She flinched as he moved a few inches closer. “I’m fine,” she said, a violent shiver giving the lie to her words.
“Why are you here?” he asked with a very calculated frown of concern.
She dropped her gaze. “It’s … a little hard to explain.”
“Take your time,” he said. “I know you don’t have any reason to trust me. But I really want to help.”
It was obvious that she had many urgent questions of her own, but he concentrated on projecting warmth and unassailable honesty, softening his features, erasing the red penumbras from his irises.
“I was looking for my pet,” she said suddenly, meeting his gaze again.
“Your pet?” he said, raising a brow. “A dog?”
She laughed, an edge of hysteria in her voice. “No,” she said. “A bird.”
“A bird?” He widened his eyes in surprise. “In the middle of the night?”
“Actually,” she said, shifting her bare feet underneath her, “a parrot.”
A parrot. Loki tamped down a stirring of anger. He could see no reason why this woman should in any way be connected with one of Odin’s messengers, and now she spoke of tropical avians.
“What kind of parrot, Miss…”
She hesitated, clearly wondering if she ought to give her name to a complete stranger, albeit one who might have saved her from a most unpleasant fate.
“Anna,” she said slowly. “Anna Stangeland.”
Loki’s heartbeat quickened. The name was Norwegian. “I am pleased to meet you, Ms. Stangeland,” he said. “My name is Lukas.”
“Lukas,” she repeated, a slight curve to her lips. “He’s an African Grey.”
“Ah. I’ve heard they’re quite intelligent.”
“Very. But of course Orn isn’t supposed to be out of my apartment. He escaped somehow, and I couldn’t leave him out here alone. He could die of the cold.”
Orn. “Eagle.” Loki almost laughed aloud. If the bird was indeed one of Odin’s, it might very well have the ability to assume a false appearance. The girl might well believe she was chasing after a parrot, and have no knowledge of its true nature.
But why was Odin’s messenger—if that was the raven’s purpose—with a common mortal in the first place?
“How long have you had Orn, Ms. Stangeland?” he asked with an encouraging smile.
“He’s … been in my family for decades.” She shuddered like a restive mare trying to throw off a heavy saddle. “He came here with my parents and me when we moved to the U.S.”
“From Norway?”
“How did you know?”
Ah, so very easy. Loki smiled more broadly. “My surname is Landvik.”
“Yes,” she said, almost dreamily. “Norway.”
“My family immigrated from the Old Country as well,” he said. “Quite a coincidence. A very lucky one.”
Unease crept into her eyes. She scrambled to her feet, avoiding Loki’s offered hand.
“I have to find him,” she said, staring southward.
And what lay in the south? Loki thought. Or whom?
“He was going that way,” she said in a distracted voice. “I think…” She massaged her temples. “I keep thinking he was trying to lead me somewhere.”
“Did he perhaps … speak to you?”
“Yes,” she murmured. “How did you know?” “Merely a guess. What did he say?”
“A name. He was very—” Her delicate face screwed up in confusion. “Something else happened when we left. Someone was…”
She began to collapse, and Loki caught her. “Someone?” he prompted.
Her fingers clutched at his sleeve. “I know I sound crazy,” she said, “but they were after us.”
“Who?” he asked, cradling her close.
“I can’t remember.”
“That’s all right. Now I want you to try very, very hard. Do you know anyone in this area?”
“No.” She met his gaze, her own dazed and passive.
“Well then, perhaps I can help you look for your pet, and we can solve this mystery together.”
“That would be very nice,” she said, letting him support her as she straightened.
“Then you must take my jacket.” He shrugged it off and settled it around her slender shoulders. She seemed to gain strength from its warmth and began to walk southeast on 4th, gradually increasing her pace with greater confidence.
“Wouldn’t it be better to call a taxi?” Loki suggested, keeping pace. “Or, if you prefer, I have a car parked not far from here.”
“I’m all right.”
Loki’s patience had begun to wear thin. He should call the Jotunar again. In spite of the way he had treated them in order to win this mortal’s trust, they would return because they had no choice.
With a simple spell that wouldn’t tax his strength, Loki summoned them. They had been following at a little distance, and now they crept out of the shadows, regarding him like whipped curs begging forgiveness for some unknown infraction.
When Anna saw them, she froze and all but fell into Loki’s arms.
“They’re back,” she whispered. “The monsters.”
Loki glanced at the approaching Jotunar. True, they were still larger than the average mortal, approaching seven feet even in their altered form, but there was nothing overly monstrous about this particular breed.
Did she sense something an ordinary mortal wouldn’t?
“Never fear,” he said. “I will protect you.”
Just as suddenly as she had sought the shelter of his arms, she pushed away from him. “You know them,” she said. “This was all a setup, wasn’t it?”
Once again she surprised Loki. She’d gone from pliable cooperation to angry challenge in a matter of seconds.
“I don’t know what you mean, Anna,” he said.
“You want Orn!” she cried, staring at his face with undisguised terror.
This was the sign Loki had been looking for. The sign that she did know something vital about the bird, enough to want to shield it from any possible threat. Or from one who might take it from her.
Time for Bad Cop.
“Hymir,” Loki called, grabbing Anna by her arms.
With a wary look at Loki, the Jotunn moved slowly toward the girl.
“I think this young woman is confused,” Loki said. “Why don’t you help her.”
He snatched his jacket off Anna’s shoulders and pushed her into Hymir’s arms. The giant wrapped his fingers around her throat. She gave a strangled cry as he lifted her off the asphalt.
“Be gentle, Hymir,” Loki said. “We would not wish to damage her too badly.” He looked at the girl. “Whom have you been sent to find?”
I don’t … understand,” she wheezed, gripping Hymir’s thick wrists. Loki nodded, and Hymir lowered her back to the ground.
“Is Odin in communication with Midgard?”
She swallowed several times, coughing and shivering. “Odin?” she echoed. “Midgard? You mean like in the myths?”
Ah, Loki thought. Now they were beginning to get somewhere.
“This need not be unpleasant for you,” he said. “Again, I ask you why the bird is here, and where he—”
“Boss!” Grer shouted. Loki followed his gaze. The raven was there, circling, staring down at them with its head cocked. Loki began to prepare another spell, but the raven shot southward again as if it were propelled by rockets.
“There,” Loki said between gritted teeth. “There is your bird, Anna. Not a parrot, as I believe you could clearly see.”
“I … I still don’t understand,” she stammered, rubbing her reddened throat. “Orn…”
Once more, without warning, her demeanor utterly changed. Her eyes went blank, and when they cleared they had become more determined, more defiant, far more experienced than the eyes of any young mortal woman should be.
As if her body and mind were occupied by something—or someone—else.
“I know what you want,”
she said in flawless Norwegian. “But I won’t help you. You can do whatever you want with me, and you will not learn a thing.”
Loki frowned. It was clear from the focus of her gaze that she wasn’t really addressing him at all. He reached out and sketched a Bind-Rune on her forehead. The Runes glowed like neon lights on her skin.
Mortal, yes. But more than that. More than one.
He decided to take another chance.
“I know what you can endure,” he said. “But even you can die, and death may not be easy after so many centuries.”
“And we always knew this day would come,” she said, finally meeting his gaze. “But you won’t have him, and you won’t be able to find the others.”
“Who is ‘we’?” he asked, though he was quite certain he already knew.
She laughed. “I face death without fear, something you and your honorless spear-pointers and gray-bellies could never understand.”
He continued to follow her lead and his own instincts. “You know there are others who can be hurt if you refuse to speak.”
“There is nothing I can do to help them.”
Hymir reached for her again. The woman blinked several times as the Jotunn’s hand began to close around her neck. Her face went white.
“No,” she said, speaking in English again. “It isn’t real.”
Loki snapped his fingers, and Hymir let her go. “This is real enough,” Loki said, breathing deeply as he drew the cold from the asphalt up around her legs like a frigid blanket. The street cracked, and the woman gasped in pain.
“Tell me, do you fear death now?” he asked. “I can freeze your heart in your chest where you stand.”
“Oh, God,” she whimpered. “Why?”
Did she remember nothing of what she had said mere seconds ago?
“Please,” he said. “Call the bird. I will reward you handsomely.”
Her teeth chattered. “This is a dream. None of this is real.”
Loki nodded to Hymir again. The giant grabbed her by the collar of her blouse, and her feet broke free of the ice with the tinkle of shattering glass. At a brief word from Loki, Hymir dragged her toward a nearby storefront with a “for lease” sign in the window.
Grer kicked in the door, smashing the hinges, and Ide cleared a path for Hymir and the girl. Loki followed them into a space that had clearly once been some sort of gallery. Grer continued through a wide archway that opened into a back room and returned with a rickety chair, which he set down near Loki.
Loki took the seat, and Hymir pushed the young woman to her knees. Loki leaned down to stroke her cheek.
“Summon the bird,” he said, “and I will let you live.”
9
Dainn sat cross-legged on the scrap of dead lawn outside the laundry room door, the pouch cradled in his lap. He could feel the cats watching him from the window, their bright eyes intelligent and curious. Kirby would have followed him outside if Dainn had permitted it; Norwegian Forest Cats were well suited to cold climates.
But Lee and Kirby were strictly indoor pets. They could only observe as Dainn prepared himself to take a terrible chance.
A cure, Edvard had said. A cure for a disease. It was easy to think of the beast that way—as a parasite, growing like a cancer to invade every organ, every limb, intent on replacing his Alfar body with its own.
Dainn’s fear for Mist had been feeding it ever since she’d left with the Einherjar, and so he had taken the pouch Edvard had given him, opened the drawstring to take in the earthy scent of crushed leaves and a dozen other unknown substances, and spilled a little of it on his open palm.
If he had been capable of thinking clearly, he might have given a little more thought to the risk of accepting the promises of a man he didn’t know.
But Edvard had been correct. Mist needed him. Now, and after she returned … if he could only open his mind to her again, call upon all the ability he possessed to help her prepare.
Closing his eyes, he brought his hand to his lips and let the compound melt on his tongue. He felt a slow warmth spread from his mouth into his belly and through his bloodstream … a great, soothing sense of peace such as he hadn’t experienced in a century.
He knew exactly when it began to attack the disease, dissolving the cancerous tissue until it had shrunk to no more than the creature it had been before Freya’s mental touch had begun to weaken its cage. It growled and paced and snarled, but it was contained.
Dainn blinked, finding his vision as keen as it always had been. He could still smell the frozen bark of a dying Eucalyptus tree in the small park a quarter mile away. Nothing of his senses had changed.
But the influence of the beast was gone.
So simple, he thought. He was afraid to trust, afraid it couldn’t last. But he was no longer at risk of flinging himself into a battle driven only by the indiscriminate and insatiable urge to kill. If there were side effects yet to come, he would gladly endure them in exchange for this miracle.
He rose slowly, lifting his head to scent the air. There would be snow again, but for now the sky was clear, revealing a rare glimpse of the few stars visible above the city. Across the street, lights still burned in the factory where the Einherjar had set up their camp; like him, they were waiting for Mist’s and their comrades’ return. Gabi and Ryan would likely be wide awake in their room, possessed by the same fears. Fears Dainn could do nothing to ameliorate.
But they would be safe. Safe because he could use his magic again, unafraid of strengthening the beast. He could double the efficacy of Mist’s wards with elven spells and call upon the Einherjar left behind to keep watch over the loft.
He drew on his new calm and stretched his magical senses to their greatest extent. It was always difficult to call upon the magic of nature in a city such as this, but once again he summoned images of Alfheim, drawing the magic of the earth through the bare soles of his feet, imagining his own body as a great tree with roots deep in the rich soil and branches thick with emerald leaves and perfect for nesting.
A great, mewling howl rose up from inside the house, and the nascent spell shattered. Kirby had reared up against the kitchen window, his broad paws pressed to the glass, his mane a great ruff around his head. He cried again with greater urgency, and Lee echoed the howl from somewhere behind him.
Dropping the open pouch, Dainn ran into the loft. The cats raced ahead of him through the kitchen and toward the gym, where they stopped, fur all abristle. He opened the gym door.
It was silent, empty, bereft of any sense of something amiss. Dainn moved cautiously, his gaze sweeping left to right as he crossed the rubber-tiled floor.
When he reached the other end of the gym, he realized what was wrong. He ran to the storage room and stopped at the door.
It was unlocked, the wards broken. The Jotunn lay where Dainn and Mist had left him, staring at the ceiling, unblinking, barely breathing. His already pale skin was nearly transparent.
Dainn knelt at the giant’s side. He laid his hand over the Jotunn’s forehead. It was as warm as a mortal’s skin, a temperature no frost giant could endure for long.
Carefully Dainn removed the bandages. The wound was red and sere, a festering pit over his ribs.
“I am dying.”
The Jotunn’s croak caught Dainn unaware. He bent his head close to the giant’s, certain the man didn’t have the strength to do him harm.
“What is your name?” he asked.
“Svar—… Svardkell.” The Jotunn coughed, spitting bloody froth. His pale eyes focused on Dainn, and he tried to rise.
Dainn eased him back down. “Save your strength,” he said.
“Why?” The Jotunn tried to smile, displaying bloodstained teeth. “Am I … not your enemy?”
“You attacked Freya’s daughter,” Dainn said, sweeping all sympathy aside.
“I was not in my…” He sucked in a rattling breath. “Not in my right mind. I am not Loki’s spy.”
“Then what are you?”
> “Loki knew … he forced me—” Svardkell jerked his head back and forth. “No time. So much to tell.”
“Then speak.”
“The boy must be protected.”
“What boy?” Dainn said, leaning close again.
“You will know him. You, especially.”
There was only one “boy” Dainn knew, and that was Ryan. “He is being protected,” Dainn said. “How did you—”
“Tell her there are traitors,” he interrupted, beginning to shiver uncontrollably.
The ghostly Freya’s words still echoed in Dainn’s mind. Bile rose into his throat.
Was he not a traitor himself?
“Who?” he demanded.
Svardkell began to choke on his own blood. Dainn spread his hands over the Jotunn’s chest, trying to construct a healing spell with what little skill he had. It wasn’t enough.
“Find the other fathers,” Svardkell whispered.
“Fathers?” Dainn asked, giving up his attempts to ease the Jotunn’s pain.
Svardkell met his gaze, and what Dainn saw left him stunned and shaken.
“You are—” he began.
“Tell her,” Svardkell said, gripping Dainn’s arm with a last, desperate effort. “She must know.”
“How many?” Dainn asked urgently. “Where are they? What does this—”
“Tell her not to fear … to become what she was.”
“Svardkell,” Dainn said, willing the Jotunn to stay alive. But the giant only gave a final sigh, and died.
Dainn closed the Jotunn’s eyes with a pass of his hand and struggled to absorb the last few words Svardkell had spoken. He had immediately grasped the giant’s meaning when he’d spoken of fathers; perhaps the Jotunn’s own magic had lain in conveying vital information with a single, focused thought.
If Dainn guessed correctly, Freya had kept vital information from him. Information that might have great significance, and perhaps even explain why Mist was so much more than he had expected when he had first awakened her to her “duty.”
And Svardkell had spoken of Mist becoming what she was. Why had he used the past tense?
Mist had been and was many things: a common Valkyrie with no memory of her supposedly mortal parents; the guardian of Odin’s Spear; Freya’s daughter; a magic-wielder of great skill and impressive power.
Black Ice Page 10
