“Visions?” he asked. “Are you suggesting he may be a spamadr?”
“A seer?” She paced in front of him, scarcely aware of her own movements. “I don’t know. There have always been mortals with that skill. Some say they were the children of the Norns. Most were killed as witches centuries ago, but some had to have survived to pass the trait on to descendants. It’s not like Galdr, or even the simpler forms of Seidr. It can’t be taught.”
“He claimed to have seen a winter that never ends,” Dainn said. “ ‘War and fire and things rising up.’ The winters have been harsh in many places, and there are always wars in Midgard.”
“I know,” Mist said, coming to a halt. “But you did say that mortals with magical abilities might show up.”
Dainn stared down at his folded arms. “It seems too convenient.”
“Do you really think he could be working for Loki?”
“No. One of us would surely have sensed it.” He sighed. “It’s possible, even likely, that Loki will use improbable agents to put us off our guard, but I think my wards would have detected something amiss when they entered the house.”
“And those giants hurt Ryan,” she said. “That would be a taking authenticity a little too far, don’t you think? Loki wanted him for something. And he knew where Ryan was, or at least he had Jotunar following him.” She blew out her breath. “The question is, how did Loki know about Ryan? We’ve known all along that Laufeyson will have someone watching the loft, even if they can’t get in. If Gabi had been casing the loft when Ryan supposedly came after me, did the Jotunar follow him from here?”
“I have no answer.”
“That’s the problem, isn’t it? The girl doesn’t seem to have any significance except as Ryan’s friend and protector, but a spamadr would be extremely useful to us, just as he would to Loki.” She gazed unseeing at the sword rack. “By now, Loki must know I took him. I think we should hold off any decision until we get more information, especially about these visions.”
“They may steal your valuables and run off before you can question them again,” Dainn said.
“Somehow I doubt that’s going to be a problem.”
“As you wish.”
Dainn didn’t sound terribly enthusiastic, but then he seldom did.
“I’ll finish up with the kids,” she said. “You check the wards again, just to be on the safe side.”
She turned to leave. Dainn was right behind her before she’d gone three steps toward the door.
“I am glad you didn’t find Loki,” he said.
His voice was gruff, more like a Jotunn’s than an elf ’s, and she could hear the suppressed emotion in it. Emotion she certainly didn’t want directed at her.
“You couldn’t have been too worried,” she said lightly, turning to face him again, “or you would have come running after me.”
“I am sorry,” he said, dropping his gaze. “I was not sufficiently recovered to be of any use to you.”
“I told you not to come, anyway.”
“Do you think that alone would have stopped me?”
They stared at each other in charged silence, and Mist knew then he hadn’t been worried about her just because of Freya. It had been personal for him..”
That scared her. “I won’t be treated like some swooning Victorian maiden in need of a big strong man to protect her,” she said coldly.
“I am not a man,” Dainn said. “And I have done a very poor job of protecting you. But I will continue to keep your warnings in mind.”
He’d gone back to his dry, almost remote tone, and she was relieved. “We’ll have this out later,” she said. “You obviously need more rest, and so do I.”
“You rest first,” he said. “It will be necessary to begin our lessons later tonight.”
Magic lessons, he meant. She knew she needed them, badly, in spite of her idiotic insistence on going after Gungnir by herself. But the mere idea made her wish she could sleep for a century or so and wake up to find this was all a bad dream.
She had a feeling bad dreams were only the beginning.
“Okay,” she said, turning her face away so he couldn’t see her fear. “I’ll rest for a while. Just don’t let me sleep too long.”
Before he could answer she was striding across the gym and into the hall. She found her sleeping bag rolled up in a storage closet, picked up a few blankets and a pair of pillows, and went upstairs.
Though it was only midafternoon, Ryan was already sprawled on the bed in the nearly finished room, snoring lightly. Gabi was sitting half asleep on the bare floor next to him, all thick black hair and oversized hoodie. Her eyes flew open when Mist came in.
“Don’t wake him up,” she whispered. “I’ll take care of that stuff.”
Mist set the blankets and pillows down on the single chair. “Do you want to see the bathroom?” she asked.
“Sí.” Gabi hesitated. “Gracias. Thank you for letting us stay here.” She cast a worried glance at Ryan. “It’s been a long time since he’s slept on anything but the ground.”
“But you look after him.”
“He needs it.” She frowned at Mist. “I don’t trust you, but Ry does. He says you’re okay. Maybe you can help him, so he don’t get sick no more.”
“From the dreams?”
“All they do is hurt him, and I can’t make him better.” She hugged herself, pulling the hoodie tight to her chest. “Can we go now?”
Mist showed her the bathroom, clean towels, and a spare, unused toothbrush. She needed a shower herself. Suddenly the prospect of lying down on a soft bed seemed more important than saving the world.
“There are a couple of frozen dinners in the freezer,” she said as she left the bathroom. “You can borrow some of my clothes, and Ryan can have—”
Eric’s, she thought. She hadn’t had a chance to get rid of his stuff, but now his clothes would do more good covering the kid than providing fuel for the small bonfire she’d had in mind.
“I’ll leave some clean clothes outside the door,” she said. “Throw the ones you have on into the washer.”
Gabi nodded and retreated into the bathroom. Once in her own room, Mist pulled a shirt out of her closet, found some new underwear and fairly new socks in a drawer, and picked out a pair of jeans for Gabi. The girl was considerably shorter than Mist, but at least the clothes would be clean.
Eric’s clothes still hung in the other half of the closet, as if he planned to return any moment to put them on again. Four business suits, neatly pressed polo shirts, pants carefully arranged on glossy wood hangers. Eric had almost never worn jeans. He’d always been . . .
Stop it, Mist told herself. She snatched a pair of khakis, sending the hanger clattering to the floor, and threw one of the polo shirts on the bed. She rummaged for a pair of socks in Eric’s drawer and gathered them up, holding them away from her chest as if they were soaked in venom.
She left both sets of clothes on the floor outside the bathroom and returned to the bedroom, too exhausted to dwell on the ugly fact that she and a man who hadn’t really existed had slept together in this room only yesterday morning. She removed her belt and knife, flipped back the blankets, and toppled onto the bed.
A faint, rhythmic noise woke her a little while later. She stared blearily at the alarm clock and sat up, trying to figure out where the sound was coming from.
It was a voice. An elf ’s voice, singing spells of protection outside her door.
Curse him. He should be . . .
She never reached the end of the thought.
11
“Senator Briggs?”
The young woman rushed up to the portly politician, breathless and tottering on her spike-heeled pumps. Briggs, disturbed in his conversation with an important local businessman, cast her a forbidding glance. His expression changed almost immediately as he took in the woman’s short, tight-fitting skirt, long, elegant legs, and the cleavage that showed at the neckline of her mauve silk blouse, winningly
emphasized by the shadows cast under streetlights flickering on with the coming of night.
He muttered a word of apology to his companion and turned to the woman. “Yes?” he asked with a patently false smile. “May I help you?”
“Oh, Senator. I’m sorry to disturb you, it’s just that I . . .” She halted in mid-gush, flustered, then resumed in more measured tones.
“Senator Briggs, I heard you speak today on the evils of a secular society.” She filled her lungs, the better to show off her succulent breasts. “I just wanted to tell you how very impressed I was. I agreed with everything you said, and I’m sure the American people will listen and applaud when you do your television interview.”
The senator, visibly pleased, pretended to focus on her face, which the woman knew was as seductively beautiful as her body. “Why, Miss . . .”
“Lori. Lori Larsen.” She batted her eyelashes. “I’ve been following you ever since you won the election. I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you!”
“Well, Miss Larsen, the pleasure is all mine.” He turned back to the businessman, spoke a few soft words, and shook the man’s hand. The man glanced once at Miss Larsen and reluctantly walked back into the hotel. “Now, what about my speech did you like most?” he asked.
Lori smiled, showing off pearly white teeth. “It’s so hard to choose. I think it was when you talked about the dogma of Darwinism. It’s so awful what they’re doing in schools these days!”
Senator Briggs nodded solemnly. “So true. We’re doing our best to put our own people on the school boards, but the forces of Satan are powerful.” His assessing gaze slewed down to her legs and crawled back up to her bustline. “Are you enjoying the conference so far?”
“Oh, yes! But it wouldn’t have been nearly so enjoyable if you hadn’t come.”
Puffing out his chest, the senator offered his arm. “Perhaps you’d like to discuss this over a drink,” he said. “The hotel has an excellent bar. That is, of course, if you indulge.”
She met his eyes. “The Bible says, ‘He makes grass grow for the cattle, and plants for man to cultivate—bringing forth food from the earth: wine that gladdens the heart of man, oil to make his face shine, and bread that sustains his heart.’ ”
“You know your Bible! I congratulate you.” Briggs’s brown eyes assumed a libidinous gleam. “Shall we?”
Lori took his arm and, giggling with excitement, accompanied the senator to the bar.
She was very good at having her way. It didn’t take much encouragement to press the congressman to drink much more than he ordinarily would or to shield him from awareness of the effects of imbibing to excess. Nor was it difficult to persuade him to let her escort him to his suite, or to sit down beside him on the bed and bathe his forehead. When she complained that the room was too hot and removed her jacket, further exposing her breasts, small waist, and shapely ass, she struck the most provocative poses with beguiling innocence.
In the end, the senator fell. Satan was in his heart, tempting him beyond his meager power to resist. When she helped him out of his suit jacket, he buried his hot, heavy face into her neck. When she unbuttoned his shirt, he insisted on returning the favor. Soon his fat, broad hands were on her breasts, squeezing her nipples, and she knew then he would never turn back. Like all his kind, he was a hypocrite, weak and stupid. Just the kind of mortal she needed. She didn’t resist when he bore her back on the bed, pushed up her skirt, and revealed her complete absence of undergarments. She moaned in anticipation as he pulled his pants down around his legs and planted his gross, sweaty body between her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist and cried out as he thrust inside her. Lori had always enjoyed sex, and it didn’t much matter to her what form it took. As a mare, she had become impregnated by a stallion, and she had made love as woman with man, man with woman, and man with man, dominant and submissive. All of it was good. Briggs was well-endowed, which was almost enough to make up for his pale, ugly body.
So she took what pleasure she could out of the grunting pig inside her, suppressing her climax until the good senator had spent his seed. Then she let go, bucking and gasping just before the mortal collapsed on top of her. She pushed his unresisting body over onto his back. Almost at once he fell into a drink-sodden sleep, his flaccid penis dangling over the open waistband of his trousers. With a curl of her lip, Lori shed the remainder of her clothes and stepped into the shower, washing his stink away. Then, still naked, she stood in front of the fogged mirror, cleared it with a gesture, and watched herself change.
Loki Laufeyson examined his sleekly muscled body with approval and walked back into the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, chanted a quick spell and watched the senator begin to emerge from his postcoital slumber. Once he was sure Briggs was nearly awake, he went to work.
The senator’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t see Loki at first; he was too busy enjoying Loki’s expert ministrations. It was only when he reached out and tangled his fingers in Loki’s hair that he began to realize that something was amiss.
“Lori?” he croaked. “What—”
Raising his head, Loki grinned. “What is it, my darling? More teeth, perhaps?”
The senator’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He reared up, mouth working in soundless protest, and tried to push Loki away. Loki wrapped his fingers around Brigg’s flagging member and held on.
“Calm yourself, Senator,” he said gently. “I wouldn’t want you to be injured.”
Staring into Loki’s eyes, Briggs began to tremble. “Who are you?” he whispered. “Where is Lori?”
“Lori’s here, my love,” Loki said in her voice. He touched his own chest. “Didn’t you enjoy fucking her? Or was it him?”
“Oh, my God.” Tears leaked from the corners of Briggs’s eyes. “Oh, my God. What have you done?”
“Your god has nothing to do with it,” Loki said. He released the senator and got up from the bed. “I believe the sin was all yours, Senator.”
Briggs went as limp as a flag on a windless day. “You . . . you are Lori?”
Primping his hair, Loki gave the senator a good look at his body. “I have been many things. At the moment . . .” He snapped his fingers, and a large photograph appeared in his right hand. “At the moment, dear Senator, I am your blackmailer.”
* * *
Briggs was still weeping when Loki left him. The senator had tried every trick in the book: pleas, bribes of insultingly miniscule proportions, and finally threats of impressive magnitude. The congressman, as Loki well knew, had a vast web of connections that extended throughout the city, state, and beyond, many of them illegal. Hypocrites were surprisingly good at justifying their lapses in the name of ultimately serving their god, or because they were merely feigning devout belief, all the better to fleece their flocks.
The senator fell into the latter category, and he knew being caught in bed with a man would ruin him, as it had so many others of his ilk. When he realized that Loki could neither be bought for a few thousand dollars nor threatened with a beating or worse, he began to see reason. The bargain Loki struck made him very unhappy, but not as unhappy as the prospect of losing a very promising, and profitable, career.
By the time it was over, Briggs had the original memory card, convinced it was the only one and that no copies had been downloaded elsewhere. That was actually the truth. Of course, Loki could conjure up as many photographs as he needed at any time. But he only had to exert a little will to persuade the senator that he was sincere, and a few hours later, during the tail end of the evening commute rush—and after adorning himself with a very expensive- looking suit and shoes—Loki walked out of the hotel a member of the senator’s personal team.
Oh, this was just the beginning, of course. It would only be a matter of time before he rose higher still to a much more vital position, and with only a minimal exertion on his part. He would have “real” money rather than the false currency he conjured up at some cost to his magical energy, which
must be preserved for much more vital purposes. And since Freya knew he had been in Midgard in defiance of the rules . . .
His good mood evaporating, Loki scowled at an elderly man walking a ridiculously tiny dog. Both dog and man shied and retreated to the very edge of the sidewalk, where the dog promptly evacuated its bowels.
Loki swung his ivory-headed cane with the ruby insets, feeling the Spear humming with life under his hand. At least he had Gungnir. It had failed him once, to be sure, but even if it did him little good by itself, it was excellent bait for Mist.
Mist. Heat surged into Loki’s face. She’d always been a wild card in the game; he’d known Freya would use her eventually, just as he would use his own children. He had stayed with Mist to learn her value to her bitch mother and because he had hoped to deceive her into revealing the locations of the other Treasures.
He had underestimated her, and her mother. He couldn’t forget the moment when Freya had looked at him through Mist’s familiar eyes. He had been completely unprepared for that appearance.
He had made an utter fool of himself.
The tip of the cane struck sparks against the cement as Loki slammed it down in front of him. He should have been prepared. When he’d found the bridges, he had chosen to break the rules in the belief that he could establish a strong base of operations that would more than compensate for the price demanded for his transgression. He had believed that his own watchers would detect the arrival of Freya’s agents from the Aesir’s Shadow-Realm in Ginnungagap.
But even Hrimgrimir had failed to identify the elf Freya had sent to find her daughter.
Dainn.
One of the doormen rushed ahead of Loki to flag down a taxi, but Loki summoned an empty stretch limousine waiting to pick up a client. He smiled at the driver, who went blank-eyed under his influence and quickly moved to open the rear passenger door. The limo possessed a well-stocked minibar, and Loki poured himself a Scotch and soda as the driver eased into late commute traffic, bound for the Ritz-Carlton.
Dainn.
Loki stared at the back of the driver’s head through the glass partition. In all the centuries since the Dispersal, he had been ignorant of Dainn’s fate. The catastrophic event had taken place just as he had been violently resisting Dainn’s attempt to kill him. Dainn should have been sent to the Shadow-Realm of the Alfar, as each race had joined its own kind in the Void.
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