Briggs went as limp as a flag on a windless day. “You . . .
Primping his hair, Loki gave the senator a good look at his body. “I have been many things. At the moment . . .” He snapped his fingers, and a large photograph appeared in his right hand. “At the moment, dear Senator, I am your blackmailer.”
Briggs was still weeping when Loki left him. The senator had tried every trick in the book: pleas, bribes of insultingly miniscule proportions, and finally threats of impressive magnitude. The congressman, as Loki well knew, had a vast web of connections that extended throughout the city, state, and beyond, many of them illegal. Hypocrites were surprisingly good at justifying their lapses in the name of ultimately serving their god, or because they were merely feigning devout belief, all the better to fleece their flocks.
The senator fell into the latter category, and he knew being caught in bed with a man would ruin him, as it had so many others of his ilk. When he realized that Loki could neither be bought for a few thousand dollars nor threatened with a beating or worse, he began to see reason. The bargain Loki struck made him very unhappy, but not as unhappy as the prospect of losing a very promising, and profitable, career.
By the time it was over, Briggs had the original memory card, convinced it was the only one and that no copies had been downloaded elsewhere. That was actually the truth. Of course, Loki could conjure up as many photographs as he needed at any time. But he only had to exert a little will to persuade the senator that he was sincere, and a few hours later, during the tail end of the evening commute rush—and after adorning himself with a very expensive- looking suit and shoes—Loki walked out of the hotel a member of the senator’s personal team.
Oh, this was just the beginning, of course. It would only be a matter of time before he rose higher still to a much more vital position, and with only a minimal exertion on his part. He would have “real” money rather than the false currency he conjured up at some cost to his magical energy, which must be preserved for much more vital purposes. And since Freya knew he had been in Midgard in defiance of the rules . . .
His good mood evaporating, Loki scowled at an elderly man walking a ridiculously tiny dog. Both dog and man shied and retreated to the very edge of the sidewalk, where the dog promptly evacuated its bowels.
Loki swung his ivory-headed cane with the ruby insets, feeling the Spear humming with life under his hand. At least he had Gungnir. It had failed him once, to be sure, but even if it did him little good by itself, it was excellent bait for Mist.
Mist. Heat surged into Loki’s face. She’d always been a wild card in the game; he’d known Freya would use her eventually, just as he would use his own children. He had stayed with Mist to learn her value to her bitch mother and because he had hoped to deceive her into revealing the locations of the other Treasures.
He had underestimated her, and her mother. He couldn’t forget the moment when Freya had looked at him through Mist’s familiar eyes. He had been completely unprepared for that appearance.
He had made an utter fool of himself.
The tip of the cane struck sparks against the cement as Loki slammed it down in front of him. He
But even Hrimgrimir had failed to identify the elf Freya had sent to find her daughter.
One of the doormen rushed ahead of Loki to flag down a taxi, but Loki summoned an empty stretch limousine waiting to pick up a client. He smiled at the driver, who went blank-eyed under his influence and quickly moved to open the rear passenger door. The limo possessed a well-stocked minibar, and Loki poured himself a Scotch and soda as the driver eased into late commute traffic, bound for the Ritz-Carlton.
Loki stared at the back of the driver’s head through the glass partition. In all the centuries since the Dispersal, he had been ignorant of Dainn’s fate. The catastrophic event had taken place just as he had been violently resisting Dainn’s attempt to kill him. Dainn should have been sent to the Shadow-Realm of the Alfar, as each race had joined its own kind in the Void.
But Dainn had been rejected by his own people and the Aesir. Even though Freya had convinced Odin to stop Thor from executing the elf, Loki had very good cause to know that Odin’s curse had been in full effect. The pain in his mind had been exquisite as the beast tore through it, raking his thoughts to shreds with invisible claws even as Dainn’s strong but ordinary hands were locked around his throat.
That was the last they had seen of each other. And now Loki knew Dainn was alive. Alive and working for Freya. Doubtless waiting for another chance to destroy his most hated enemy.
Rubbing at his throat, Loki closed his eyes. Was the curse still in effect? Dainn had lost so much of his magic when the Eitr had been taken from him, but he had enough to be of use to Freya above all the other Alfar she might have sent to Midgard. He had defeated Loki’s best Jotunar fighters. He had spoken into Mist’s mind. He had opened the path for Freya’s possession of her daughter’s body.
Loki laughed, causing the driver to look nervously in his rearview mirror. Loki fogged the glass between them. How ironic that Freya had offered him a “choice” to come back to the Aesir. As if Odin and Thor would ever have him. As if he would go crawling to them, begging forgiveness.
They still didn’t understand. Without him, all the Homeworlds would have descended into rot and stagnation before the first intelligent mortals walked on Midgard.
If there were choices to be made, others would be making them. He had offered Mist an alliance before Freya’s arrival, certain she knew her Sisters’ whereabouts and that he could find a way to use her against her mother now that he had been forced to act.
But she had turned him down.
For a time. But he had seen Freya leave her, known when Mist had reclaimed her body and struggled to make sense of what had happened to her and what she had done. There had been no direct communication between Freya and her daughter, no willing cooperation—of that, Loki was certain. If his suspicions were correct, Mist wouldn’t be permitted to understand. Freya intended to return to that same body whenever she wished to work her will in Midgard.
And how convenient it had all turned out to be for her. Loki glanced at a passing Humvee, considering whether or not it might be pleasurable to blast out all its windows.
He decided against the effort and forced his thoughts back into far less satisfying channels. Of course neither he nor Freya had known what would happen before Ragnarok. She could not have made such plans in advance, nor had she shown any interest in her daughter in Asgard.
But she knew her daughter had been sent to Midgard before the Dispersal. She knew how much magic it would take to shape herself a new physical body of her own while she struggled to hold the others in their quiescent state; she would have to use her Eitr as Loki had, losing her single advantage and her ability to enforce the rules of their game.
No, Loki could not imagine that she would allow Mist to learn what she really intended for her offspring. Mist might have days left, perhaps weeks, before Freya took full possession. And Mist deserved it, the bitch. Unless she discovered what was happening and fought against it.
Loki stretched, amused by the idea of Freya and her daughter at odds. Of course, there was no doubt which of the two would win. Mist had almost no magic of her own. Freya was going to be a problem much sooner than Loki had anticipated, but he would deal with it.
“Sir?” the driver’s voice spoke through the intercom. “We’re at the Ritz-Carlton.”
The limousine pulled up to the curb, and a uniformed bellman was immediately at the passenger door to help Loki out of the vehicle. He seemed confused at first that Loki had no luggage, but Loki’s quick smile convinced him that there was nothing unusual about such a well- dressed, attractive man desiring to check in without baggage.
The bellman accompanied him to the front desk, where an efficient, obliging clerk assured him that the
