Mist

11

“Senator Briggs?”

The young woman rushed up to the portly politician, breathless and tottering on her spike-heeled pumps. Briggs, disturbed in his conversation with an important local businessman, cast her a forbidding glance. His expression changed almost immediately as he took in the woman’s short, tight-fitting skirt, long, elegant legs, and the cleavage that showed at the neckline of her mauve silk blouse, winningly emphasized by the shadows cast under streetlights flickering on with the coming of night.

He muttered a word of apology to his companion and turned to the woman. “Yes?” he asked with a patently false smile. “May I help you?”

“Oh, Senator. I’m sorry to disturb you, it’s just that I . . .” She halted in mid-gush, flustered, then resumed in more measured tones.

“Senator Briggs, I heard you speak today on the evils of a secular society.” She filled her lungs, the better to show off her succulent breasts. “I just wanted to tell you how very impressed I was. I agreed with everything you said, and I’m sure the American people will listen and applaud when you do your television interview.”

The senator, visibly pleased, pretended to focus on her face, which the woman knew was as seductively beautiful as her body. “Why, Miss . . .”

“Lori. Lori Larsen.” She batted her eyelashes. “I’ve been following you ever since you won the election. I can’t believe I’m finally meeting you!”

“Well, Miss Larsen, the pleasure is all mine.” He turned back to the businessman, spoke a few soft words, and shook the man’s hand. The man glanced once at Miss Larsen and reluctantly walked back into the hotel. “Now, what about my speech did you like most?” he asked.

Lori smiled, showing off pearly white teeth. “It’s so hard to choose. I think it was when you talked about the dogma of Darwinism. It’s so awful what they’re doing in schools these days!”

Senator Briggs nodded solemnly. “So true. We’re doing our best to put our own people on the school boards, but the forces of Satan are powerful.” His assessing gaze slewed down to her legs and crawled back up to her bustline. “Are you enjoying the conference so far?”

“Oh, yes! But it wouldn’t have been nearly so enjoyable if you hadn’t come.”

Puffing out his chest, the senator offered his arm. “Perhaps you’d like to discuss this over a drink,” he said. “The hotel has an excellent bar. That is, of course, if you indulge.”

She met his eyes. “The Bible says, ‘He makes grass grow for the cattle, and plants for man to cultivate—bringing forth food from the earth: wine that gladdens the heart of man, oil to make his face shine, and bread that sustains his heart.’ ”

“You know your Bible! I congratulate you.” Briggs’s brown eyes assumed a libidinous gleam. “Shall we?”

Lori took his arm and, giggling with excitement, accompanied the senator to the bar.

She was very good at having her way. It didn’t take much encouragement to press the congressman to drink much more than he ordinarily would or to shield him from awareness of the effects of imbibing to excess. Nor was it difficult to persuade him to let her escort him to his suite, or to sit down beside him on the bed and bathe his forehead. When she complained that the room was too hot and removed her jacket, further exposing her breasts, small waist, and shapely ass, she struck the most provocative poses with beguiling innocence.

In the end, the senator fell. Satan was in his heart, tempting him beyond his meager power to resist. When she helped him out of his suit jacket, he buried his hot, heavy face into her neck. When she unbuttoned his shirt, he insisted on returning the favor. Soon his fat, broad hands were on her breasts, squeezing her nipples, and she knew then he would never turn back. Like all his kind, he was a hypocrite, weak and stupid. Just the kind of mortal she needed. She didn’t resist when he bore her back on the bed, pushed up her skirt, and revealed her complete absence of undergarments. She moaned in anticipation as he pulled his pants down around his legs and planted his gross, sweaty body between her thighs. She wrapped her legs around his waist and cried out as he thrust inside her. Lori had always enjoyed sex, and it didn’t much matter to her what form it took. As a mare, she had become impregnated by a stallion, and she had made love as woman with man, man with woman, and man with man, dominant and submissive. All of it was good. Briggs was well-endowed, which was almost enough to make up for his pale, ugly body.

So she took what pleasure she could out of the grunting pig inside her, suppressing her climax until the good senator had spent his seed. Then she let go, bucking and gasping just before the mortal collapsed on top of her. She pushed his unresisting body over onto his back. Almost at once he fell into a drink-sodden sleep, his flaccid penis dangling over the open waistband of his trousers. With a curl of her lip, Lori shed the remainder of her clothes and stepped into the shower, washing his stink away. Then, still naked, she stood in front of the fogged mirror, cleared it with a gesture, and watched herself change.

Loki Laufeyson examined his sleekly muscled body with approval and walked back into the bedroom. He sat on the edge of the bed, chanted a quick spell and watched the senator begin to emerge from his postcoital slumber. Once he was sure Briggs was nearly awake, he went to work.

The senator’s eyes snapped open. He didn’t see Loki at first; he was too busy enjoying Loki’s expert ministrations. It was only when he reached out and tangled his fingers in Loki’s hair that he began to realize that something was amiss.

“Lori?” he croaked. “What—”

Raising his head, Loki grinned. “What is it, my darling? More teeth, perhaps?”

The senator’s eyes nearly popped out of his head. He reared up, mouth working in soundless protest, and tried to push Loki away. Loki wrapped his fingers around Brigg’s flagging member and held on.

“Calm yourself, Senator,” he said gently. “I wouldn’t want you to be injured.”

Staring into Loki’s eyes, Briggs began to tremble. “Who are you?” he whispered. “Where is Lori?”

“Lori’s here, my love,” Loki said in her voice. He touched his own chest. “Didn’t you enjoy fucking her? Or was it him?”

“Oh, my God.” Tears leaked from the corners of Briggs’s eyes. “Oh, my God. What have you done?”

“Your god has nothing to do with it,” Loki said. He released the senator and got up from the bed. “I believe the sin was all yours, Senator.”

Briggs went as limp as a flag on a windless day. “You . . . you are Lori?”

Primping his hair, Loki gave the senator a good look at his body. “I have been many things. At the moment . . .” He snapped his fingers, and a large photograph appeared in his right hand. “At the moment, dear Senator, I am your blackmailer.”

Briggs was still weeping when Loki left him. The senator had tried every trick in the book: pleas, bribes of insultingly miniscule proportions, and finally threats of impressive magnitude. The congressman, as Loki well knew, had a vast web of connections that extended throughout the city, state, and beyond, many of them illegal. Hypocrites were surprisingly good at justifying their lapses in the name of ultimately serving their god, or because they were merely feigning devout belief, all the better to fleece their flocks.

The senator fell into the latter category, and he knew being caught in bed with a man would ruin him, as it had so many others of his ilk. When he realized that Loki could neither be bought for a few thousand dollars nor threatened with a beating or worse, he began to see reason. The bargain Loki struck made him very unhappy, but not as unhappy as the prospect of losing a very promising, and profitable, career.

By the time it was over, Briggs had the original memory card, convinced it was the only one and that no copies had been downloaded elsewhere. That was actually the truth. Of course, Loki could conjure up as many photographs as he needed at any time. But he only had to exert a little will to persuade the senator that he was sincere, and a few hours later, during the tail end of the evening commute rush—and after adorning himself with a very expensive- looking suit and shoes—Loki walked out of the hotel a member of the senator’s personal team.

Oh, this was just the beginning, of course. It would only be a matter of time before he rose higher still to a much more vital position, and with only a minimal exertion on his part. He would have “real” money rather than the false currency he conjured up at some cost to his magical energy, which must be preserved for much more vital purposes. And since Freya knew he had been in Midgard in defiance of the rules . . .

His good mood evaporating, Loki scowled at an elderly man walking a ridiculously tiny dog. Both dog and man shied and retreated to the very edge of the sidewalk, where the dog promptly evacuated its bowels.

Loki swung his ivory-headed cane with the ruby insets, feeling the Spear humming with life under his hand. At least he had Gungnir. It had failed him once, to be sure, but even if it did him little good by itself, it was excellent bait for Mist.

Mist. Heat surged into Loki’s face. She’d always been a wild card in the game; he’d known Freya would use her eventually, just as he would use his own children. He had stayed with Mist to learn her value to her bitch mother and because he had hoped to deceive her into revealing the locations of the other Treasures.

He had underestimated her, and her mother. He couldn’t forget the moment when Freya had looked at him through Mist’s familiar eyes. He had been completely unprepared for that appearance.

He had made an utter fool of himself.

The tip of the cane struck sparks against the cement as Loki slammed it down in front of him. He should have been prepared. When he’d found the bridges, he had chosen to break the rules in the belief that he could establish a strong base of operations that would more than compensate for the price demanded for his transgression. He had believed that his own watchers would detect the arrival of Freya’s agents from the Aesir’s Shadow-Realm in Ginnungagap.

But even Hrimgrimir had failed to identify the elf Freya had sent to find her daughter.

Dainn.

One of the doormen rushed ahead of Loki to flag down a taxi, but Loki summoned an empty stretch limousine waiting to pick up a client. He smiled at the driver, who went blank-eyed under his influence and quickly moved to open the rear passenger door. The limo possessed a well-stocked minibar, and Loki poured himself a Scotch and soda as the driver eased into late commute traffic, bound for the Ritz-Carlton.

Dainn.

Loki stared at the back of the driver’s head through the glass partition. In all the centuries since the Dispersal, he had been ignorant of Dainn’s fate. The catastrophic event had taken place just as he had been violently resisting Dainn’s attempt to kill him. Dainn should have been sent to the Shadow-Realm of the Alfar, as each race had joined its own kind in the Void.

But Dainn had been rejected by his own people and the Aesir. Even though Freya had convinced Odin to stop Thor from executing the elf, Loki had very good cause to know that Odin’s curse had been in full effect. The pain in his mind had been exquisite as the beast tore through it, raking his thoughts to shreds with invisible claws even as Dainn’s strong but ordinary hands were locked around his throat.

That was the last they had seen of each other. And now Loki knew Dainn was alive. Alive and working for Freya. Doubtless waiting for another chance to destroy his most hated enemy.

Rubbing at his throat, Loki closed his eyes. Was the curse still in effect? Dainn had lost so much of his magic when the Eitr had been taken from him, but he had enough to be of use to Freya above all the other Alfar she might have sent to Midgard. He had defeated Loki’s best Jotunar fighters. He had spoken into Mist’s mind. He had opened the path for Freya’s possession of her daughter’s body.

“He fears you because he fears the Lady,” Dainn had whispered, his thoughts going wide of their intended mark. But the elf was wrong. Utterly, egregiously wrong.

Loki laughed, causing the driver to look nervously in his rearview mirror. Loki fogged the glass between them. How ironic that Freya had offered him a “choice” to come back to the Aesir. As if Odin and Thor would ever have him. As if he would go crawling to them, begging forgiveness.

They still didn’t understand. Without him, all the Homeworlds would have descended into rot and stagnation before the first intelligent mortals walked on Midgard.

If there were choices to be made, others would be making them. He had offered Mist an alliance before Freya’s arrival, certain she knew her Sisters’ whereabouts and that he could find a way to use her against her mother now that he had been forced to act.

But she had turned him down. Turned him down. And then she had lost herself.

For a time. But he had seen Freya leave her, known when Mist had reclaimed her body and struggled to make sense of what had happened to her and what she had done. There had been no direct communication between Freya and her daughter, no willing cooperation—of that, Loki was certain. If his suspicions were correct, Mist wouldn’t be permitted to understand. Freya intended to return to that same body whenever she wished to work her will in Midgard.

And how convenient it had all turned out to be for her. Loki glanced at a passing Humvee, considering whether or not it might be pleasurable to blast out all its windows.

He decided against the effort and forced his thoughts back into far less satisfying channels. Of course neither he nor Freya had known what would happen before Ragnarok. She could not have made such plans in advance, nor had she shown any interest in her daughter in Asgard.

But she knew her daughter had been sent to Midgard before the Dispersal. She knew how much magic it would take to shape herself a new physical body of her own while she struggled to hold the others in their quiescent state; she would have to use her Eitr as Loki had, losing her single advantage and her ability to enforce the rules of their game.

No, Loki could not imagine that she would allow Mist to learn what she really intended for her offspring. Mist might have days left, perhaps weeks, before Freya took full possession. And Mist deserved it, the bitch. Unless she discovered what was happening and fought against it.

Loki stretched, amused by the idea of Freya and her daughter at odds. Of course, there was no doubt which of the two would win. Mist had almost no magic of her own. Freya was going to be a problem much sooner than Loki had anticipated, but he would deal with it. And Dainn.

“Sir?” the driver’s voice spoke through the intercom. “We’re at the Ritz-Carlton.”

The limousine pulled up to the curb, and a uniformed bellman was immediately at the passenger door to help Loki out of the vehicle. He seemed confused at first that Loki had no luggage, but Loki’s quick smile convinced him that there was nothing unusual about such a well- dressed, attractive man desiring to check in without baggage.

The bellman accompanied him to the front desk, where an efficient, obliging clerk assured him that the guests who had reserved the Presidential Suite would not be at all put out if Loki took the rooms instead. He ordered room service with a bottle of Veuve Clicquot Cave Privée Rosé, 1978, kicked off his shoes, and lay back on the bed, listening to the rush of traffic far below his window.

There was one thing that still puzzled him. He still didn’t understand why Dainn hadn’t tried to kill him. He would have defeated Dainn in a head-to-head match, of course, but he knew that the elf was capable of very human emotions, including an irrational and reckless anger that had become all the more deadly under the influence of the beast.

Yet Freya trusted him. She must expect him to protect Mist. Why hadn’t he come to Mist’s direct aid in Asbrew?

Because he fears me, Loki thought. He closed his eyes as a fresh rush of bubbles slid over his tongue. He fears me because he once loved me, and he can never forgive himself.

That was one very pleasant thought. So was the memory of how easily he’d gotten the better of Odin’s son. No, Vidarr would be no trouble. He, too, was afraid.

Still, as much as it galled him, Loki knew he must be patient a little longer. Considering that he’d found several of the bridges closed since he’d taken Gungnir—closed for no reason he could yet determine—he couldn’t be sure how soon he would be able to bring more Jotunar into Midgard.

Once his alliances with Briggs and with mortals of a lower and more violent sort were fully established, he would be able to buy himself more time. Tomorrow his new headquarters would be ready for occupation, the apartment fully furnished to his specifications, the conference room ready for meetings, offices prepared for the employees he was already beginning to accumulate. Freya still had a great deal of catching up to do. And long as she maintained her own mind, Mist would try to come after him. Dainn would try to stop her. But if he failed . . .

Loki licked his lips. Then, Lady Sow, he thought, we shall see who determines the fate of Midgard.

Dainn was standing over Mist’s bed when she woke.

She nearly jumped out of her skin, snatching for Kettlingr on the bedside table.

“Skita,” she swore, putting the knife down again. “What do you think you’re doing?”

“Vali is at the door,” he said, his face expressionless. “What time is it?” she asked, rubbing her eyes.

“Nearly nine o’clock.”

Mist swung her legs over the side of the bed. “I didn’t know I’d slept that long.”

The elf regarded her out of eyes nested in circles as dark as his hair. He still wore Vid’s clothes, which hung on his body like deflated airbags.

“The kids?” she asked.

“Sleeping.”

“I’ll check on them later. Take a shower while I’m talking to Vali.

You need it.”

Backing away silently, Dainn left the room. She wondered briefly if she’d offended him and dismissed the thought as irrelevant. Sparing his pride was not high on her list of priorities.

Vali was waiting in the kitchen. The burly blond was sober—a very good sign—but his expression was grave.

“Sorry I couldn’t get away earlier,” he said. “I didn’t want Vidarr to know I had urgent business. He would’ve been suspicious.”

Indeed he would have, Mist thought. The only urgent business Vali ever had was with a bottle. At least, until now.

Mist poured herself a glass of water. “You weren’t able to talk to him?”

“Nope. He’s avoided me ever since you and the elf left Asbrew. I think you really surprised him, Mist.”

“Surprise” wasn’t really the way Mist would have described Vid’s reaction. “I have a few things to tell you. Can I get you anything to drink?” she asked.

“Same as you’re having.” He smiled and sat down at the table.

“I’m jumping on the wagon.”

Mist wanted to hug the old bear. “Good. I’ll be needing you to think clearly.”

She gave him a brief account of the teenagers’ strange arrival and what little she knew of them. Vali made all the appropriate noises of surprise and concern.

“What are you going to do with them?” he asked when she was finished.

“Not sure yet. But there’s something more important I need to discuss with you. Remember when I told you I was going to need your help?”

Vali blinked at her. “You really need me?”

“Desperately.” She filled a glass from a bottle of spring water in the fridge and set it in front of Vali. “You’ve always been sharp—

smarter than Vidarr in most ways—and you’ve never gotten the credit for it.”

“What exactly do you want me to do?”

“You understand what Loki is planning, Val? What’s really at stake?”

“Sure. Loki wants to take over the world.”

“And are you okay that Dainn will be working with me? Can you accept someone your brother called a traitor?”

Vali shrugged. “I figure you wouldn’t have anything to do with him if he were as bad as they say. Freya trusts him, I guess.

Maybe he made mistakes, like he said, but everyone needs a second chance.”

Bless you, Mist thought, relieved that she’d judged Vali correctly.

“Thanks,” she said. “As for your part in this . . . I remember how good you were with computers. I seem to recall that you did a little hacking back in the nineties.”

Staring down at his glass, Vali shook his head. “It was just showing off. Mainly practical jokes, nothing really harmful. I wanted to prove I was better at something than Vid was.”

“Well, what you’ll be doing now—if you agree—is hacking for a vital purpose. We need to find the other Valkyrie and the Treasures before Loki does, and you can help us do that.”

Vali looked up, surprise and speculation in his eyes. “You really don’t know where they are?”

“No. They could be anywhere. We’ll need access to databases in every part of the world—and not just the publicly accessible ones—so we can look for clues that might lead us to them.”

Rising abruptly, Vali floundered about the kitchen like a boar in a birdcage. “Odin’s bloody eye,” he swore. “You’re talking about stuff like banking accounts, personnel files, phone records—”

“And a lot more, including national and international security organizations, if we have to go that far. I hope we won’t. Wherever they are, my Sisters have been living in Midgard as long as I have.

They’ve adapted, as I have. They all have lives that can be traced.”

“Do you have any idea what that would involve?” Vali asked.

“They’ve probably moved around, just like you did before you came here. Maybe you kept your real name, but do you think the others have? Especially after dozens of mortal lifetimes?”

“We’ll work out some parameters for the search, like references to names or objects associated with what mortals regard as Norse mythology.”

“Do you think the other Valkyrie would have used their Treasures?”

“I don’t know.” She watched Loki pace from one end of the kitchen to the other. “Look, Val, I know it’s not going to be easy, and it may take time, maybe even months—”

“Months?” Vali laughed. “More like centuries.”

“Maybe not. When you used to hack, did you ever use magic?” Flushing, Vali thumped against the counter like a pinball finally coming to rest. “Sometimes,” he stammered. “I figured out a few tricks. But I always thought it was cheating, so—”

“It won’t be cheating now. You can be sure Loki won’t leave anything to chance. He’ll be hiring his own experts. Every resource is crucial. You’re crucial, Val.”

Odin’s son returned to the table and fell into the chair again, setting the wood to groaning under his weight. “I don’t know,” he said. “I can’t guarantee I’ll be able to do even half of what you’re asking. The Internet can only take you so far. Even private government databases aren’t likely to have records on more than a fraction of their citizens. And there are dozens of countries that barely have any kind of computer records.”

“All I ask is that you try. Use any magic you think will help.” Vali released a gusty sigh, for once clean of the scent of hard liquor. “I’ll give it my best shot.” His eyes brightened. “Maybe it will even be fun.”

Mist squeezed his shoulder. “I believe in you.”

He didn’t seem to hear her. “I’m going to need my own data center to do this. Lots of hardware and questionably legal software I can adapt.”

“I have quite a bit of money saved,” Mist said. “I’ll make sure you have everything you need. And while you’re handling that, Dainn is going to be teaching me a little more about magic.”

“A little?” Vali rose again, hitching up his belt. “Vid isn’t going to be happy if he finds out. You caught him with his pants down, and he doesn’t like being mocked.”

“I don’t much care what he likes.”

Rebellion flared in Vali’s mild blue eyes. “Neither do I. I’ll think up some excuse to stay away from Asbrew. He probably won’t even notice I’m gone.”

“You can always tell him you’ve joined AA.”

It wasn’t funny, but Vali smiled anyway. “This ought to be just as good. And if he gives me a hard time, I’ll spit in his eye.”

“I hope that won’t be necessary.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting late. You won’t be able to do anything tonight, but I can show you where you can set up.”

Vali followed her along the hall to Eric’s home office. There had been no time to get rid of his furniture and belongings, though Mist had checked to confirm her assumption that Loki had taken his computer when he left.

“When you get the equipment you need, we can always expand,”

she said. “There are two unfinished bedrooms on the second floor, and a whole lot of empty space. You can arrange your stuff any way you like.”

“What about the elf?” Vali asked suddenly, eying her sideways.

“Will he be staying here?”

Mist stiffened. “For the time being. If it wasn’t that I need him to teach me . . .”

“Sure. I understand.” He flushed again. “Do you think you can go to the bank tomorrow and get me some of that money you mentioned?”

Mist thought about Loki and Gungnir and magic lessons and the kids and all the things she still had to do, every one of them urgent.

“I think so,” said. “Is twenty thousand enough to start with?”

“More than enough, until I see what’s what.” He grinned and slapped Mist on the back, nearly knocking the air out of her lungs.

“It’ll almost be like old times.”

Maybe he really believed that. Vali had always been a bit of a dreamer—too much so for his own good. But Mist well knew they could never go back.

Vali left a few minutes later. Mist checked in on the kids, who were so deeply asleep that they wouldn’t have heard a mob of Jotunar barreling straight through the loft. Too restless to sit still, Mist went outside and scanned the street. It all looked completely normal, as if Jotunar and magic weapons and evil gods didn’t exist. No one knew the actors had assembled on stage, and the curtain was about to go up.

There was no question now of returning to bed. Mist went to the gym and began her workout, starting with stretches and continuing with a series of judo and karate stances before moving on to practice with the various swords and ending with weights. She stripped off her sweaty clothes in the bedroom and was headed for the shower when she met Dainn in the hallway, bare-chested and lithe with his black hair flowing around his shoulders. He came to an abrupt halt. “Have you—” he began.

“Are you—” she said at the same time.

He looked a little too long at her body, scantily covered as it was with a short terrycloth robe and nothing underneath. The robe was securely cinched around her waist with the belt, but she pulled the neckline closer around her upper chest.

“Forgive me,” Dainn stammered, and fled back the way he’d come.

Mist was left shaken and appalled by the gooseflesh on her arms and the heat in her groin.

Fenrir’s teeth. She’d seen him naked before, in Asbrew. He’d made a mockery of her embarrassment, though he had been right: there was no such thing as a modest Valkyrie where bodies in their various living and dead states were concerned.

Dainn had proven to be more solid than she’d imagined when she’d first seen him in his indigent’s rags. He had the look of a man who had done plenty of physical labor, with sleek, defined muscles and broad shoulders. No bodybuilder, the elf, but probably ten times as strong as one. Not an ounce of fat on his body, and . . . Stop, Mist told herself.

She managed to shut off her highly inappropriate thoughts and rushed into the bathroom. She locked the door from inside and leaned against it as if Dainn might try to break in.

And do what? She took off her robe and stepped into the shower, turning the water all the way to cold. The discomfort brought her back to her senses, and she returned to her room in a much calmer state. She braided her hair, dressed as if she were going outside, complete with boots, jacket, and Kettlingr, and went to find Dainn.