“Our first priority must still be increasing your knowledge of magic,”
Dainn said, his eyes glittering through the black veil of his hair. “We can have more than one priority now that Vali’s with us,”
Mist said with a wry twist of her lips. “And I can multitask, remember?” She glanced at Odin’s son. “Did Dainn tell you I have a superpowered homing signal? He thinks I unconsciously called to Ryan somehow. And I’m going to keep calling until I get a handle on it.”
“I’m sorry, Mist,” Vali said. “I know you don’t want this.”
“I didn’t mention it before,” Mist said, rolling onto her side without lifting her still-throbbing head, “but my convenient little glamour is why Tashiro won’t be a problem. I made him forget most of what happened in the gym, except that there was some kind of home invasion and no one was hurt.”
Dainn looked at her sharply. He’d been pretty sanguine about the glamour thing before, but he didn’t look quite so happy about it now. “Of course, when Freya’s allies show up, we’ll have to do a lot more work to keep people from noticing,” she went on. “I assume she doesn’t want a citywide panic to break out the second they cross the bridges, and it’s not going to be that easy to hide an army of swollen-headed Alfar and hard- drinking Einherjar, even in San Francisco. Dainn, did Freya have a plan about where they’re all go ing to stay, or did she leave that up to you?”
“It was never discussed,” Dainn said, apparently fascinated by the worn Celtic design on the carpet.
“Then you’d better discuss it with her soon.”
“I will attempt to reach her tonight.”
“Good.”
The room went very quiet, so quiet that Mist could hear the snow falling outside even over the hum of the heater and the tick of the clock on the mantelpiece. She tried to stay awake. There was so much left to discuss. But her eyes wouldn’t cooperate, and after a while she didn’t care.
“Mist!”
Someone’s hand shook her awake. Mist felt for Kettlingr, remembering too late that she’d left it in the bedroom.
“It’s okay,” Vali said. He backed away hastily. “That guy Tashiro is at the door.”
Mist peered at the clock with blurry eyes. “For Baldr’s sake, it’s only seven in the morning. What’s he doing here? Where’s Dainn?”
“Keeping an eye on Tashiro. I don’t think he likes the man.” The beast didn’t, that was certain.
“I’ll talk to Tashiro,” she said, self- consciously tucking the tail of her shirt into the waistband of her jeans. She combed her hair with her fingers, wondering what the lawyer would see when he looked at her. There was nothing left of the Lady in her now.
Tashiro was standing in the kitchen, looking around the room as if to avoid noticing the way Dainn stared at him. Dainn had obviously showered and changed into another pair of Eric’s pants and an incongruous dress shirt, minus tie, but he didn’t look as if he had any ordinary “business” in mind.
He was deliberately trying to find out if Tashiro had really forgotten him.
Mist stepped hastily into the breach and offered her hand to their visitor. “Mr. Tashiro,” she said. “I was going to call you, but I didn’t expect—”
“Sorry,” he said, clasping her hand longer than was strictly necessary. “I know it’s early, but I—” He gave her an abashed, charming smile. “The fact is, I thought you might be available to talk about Ryan, and I’d like to get that moving along as quickly as possible.”
“Fine,” Mist said. “That’s great.” She waved Vali to her side.
“Mr. Tashiro, this is my friend Vali. Vali, Mr. Tashiro.”
“Koji,” Tashiro said, extending his hand. Vali’s was nearly twice the size of his, but Odin’s son didn’t try to flaunt his superior strength.
He let go as soon as he could.
“This is my . . . cousin, Dainn,” Mist said, watching Koji’s face.
“Dainn Alfgrim.”
Dainn shot her an unreadable glance and nodded curtly to Koji.
“Mr. Tashiro,” he said.
The lawyer looked him over with a slight frown. “Have we met before, Mr. Alfgrim?”
They stared at each other like stags sizing each other up for a little autumn jousting. Mist took Tashiro’s arm.
“Ryan is in bed right now, Mr. Tashiro—”
“Koji,” he corrected.
“Koji. I thought you and I could talk in the living room.”
“Of course,” he said, meeting her gaze with a little too much personal interest. No, he didn’t remember the fight, or Dainn, or what Mist had done to him. But the aftereffects of her glamour were still working, and she hated herself for it.
She wasn’t sure if Dainn would try to join the conversation, but he remained outside with Vali. Mist forced herself to relax. “Sit down,” she said, offering Koji a seat in the armchair. “I can light a fire if you’d like.”
“Not necessary,” he said, “but thanks.”
“Okay.” Mist sat on the sofa and dropped her hands between her knees. “Here’s the situation.”
She’d gotten about two sentences into the story she’d prepared for him when she heard the roaring outside on Illinois Street. Her first thought was that Ryan or Gabi had sneaked out of the house and was making off with the borrowed motorcycle.
But it was soon obvious that it wasn’t only one bike making the noise.
“Excuse me,” Mist said, jumping up from the couch. Vali and Dainn were already standing at the closed front door.
“What’s going on out there?” Mist asked as the engines grumbled and snarled like a pack of ill-tempered hyenas.
“Do you remember when we sensed that someone was following us?” Dainn asked.
“Someone followed you?” Vali asked.
“We thought we’d shaken them,” Mist said, considering a quick dash to her bedroom for Kettlingr. “If that’s who’s out there, they didn’t exactly try to hide their approach.”
“Mortals,” Dainn said. “As you once said of the Jotunar, mere cannon-fodder for the Slanderer.”
“I guess we’d better find out what they want. Hang on.” She jogged to the bedroom, snatched Kettlingr from the bedside table, and returned to the front hall. Holding the knife in a battle-ready grip, she grasped the doorknob with her free hand.
Dainn stepped in front of her. “You are in no condition to confront them,” he said.
“I’m in better condition than you are,” she retorted.
They locked stares, and Mist saw the flare of the beast in his eyes. But he bowed his head and stood aside. Vali cast him a troubled glance and followed Mist, nearly treading on her heels as she opened the door.
23
A man stood at the curb. Behind him were a dozen motorcycles wreathed in clouds of condensation, each with a rider, male or female, dressed in black leathers bearing embroidered patched with familiar symbols. Some of the riders had removed their helmets, while others remained anonymous behind their visors. They looked like photographic negatives of ghosts sitting for their portraits on the darkest night of the year.
Mist sang Kettlingr to its proper shape. The man, a burly mortal in worn leathers with a knit cap pulled down over his ears, stared at the blade with apparent fascination.
“Ma’am?” the biker said, sweeping his cap from his balding head. “My name is Rick. Rick Jensen. Are you Mist?”
“Who wants to know?” Vali said, straightening to his full, impressive height.
“It’s okay, Val,” Mist said, pushing him back. “What do you want?” she asked, lifting Kettlingr.
