Mist

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