have to ask you to leave.”
“Of course.” Mist started away, stopped, and returned to the desk. “Silly me,” she said. “I forgot the floor.”
“Top,” Bob said. “Fifty- eighth. Penthouse.”
“Thank you so much.”
The woman shook her head sharply. Mist didn’t waste any time. She went straight to the elevator lobby. The elevators required a key card to operate, but Mist got it to work with only a little more effort than she had expended on getting past the guard in the garage, sketching Rune- staves with a number 2 pencil on the steel door where the small marks could hardly be seen. The Galdr was coming to her more easily every time she used it, but she wasn’t about to take it for granted.
And it sure as Hel wasn’t likely to work against Loki.
She entered the elevator and punched the button for the fifty-eighth floor. Just as the doors were sliding shut, both Jotunar forced their way into the cab. The one who’d been reading the paper slammed his fist on the stop button.
“Going somewhere?” he said.
“Who’s asking?” Mist said, backing into the far corner.
“Is Mr. Landvik expecting you?” the laptop Jotunn said.
Oh, so polite. This one, at least, was completely unlike Hrimgrimir and his kind—almost certainly not as powerful, but better adapted to this world. Jotunar like him would be far more dangerous than the oafs and leg- breakers.
But she’d known all along that she wouldn’t be able to walk right in without Loki’s minions getting in her way.
“You wouldn’t be here if he wasn’t,” she said.
“You stink like the Sow,” the first one said, proving that his partner’s manners hadn’t rubbed off on him. His body expanded, widening and lengthening until his head threatened to bump the elevator’s ceiling.
The other one maintained his mortal size. “Please, Egil. I think Mr. Landvik would very much like to see her in one piece.” He held out his hand to Mist. “Give me your knife, Ms. Bjorgsen.”
Mist calculated how much space she had. The cab was bigger than most, easily able to accommodate twelve people at a time without crowding, but it wasn’t exactly the right size for a fight.
And she didn’t want Loki to realize she could work her own magic without the Lady’s help. Apparently these Jotunar hadn’t been affected by her glamour. Better to let them think she was just stupid than that she might actually have some hope of standing up to Loki.
That hope was still slim. She’d left the loft with only a vague idea of how she was going to get Dainn out, and she hadn’t come up with any better plan since she’d met with Vidarr.
Out of sheer desperation, she’d tried to call Freya. It was the last thing she’d wanted to do, but it was no longer a question of what she wanted.
But Dainn had been right. She didn’t seem to have the skill or strength to cross the Void with her thoughts, and she’d never felt the slightest response.
So now she was on her own. She could forget about using the Galdr, since Loki was a master of it. That left her with the Vanir magic, if she could make it work. If she could surprise Loki without giving herself away too soon.
And she still didn’t know if her magical energy would give out right when she needed it most.
“All right,” she said, carefully unsheathing Kettlingr and offering it hilt-first to Laptop. “As long as you promise to give it back when Loki and I are finished with our meeting.”
“You ain’t gonna need it once Loki’s finished with you,” Egil said.
“Oh? Do you speak for your master?” Mist asked. “Maybe he’d like to know how easily you can predict his actions.”
Laptop chuckled. “You have backbone, Ms. Bjorgsen, I’ll give you that.”
The elevator climbed to the appropriate floor without stopping, probably a bit of light magic on Loki’s part for those times when he didn’t want to be inconvenienced—in other words, every time he or his servants used it. When it reached the top, the polite giant turned to her with a pleasant smile.
“Here we are,” he said. And slugged her across the face.
Dainn was a long time responding. Beads of perspiration stood out on his forehead, and his mouth was tight. His hatred burned as hot as any fire in Muspelheim.
Loki smiled to himself and took another very small sip of whisky. He had always found it amusing how easily he could read Dainn’s thoughts with the merest glance at his face, even when everyone else in Asgard had seen only a stoic elf with a mysterious past and little in common with his own kind.
Dainn’s power, the extent of which even Odin had never suspected, had acted like an aphrodisiac on Loki from the moment he had met the elf and recognized how utterly different he was. Loki had even felt some regret when he and Freya had stolen the very source and foundation that fed and sustained that power.
Not that Dainn remembered that life- altering event. But even before the betrayal, Dainn’s self- control had never been as effective as he wished to believe. That was what had made him such an ideal bedmate, even when he had believed he was fucking Freya and not the Aesir’s worst enemy. And Loki still wanted him, as he wanted Freya.
But not in the same way. Yes, he had desired Freya long after she had rejected him. He had come to hate her, but his hatred had not banished his need to possess her lush body.
With Dainn it was different. Loki knew himself incapable of those tender feelings the skalds sang of, but if there had been any such propensity within him . . .
“I will give you the one thing you could not take from me,” Dainn said, putting an end to Loki’s brooding.
Loki licked his lips. “Do you think I could not take it if I wished?” he asked.
“I am speaking of Alfar magic.”
Finishing his drink in one swallow, Loki set the glass down. “Is that all?” he asked. “I was expecting something much more . . . valuable.”
“Only two of the Aesir know how to work my people’s magic. Odin understands something of it, as he understands all forms of magic, but only Freyr uses it as we do.”
“Not even his sister?”
“Not even the Lady.”
“Why should I want it?” Loki said in a tone meant to convey utter boredom. “Its limitations are significant. This modern world is full of steel and concrete, crowding out the forests, polluting the streams and poisoning the earth itself. Alfar must draw upon the life of growing things. It’s true, I did admit that you were capable of brilliance in the old days. But now . . .” He shook his head gently. “Whatever you accomplished in Asbrew, I think we can find a better arrangement.”
Before he could draw another breath, Dainn closed his eyes and began to sing. The syllables were long and sibilant, curling and twisting around each other like vines laden with perfumed blossoms. They reached inside Loki and wrapped around his heart, sending needlethin tendrils into every bone, every muscle, every nerve.
Loki called up the darkest Merkstaves against the attack, Uruz and Algiz to repel and weaken, sending through his own veins poison that would have killed a lesser being. It touched the tendrils, withering them black and lifeless. Yet Dainn’s magic persisted, refusing to be completely dislodged. Loki could feel the tendrils growing again, sucking all the life from his body.
“Dainn,” he gasped.
All at once the tendrils snapped back like fingers held too close to a flame. Loki staggered, falling against the shelves behind. Bottles and glasses rattled, and several went crashing to the floor.
“Freya’s tits,” he gasped, pushing himself upright. He locked his muscles, afraid his trembling would be all too apparent.
Dainn was shaking, and it was evident that he, too, was struggling to stay on his feet. “Do you see the worth of my offer now?” he asked hoarsely.
“Indeed,” Loki said, working a quick spell to mask his consternation. “You must have drawn very deep to
