He turned for the hall and the front door, but another cry from the floor above brought to him a halt. Along with it came the scents he had failed to notice in his pain and haste to get to Mist.
Ryan. And Gabi. They were still in the loft, alone, and he was the only one close enough to save them.
“Oh, shit.”
Gabi grabbed Ryan’s arm as the building began to shake, the windows rattling as if they would shatter into a million pieces any second. The entire loft groaned, and somewhere on the first floor something heavy fell, sending another shockwave racing across the floor.
Right away Ryan knew there was nothing Gabi could do to help him. He felt it coming. If he’d been paying attention, maybe this time he’d have had a little warning.
Vomit filled his throat, threatening to choke him as he fell to the floor and began to seize. Gabi dropped to her knees beside him.
“You can’t do this now, Ry!” she cried. “We have to get out of here!”
But it had already begun.
Dainn found Ryan lying on his back near one of the windows in the open area of the second floor, thrashing as helplessly and violently as the naked branches of a tree in a storm. Gabi knelt beside him, her hands poised above his chest. She jerked up her head as Dainn ran toward them, but she seemed unable to speak.
Dainn slid to a stop and dropped to his knees on the rippling floor, his hands pierced by the splinters he’d obtained climbing up to the second floor. His bare feet were bloody from stepping on glass, and Gleipnir burned under his shirt, thrashing at his skin.
He sent the pain beyond his mind’s reach as the boy arched off the floor, his hands and feet drumming against the concrete. Froth bubbled from his lips, and his eyes were rolled back in his head.
From what he had learned during his centuries on Earth, Dainn knew he must prevent the young mortal from choking on his own vomit. But the floor hadn’t stopped heaving and the boy continued to seize, making it nearly impossible for Dainn to help him in a way that wouldn’t make matters worse.
The moment the young mortal’s body stilled, Dainn pulled off his own shirt, ripped several strips from it, and gently rolled Ryan onto his side. While the quake violently resisted his efforts, he pried Ryan’s mouth open and felt inside, clearing away the effluent as well as he could.
There was already blood in the foam on Ryan’s lips, but no evidence that he had severely damaged his tongue. Dainn loosened the boy’s collar, bundled the remains of his shirt, and pushed it under Ryan’s head.
“Ryan,” he said. “Can you hear me?”
The boy’s wild, white eyes tried to focus on his, but another shock jolted the room and he seized again.
“Let me!” Gabi cried.
Before Dainn could intervene, she had placed both hands on Ryan’s side. She closed her eyes, whispering a prayer in Spanish. Dainn could feel the foreign magic gather, buzzing in his bones, and a great anger began to rise in him, the very rage he had seemed to master so well in Italy.
The herb was no longer working.
Dainn grabbed Gabi’s wrist and pushed her away. Her hands were already swelling, and soon the flesh would blister and weep clear fluids, the price of her curandera magic.
But she had not saved Ryan, and he could not help her.
Let me go.
Hatred. Fear. Lust. Jealousy. Desperation. The beast was awake. Awake and urging Dainn to set it free.
But it had never spoken to Dainn so clearly before. It was as if it had developed an intelligence it had not possessed in the past, a cunning beyond the capacity of a mere animal pacing in its all-too-fragile cage.
It was part of him, and yet, for the first time in his life, Dainn felt at its core a locus of magic and power he had never truly recognized for what it was. Magic of destruction, yes, but like a Rune-stave it could be reversed for a very different purpose.
If he could tap it … if he dared to risk everything … he might still have a chance to save Ryan.
“No,” he said aloud, and reached for the pouch he had hung around his neck. It was no longer there.
You promised, the beast said. You promised you would let me out. That we would be one.
Dainn remembered that promise, given when he had been desperate to break the wards Mist had set around her own mind, the high mental walls that had prevented her from releasing her own magic.
But if he kept it …
Let me go, the beast said, or he will die.
Dainn closed his eyes and let it come.
The beast swept through him with a scream of triumph, clawing at the inside of his skin and widening its jaws to swallow all that was Alfar, all that might be good in what he was. Dainn felt nothing but despair.
But desperation could serve more than one purpose. Dainn kept his own mind, as he had in Italy. He drew on the beast’s primal strength, finding within himself the raw power he needed.
Ryan’s heart was beating too fast, and his skin was white and bloodless. Dainn could feel death claiming the mortal, and the beast laughed.
Dainn laid his palms on Ryan’s chest, spreading his fingers as if he could take that heart, repair it, and return it without spilling a drop of blood. He sang the Runes, Runes that should not exist and had never been claimed by any elf or god, not even Odin. He felt Ryan’s body relaxing, his heartbeat slowing, his chest filling with the air his frozen lungs had refused to take in.
The beast roared, and Dainn’s hands were no longer a part of him. A second burst of savage strength seared him from elbow to fingertips.
Life. That was what the beast wanted. Not to give it, but to take, to drain the growing strength in Ryan’s body and leave it an empty sack of skin.
Ryan thrashed onto his back, his eyes bulging. The earth shook again, but to Dainn the movement seemed to come from another world. Suddenly he was lost, struggling to remember who he was, to stop a thing he could no longer name.
Power. Blinding, unimaginable power. That was what it promised him. A nova exploded inside Dainn, remaking him, bringing a wholeness he had never known in all his years wandering Midgard. All the knowledge locked away inside him would be his again.
Nothing would be able to stop him. Even Loki would fall at his feet. Loki, treacherous Freya, all the Aesir who would make this world their battlefield.
You can save Midgard, the beast whispered. All you need do is give me this one, insignificant life.
One small mortal life. For everything. One strike and he would have what he craved. He would be a god. Every door would be open to him forever.
Mist would be his.
Her image filled him: the stubborn set of her jaw, the thick, golden hair pulled tight away from her face in a severe warrior’s style, her unflinching gaze, the curve of her lips when she was at peace.
Yours, the beast said. Yours.
Then the Valkyrie spoke a single word within his mind, drowning out the beast’s heady, vicious promises.
Dainn. And as her phantom voice filled him, Gleipnir released its hold and coiled around his neck, no longer burning but warming him with Mist’s phantom touch.
It was enough. He threw himself back and away from Ryan, twisting his body as if he were literally casting off an animal bent on severing his spine and tearing out his throat. He struck the ground hard. His leg almost snapped under him, but he rolled over, pulled his knees against his chest and tucked his head between his shoulders.
The beast came at him from every side, but the battle was not in the physical plane. He couldn’t see what he was fighting; it moved in a dark mist, feinting, withdrawing, striving to devour what remained of Dainn’s will. Again the beast tried to move him toward Ryan, whispering promises even as it battered at his mind with its evil. Dainn resisted, locking his muscles until they screamed for release.
But the beast was clever. Suddenly it changed tactics, telling Dainn what he most wanted to hear.
I will let him go, it said. But there will be another sacrifice.
You may take me, Dainn s
aid, if we go to some distant place where no mortal can be harmed.
And where is the pleasure in that? the beast mocked him. Do you not remember the joys of destruction?
Dainn did remember, and it was agony. There are ways of killing without taking innocent lives.
A compromise? The beast asked. Perhaps you speak of destroying evil men, those you judge deserve to die. But it may be you will grow to love the killing in itself, as I do, and the nature of the life you take will no longer matter.
Leaning over, Dainn retched. He saw himself as the beast saw him. As he truly was.
Do with this mortal child as you will, the beast said. But when you call me again, we will become what we were meant to be.
All at once the beast was gone, leaving Dainn as small and powerless as one of the tiny, winged fairies of distorted legend. His mind was sluggish, as if every synapse in his brain had been short-circuited by the beast’s immense and terrifying strength.
But he knew what he had to do. He released his rigid hold on his body and pushed to his knees. He found a shard of glass on the floor, cut his wrist and crawled toward Ryan.
“No!” Gabi yelled. “Stay away from him!”
“It’s all right,” Dainn said, holding her terrified gaze. She made an attempt to move between him and Ryan, but when he touched her arm she scooted away.
Dainn painted the Rune-staves in his own blood across Ryan’s shirt and forehead, where the boy’s sweat streaked and obscured them. Ryan gasped and sucked in a sharp breath. His eyes snapped open. He blinked, his fingers bent as if to clutch the floor.
“Ryan!” Gabi cried. “Are you all—”
The building shuddered again, and Dainn knew he had no time to wait for Ryan to recover. “Gabi,” he shouted, “the window!”
He swept the boy up in his arms and sprinted across the floor. He set Ryan down in front of the window and gestured for Gabi to support the boy while he punched the glass with his elbow. The already weakened glass shattered, and Dainn found enough strength for a spell that sent the jagged pieces still set in the frame flying to the ground below.
“You can’t!” Gabi shouted.
Dainn grabbed both teenagers, one under each arm, and leaped out the window. He hit the ground hard, glass slicing his feet, rolling just enough to keep both Gabi and Ryan from striking earth and glass along with him. Then he jumped up and, still carrying the young mortals under his arms like unwieldy parcels, ran into the alley.
He emerged on Twentieth and fell to his knees in the center of the street, almost dropping the young ones. He released Gabi and eased Ryan down to the asphalt. The earth was still trembling like a traitor facing the headsman’s ax. A mélange of scents and sounds assaulted him, and he remembered what he’d felt before he had gone to find the young mortals.
“What?” Ryan murmured, his eyes bloodshot and his skin still white as the snow that had begun swirling out of the black sky. “Where am I?”
“Gabi,” Dainn said, “stay here with Ryan.”
He didn’t wait to hear her protest. He sprinted around the corner onto Illinois and skidded to a stop.
What he found was worse than he had imagined. The creature towering above Mist was nearly the size of the loft—a miniature version of the immense, world-spanning serpent that claimed Loki as its father. Dainn saw immediately that the evil thing was only half in this world, both literally and figuratively, its lower section still hidden within the crack in the asphalt. Its skin was almost translucent, like a blurred negative image in an old-style photograph. Dagger teeth filled its open maw like enormous sickles.
An image, a ghost of itself, strong enough to make the entire city shake.
Mist was facing the thing alone, Kettlingr poised to strike, as a number of the Einherjar raced around the immense creature, waving and shouting in an attempt to attract its attention.
But Jormungandr would not be distracted. Anna and Eir stood well off to the side, the raven croaking and flying close circles around them. Bryn was nowhere to be seen.
Mist’s exhausted face told Dainn what he already knew: she had little hope of harming the World Serpent with the sword she carried, no matter how skillfully she wielded it. He had no idea if she had resorted to magic when she’d gone to find Eir, but considering the way she had driven herself and how little time had passed since she had fought for Anna, she could not yet have regained sufficient strength to face such an enemy with the Galdr alone.
Desperation would drive her to acts of thoughtless courage and sacrifice. Dainn understood with terrible certainty what would happen if she were forced to use the ancient magic now. She would face not the risk of Freya’s possession, but the prospect of losing her identity entirely, or even destroying herself.
As if she had sensed his presence, Mist glanced Dainn’s way, and he saw the question in her eyes.
She needed the beast. She had no idea what had happened since he’d left for Italy. She feared for him as he feared for her—feared what he would lose if the monster came again and he could no longer control it.
But now he knew that the beast had never really left him. It was poised to attack, waiting for Dainn’s final surrender.
It still wanted its sacrifice.
You will harm no one I value, Dainn told it silently.
It spoke no words, but he felt its mocking reply. He recognized the cruel joke it played on him: -when he needed it most, it refused to come.
He ran toward Mist and Jormungandr, preparing to use what remained of his Alfar strength, physical and magical, to protect her. But her gaze stopped him, and he saw in her eyes the acknowledgment of his failure, the realization that she could expect no help from him. Not the help she needed so desperately.
“Get Anna away!” she shouted. “Make sure Eir is safe!”
The great Serpent swung its head, as long and heavy as a big rig, toward Dainn. And laughed.
Bryn hadn’t returned. The Einherjar were next to useless, no matter how much they’d willingly risk to help Mist, and neither Eir nor Anna was a fighter. Vali seemed to have vanished as well. And Dainn couldn’t—or wouldn’t—call on his darker half to help her.
She hated herself for even thinking of asking him. But she hated him just as much, because he had Succeeded in Italy. He’d had all the control he’d needed.
This isn’t like being threatened by Vidarr or attacked by frost giants, she reminded herself. Maybe he was simply afraid that he might attack his friends instead of the enemy looming over her. And still it felt like a betrayal, as if he had turned coward on her. All the contradictory thoughts and emotions washed through her in an instant, and then she was watching Dainn half-drag Anna and Eir toward Twentieth, where they would be out of Jormungandr’s sight. Eir tried to resist, but Dainn didn’t let her go.
The Serpent hissed again, rising as tall as the roof of the loft. Mist was barely ready when the Serpent’s arrow-shaped head plunged toward her. She braced herself and slashed upward, catching the Serpent’s lower jaw and cutting across as if she could severe its arteries with one stroke.
But the creature had no real blood, and the white ichor that pumped through its body congealed as soon as it fell to the asphalt. It shook its head violently and retreated a little, swaying from side to side and eyeing Mist with the black pits that served as its eyes.
Hoping to catch the Serpent off guard again, Mist charged, determined to strike a more telling blow. The creature reared up again, twisting around to snap at her head. Mist jumped back, her blade dripping with ichor, just before the immense jaws could crush her skull.
“Mist!” someone called behind her.
She half turned to find Gabi just behind her, a switchblade in her hand. Vali was running toward them from gods-knew-where. And Edvard, who had disappeared at the time of Mist’s last fight with Loki, was also approaching at speed, loping more like an animal than a human.
“Go!” Mist yelled at Gabi, her heart jamming under her ribs as she realized that the teenager
s had escaped the loft unharmed. “Edvard, take Gabi to Dainn!”
“I’ll take her!” Vali said, reaching for the girl.
“You can’t make me leave!” Gabi cried, trying to jerk free of Vali’s grip.
The last thing Mist wanted to do was injure the girl, but a few bruises were not as bad as the hundreds of lacerations and broken bones she’d suffer if the Serpent got her in its jaws. She slapped Gabi hard across the face. Gabi stumbled backward with a look of shock and confusion. The knife fell from her slack hand. “Get her out of here!” Mist shouted.
Vali retreated, half carrying Gabi in the direction Dainn had gone. Finished licking its wounds, the Serpent began to weave, feinting first to the left and then to the right but never quite coming within reach of Mist’s sword. It almost seemed to be afraid.
If Jormungandr wouldn’t attack when it seemed to have every advantage, her sword alone must be doing real damage.
Or, she thought, the Serpent was holding back for another reason, and it had to be a very bad one. For her and those under her so-called protection.
She looked quickly over her shoulder. The Einherjar had paused to catch their breaths, their faces ashen with fear and exhaustion. One had broken away and was running full-tilt toward the Einherjar’s camp, presumably to fetch more help. Unless something had gone terribly wrong, Gabi, Eir, and Anna were safe now.
As if it had sensed her thoughts, Jormungandr tilted its head toward Twentieth Street. No amount of sword waving or shouting on Mist’s part could regain its attention.
She had run out of choices. It had to be magic. And she was fully prepared to use any and all varieties to stop the monster.
Holding Kettlingr in a guard position, she called once again on the spells native to her unknown Jotunn father, drawing down handfuls of lightly falling snow out of the sky, gathering them in her left fist, binding each snowflake to the next and shaping a ball with packed layers of ice that expanded around her hand, extruding spikes until the whole construction became like the head of a giant medieval mace.
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