Mist Read online

  “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.”

  9

  Vidarr stalked away without a backward glance. Dainn straightened and rubbed at his arm. There was a part of him, a very lethal part, that was eager to take up Vidarr’s challenge.

  But he still had enough sense to resist the impulse. And to ignore what both Vidarr had implied about his relationship with Mist. He went out the door, moving stiffly, and joined Mist on the sidewalk.

  “Took you long enough,” Mist said, subjecting him to a brief but searching glance. “Let’s go.”

  She set off at a fast pace, returning the way they had come. The early morning sun had come out from behind the canopy of gray clouds that painted the sky from one horizon to the other, but Dainn knew the brief respite wouldn’t last. He had seen the vast changes in weather all over the world, and snow in San Francisco was hardly the worst of it. It constantly amazed him how mortals could engage in such furious denial of obvious fact.

  The fact that Fimbulvetr— the Great Winter—was already here.

  He and Mist walked back to her automobile, which sported a parking ticket under the windshield wipers. Mist snatched it free and read it with a muttered curse.

  “Just what I need,” she said. She unlocked the door and slid behind the wheel. Her efforts to start the engine were unsuccessful.

  “It’s dead,” she said. “Should have gotten it replaced a year ago, but I was sort of fond—” She glanced at Dainn and pulled a cell phone from an inner pocket of her jacket.

  After she had made arrangements for the car to be towed to a local repair shop, she scratched out several Rune- staves on a sheet from a small pad of paper tucked inside the glove compartment, tore it out, and placed it under the wipers where the ticket had been.

  “Should keep the cops away until the truck gets here,” she said. “We’ll take Muni.”

  Dainn followed Mist to the streetcar stop, grateful for her continued silence. He had much thinking to do. He was still troubled by the closures of the bridges on the Golden Gate and in the park. Freya’s assurances had eased some of his concern, but he knew he would have to confirm her belief that the other bridges would still serve to transport their allies. He sincerely hoped the Lady would not have a rude awakening when she attempted to send the Alfar across.

  “It’s here,” Mist said beside him, and Dainn returned to the present in time to board the streetcar. He kept his senses alert, both physical and magical, as he and Mist rode toward the neighborhood incongruously named Dogpatch.

  He became aware that someone was following them well before the streetcar reached the Twentieth Street station. Mist seemed oblivious, as intent on navigating the maze of her own troubled thoughts as he had been earlier, but he knew that one among the other passengers was a little too interested in their movements.

  He observed carefully as he and Mist left the streetcar. None of the passengers who got off at the same stop seemed to be traveling in their direction. Dainn dropped behind Mist as she walked to Twentieth Street. They passed a small ice cream shop, a coffee bar, and a store featuring eclectic apparel, but Dainn caught no glimpse of any follower or sensed the presence of a potential enemy.

  It was impossible not to notice, however, how many lingering glances Mist attracted. He had been too preoccupied to pay attention before they’d boarded the streetcar, but it was now apparent that other mortals, males in particular, seemed to find her fascinating enough to compel protracted stares as she passed by. She was striking, yes, but this was more than a matter of mere beauty or the graceful, almost sinuous motions of a well-formed woman trained to fight. Mist was Freya’s daughter, newly awakened to her power. If once she had been able to move unnoticed and unremarked, it was unlikely she would ever be able to do so again. And that was more than ample explanation for his sense of pursuit. The Norns alone knew how many pairs of eyes had been fixed on her during the ride.

  When they arrived at Mist’s loft a few minutes later, she paused as if listening for a voice she would never hear again. Her shoulders slumped as she unlocked the door, releasing wards no longer effective against anyone but mortal thieves.

  Unwillingly aware of Mist’s pain, Dainn followed her into the entrance hall. She turned right almost immediately into a side hallway that ran parallel to the street, facing a large paned window, and led Dainn to the second door.

  “You can sleep here,” she said, her voice strained with suppressed emotion. “I’d give you a room upstairs, but it’s pretty messy up there. I really only use the ground floor. I bought the ware house so I could set up a gym with plenty of room.”

  She opened the door to a plain, sparsely furnished room with a narrow bed, a chest of drawers, and a chair painted to suggest a weathered effect.

  “I’ll show you the bathroom,” she said. “And I guess you’re probably hungry. I don’t have much in the house right now. Can you make a sandwich?”

  The question was absurd, but Dainn wasn’t inclined to quibble. “Yes,” he said. “I would be grateful for the opportunity.” She led him back the way they had come and along the main hallway leading to the kitchen at the rear of the ground floor. The ashes of Loki’s note were still smeared across the tabletop.

  Mist went directly to the sink, dampened a dish towel, and wiped up the ashes with hard, fast strokes. She threw the dish towel into a trash can and slapped her palms against each other as if to remove any traces of ash. And Loki.

  A pair of large, thick-coated cats—one gray and white, one red— emerged from a small room adjoining the kitchen. The heavy fur along their spines was slightly raised, and they moved cautiously, nostrils flaring, tails low and large eyes watchful as they approached Mist.

  Knowing that Mist was observing him with great interest, Dainn knelt to offer his hand to the cats and spoke softly in the Old Tongue. The larger of the animals, the gray and white, chirruped an inquiry but did not come closer. The red and white cat hung well back, refusing Dainn’s overtures.

  “I wondered how they’d feel about elves,” Mist said, leaning against the counter. “Everyone knows the Alfar are better with animals than any other immortal, and cats are sacred to Freya. Interesting that Lee is so standoffish.”

  Dainn rose. “We understand that the nature of cats is unlike that of any other beast,” he said, knowing it could have been much worse. The cats might have rejected him completely, sensing what he could become.

  Mist took a pair of small bowls from a cupboard and filled them with kibble out of a bag kept under the sink. She carried the bowls into the adjoining room. The cats trotted at her heels, glancing back at Dainn from the doorway before seeking their meals.

  “All I’ve got is sli
ced turkey and some Jarlsberg,” Mist said, washing her hands and opening the refrigerator door. “A couple of tomatoes, and lettuce, wilted. Mayo and mustard. Sprite. And some—” She stopped, and Dainn heard her catch her breath. “Diet Coke,” she finished, very quietly.

  Dainn assumed that must have been Eric’s beverage of choice, though he had a difficult time imagining Loki with a soda can in his hand. “Water will be sufficient,” he said.

  “Good,” she said. “Then I can get rid of these.” She withdrew four cans from the refrigerator, set them on the counter, and then tossed two thin packages on the table. “Bread’s over by the stove,” she said, popping the tabs on the four cans one by one.

  Dainn found the bread and plates in the cupboard, sat at the table, and watched Mist out of the corner of his eye as she unceremoniously poured the contents of the cans into the sink and tossed the empty containers into a plastic bin. She gazed into the bin for a moment, then returned to the refrigerator and removed a bottle of amber liquid Dainn recognized as beer. As Dainn finished making the sandwiches, she twisted off the cap and took a long drink.

  Dainn pushed one of the plates toward her. She set the bottle down and stared at the sandwich uncomprehendingly.

  “I’m not hungry,” she said.

  “Alcoholic beverages will not enhance your mental faculties, or your strength.”

  She leaned over the table, her stance belligerent. “Do you even drink?”

  “On occasion. This does not seem to be one of them.”

  Abruptly she grabbed the plate and pulled it toward her across the table. Dainn took a measured bite of his sandwich. Mist filled a glass of water from the tap and set it down next to his plate. He nodded thanks, she took the nearest chair, and they ate in silence until the sandwiches, and Mist’s beverage, were gone.

  “You can make a sandwich,” she said with a huff of strained laughter. “Can you cook, too?”