Mist

The first giant wasn’t prepared. He fell backward as Mist slashed down, belatedly raising an arm the width of a small tree trunk to fend off the blow. Kettlingr bit deep, and the giant roared in pain.

By then the other Jotunn was on Mist’s back. He drove her down with the weight of his body, and only her quick reflexes saved her from being reduced to a red splotch on the pavement. She rolled out of his way, gasping as a cracked rib grated in her chest but somehow managing to maintain her grip on her sword. The second giant began a chant as harsh and booming as a wrecking ball slamming into a decrepit apartment building. Mist’s breath turned to fog, denser than any ordinary cold could produce.She knew then that they didn’t intend to kill her. The first giant, still grunting with pain, had joined the second in creating the spell, and Mist felt her jacket begin to crackle with a heavy layer of frost. It penetrated her jeans and crunched inside her boots, cracked her lips and rimed each hair of her eyebrows. They would encase her in layer after layer of frost, transforming her into a sculpture of living ice.

But they had forgotten about the boy. He was no longer shaking but had rolled onto his side, grasping a length of rebar in his slender hand. He swung it at the first Jotunn’s legs with surprising force.

The giant staggered and lost his balance. As he turned on the young man, fist raised, the boy jumped up and ran between the Jotunar like a mouse scurrying under the legs of a hungry cat. The first Jotunn, the wound in his arm still bleeding freely, set out after him.

But the spell was broken, and the ice slicking Mist’s clothes and body began to melt immediately. As soon as she could move, she raised Kettlingr and ran after them. She found them just outside the mouth of the alley, the boy hanging between them as if he weighed no more than a handful of snowflakes.

Mist yelled and swung Kettlingr at the Jotunn she had already wounded. The blade seemed to catch fire, blazing as if it had drawn the weak rays of the sun and multiplied their light a hundredfold. The moment it hit the Jotunn, he screamed with real terror and let the boy drop. The second Jotunn backed away in confusion, his gaze fixed on the burning steel.

All at once the giants gave up, spun around and ran, the injured giant clasping his smoking side. Mist followed them a short distance, heard the screeching of tires on Eddy, and stopped. She stared down at the sword in her hand. It was normal again, Rune- etched metal a dull gray as the sky clouded over.

“Are you okay?”

She turned to face the boy. He was Caucasian, about seventeen, maybe eighteen . . . lanky, boyishly good- looking and clearly scared out of his wits. He had a small cut on his chin, and Mist was sure he’d have a whopper of a black eye in a few hours. She suspected there were more injuries she couldn’t see. It was more than a little ludicrous that he’d asked if she was okay, especially since she was holding a sword in her hand.

“I’m fine,” she said, ignoring her cracked rib. “Are you hurt?” The young man shook his head. “A little roughed up,” he said, his voice still hoarse with fear. “But I’m used to that.”

Mist didn’t ask what he meant. She had a pretty good idea. “Why were they after you?” she asked.

“Those . . . men?” he asked, shivering hard. “I don’t know.” He looked down at Kettlingr. “That’s real, isn’t it?”

No matter what she did now, Mist knew the kid had probably seen things more disturbing than the sight of her sword turning back into a knife. She whispered the spell and put the weapon away. The young man didn’t make a sound.

“Can you tell me what happened?” she asked.

“I was waiting out here,” he said, “and these things attacked me. I think they wanted me for something, but they didn’t say what.”

“Why do you call them ‘things?’ ”

“Because I know they weren’t . . . I mean, they weren’t just addicts looking for drug money or anything.” He wet his lips. “You fought them. They weren’t really men at all. You know.”

And so, obviously, did he, Mist thought. “I’m sorry you had to go through this,” she said.

He brushed a shock of ragged blond hair out of his eyes. “What were they?” he asked.

Mist knew she could stop it right there, give the boy a little money, send him off to urgent care. But over the past twenty-four hours she’d learned not to ignore her instincts. It wasn’t a coincidence that the Jotunar had been here, right in the same place where Loki’s getaway car had been waiting. It couldn’t be just chance that they’d attacked this particular kid.

“I don’t think you’ll believe me,” she said.

He smiled, an expression that was as real as it was unexpected. “I think I will. It’s not like I have anything to lose, right?”

Mist hesitated, wondering how to begin. “What’s your name?” she asked.

“Ryan,” he said. “Ryan Star—” He shivered violently. “Starling.”

“You’re freezing,” Mist said. She shrugged out of her jacket and handed it to him. “Take this.”

“Don’t you need it?”

“I don’t get cold easily,” she said, trying to be as gentle as she could. Not that she’d ever had much to do with kids his age—or any age, for that matter.

“My name is Mist Bjorgsen,” she said. “We should find somewhere to talk where you can sit down.”

“No.” Ryan pulled the jacket around his shoulders. “I want to know what’s happening to me.” His eyes pleaded with her. “I need to know.”

And his life might depend on that knowledge, Mist thought. “Do you know anything about Norse mythology?” she asked.

Ryan’s gaunt face went blank. “Uh . . . is it like Lord of the Rings?”

“Not exactly. The author borrowed from it, though. Elves, dwarves, trolls. Quite a few other things. But it started long before he wrote the book.”

“I didn’t read it,” Ryan said, thoroughly dazed. “I snuck into the movie, when I—” His eyes cleared. “The war,” he said. “The bad guy with the burning eye, and the Orcs. And the elves were on the good side.”

“In Norse mythology, it wasn’t Orcs who worked for the bad guy,” Mist said, carefully watching his face. “It was giants. Jotunar.”

“Oh, God.” The boy dragged his hand across his mouth. “Is that what they were?”

“I wouldn’t blame you if you didn’t—”

“I believe you,” he said slowly. “Your sword . . . is it magic, like the one in the movie?”

“Not quite the same,” Mist said. “But it’s real.”

“I saw the fire,” Ryan said, dazed again. “It is magic.”

Mist wondered how she was going to be able to hide her abilities with the Jotunar going around beating up mortals right in front of her. “Do you believe in magic, Ryan?” she asked.

“Yeah. I think . . . ever since I was a little kid. I just didn’t know I did. I didn’t know what it all meant.” He shivered again. “That mythology stuff . . . it isn’t just fairy tales, is it?”

“No.” She sighed. “I don’t know how to make this any easier for you, Ryan. You said you didn’t know why the giants were after you, right?”

“I didn’t even see them. One second I was alone, and then they were there. They dragged me into the alley. They were too strong for me to fight.”

“They’re too strong for almost any mortal to fight,” Mist said.

“Mortal?”

Too much, too soon. Mist knew she’d have to be a little more careful. “Let’s worry about that later. You must have had something they wanted. You can’t think what that might be?”

“I think . . . I think they wanted me,” he said.

“Why, Ryan? Why would they want to kidnap you?”

“I don’t know.” He looked at her again as if he were seeing her for the first time. “I came here because I was looking for something. Someone, I mean.”

“Who?”

“I think it must have been you.”

Mist stiffened. “What do you mean?”

“I recognize you now. You were always there, in the middle.”