Black Ice

by Susan Krinard

  As soon as he had returned to his headquarters, he’d set his programmers and technicians—and other allies—to searching out every conceivable location where an eight-legged horse might lose himself. Even if he had been concealed as an ordinary equine, Sleipnir would outshine others of his breed as Brisingamen did all the mortals’ gold.

  To family reunions, Loki thought as he poured a drink from the limousine’s minibar.

  He had just arrived at his apartments when Nicholas appeared with very good news.

  Regin had been taken. She was being held in the block of cells Loki had appointed for the Valkyrie he captured, and was awaiting interrogation. Her Treasure, Mjollnir, was under guard by twenty of Loki’s best Jotunar. And if Loki’s formerly incompetent ally were to be believed, he’d soon have a peculiar young woman and a raven ensconced in cells beside hers.

  And a willing captive in his bed.

  Dainn was sitting in the middle of the living room floor as Mist had seen him do many times since his first day at the loft—eyes closed, legs crossed, hands resting palm-up on his knees in a perfect imitation of the stereotypical New Age practitioner of Eastern meditation techniques.

  But she could see by the tension in his body that he was far from a state of peaceful detachment.

  Was it possible he already knew?

  Hel, she thought, what he was facing now was bad enough without adding to his burden. But it had to be done.

  She looked carefully around the room, noting the cracks in the walls, the broken furniture, everything that had prevented them from moving back in. The wooden staircase was only half attached to the second-floor landing. But this room, at least, was temporarily inhabitable, and she had to hide what she was doing from Bryn and the others. She sat on the listing couch, resting her elbows on her knees. “I didn’t intend to be gone so long,” she said. “Are you all right?”

  He opened his eyes. “Yes,” he said. “But you clearly are not.”

  “Ryan has left us.”

  Dainn’s muscled tensed as if he would jump to his feet, and Mist knew it had come as much as a shock to him as it had to her when Eir and Gabi had told her.

  “Don’t bother,” she said. “He’s long gone.”

  “And Gabriella?”

  “Gabi is still here. She said he left her a note saying that he had to go and couldn’t explain why, or where. He wanted her to stay behind so she could learn from Eir.” Mist stared down at her boots, stained two inches up from the sole by mud, crusted snow and water. “He asked Gabi not to tell us until he had a chance to get away, and no one saw him leave.”

  “I am sorry to hear it,” Dainn said, his voice a near-whisper. “Once could infer that his choice to leave was due to my mistakes.”

  “Oh, sure,” she said, her own heart swimming with guilt. “Everything’s your fault.”

  “Forgive me,” Dainn murmured, as if he we apologizing for every sin in the world. “What more did Gabi say?”

  “Not much. She was crying too hard.”

  “But she has made no effort to go after him?”

  “No. At least Eir’s with her.” Mist leaned back, briefly closing her eyes. “That’s the one good thing. They’ve hit it off, and Gabi seems to take some comfort from that.” Even though Eir would have let Gabi and Ryan die to save me, she thought.

  “You have informed Tashiro?”

  “I contacted him as soon as I could after the battle, but he’s apparently been held up by the street blockages and traffic.”

  “So he has finally responded to your many queries.”

  She tried to ignore his taunt. “I’ve asked him to send people out to look for Ryan, but we can’t stop everything to search for a teenager who doesn’t want to be found. At least Tashiro’s arranged it so that Gabi can stay here as long as she wants to. She doesn’t have anywhere else to go now that Ryan’s gone.”

  “Then there is nothing more you can do. We know Loki has never shown interest in Ryan since Hrimgrimir came for him. And if Loki’s agents have been watching him, they will have observed that he has been of very little use to us.”

  The words were blunt and callous, and Mist wanted to deny them. But he was right. She was glad she had one less mortal to worry about.

  Even though she was going to miss the Hel out of the poor kid.

  Another thing she was going to miss was watching Dainn walk around like a free elf instead of a mad animal. She cleared her throat. “You should know that we’ll be going to Asbrew as soon as it’s dark. We’re guessing that Loki doesn’t have possession of Orn yet. I have a feeling we’d know if he did.”

  “Let me accompany you. If we succeed with Gleipnir—”

  “That’s the thing, Dainn,” she said. “I want you to stay here. You’ll find a way to use the beast if you think I’m in danger, and this way we can make sure the Chain holds you.” She met his gaze. “I think I’m a match for Vidarr, at least.”

  “Vidarr will be prepared for you,” Dainn said after a long hesitation.

  “I’m not going to take any stupid chances. I promise that if we need you, I’ll come back and get you myself.”

  He stared at her for a good while, searching her face. “I hold you to that promise, Mist,” he said.

  Convincing him had been much easier than Mist had expected. Almost too easy. But she sure as Hel wasn’t going to argue with him.

  “We should continue,” Dainn said. “I am ready.”

  Forcing her body to move, Mist retrieved the Chain from the warded safe in her bedroom. It was limp and lifeless until she brought it into the living room, where it began to lash from side to side in the snakelike manner she’d seen before.

  It knew Dainn was dangerous. She hated it.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  Dainn shook his head, dismissing her apology. “The legs should not be necessary,” he said, as if the limbs didn’t really belong to him. “The wrists, ankles and neck should be sufficient.”

  Mist knelt beside him. “I can’t do this,” she said. “I can’t treat you like—”

  “I would not accept this from anyone but you.”

  “Then let’s get it over with,” she said, swallowing the foul taste in her mouth as she got to her feet. Gleipnir seemed to vibrate, eager to do its work.

  Dainn unfolded himself and rose. Mist’s fingers shook as he held out his hands and she looped the Chain around his wrists. Gleipnir lengthened to accommodate her as she wound it around his waist and chest, giving him just enough room to move his arms in front of his body.

  Her hands, however, didn’t want to accommodate her, especially when she realized what the Chain was doing to him. He was nearly successful in hiding it, but she’d learned to read the small changes in his body—the tic at the corner of his eye, the way small muscles jumped like the skin of a horse tormented by flies, the almost inaudible hitch of his breath.

  “It’s hurting you,” she said, pausing in her contemptible work.

  “No,” he said. “Continue.”

  Spitting out a long stream of curses, she wrapped the Chain around his neck. She remained close to him when she finished, feeling his breath on her skin as he fought to control his pain.

  “I wish it were me,” she whispered. “I wish I could—”

  “This is how it must be.”

  “If Freya comes back…”

  “We cannot rely on her.”

  She reached out to cradle his face between her hands. “This won’t be forever.”

  “It is forever we fight for.”

  She let him go. “Do you need anything? Water? Something to eat? Ibuprofen?”

  His laughter sounded genuine. “I doubt that will be effective,” he said. He lowered himself to the floor, leaning his back against the armchair. “If you have no need of me now, I will rest.”

  “We should get you to your room. The bed’s still in one piece, anyway.” Before he could protest, she moved to stand behind him, grabbed him under the arms and lifted him to
his feet. It always surprised her how solid he was in spite of his leanness.

  “I can walk,” he chided her, pulling free. But he was unsteady enough that Mist had to support him most of the way. He fell onto the bed before she could ease him down, rolling to the side in one motion. His skin was bone-white except for the red marks where the Chain touched his flesh.

  “Go,” he said roughly. “I will be well enough.”

  Everything inside her urged Mist to kneel by the bed, stroke his damp hair away from his face, murmur words of comfort as if he were a child. But he wouldn’t welcome it. And she …

  She would forget all the hard facts she had struggled to learn. Again.

  “Your hands are free,” she said, moving his phone from the bed table to the mattress. “You can still call me.”

  “I will,” he said, meeting her eyes, “if you do not keep me informed of your progress.”

  “I’ll remember the warning. Get some rest.”

  There was nothing else she could think to say, except to remind him that he had nothing to be ashamed of. And that she would be perfectly safe.

  He’d never believe a word of it.

  “We’re working on it,” the voice on the other end whispered.

  Loki regarded the cell phone with disgust. And they call me the Deceiver, he thought.

  This one, he thought, was going to be far more trouble than he was worth. When it was finished, he would meet with an accident … one not necessarily worthy of a son of Odin.

  “You had best hurry,” Loki said. “I expect interference, and if I don’t have what I want very soon, I will have no choice but to personally see that you keep your end of our agreement. And that, I assure you, would not go well for you.”

  “I’ll make sure it gets done.”

  “Are you prepared to defend yourselves?”

  “I’m not stupid. We’ll be ready.”

  Both are highly dubious statements, Loki thought as he closed the connection. But even if his ally failed again, Loki knew it was only a matter of day, likely hours. The connection between elf and boy was unmistakable. Like an electric current, that connection must be closed.

  Half the streets were blocked off, and though much of the rubble had been cleared away, plenty of windows were broken and pavement cracked. Public employees had been out in record numbers, inspecting and cleaning and supervising.

  Now it was late, and only the usual dealers and panhandlers were on the street. Mist saw no point in trying to conceal the approach of a dozen bikers. If it came to a fight—and she expected one—she planned to throw up a ward to keep mortals from seeing it, though she hoped she wouldn’t be forced to maintain it too long. She’d need all her energy if things went south.

  Now she, her Sisters, and Bryn’s hand-picked Einherjar stood across the street from Asbrew, noting the interesting fact that Vidarr and Vali had made no attempt to protect the bar—at least not to the degree that Mist couldn’t easily penetrate.

  “He must have magical defenses somewhere,” Mist said. “You said Vidarr had let himself go,” Rota said, “that his magic is rusty.”

  “Loki would never leave Orn and Anna with him if he couldn’t handle them. If he’s holding them here against their wills, he has to be powerful enough to keep them and fight for them.”

  “If they’re still here,” Rick muttered.

  No one spoke. After a time, Bryn said, “Do you really want to talk to them first?” she asked.

  “We can’t do anything else until we know Anna and Orn are safe.”

  “They’ve turned against everything they were in Asgard,” Rota said. “They won’t listen to you.”

  “Better trying to talk than—”

  Mist broke off, stunned by an overwhelming sense of disaster.

  And it wasn’t coming from Asbrew. She felt as if live wires were wrapping themselves around her neck and arms and chest, squeezing, burning, destroying her mind and body.

  Dainn.

  “I have to go back,” she gasped, spinning Silfr around.

  “Go back?” Bryn said, catching at her arm. “Why?”

  “I can’t explain right now.”

  “Is it Dainn?”

  When Mist didn’t answer, Bryn asked, “Is that why you didn’t bring him tonight?”

  “Look, all you need to do is watch. Vid is going to wait for us to make the first move.”

  “You’ll risk this operation for a traitor?”

  “I’m not going to argue with you, Bryn. I’ll be back in ten minutes.”

  “Wouldn’t make a move without you,” Rota said with a grin. “I, for one, am not ready to die just yet.”

  Dainn rolled off the bed, instantly awake. Gleipnir clawed at his bare arms and neck and chest, hurling him onto his back before he could catch his balance.

  The call was steady, like an alarm that would not be silenced. It pulled on him, on his soul, as nothing and no one had ever done before. Powerful as Gleipnir itself, it wound itself around his limbs and his body and pierced his skull, like a dog’s whistle pitched too high for mortal ears to perceive.

  He stumbled out of bed and staggered toward the door, . his palm flaring with excruciating pain. Awkwardly he turned his right palm up. The half-healed wound, the twin of Loki’s, was throbbing as if it were about to burst open.

  Had Loki planted some spell in his blood when they’d made the blood-oath? Had he activated it somehow when he’d brought the boy, Danny, to—

  The pain flared again, and Dainn slammed his body against the wall. The explosion of agony almost sent him to his knees, and the call broke off cleanly, like the snap of a dry twig under a heavy boot.

  He got to his feet and stumbled back to his room, leaving spatters of blood behind him with every step. His cell phone buzzed, vibrating on the scarred wood of the bed table. He recognized the number and put it on speaker, leaving a smear of blood on the screen.

  “Dainn?”

  His lips curled in an instinctive snarl. “Traitor,” he whispered.

  “I never wanted to do it. Vidarr said he’d kill her and take Orn if I didn’t—”

  “You’re working with Loki.” Dainn swallowed the metallic taste of blood. “Have you and Vidarr—”

  “I can’t talk about it now. Vidarr’s out. I’ll make sure you can get in and take Anna with you.”

  “Mist has gone to Asbrew. Deliver them to her, and perhaps she will forgive you.”

  “She was here, but she’s gone. I can’t give Anna up to the others.” Vali took an audible breath. “Look, I know about your other half—the whole thing, fur and all. If you come, I can tell Vidarr you attacked me, and if you make it look good he and Loki will believe me.”

  Dainn clenched his fingers over his crimson palm. He knew it had to be a trap. Loki’s trap.

  But if he could spare Mist the risk of death, or worse …

  Dainn looked down at his bound wrists. He had compared himself to Fenrisulfr, who had been unable to break free until the days just before the Last Battle.

  But he was not Fenrisulfr.

  He bent to grip the magical Chain in his teeth, groaning deep in his chest at the fresh shock of pain as it burned his mouth and tongue. Gleipnir writhed as he ripped it apart, freeing his wrists, and tore it away from his chest and arms and neck. It fell on the bed, and, as he watched, the various parts slithered toward each other and joined into one seamless whole. He half expected it to leap at him, determined to overcome his rebellion, but it lay quiescent on the bedspread, as dry and dull as a strip of uncured hide.

  The damaged loft was empty. Gabi and Eir slept across the street, and the Einherjar left behind were holding themselves ready for another attack. Dainn pulled open the bed table drawer with his left hand and grabbed the pouch of herbs he’d found lying just outside the laundry room door.

  For all he knew, the stuff might kill him the next time he attempted to use it. And that might not be such a bad thing. He pushed the pouch into the waistband of his pants, slip
ped through the front door, and stepped outside.

  In spite of the streetlights on Third, the snow fell so heavily that visibility had been reduced to no more than a few dozen yards ahead. Dainn burst into a run, his bare feet setting the steady pace he could maintain for hours. Rising wind tossed his hair into his face as he ran north and west along deserted streets.

  His wound ceased to bleed when less than five minutes had passed.

  24

  It was the overwhelming sense of magic that ended the interrogation, a pressure that seemed to squeeze all the air out of Loki’s lungs. In the cell, the Valkyrie Regin huddled in the corner, her lips swollen and her dark blond hair tangled like a rat’s nest around her face.

  She was a very lucky woman. Loki grunted to the Jotunar waiting outside and strode through the two sets of heavy doors that separated his “dungeon” from the other half of the basement.

  He found Danny’s six guards cowering against the wall in the corridor leading to Danny’s room, staring at the door. Burning yellow light seeped out from underneath, fanning across the floor in pulsing waves.

  Shouting a spell that flung the giants to the floor like pigeons diving into invisible glass, Loki pushed the door open.

  Danny’s small form, perched on the bed, was surrounded by a brilliant luminescence—a halo that sketched a wide circle on the wall behind him as if someone had pointed a large and powerful flashlight at the pale blue surface. Miss Jones stood at the foot of the bed as if mesmerized, her brown skin bleached to the color of aged oak.

  Loki threw up his hand to block the intense light and approached the bed. As his eyes adjusted, he saw what the light had concealed.

  A portal. Not a bridge to Ginnungagap as he had hoped, a passage mottled blue and black with the Void’s chaotic energy. This one was gold and green, and it opened to another land. Another place in Midgard—a vision of endless grassland, hills, and a distant herd of horses set against a backdrop of vivid sunlight.

  Loki moved closer to the wall and reached out to touch it. His hand seemed to catch fire, and then it was on the other side, bathed by the cold of open steppes in winter.