Mist

8

Dainn fell forward over his knees, barely catching himself with his hands before he collapsed onto the floor. His blood roared in his ears and pulsed in his cock, erasing all rational thought.

But his mind was still capable of forming one clear image. Not of Freya, who had so casually tormented him, but of Mist . . . Mist, with her firm and womanly body, her golden hair, her strong and beautiful face. In his imagination that face wasn’t frowning at him, full of suspicion and contempt. It was smiling, and her bare arms were stretched toward him, welcoming him as she lay naked on a bed of furs. She parted her thighs, ready for him, but he wasn’t interested in her readiness. He fell on her like a brute savage and—

Dainn slammed his head against the floor. Red sparks exploded inside his skull. He rolled onto his side and lay still until the stabbing pain became a dull ache. Slowly he rose to his knees and brushed his hand through his hair, feeling it sticky with blood.

The injury would fade. Shame would ebb. Animal lust would subside, and he would once again become as sober and sexless as one of the ancient monks of the White Christ.

But none of his problems had been solved. Freya would have no patience with any hesitation or weakness on his part, and his only advantage was that she still faced certain limitations to her own powers, those posed by the rules of the game and her disembodied state. She would not be able to observe Dainn’s every action or oversee his day-to-day decisions.

Still, there could be no more mistakes. It was not only his future that hung in the balance. If the Lady won the game, the Aesir would be safe. His own people would live and thrive again. Midgard—the Midgard Mist wanted so much to protect—would have its chance at becoming the new world the Prophecies had foretold.

At the cost of one woman’s life. The life of one too honest, too forthright, too honorable to recognize the true extent of the web of lies he had woven around her.

And every time he touched Mist’s mind . . .

He had told her his telepathic ability was a particular talent of his, and among all the other lies that one seemed very small. He had not been certain it would work until he “spoke” to her when she fought Loki.

There had been only one other with whom he’d had such contact, aside from Freya herself. And that had come to a violent end long ago.

Sickened and weary both physically and mentally, Dainn pulled himself together enough to make certain that both the Jotunar and Vali were still asleep. He had not lied when he’d told Mist that he was near the end of his strength. Freya had weakened his resistance when she had tampered with the cage he had built with such care. The more he used his magic, the closer he came to—

“Dainn?”

Mist’s voice warned him just in time. He got to his feet and watched her approach with folded jeans, a plaid cotton shirt, and a pair of well-worn work boots in her arms.

“A penningr for your thoughts,” she said, circling around the quiescent Jotunar with hardly a glance. She came to a dead stop when she saw the blood in Dainn’s hair.

“What happened to you?” she asked.

“I fell.”

“You fell?” Her brow creased. “Are you sure you’re all right?”

Her seemingly genuine concern was so much at odds with her previous behavior that Dainn was momentarily shocked into silence.

“A moment of dizziness, no more,” he said.

“Left over from working your magic?”

“Yes.”

She continued to frown at him as she dropped the boots at her feet and brought him the bundle of clothes.

“I think these should be all right for you,” she said. “You’re about as tall as Vidarr, even if he’s twice as wide as you are. Let’s just hope he doesn’t find out you’re wearing his clothes.”

Dainn turned the bundle in his hands. “I will do my best to stay out of his way,” he said.

She leaned closer and peered at his head. “That’s quite a goose egg you’ve got under there. I’ll go get something to wash the blood off.”

“It is not necessary. Is there a place I can bathe?”

“There’s a bathroom in the bar, and Vid and Vali have rooms upstairs in the back, but obviously that’s not an option. Vid has a sink in his office. You can use that to wash up when we’ve finished here.”

“I am grateful.”

“Believe me, I’m doing this more for myself than for you.”

It was an attempt at humor, if a grudging one. Dainn gave her a brief nod, set down the clothes and began to shed his rags. Mist reddened and abruptly turned her back.

Curious. He had not expected such prudery from a Valkyrie, who saw bodies of every shape and state on the battlefield when she rode out to collect “heroes” to serve Odin in Valhalla. According to custom the Choosers of the Slain were supposed to be virgins, but Dainn knew that custom had been more honored in the breach than in the observance. Some of the Valkyrie had even married.

Mist herself had kept a lover, unaware though she had been of his true identity. Doubtless she had had others before Loki.

The image of bodies entwined filled Dainn’s imagination, reminding him how close to the brink he stood. He steadied himself and deliberately released the tension from his body. The best defense against such emotions was not to pretend they didn’t exist but to rob them of their power.

“I was not aware that Valkyrie were so modest,” he said to Mist’s back, examining the gaping waist of the jeans in his hands.

Her shoulders stiffened, and she turned around. “I thought you might like a little privacy,” she said. “But since you don’t—” She looked him up and down boldly. “Not bad for an elf.”

“You have seen many Alfar unclothed?”

“Wouldn’t touch one with a ten-foot staff.”

Dainn tugged the jeans on with some force. “And Loki? Did his body please you?”

“His body wasn’t—” She took a deep breath. “Loki’s body isn’t Eric’s.”

“Loki clearly found yours more than acceptable.”

The remark was stupid, childish, and entirely born of the very emotions Dainn was attempting to disarm, but Mist didn’t rise to the bait.

“Loki finds just about anyone pleasing,” she said with bitter self- mockery, “or anything.”

She had no idea, of course, how effectively she struck at Dainn’s own shame. Finding his balance again, he shrugged into the shirt. It was a size too big in breadth, but Mist had provided a belt to cinch the pants at the waist. The length of both was nearly perfect. He let the shirttail hang loose to cover the flaws in fit.

Mist looked him up and down again. “Acceptable,” she said, “if a little working-class for an elf.” She nudged the boots toward him with her toe. “Try these.”

He knelt to put on the work boots. They, too, were a size too big, but they were better than the scraps he had worn on his feet for the past two days.

“Good,” Mist said. “Now all we have to do is cut your hair.”

Dainn winced. Little as she knew of elves, Mist had to be aware how much the Alfar valued their hair. His had been the only vanity he had permitted himself over the years, and he had stubbornly kept it long even when it made him more conspicuous, as it had in various places and times in the centuries following the Last Battle.

“I believe hair of this length is acceptable in the current decade,” he said, getting to his feet.

She looked very much as if she wanted to argue, but she knew he was right. Long hair hid the particular feature that marked the Alfar apart from mortals, even if it also tended to attract attention.

“You can keep it,” she conceded, “but don’t let it get in the way.” She glanced around the room, her gaze briefly settling on Vali. Odin’s son had ‘barely moved, his arms hanging loose at his side and his stubbled cheek resting flat on the tabletop.

“You put him to sleep?” she asked.

“It seemed prudent under the circumstances.”

“Then I guess we’d better get these Jotunar out of here.” She licked her lips, briefly revealing her unease. “What am I supposed to do?”

“Only let me guide you.”

“Only,” she muttered.

Dainn sat, and Mist followed suit. She faced him with legs crossed and hands resting on her knees. Dainn gave himself up to one of the many rituals he had developed to quiet his mind.

What he was about to do would require greater discipline than he had ever asked of himself—not because he might not reach deep enough into Mist’s mind, but because he might reach too far and enable her to understand, beyond any doubt, what he truly was and why he was here.

“We will begin as we did before,” he said. “But as you form the Runes in your mind, let your other thoughts drift like leaves on the wind.”

“Skip the poetry,” Mist said. “You want me to let my mind go blank, is that it?”

“As the Eastern masters do it.”

“Should I meditate on clapping with one hand?”

“Think only of the Runes. But do not concentrate too hard on the process, or you will fail.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” she said. She inhaled, slowly expelled the air, and closed her eyes. Dainn felt her agitation like a false note in a spell-song as she fought down her lingering suspicion and fear.

He touched her mind gently. She flinched. He reassured her by remaining on the surface, making no attempt to push, watching and waiting. Only when she had finally relaxed did he begin cautiously probing under the skin of the thoughts she could not quite suppress.

“Breathe deeply,” he said. “When you are ready, shape the Runes as you did before.”

She didn’t respond, but soon enough the staves began to appear, each one flaring bright—far brighter than before—as if it were constructed of Thor’s lightning, dazzling fire as quick as Mist’s temper. Dainn reached for the Runes, touching one after another, and Mist began to tremble.

“Be easy,” he said silently. “There is no danger here.”

Mist could not yet make her thoughts coherent as words, but Dainn sensed the substance of her answer. Get on with it.

He slid a little further in, probing under the Runes and touching what lay beneath.

It was as if he had set a lit match to brittle grass in a droughtparched meadow. Mist’s unconscious will to protect her mind— which he had felt only briefly before, when she had abruptly broken their joining at the loft—burst into a conflagration, a searing barrier that stopped him in his tracks. A violent wind hurled him back, and a great wall of seamless, ice-rimed metal thrust up through the seething flames.

Stunned by the attack, Dainn began to grasp what Mist had done. All unaware, and after only two encounters with his mind, she had learned how to create mental wards stronger than Dainn had believed possible for one without experience or training.

But there was far more to this than the building of mental defenses. Mist had created hers from a perfect joining of the elements. Some of the Aesir, like Thor, could control aspects of Air. The Muspellsmegir, the giants of Muspelheim, could wield fire and never be burned. The frost giants, like Hrimgrimir, commanded the forces of snow and ice. The Alfar and Vanir were the tamers of growing things, and the Dvergar masters of metal and earth. None, save the All-father himself, laid claim to power over all, and even he could join the elements only at great cost to himself.

The cost Mist might pay was as yet unknown, but Dainn knew he might not survive to find out. He fought to hold his ground and threw up a shield against the whirlwind, singing it into retreat with melodies of the hush of dawn and still summer days. But he could do nothing about the ice and flame and metal cutting him off from light, from air, from life itself.

He changed tactics, seeking under the wood and cement beneath him for uncontaminated earth, creating from Rune and elfsong a gauntlet of densely woven vines under a skin of air only thick enough to keep it alive. He eased his spectral hand through the maelstrom, barely brushing Mist’s barriers with gentle fingertips, searching for even the smallest gap. He sang again, as all Alfar did when they made use of the Galdr.

Perthro, of Heimdall’s Aett: the mystery of hidden things, initiation, destiny. Tiwaz, of Tyr’s Aett: willingness to self- sacrifice. Kenaz, from Freya’s Aett: the torch, symbol of revelation, transformation, opening to new strength and power. Uruz, the wild ox, the Rune of transformation, the shaping of power, the discovery of the self.

But the final Rune didn’t obey his will. Mist took hold of the stave and turned it against him. Its angular, simple strokes quivered and rotated counterclockwise, Uruz reversed: lust, brutality, violence. Then the stave straightened, forming a single line with a needle point, and plunged through Dainn’s magic-born gauntlet.

Unerringly it found its mark, passing through his heart and into the battered door within its once-impenetrable forest of poison and thorn, the prison Dainn had kept intact so long. The beast awakened and began to stir, swinging its vast head from side to side in search of the one who had disturbed its sleep.

Dainn gasped, undone by the ferocity of the attack and of the primal force that boiled unrealized beneath Mist’s flesh, the unbridled strength of her unknown father and her mother’s irresistible powers of seduction and desire. She taunted the beast, tossing Dainn’s centuries of discipline aside like chaff before the wind. The creature extended its claws and raked at the wall of thorns, tearing the flesh from its massive paws. The intertwined branches began to shriek like souls lost to the Christian Hell.

In a moment the beast would be loose.

Somehow Dainn resisted, though the energy he was forced to expend seemed to feed off his bones and muscles and organs, eating him away from within. Struggling every step of the way, he drove the beast back into its prison and wove the waist-thick branches anew. With the last of his strength he regained mastery of his physical being, singing it down from the rage of its lust.

He came back to himself drenched in perspiration, every muscle quivering, Thor’s Hammer beating on the inside of his skull. His stomach cramped, and he lurched up in search of a corner where he could empty it of its scanty contents.

When he was done, he wiped his mouth and leaned against the wall until he could breathe without gasping. Mist, only semiconscious, had barely moved from her original position.

She had no idea what had happened, no notion of what she was truly capable of. This was what he had just begun to sense when he had first touched her mind. What Mist had unwittingly shown him had not come only from Freya’s influence or presence within her.

What he had felt was more ancient still—ability gleaned from Freya’s Vanir blood, yes—but with elemental aspects that went beyond the magic wielded by most of the Aesir and their allies. Beyond any magic even the most powerful of the Alfar possessed, more than the Seidr that had existed even before the Runes had come to Odin. It was if she had reached back into the time before time and drawn upon the very force of life itself.

Carefully Dainn made his way to a section of the room well apart from both Mist and Vali. He eased himself to the floor, crossed his legs, and breathed rhythmically until he had shaken off all traces of sickness and fear. Sense returned, and with it the sure knowledge that he could no longer expect to complete his task by creeping about inside Mist’s brain like a thief casing a house and slipping out again unseen. He had no idea when she might become aware of his attempt to identify and eventually neutralize her native magic.

“You must discover the extent of her abilities and make certain she has the necessary instruction to accept me,” Freya had said. “ You must be sure that there will be no resistance.”

Dainn laughed deep in his throat, though the attempt left it raw and burning. Mist’s unconscious reaction went well beyond mere “resistance.” He must not only keep her from inadvertently killing him, but also find a way to breach her defenses. As long as Mist’s power was uncontrolled, Freya’s plan would fail.

But the more he pushed, the more magic he used, the closer the beast came to escape.

For now, there was still one task Dainn had to complete. He trained his fragile focus on the Jotunar across the room and called up the Rune Raiho, the chariot—safe enough—along with the image of a vast sirocco blowing the defeated giants into the middle of a bleak desert halfway around the world. A gust of searing wind knocked him sideways. He braced his hands on the floor and pushed himself back to his knees.

When he looked up again, Mist was staring at him, as wideeyed as a child she most assuredly was not.

“What happened?” she asked. “Are you all right?”

Dainn rose carefully. “I am very well.”

“That must be why you look like a snowflake could knock you over.” She stretched her arms above her head and frowned. “I don’t remember a thing. Are we finished?”

The Fates, Dainn, thought, had done him some small kindness in the midst of their punishment. “See for yourself,” he said.

She turned her head toward the place where the Jotunar had lain. Only a few dark blue bloodstains marked the spot.

“Where did you send them?” she asked, pushing loose tendrils of damp hair away from her forehead.

“We sent them to a place largely uninhabited by mortals,” he said. “They will be bound to that place for at least a few days.”

“Good,” she murmured. But her expression was troubled, and Dainn wondered if she remembered more than she let on. “Did you keep your promise not to meddle in my head?”

“Does it feel otherwise?” Dainn asked cautiously.

She lifted her shoulders and let them fall again. “I don’t know what I feel, but it’s different from last time. How am I supposed to know what’s normal?”

“The sensations are unique to each practitioner of magic. In time, you will become accustomed to your own reactions.”

“In time,” she echoed, meeting his gaze. “Look. I understand what you said about needing someone to help you and teaching me how to use whatever I have, but you can’t expect—”

“I expect you to become what you were meant to be, Mist Freya’s-daughter. You must learn to wield and control your magic, just as you wield your sword.”

She stood up, facing him with legs apart and hands on hips, looking for all the world as if she intended to turn an entire blizzard against him. “I assume we’re not only supposed to find the Treasures, but also keep Loki occupied until the Aesir show up, whenever that is. Not to mention finding out what’s happened to the bridges Loki and Hrimgrimir used.”

“Keeping Loki occupied is not your primary task.”

“But getting Gungnir back is. Did you get in touch with Freya while I was in the other room?”

Dainn started. Had she heard or felt him speaking with the Lady? He had been too distracted at the time to set up proper wards, and if she had any idea what they had discussed . . .

“I did contact her,” Dainn admitted, matching her offhand manner. “I made her aware of the situation. She believes the problems Loki had with the bridges are an anomaly.”

“What does that mean?”

“That it may be Loki’s problem alone.”

“I hope that’s true, since otherwise he could bring more Jotunar through anytime, right?”

“Now that the Lady knows that Loki is here and what he attempted in contacting you, she will better be able to counter his actions.”

“How? Loki said she can’t do much without her body, and she’s still working on getting our allies to Midgard.”

“She will send them soon,” Dainn said, feigning certainty he was far from feeling.

“You never told me how many Jotunar Loki actually has here,” Mist said, brushing aside his reassurances.

Dainn knew he still couldn’t afford to tell Mist about the game or its rules—especially since Loki had already broken several of them—but she had given him another opportunity to dissuade her from taking unnecessary risks.

“Perhaps two dozen,” he said, “perhaps as many as fifty. But he will move cautiously, since he obviously believes that Freya was acting through you and is capable of fighting him on his own terms.”

Tugging her braid forward over her shoulder, Mist began to unwind the heavy blond plaits. “Loki may move more cautiously,” she said, “but since what he believes isn’t true—”

“What matters is that he does believe,” Dainn said. “He is blinded by his feelings for Freya, both love and hate. He will continue to be deceived if you keep your distance from him as long as possible.” Mist gripped her half-undone braid tightly between her hands. “How are we going to stay away from him when we’re both looking for the same things?”

“Loki will sacrifice any number of Midgardians in reckless or even hopeless ventures and use them to distract us and aid him in his search. Now we, too, must find mortals to fight on the Aesir’s behalf.”

“You mean put ordinary people in danger.”

“Even with full access to your magic, you will not be omnipotent, and I certainly am not. It will be necessary for mortals to take their part in saving their world.”

Suddenly all Mist’s vulnerability and uncertainty were plain in her eyes, striking Dainn more surely than any magic she could throw at him. Fear, not of being hurt or dying, but of failure.

“Okay,” she said, her eyes reflecting a painful memory of the necessities of war. “How do we go about finding these allies?”

Dainn permitted himself a moment of relief. “Loki will naturally seek the corrupt and greedy,” he said. “We will find those dedicated to the good.”

“Oh, of course.” Mist finished unbraiding her hair and combed it through with her strong, slender fingers. “The ‘corrupt and greedy.’ Gangsters? Politicians? Terrorists? Serial killers?”

“I can only guess at Loki’s choices, but he will use anyone who can serve his purpose.”

“So you’re talking about criminals and murderers and amoral public figures, some of whom have whole arsenals of guns and bombs and gods know what else? And you expect decent people to face that?”

“Conventional Midgardian firearms and similar weapons will not be effective in this war.”

She stared at him. “Why not?”

Because, Dainn thought, it was another one of the “rules” of the game. “Freya has told me such weapons are nidingsverk to the Aesir— dishonorable, the tools of cowards who are unwilling to face their enemies in personal combat. No Alfr, Jotunn, or member of any other race involved will be permitted to use them.”

“Why should Loki care about honor?”

“There are certain actions even he will not take if it will bring him bad luck, and his gaefa will surely vanish if he casts aside every law of the gods.”

“So everyone will be fighting with swords, knives, and axes? That should work well.” She snorted. “You do realize that the people of Midgard haven’t believed in us for hundreds of years? We can’t just stick an advertisement on Craigslist: ‘Wanted: fighters for the Aesir, must believe in giants and be skilled with the sword. Oh, by the way, you’re probably going to get yourself killed. Want to join up?’ ”

“You are forgetting that there are some mortals who possess a limited degree of magical ability. Some will surely become aware of what has come into their world.”

“The kind of mortals you’re talking about are as rare as—” She grimaced. “Snowstorms in San Francisco. Sure, there are a few who claim to have mastered the Galdr, but most of them are quacks. Even if a few do sense that something is going on, what makes you think they’ll find us, or even want to help?”

“Call it a feeling.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“I seldom jest.”

“You don’t say.” She flipped her hair back behind her shoulders in a thick, golden wave. “I hope you’re not thinking of using some kind of summoning spell?”

“I do not believe it will be necessary.”

“I don’t like any of this. And I’m not satisfied with what little you’ve told me. But we can only do one thing at a time, and I’m most concerned about finding my Sisters. I don’t know how far off the grid the other Valkyrie have been living, and obviously magic won’t be enough to locate them.” She frowned, lost in her own thoughts for a good minute. “We’ll need access to every kind of data that might reveal their whereabouts. Computers, and people who know how to access records all over the world. Loki will be on it himself if he hasn’t started already.”

“I bow to your superior knowledge of Midgardian technology,” Dainn said.

“Where have you been living, under a rock?”

There were times that he had been doing almost exactly that, entirely by choice. “I have often traveled where there are few such means of communication,” he said. “But if you believe I must master these machines, I will do so.”

“Do you even have a cell phone?”

Dainn spread his arms to indicate that all he possessed was fully visible to her. Mist rolled her eyes.

“Let’s stick with the experts,” she said. “Vali used to be good with computers. In fact, if I remember right, he was one of the earliest hackers, the ones who helped expose just how vulnerable electronic data could be.” She looked toward the table, where Vali was lifting his head to display slack features and bloodshot eyes. “But he only did it for kicks, and he gave it up some time ago.”

“Will he assist us?”

“We always got along pretty well, and he did help me today.” She frowned, a distracted look in her eyes. “I have to admit I didn’t think he was capable of doing what he did. Vid’s always dominated him. Maybe Vali’s finally ready to stand on his own two feet again . . . if he can stay sober.”

“Do you think he will be prepared to tolerate my presence?”

“He’s much more the forgiving type than his brother.” Her gaze sharpened again. “What about the bridges? What if Freya’s wrong about Loki’s access to them?”

“She will monitor the situation and contact me if it becomes necessary.”

Mist threw him a wary glance and nodded slowly. “It would probably be a good idea to put a warding spell around my loft in case Loki works himself up into a fighting mood again.”

And helping Mist create such a spell, Dainn thought, would give him another chance to probe her mind again. Very carefully.

“I doubt Loki would dare attack your home,” he said, “but it would be a wise precaution. Surely he will have Jotunar watching you at all times.”

“Right. And once that’s taken care of, I’m going after Gungnir.”

“You must learn to control your magic if you are to be effective against him.”

“But he thinks it was Freya who faced him at the end of the fight. Now is the best time to act, when he’s still worried about her returning.”

Dainn laughed silently at his assumption that he could prevent Mist from taking risks. “Where do you expect to find him?” he asked.

“Mist?” Vali croaked. With considerable effort, Odin’s son levered his head and shoulders off the table. “Wa’s happenin’? Where’s Vid?” His bleary gaze slid to the center of the room. “Where’s th’ Jot’nar?”

Mist went to join him. “They’ve been taken care of,” she said.

Vali sighed and slumped over the table again. “ ’S bad, isn’ it?”

“Very bad.” She sat in the chair opposite his, her legs straddling the seat. “But you can help do something about it.”

“Me?”

“You were very brave today, and I’m going to rely on that courage a lot more from now on.”

He blinked. “You wan’ . . . my help?”

She reached across the table to lay her hand on his arm. “You’re Odin’s son, Vali. Baldr’s avenger. I haven’t forgotten, even if you have.”

“I . . . don’ wanna remember,” Vali said, resting his cheek on the worn wood of the table top.

She squeezed his arm. “You need to get sober, Vali. I know how smart you are when you want to be. If we’re to have any hope of finding my Sisters before Loki does, your skill with computers will be essential. You can help save this world.”

A tear rolled over Vali’s ruddy cheek. “I . . .” He looked up at Mist. “Okay.” He tried to stand up, staggered, and righted himself again. “Wha’ d’ya wan’ me to do?”

“Dainn and I have to make some plans, so we’ll go home for a while. I want you to come to my place when you’re steady enough to drive, but I need it to be soon. Can you do that?”

“Sure.” He grinned. “I’m glad you . . . beat Loki.”

“I couldn’t have done it without you.”

“ ’N’ him,” Vali said, waving in Dainn’s general direction.

Mist rose. “If you get a chance to talk to Vid, maybe you can get him to speak with me again.”

“Doubt it,” Vali muttered. “Once he’s made up ’is mind . . .”

“Try. He should know better than anyone what’s at stake.”

Vali nodded, threw back his broad shoulders, and wove his way toward the bar door. Mist returned to Dainn.

“I guess you don’t have any money,” she said.

He shook his head.

“No wallet? No ID?”

“I seem to have misplaced it.”

“Anything socked away in Switzerland or the Cayman Islands?”

“I have a little, but I have not touched it in years.”

“Then you’d better think about accessing it. I have a feeling we may need it.” She patted the rear pocket of her jeans. “I have more than enough to pay for a hotel room for you until we can arrange something else.”

Apprehension tightened Dainn’s throat. In spite of her earlier cooperation, Mist didn’t want him in her home.

“I do not think it wise that I have separate lodgings, now or in the future,” he said. “You have no need to fear that I will invade your privacy except at your invitation.”

“My invitation?” Her eyes hardened to opaque chips of ice. “What is that supposed to mean?”

“I will need to be on hand not only to teach you, but to aid you if Loki returns before we are prepared.”

It seemed they were to engage in a silent duel of wills, a duel Dainn could ill afford to lose. But suddenly Mist dropped her gaze and gave a small, rueful shrug.

“You’re right,” she said. “I have a couple of extra rooms. If you keep out of my way when we’re not actually working together, I may let you stay.”

“As you say, Lady.”

“I’m not your ‘Lady.’ ”

“What name would you prefer?”

“I guess it’ll have to be Mist.”

As small a concession as it was, Dainn knew how much it had cost her. She didn’t yet like him, but she had chosen to accept his help, if only provisionally.

That she did not like him should not matter to him. In fact, it would be far better if she maintained her physical distance, and he did the same.

Better for both of them.

“Let’s go,” she said.

Without another word, Mist started for the bar door. Dainn followed her into the front room.

It was soon apparent from the patrons’ behavior that none of them suspected what had been going on out of their sight. Loki had warded the back rooms well, and Vidarr would undoubtedly erase any evidence that there had been unusual activity anywhere in the establishment. No one so much as glanced at Dainn as he walked toward the front door.

The brawny doorman was gone, but another man stepped out in front of Dainn as he reached the entrance. Vidarr grabbed his arm and pushed his face close to Dainn’s.

“I don’t know what you’re really doing here,” he said in a low voice, “but you’re a traitor, and you won’t stop being one just because you’re working for Freya.”

Dainn stood very still, aware that the beast had been drawn to the surface too many times in the past few hours to tempt again now. “I work for all the Aesir, for my own people, for their allies,” he said.

“Even if I believed you, I’d know you’re hiding something.” Vidarr bared his teeth. “Freya is as much a schemer as Loki, isn’t she? I know why she didn’t contact me or Vali. She has no connection with us. But I expect to hear from my father any time now, and if I find out you’ve been lying—”

“You may be a god, Vidarr Odin’s-son,” Dainn said, “but you have no understanding of what has happened. The All-father has his own concerns, and Freya has been charged with protecting the Treasures. Either you assist us, or you are a liability.”

“Is that some kind of warning?” Vidarr asked with an incredulous laugh.

“I give no warnings,” Dainn said. “I only emphasize the nature of the threat that faces all of us.”

“I think you’re part of the threat, elf. Sooner or later you’ll make a mistake.” Spinning on his heel, Vidarr hurled Dainn at the door. “And when you do,” he said, “I will kill you.”