Battlestorm Read online

  The coffee turned bitter in Mist’s mouth. Odin was her sworn lord, but sometimes—

  Swift as a striking serpent, Freya reached across the table, pushing Mist’s coffee cup aside with a minor spell. She grabbed Mist’s arm, twisting it to display the black-and-bloodred tattoo of interlocking wolves and ravens encircling her wrist. Odin’s symbols.

  “Does it still give you trouble?” she asked.

  “Not often,” Mist said, carefully prying her wrist from Freya’s grasp. “I’ve had it for centuries, but it never acted up until Hrimgrimir arrived to threaten me, just before I found Dainn. You know, in the park where the bridge to Ginnungagap suddenly vanished while we were chasing Loki and Gungnir.”

  Freya withdrew her hand, her expression turning cold. “Do not presume to lay that at my feet. I have told you that I was unable to reach Midgard earlier because I was attempting to prevent the bridges from disappearing entirely.”

  “I remember when you claimed that you’d closed them again just to get back at Loki.”

  “I only meant to befuddle him,” Freya said. “Clearly, the bridges have never been entirely stable, and that is why I have been unable to reach the Aesir. But I have succeeded in bringing more Alfar to Midgard since my return. And Loki has done no better than I.”

  And apparently, Mist thought, he hadn’t managed to convince his son to open another portal. Danny, uncanny child that he was, had created a magical passage between San Francisco and the Russian steppes, where his half-brother—the eight-legged Steed Sleipnir, one of the Treasures—had been hidden away from Odin’s enemies.

  Mist hadn’t discussed the portal with Freya after it had closed. Dainn’s last communication with Mist had come in the form of a terse note: Danny is safe. Say nothing of him. Do not trust Freya. And since Mist had presumed that Freya hadn’t seen Danny on the other side of the portal, she simply hadn’t mentioned the boy or his remarkable abilities.

  “Have you heard anything more of the raven?” Freya asked, unerringly turning to another very touchy subject. When she’d finally arrived in Midgard, Freya hadn’t been aware that Odin had sent another messenger to Mist, and she’d been less than pleased to learn that the All-father had hidden that from her, as well.

  “Nothing,” Mist said, relieved that she could be honest. “Not a sign.” She pushed her chair back from the table. “Look, we’ve both got work to do,” she said. “Unless there’s something else…”

  “You are stubborn, my child,” Freya said, reassuming that air of serenity that concealed so many contradictions. “But I ask you to remember what I said before about your peculiar magic. If you fear wielding it so much, perhaps we might work on it together.”

  Immediately Mist was on her guard. “How would we do that?” she asked, already fearing the answer.

  “By joining our minds,” Freya said, “as I once did with the Faith-breaker.”

  Mist suppressed a shiver. She never wanted that again. Not with Dainn, whose mental touch had left a scar that had never healed, and certainly not with her mother, whom she couldn’t trust.

  “We can begin slowly,” Freya said. “I know you hesitate to use your glamour to call mortal warriors to swell your pitiful ranks; I will help you overcome that hesitation. It is even possible that your magic might provide the raw power that will enable me to stabilize the bridges.” Freya’s eyes shone with rare excitement. “We might counter the advantages Loki has won in these past months and turn the tide of this battle, even before the Aesir arrive.” She moved away from the table. “I urge you to think on it. But remember that every day you hesitate, Loki gains ground, and more of your mortals die.”

  Before Mist could say another word, Freya was gone. Mist swallowed half a cup of cold coffee and headed for the door.

  A knot of confused and aimless mortals clustered around the entrance to the shop. They didn’t notice Mist as she left, but soon after they seemed to remember why they had been there in the first place and filed back inside. Mist almost felt guilty about the coffee she’d stolen.

  Don’t you deserve a little reward for saving mortal hides?

  She laughed at her own hubris and started back to the loft. It wasn’t a short walk, and she was tired and sore, but she needed to clear her head and prepare herself to meet her people again.

  When she reached what was now the allies’ headquarters and base of operations, she slowed to examine the area. It looked much the same as it had nine months ago, though the loft had been repaired since the earthquake, and the factories had been converted into more appropriate living quarters. Only those with magic could detect the glimmer of the powerful wards that not only protected the people inside but also repulsed the residents of the apartments and condos around the loft, who generally found themselves avoiding this particular part of the neighborhood.

  Or noticing what went on inside it.

  She forced her feet to move again, though she would have been very glad of the chance to go somewhere quiet and think over the morning’s events. But Bryn, Rota, Hild, the Alfar leaders, and several of the Einherjar—Bryn’s biker club, named after Asgard’s eternal warriors—would be waiting to give reports on their own recent skirmishes, list the casualties, count the costs.

  She had just enough time to visit the injured mortals at the infirmary before the scheduled debriefing. Eir was already there, showing Gabi how to treat a fractured wrist with a combination of healing magic and medical skill.

  It had been months since Gabi had paid for her own curandera magic with burnt and swollen hands. Though Mist glimpsed occasional signs that the young woman hadn’t overcome the psychological shock of the Serpent Jormungandr’s attack—and nearly being eaten alive—it was clear to her that Gabi was becoming adept at calling on her own unique magical heritage under Eir’s gentle guidance.

  “We could do a lot more if you’d let me go get mi abuela in Mexico,” Gabi was saying to Eir as Mist walked into the room.

  “We can’t afford to lose you,” Mist said, joining girl and Valkyrie. “And your grandmother may very well choose not to get involved.”

  Gabi scooted around to face Mist, a characteristically stubborn expression on her face. “If I tell her what’s happening, she will. And there are others who’d come, too.”

  “Perhaps if they were meant to join us, they would have arrived by now,” Eir pointed out.

  “But more fighters keep coming,” Gabi said. She searched Mist’s eyes with that hard-won trust that still cut Mist to the heart. “The medics we got now ain’t real doctors. We can barely keep up, and it’s gonna get a lot worse.”

  Mist glanced at Eir. The healer’s face was much more deeply lined that it had been when Mist had gone to get her in New Mexico, her body far too thin and fragile for a healthy Valkyrie. She moved as if her joints were riddled with arthritis, and her breath often came short and harsh.

  When her gaze met Mist’s, it conveyed a question that shamed Mist as deeply as the bitterest remonstrance. Freya had said it herself: Mist was afraid to call the people they so desperately needed. Just not for the reason the Lady supposed.

  Dainn had made very clear that she could summon mortal allies with a focused and deliberate use of the glamour she’d inherited from her mother. And she’d been putting it off again and again, simply allowing the mortal descendants of gods, elves, and ancient Scandinavian heroes to turn up on their own, driven by some primal instinct to join in the fight against an enemy who would bring chaos to their world.

  But those relative few would never be enough. If Freya couldn’t bring the Aesir and their Einherjar warriors across from the Void before Loki took complete control of the city, the allies would fall.

  The man Gabi had been treating groaned, and Mist bit down hard on her lower lip. She’d run out of excuses. It had to be taken care of, even if she had to turn herself into the thing she loathed most.

  “You’re right, Gabi,” she said, getting to her feet. “Something has to be done.”

  She
turned to leave, but Eir called after her.

  “You’ve been with Freya?” the healer asked as Mist returned.

  “Yes,” Mist said. “And I’d rather not talk about it.”

  Eir rose awkwardly and glanced at Gabi, who was completely absorbed in her work. “May we speak in private?”

  “You shouldn’t be on your feet,” Mist said, more sharply than she’d intended. “You’re exhausted.”

  “And you’re hurt, and discouraged. When will you learn that you can’t do this alone?”

  “Funny,” Mist said. “Freya said almost the same thing. She wants to combine our magic to—”

  “You didn’t agree?”

  Mist frowned and took Eir’s arm, leading her to the walled-off area where the injured were triaged. Mist eased Eir down into one of the mismatched chairs.

  “What’s eating you?” Mist asked, sitting beside her.

  “What isn’t?” Eir said with a faint smile. “I know that you’ve been putting a brave face on our current conditions to keep morale as high as possible. But you and I both know the Aesir should have been here by now.”

  “Freya says she’s working on it.”

  “Of course.” The healer closed her eyes. “That is her claim. But she also claimed that she and Odin were working together closely, and yet she knew nothing of Orn. Why would Odin keep her in the dark about his messenger?”

  “He’s obviously not in touch with Orn now.”

  “Yet I’ve often wondered why Orn showed up when Freya was absent from Midgard, and disappeared again when Freya returned.”

  “Loki kidnapped him and Anna just before Freya arrived.”

  “Still, Orn has proven to be something of a paradox. Odd that Freya should still be unaware of him.”

  “Even I can’t be sure of Orn’s role in all this.”

  “But you think that Orn is connected with the pendant Odin gave you before we came to Midgard with the Treasures centuries ago,” Eir said. “You don’t know if he intended to give you a message before you gave the pendant to Anna’s grandmother during the Second World War.”

  “If he did, he waited a cursed long time to bring the pendant, and himself, back to me,” Mist said. “And then he had nothing to say.” Eir ran her thin hand over her face, and Mist realized how much strength the conversation was costing her.

  “We can talk about this later,” Mist said, “after you’ve—”

  “What if Orn is hiding?” Eir said.

  “From Loki?”

  “Not only from Loki. Maybe he’s smarter than we gave him credit for.”

  Mist shifted uneasily. “What are you getting at?”

  Abruptly Eir slumped in the chair, her head lolling on her chest. Mist scrambled to her side and gathered the healer in her arms. Eir weighed no more than a scarecrow stuffed with feathers.

  “You’re going to bed,” Mist said. “And you’re not to do any more work until you can stand on your own two feet without listing to one side or the other like a sinking ship in a storm.”

  “But that is what I am,” Eir said, her voice a hoarse whisper. “A sinking ship.”

  “You’re not sunk yet.” Mist carried her to the area set aside for the medical staff and laid her down on her cot. “Leave Freya to me. Gods know I wouldn’t wish her on anyone else.”

  “Not even Loki?” Eir said with a short laugh.

  “Sleep,” Mist said. She covered Eir with the wool blanket, kissed her forehead, and turned away. The healer grabbed at her hand and hung on with surprising strength.

  “Promise me,” she said. “Listen to your instincts. Sometimes you give people more credit than they deserve, and too little to yourself.” She let go of Mist’s hand and covered her mouth, muffling a dry cough. “I think I’ll rest now.”

  Mist hesitated, her eyes filling with tears. She’d told herself again and again that she should never have let Eir help her fight Loki in the desert, or against Jormungandr so soon after she and Mist had returned to San Francisco. A healer wasn’t meant to use her talents to bring harm, and Eir had paid the price with her health. Possibly with her life.

  But the healer hadn’t lost her quiet wisdom, and her words continued to echo in Mist’s mind. They so closely mirrored the doubts she’d tried to push aside, because refusing to accept Freya’s help wasn’t an option.

  Even now she didn’t really want to think about it. But Eir didn’t have to remind her to listen to her instincts. Gut feeling had very clearly told her not to tell Freya everything about Orn’s involvement, just as it had nagged her to heed Dainn’s last communication.

  Do not trust Freya. Not all is what it seems.

  * * *

  Exhausted by the latest council meeting, Mist trudged back to the loft. She still half-expected a certain elf to be waiting for her at the kitchen table.

  Instead, someone from Anna’s small computer team had left a whole stack of printouts with information on the possible locations of two of the missing Valkyrie. Mist picked up the top page and stared blankly at the report. Anna had been trying to match Vali’s expertise since he’d betrayed them and gone over to Loki, and working herself nearly to death seemed to be her way of trying to forget that Orn had abandoned her.

  Returning the paper to the stack, Mist took a bottle of beer out of the fridge. She set it on the table and sat down, too exhausted to twist off the cap.

  “Need some help?”

  Koji sauntered into the kitchen, smiling at Mist with his usual warmth. The young lawyer was wearing sweatpants and a loose T-shirt, still perspiring from training in the gym. Even a five-dan practitioner of Japanese martial arts needed to keep in condition, and he was one of the handful of men and women who could teach the newest mortal recruits how to fight with bladed weapons … not to mention taking on the legal problems Mist and her allies ran into with increasing frequency.

  The one thing Koji never did, in spite of his considerable skill with a katana, was actually join in the fighting. He’d said something about his religion and how taking a life was against his principles, but Mist had never forgotten how ferocious he’d been when he’d faced Dainn during the battle in the gym last winter.

  She returned Koji’s smile. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders and kissed her—gently, because he knew she wasn’t in any mood for passion. Their sex life had been sporadic over the past couple of months, but Koji didn’t seem particularly upset about it, or bothered by her frequent bouts of preoccupation.

  That was what made him such a good companion and lover. He didn’t demand things Mist couldn’t give. And when she’d finally told him the truth about what was really going on, he’d been remarkably quick to accept the fact that the world as he knew it was a false front for the kind of reality most mortals had never dreamed existed.

  “Hey, you’re hurt,” he said, gently pulling Mist’s slashed sleeve away from the gash across her arm. “Anything I can do?”

  Mist carefully extracted her arm from his grip. “It’ll heal in a few hours,” she said. “You know you don’t need to worry about me.”

  A slight frown crossed Koji’s usually affable face. “You can still suffer pain.”

  She grabbed the half-forgotten bottle and sagged over the table. “I’m tired, Koji.”

  “I know,” he said, taking the chair nearest hers. “I’m not sure if you really want to hear this, but the mayor’s holding a press conference just about”—he glanced at his watch—“now.”

  “The groundbreaking for the new monument,” Mist said bitingly, “thanks to Lukas Landvik’s generous financial support for our fair city’s most recent frivolous embellishment.”

  “And for the mayor and his supporters,” Koji added. At Mist’s nod, he turned on the small, ancient TV sitting on the kitchen counter.

  Ostensibly, the mayor was the focus of the coverage. The cameras were trained on him as he gesticulated and grandstanded about the improvements he had made to the city’s infrastructure; the many employment opportunities off
ered by various construction projects and the refurbishment of the more public parts of the city; the booming tourist industry; and, of course, the new private hospital, which was being built where it could best cater to the most wealthy and privileged.

  What he failed to mention was how he and the Board of Supervisors were encouraging the “relocation” of numerous small businesses in favor of big-box chains offering minimum-wage jobs and poor benefits, or the fact that scores of projects favored by local politicians and business interests—replete with kickbacks and every kind of corruption—had been given priority over essential improvements and programs that actually enhanced the welfare of the citizens.

  She was pretty sure the smiling politician on her screen was still ignorant of the tremendous price he’d have to pay for all the “positive” changes in the city, the ones that so successfully lined his pockets. He obviously didn’t realize that the man standing just behind his left shoulder—the charismatic “philanthropist” Lukas Landvik—was the very person who would demand that price.

  Again and again, the cameras slid toward Loki in his handmade Italian suit and A. Testoni Norvegese shoes. His midlength red hair was artfully tumbled around his fox-like, handsome face. Green eyes caught the light in a way no ordinary eyes would. Loki smiled, and the reporters, male and female, virtually swooned.

  “I’ve seen enough,” Mist said. She was about to switch the TV off when she glimpsed the man directly behind Loki. Her hand froze on the remote.

  “Don’t torture yourself, Mist,” Koji said, laying his hand on her shoulder. “He made his choice.”

  “Don’t you think I know that?” she snapped, punching the power button. The images went black.

  But she couldn’t get the last one out of her mind. Dainn, every bit as handsome as Loki, his long black hair nearly swept back in such a way that it just covered his ears. He wore a suit hardly less expensive than Loki’s—the Slanderer, after all, had to have the best of everything, even for his servants—and he had garnered nearly as much attention as Loki.

  But Dainn’s face had been utterly blank. That, in itself, was no surprise. It had taken many weeks of Mist’s working with him closely and intimately before she had begun to realize that his seeming indifference concealed strong emotions he didn’t want anyone to see.