Squeezing his hand into a fist, Loki dripped his own blood into Dainn’s palm. Dainn winced. Mist began to move, but Dainn shook his head. He closed his fist until his blood was well mingled with Loki’s and then painted his own chest with his fingertip, writing the ancient, incomprehensible Rune-language in even lines from one side of his torso to the other.
Mist closed her eyes and opened them again. She couldn’t read what he’d spelled out. But then Dainn began to sing—ethereal music, flowing like water, floating like cirrus clouds in spring.
Her heart filled with joy, wrapped in the love of her fathers and Dainn and Ryan and all the others. Suddenly she found herself singing with Dainn, though she still didn’t understand the words. She could feel Danny, and as her sense of his presence grew, Loki began to sing in a surprisingly clear tenor.
She drifted, floating on the spell and the music. When she opened her eyes, Danny was there. He was as naked as the day he was born, but his skin was clear, his cheeks rosy, and his grin as big as Sleipnir’s.
“Papa!” he said, and flung himself into Dainn’s arms.
* * *
As it turned out, freeing Danny hadn’t done anything to Dainn’s magic, ancient or otherwise. Danny, however, seemed to have no magic at all. He ran back and forth between Dainn and Mist, laughing, dressed in Dainn’s shirt carefully tucked up so it wouldn’t drag on the ground. He seemed younger than his apparent age, but Dainn wasn’t concerned.
“He still has much to learn,” he’d said, pride and love so vivid in his eyes that Mist could actually feel it, the way she could still hear his thoughts when she concentrated.
“I should be on my way.”
She snapped her head up. Loki had been leaning against a tree, watching with an inscrutable expression and making no attempt to attract Danny’s attention or join in. His hand, like Dainn’s, no longer bore so much as a faint mark.
“You haven’t forgotten that you’re going to Antarctica,” Mist said, rising to face Loki.
“You think that you can confine me to a single, deserted continent?”
“She has the means to enforce her commands,” Dainn said, his voice very low and calm. “And I will help her.”
“No visiting rights?” Loki asked with a sideways glance at Danny. “He is still my son.”
Mist snorted. “Maybe in a few centuries. And believe me, I’ll know if you return to civilization before we’re ready to let you out.”
Loki sighed. Dainn opened his arms to Danny, and the boy fell into them, laughing. He didn’t notice Loki at all. Just for a moment, Mist was distracted.
Loki vanished.
A stream of curses burst from Mist’s mouth. Raising Danny to his shoulder, Dainn stood beside her.
“Idiot,” Mist spat. “I should have bound him the minute you had Danny back. I almost forgot what he is.”
“That is part of his skill,” Dainn said, his voice muffled in Danny’s red hair. “Both you and I have fallen for his duplicity more than once.”
“You aren’t angry?”
“With his Jotunar gone, he will have no resources, and no means of obtaining help from Asgard. He is not so foolish as to doubt that you will be watching for signs of his interference in the mortal world. He will have to lie low.”
“But is that enough, Dainn? After all he’s done?”
“You cannot spend your life searching for him. He will make a mistake, and when he does, we will be ready for him.”
* * *
It was only a matter of ten minutes for Dainn and Mist to devise and perform the spell that sent slightly over one hundred Jotunar to the Antarctic and bound them there indefinitely. “You are being merciful,” Dainn commented as the Jotunar disappeared. “At least they will not be troubled by the weather there.”
Returning Odin to the Treasures was slightly more complicated. Odin was just beginning to wake when the process began. Feeling considerably less than merciful, Mist muted his voice with a flick of her fingers and set to work, Dainn burning bright with the Eitr beside her. Konur, Rota, Anna, Rick, and a few others gathered to watch at a respectful distance while Mist pressed the raven pendant to Odin’s chest. His eye widened, he thrashed and struggled in his bonds … and still Mist felt no pity.
One by one Mist gave Odin’s soul back to the Treasures, piece by piece, until Odin’s body became nearly transparent. With the last Treasure he vanished entirely, and a parrot stood in his place, its eyes lively, intelligent, and utterly without a single divine spark.
“You can carry him safely now,” Mist said to Anna. But she shook her head and walked away, no longer able to bear the sight of the creature that, not so long ago, had been a beloved pet.
“We’ll have to keep him ourselves,” Mist said with a sigh.
“Will it not be a constant reminder of Odin’s treachery?” Dainn asked.
“At least I can keep an eye on it,” Mist said. “As long as it stays just a parrot, it’ll have a decent home. In a large, reasonably pleasant cage.”
“And Eir?” Dainn asked solemnly. “Her body still lies in the vault.”
“Hel never got the chance to grab her,” Mist said, glancing at the torn and muddy ground. “We’ll take her back to New Mexico, to lie among her desert spirits.”
“She will like that,” Dainn said.
Their work accomplished, Mist and Dainn took Danny from Hild, who had been looking after him, and remained in the park to maintain the outer wards until all the Jotunn and Einherji bodies had been removed. The hostages who had died, released back to life by Hel, were clandestinely left near the emergency vehicles surrounding the park. Alfar and human warriors who had died and come back to life, as well as those unhurt in the battle, helped the injured warriors return to camp, where they would receive care from the Alfar and curandera healers. Mist sent Rick to inform the servants at Loki’s mansion and headquarters that they were free and no longer had anything to fear from their master.
When no trace of the battle remained save uprooted trees, snapped branches, and scattered stones, Mist and Dainn started for home, walking because no traffic was moving and emergency vehicles blocked every major street near the park. The storm had damaged many parts of the city—the dark Eitr hadn’t done it any good, either—but the weather had cleared for the first time in the better part of a year. The sun was shining, and it was actually warm. That alone might give the mortal citizens of San Francisco real hope. Hope of a change for the better.
And though some of the real story would probably get out, Mist thought, no one outside this city would believe the reports.
Unless it happened to them. There was still the matter of those other pantheons, and—
Something made her look up. A thread of silver ribbon coiled and swam in the blue sky.
We will be watching, Koji said.
Dainn lifted his hand in acknowledgment, and Koji plunged down toward the bay. As if by magic, an empty taxi pulled up to the curb. Danny waved at the driver, who grinned back as if all was right with the world.
They climbed into the backseat, Danny ensconced on Mist’s lap. When they got to the loft, the camp was unnaturally quiet.
“What’s all this?” the cabbie asked, pushing back his baseball cap.
Mist started. The ward was still in place, blocking the camp from mortal sight. This man shouldn’t be able to see anything but abandoned factories and a vast expanse of battered parking lots.
“It’s a long story,” Mist said, peering into the cabbie’s eyes. She searched her torn back pocket. “Curse it,” she muttered. “My wallet—”
The cabbie shook his head. “This one’s on the house. After all, you’ve earned it.”
Dainn and Mist and Danny stared after the cab long after it had turned the corner.
“I don’t think I want to know,” Mist said.
The loft was quiet. Dainn set Danny down on one of the kitchen chairs, and Mist put a glass of milk in front of him. He drank with surprising neatness and grinn
ed at Mist through a very large milk mustache.
“You know what we’ll have to do very soon?” Mist asked.
“What would that be?” Dainn asked, leaning his chin on his hand, his eyes drifting shut.
“Make sure the bedroom is still in working order.”
He opened his eyes. “Indeed.”
They put Danny to bed in Dainn’s old room once they were certain that he wasn’t afraid of being left alone. He dropped off to sleep instantly, his blanket tucked up around his chin.
Dainn kissed his forehead, and he and Mist left together. They checked to make certain that the bedroom was, indeed, in good working order. Dainn was a little hesitant at first, still haunted by his time with Loki, but Mist was careful. They both had plenty of things to forget.
After they were done, they went outside to admire the stars in a clear night sky. Mist looked for the dragon, but she knew he wasn’t coming back. At least she hoped he wasn’t.
We will be watching.
They went back inside, hand in hand. Dainn sniffed the air and stopped just inside the kitchen door.
“What is it?” Mist asked. “Did I leave the stove on?”
He looked at the kitchen table. A folded note lay on it, her old, ridiculous Thor bobble-head holding it pinned in place. It was sealed with the image of a coiled serpent.
“He wouldn’t dare,” Mist said.
Dainn picked up the paper and mouthed the words. Mist grabbed it out of his hand.
See you soon, my darlings.
—L.L.
The paper caught fire in her hand and burned to ash.
TOR BOOKS BY SUSAN KRINARD
Mist
Black Ice
Battlestorm
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Susan Krinard is the author of twenty-seven fantasy and paranormal romance novels and eleven novellas. Krinard grew up in the San Francisco Bay Area, within easy reach of the City by the Bay. She currently lives in Albuquerque, New Mexico, with her husband, Serge Mailloux, two cats, and three dogs. You can sign up for email updates here.
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Contents
Title Page
Copyright Notice
Dedication
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Tor Books by Susan Krinard
About the Author
Copyright
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
BATTLESTORM
Copyright © 2016 by Susan Krinard
All rights reserved.
Cover art by Fred Gambino
A Tor Book
Published by Tom Doherty Associates, LLC
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New York, NY 10010
www.tor-forge.com
Tor® is a registered trademark of Tom Doherty Associates, LLC.
ISBN 978-0-7653-3210-3 (trade paperback)
ISBN 978-1-4299-5339-9 (e-book)
e-ISBN 9781429953399
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First Edition: March 2016
Battlestorm Page 48