Forcing herself out of the chair, she started for the stairs.
17
The door rattled. Dainn opened his eyes, blinking into the glare of the alarm clock on the bedside table. The display read 11:00 a.m. Three hours had passed since he’d staggered into the room, and he had no memory of them.
“Is someone in there?” Vali called, shaking the door knob again. A few seconds passed, the smell of minor magic singed the air, and then the door burst open.
“Dainn!” Vali said, stopping abruptly in the doorway. “What are you doing in here?”
Eyes burning, Dainn watched Vali set down an armful of several boxes—a greater and wider load than any mere mortal could manage—on the floor beside the desk and fall with a woof into the office chair.
“What’s going on?” Vali repeated, peering at Dainn with open concern. “Why are you on the floor?”
Dainn stared at the big man blankly. He was aware that his body no longer hurt, that he could breathe without pain, that his bones were whole again.
But that did not affect him as much as the fact that Odin’s son was here and obviously unaware of the attack. That meant that there wouldn’t have been any other assaults during the past several hours. It also meant that there weren’t any police or medical personnel on the premises.
If he hadn’t been so close to death and in such fear of harming someone else, he would never have left Mist or the young ones alone. But Vali’s ignorance didn’t make any sense. Mist hadn’t found Dainn, but then he’d expected her to be fully occupied with the trouble he’d left her. She would have assumed he’d left the loft, if she’d thought about him at all.
“I’ll take care of everything,” Mist had told him just before he’d run. Now it seemed that she had.
“I don’t know where she is,” he answered Vali. “I’ve been asleep.”
“In the middle of the floor?” Vali peered at Dainn’s chest. “You’ve got blood all over your clothes. What—”
“We were attacked by Jotunar.”
Vali jumped up and loomed over Dainn as if he wanted to pull him up off the floor and shake him. “Jotunar? I thought you warded the house. What happened?”
None of it would have happened at all if Dainn’s wards had worked and given the alarm before the Jotunar could take them all by surprise.
He told Vali in a level, emotionless voice, provoking growls that nearly shook the walls.
“You killed them?” Vali asked. “An elf? With a sword?”
Dainn had no intention of going into details. Vali didn’t know about the beast, and he wouldn’t hear of it now.
“They are all dead,” Dainn said.
Vali ran out the door and down the hall toward the gym. Rising to his feet, Dainn tested his balance, found it acceptable, and started for his room. He knew the house was empty as soon as he walked into the hall. No strangers other than the man from the gym had been in this part of the loft. Even the scent of blood that had saturated the building seemed to have vanished.
Whatever Mist might have done, Dainn knew he had to get out. He reached his room, stripped out of his torn and bloody clothing, and sat naked on the bed, staring at the cell phone Mist had given him soon after he’d first arrived at the loft. He picked up it with numb fingers.
Unless she was in police custody, Mist was likely at the hospital with Ryan. Phoning her would only distract her, and perhaps cause even more trouble.
Heavy footsteps thudded outside his room, and he dropped the phone. Vali burst through the door.
“They’re gone!” he said. “No bodies. The gym is empty.”
“They would have taken the bodies,” Dainn said, still resisting the treachery of hope.
“You don’t get it. No police tape, no marks on the floor, no signs of blood. It’s like nothing happened.” He crouched to face Dainn. “If it wasn’t for the way you look right now—”
“It happened,” Dainn said. “But I have no explanation for what you saw.”
“Shit.” Vali rubbed at his short beard. “We need to find Mist.”
“She may be at the hospital with Ryan,” Dainn said.
Vali glanced at the cell phone Dainn had put down. “I’ll call San Francisco General, and if she and the kids aren’t there, I’ll call the others.”
“If you reach Mist, you must not tell her I’m here.”
“Why not? She’ll want to—”
“Because I must leave.”
“You’ll probably get just about two steps before you fall again.”
“Will you do as I ask?”
Vali hesitated. “Okay. But you stay put until I get back to you.” He jumped to his feet and rushed out of the room the same way he’d come in.
Dainn sank into himself, breathing slowly. Vali was right. He had to know what had happened before he left.
But he could feel the beast, as exhausted as Dainn was, waiting. The cage was shattered, and there was nothing to hold it back the next time something aroused it. Aroused him. Even if he found a way to remain with Mist, he couldn’t use violence or magic of any kind to help her the next time Loki attacked.
And there would be more such assaults, of course. Until Freya could fully manifest her power in Midgard, Laufeyson would have little to get in his way.
Except Mist herself. But though she had natural skill with both Galdr and the ancient Vanir powers, astonishing in strength and potential, she lacked the inborn understanding of magic possessed by the Jotunar, the Alfar, and the gods. It would take weeks if not months to teach her such understanding. And even if she regained Gungnir and located several of her Sisters with their Treasures, it wouldn’t be enough.
But as his thoughts cleared and reason replaced fear and raw instinct, Dainn realized that running away had never been an option, no matter what the risk from the beast, no matter how much he wanted to bury himself where he would never meet god or mortal again. Freya would come to Midgard, and Mist wasn’t prepared to serve the purpose for which the Lady intended her. Her barriers had been breached by his first attack on her mind, but they were not yet broken.
Either he could break those barriers utterly, or give Mist the means to resist the destiny that had been intended for her even before her birth.
The Fates had given him a choice, and he was afraid. Dainn rocked forward and leaned over his knees, fighting nausea and self- contempt. He knew Mist now. She had worried over him after he’d challenged her inner barriers, believing she had hurt him. She had offered to help him rebuild his cage when the beast had first escaped within his mind. She had sent him from the gym before he could be taken by the authorities, and he knew it hadn’t only been to protect herself and the young ones.
She cared about his fate. She cared about him, even if she would never admit it outright. And he more than merely desired her. It didn’t matter if that desire was fed by the glamour she had so unwillingly inherited from her mother. He felt emotions he had thought long put behind him. Emotions he must continue to resist every moment they were together.
But not for Midgard. Not for Freya. Not for the Aesir and Alfar and humanity.
Not even for himself. The beast was not deceived. It stirred again to remind him of what he would have sacrificed and faced the worst of his fears to obtain. To remind him that everything he had sworn to fight for could die because of the choice he made now.
He stared down at his bloody hands, retreating into a state of cold calculation. He would not attempt to contact Freya again. Even if he could reach her, which was by no means certain, he couldn’t allow her to know what he was about to do. He had to buy time—with deceit, with guile, with magic . . . even with the beast, if there was no other option.
Rising unsteadily, Dainn made his way into the hall. He stumbled to the bathroom and cleaned off the worst of the blood, working it out of his hair with a few handfuls of water from the tap. Then he made his way to Mist’s bedroom and opened the closet. He selected a pair of khaki pants and one of many polo shirts f
rom among the leavings of Loki’s alter ego and pulled them on. The shoes were a size too big, as Vidarr’s had been, but they were good enough. He had no need of a jacket. By the time he left the loft, a dim, fitful light stained the eastern sky.
“Hey, Dainn!” Vali called, catching up with him as he started toward Twentieth Street. “I got through to Mist. They’re not at the hospital. The kids are okay. I think they’re all at some kind of coffee shop.”
Dainn exhaled. “The police?” he asked.
“Come and gone. There won’t be any investigation. The way Mist said it, I think she had something to do with getting rid of the bodies before anyone saw them. Some kind Rune-magic, I think. Pretty amazing.”
Amazing, indeed. If Mist had done such a thing, Dainn thought, it would have required considerable skill to accomplish before the authorities arrived. It would also have required far more control than Dainn had believed Mist possessed, and she had done it entirely without his help.
Hope was nearly as terrifying as despair.
“Did she speak of the man who witnessed the fight?” he asked.
“Tashiro?” Vali scratched at one bristling cheek. “She said he wasn’t going to be a problem, but she didn’t go into details.”
Tashiro. The name meant nothing to Dainn. But if he “wasn’t going to be a problem,” something must indeed have changed a great deal since Dainn had left the gym.
“Does she need help?” he asked.
“I don’t think so. Those kids must be pretty shaken up, but I’m sure Mist is taking care of them.” His brow creased in worry. “You think the Jotunar will come after the kid wherever they are now?”
“Not in a public location,” Dainn said.
“Yeah. Right. She’ll probably be looking for a safe place to put the kids where Loki can’t find them.” He sighed. “I guess we should just let Mist do her thing. Sometimes she’s really stubborn, but I think she’ll ask for help if she needs it.” He looked Dainn over carefully. “Are you really leaving? You still look like Hel, and for any elf to do so much killing, especially with a weapon . . . you should take more time to deal with it.”
Vali’s perception surprised Dainn, but he couldn’t let the god’s worry stop him. He had to move quickly, while Loki was still likely to be distracted by his Jotunar’s failure.
“I’m well enough,” Dainn said. “And I must get away from the loft to, as you said, ‘deal with it.’ ”
“What about the wards?”
“As you know, mine failed,” Dainn said, not quite able to keep the bitterness from his voice. “Perhaps between you and Mist, you can do better than I did.”
“My magic isn’t what it used to be, but I’ll do whatever I can. Do you have your cell, in case Mist needs to contact you?”
In fact, Dainn had left it behind. He could not be interrupted in what he must do, but he didn’t intend to tell Vali.
“I have it,” he said.
“Good.”
“I would ask you not to speak of this to Mist until I return. She will come after me, and I must be alone now.”
“Sure. I understand.”
“I am grateful for your assistance.”
“Yeah, well . . .” Vali pushed his hands into his pockets and stared at the sidewalk. “Don’t stay away too long. I know Mist is going to need you, no matter what happened.”
He turned before Dainn could find a reply and walked back into the loft.
It was nearly noon, and a small group of mortals, bundled up in heavy coats like ambulatory sausages, were waiting at the stop at Twentieth and Third. A light snow had begun to fall, dusting the parked cars, streetlamps and roofs.
“Crazy weather,” remarked a pleasant-faced, middle- aged businessman as they stood together waiting for the streetcar. He looked Dainn up and down. “You must be freezing.”
Dainn sank his chin into his collar. “Thank you for your concern.”
The man eyed him as if he wasn’t sure whether or not Dainn was mocking him. “You look like you really tied one on last night. Maybe you better go back to bed.”
Meeting the mortal’s gaze, Dainn smiled. “There will be plenty of time to rest if the world comes to an end.”
Backing away, the man stood as far from Dainn as he could until the streetcar arrived, and then he flung himself aboard as if the Christian Devil were on his tail.
He was very nearly right.
* * *
“Why couldn’t we meet tonight? I have fucking business to take care of this afternoon.”
The mortal who spoke was sallow, skinny, and ugly. He wore an Armani suit, and his slight accent revealed his ties to the Russian Mafia, but he hardly looked the part of one of San Francisco’s most notorious sex traffickers.
Loki stared at the man until he was forced to drop his nearly colorless blue eyes. Of all the crime lords, street gang bosses, extortionists, drug traffickers, money launderers—as well as those who ran extensive prostitution, credit card fraud, and auto theft rings— Bovarin was the one he despised most. Loki wasn’t above coercing sex from time to time, but he preferred seduction. It wasn’t as if he had to put much effort into it. Any mortal who had to rely on slaves to provide him with satisfaction was a pathetic creature unworthy of life, but Loki had to take what he could get.
“I called all of you here now,” Loki said, sweeping the room with a scathing glance, “because I have no time to waste in carrying out my plan.”
“Your plan,” Chavez said, scorn heavy in his voice. “You offered us some good shit if we just listened to you. We didn’t give you no promises.”
“You will, when you hear what I have to say,” Loki said. He chanted a quick spell under his breath, and Chavez doubled over with a shout of pain. The other men looked from Loki to Chavez with expressions varying from unease to feigned indifference, but Loki didn’t think it would take long to convince them not to be so disrespectful in the future.
“If you do as I tell you,” Loki said, leaning back in his chair, “you’ll all be more wealthy than you’ve ever dreamed of in your short, miserable lives. If you stand against me, I’ll see that your rivals get everything you would have had. And you’ll be dead.”
The bold captains of crime eyed each other, weighing the possibilities. Most of them would rather slit their own throats than be in the same room with any of the others, but Loki had made each of them believe that they were meeting with him alone. Now they couldn’t escape.
Donatello snorted. “Where’s your crew, Landvik?” he asked. “Where’s your Borgata?”
Loki snapped his fingers. Five of his biggest and most viciouslooking Jotunar stomped into the room behind his chair.
“Will this do?” he asked sweetly. “There are more where these came from.”
Mortal eyes looked up. And up.
“Fuck,” said Barker, the leader of a prominent outlaw biker gang. “Fuck this shit.”
He stood up to leave. Loki lifted his forefinger and slammed the man back into his seat.
“As I said before,” Loki said, “you can either cooperate by helping me gain control of this city, or die. If you need further convincing when we’re finished with our discussion, it can easily be arranged.” He signaled to Forad, who walked around his chair to hover over Del Mar, a forger not far into his twenties who looked as out of place among the others as a reed in a redwood forest.
“Now, gentlemen,” Loki said. “Shall we get down to business?”
* * *
Ryan gulped down his second soda, wishing it were vodka. Or tequila, the cheap kind you could get in any grocery store. He needed something stronger. A lot stronger.
But he knew Mist wouldn’t let him. There was something comforting in that, knowing that someone cared about him and Gabi that much. Someone who was actually grateful for what they’d done.
Caring and grateful enough to do him and Gabi more harm than good by sending them away. And Mist was so powerful, according to what she’d told them, that he didn’t reall
y know if he was talking to a woman, a warrior, or a goddess.
He studied her covertly. She was really all three, each part somehow out of tune with the others. But every one of those parts was strong and determined and unafraid, the way Ryan could never be. She was the key to everything. He didn’t think he’d ever really understand her, no matter what he’d “seen” in his dreams.
The fact that he couldn’t figure her out made him half afraid to talk to her, a lot more than he had when they’d first met, even though Gabi didn’t seem to have any trouble. Maybe it was because they were both female.
But Dainn . . . it wasn’t the same with him. He was powerful in a different way than Mist, almost like some kind of ferocious animal— graceful, fast, deadly. He’d killed the giants without mercy, and Ryan was pretty sure he would have killed Tashiro, too, if Ryan hadn’t stopped him. For a second, he’d even forgotten who Ryan was and thought he was just another enemy.
All that should have made him seem even more scary than Mist. But he didn’t, not to Ryan. That was the trouble. It was partly his fault that Dainn was gone. Maybe mostly his fault. He’d made it worse by refusing to stay upstairs and by getting Gabi involved. He should have seen what was going to happen—should have seen it earlier, when it could have done some good.
My fault.
Unaware of his thoughts, Gabi stared at the shiny metal napkin dispenser in the middle of the table. “Okay,” she said, “I get all that.” She jerked a napkin out of the dispenser and crumpled it in her fist. “It’s not like we’re stupid. But if you think we could help somehow—”
“Your help isn’t worth your lives,” Mist said in the same firm, confident voice she’d used since she’d begun explaining everything.
No, not everything, Ryan thought. There was still lots of stuff she wasn’t telling him and Gabi. Because she didn’t trust them.
“It’s only a matter of time before Loki comes after you again,” she said. “You have to understand—”
“Ryan told you something bad was coming just before the fight,” Gabi reminded Mist for the third time, “and I healed him. We may not be like you, but—”
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