Mist

15

Dainn held the blade firm against Hrimgrimir’s flesh and looked for Mist. She was still holding Bakrauf off and had hit him at least once. Dainn could feel elemental power swirling about her, directionless, lost without her guidance. If she could focus on it again . . .

Lowering the spatha with a flick of his wrist, Dainn ran it through Hrimgrimir’s chest. A rush of air and blood burst from the giant’s lips as he fell backward. Dainn used the heel of his boot to hold Hrimgrimir’s body in place as he pulled the blade free and turned toward Mist again.

During the brief time he’d been occupied with Hrimgrimir, she’d not only managed to keep out of Bakrauf ’s hands but had retrieved her sword and was edging her way toward the young mortals, who seemed unable or unwilling to move from their places just inside the door. Ryan’s face was blank. The girl still clutched the small, bloody knife in her hand.

Dainn understood that Mist planned to get the children away, and she trusted him to deal with the remaining Jotunn. Dainn ran at Bakrauf, ready to hack his legs out from under him.

But this one had taken to heart what Mist and Dainn were capable of. Abruptly he abandoned Mist and loped toward the door that opened onto the driveway. Dainn tossed the spatha into the air, caught the grip from the underside, and hurled it like a spear straight at Bakrauf ’s back.

The Jotunn fell onto his face halfway to the door. Dainn stood very still, panting hoarsely, holding his muscles rigid against the assault from within. The beast still wanted death, death, and more death, though there were no more enemy lives to take. Its frustrated rage pumped like acid through Dainn’s veins, rage that was as much ecstasy as torment. He went for the sword, pulled it free, and scanned the room searching for one more chance to kill.

Not all the enemies were gone. He could smell another. A male. Mortal. Human.

The man stood beside Bakrauf ’s body, staring toward Dainn with a look of astonishment on his face. In an instant Dainn took him in: of medium height, fit and casually dressed, dark hair a little longer than the current fashion, features unmistakably those of the Japanese islands. The outside door stood open behind him, letting in gusts of cold night air Dainn saw as breath condensing out of a gaping mouth.

Dainn tensed as the man shouted words he couldn’t understand and strode toward him. He raised the spatha. The man stopped again, glanced past Dainn’s shoulder, and raised his hands. He began to speak softly, soothingly, each word carefully chosen to convey his harmlessness.

There was enough sense left in Dainn’s mind to recognize that the mortal was trying to make him drop his guard. The beast snarled. The stranger looked past him again. Dainn could smell that Mist and the mortal children were no longer in the gym. They were safe.

He attacked.

The man dropped his hands, spun around, and raced for the sword rack. He came to a skidding halt before it, grabbed one of the weapons, and slid the long, slightly curved blade from its sheath. He cast the sheath aside and stalked toward Dainn. His mouth formed words, no longer soothing but commanding.

It was all so much noise, meaning no more to Dainn than the buzzing of flies. He stopped just out of the sword’s reach. The man’s heartbeat was deafening, and the smell of his sweat nauseated Dainn as the scent of blood excited him.

But some remnant of sanity held him from skewering the mortal like a roast on a spit and tearing his body apart. In the midst of that deadly, waiting silence, someone plunged through the open door and ran into the room, shouting as he pushed himself into the narrow space between Dainn and the stranger.

Dainn stared at the boy, seeing only an obstacle that stood between him and his enemy. He raised the sword.

And slowly lowered it again, his arms growing heavy, his vision washed with scarlet. The stranger shouted for the boy to move aside just as another enemy, his biker’s vest nearly black with blood, rose from the floor and lunged for the nearest target. The giant knocked Ryan across the room with a massive fist. The boy’s back slammed into the wall, his head rebounding from the hard surface with a sickening crack. He slumped to the ground.

Dainn was already swinging at the enemy lunging toward him. He feinted, slicing toward the giant’s belly. When the Jotunn bent to protect his already injured torso, Dainn thrust the tip of his sword into the creature’s eye with such force that it lodged in the skull beneath. The Jotunn shrieked like a child. A whirlwind of sleet and deadly slivers of ice began to spin around him, ever expanding until it threatened to engulf Dainn and strip his skin from his body.

Dainn jerked the bloody blade free and hacked at the giant’s throat. The whirlwind collapsed into colorless debris at the Jotunn’s feet. He gurgled, clamping his hand over his neck, and staggered in a circle, his injured eye weeping blood and clear fluid. His legs buckled under him and he fell to his knees.

Casting the sword aside, Dainn leaped on the Jotunn and encircled the giant’s neck with his hands. He pressed into the Jotunn’s wound with his fingers, widening the gash, and didn’t stop until the last breath left the Jotunn’s body.

But there was another like him, coming from behind, wheezing like a dying engine. Dainn spun, leaped, and kicked out with both feet, striking the Jotunn in the face with the heels of his boots. He landed on all fours like a cat and lashed out again, crushing the giant’s already flattened nose. The Jotunn wheezed one final time and crashed to the floor.

Dainn turned to face the last enemy. Behind the mortal with the sword he could see the boy and the girl huddled against the wall. There was blood splashed on the wall around the boy’s head.

And the woman was with them.

He rushed the swordsman, the beast’s strength moving his muscles like pistons. The man dodged aside without attempting to strike.

“Dainn!”

He knew the voice, and the sound of it locked his joints and stilled his heart. All at once the beast began to retreat, slinking backward, shaking its head in confusion. Mist stood behind the swordsman, Kettlingr in hand, all pale features and wide gray eyes.

“You know this man?” the stranger said over his shoulder, his gaze never leaving Dainn’s face.

“Drop that sword,” Mist said, “unless you want to die, too.”

The man’s grip on the weapon didn’t waver. “Ma’am,” he said, “I came in when I heard someone screaming. I saw this man kill these people, and—”

“Drop it,” she said, “or I’ll take it from you.”

The stranger set the katana carefully on the floor. “Ma’am,” he said, a little more steadily, “This man is probably either psychotic or acting under the influence of powerful drugs. Take those kids out of here. I’ll call the police and an ambulance.”

Dainn tried to speak, but all that came out was a grunt. He had begun to feel every broken bone and the severe pain in his belly that meant internal bleeding.

“He would never harm the kids,” Mist said, her voice unsteady.

“Ryan,” Dainn croaked, finding his voice. “He . . . the Jotunar—”

“I’ll take care of him,” Mist said. “I’ll take care of everything. You’ve got to get out of here.” She kicked the katana out of the stranger’s reach. “Whoever you are, you’ve interfered enough.”

The mortal still didn’t move, and neither did Dainn.

“On your knees,” Mist said, gesturing with the sword.

“You seem like a decent person,” the man said. “If you do this—”

“I’m not going to hurt you,” Mist said. She laid Kettlingr aside, undid her belt buckle with one hand and pulled the belt free of her jeans. “You’re going to let me tie you up until all this is sorted out.”

The stranger raised his hands. “Okay. I’ll do what you say.”

“Down.”

He began to drop to his knees, but he never completed the act. He fell to his side, rolled out of reach of the sword and scrambled to his feet in one smooth motion. A second later he had a cell phone in his hand.

Dainn was moving before the mortal punched in a single number. The human was fast, but Dainn could have killed him then with as little effort as he would expend on plucking a flower. Instead, he wrenched the phone from the stranger’s grasp, threw it to the floor, and ground it under his heel until he felt it give way with a crunch of metal and plastic. He heard Mist moving behind him and waved her back sharply.

“I do not know you, or why you are here,” he said to the mortal, “but you are making a mistake. You saw how the boy was hurt. These . . . men attacked with the intent to kill.”

“Maybe they did,” the stranger said, rubbing his wrist. “If you really don’t want to hurt anyone else, you’ll let me call the police. They can help you.”

Help him. Dainn couldn’t even summon up a laugh at the absurdity. He looked over his shoulder at Mist, who was poised and ready to attack.

“I will take him with me,” he said. “You see to the young ones.”

“You’ll kill him,” Mist said. “I can’t let you do that.”

“I will not kill him,” Dainn said. “But I will see that he doesn’t interfere again.”

“I can’t trust you not to hurt him, Dainn,” Mist said. “Just let me call an ambulance, and I’ll take care of him.”

Dainn closed his eyes. “Make your call,” he said. He heard Mist speak into her cell phone, though he couldn’t seem to understand the words. When she was finished, she walked past Dainn to the stranger and pointed Kettlingr toward the floor.

“On your stomach,” she said. “And don’t try anything again.”

The mortal hesitated. Dainn drew back his fist and punched the young man squarely on the jaw. The stranger reeled and fell to his knees, all resistance lost to the blow. Mist put Kettlingr down again and knelt beside the stranger.

“He’s okay,” she said to Dainn. “Go. Go, and keep going.”

Dainn backed away. The pain in his chest and belly was growing worse, and soon the injuries would either kill him or release the beast in another mad frenzy of rage.

He turned and ran toward the hall door. He plunged through it, slammed it behind him, and collapsed.

For a few minutes he lay where he was, coughing as blood began to fill his lungs. Leaving the loft was no longer a possibility. His vision was fading, and the beast was already clawing its way back into his mind.

Pulling himself to his knees, Dainn found his way to the nearest room. He fell against the door, pried it open, and crumpled to the worn carpet. Working the door closed with his foot, he struggled to raise repelling wards to discourage any mortal from looking into the room. He could feel the wards fail almost as soon as he created them.

He crumpled and lay very still, sinking into his body, assessing his wounds, whispering elvish spells to help close the torn blood vessels and mend the injuries to his internal organs.

They, too, failed him. His wounds were beyond mending by any but a true Healer, and they were all trapped in Ginnungagap with the others.

As he forced himself to breathe, his drowning lungs straining against broken ribs, he began to fall again . . . down, down into a dream of darkness, remembering the wet sound of his blade piercing Bakrauf ’s eye, flesh, and muscle, the crunch of Hrimgrimir’s nasal bones driving into his brain. He drew his body into a ball, head tucked against his knees, the blood trickling from his mouth sticky under his cheek.

He could let himself die now. Die, and remove the danger he would pose to anyone who came near him. End the tortured existence the beast had never let him abandon.

But it still wouldn’t let him go. It roared and claimed him again, its strength flooding his body and wrenching at his gut, its implacable will fighting to do what the elf could not.

Dainn screamed, and the beast granted him mercy.

When Mist returned to the kids, Gabi was on her knees beside Ryan rocking back and forth in distress, the bloody knife just out of her reach. She looked up at Mist knelt beside her.

“It’ll be all right,” Mist said, carefully touching Gabi’s shoulder.

“No,” Gabi said. “No todo es derecho.”

The knot in Mist’s throat expanded to fill her whole body. “The ambulance will be here any minute,” she said. “They’ll know what to do. He’ll be fine.”

Skuld will it be so, Mist thought, well knowing Skuld wouldn’t change this mortal girl’s fate even if the Norn were alive and capable of interfering.

But no one was to blame for this horror except Mist herself. The kids had been hurt because Ryan had trusted her to protect him, because she’d let them stay at the loft. She had never anticipated that they’d interfere with the fight or have the courage to face what they couldn’t possibly understand. Especially Ryan, who’d already had a taste of Jotunar violence.

And then there was Dainn.

Oh, he’d tried not to let to let it out. He’d allowed the giants to beat him down, distracted them, done everything but let loose the thing he had so urgently warned her about.

But she hadn’t been able to bear his pain. “It doesn’t matter what else happens,” she’d told him, urging him to fight for himself.

She hadn’t understood. He’d told her the beast would attack the mind, the “psyche,” and devour whatever it found. But that hadn’t been how it had played out. She could still see him thrusting the spatha into Hrimgrimir’s chest, spinning and striking like Jackie Chan without the wires. He had handled the sword as well as she did, as if he’d trained for centuries. He’d deceived Hrimgrimir and allowed himself to be kicked nearly to death, only to gain the upper hand again and impale Hrimgrimir like an insect on a pin.

His savagery had bought her time to get the kids away. But Ryan had slipped out of her hands during a moment of inattention. She and Gabi had followed him right around the front of the loft back to the gym and the door that opened onto the driveway. They’d arrived just in time to find Dainn on the verge of killing someone who definitely wasn’t a giant.

Someone who’d been holding her katana and obviously thought he could beat Dainn in a fight. If she and Ryan hadn’t interfered, the mortal would be lying dead in a pool of his own blood, not tied up and half unconscious. And now Dainn was gone— far gone, Mist hoped—and fighting to regain his own soul. She would find him when she could, find some way to help him. Or, if he couldn’t be helped . . .

Ryan moaned, and she pulled her thoughts away from things she couldn’t control. She touched the boy lightly on the shoulder, but he didn’t react.

“I should never have let him come downstairs again,” Gabi said, hunching over her knees. “He said he had to, that something terrible was happening. If we hadn’t tried to help Dainn—”

“It’s not your fault,” Mist said. “I should have realized he wouldn’t stay upstairs.” She swallowed. “Ryan warned us that something was going on. It would have been much worse if he hadn’t.”

“Worse?” Gabi said in a voice far too bitter for one her age. “Dainn tried to send us away, but Ry wouldn’t . . . he just wouldn’t listen.”

“I know,” Mist said, awkwardly stroking Gabi’s rigid arm. She felt helpless to comfort the girl, and she didn’t like that feeling. It had become far too common lately, and today she’d had her face rubbed in it.

Just as she had during the war. As Gabi cried, her face buried in her arms, Mist checked the makeshift bandage she’d tied carefully around Ryan’s head. Her experience in treating mortal injuries didn’t extend to head wounds, and she was no healer.

What in Mimir’s name had she really learned? What had she done?

She clenched her fists, feeling as if she could become a beast herself with only the slightest effort. It wasn’t just what she had done. Loki would only have risked a direct attack if he had overcome his fear of Freya and her supposed ability to manifest her power through her daughter.

If his intent in sending the Jotunar had been to kidnap Ryan and create as much chaos as possible in the process, he’d been wildly successful in the second goal. Would he consider that success worth the loss of three of his minions and the questions that might be raised when their bodies were examined by mortal authorities?

Mist laughed. Oh, he’d find a way to deal with it. He wouldn’t be constrained by pedestrian mortal ethics or morals. She was. She had known about the Aesir’s survival for all of thirty-two hours, and already she’d lost any small advantage she’d ever had, dead Jotunar notwithstanding.

She hadn’t thought it was possible to despise Laufeyson more than she did already. She’d hated him for what he’d done in Asgard. For what he’d done to her. But now, her hatred was something incandescent, a spark that required only the lightest touch to become a conflagration. He was responsible for what had happened to the kids, to Dainn, even to the stranger.

She glanced across the room at the mystery man, who still wasn’t moving beyond a few random twitches. Who in Hel was he? He certainly didn’t look like someone who could hold a katana like a fifthdan kendoka. He was wearing casual but well-made khakis and sports jacket, now torn and rumpled, but no overcoat. His build was slim and wiry, and his handsome Asian features were more pleasant than threatening. The lines framing his light brown eyes fanned out from the corners the way they often did in people who loved to laugh.

All in all, he could be any young and successful professional enjoying a day off from work, if being out in this kind of weather was something he found enjoyable. But why would a man like him be walking by on Illinois Street just in time to join a battle?

If she was going to make any attempt to salvage the situation, she had to do something about him, and quickly. He had witnessed a savage fight between one man and three giants, a battle the “man” had won beyond all probability and with stunning skill and brutality. Mist had been deliberately vague with the ambulance service dispatcher about the circumstances surrounding Ryan’s injury, but she doubted this guy wouldn’t be so discreet. He looked like the kind who would describe everything in loving detail. He would say that she hadn’t only defended Dainn unequivocally but had also encouraged him to leave the scene of a crime.

Once the ambulance showed up and the EMTs called the cops— which she wasn’t going to do, since she needed to buy all the time she could—she wouldn’t have any chance to turn things around. The police would be after Dainn, and Mist might find herself under arrest.

Not that they could hold her. But Dainn could turn on anyone who threatened him. The cops wouldn’t stand a chance. And Loki would win.

Mist scrubbed the sweat away from her forehead with the back of her arm. She might be able to hide the stranger until the cops were gone, but that was hardly a permanent solution. If it came down to his life or the fate of Midgard . . .

The fate of Midgard wasn’t in her hands, she reminded herself, but Freya’s. Freya, who had given her daughter skills she couldn’t depend on.

Except one.

The bile rose in Mist’s throat. Dainn had told her that her mother had glamour that could “induce feelings of lust, love, and devotion with only the slightest effort,” and that mortals would be particularly vulnerable to the effect. Mist had the same ability. An ability she hated with all her heart.

Hel, maybe it wasn’t even possible. But it might stave off disaster until she could find a better solution.

“Gabi,” she said. “I know this has been very difficult for you, especially when you still don’t really understand what’s going on.”

“I do understand,” Gabi said, rubbing her hand across her wet face. “Those things are giants. They came to get Ryan. This is all some kind of war.”

“Whatever Dainn might have told you isn’t enough,” Mist said. “But I promise I’ll explain as much as I can once Ryan’s okay. Right now I need you to listen to me. There are a few important things I have to take care of, and I don’t know if I’ll be able to speak to you again before the ambulance arrives. The police will be coming, too. Dainn and I could get into bad trouble, and things could get very complicated for you.”

Gabi stared at her, defiance on her deceptively innocent face. “If it wasn’t for Ryan, I’d just go. But I won’t leave him.” She glanced at her friend, her lips turning down. “What do you want me to do?”

Mist leaned closer so the stranger couldn’t overhear if he came to. “I told the dispatcher that we heard noises in the gym when we were sleeping, and we came down to check it out. There were three men, and one of them hurt Ryan when he tried to stop them. They got away. You don’t know anything else. Got it?”

“It would be better if I didn’t talk to them at all.”

“I need to make sure they don’t start looking around the house until I’m finished. Do whatever the paramedics tell you to, and take care of Ryan. I’ll come after you as soon as I can.”

She shook her head, flinging her dark hair away from her face. “No. Call the ambulance guys and tell them not to come.”

“Gabi, you know Ryan might be badly hurt.”

“I know.” She looked down at her hands. “I can help him.”

“Gabi—”

“I know how,” she said. “I was just afraid to try it before.”

“Try what, Gabi?”

“Do you know about curandismo?”

Mist had heard about it. Curandismo was a kind of folk magic, usually healing, that was practiced by certain men and women in Latin culture. It was strongly based on their Catholic faith. As she and Dainn had discussed earlier, there were mortals who could work magic, but they were few and practiced under a shadow of anonymity.

“Are you saying you’re a curandera, Gabi?” Mist asked gently.

“You think I’m crazy,” Gabi said, “but I know how. Mi abuela taught me in Mexico, before my brother and me came here. I can heal him.”

Mist could understand why the girl would want to claim a gift to match Ryan’s in some way, even if it was all fantasy. “I can see you believe in it, Gabi,” she said, “but—”

“Let me try.” Her eyes filled with tears. “I don’t want the police to come. You have to let me try.”

Something in the passion of Gabi’s voice struck Mist with doubt. It was remotely possible. Two kids with magic might be drawn together. They might be drawn to Mist.

“Por favor,” Gabi said. “You said you had important things to do. Give me your phone. I’ll call them and tell them not to come. If I can’t help Ryan, I’ll call the ambulance guys again. I promise.”

Mist looked at Ryan. It wouldn’t make much difference now if she could comfort Gabi by letting her try to help her friend. The ambulance was bound to show up any minute.

She looked at the stranger again. He was finally showing signs of waking up. She had to work fast.

“Okay,” she said. She pulled out her cell phone and handed it to Gabi, rose, and then started toward the stranger. He was still too dazed to resist when Mist threw him over her shoulder and carried him into the hall. There was no sign of Dainn except a smear of drying blood on the hardwood floor and the wall near the door.

Gritting her teeth, Mist hauled the mortal straight to the kitchen and into the laundry room. Kirby and Lee, crammed in the small space between the washer and dryer, hissed and streaked from the room, glossy coats bristling like a porcupine’s quills.

Mist dropped the man to the floor near the door to the tiny yard and removed the belt from his wrists. He opened his eyes and slowly focused on her face.

“Easy,” she said when he moved to rise. “I’m not going to hurt you.”

“Where are the kids?” he demanded, his baritone voice hard with accusation.

“The ambulance is on its way,” Mist said. “They’ll be taken care of.”

“Where’s your friend?” he said, biting off the word.

“Gone.”

He moved again, and she pushed him back down. His eyes widened as he felt her strength.

But he recovered from his surprise quickly enough. “I don’t know how you know that lunatic,” he said, “but you helped him and urged him leave. You’re an accomplice to murder.”

“Murder?” Mist laughed grimly. “You have no idea what you saw.”

“Why don’t you tell me?”

All at once his voice had gone soft, almost sympathetic, as if he hoped to lull her into some kind of confession. She knew better than to fall into that trap.

“Those men attacked the loft,” she said. “They tried to kill us. Dainn protected the kids and defended himself.”

“Protected them?” the stranger said, losing his brief calm. “You let him—”

“I tried to get the kids away,” Mist interrupted, “but they got back into the gym.”

“Are they yours?”

“I don’t intend to be interrogated by you or anyone else,” she said.

“You do realize that your friend threatened the boy before you interfered?”

“I told you he’d never harm them.”

“You made it clear you thought he’d kill me.”

“I wasn’t going to take any chances.”

“Then you told him to go, even though you knew he could hurt others.”

His accusation was painfully close to the truth. “I couldn’t control him,” Mist said with complete honesty. “I did calm him down for a little while. But I don’t believe he’d hurt innocent people. Just the ones who attack him and his friends.” She glanced at his swollen nose. “I’d say you got off easy.”

The stranger’s hand flew to his face. “You think that’s funny?”

“I’m deadly serious.” She held his hostile gaze. “Now you can tell me who you are, and what you’re doing here.”

“Who are you?” he demanded.

“This is my house. You’re as much an intruder as the men who tried to kill us.”

“Koji Tashiro,” he said shortly.

“And what are you, Koji Tashiro? A Good Samaritan who just happened to be walking by at eight in the morning?”

He must have heard the sarcasm in her voice, but his demeanor didn’t change. “I was here looking for someone,” he said. “But that’s not the issue now, is it?”

“It is to me.” She rose to her feet, taking full advantage of the potential threat her looming height presented.

“I asked you if those kids were yours,” he said, staring up at her calmly.

“They’re street kids,” she said. “They were hungry and scared, and I gave them food and a place to sleep.”

“They’d have been safer on the streets,” he said.

He was right, and for that she had no excuse. “I didn’t expect someone to attack my home.”

“But you obviously have some idea who those men were,” he said.

“I didn’t know them,” she said. “As I told you, they were trying to kill us.”

“Very few people, even hardened criminals, just burst into a house and start killing. Do you have any enemies?”

Only the worst, Mist thought. “None that I know of,” she said.

He weighed her words and frowned. “Then it must be your violent friend. Did he get on the wrong side of some drug lord?” His expression softened to one of earnest concern. “If he’s involved in trafficking, he could bring more violence down on you and anyone close to you. Do you really want that?”

“He isn’t on drugs,” she said.

“Do you know how many people say that about their loved ones?”

Loved one. How wrong he was. “It’s my turn,” she said. “What did you mean when you said you were looking for someone?”

He seemed to realize he wouldn’t get anything more out of her unless he gave her something in return. “I was looking for a boy named Ryan Starling,” he said.