Black Ice Read online

  “Considering the legal problems we’re likely to face once this battle for Midgard really gets underway, he may come in handy for more than getting Ryan—and Gabi, I hope—to a safer place. I think he might be trusted with the truth.”

  “He has a personal interest in you,” Dainn said, “caused by your—”

  “I know,” she snapped. “But even if his interest had nothing to do with the glamour, it wouldn’t be any of your business.” She glanced back at the kitchen door. “I’m giving you an order. Leave Tashiro alone. In fact, I think it would be a good idea if you stay away when he’s here.”

  “It would be better if I stay away from everyone, would it not?”

  “That’s not a bad idea.” She regretted the words as soon as she’d spoken them. “If you can just hang on until we can work on your problem—”

  “And what of your abilities? You must strengthen your mastery of the Galdr, and without gaining considerably more control you cannot risk the ancient magic.”

  “I haven’t forgotten. But you said yourself that we both have to be careful. Do you think you can you still teach me?” He bowed his head. “I wish I could answer with certainty. You have exceeded every skill I possess save in the Alfar magic, and have learned more rapidly by intuition and instinct than any formal lessons can impart.”

  “Then I guess I have no choice but to stumble along as best I can.”

  “That would be most unwise.”

  “Then what else do you suggest?”

  She knew very well how childish she sounded, but if Dainn’s assessment of her abilities was accurate, he probably wasn’t too eager to join his mind to hers the way he’d done when they’d begun her magic lessons. With good reason, considering what had happened the last couple of times, and what such a joining might do to provoke the beast.

  And she didn’t want to renew that mental connection, either. It was too …

  “There’s nothing we can do about any of that right now,” she said, breaking the tense silence. She rubbed her wrist, which hadn’t stopped aching since it had come to life during her altercation with the Jotunn.

  Dainn looked pointedly at the tattoo. “It has burned you again,” he said, statement rather than question. “Was it the fight with the Jotunn? This seems to occur most often when you face battle.”

  But that wasn’t precisely true, Mist thought. Now that Dainn had forced her to think about it, she realized the same thing had happened when Dainn had first touched her, when she’d learned that Loki was in Asgard, when she’d joined her mind with Dainn’s. The use of magic wasn’t the only trigger, either.

  “I don’t know,” she admitted. “It never did this before you and Hrimgrimir arrived. Maybe it’s when something big is going on, whether it’s a battle, or magic, or … Hel, I don’t have an answer.”

  “Under what circumstances did you acquire it?”

  “Wolves and ravens,” she said, tracing the interlocking figures. “I remember wanting to prove my loyalty to Odin.”

  “But you are not certain?”

  “It’s been a long time.”

  “But clearly it has some great significance.”

  “Everything does these days,” she muttered. “Look, I don’t exactly enjoy it when it happens, and I know I have to figure it out. If you come up with a theory, let me in on it.” She dropped her hand behind her back. “Now you and I have other things to take care of. Have you made any more progress in figuring out what that Freya business in the kitchen was all about?”

  “Not as yet,” he said, shifting his weight.

  “Then I want you to do me a favor.”

  “Other than avoiding Tashiro’s company?” he asked stiffly.

  “Macy’s,” she said.

  Dainn blinked. “The department store?”

  “You never did strike me as a Patrick James kind of guy, elf or not. But you’re still wearing Eric’s clothes, and you need your own. I don’t care if you come home with destroyed jeans and bright pink polo shirts, but I want to take everything out of Eric’s closet and burn it as soon as possible.”

  “I understand the sentiment,” Dainn said without so much as the trace of a smile. “But will the stores be open after the earthquake?”

  “This is San Francisco. People here consider quakes a minor inconvenience unless they’re a lot worse than this one was. Christmas isn’t about to come to a crashing halt when it’s just around the corner.”

  “‘Crashing’ being a very appropriate word,” Dainn said. “But can you trust me with such a task now?”

  “I can’t watch you every second. At the moment, you’re less dangerous out there than you are here.” She hesitated. “If you have any doubts…”

  In spite of everything that had happened, the elf hadn’t lost all his pride. Mist could feel his anger ebbing.

  “I promise that I will not run mad in the streets,” he said.

  “Unless you bump into Loki, or his Jotunar,” she said. “I’m giving you another order, Dainn: if you happen to meet any of them, you stay away.”

  Dainn shuddered, and Mist knew he was remembering yesterday’s pain and humiliation all over again. “I will not engage them,” he said, very quietly. “Do you wish me to acquire anything else?”

  “No. Just take care of business as quickly as you can and come back home.”

  By then, Tashiro will be gone, she thought. And I can start working on all the other problems.

  The only question was, which one she should tackle first?

  When she focused again, Dainn had gone. She returned to the kitchen, where Tashiro was removing an accordion file from his briefcase. He looked up as she came in.

  “Your cousin seemed a little upset,” he said.

  Ha ha, Mist thought. “He tripped over something during the quake,” she said. “Don’t worry. He’ll live.”

  “I see.” Tashiro fiddled with the file. “I thought maybe he’d taken a personal dislike to me. How close a relative is he?”

  “Distant,” Mist said, in a voice meant to discourage any further inquiry on the subject.

  “Distant enough to be jealous about you?”

  “Hardly. What would he have to be jealous of?”

  If Tashiro felt the rebuke, he was careful not to show it. “How is Ryan?” he asked.

  Since she couldn’t tell him the full truth, she settled for part of it. “He’ll be better off when he’s settled in his own life,” she said.

  Tashiro nodded. “These are the papers pertaining to Mamie Starling’s will and Ryan’s inheritance,” he said, pulling two folders from the file. “I did a background check on Ryan before I started looking for him, so I have a pretty good idea what he’s been through.” He grimaced. “His parents disowned him about a year ago, and since he’s nearly eighteen they won’t have any responsibility for him much longer. He certainly won’t need their financial assistance.”

  ”That’s good. There’s something else I want to talk to you about. There’s a girl—“

  She spent the next half-hour telling him about Gabi—whom he had met but didn’t remember—and asking the lawyer if he could arrange for the girl and Ryan to stay together.

  “I’ll make inquiries,” Tashiro said, tucking the files away. “Could be tricky since the girl is still a minor. It’s certainly unorthodox, but I’ll see what we can do.” He smiled. “I have an in with a few judges here and there.”

  “Thanks,” Mist said with genuine gratitude. “I’ll need to give you a retainer. What do you—”

  “No retainer,” Tashiro said, raising his hand. “I do pro bono work pretty frequently. I’m not exactly living hand to mouth.”

  Because he was the scion of a very wealthy family. Mist knew that much about him, in addition to the fact that he could wield a mean katana.

  “I’d rather give you something for your work,” she said.

  His lips curved in a grin. “I’m sure we can work something out.”

  Mist kept a lid on her irritatio
n. As Dainn had reminded her, Tashiro’s interest was probably ninety-nine percent attributable to her use of the glamour. to tinker with his memory. “Anything else?” she asked, quelling his hint with a hard glance.

  He didn’t seem to notice. “Can I speak to Ryan now?”

  “He’s been feeling a little under the weather, but I’ll check.”

  When she went into the living room, she found Ryan curled up on the couch in an obvious state of distress. She felt a jolt of worry. And guilt.

  “Are you all right?” she asked. “I know we didn’t finish our conversation…”

  He sat up, arms folded across his chest. “I’m fine,” he said in a perfect tone of feigned indifference.

  “If you feel up to it, Mr. Tashiro would like to speak to you.”

  “Now?”

  “Now.” He hopped off the couch and almost ran to the door. Mist took a deep breath.

  Dainn had been in the room. Mist had the feeling that he’d had a serious and very personal conversation with Ryan while she’d been with Tashiro, and evidently it hadn’t been a pleasant one.

  Choked with unexpected sadness, Mist returned to the kitchen. Tashiro was alone, sitting at the table.

  “Where’s Ryan?” she asked.

  “Apparently he wasn’t quite ready to talk to me,” Tashiro said.

  “I’ll speak to him,” Mist said, wishing she could grab a beer. “I appreciate your help.”

  “It’s my job. Is there anything more I can do for you?”

  “Nothing, thanks. Take care with the driving.”

  Tashiro rose. “I’ll be seeing you again very soon, then.”

  With a short nod, Mist escorted him to the front door. Just before he climbed into his car, she saw a faint shimmer around him, a blurring of his outline into something long and silvery. She blinked as the shape seemed to flow into the car, and a moment later Tashiro was behind the wheel and waving good-bye.

  Rubbing at her eyes, Mist retreated into the house. She was tired, and hungry. If she was beginning to hallucinate, she’d have to do something about that.

  With a sharp shake of her head and a quick laugh, she went to find a beer.

  Orn perched on the hanging lamp close to the apartment door, watching for Anna’s return.

  He didn’t like being separated from her now. Everything had been shaking and swaying just like his perch when she carried his cage from one place to another.

  But now the shaking had stopped, and it wouldn’t have been so bad if that was all he had to think about. But he and Anna had hardly been apart since Rebekka had died, and it was very important that they stay together.

  Orn bobbed his head and rocked from foot to foot, confusing pictures racing round and round in his head. For a while, after Anna had taken him across the big water, he had been stupid … happy if he had his treat sticks and the comfort of Anna’s shoulder.

  But so much had changed. It was here. All here, the things he needed to find. Including himself.

  He mantled his wings, stretched his neck, and felt his body begin to change, feathers turning black as soot, beak lengthening. He looked on the world through different eyes, but his thoughts were the same.

  Find Mist.

  He crouched, launched himself through the open cage door, and flew into the room where Anna shed her false feathers and soaked herself in a pool of water. He made a solid landing on the shiny, square stones in front of the frozen water thing—the mirror, he remembered—and studied himself intently.

  “Pretty bird,” he said. “Pretty bird.”

  But the sound came out as a croak, deep and mocking. He tilted his head right and left and circled slowly until he had seen all of himself.

  He really was not as pretty as before. His eyes were small and dark, not big and bright yellow. His was missing his beautiful red tail. But his feathers were glossy, his vision keen, his talons sharp. With another harsh croak, he flapped his new wings and let them carry him into the place where Anna got her food. There were parrot treats, if he wanted them. But he didn’t. The thought of them made him feel the way he had when he’d been sick and Anna had forced him to go to the nasty, smelly place with all the other sick birds.

  He knew there was something better here. After poking his beak into various corners and opening two containers of man-food, he decided to look into the cold box. He thought about what he wanted for a while, staring at its door.

  He waited patiently, and at last there was a pop and a flash of light and the door swung open. Pleased with himself, Orn landed on one of the shelves and found the meat, all wrapped in something Orn knew was supposed to keep it nice for people. He didn’t need it to be nice. He grabbed the package in his beak, flew back to the counter and began to tear at the stuff covering the meat, shredding it until it was scattered everywhere and the meat was laid bare.

  It was not quite as good as he remembered. The meat was dry, there were strange flavors in it and not a trace of blood. He bolted it down anyway, and then, sluggish and drowsy, gathered up all the little bits of wrapping stuff and pushed it into a hole under the place where the water came out of the silver spout. It was very hard to fly back to his cage, and as soon as he settled on his perch he became a parrot again, tucked his head under his wing and forgot all about the black bird.

  He had been sleeping for a long time when Anna came back. She stopped just inside the doorway to stare at Orn.

  “I must have dreamed it,” she muttered. “Are you okay?”

  Orn bobbed his head, though he knew Anna didn’t really believe he understood her. “Okay,” he said. “Okay.”

  “Good.” Anna threw down the pouch she always carried over her shoulder, shed her outer false feathers, and sat on her long, low perch, a short burst of air coming out of her soft mouth. “Can you believe it? Only two weeks in this city, and my first earthquake already.” She looked around her nest. “Thank God this place is okay. It’s a madhouse out there. We’re lucky it mainly broke roads and buildings and not people.”

  Orn flew to the back of the soft perch—couch, he thought—and rubbed his beak against her head feathers. She reached behind her to stroke his breast.

  “You must be hungry,” she said. “Just give me a minute to—”

  “Look,” Orn said, wanting her to understand that they couldn’t wait much longer. He let his feathers change, and then his shape, and very soon he was not a parrot anymore. He hopped down to stand beside her.

  Anna went very still. She stared at him for a long time.

  “I’m crazy,” she whispered.

  “Not crazy,” Orn said, cocking his head so he could see her better.

  Her body began to shake all over, just like the earthquake. “Where is Orn?”

  “Here,” Orn said.

  Her clawless top feet reached toward him and snapped back a heartbeat later. “Orn is a parrot,” she said. “An African Grey parrot.”

  “I am Orn,” he said.

  Reaching inside her coverings, she pulled out the flat stone and held it up as if he had never seen it before. “The raven,” she said. “The raven on the pendant.”

  Orn plucked at the false feathers over her perching legs. “Find Mist,” he said.

  “You’re not real.”

  “Find Mist,” he said, making his voice harsh and low.

  “Mist is dead,” Anna said. “She died many years ago.”

  “No,” he said, rustling his feathers in annoyance.

  “Are you … talking about her descendents? Even my great-grandfather…” She stopped and began to make the sounds humans made when they were happy, or sometimes upset. When she was finished, her mouth was very flat.

  “What do you want?” she asked.

  “Who I am,” he said.

  “Who you are? I don’t understand.”

  Orn became impatient. “My name. My…” He couldn’t find the word, though he knew exactly what he wanted to say. It had to do with the future and what he was supposed to do.

&nbs
p; “And you think this Mist can tell you?” she asked, her soft face still strangely wrinkled.

  He bobbed his head, glad that she finally understood.

  Anna let the stone fall back on its thin, shiny rope. “We’ll talk about it tomorrow, Orn.”

  “Now,” he insisted.

  “I need to lie down.” Anna spread herself flat on the couch and covered her eyes. “Tomorrow.”

  Tomorrow wasn’t now, Orn thought. Tomorrow would be too late.

  6

  Anna woke to the persistent sensation of a sharp object poking at her face. She opened her eyes to see Orn’s bright yellow eye, upside down and inches from hers.

  “Go,” he said, very distinctly. “Go now.”

  She sat up, pushing Orn away. He fluttered to the arm of the couch and began to pace up and down its length, squawking and bobbing his head in agitation with every step.

  Spearing her hand through her mussed hair, Anna glanced at the clock. She’d fallen asleep on the couch, and she wasn’t sure she was even awake yet, considering that she kept seeing a black bird—a raven—superimposed over Orn’s familiar gray and red form and shouting in a strangely human voice.

  She bolted up from the couch. Smoke was seeping through the narrow gap between the front door and the carpet, and Anna choked as she felt the air grow too heavy to breathe.

  Instinct told her to run for the window, but if the fire was out in the hall, someone else could be in danger, as unaware of what was happening as she’d been a few moments ago.

  Orn flew to her shoulder and gripped so hard that his claws bit through her blouse. He screamed incoherently as she ran for the front door. She grabbed the doorknob and yanked it open.

  To nothing. No smoke, no sirens, no people shouting or running, nothing to indicate that there was a fire in the building. But there had to be; the choking stench and the smoke were too strong to explain any other way.

  “Danger,” Orn hissed in her ear.

  Shaking with the rush of adrenaline, Anna stumbled back inside her apartment, closed the door, and leaned against it. This wasn’t like the usual dreams about the war. But it couldn’t be—