Battlestorm Page 15

  “It does not tell us the state of her health, or of her magic.”

  “Loki will find that out at the party, and then we’ll know, too.” Vali kicked at the floor to dislodge a crust of mud acquired from the wet street outside. “If Loki manages to steal Sleipnir, I’m sure I’ll be able to learn where he’s hidden the horse.”

  “Laufeyson forgets who Sleipnir is,” Orn said. “He may have given birth to the Slipper, but Odin’s mount will not go willingly.”

  “And it’s possible that if Freya or Mist figures out he’s trying to distract them, they might get to Sleipnir in time to stop him.”

  Orn cocked his head, eying Vali appraisingly. “Can Mist stop him?”

  “We still don’t know exactly what happened at the protest.” Vali stroked the side of his beard in a nervous gesture that belied his calm demeanor. “Even though Loki tries not to let it show, he’s a lot more worried about her than he used to be.”

  “Then he will be more cautious,” Orn said, pacing up and down the length of the counter.

  “Maybe. But as long as he’s got Dainn and the kid, he’s going to believe he has good odds of winning tonight.”

  Dainn and the kid. Orn clacked his beak. He had known nothing of this child until Vali had informed him. He had not been pleased with what he had learned, but Loki’s newest offspring had done little to aid his parent in recent months, and Dainn had been no more than a passive prisoner. According to Vali, neither of them was as easily manipulated as Loki wished.

  Regardless of what happened at the reception, the elf would fall soon enough, and Danny might be of very great use to Odin. If Freya did not kill the boy first.

  But Orn didn’t believe she’d get the chance, even if her affliction was minor and temporary. He had gained many substantial advantages over both her and Loki. Laufeyson no longer considered him a threat. Orn had spies in each of the enemy camps. Mist possessed five of the Treasures, and Orn had already “touched” all of them, two—Gleipnir, the Chain, and Jarngreipr, the Glove—via Anna’s pendant. His own followers, aided by Vali’s technical expertise, had finally located and claimed two of the remaining Treasures for him. Bragi’s Harp and Freyr’s Sword, as well as their Valkyrie guardians Hrist and Olrun, were now under his control. Each Treasure had restored a little more of his intelligence and magic.

  Still, they were not enough. Now he must make physical contact with Loki’s new acquisitions. The raid on Laufeyson’s mansion would give him that opportunity. Though he needed Sleipnir in order to become fully himself, absorbing the power of Thor’s magical weapons would increase his power and make it easier for him to take the horse when the time came.

  Orn flew from the counter to the back of a chair, looking beyond Vali to the men gathered in the back of the bar. Some might have mistaken them for Jotunar in their more personable, mortal forms, but they were not frost giants. They had been selected long ago from among the most valiant warriors of Valhalla, and their strength, courage, and loyalty had been tested many times in the long ages before the Dispersal and the fall of the other Eight Homeworlds.

  They were the true Einherjar, not some collection of scruffy mortal bikers.

  “Go,” he said to Vali. “Finish your preparations, and report to me when they are complete.”

  Odin’s son rose and bowed, and the men behind him moved restlessly, eager for the fight.

  Orn, too, was eager, but his face could not show it. He hopped up onto the tallest shelf behind the counter and imagined himself laughing, all the Einherjar laughing with him. Singing the Runes. Casting his Spear. Grinding his enemies beneath his heel.

  Eternity would be his again. And this time, it would last forever.

  * * *

  Ryan sat up, the vision still bright and painfully clear. Gabi’s snores were so loud that, for a moment, he believed he was still in the midst of a battle.

  “Gabi?” he whispered.

  Throwing her arm over her head, Gabi mumbled into her pillow.

  Ryan swung his legs over the side of the cot and stared at her. He wanted to tell her, but he couldn’t. Ever since Eir’s death, she’d been in a bad way … wandering around the camp in a daze, unable or unwilling to use her healing abilities, disappearing for long hours at a time.

  He wouldn’t put this on her now.

  He got up very quietly and began to dress. He couldn’t act just yet, but he couldn’t sit still, either. And he needed to figure out how to accomplish what he had to do without letting Freya take advantage of his abilities. That could only lead to a disaster even greater than Eir’s death.

  He hoped that he’d be using his visions the right way for a change.

  Even if it meant killing someone else.

  12

  “High society just isn’t what it used to be,” Loki remarked as the limo let them out at the door of the Fairmont. “Mrs. Seaton certainly has come down in the world if she’s taken up with that boy. Don’t you agree?”

  Dainn waited, rigidly silent, as the chauffeur made his dignified way to the passenger door and held it open for his employer.

  “Not in the mood for gossip, I see,” Loki said as the elf joined him on the sidewalk under the canopy. “But then again, you never are.”

  The doorman glided up to usher them through the door and into the marble-floored lobby, already occupied by a number of city luminaries gathering to exchange greetings before ascending to the Crown Room at the top of the hotel.

  Loki quickly ascertained that Freya was not among them. With Dainn looming behind him like a bloodless ghost, he nodded coolly to the owner of a prominent real estate firm, whose mere two billion in assets made him hardly worth the effort of a greeting, and kissed the fair knuckles of the daughter of a software tycoon … whose father would, with the proper encouragement, be making a substantial investment in Lukas Landvik’s newest project.

  “And who is this?” Samantha asked, looking up at Dainn from under her thick, pale lashes.

  “Forgive me,” Loki said, straightening. “Dainn Alfgrim, one of my advisors.”

  “Of course,” Samantha said, offering her hand to Dainn. “The mysterious gentleman everyone’s been wondering about.” She gave Loki a disapproving glance. “Where have you been hiding him, Lukas?”

  Dainn took the offered hand and shook it briefly. Samantha beamed at him, her perfect teeth flashing as she gazed at the elf just a little too admiringly.

  “Dainn is of a retiring nature,” Loki said. “He prefers to remain in the background. But he is indispensable when it comes to certain aspects of business, and so I persuaded him to accompany me this evening.”

  “Well, I’m very happy to see you tonight,” Samantha said, gripping Dainn’s hand a moment too long. “I hope you won’t make yourself a stranger.”

  “Ah,” Loki said abruptly. “There is a gentleman over by that potted palm I must see.” He smiled at the girl. “You will forgive me, darling?”

  With another lingering glance at Dainn, Samantha reluctantly murmured agreement. Dainn was already walking away.

  “Even with that forbidding expression of yours,” Loki said, catching up and seizing Dainn’s arm, “you’ve charmed a very important mark. But don’t make a habit of it.”

  Dainn stopped abruptly. “I did not intend to charm anyone.”

  “Are you quite certain of that? Perhaps you seek alliances of your own.” He released Dainn’s arm and beamed at the room in general. “This is no different from any other occasion when I’ve taken you out in public. You’re my shadow, unless I require you to be otherwise.”

  “Then why begin introducing me here, particularly if you mean to present yourself as available to partners of the opposite sex?”

  “How can you be so naïve? There are a refreshing number of mortals who enjoy a certain fluidity in their choice of playmates.”

  “I will not join in any of your games.”

  Loki shrugged. “There won’t be time for games, especially if Freya makes an appeara
nce.” He nodded at the CEO of a top Internet auction site. “You are still eager to see her, aren’t you?”

  The elf’s face went blank, and Loki reminded himself that he had complete control of the situation. However this played out, Dainn would come to hate Freya so fiercely that he would do anything to destroy her.

  Whether Mist was alive or not.

  Loki used a minor spell to move ahead of the guests waiting for the lift, and he and Dainn exited the elevator into a large room with golden carpeting, a dance floor, and open drapes revealing large windows overlooking the bay. A young man appeared to take their coats and Loki’s hat and scarf. A woman similarly dressed in black trousers and spotless white shirt brought a tray of drinks before Loki could search out the bar.

  “Don’t say it,” Loki said, selecting a glass of champagne. “I only drink tonight to be sociable.”

  Scanning the room, Dainn ignored him. “She isn’t here,” he said, his voice strained.

  “Patience.”

  Loki found a convenient observation point near one of the large windows looking out over the bay. Dainn stood slightly behind him, his shoulder to the wall, oblivious of the stunning view or the “beautiful people” who drifted into the room, accepting drinks and pouring furs, cashmere capes, and Armani overcoats into the waiting arms of the attendants. The band struck up a bland playlist of smooth jazz.

  The room was nearly full and every guest present when Dainn finally stirred.

  “She is not coming,” he said, relief in his voice. “She must be ill.”

  “That by no means suggests that Mist is safe,” Loki said, still watching the door. “And you should not consider it a triumph that the only one of my enemies currently able to match me may be helpless to counter any move I make tonight, and possibly for…”

  He trailed off as the room fell silent. Every head turned toward the door.

  A lady walked in. She wore a crimson, floor-length strapless gown, stunning in its simplicity and perfect cut, and with every step the slit in the gown opened just enough to reveal a glimpse of thigh. Her black hair was piled high and loose, random tendrils artfully permitted to escape the arrangement as if the entire thing might come tumbling down with a toss of her head. She paused for dramatic effect, and Loki felt just a hint of the glamour flow into the room and circle slowly like lazy air currents on a long-forgotten summer’s day.

  For a moment, Loki was as caught up in the lady’s spell as all the rest of the mortals. For a moment, he didn’t know what he was seeing. He heard Dainn suck in his breath.

  “It seems you were premature in your assumption,” he whispered to Dainn, carefully controlling the tone of his voice. “But you did say you’d know right away if Mist was alive. Is she?”

  * * *

  Mist stood near the entrance to the room, momentarily frozen by the admiring stares and her almost painful awareness of lust, fascination, and envy that permeated the air. Instinctively she heightened the glamour, neither to draw nor repel but merely to soothe and quiet the high emotion “Freya’s” appearance seemed to provoke.

  They couldn’t tell the difference. She had leaped the first hurdle. Now she had to find out if she could stay in the air.

  Where are you, Konur?

  Taking a deep breath, she did her best impression of a glide and moved into the crowd. Immediately she was surrounded by the elite, though somehow the men seemed to press in a little more closely. She could smell their perspiration, and the musk of arousal. Male and female both virtually dripped wealth and sophistication, from Louis Vuitton shoes to Fendi necklines and Charvet shirt-collars.

  With every fiber of her being, Mist wanted nothing more than to turn on one narrow heel and stride out of the room. This was not her world, and these were no more her people than the highest of the Aesir and Alfar. She was still a common Norwegian Forest Cat dressed up in the sleek coat of a Siberian tiger, a kestrel hiding beneath a peacock’s feathers. Her smile was painted on like the artificial shadows framing her eyes, and the glamour swirled around her head like noxious fumes.

  But she held her ground, as she would do in any battle. Voices purred and chattered compliments and invitations of both the general and very personal sort, and fingertips brushed her arm and her shoulder and hip. She began to tense, remembered, and forced herself to relax again, hiding the subtle movement of her body with a sweep of her arm.

  Somehow, she found the right things to say. Bryn and Rota’s coaching took over, and she let it run like a computer program through her brain, detaching herself from the disgust she felt at this game she was required to play. A handsome man with graying hair took her arm in a proprietary gesture, and she knew without thinking that this was one of Freya’s current lovers. A powerful entrepreneur, and one the Lady already had in her pocket and kept ready to sway the opinions of other men and women whose friendship would be required when the excrement hit the fan.

  Mist refrained from wrenching free. It wasn’t as if she’d have to take her impersonation to the limit. Her purpose here was clear and narrowly focused.

  She scanned the room, holding her lips in a faint, mysterious smile. It took only one careful pass to find Loki, surprisingly and discreetly ensconced near one of the windows, and another second to recognize Dainn right behind him.

  Her heart seized. Freya had never mentioned seeing him at any of the events and parties she attended. His appearance with Loki during the press conference had been the first Mist had seen.

  He looked nearly the same as he had then: expressionless, pale, dark shadows under his eyes. He wore a black suit and conservative tie in vivid contrast to Loki’s more eye-catching attire. When he met her gaze, she saw only emptiness.

  Of course he believed she was Freya. Or so she hoped. She couldn’t begin to guess what he thought of the Lady now, what he thought of anything.

  Mist pitied him. She despised him. She …

  “Freya,” the Lady’s lover said, his lips brushing her ear. “Can I get you anything? A glass of wine?”

  Mist found her voice. “That would be lovely,” she said, matching Freya’s cadence. When he was gone, she set her jaw, detached herself from her admirers, and strode toward Loki.

  He met her halfway across the room, looking immensely pleased to see her. Dainn hung back.

  “As always,” Loki said, reaching for her hand, “Freya Ingrunn outshines every woman in the room.”

  Mist retreated a step. She had no idea if she’d fooled him, but one touch would probably tell him everything he wanted to know.

  “How charming it is to see you again, Mr. Landvik,” she said lightly.

  “I’m most gratified that you accepted my invitation to talk,” he said, carefully studying her face. “It has been so long.”

  “Not nearly long enough,” she said with a gentle smile.

  “Now, now,” Loki chided. “Everyone knows that Ms. Ingrunn and Mr. Landvik are political and social rivals, but we must maintain at least the appearance of cordiality.”

  Mist laughed huskily and leaned toward him. “Very well. What is so urgent that you felt the need to exchange such pleasantries in public?”

  “I knew you would never meet with me in private. I merely wished to assure myself that you are well.”

  “Why should I not be?”

  “I heard certain rumors that you might have fallen ill while defending honest citizens from police brutality after the press conference.”

  It took a great act of will for Mist to stay relaxed. “However you provoked it,” she said, stifling a yawn, “the protest was a strangely inept effort on your part. Just what were you hoping to achieve?”

  “I?” Loki pressed his hand to his chest. “I had nothing to do with it. I would never be so crude.”

  “Of course not,” Mist said, tossing her head. “But one of your minions might have become a little … overenthusiastic in your service.”

  A spiral of hair fell to her shoulder and curled into her cleavage. Loki stared at it, wett
ing his lips. Even now, with all that had passed between him and Freya, Loki could still be led around by his genitals.

  “I can also assure you that none of my allies would have acted without my express permission,” he said, catching himself.

  “And why is it so important that I know these things?” Mist asked.

  “Why did you come when I asked?”

  Mist shrugged with an elegant lift of bare shoulders. “I would have attended this gathering in any case, as I am certain you are well aware.”

  “Or perhaps you simply did not wish me to believe that you might be vulnerable?”

  He isn’t even trying, Mist thought. He’s laying it right out in the open.

  But she still didn’t know if he really believed she was Freya. If she made a single mistake …

  “I do not know what you think you saw,” she said, “but you were mistaken. I am as I always was.”

  “And what are you, my dear lady?”

  He had to suspect, Mist thought. He was waiting for that single slip.

  “Your superior in all things,” she said. “And now, since we have both satisfied our curiosity—”

  “But surely you have a few words for your former servant,” Loki said, gesturing behind him at Dainn. “It would do him good to know that you do not hold his treachery against him.”

  Breathing silently through her nose, Mist tried to prepare herself. Konur appeared at her elbow.

  “I apologize for my tardiness,” he said, his gaze meeting Loki’s. “Have I missed anything of importance?”

  “Nothing,” Mist said. Freya’s current lover was approaching, carrying two wineglasses and napkins in his hands. He slowed as he saw Konur and Loki.

  “Am I interrupting?” he asked with a hard stare at Loki.

  Mist had to admire the mortal’s courage, even if it was born of ignorance. “Mr. Landvik was just leaving,” she said. She smiled at Loki. “It was … delightful to speak with you again.”

  Loki bowed. “Likewise, Ms. Ingrunn. Gentlemen.”

  Then he was strolling off, cool as you please, and Mist still had no idea if she’d fooled him. The mortal handed her one of the glasses.