Mist

21

Dainn staggered away from the wall, blood filling his mouth, his head still resounding with the violence of Loki’s blow. He was incapable of magic, almost incapable of walking. The beast that had been so powerful minutes before had left him as helpless as any mortal.

He couldn’t help Mist now, but he could do as she asked and find Gungnir, if it was hidden anywhere inside the penthouse. No one in his right mind would conceal the Spear where it was most likely to be found.

But Loki had never been completely in his right mind. That was one reason why Dainn believed Mist could survive this— this incredibly foolish and desperate attempt to save one who wasn’t worth the effort. She had wielded the ancient Vanir magic as if she had used it all her life. She was Loki’s match in everything but malice.

Bending low, Dainn crossed the room and ducked into a hallway where he could catch his breath. He closed his eyes and shut out the sounds of battle, striving to find any trace of magic that would allow him to locate the Spear.

At first he felt nothing. Then, like a whisper in the midst of a hurricane, he sensed a locus of power that belonged to no living thing. The cut in his hand, nearly healed, began to throb. He touched his lips to the wound and tasted magic.

Magic that had seeped into the kitchen knife’s very substance, penetrating only a few molecules deep into the common steel.

That was all Dainn needed. Still ignoring the violent conflict in the adjoining room, he ducked into the kitchen and searched for the knife block.

The moment he touched the carving knife next to the empty slot, Gungnir’s power raised all the hairs on his body and sent spikes of sharp, burning pain racing up his arm. He didn’t have the spell to return it to its true form, but his only concern now was to keep it away from Loki until Mist was either victorious or dead.

He knew what Mist would want him to do. He didn’t do it. He ran back into the living room, holding the knife behind his back, and took in a scene of utter chaos.

Loki was on his back, throwing handfuls of fire at Mist, who stood over him like an avenging goddess, her blond hair loose and flying about her head in a golden aura. Every blast of flame splashed harmlessly against the watery sphere that surrounded her. She was smiling, and her face . . .

Dainn fell to his knees. It wasn’t Mist who had Loki pinned down and fighting for his life. Freya had taken her. She had found a way past her daughter’s instinctive defenses.

And she was winning the fight against both her daughter and Loki.

Gungnir throbbed in Dainn’s grip, and he remembered again why he had come at Freya’s call, why he served her, why he had agreed to let her take Mist’s body as her own.

And why he had chosen to prevent that from happening, no matter the damage it might do to Freya’s chances of victory.

Now he faced the choice all over again, and it was tearing his soul apart. Laufeyson might have defeated Mist alone. He would have faced an equal in Freya. But now the Slanderer’s opponent was more than goddess, more than Valkyrie, more than the sum of both.

Let it happen, Dainn thought, and Midgard will be saved from chaos. There will be peace, if not freedom. And I will be—

He struggled to his feet. “Freya!” he shouted.

She glanced at him with all the interest she might afford a speck of dirt forgotten by a house maid’s broom. But in that brief moment when she held Dainn’s gaze, he saw the spirit that could not be quenched trapped behind her brilliant blue eyes.

“Mist!”

The goddess smiled at him, striking him to the ground with the full fury of her love, and returned her attention to Loki. He had given up his attack and was scrambling away, frantically chanting spells of defense.

Mist, Dainn thought. Fight.

Freya didn’t hear him. She pursued Loki across the room, striding like a giant, ever smiling. Dainn got to his feet again and stumbled toward them, knowing that if he intervened he would be struck down.

Before Dainn could lay a hand on Freya’s arm, Loki bounced up and struck at him, flinging a rope of flame meant to burn Dainn’s fingers and force him to drop Gungnir. Dainn dodged, but not before the fiery rope slashed across his chest and licked at his jaw, searing his flesh almost to the bone.

He clung to Gungnir with the last of his strength. The fire winked out, and every surface in the room grew a slick coating of ice as the lingering traces of warmth left in the apartment flowed into Loki’s raised hands.

Freya’s eyes lost their gentle rage, and her hair fell back around her shoulders with a hiss and crackle of static electricity. Just before Loki struck, Dainn tossed the knife. She caught it in her right hand, whirled to face Loki again, and chanted the Rune- spell that restored Gungnir to its original form.

The Spear’s head caught the brunt of the ice storm Loki hurled at her, and the steel glowed deep red as if it had just emerged from Mist’s forge. Radiating heat Dainn could feel from several yards away, it seemed to waver in the frigid air as if it existed in two realities at once and belonged to neither.

Still Mist didn’t move. She, too, was frozen between worlds, between minds, between herself and the goddess who wanted her body and the magic that was as much a part of her as her strong sword arm and her selfless courage.

Loki dropped his hands, water dripping from his fingers. Dainn tensed.

“Why did you stop, my Lady?” he asked, breathing hard. “You almost had me.”

Mist blinked. She looked at the Spear and tightened her fingers around the shaft. Loki turned his hand palm up and curled his fingers inward, pulling the heat from Gungnir’s blade. It engulfed his hand, freezing instantly, and in a second Loki had shaped the ice into a heavily spiked ball like a mace on a medieval flail.

Loki’s weapon couldn’t kill Freya, who was not yet fully attached to this world, but it could destroy a physical body. Mist would die, and Freya would still be free to seek another shape, even if it took time to find one capable of containing her power.

Dainn began to move. But before he could take more than a step, Loki threw the ball directly at Mist’s head. She swung the Spear to intercept it. It bounced against her arm, slicing through her already shredded jacket and shirt and engraving deep slashes across her skin. She dropped Gungnir, and Loki sprang onto the rosewood coffee table, perching there like an eagle ready to swoop down on its prey.

“We could go on, Sow,” he said to his enemy, “but where would be the fun in that? Especially when even I can see you’re losing your grip on your daughter.”

Mist-Freya picked up the Spear with her left hand as blood soaked her right sleeve. “I can still kill you,” she said.

“I don’t think so.” He brushed water from his shoulder. “In truth, you want me humiliated, not dead. I still want a real contest, Lady. And I think you do, too.”

They stared at each other, goddess and godling, with hatred and complete understanding.

“We will continue our game,” she said, “so I can crush you utterly before you die.”

“And the bridges?”

“Do you think I closed them?” she asked. “You shall have to hold yourself in suspense a little while longer. But I still have the Eitr. For the time being, you will pay the penalty by losing ten percent of your Jotunar. You will obtain funds only by conventional mortal means, not through magic. If you flout our bargain again, I will use it.” She pointed Gungnir at Loki’s chest. “Do you understand me, Slanderer?”

“You couldn’t be more plain.” Loki glanced at Dainn. “Our witness is hardly neutral, but I will accept his honesty. Shall I see you both to the door?”

Freya hurled the spear at Loki’s head. If he hadn’t twitched slightly to the left at the last possible moment, it would have pinned his skull to the wall behind him. Instead, it sliced off several inches of his hair on the right side of his head. Loki fell to his knees.

“Take the Spear,” Freya told Dainn, dusting her hands on her thighs. “We will go.”

She shot Loki a poisonous glance and strode to the door, trailing the benevolent warmth of the sun, golden butterflies, and the scent of primroses. Ignoring Loki, Dainn pulled the spear from the wall and glanced quickly around the room. He saw Mist’s knife at the feet of one of the dead giants and paused to retrieve it.

He tucked the sheath in the waistband of his pants and followed Freya, his stomach churning with horror at what he had permitted to happen.

They met five Jotunar as they reached the elevator. The giants comically skidded to a stop when they saw Freya.

“Never fear,” she said, her voice all seduction again. “Your master is alive. For the time being. You may choose whether or not to continue to serve him by standing in my way, or die.”

The two giants in the lead exchanged glances and moved to the side, leaving the path clear. When she and Dainn reached the lobby, Freya moved to the nearest chair and sank into it. Guests stared at her, but she ignored them.

“Fetch me something to drink, Dainn,” she said. “A sweet drink to cool my temper. I do so dislike being angry.”

Dainn held the Spear against his body and remained where he was. “Did you close the bridges?” he asked.

She glanced up at him. “You had no need to know before. It was only a temporary measure, until I could be sure my allies were ready.”

She might be lying, Dainn thought. He could no longer separate truth from falsehood. But she was still as confident as she had ever been.

“I expressly told you not to allow my daughter to come to harm,” Freya said with a very small frown, “but I shall forgive you, since the need for such precautions is past. I will soon have other tasks for you.”

“Searching for the other Treasures?”

“Among other things.”

Dainn shifted his grip on Gungnir’s shaft. “How were you able to take Mist so quickly?” he asked. “I thought you needed more time to prepare.”

She patted his arm. “These are not your concerns, my Dainn.”

My Dainn. Loki called him the same many times, but he belonged to neither one of them. And never would.

“Are your allies ready as well, Lady?”

She laughed, the sound drawing the stare of every male in the room. “Those who fight for me shall be free to come within the next two Midgardian weeks.” Freya casually waved her hand. Mist’s warm, calloused hand, and the wrist that bore a tattoo no longer red, but black. “In the meantime, now that I am here in body, I can have every man I meet eager to serve me. How many can I gather in a day? A week?” Her fingers drifted along Dainn’s thigh. “My daughter has power that enhances my own in ways I could not have anticipated, and it is all open to me. And I shall reward you well, my Dainn. Just as I promised.”

Dainn looked away, feeling nothing of Freya’s caress. If there was anything left of Mist behind Freya’s stunning blue eyes, she would soon have no hope of escaping her mother’s control. Soon—in minutes, hours, days—she would be completely absorbed into a mind that would use Mist’s own power to prevent her resistance until she no longer had the strength to fight.

“Don’t look so sad,” Freya chided in a voice rich with sympathy. “I can see you developed some fondness for the girl. That can scarcely be a surprise. But now she serves the greater good. Midgard will be saved.”

“As you say, Lady.”

“Then fetch that drink, and we will begin looking for proper accommodations. Loki’s apartments were richly furnished, but very dull. I think—”

Dainn dropped the Spear, leaned over Freya, and caught her mouth with his. She pressed her hands against his chest, and he could feel the power building, power that could turn him into a gibbering drone with a single embrace.

But it wasn’t Freya he was kissing. And in that moment when he took Freya off guard, the beast began to stir, roused again from the place inside him where it had hidden since its encounter with Loki, awakening to the sexual heat coursing in Dainn’s blood. The beast began to possess him again, demanding more, drawing blood from Freya’s lower lip. She laced her hands in his hair, pulling him down to his knees.

And then she flung him back, her face contorted in fury, her gaze all indignation, all outrage, all chagrin.

All Mist.

She sprang up from the chair, staring at Dainn as if he had suddenly risen out of the tiled marble floor. “What the Hel—”

Quick footsteps approached from the direction of the reception desk. Dainn shuddered, shaking off the beast, and grabbed Gungnir. He thrust Kettlingr into Mist’s hand.

“We must go,” he said, “or we will be facing more questions than we can answer.”

Without debating his suggestion, Mist chanted the spell to reduce Gungnir to knife shape, tucked it inside her jacket, and ran for the door to the street. Dainn hung back long enough to discourage anyone who might choose to follow.

The male receptionist came to a stop, chest heaving. “We’ve called the police,” he said. “What ever you’ve done—”

“—may save your world,” Dainn said. The beast strained against its new-made chains, and Dainn let it look through his eyes.

The man backed away. The guests huddled in the corner nearest the fireplace, eyes wide, whispering frantically. Forcing himself to draw on the beast’s strength, Dainn sang a spell that would strip the minds of every mortal in the room of any memory save that of two vague figures quarreling and kissing in the lobby.

The beast howled, and for a moment Dainn almost lost himself again.

Someone screamed. Dainn turned and ran. Mist was just pulling up to the curb on a small motorcycle.

“Get on!” she shouted as the wail of approaching sirens began to drown out the hum and rumble of evening traffic. Once Dainn had mounted the vehicle behind her, Mist squealed away, cutting between trucks, taxis, and double-parked vehicles with reckless abandon.

They outran the sirens, and when Mist finally pulled over into the deep shadows of an empty ware house on a pier about a mile north of Dogpatch, she slumped over the handlebars and cursed herself, Dainn, and Loki in rapid and violent succession. Dainn climbed off the motorcycle and crouched a little distance away, shaking with exhaustion and waiting for her to remember.

She lifted her head to meet his gaze. “What did you think you were doing?” she demanded, her words catching as if she were just becoming used to speaking with her own voice again.

“You knew I would be with Loki,” he said, pretending not to understand her question.

Groaning, Mist pressed the heels of her palms into her temples. “Did you seriously think I wouldn’t figure it out?” she snapped. “When Vali told me you’d been hiding in the house all along and you needed to get away from the loft to ‘deal with’ what happened . . .” She gasped as her massaging hands found a particularly painful spot. “You thought you didn’t have anything else to lose, didn’t you?”

“I had already lost.”

She dropped her hands and scowled at him. “You’ve really pissed me off this time, Dainn. I saw you change in the gym, in a way you never warned me about. If I’d known, things would have gone very differently.”

Once she found out just how much he could change, Dainn thought, she would be more than merely “pissed.”

“I . . . didn’t expect it to escape my control,” he said.

“You kept telling me you could keep it in check. But I—” She swallowed. “I told you to let it go. I just didn’t realize—”

“Yes,” Dainn said softly. “It transforms me into a creature capable of physically destroying anything in its path. It feels no pain, no loyalty, no mercy.”

She slammed her fist on the bike’s handlebar. “I told you I wanted to help!”

“You could not. Whatever your power, this is beyond it.”

“No. I won’t believe that. You said it feels no loyalty, but you weren’t just trying to kill Loki, or those Jotunar in the gym. You were protecting the kids and me. You could have killed Tashiro, even Ryan, but you didn’t. How do you account for that?”

He shook his head, unable to answer. “How did you find me?” he asked.

She hissed through her teeth, recognizing his dodge. “I went to Vidarr. He’s been keeping tabs on Loki without sharing the information with us, and he was able to find out where Loki has been living when he . . . when he wasn’t with me. I saw a Jotunn on the street outside Asbrew, so I knew they’d be waiting for me at the tower. I let them take me to Loki.”

The beginnings of dangerous anger gnawed at Dainn’s frayed nerves. “They struck you.”

She touched her face gingerly. There were no visible injuries, and the cut in her arm had healed. Only the blood on her nose and clothing served as a reminder of the wounds.

“I wanted to make Loki think I was helpless for a while,” she said.

“But you had a plan when you arrived.”

“I hoped I could use my own magic to get you out of there, and take Gungnir if I could.” She smiled grimly. “Don’t look at me like that. I didn’t think I could work the Rune-magic against him . . . though I’ve been doing pretty well with that since you left.”

“Vali said you disposed of the Jotunar bodies.”

“And the evidence of what had happened. But I wasn’t kidding myself that I’d be good enough with the Galdr to defeat Loki that way.”

“The old Vanir magic,” Dainn said.

“I had a feeling it would come to me when I needed it again, and it did. Or at least, it started to. I knew I had to stall Loki until it felt strong enough. Then you stepped in like three kinds of idiot, and Loki—” She met his gaze. “But you know all that.”

“Yes.”

“Have I ever told you how much I hate it when you answer my questions that way?”

“Was it a question?”

“Curse you, you son of a . . .” She sagged over the handlebars. Dainn studied her face. There was still confusion in her expression, the knowledge that something was amiss. “All the time I was pretending to be Freya,” she said, “I could feel the magic building, but it wasn’t opening up to me. Loki wasn’t convinced I was really the Lady. When I told him I didn’t care if he killed you . . .” She trailed off again, flushing to the roots of her fair hair.

“I understand,” he said. “You bought your time.”

“Yes,” she murmured, lifting her head. “And when the magic came, it was like becoming one of the Aesir. More powerful than the Aesir. But then Loki became Eric, and I—”

“Something seemed different to you?”

“I remember telling you to find Gungnir. Then I felt Freya come to help me.” Her gaze fixed on something only she could see. “Then . . . Gods, I don’t remember. Until you tried to kiss me.”

Dainn released his breath slowly. She didn’t know everything that had happened. He still had time to prepare her for the full truth.

But not yet. If he told her what Freya had intended and how he had planned to help the Lady, she would turn on him and never trust him again. And she must trust him. The Lady would not give up now that she knew what her joining with Mist made her capable of.

“You lost yourself in the magic,” he said, “as I lost myself to the beast. You forced Loki to retreat, but you were unprepared to handle the unleashed potency of your abilities.”

“Is that what gave me this pounding headache?” she asked, her voice rough with a brave attempt at humor. “Or was it the kiss?”

Dainn could never forget the look on her face and how she had laughed when Loki had called him her lover. “I am sorry,” he said, staring at the pavement between his feet. “It was necessary to shake you out of your fugue state.”

“I guess it worked.” She probed her lower lip with a fingertip. “Did the beast come back then? You said that strong emotions . . . I mean—”

“By then it was under my control again.”

“Well, now I know you were lying when you suggested I wouldn’t pay a price for magic.”

“I had no idea what that price would be,” Dainn said.

She looked up at the sun as if it were some foreign object instead of a tool she had used in her battle with Loki. “I guess I’d better keep you around to tell me what I do next time I ‘lose myself in the magic.’ Just don’t try that particular tactic again, okay? It isn’t good for either one of us.”

“No,” Dainn said, closing his eyes.

Mist sighed. “What did happen with Freya? I felt her for a short time, and then she was gone.”

“She still lacked the physical presence to fight Loki effectively, regardless of her desire to protect you. He was able to send her away.”

“I hope she makes a little more progress soon. I don’t think I can keep this up much longer. Dainn, look at me.”

He obeyed her, and she gazed out of eyes as bruised as her body had been. “There’s one more thing I need to know. Before I stopped Loki, you bargained for my life.”

So, Dainn thought, it was to come at last. “Yes,” he said.

“You would have traded—” Her throat worked. “The things he said to you—”

“As if we had been lovers.”

She pressed her lips together, refusing to continue. Forcing him to tell her.

“We were,” he said harshly. “When he convinced me he was Freya in order to use me against the Aesir. He took on her shape. He learned my weaknesses and how to manipulate me. When I discovered his tricks, it was too late.”

“Then you did love Freya. Who you thought was Freya.”

“I believed I did.”

“You turned on him, but he . . .” She glanced at Dainn with an almost helpless expression. “He wants you back. He . . . feels something for you.”

“No. It is only submission he desires. He would have done the same to you if he had taken you.”

“And you’d have chosen that for me instead of an honorable death?”

“I had hoped—” He broke off, well knowing he could never tell Mist of his bargain to teach Loki the Alfar magic. He knew it could no longer be considered in effect. “You are too important to this world, Mist. I would go to Laufeyson again if I thought it would save Midgard.”

“Forget it.” She hopped off the motorcycle and strode to stand over him. “You hate him. You hate what he did to you. I’d never let you make that sacrifice. Not even for Midgard.”

“Perhaps it is not your choice.”

She turned and marched to the edge of the pier, glaring down into the cold gray water. “The beast is just waiting for another go at Loki. You have to stay away from him. You have to avoid any violence if you want to stay sane and not hurt innocent people. That means leaving the fighting to me, no matter what kind it is.”

“Would you not be better off without me?” he asked softly.

“Quit it with the whining,” she snapped. “You still have to teach me, remember?” She brushed a tendril of hair away from her lips. “Or is that too dangerous, too?”

Water slapped against the nearest piling, reminding Dainn of the small sea-magic he had used to send Loki his message. She was right. Even that could become deadly now.

“I can only know what is safe through trial and error,” he said, staring out at the increasing turbulence of water and sky.

She must have heard the despair in his voice, for she crouched near him again and reached out as if she might touch him. She didn’t.

“We’ll just have to be very careful,” she said.

“And you must set aside the Vanir magic for the time being. Once you have gained complete mastery of the Galdr, you will be ready to try it again.”

“But it worked, Dainn. I got rid of those Jotunar in the gym. I stopped Loki.”

And somehow, Dainn thought, it had given Freya full and apparently permanent access to Mist before Dainn had believed it possible. It had opened Mist’s mind, shattering all her unconscious defenses.

As long as Mist avoided such magic, Freya might be held at bay until Mist’s defenses were fully restored again. But when next the Lady spoke to him-—and she would undoubtedly do so very soon— she would have many questions. She was unlikely to have forgotten the kiss, and how it had restored Mist to her body. Unless he could convince Freya he’d had a very good reason . . .

Such worries were pointless now. There was no going back. There hadn’t been since he had chosen Mist over her mother.

“Your talent with the Runes can be developed to a level almost as powerful as the elemental magic you used today,” he said, “and with far less risk.”

“But—”

“Do you wish to lose your mind?”

Her face relaxed, and Dainn knew she was more relieved than she would ever admit. “Then we’re pretty much back where we started. Except now Loki knows I have power of my own.”

“No. I am certain his beliefs in that regard have not changed.”

“And Freya? She came when I called her, but I still can’t hear her.”

“She will contact me again when she is ready.”

“What did Loki mean when he said she’d never cared for anything or anyone she couldn’t use for her benefit or pleasure?” she asked. “I know she ignored me in Asgard, but—”

“Can you still doubt that Loki would employ any lie to increase his advantage, physical or psychological?” Dainn said. “Would he not try to plant suspicions in your mind at every turn?”

She met his gaze. “Did Freya think the beast would be a weapon for her all along?”

“I cannot believe so.”

“And what about this Eitr stuff Loki mentioned?”

Dainn had known he would have to explain about the game sooner or later, but now he could risk only part of the truth. “It is a particular power Freya is holding in reserve,” he said, “but she cannot risk spending it until there is no other choice. The price for wielding it could destroy Midgard. We must hope its use never becomes necessary.”

They both fell silent, intently studying everything but each other. A light snow began to fall, settling on Mist’s fair hair and lingering there like dew on ripe wheat. “At least we have Gungnir back,” she said after a long interval. “Where did you find it?”

“In a knife block.”

“And Loki’s supposed to be the clever one.”

“Cleverness does not preclude stupidity.” He shifted his weight, stretching cramped, aching muscles. “There is more to discuss, but perhaps we should be returning to the loft.”

She glanced toward the street, clogged with sluggish traffic as commuters struggled to negotiate icy pavement. “You’re right,” she said, sensible and pragmatic again. “I need to make sure the kids are safe. And Tashiro—”

“Vali said he would be no trouble.”

“I don’t think he will be. His memory is—” She broke off, flushing again. “He still wants to talk to Ryan, and maybe I can convince him to take Gabi away as well. We need to raise much better wards around the loft. And then we’re going to decide how I can help you with the beast without . . . without setting you off.”

Dainn held his peace. It would do no good to protest now, and he was too weary to think of an alternative.

“Skita,” Mist said suddenly, snapping her fingers. “I forgot that I was supposed to call Vali. The Jotunar took my cell phone.”

“It is easily replaceable,” Dainn said.

“Unlike a lot of things.” She rose and returned to the motorcycle. “Let’s go home.”