“As inconvenient as losing three more of your Jotunar this morning?” Dainn asked.
“My dear Dainn, you seem to have lost track of time. It’s hardly any wonder, considering how Freya has you jumping to do her bidding.” He gestured to a pair of ornate chairs and small table set against the wall. A gilded tray held the remains of a meal and a half- empty glass of orange juice. “Have you had breakfast?” He shook his head reprovingly. “Don’t look at me that way, sweetheart. It doesn’t suit your lovely face.”
“What game are you playing, Scar-lip?” Dainn asked coldly.
“It’s not I playing games, at least not at the moment. I presume you contacted me on a matter of business, since I doubt you are here for pleasure. Unfortunately.” He picked up the glass and took a sip of the juice with relish. “Did Freya send you to warn me again?”
“I am here of my own accord. The Lady does not observe my every move.”
“Perhaps it wasn’t wise for you to tell me that.”
“Wisdom does not interest me at the moment.”
Loki’s long lashes dropped over his eyes. “Obviously, or you would have joined my cause already.”
“I have made many mistakes,” Dainn said, showing his teeth, “But I would sooner go under the serpent myself than join you.”
“There,” Loki said. “That’s better. You never did smile enough.” He set down his glass. “May I presume you bring empty threats of your own?”
“I never make empty threats.”
“Good.” Loki yawned behind his hand. “There are so many more interesting topics of conversation. For instance—what does the Sow really intend for Mist? I confess I didn’t anticipate how useful she would be to her mother, channeling Freya’s power as she did. Knowing what I do of our little Valkyrie, I would imagine she has found this situation . . . difficult. But of course you haven’t told her that she’s little more than Freya’s puppet, have you? She might actually object.”
So, Dainn thought, Loki had indeed drawn the desired conclusion. “She knows enough,” he said.
“I wonder.”
“You underestimated the Lady when you determined to break the rules.”
“I only stretched them, though I admit Freya may see it differently.” He flicked a piece of lint from his sleeve. “Surely you know I will not make the same mistake twice.”
“Yet you continue to flout those same rules even now.”
Loki spread his hands. “What rules have I flouted since I took Gungnir from Freya’s daughter?”
“Since you sent Hrimgrimir on a cowardly mission to attack Mist in her own home, I presume that is a rhetorical question.”
“What?” Loki asked, lifting his ginger brows. “When?”
“Approximately seven o’clock this morning.”
All the sly good humor left Loki’s face, and his eyes took on a reddish tint. “Who attacked her?”
“Your chief henchman, Hrimgrimir, and two of his followers. Or have you forgotten his name in the past ten hours?”
Loki displayed his slightly pointed teeth in a very convincing approximation of outrage. A neat array of empty hangers suspended from a rod set in an alcove at the side of the room detached themselves and went flying across the room, landing haphazardly, like a child’s pick-up sticks.
“Hrimgrimir,” Loki spat. “I did not send him, or anyone. He defied my direct orders.”
Dainn laughed.
“It is the truth,” Loki said, the muscles in his jaw flexing. “I explicitly warned Hrimgrimir not to make any move except on my command.”
“Then they disobeyed you, and they paid the price.”
“Oh?” Loki seemed to relax all at once, undoing the last button of his shirt and letting the tail hang loose. “Can I expect them to return yelping with their tails between their legs?”
He was doing his best not to show his alarm, but Dainn knew him too well. “You have three fewer servants,” he said. “You had better use the rest more wisely.”
The hangers flew up again and slammed against the closed door all at once. “I did not send them,” he repeated. He took a sharp breath. “You must have raised wards against me,” he said. “How did Hrimgrimir break them?” He searched Dainn’s face. “They didn’t hold. How very peculiar.”
Devastating was the word Dainn would have chosen, but he reminded himself that Laufeyson was the one at a disadvantage. And must be kept there as long as possible.
“Do you know why Hrimgrimir came after us?” he asked.
Loki shrugged. “Revenge? You humiliated him quite thoroughly.”
“Would he take such a risk for something so unimportant?”
“We’re talking of Hrimgrimir,” Loki said, affable again. “How did they die? Did Freya descend in all her glory to make a puppet of her daughter again and blast them with loving kindness?”
“Freya wasn’t there,” Dainn said. “I killed them.”
19
Loki strode toward the door and slammed his palm on the buzzer beside it. Javier opened the door and took a step back when he found himself nose-to-nose with his client.
“Two screwdrivers, Stolichnaya Elit,” Loki snapped.
Without a squeak of protest, the mortal bowed and hurried off. Loki pulled the door shut and scowled at it as if he were about to blast it off its hinges.
When he turned to face Dainn again, his mercurial temper had changed once more. “How did you manage it?” he asked in a casual voice. “Did you do to them what you unsuccessfully tried on me all those years ago?”
“I was not entirely unsuccessful, was I?”
Loki knew very well that Dainn was referring to his fear, both in Asgard and Asbrew.
“You failed,” Loki said. “I am still here.”
“I was unable to control it then,” Dainn said. “I can make the creature do what I want, whenever I wish.”
It was impossible to tell if his lie had worked, but Loki’s body was unusually tense. Dainn moved closer to Loki as if he planned to pin him against the door. Loki edged sideways and walked back to the table.
“You devoured their minds?” he asked, gesturing toward the hangers scattered around the door. They flew back to the alcove, neatly aligning themselves along the rod again.
“Nothing of the creatures is left,” Dainn said.
“Have you become a devourer of flesh as well?”
His unease was palpable, but Dainn remained silent. Loki had never been able to leave a silence unfilled.
“You have come to kill me after all?” he asked softly. “Dainn, Dainn. I am prepared for you this time.”
“I know,” Dainn said.
Clearly biting back questions he was desperate to ask, Loki assumed a pose of indifference that was anything but convincing.
“Where was Mist during this epic engagement?” he asked. “Fighting. As you may remember, she is an excellent swordswoman.”
“Ah. Then you cannot claim full glory for your victory, despite her undoubtedly meager contribution.”
“The desire for glory is your weakness, Laufeyson, not mine.”
“But such desire is also Freya’s, and yet you say she wasn’t there.”
“She had faith in our ability to deal with three Jotunar.”
“Then I suppose I should thank you for taking three willful, disobedient, and unpredictable servants off my hands.”
“You seem unable to control your so-called servants, Laufeyson.”
“A few Jotunar more or less hardly matter to me.” He began to remove his shirt. “I am beginning to wonder how much Freya actually values you if you have been reduced to a mere guard dog.” He strolled toward Dainn with a sympathetic smile. “What ever you may feel you owe her, you know she is not what mortals have always believed her to be. I understand human nature better than the Sow ever could. As I said to our little Valkyrie, they need me, and when they recognize this simple fact, I will win.”
It was all Dainn could do not to slam his fist into Loki’s s
mug face. “Such posturing may persuade some mortals,” he said, “but it will be no more effective with me than it was with Mist.”
“No? I seem to remember certain postures that worked very well with you.” Without warning, Loki grabbed Dainn by the shoulders and kissed him, punishing with sharp teeth that drew blood from Dainn lips, pushing his tongue inside Dainn’s mouth before he could free himself. Dainn shoved Loki away, disgust and hatred threatening to overwhelm him.
“Ah. Sweet as ever,” Loki said, licking his lips. “You were always good, darling. One of the best I’ve ever had.”
Dainn dragged his arm across his mouth. He had to be careful.
So very careful.
“You were not,” he said. “But then again, you made sure I didn’t notice.”
Loki threw his shirt over the nearest chair, flinging pins in every direction and tearing the expensive fabric in several places. “Perhaps I will have to remind you of what you threw away.”
“That would be a mistake,” Dainn said, holding his gaze. “A pity,” Loki said. He unpinned the fly of his trousers. “You’ve bet on the losing horse.”
“Sleipnir is your son, and yet he, the swiftest of all horses, belongs to Odin.”
“But we both know that Odin—” Loki broke off, putting his finger to the side of his nose. “Ah, but we must not speak of that.
Perhaps you would prefer a more private setting to continue our conversation. Though if you merely intend to offer more threats . . .”
“I have made no threats, Laufeyson.”
Loki let the trousers fall. “Well, then. I’ve a lovely apartment on—”
“I prefer a more neutral setting.”
Loki kicked the trousers out of the way, strolled to the door, and pushed on the buzzer. The door opened again, and the tailor’s fearful face appeared.
“May I . . . be of assistance, gentlemen?” he said, his voice quivering.
“I am leaving now,” Loki said. “We will resume tomorrow.” He stared at the mortal with a look that might literally kill. “I did not receive my drinks. Tell Javier that he had better bring what I request more quickly next time.”
“Yes, sir.”
“And see that you have better command of your fingers tomorrow.”
The tailor bobbed his head as if he were trying to appease a barbarian king and slunk into the room, as near to crawling as a man could do on two legs. Loki jerked his head toward the cast- off shirt and trousers. The tailor left hurriedly with the half-ruined clothing carefully folded over his arm.
Loki stood all but naked in the center of the room, striking a pose reminiscent of a Greek statue.
He was beautiful, Dainn thought—perfect, as the White Christ’s great enemy Satan was said to be. That, of course, was Loki’s intention.
Dainn turned his back. Loki sighed dramatically, and Dainn heard the rustle of fabric as Loki dressed in his own clothes. When he was finished, he came up beside Dainn, close but not quite touching. “Shall we go?” he said.
Dainn preceded him out of the shop, leaving the pale and silent tailor bobbing in his wake. Javier was approaching on the sidewalk from the right, a waiter with drinks immediately behind him, as Loki stepped through the door. Loki extended his arm, and both Javier and waiter plunged to the icy sidewalk amid spilled screwdrivers and shattering glass.
Dainn stopped to help the men to their feet. Javier was bleeding from a small cut to his forehead, but the waiter seemed more flustered than harmed.
“Do you need assistance?” Dainn asked.
Javier shook his head, his eyes pleading with Dainn for an explanation. Dainn had none to give him.
The Financial District was clogged with cars, buses, and pedestrians, and Loki wrinkled his nose at the smell of gasoline fumes and the various odors of the mortals hurrying along the street, rushing in and out of shops adorned with red and green streamers, silver wreaths, and elaborate window dressings.
“This will never do,” Loki said. He grabbed Dainn’s arm, and all at once they were standing inside a spacious, elegantly furnished room with a wall of vast windows framing the darkening sky, the bay, and the hills of Marin County on the other side of the water. A Rodin statue adorned a pedestal between two leather couches, and what Dainn presumed to be a Kandinsky original hung opposite the window.
“Surely you didn’t think I would walk into whatever trap you’ve set up for me?” Loki asked.
Dainn kept his expression neutral so as not to reveal that he’d noticed Loki’s quickened breathing and the strain in his face. Teleportation, as mortals called it, required a great deal of magical energy, and Loki had expended it merely for the pleasure of temporarily getting the better of him. The beast stirred, scenting blood. Not yet, he told it. Wait.
“Drink?” Loki offered, strolling toward the bar adjoining the kitchen.
“You always drank too much, Laufeyson,” Dainn said. “You need to drink more.” Loki laid his hand over his heart. “But your concern touches me deeply, sweetheart.”
“Do you wish to know why I’ve come?”
Loki turned around, leaning his hip against the marble-topped counter. “Since you apparently don’t intend to kill me right away, I’m fascinated.”
“I want you to swear that you will not attack Mist or her mortal associates with magic or physical violence until Freya or the Alfar arrive.”
Loki crossed his ankles and examined his beautifully manicured fingernails. “You surprise me, skatten min. You aren’t usually so dull-witted.”
“Because you would never make such an oath, no matter what the compensation?”
“You do intrigue me, my Dainn. But I have already acknowledged that I will not risk forfeiting the game by deliberately provoking your Lady further.” He reached casually for a crystal shot glass. “I assure you—”
“You will forgive me if I want more than your assurances,” Dainn said.
“Ah.” Loki selected a bottle of Macallan whisky in an exquisite Lalique decanter. “Why do I feel that this request has a more personal basis than the need to safeguard one of Freya’s earthly assets?” Dainn ignored Loki’s innuendo. “Freya has authorized me to use my own judgment in such matters,” he said. “I simply wish to prevent future . . . misunderstandings.”
“Yet it seems, in spite of your victory, that you are uncertain of your ability to protect our little Valkyrie.” He poured the whisky and held the glass close to his nose, closing his eyes in appreciation.
“Did Mist send you?”
“Do you believe she would?”
“No. But I don’t believe you’ve been completely forthcoming with me. Or her. Is the Sow’s reliability in question, perhaps?” Dainn held Loki’s gaze, careful not to reveal how uncomfortably close he had come to the truth. “I told you we did not require her assistance.”
“Then perhaps you are afraid that Mist will act recklessly and attack me without Freya’s assistance.” He sipped his drink and sighed.
“That’s a rather significant problem for you, isn’t it? Not merely protecting Mist from me, but from herself. And, not incidentally from you.”
“Why would I harm Freya’s daughter?”
“You misunderstand me. I have never actually seen the two of you together, of course, but your behavior is reminiscent of what I so very intimately observed in Asgard. You helped Mist at Asbrew because you were obligated to do so, but now . . . now that Freya has possessed our Valkyrie, perhaps she has no need of her mother’s immediate presence to work the charms she never possessed before.”
“If you are suggesting she has used glamour on me . . .”
“Has she?”
“If you believe she would, you never knew her.”
“Even your words betray you, my Dainn. I know you too well to believe you feel nothing for her.”
“Your belief that you know me is badly mistaken.”
“How many women have you had since you’ve been wandering Midgard?” Loki asked. “Before we began ou
r affair, all Asgard thought you celibate and above anything as crude as sex. You quickly proved them wrong . . . with the right encouragement.” He lifted his glass in salute. “I have been told more than once that one of my greatest weaknesses is arrogance. Freya’s is the belief that some emotional force called ’love’ outweighs the necessities of self-interest and true freedom. You believed yourself in love with her. Now you’re thrown into the company of a woman who can become her mother. You’d like to get her in your bed as much as I’d like to get you back in mine.”
“Neither will ever happen,” Dainn said, swallowing bile. “And of course, Freya would strongly object. She trusts you with her most valuable possession, in spite of your feelings. Still, sweetheart, I fear for your state of mind.”
“I gladly absolve you of any responsibility for my welfare.” Loki drained his glass and poured another three fingers. “Very well. Let’s go back to your proposition. You want me to stay away from Mist and her ‘human associates.’ Leaving aside the fact that the parameters are too broad to be acceptable”—he held the glass up to the light, admiring its flame-amber color—“What are you prepared to offer me in return?”
* * *
The Century Tower, all clean modern lines, glass, and gleaming steel, loomed over the Financial District, fifty-eight stories rooted at the corner of Mission and Beale and thrusting upward like a crystalline spear sheathed in ice.
Mist entered the subterranean parking garage and worked a very simple Rune- spell to get past the guard and barriers. She found an empty parking space and cast another warding spell, preserving her energy by drawing the staves with chalk on the concrete around the bike. If anyone noticed the motorcycle, they would see only the vehicle that belonged in the space. She didn’t intend to be around long enough for the spell to become stale.
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