Mist (47 page)

“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.

“Uh . . .” Jensen glanced over his shoulder. “If you’re Mist, we’ve been looking for you. We came to help.”

“What’s going on?” Tashiro asked, joining Vali and Mist. Dainn came out behind him, the shadow of the beast stalking in his wake.

Jensen ran a big hand across his face, clearing away perspiration and melting snowflakes. “Maybe you’d better talk to—”

Before he could finish the sentence, a petite figure wearing a helmet painted with wings on either side strode up behind him. She pulled the helmet off, revealing a cloud of brown, slightly frizzy hair and a delicate face set with a pair of bright, birdlike eyes.

“Mist?” she said.

“Bryn?”

“I was right,” Bryn said, flashing white teeth in a surprisingly tanned face. “I knew we had to get to San Francisco, and that it had to do something with one of my Sisters. But I didn’t know it would be—”

“But you’re—” Mist began.

She tripped over her tongue several times before she finally got it straightened out enough to speak again. “You were dead!” she said.

“I guess I was,” Bryn said.

“When I got back to the place where I’d left you, you were gone. I warded your body against animals, so what took you away?”

“Something did take me away, and presumably healed me,” Bryn said, “but I never found out who or what it was.” She hopped, birdlike, as if she couldn’t stand to be still. “Shouldn’t you say ‘
velkommen,
’ or don’t you have a mug of glogg for an old friend?”

Mist knew she was gaping, but she couldn’t seem to close her mouth. “Bryn,” she said.
“Venninne min . . .”

“Do you mind putting that sword down before someone gets hurt?”

Hiding Kettlingr from the view of the men at the door, Mist sang the sword small again, pushed it into its sheath with clumsy fingers, and opened her arms. They embraced warmly. The Valkyrie’s head only came up to Mist’s shoulder, and there wasn’t an ounce of spare flesh on her bones, but her wiry strength was formidable. The fact that she was with a bunch of bikers, and that Jensen had so obviously deferred to her, told Mist that she’d done better than survive since the war.

Bryn wriggled out of Mist’s bear hug and stepped back. “You haven’t changed at all,” she said. “Have I?”

“Not a bit,” Mist said. “I just can’t believe you’re here.” She looked over Bryn’s head at the assembled bikers. “I take it you’re with them?”

“You might say that.” Bryn turned to Jensen, who still held his woolen cap clasped between nearly Jotunn- sized hands. “Rick Jensen, my lieutenant.” She handed her helmet to him. “I can introduce everyone else later . . . if you’re planning to invite us in for that glogg.”

“I’ll see what I can dig up,” Mist said, wishing her vision hadn’t gone so blurry. She looked over her shoulder. Vali, Dainn, and Tashiro were all watching intently, and she didn’t mean for the lawyer to know anything about what was really going on, especially considering how close he’d come to seeing too much already. “Mr. Tashiro,” she called, “I’m afraid I won’t be able to talk to you this morning after all. Can we make an appointment for tomorrow?”

Tashiro’s gaze snapped from her to Bryn to the bikers and back again. “Is everything okay?”

“These are old friends,” Mist said. “If you don’t mind . . .”

The lawyer’s eyes narrowed, but he went back into the house, returned with his briefcase, and strode to the silver Prius parked a few yards down the street. He obviously wasn’t happy about being so summarily dismissed, but Mist had enough guilt to deal with as far as he was concerned. She had already turned back to Bryn when he drove off.

“Who was that?” Bryn asked with a sly smile. “Kind of cute.”

“Since when were you interested in men?”

Bryn sobered. “We’ve got a lot to catch up on.”

“You have no idea.” She gripped Bryn’s arm. “Did you ever see Horja again?”

“No.” Bryn glanced away. “What happened to the Cloak?”

No point in telling Bryn about the massacre. “I gave it to Horja to keep along with Gridarvol. I’m sure she still has them.”

Bryn said nothing. Mist knew what she was feeling: regret for having had to leave the fight; the loneliness of knowing she had been dead to her Sisters; the guilt of having used the Cloak when she herself had believed doing so was in violation of their covenant with Odin.

She had been right all along.

“You still have Gungnir?” Bryn asked, brightening.

“Yes,” Mist said, eager to change the subject. “By the way, were you trying to follow me earlier?”

“That little bar hopper of yours?” Bryn said, glancing toward Mist’s unimpressive urban motorcycle. “Sorry if we gave you a scare. You obviously weren’t sure if you’d be facing friends or enemies when we showed up, but I didn’t realize we were walking into such a bad situation.”

“That’s one of the things we have to catch up on,” Mist said dryly.

“Yeah. Anyway, about that following bit . . . one of my men caught the scent of an elf while we were trying to figure out where to start looking for whichever of the Sisters was in this city. I told him to keep track of it.”

“He must have a pretty good sense of smell.”

“That’s putting it mildly. I think you’ll find my friends pretty interesting.”

Interesting
was a word that had long since lost any meaning for Mist. “You weren’t surprised to find an elf in Midgard?” she asked.

“Sure I was. But sometimes you have to go with whatever the Norns throw at you.” She stepped sideways to look around Mist. “Is that the elf? He’s pretty cute, too.”

Mist turned around again. Dainn and Vali were standing side by side, wiry elf and beefy god, both apparently ready to dash to the rescue if Mist felt so much as a swoon coming on.

“That’s him,” Mist said. “His name is Dainn. But don’t mistake him for the usual Alfr.”

“I
never
would,” Bryn said, widening her eyes dramatically. “You’d never settle for the usual elf. In fact, I thought you didn’t like them.”

“I don’t,” Mist said. “The other one is Vali.”

“Odin’s son?”

“The very same. He’s a good guy. His brother, not so much.”

“Sounds like we’re going to need a few hours to cover all this.”

“How many hours have you got?”

“Long as you need us,” Bryn said, stripping off her gloves. “That’s why we’re here, to help, even if we don’t know what help you need yet. And don’t worry about my people . . . they know the whole background, and they aren’t going to think we’re crazy.”

Allies,
Mist thought. It was happening just as Dainn had predicted. She’d already found one of her Sisters without even trying.

Poor Bryn had no idea why she had found Mist so easily.

“Do you have a place to stay?” Mist asked.

“We can set up camp across the street in one of those empty buildings. No one is likely to bother us there.”

“I haven’t got much in the way of food . . .”

“We brought some stuff, and I can send one of my people out for more.”

“Your people . . .” Mist began, wondering how to say it without sounding like an overprotective mother. “There are kids inside, and I—”

“
Your
kids?” Bryn asked with an incredulous lift of her brow.

“Odin’s balls, no. Just some street kids who needed a place to stay.”

“And they don’t know who you really are, and you want us to be careful what we say.”

“Yes, but not in the way you think. They actually
do
know. It’s complicated. But I was hoping you’d get your people to keep it clean. No foul language. No drinking. No smoking inside. No brawls.”

“Jeez, you’ve been watching too many movies.” Bryn sighed. “But you’re right, my people can be rough sometimes, even if they wouldn’t hurt anyone who wouldn’t try to hurt them first. I’ll let them know.”

Bryn turned to signal to the other bikers, who dismounted and gathered up various packs, duffels, bedrolls, and other equipment. “You mind if we all come in for a while, just to get warm?”

“Of course I don’t mind,” Mist said, looping her arm around Bryn’s shoulder. “And when we get a chance, one of the first things I want to know is how you ended up in a biker club.”

“Why not? It’s almost as good as riding an elf-bred steed over the battlefield. I can do a lot of pretending that way.”

“I don’t think you’ll have to do much more pretending.”

“Glad to hear it. Even life among my Einherjar was getting a little too routine.”

Mist stopped. “Einherjar?”

“Didn’t I tell you? That’s the name we took when I started the club.

Einherjar,
Mist thought. The bravest of mortal warriors, who, after death, lived again Valhalla, where they would spend eternity in feasting and fighting. All in preparation for the greatest battle of all.

“I hope they live up to their name,” Mist said, “because they might not like what’s about to happen.”

“They’ll stick with me,” Bryn said with absolute assurance.

“Will they be willing to sacrifice their lives to save the world?”

“That bad, is it?” Bryn nodded to herself. “They’ll like that.”

Mist shook her head, and they continued to the door. Vali stuck out his hand, engulfing Bryn’s when she took it. He handled her as if she were the small brown bird she resembled.

“Glad you’re here,” he said gruffly.

“Good to be here.” She glanced at Dainn. “
Heil,
Alfr.”

He inclined his head, his eyes hooded with emotion Mist couldn’t read. “Greetings, Bryn of the Valkyrie.”

“A little stuffy, isn’t he?” Bryn remarked as they walked past the men into the loft. One by one the other Einherjar followed them, and soon the hall and kitchen were overflowing with men and women removing helmets and setting gear down on every available surface.

Ryan and Gabi were at the foot of the stairs, Gabi’s mouth slightly open, Ryan as calm as if he considered the arrival of a dozen bikers to be an everyday event.