’t know what to say,” she whispered.
“You don’t have to say anything,” Mist said, taking the hard plastic chair Eric had vacated. She touched the older woman’s hand as Eric had done, feeling the same awkwardness as before, the hesitancy of the perpetual outsider. “I’m glad you’re all right.”
“They put me on fluids and gave me something to eat,” Bella said, an unexpectedly wry expression crossing her face. “But I don’t figure they’ll keep me here much longer.”
“We’ve been talking about that,” Eric said. “It was a fight, but Bella’s agreed to let me help her a little. She lost her apartment, and she hasn’t got any family anywhere near California.”
“He said he’d be like a son to me,” Bella said. She closed her eyes. “It’s wrong to take charity like this, just because I—”
“We’ve been through this, Bella,” Eric said gently. “It’s only until you get your feet under you again.”
“Yes.” Bella squeezed Mist’s hand. “I’ve almost forgotten how good people can be.”
So have I, Mist thought, meeting Eric’s gaze.
“Well,” Eric said, shoving his hands in his khaki trouser pockets, “maybe we’d better let you rest, huh? I’ve asked them to give me a call when they’re about to release you. I’ll be here to get you.”
But Bella clung to Mist’s hand. “Listen to me,” she said, suddenly urgent. “No matter what happens, it is your Fate. You cannot surrender, even when it seems you must fail.”
Mist stared at
the old woman. “I don’t know what you’re—”
Just as abruptly, Bella released Mist’s hand and turned her head away. “I’m … I’m just so embarrassed about all this fuss,” she said.
“Don’t be,” Eric said, as Mist tried to make sense of Bella’s strange transformation. He leaned over the bed and kissed her wrinkled cheek. “You sleep now, okay? And don’t try to think about anything.”
Bella nodded, and Mist rose from the chair. Together she and Eric left the room.
“That was strange, what she said,” Eric mused as they walked out into the late afternoon shadows.
“Yes,” Mist said. “But she wasn’t making much sense.”
“Well, she’s been through a helluva day,” Eric said.
Mist tried to put the woman’s words out of her mind. “You did a good thing in there,” she said.
He shrugged in obvious embarrassment. “Hey, I’m not exactly broke. And I’m not doing that much. She’s a nice lady, and she deserves a lot better than what she’s got.” His eyes brightened as he looked at Mist. “Since you came, I guess you were at least willing to see me again.”
“I came to visit Bella,” Mist said, but the words came out completely unconvincing.
“Okay. Sure, I understand. But maybe we could have that talk now? Over coffee, or”—he glanced at his expensive-looking watch—“dinner?”
“Coffee,” Mist said, before she could think better of it.
“Great. I know a little place … independent, you know, not Starbucks. But we’ll have to drive.”
“I’ll follow you,” Mist said quickly, before he could suggest that she ride with him.
“Sounds good.” He flashed her that big-hearted grin and gestured for her to precede him down the hall. She accepted his “gallantry” as mere courtesy and held the door open for him when they reached it.
* * *
The coffee was very good, and so was the conversation. Eric managed to draw Mist out as no one had been able to do for years, and though Mist had to be careful about what she said, she was pleased to learn that Eric had some passing knowledge of Norse “mythology.”
“You know,” he said, as they were finishing their second cups, “I read those Thor comics when I was a kid. I wanted to be like him. I thought maybe I could be, because everyone in my family was tall and blond”—he ruffled his hair self-consciously—“and I was pretty sure I could be great with a hammer.”
If only the real God of Thunder were as noble as the one in the comics, Mist thought. If only everything in Asgard had been so simple, so black and white.
“That Loki, though,” Eric said, shaking his head. “Always plotting and cackling over his temporary victories, thinking he had everyone else beat but never winning. I wonder why they put up with him the way they did.”
“They didn’t always,” Mist said.
“Yeah, I guess he got his share of punishment.” Eric looked down into his cooling coffee. “Sort of felt sorry for the guy. So much ambition, and nowhere to put it.”
“They made it pretty clear he was a hopeless case,” Mist said, taking another sip.
“Yeah. Hopeless. Still, you have to admire his persistence.”
Since Mist had never actually met the Slanderer in person, she was hardly an expert. But everyone knew how many times Loki had aided the Aesir, only to betray them again. And then came the ultimate betrayal, the one foretold, the one no man or god could prevent.
Fate.
“Persistent enough to destroy the universe,” Mist said aloud, “kill all the gods, and die himself at Heimdall’s hands.”
“You’re not talking comic books now.”
“The original myths have always interested me, too.”
“Then you know there has to be a balance. The whole universe would crumble without it. It’s not always a matter of good and evil.”
“Balance?” Mist shook her head. “Maybe here, on—”
She stopped, realizing she was about to say “Midgard.”
“You seem to have thought a lot about this,” she said, studying his face. “Quite the armchair philosopher.”
“Yeah, well.” He shrugged with that bashful air he could pull off so well. He reached across the table. “You look sad. I wish I knew what to say to make you smile.”
This time she didn’t slide her hand away. “Does someone have to smile to be happy?”
“So you’re happy now?”
“I don’t know.”
He laughed. “Well, at least you’re honest. That’s what I like about you. No pretensions. No games. And you’re not exactly hard on the eyes, either.”
“I take it that’s meant to be a compliment,” she said, letting an edge of irritation slip into her voice.
“Whoa,” he said. “Sorry. I just figured you’d heard that a lot. Or don’t you know you’re beautiful?”
“It isn’t very important to me,” she said.
“Then what is?” he asked, hanging on to her hand.
It was a question she hadn’t been able to answer in such a long time. But when she met Eric’s eyes again, she wondered if that was about to change.
You’re crazy, she thought. But maybe not. Maybe this was the last sign she needed that the old life was finally over.
“You haven’t told me a thing about yourself,” Eric said. “I can go first. I’m a legal consultant for a number of fairly large companies throughout the US and parts of Europe. I do a lot of traveling, but I get a fair amount of time off, too. I’m fortunate enough to make a good living, and I’m good at my job. I live on Nob Hill. I lead a pretty active life when I’m not on the road.” He looked into her eyes. “Now it’s your turn.”
Mist examined his words for boastfulness—which she’d never been able to tolerate—but his manner was casual and almost self-effacing. It made it much easier for her to open up, too. She sank back into her chair.
“I make swords,” she said. “Authentic weapons for collectors. The kind you could actually kill somebody with.”
He jerked back, pretending alarm. “I knew you were dangerous, but not that dangerous!”
“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’m very selective about my clients. And I’m paid very well, too. I have a good nest egg, and a loft in Dogpatch. Two Norwegian Forest Cats.” She blushed. “Kirby and Lee.”
Eric gave a full-throated laugh, attracting the curious attention of several fellow customers. “You really do know your comic books.”
“It was a joke, really,” she said. “But they’re good companions.”
“I wish I had time for pets,” he said, “but my life just doesn’t make it fair to them.” He lifted one blond brow. “I think, if I could, I’d like a few snakes. In a terrarium, of course.”
Mist shuddered. It wasn’t that she was afraid of snakes, but they did hold certain symbolic connotations she couldn’t quite ignore. “To each his own,” she said lightly.
“You don’t have to have everything in common to enjoy someone’s company,” he said, turning serious.
Too serious for Mist. “I should really get home to the cats,” she said. “They’ll be looking for me.”
“I understand. But we still have a lot of things to discuss.”
Mist hesitated. It was up to her, now. She could send this guy running if she put even a little effort into it. But was that what she wanted? Odin’s balls, how could life get so confusing all of a sudden, after decades of reclusive monotony?
“Do you like to ride?” Eric asked, breaking into her thoughts.
“Yes,” she said, “though I haven’t done it in a few years.”
“I haven’t, either. But I’d like to try it again. There’s this nice little stable up in Petaluma…”
* * *
“His name is Froskur,” the stableman said, leading the nearly swaybacked horse toward Mist as she waited eagerly for her first flying mount.
“Frog” suited the beast, with his protruding lips, short neck, and somewhat scraggly mane. I
t was difficult to believe that this creature could have been bred by the elves.
“I know he’s far from beautiful,” the stableman said, stroking the bay’s muzzle. “He was the only one available. But he’s fast, and brave. He will never flinch, no matter how hot the battle.” The servant smiled, more challenge than apology in his eyes. “I do not think you’ll be displeased.”
Mist tried to conceal her disappointment, and as she looked into the horse’s eyes she could see bright intelligence, a good nature, and curiosity about his new rider. He took a step forward, bumped his nose into Mist’s chest with some force, and lipped at her sleeve. She laughed and ran her hand down his cheek.
“You see?” the stableman said. “He’s a fine boy. He’ll serve you well.”
And even if she, youngest of the Valkyrie, was the laughingstock of Asgard, she would prove herself. She would select the best warriors for Valhalla. She would earn Odin’s approval, not merely his acceptance.
“Thank you,” she said, swinging lightly up onto Froskur’s bare back. “I believe he’ll suit me very well.”
As if he’d taken her words for a command, Froskur reared and launched himself skyward. Mist laughed as the ground receded beneath her, spreading her arms wide to catch the wind. Froskur whinnied in joy that matched her own.
She was free now. She was who she was always meant to be. And nothing could ever bring her down aga—
“Mist?” Eric said, pulling his gelding to a stop beside her. “You looked like you were about to fly away.”
Shaking herself back to reality, Mist cast him a wry smile and patted the mare’s neck. “I doubt she can fly,” she said. “Though I think she’d like to.”
“Wouldn’t we all,” Eric said with his usual infectious laugh. “First one back to the stable gets the prize.”
Mist didn’t ask what that prize might be. She shouted, and the mare leaped into a gallop, responding to her rider’s excitement.
And yet, in spite of her expert guidance, Eric’s gelding proved the faster and pulled ahead of her. He beat her by a nose, coming to a quick stop just as they reached the corral where the stable’s horses waited for riders.
A little breathless, Mist dismounted and stroked the mare’s nose as she once had Froskur’s, whispering words of praise. The horse could not understand human language like Asgard’s steeds, but she bobbed her head as if in acknowledgment of her due.
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