Streaking through the skies of rural Maryland, Jotun banked hard left over the Conroy's ranch house. Without warning he felt a hard, interior pull in his chest and Freya's face appeared in his mind. His pulse jerked and he plummeted toward the ground, flaring his wings at the last minute to brake and soften his descent. Still, his boots carved twin craters three inches deep into the hard soil. Freya's image wavered before him and his gut clenched. Heat arced through his chest, constricting his breathing and a sharp pain flared along his ribs. He heard her.
Jotun, please beloved, help me.
He felt the shadow of fingers around his throat, as if someone were trying to squeeze the life from him, and knew that she was in trouble. The physical sensations faded, but the tug in his chest remained. He cast a glance at the quiet farmhouse and inhaled, but no stench of demon greeted him. Surt was not here. Freya's image was fading. If he flew to her, it would be too late.
Focusing on her call, he stepped into the Shift, his heart rate rocketing as the lights oriented on him. His blood throbbed through his brain, clouding his thoughts and his vision. Forcing his mind to obey, he strained to keep Freya's image in the forefront of his desire. He stepped again and emerged into a wooded area. The skyline beyond the trees told him he was back in New York. Central Park.
A choked cry to his left had his feet moving without conscious thought and he burst into a small clearing to see Surt crouching over a half-naked female figure, preparing to feed. His boot connected with Surt's stomach, flinging him into the air in a tumbling roll.
"Always you prey on those weaker than yourself, Surt. Come, fight one who is your equal." Jotun's fist clenched around Hamar's hilt and cold light rippled up his arm and across his chest until it engulfed him.
Surt lurched to his feet and presented a battered visage to his enemy. The broken nose had started to heal, but blood still seeped from the head wound Gwyneth had given him.
Jotun smiled. "Well, it seems she was less helpless than you thought." The grin faded into grim determination. "But now, let us put an end to your cowardice."
The demon's gaze flickered from Gwyneth's helpless form to Jotun and back again. "How did you find us?"
"Always you have the same question." Turning, Jotun adjusted his grip on Hamar, his eyes never leaving his enemy.
"And you never give an answer," Surt said, and feinted right to hide the thrust he brought from the left. Jotun parried easily and Surt fell back, circling, looking for an opening.
"Jotun," Gwyneth's whisper was threaded with pleading and pain. Jotun turned and Surt charged. Sensing the movement, Jotun spun back, deflecting the slashing thrust without an inch to spare. A thin blaze of heat slit his skin, leaving a trail of blood across his chest. The wound began to heal, and Jotun raised Hamar to counter strike, but Surt was gone. Behind him, Jotun heard Gwyneth's scream and whipped about to face the sound.
Hoisting her limp, battered form under one arm, Surt shot him a triumphant grin. "Follow if you dare, Jotun," he cried, and a cloud of smoke rose around the space where he was standing.
Ignoring the icy threads of terror that raced down his spine, Jotun leapt into the Shift after them, leaving a shower of blue sparks behind him. The icy, gray mist of the Shift swirled around his feet. His sword hung from his fist, a long, thin sliver of illumination in the intense blackness. In the distance, the lights winked, rotated, and began their advance.
Circular eddies in the mist betrayed Surt's passage and Jotun followed. A movement in the dark jerked his startled gaze left and he was staring into the eyes of a red-haired goddess. The picture reminded him fleetingly of the TV programs he had become accustomed to. Just as the actors were unaware of their watchers, the woman seemed oblivious to his presence. Somehow, though, he was equally sure that she was not an actress and the rectangular square he stared into was no television set.
A moan from the darkness ahead of him pulled his attention away from the woman in the picture and he hurried after the sound. His exhalation puffed small white clouds on the frigid air but in the distance, the lights grew larger. He had to find Freya and get her out of this place. His heart raced as he rushed forward, thin beads of sweat freezing on his skin.
"You are a fool, Jotun." Surt's voice lashed at him out of the darkness and Jotun dropped into a fighting stance, his sword igniting.
"And you are boring me. Put the woman down. Face me." Jotun lifted his blade and Surt's shadowed form leapt from the gloom, the metal sliding, edge to edge. Sparks erupted and the hilts crashed together. Surt shoved against Jotun and the angel returned pressure for an instant before giving way, stepping aside suddenly. Off balance, Surt flew past and Jotun brought the flat of his blade down hard on the demon's shoulders.
Surt sprawled in the gray mist and Jotun followed up with a kick that would have caved in his opponent's ribs had it connected. Surt rolled and sprang to his feet, bringing Brunjharta around in a sweeping curve aimed at Jotun's neck.
Jotun leaned back, the tip of the blade skimming a thin burn of red along his throat. Surt laughed. "You will not heal in this place. Here you can be wounded, weakened, and will stay that way until you leave." He gestured into the half-light surrounding them. "If they let you leave."
The lights were the size of cannon balls now, approaching from every direction, the distance between them lessening with each breath. The air was warm as spring and Jotun's stomach clenched.
"Where is Freya?" he asked.
"How will you find her when you do not even know her true name?" Surt slashed at him, forcing Jotun into a defensive posture. The angel parried, crushing Surt's blade aside and bringing Hamar around to slash at the demon's mid-section. Dancing back, Surt clutched at the gash across his ribs and Jotun pressed him, raining blow after blow on his enemy. Ducking, sliding, parrying, Surt fought desperately.
"Where is she?" Jotun roared and stabbed at the demon. Heat rose around the fighters, the gloom dispelled by the approach of the lights. They fought in an ever-tightening ring. Pain arced through Jotun's skull, pounding in time with his racing heart.
Surt twisted to meet the onslaught, hissing as Hamar pierced his upper arm. "Better get out while you can, Jotun. Once the ring closes, you will be destroyed."
"Don't listen to him Jotun. The light will heal you." The ragged voice came from the dark beyond the ring of lights and Jotun spun to track it, slipping between two globes, out of the illuminated circle. He almost tripped over her as she struggled to her knees.
"Freya, don't try to talk. I'll get you to safety." Jotun put his arms around her and lifted her to her feet.
"You have to listen..." she said. She looked over his shoulder into the brightness and her eyes widened. "Look out!" she said, and ducked between him and his enemy, arms outstretched. Jotun pulled her against his chest and turned an instant too late.
Surt thrust Brunjharta through Gwyneth's breast, the long blade piercing her through before burrowing into Jotun's chest. Surt ripped the sword free with a cry of triumph and disappeared in a cloud of sulfurous, black smoke.
A shattered cry burst from Gwyneth's lips and her knees buckled. Jotun caught her, and knelt. He lifted her into a sitting position, resting against him. With frantic fingers, he pulled the shredded gown away from her wound. The flesh was badly torn, and he knew that once they left the Shift, it would be lethal. "What have you done, Freya?" His voice broke as he looked into her face.
She put her hand against the matching rip in his own tunic, over his heart. "I couldn't let him hurt you," she whispered. "I am your Gwyneth, now and always. Do you still not know me?"
The lights danced closer, circling the couple, merging into a solid wall of painful brilliance.
"Choose." The voice thundered out of the darkness, the sound vibrating with command.
Jotun felt his heart dissolve in his chest. "You will die if we leave this place."
"We will both die if we do not," she said. "You must choose. It is the only way."
The lights closed in, the heat rising to an unbearable level. Gwyneth's skin turned pink and sweat beaded along her hairline. Her breath was rapid and shallow.
"Choose," the voice thundered, and smoke rose in thin, lazy tendrils from the edges of her dress.
"That way lies madness and destruction. We must go back where we came from."
"We do not come from that world. Trust me, beloved."
Jotun stood, cradling her in his arms. He stared into the lights, a solid wall of menace surrounding them, offering no escape.
"Choose!" The voice died away, leaving no alternatives but forward motion or incineration.
Jotun closed his eyes. A place for her, Lord. I beg you for her life, he thought, and walked blind into the light. On his third step he fell to his knees as lightening coursed through his brain, bringing searing pain in its wake. He clutched Gwyneth closer and he was falling, headlong and helpless, through the light.
"We have to make him release her." The voice was frustrated, and female.
"Good luck with that." A male voice, mildly amused, but with an underlying tone of worry.
The female sighed. "Really Loki, why are you here? You are no help at all."
Jotun blinked and opened his eyes. Gwyneth's curls obscured his view and he smiled despite the wicked headache hammering at the inside of his skull. His chest itched. He rubbed his hand across the irritation and found a rip in his tunic and a four inch scar hiding underneath. Where had that come from? He ran his fingers along Gwyneth's cheek and jerked his hand back, sitting up in the same motion. Her skin felt as if it was on fire.
"There he is." Relief laced the male tones now and Jotun instinctively pulled his wife closer.
"Let her go, you idiot. We can't help her with you clinging like a limpet." A woman towered over them, blue eyed and milky skinned.
"Who are you?" he asked.
She rolled her eyes. "Freya, but formal introductions must wait. We need to get your woman to the baths or she won't last long enough to sew up those wounds."
Jotun lurched to his feet, hoisting Gwyneth up with him and looked down at her still form for the first time. Her face was badly bruised and a four inch puncture in her chest oozed thick, heart's-blood. His pulse raced even as his grip tightened. "Who did this to her?" he demanded.
"Again, a question for later. We need to get her to the pools or the fever will kill her." The woman turned away, beckoning him to follow. Jotun glanced at Gwyneth, and then at the man leaning against a nearby tree.
The man shrugged. "It's usually best to do as she suggests," he said. "She's much less annoying when she's being obeyed." He set off after Freya.
Gwyneth stirred in Jotun's arms, moaning fretfully. Her breath rose and fell in short, panting bursts and the heat radiating off her skin burned him through both sets of clothes. Whatever else Freya might be, she was right in this, they had to get the fever down. Jotun strode after the pair, passing the male in a few long strides. As he walked he struggled to figure out where he was. A mountain forest surrounded them, and the air was clean and bright, not like...where? Where had he been that the air smelled of tar and hot glass?
They arrived at a clearing, backed by a sheer cliff face. The male figure looked at him with a curious half-smile. "Welcome to Sessrumnir, Jotun. Freya's home and one of the only places on Earth, at least in this time, where evil cannot find you."
Following Freya, Jotun walked past him down a long, torch-lit corridor of stone. "How do you know my name?" he asked.
The man's eyebrows rose. "You don't remember me then?" He shrugged. "Well, not so surprising really, considering. I am Loki. We met, or technically, will meet, in New York City, America."
"Lay her in the pool" Freya said. The hall emptied into a wide chamber dotted with pools of clear, bubbling water. The cavern was enormous, its walls pocked with arched doorways and alcoves. The temperature had dropped and ice crystals sparkled on the cave walls.
Jotun crossed to the nearest pool and stepped down into the cold water. Gwyneth's eyelids fluttered as the water touched her and she cried out. Jotun shot a look at Freya but she shook her head. "We have to get that fever down. She won't like it, but this will keep her alive until the infection runs its course."
"Infection? What are you talking about?" Jotun shifted his grip, struggling to keep Gwyneth's face out of the water as she thrashed, fighting against the cold. Gradually, she calmed.
"Your wife is blood-tainted, Jotun. Somehow, she has taken angelic blood. I have seen the signs before and very few survive. The taint has created a fever and if we don't keep her cool enough, long enough, it will burn her alive from the inside out," Freya said as she rummaged in a nearby storage area.
"Gwyneth cannot die," Jotun whispered.
"Unfortunately, she can, and if we don't act quickly, she likely will. However, you picked a good place to land. These waters are rich in minerals known for their curative properties. They will help her survive the ascension."
Memories of Danae, Gwyneth's sister, cascaded through his mind. They had almost lost her the same way. But how had Gwyneth gotten angel blood in her system? He sank lower in the water as Gwyneth fought against his hold. The scar on his chest burned even as the water reddened with her blood. His eyes locked on the open wound on his wife's breast.
"But the blood taint isn't Gwyneth's only problem." Pulling several vials from a shelf, Freya returned to the pool. "These are healing oils. She's been badly beaten and the oils will ease her pain and help her body mend itself."
"How did this happen, Jotun?" Loki asked.
Scattered images flashed across Jotun's mind. A sword descending, a demon's grin of triumph. "We were attacked, or I..." he hesitated, trying to organize the fragments into a whole memory.
"Attacked? By who?" Loki asked.
Freya crouched by the edge of the pool and emptied three flasks into the water. Gwyneth calmed almost immediately. "Do not press him," Freya said. "If, as you told me, he was suffering from Shift-sickness, his travel through the portal will have healed him. His memory will come back to him in time, as his mind completes the healing process. Meanwhile, we must see to the woman."
Loki followed her as she went to put the empty vials in the storeroom. "If he was attacked, his enemy is likely to track him here," he said. "I have to protect the boys."
"And so you shall, but not at Gwyneth's expense." Freya fixed him with a cool stare. "From what you have told me, there has been enough of that done already."
Loki lowered his gaze. "I did what I had to. The boys are here, safe. That is what matters."
"And now she is here, safe. The boundaries are sealed. I would know if Luc—" She fell silent at Loki's grimace. "I would know if they had been breached."
Loki pointed at Jotun and Gwyneth. "This is not a breach?"
"Only Sabaoth himself could have led them here. There is only one portal and that one is protected." She held up her hand when Loki would have protested further. "Go and see to your sons, Loki. I have work to do."
Loki stormed off, his steps resounding hollowly from the cave walls. Freya returned to the pool and knelt at the edge. "I have a wicker frame we can use to support her in the water. You do not have to —"
"I am where I belong," Jotun said. "She is mine, I will stay."
"She will need to stay in the pool for several days. You are still healing yourself," Freya said. Jotun's eyes never left Gwyneth's still face. Sighing, Freya rose, drying her hands on her skirts. "Very well. I will arrange for food and drink to be brought to you."
She walked into the shadows and a brief column of light flashed as she passed through a door at the rear of the cavern. Jotun settled into the frigid waters, holding Gwyneth lightly, allowing her to float nearly free so that the waters circulated around her. His breath came in frosted, white plumes that drifted into the damp air like miniature ghosts.
Time passed and he found that when he tried to force his recollections, they ran from him and his head ached. So he watched over Gwyneth's fretful rest and waited. Gradually, fragments of memory danced solos in his mind and he examined each one as it came.
Footsteps echoed through the vault, but he barely looked up. Food arrived and was taken away. He obeyed the frequent, quiet instructions to "get her to drink this, and take some for yourself," and accepted the cups pressed into his hand, but otherwise made no response to Freya or those she sent. He watched Gwyneth's face, frowned over her slowly closing wounds. The water trembled around them, but her skin remained hot to his touch, her cheeks pale and sunken. He forced water between her teeth and listened to the fragmented words that dropped in broken whispers from her lips.
Days passed this way, and as they did, he remembered.
Surt stumbled, laughing, into the living room of his suite in New York. His head ached and fire danced along his ribs and upper arm, but the look on Jotun's face as Gwyneth slipped to the ground had been worth it. Well worth it.
"Damn Jotun for turning on me," he snarled. "He'll pay though. I'll make sure of it. Him and that bitch of his, both, if she lives." He stumbled into the kitchenette and jerked the refrigerator open. A single bag of O negative was all that he had left. He drained it in a few gulps and slung the empty bag into the trash.
On his way to the bathroom, he grabbed a sheet from the bed and ripped it into strips. Checking the wound on his ribs, he saw that it was starting to heal, but slowly, and it was leaving yet another scar. Curses spouted from between his fangs as he cleaned and bound the still-seeping gashes.
Rather than waste any more energy traveling the Shift or changing shape, he hid his tattered wings away and shrugged into a black trench coat. Pulling a black watch-cap over his ears, he slammed out the door and down the hall. He would have to hunt if he hoped to make a real recovery.
It took less than an hour to lure two hookers back to the room. The fact that they both bore a passing resemblance to Gwyneth was a bonus.
"Come on Mister," the tall one said, taking his hand and swinging her way up the hall. "Suze and I got another appointment at midnight. You wanna have some fun before then dontcha?" She popped her gum and wiggled her hips suggestively.
"Oh, I plan on having lots of fun," he said as he slid his key into the lock.
"Jess and me done tons of three ways. You're in good hands." The other girl giggled and danced past him into the room. She stopped short a few feet inside the suite. "Hey, if you want a four-way though, that's gonna be extra."
Eyes blazing, Surt pushed past the girls. "Jotun, you son-of-a —" His breath caught in his throat and the word fell unfinished into the frigid air. "Molek."
"Surt." The elegant, black clad figure rose from the couch and nodded at the young women. "Ladies. If you wouldn't mind waiting in the bedroom, your...erm, friend... and I have something to discuss," he said. Suze looked as if she might protest and Molek's eyes glinted. "It wasn't a request. Go on now. I promise not to keep you waiting long."
The girls hurried out and closed the door behind them.
"Molek, this is an honor. What can I —" Surt's head snapped sideways with the force of Molek's blow and he crumpled to his knees, fresh blood seeping from his lips and dotting the carpet.
"Stop talking, Surt. There really is nothing left to say." Molek jerked the lesser demon up by his collar and flung him across the room. Surt crashed into the TV, before sliding down the wall.
"Please, Sire, let me explain —"
Molek flicked his fingers in the air and the air tightened around them, sound-proofing the room. "I am not the Master, do not call me Sire. And we are already quite aware of your ambition." He crouched in front of Surt. "Did you really think the King of Demons would allow you to destroy even a fraction of his kingdom?"
"I wasn't going to destroy it!"
"No, you were just going to carve out a slice for yourself." Grabbing Surt's hair, Molek dragged him to his feet and shoved. Surt flew backward, landing on the coffee table and smashing it into fragments. "You really are a fool. And Lucifer does not suffer fools easily."
He held his hand over the beaten demon and ribbons of purple and blue light spun out from his fingers. Like snakes, they twisted and writhed toward Surt's cowering form, twining about his limbs, binding him, sinking into his flesh. Everywhere the ribbons touched, his flesh bubbled and distorted. Surt began to scream, but the transformation continued. Fur sprouted along his torso as his limbs shortened and bent at odd angles. His ears elongated and his jaw jutted forward with a hideous crack. Slowly, Surt's screams became whimpers until finally, it was done.
Molek crouched down in front of his wolfish creation. "Lucky for you, I've always wanted a pet. You will serve me, and I will feed you and then, when I create my kingdom, perhaps I will free you and give you a territory of your own in exchange for your loyal service."
The beast cowered before him and Molek smiled. A soft rustling at the door drew his attention and he released the seal on the room.
Jess put her head around the corner, her eyes widening as she took in the destruction. "Is everything ok out here?" she asked. "Where's Surt?"
"Surt isn't feeling well." He crossed the room and she backed away. "I however, am very interested in that three way you were talking about." He followed her into the bedroom and shut the door behind him.
"Jotun," the whisper curled around his ear and sent gooseflesh along his spine. "Awaken, Jotun. Her fever is gone. We need to get her into a warm bed." Freya straightened, giving him room to exit the pool.
Jotun's eyes sprang open and he looked down at Gwyneth's pinched face. A shiver passed over her and her skin had a blue tinge that had not been there before. He pulled her close, relieved that she no longer felt like a living torch against him. In a few steps he had climbed from the pool and stood, dripping, at its edge.
The cavernous room echoed with the susurration of water lapping in pools carved into the stone. Wide benches provided space to sit or recline. Across the nearest one lay a blanket. When an attendant tried to lift Gwyneth from his arms, Jotun tensed and a growl rumbled from his throat. The man blanched and backed away, raising his palms in surrender.
Freya's frustrated tones sliced through the cold air. "They are here to help. We need her out of those wet rags and into a bed where I can check her wounds." She slid him a sidelong glance before continuing. "You could use a bit of rest yourself."
A frigid pool had formed around his feet, the water streaming from Gwyneth's ruined dress and his own clothes. He cast Freya cool, level stare. "If you have a room prepared for us, show the way. I will see to her injuries myself."
"And in the meantime, you'll track water from one end of Sessrumnir to the other. No, I don't think so. Lay her here and I will undress her while you change into dry clothes. Then I will show you to your rooms."
Their eyes met and held as a long, taut silence stretched between them. After several moments Freya threw her hands up. "Really Jotun. Had I wished her harm I would simply have left you in the field outside. You'd never have found the entrance in time to save her."
Seeing the truth in her eyes, Jotun relented. Laying Gwyneth on the blanket he accepted a tunic and leggings from a servant. Reluctantly, he let the man lead him to an alcove to change, but he had just pulled on the dry leggings when a startled shriek from Freya sent him running back to the pools.
"What happened?" He asked.
"I tried to remove her necklace." She held up her hands, displaying a chain shaped burn pattern across her fingers and palms, then pointed at Gwyneth's chest. "What is that thing?" She demanded.
He stared at the jewel around Gwyneth's neck. "I don't know. It looks..." he hesitated, prodding his memory. "Familiar isn't the right word. I don't think I've ever seen it before, but it feels as if I should know. Like something I've heard about, but never encountered."
Leaning as close as she could without touching the locket, Freya examined it. A speculative look tightened her features until finally she gave a small nod. "It would be best for her if we remove it," she said. "Sigyn, could you bring me some bandages from the storage room"
A young woman hurried to comply and was back in moments. "This is very thin. Do you think —"
"If I am right, this will do nicely. Blood forged metal doesn't mind cloth. Only skin." She threaded the cloth under the chain, wrapping it twice around to form a wide pad, and then lifted.
Gwyneth screamed, grabbing the pendant and slapping Freya to the floor. A streak of white light speared from the injured woman's fingers, narrowly missing Freya's head before detonating on the wall, leaving a black, smoking circle in the stone.
Freya leapt to her feet, her skin glowing with battle fury and Jotun leapt forward, pressing Gwyneth back onto the bench.
Wrapping the blanket tight around his wife, he crooned, "Hush sweet love. It's all right." He lifted the frantic woman onto his lap and rocked her, whispering reassurances until she gradually calmed.
Gwyneth had not even regained consciousness. Freya relaxed, forcing her outrage down with visible effort.
Jotun shot the demi-goddess a desperate look. "This is not like her. Gwyneth has never..."
"She is still not recovered.” Freya stopped him with a shrug. “And you will find, she is changed. Ascension will do that to you."
He had no reply and after a few moments she said, "Follow me and you can look over her injuries." She dismissed her servants with a wave and led the way herself along a torch lit corridor, warning him over her shoulder as they walked. "You may not like what you see."
After the first turn the floor slanted gently upward. The walls went from black stone to wood lathe. The air warmed and a sweet scent flowed around them as they climbed. Another three turnings and Freya paused next to an open door.
The sparsely furnished room was not over-large, but he could see that an effort had been made to make it comfortable. Thick carpets, a low fire in the grate, and a pitcher of water waited on the bedside table provided a welcome.
"We have prepared this chamber for your use. There are healing oils on the table there and candles in that cupboard. I assume you know how to make fire?"
His lips thinned at her tone. "I have been trained, just as you were."
"Then you'll know what oils to use, and how?" Her brow arched.
"I was my company's training officer. I received extensive instruction in the healing arts for all species, including humans."
An odd expression crossed Freya's face, her brows drawing together and her lips pursing. "I am sure you were, but the Ascended are..." Her frown deepened as she searched for the proper word. Giving up, she shook her head. "They are a unique case. We were never trained for them."
"You used that word before. What — who are these 'ascended' you keep talking about?" Jotun entered the room and crossed to the bed, laying Gwyneth gently down still wrapped in the thick blanket of soft wool.
Surprise lit Freya's features. "You have watched two ascend and you do not know the name that has been given them?" He stared at her and she shook her head. "Of course you don't. Danae's ascension was the first and then, between Shift-sickness and trying to destroy the Earth, you have hardly had time to know the world since the flood."
Jotun paled, but said nothing. After a moment's silence, she continued. "You have remembered Danae, yes?"
He nodded.
A faint smile ghosted across her lips. "Good. She is the first of the Ascended. Tainted with angelic blood through no fault of her own, she was granted immorality and the gift of healing." She nodded past him at his sleeping wife. "I have no doubt that it will be the same with Gwyneth. There is little doubt what gift she was given." Freya ran her fingers through the singed strands along her hairline. "The extent of it, she will have to tell us herself."
Jotun opened the cupboard and took out several candlesticks. Setting them on the table he snapped his fingers over them, producing a bright lick of flame for each wick. He glanced at Freya. "You can stay if you wish, but close the door." His hand hovered over the cover. "Please," he added, and Freya stepped into the room, pulling the door softly closed behind her.
Candle light wavered along the walls as Jotun pulled the blankets away from Gwyneth's still form. His breath caught in his throat. "Surt has much to answer for," he whispered.
The place where the demon's blade had pierced Gwyneth's breast was marked with a thin line of garnet scar tissue. The red line spiraled out from the newly healed wound, winding around her breast, following the line of her blood vessels in an elaborate, overlapping pattern that spread from sternum to shoulder like a warrior's breast-plate, fading into the surrounding skin at her collar bone above and her ribcage below. Bruises faded around her upper arms and across her ribs. The marks of the demon's fingers stood in plain relief around shadowed her slender throat.
"Have you...remembered what happened?" Freya asked.
Jotun nodded.
"Then you understand. The scars on her chest are interior. The silver in Surt's sword, reacting with your blood as he drew it from your body into hers, caused those." Freya pulled her gaze from Gwyneth and looked up into Jotun's face. "The bruises are already fading, but the scars will be permanent."
There was silence as he stared at his wife's pale face. "I failed her," he said.
"She is still breathing. She will recover. I would say that you saved her."
"Had I listened to the voice in the light, none of this would have happened." Jotun sank onto the edge of the bed and dropped his head into his hands.
Freya rolled her eyes. "And she would still be mortal. It seems an even trade to me, unpleasant in the making, but beneficial in the outcome. Stop whining."
Jotun lifted his head, eyes blazing, and glared at her. Her eyes, blue and piercing as his own, held without flinching and after a moment, he looked away.
"The question is; what will you do now?" Freya lifted the pitcher and poured water into a cup. She held it out to him. "See that she drinks as often as possible, and do the same yourself. I'll have food brought up shortly."
He said nothing and after a moment the swish of her gown informed him that he and Gwyneth were alone. He lifted her thin hand into his and traced the lines of her palm with tender fingers. "What have I done to you my love?" he asked.
He felt her hand grip his and his startled gaze leapt to hers. Her face was pale, with tired lines engraved around her mouth and eyes, but she smiled at him.
"You came when I needed you most, even though you didn't know me. Even though you thought I was your enemy." His eyes closed and he shook his head, but Gwyneth was insistent. "You cannot blame yourself for this. You acted on what you thought to be true. And now you must act again. Surt has to be stopped before he hurts someone else."
"I'm not leaving you again," he looked away, pulling the covers over her. "I cannot," he said, but his hand shook and she touched his cheek, bringing his eyes to hers.
"There is more," Gwyneth said. "What is it?"
Reluctantly, in terse sentences more fitted for a military report than an intimate conversation, Jotun told her of Surt's goals and Conroy's danger.
Her fingers tightened around his for a moment and then she released him. "You have to go."
He shook his head. "You are my first duty. I abandoned you once, I won't do it again."
"I am not abandoned. They will take care of me here." She gazed into his stubborn face and sighed. "There is no other choice. You know what he will do if you don't stop him."
Supporting her with one arm, Jotun held the cup to her lips and she drank. After he settled her back onto the pillows he rose and paced the room.
"It is likely too late now. Whatever Surt would do, he has already done."
"If the Shift was simply a doorway from Par-Adis to Earth as we once thought, that might be true. But you know it isn't. Travel to a point and place where you can stop him Jotun. Find him just as you found me."
"You were calling to me. Surt is unlikely to do the same, and he'll have made an effort to cover his tracks. Besides, how can I go and leave you unprotected?"
"She will be protected. You have my word." Loki stood in the doorway and Gwyneth blew out a disgusted breath.
"By you? I'd rather take my chances with Surt."
Guilt rushed briefly across Loki's handsome features but they quickly settled back into an expression of imperturbable good humor. "Don't be cranky."
Gwyneth said nothing, turning her face away, and Jotun's eyes went cold. "You will go now. It is clear that my wife does not want you here."
Loki held his hands up in mock surrender. "As you wish. But in all seriousness," he said, dropping his hands and frowning. "You can trust me Gwyneth. Not because of any sudden altruism on my part," he said hastily as she sent him a glare that should have melted the skin from his cheeks. "But because I have interests in modern America that would suffer if Surt has his way."
"He is not wrong." Freya spoke from behind Loki. With an impatient hand, she nudged him aside and gestured to a servant carrying a tray of food. "Put it on the table and then you may leave us."
The servant complied and Freya turned to Jotun. "You need not place your trust in Loki, however. I certainly wouldn't," she said, sending the chagrined demon a sardonic look. "I will care for your wife. She only needs time and rest to complete her recovery. If you use the Shift properly, you can be back here almost before you have left."
Jotun quirked an eyebrow. "Almost?"
Freya grinned. "It is never wise to cross paths with our former selves; it only creates confusion and regret." Her mouth straightened and her eyes dimmed. "We must move forward if we are to succeed. Do you understand? Anything else is a useless self-indulgence."
He looked from Gwyneth to Freya and back again. "I will be back as quickly as I can."
"I know you will. Just don't turn your back on him."
A reluctant grin tugged at his lips. "Good advice." He leaned down and kissed her, then turned to Freya. "How do I get out of this place?"
"You'll have to go back to the meadow where we found you." Loki stepped forward, his brow crinkled with earnestness. "You can't enter Sessrumnir except through the portal and that only by permission of Freya or, as in your case, the creator himself."
Jotun glanced at Freya and, at her nod of agreement, he said to Loki, "All right then, lead the way, if you will."
Loki smiled. "Gladly."
He turned and headed down the hallway. With a kiss and a last smile from Gwyneth, Jotun followed.
"One light at a time," Loki said as the wood beams of the hall gave way to dark stone. "Never touch two at once. The trick is to call the one you want to you. Of course, if you have time to focus on your destination before you enter, that's always best, since that takes you through a direct route."
Jotun shot him an annoyed glance. "Do you always babble this much?"
"I beg your pardon. Considering your medical history, I just thought you might want some instruction..."
"I'm a quick study. I rarely make the same mistake twice." He fingered Hamar's hilt. "Tell me this — my wife loves nearly everyone, yet she seems to have taken an intense dislike to you. Why is that, I wonder?"
Loki hurried around a bend in the corridor, putting several more paces between his neck and Jotun's still-sheathed blade. "Umm, does she? I'm sure I can't think why that would be. I, uhh... Ahh, here we are." Relief lightened his tone as the pair stepped into soft morning sunlight.
A green meadow, replete with wildflowers and edged in ancient trees, rolled before them. A hundred yards distant stood a vine-covered arch. As they approached Jotun realized that it wasn't carved from cut wood, but grown in place. Two sets of seven young trees, still rooted in the Earth, had been woven together as they grew. The central tree on each side was carved with animal faces that peeked out from between the others and the upper branches met and embraced at the apex. The air inside the arch quivered, vibrating with supernatural energy.
They approached the arch and Loki turned to Jotun. "When you came through, it must have been just on the other side. We found you there," he said, pointing to an unexceptional stretch of grass in front of the portal. "Freya thinks you must have fallen through after exiting the Shift."
"So I have to go through the archway before I can enter the Shift?"
"Yes. The Shift doesn't open into Sessrumnir, and you won't be able to see it from the other side of the portal, so don't be startled if you look behind you and see only forest."
"Then how will I get back?" Jotun frowned.
"The same way you got here, I would imagine. You will be guided."
Jotun eyed the arch. "I'll have to take it on faith then? Good enough. Now, how did you meet Gwyneth..." he looked for Loki and saw only the back of him. The grass rustled and then settled. "Right," he muttered. "Something to take care of when I get back." The meadow was still now, and silent. No birds sang, no animal moved through the brush. He could still see the cliff-entrance to Sessrumnir. He could still go back.
Jotun stretched his neck one way and then the other, settling Hamar more securely at his hip, and walked through the portal. On the other side a forest stretched in all directions and when he looked over his shoulder his eyes widened. The arch was gone and nothing stood behind him but more trees.
Freya's words echoed back to him; we must move forward if we are to succeed. He took a deep breath and focused on finding Surt.
"Please," he murmured. "Before he gets to Conroy." He stepped into the Shift and felt its cold bite through his tunic. The lights approached, zooming toward him as if hurled by an unseen hand. His heart thudded, carving depth from each breath he took, but he stood still, waiting.
"Choose," the voice said. He raised the image of the place and time he wanted, holding it in his mind as the lights edged closer and his breathing became light gasps.
"Choose." The word assaulted him, threatening to drive him to his knees, but instead, he focused on a single point in the wall of light and stepped...
He emerged with asphalt under his feet. A blare of car-horns had him leaping back onto the sidewalk. The half-light of dusk in New York settled around him along with the smell of a hot dog vendor's cart and the shrill cries of a city gearing up for the night. He stared up at the familiar facade of the hotel he and Surt had called home for so many days. He shrugged. It was a good a place to start his search as any.
Advancing on the entrance, Jotun shoved open the revolving door and walked through the lobby. The clerk at the front desk waved frantic hands in his direction but he ignored her and headed for the elevator.
"Mr. Tun, Mr. Tun, please, there have been complaints..." The clerk flapped up beside him, her heels clattering on the tile floor.
"I've been away on business," he said. He cut her a sidelong glance and offered a grim smile. "But don't worry. We'll be checking out today."
"Oh dear, but the police said..."
He stopped and turned to face her. "The police?" One brow lifted in inquiry.
"Well yes, the scream was quite loud and then it stopped so abruptly...we thought it best to call them."
The woman was left gaping into spark-filled space as Jotun decided there wasn't time for the elevator. He stepped out of the Shift into the hallway outside his room. The door was locked. He gripped the handle hard and twisted. Hearing the mechanism snap, he shoved the door open, drawing Hamar in the same motion. The room stank of blood, the air itself supercharged with violence. Red gore smeared the floor, the walls. The television, its screen smashed in, lay on its side on the counter. Fragments of broken furniture littered the rooms. The window was a jagged, open hole, curtains shifting in the fitful evening breeze.
Jotun moved toward the half-open bedroom door and pushed at it with his knuckles. Something kept it from swinging freely and he pushed harder. A rough, scraping of cloth on cloth broke the silence and a pale arm flopped into the space between door and frame. Jotun swallowed and gently opened the door the rest of the way. She couldn't have been much more than seventeen, her red-gold curls spilling around a snow kissed face. Her body was naked, covered in red-rimmed bites and gashes.
The girl on the bed might have been her twin, red-haired and pale, her blue eyes staring in endless horror. Both were bloodless, neither was breathing.
Bile rolled in his gut. Surt has chosen these deliberately, he was sure, for their resemblance to Gwyneth.
He's warning me. Jotun inhaled sharply, filling his lungs and then pushing the air out hard. I'll take the warning, but not as he means it.
Hearing the stomp of running feet in the hall, he moved swiftly back into the living area and leapt to the window sill. Without pausing to consider, he vaulted into the air, his wings springing free, arresting his fall. Flying, he turned the possibilities over in his mind. Surt would want to go after Conroy, but he wouldn't know where he was. Conroy's family?
He wheeled sharply and shot northward, slicing through the Shift so fast that he wasn't even aware of its greater darkness before emerging into the Maryland night. The farm below looked peaceful...and abandoned. No dog barked as he alighted, no lights shone even though the evening was still young. A quick examination revealed none of the violence he had found in the hotel room. Something loosened in his chest. There was no odor of demon here, only the dusty staleness of an empty house.
Standing in Caroline Conroy's living room he resisted his next move for several moments before his jaw tightened with its inevitability. Going to the hospital where he had left Michael Conroy was risky. Every time Jotun traveled the Shift, his trail became brighter, easier to detect and follow.
A slow grin lit Jotun's face. Maybe an easy trail wasn't such a bad thing. He stepped into the Shift, exiting a step later into the parking lot of the hospital where Conroy should still be recovering. The half-full lot was quiet and he watched as two cars pulled out. The small medical facility was brightly lit, but comparatively peaceful, given its function.
Jotun shrugged his wings out of sight and walked through the front doors. At the reception desk, he paused. "Can you tell me Commander Conroy's condition?" he asked the pretty, dark-eyed nurse.
She checked her computer and her brows rose. "Are you a relative? We can't share information about our patients with unauthorized persons."
Jotun allowed his surprise to show. "I brought him in..." he hesitated. "He was badly injured in an — accident. Tall guy, dark hair, military looking."
She pursed her lips. "If his condition was severe, he might be in the intensive care ward on the second floor. Let me get the charge nurse. Maybe he can help you."
From the corner of his eye, Jotun saw a shadow slide along the corridor, moving with unnatural speed down the hall. He smiled at the nurse and waited an instant for her to turn away before following the shadow.
The brightly lit corridor ran along the outside wall of the hospital, ending in a ninety degree turn some fifty yards away. The right wall was lined with exam and treatment rooms, but the dark figure ignored these, slipping along the white tiled floor like a moveable stain. A nurse and doctor exited one of the rooms, talking in quiet tones, and the shadow shot up the wall and through the ceiling.
Jotun waited until the medics were safely behind him before he shifted to the floor above, exiting into a supply closet. He eased the door open a crack and surveyed the area.
Personnel hurried up and down the hall, clothed either in white coats or colorful scrubs. Monitors beeped and a faint tang of alcohol and antiseptic permeated the air. A tall man in street clothes would stand out like a blood stain on a summer suit. He closed the door and altered his form, transforming his loose tunic and pants into dark blue scrubs.
He held Hamar in front of him, frowning. In a few seconds he walked out of the closet as a short, Hispanic orderly with a rather large stethoscope hanging around his neck. Striding down the hall, he glanced into each room for his quarry. The shadow was nowhere in sight.
The ward was set up in a square with a circular desk in the middle. The wings of the desk formed almost a full circle, stopping short of joining at the bottom to provide an entry point. From that area, a single person could see many of the rooms without getting up, simply by turning in their seat. The exceptions were the rooms past each corner of the square.
Three computer consoles were spaced evenly along the curving counter top. Two were empty, but the one across from the entrance was occupied by a nurse entering data, her back to him. Jotun paused in hall as footsteps echoed from the opposite corridor.
A plump, middle-aged doctor approached the desk with a clipboard in her hands. "Amanda," she said. "Have the results come back on Conroy and Adams?"
Jotun's nostrils flared.
The nurse at the desk looked up from her computer. "Hi Dr. Myers. Let me check." She performed some complex wizardry on the keyboard and the screen lit up, screens passing in and out of visibility as she clicked through them with dizzying speed. Finally it settled on a single spreadsheet. "The toxicology on Adams came back but we are still waiting on the MRI for Conroy." She hit the print key and gave the doctor a curious look. "You know Dr. Croft isn't going to like you checking up on his patients. What happened? Has the patient regained consciousness?"
"Not that I know of. But I have a special interest in our Commander Conroy." Dr. Myers' green eyes crinkled in a friendly smile as she accepted a print out from Amanda. "Don't worry, Croft will never even know I was there. Conroy's still in room..."
"Fourteen, yes."
"Thanks Amanda." The doctor placed a playful finger on her lips and sauntered away.
Jotun waited until the nurse returned to her task and slipped past the desk, walking head down with a purposeful gait, following the faint but familiar stench of demon.
The trail led away from the desk and around the corner. The doctor pushed the door to room fourteen open and passed through with Jotun right behind her. It was a single patient room and Conroy lay in the bed, his face colorless beneath the bruises. A heart monitor and IV bag stood by the bed on one side, a small table with water and a phone on the other. Jotun pulled the stethoscope from his neck and it transformed in his hand even as his body took on its normal size and shape.
"He will never give you what you want, Surt. Give up now or I will destroy you."
The white-coated figure froze in place and began a slow turn, the flesh beneath the clothes rippling, growing. The demon was taller, leaner, his body lithe and athletic in a black leather duster and jeans. He was grinning as he turned to face Jotun "What a wonderfully dramatic line. If I were Surt, it would almost certainly have worked. But as you can see, I'm not."
"Molek." Jotun glanced at Conroy, still sleeping. "This is not your fight. Surt —"
"Has been dealt with." The demon wandered to the window and looked out. "It may not be, as you say, my fight. However, he irritated the Master and when the Lucifer speaks..." He looked at Jotun and smiled wryly. "Well, it's generally best to listen."
"So, Lucky ordered Surt destroyed?" Jotun wandered to Conroy's bedside.
Molek grimaced at the nickname. "I wish you wouldn't call him that. He finds it so irritating."
Jotun suppressed a smile. "Not one of my major concerns. Why would he kill Surt?"
"Surt got too demanding, and he was loud. One of our best tools in this world is the capacity of humans to ignore what they don't wish to see. Surt was making it impossible for them to remain oblivious. And he wasn't happy with teasing the usual cranks and crazies. He was trying to coerce people with actual power." Molek looked at his nails, burnished them against his silk shirt and examined them again. Apparently satisfied, he leveled a pointed glance at Jotun. "He was a threat to the Master's plans, so he had to be neutralized. You would do well to take note."
Ignoring the threat, Jotun rolled his shoulders and settled Hamar's hilt more comfortably into his grip. "And what of Conroy?"
"Well, he knows what Surt was. That knowledge alone, in such reliable hands, represents a risk. We try to avoid those."
"Meaning you are here to kill him." It wasn't a question.
"I prefer not to put things so crassly, but essentially, you are correct. You really should step aside."
"You know I can't do that."
Molek's lip curled. "Of course you can. There's always a choice. Otherwise what would be the point?"
"I won't do that," Jotun amended.
"Fine." Molek's sword was in his fist, a line of frigid black steel arcing toward Jotun's neck before the demon finished speaking. The angel parried and Hamar shrieked with rage as steel met steel. They shoved away from each other and Molek brought his sword around, carving a trail of red along Jotun's thigh. Dancing back, the angel came up short against the wall and twisted aside as Molek moved in close to thrust at his chest. Left with no room to swing Hamar, Jotun doubled up his fist and punched Molek in the teeth. The demon stumbled back, spitting blood.
"It seems you've learned a thing or two since we last met." Molek swiped the air with his sword and Jotun watched a dagger appear in Molek's left hand. "But you'll never know more than I do," he said. The demon leapt, blade out-thrust. The angel slapped it aside only to feel the sharp bite of steel rip into his shoulder. He slammed his head into Molek's and the demon staggered, momentarily stunned, his weapons slipping from his fingers.
Jotun brought Hamar down, point aimed at Molek's throat. The demon wrenched sideways as he straightened. Completing the turn, he drove a fist into Jotun's ribs, slamming him into the monitor. The machine toppled over and keened a warning. Molek snapped his fingers and the sword and dagger merged back into one. He beckoned and it was in his hand.
Outside, they could hear urgent voices calling instructions and the pounding of feet along the corridor.
"This is so tedious!" Molek muttered. His fist clenched and then sprang open, a ball of hellfire in his palm. The semi-liquid bubble hit the lock and burst, spreading in a bright, thin line along the edges of the door, melting the frame and sealing the entrance. He pointed at the unconscious man. "You cannot protect him forever."
Jotun drove Hamar at Molek's gut, forcing him back and put himself between Conroy and the demon once more. "I can protect him now, today. I'll worry about tomorrow when it gets here."
Fists pounded on the door. A voice outside shouted "Stan, get the jaws out of your rig."
Molek rolled his eyes. "Very well then. Worry about this..." he said and thrust out his hand. Another bubble tumbled from his fingers onto the foot of Conroy's bed. A third fireball narrowly missed Jotun's head as the angel scooped the Commander from the burning sheets. Fire alarms screamed and water cascaded from the sprinklers in the ceiling. Jotun stepped into the Shift, and out again, into the hall, surrounded by chaos, but hoping for a momentary respite. If Molek was trying to avoid publicity, witnesses might deter him.
Jotun stared down into the commander's pale face, surprised to find brown eyes looking back at him. "Thank you," the man whispered, and his eyes drifted shut again. A splintering crash shook the corridor as the door was finally pried open. Men shouted and people raced back and forth with fire-extinguishers. A gurney rolled up and Jotun laid his burden upon it, allowing scrub clad attendants to treat Conroy.
He pushed through the crowd and poked his head into the destroyed room, but it was empty and no hint of demon detectable over the smell of burning linens. Neither was there any sign lingering in the hallways or around the people attending the Commander.
"Dude, that was amazing. How did you get him out of there?" A man gripped Jotun's arm. Jotun didn't answer and the man pulled at him, trying to lead him to a chair. "You look a little shocky. Here, take a seat, you better let me sew those up."
"I don't need treatment. The blood is..." He trailed off, brushing away the blood on his skin. Underneath a silver white scar had formed, but there was no wound to treat.
"Oh, it’s not yours." The man's relief was clear. The confusion colored his expression. "Then where...?" He looked over his shoulder at the uproar, and when he looked back Jotun was gone.
Jotun traveled the Shift this time without fear. He brought Gwyneth's face to mind, traced the curves and valleys of her features, drank in the memory of her and when the voice required his choice, he did not hesitate, stepping out of darkness into a sun-blessed meadow.
The arch stood in solitary peace, waiting for him to pass through and he did, without thought or hesitation. Retracing the same path he had taken on his first arrival, Jotun found himself before a sheer rise with a black door set into the cliff face. No one answered his knock, so he took several steps back and vaulted into the air. From the higher vantage he saw that Sessrumnir was far larger than he had first supposed. People moved back and forth between the buildings, carrying bundles, running after children. The wooden palisade enclosed a scattering of structures, numerous cottages, a smithy and kitchen among them.
In the center of the cleared circle rose an enormous lodge, easily the equal of a New York high-rise, should one have been laid on its side. A wide half circle of steps led up to a porch which in turn gave access to massive double doors, rune carved and black with age. A portico sheltered the entrance and as Jotun watched, a familiar figure sprinted up the stairs.
Jotun dropped into the yard, folding his wings away and ignoring the surprised glances of the occupants. "Loki," he yelled, and the man at the doors stopped tugging on the handle and stiffened. With slow, reluctant movements, he turned around.
"Jotun, you have returned more quickly than I expected. Gwyneth is in the meadow."
"I will see her in a few moments. Right now I have some questions and, happily, the time to hear you answer them." He bounded up the steps and threw an arm around Loki's shoulders before the fallen angel could retreat.
Loki's mouth tightened, then relaxed into resignation. "Of course. What would you like to know?"
Tall trees and wildflowers dotted the banks of a wide, gentle stream and a woman lay back on a blanket with her eyes closed against the sunlight, letting the wind tease the ends of her hair.
Jotun approached, letting his shadow fall across her, content to look at her peaceful features until her eyes fluttered open of their own accord.
She smiled at him. "Jotun."
"Gwyneth. You are well?"
"I am," she said, and reached her hands up to him. "What about you?"
He sat next to her and pulled her close. "I am well, I think. I know everything now."
She gave him a wary look. "Everything?"
"I remember everything that happened to me. And I made Loki tell me a good portion of what happened to you. He has much to answer for."
She shook her head. "He was trying to save his children. I might have done the same if I thought it was the only way."
"You would not."
She didn't argue, just gripped his hand tighter. "Let it go, beloved. It is past and cannot be undone. And it was not without benefit."
He turned her palm over and studied the new marks there. "Sabaoth's gift?"
She nodded. "Weather, the ability to call and control it."
"And what of your other scars?" He brushed a hand over her heart.
"They are what they were, no more, no less. I am alive, beloved, and I am blessed to spend that life with you. I have no complaints."
"I'm not sure the same can be said for Conroy and your friend, Delaney." Jotun's voice tightened and she glanced up at him.
"You don't have to worry about Cole," she said, and new joy lit her features. "Freya was able to send him help. Jotun, you will never guess who she sent."
A bemused smile touched his lips. "Who?"
"Danae. Freya knows where and when they are."
Surprise jolted through his chest and he pulled her into his arms. "We will go to them. Soon. Maybe Fomor will know where the rest have landed." He kissed her. "I'm still worried about Conroy though. Molek wants him dead and he has no way to defend himself or his family."
A frown creased her forehead. "I may have a way to give him that. When I was...when I met him, Ahba said I would need to share my gift. He said I would do that "through blood and stone." It took me awhile, but I think I know what he meant." She opened a pouch at her waist and pulled out a ring. If I give him this, he will have the power to defend himself. Even from Molek."
He stared at her. "You cannot mean to give a human power over the weather? He could tear the foundations of nature apart."
"Well, no, not all of the weather. It was only one drop of blood after all. It doesn't carry that much power. But when Surt attacked me, I grabbed the security guard's Taser and used it on him. If I hadn’t, he would have killed us."
Jotun frowned. "So this ring gives the wearer power over...?"
"I focused very hard on lightening. One of the few natural forces strong enough to make a demon back down."
"Does it work?"
She shrugged. "I don't know for sure. There’s been no way to test it."
Jotun thought it over for a few moments. "Why not just tell him to get a stun gun and arm his guards with them as well?"
Her mouth set in a hard line. "It’s the difference between around 50,000 volts and upwards of a billion. A stunner might knock a demon down. Lightning will destroy him."
Jotun’s eyes widened but he didn’t argue with her. "It should work. At the very least it would give him time to call for help."
"The ring will work for that too. Any time he uses it, I'll know."
Surprise lit his features. "And how did you find that out?"
She grinned. "Loki's fault. I left it in my room and he tried to steal it." A bubble of laughter escaped her. "He was furious because it wouldn't work for him. Apparently you have to have human blood in your veins to use it."
"Clever as well as brave," he said.
"I do not feel brave. When we were in the Shift fighting Surt, I was terrified."
He snuffed out a laugh. "Not that I noticed. Gwyneth, you have to promise me that you will never do that again."
"Do what?" She turned guileless eyes upon him, but her fingers whitened around the ring.
"Do not play the innocent. You know what I'm talking about. Did you think I couldn't not defend myself?"
"I did not think at all." She pushed to her feet and paced away from him, the tall grass swishing with her passage. "I saw you in danger. I moved to stop it. Would you have done any different?"
"Of course not, but that is not the same thing. I am —"
"Male? What difference does that make? Can a woman not defend her beloved as well as a man?"
"I was going to say a warrior, bred and trained. And an angel, do not forget. Look what he had already done to you? How could you think you would prevail?"
Her voice was thick with repressed tears as she replied. "If he destroyed you, what difference would it make if I lost my life as well? I can survive without you if I must, though I do not call it living. But I could not stand aside and watch you die. You have no right to ask it of me."
He swallowed hard and searched for an argument that would convince her, but found none. Finally, he nodded and put it away. "So, you included a tracker in the ring?"
A choked laugh escaped her. "That part wasn't me. I think Sabaoth built that safeguard in. But, I knew right away who had it and where he was."
"Do you mean it spoke to you, somehow?"
"No," her brow crinkled. "Not like Sena does. I just...knew."
"Like Sena does?" He leaned away from her. "Sena is here?" Jotun lurched to his feet, dragging Gwyneth with him. "How did you find her?"
"Her heart is here. That's where I got the idea for the ring. I sealed the stone in this ring with a drop of my own blood and —"
"I understand," he said impatiently. "Explain about Sena."
"On our way out of Niflheim, Loki stole a necklace, only he couldn’t carry it, so he tossed it to me." She filled him in on the rest, ending with, "So now I have Sena's amulet, only Loki calls it Brisinger. Jotun, he doesn't know Sena is inside. He just knows that Lucky wants the necklace back and he thinks if he has it, it will give him some leverage."
"Where is the pendant now?" Jotun was marching toward Freya's home, moving so fast that Gwyneth was hard pressed to keep up, despite his fingers clamped around her wrist.
"She is in my room. Loki has been trying to steal it back ever since you left. Since he is so good at picking pockets, I thought she would be safer there. Jotun, what's wrong?"
They were running as they passed through the palace doors and in few turns they were standing outside her apartment.
"After I let him go, Loki was headed toward the guest rooms," Jotun said. "I thought he was going to nurse his wounded pride in private, but..." he trailed off as he tested the door.
Gwyneth gave a sigh of relief. "See," she said. "It's still locked. Everything is fine."
"Show me." Jotun's lips were a thin, bloodless line as he watched her unlock the door and close it behind them. She pushed a chest away from the end of the bed and pulled up a section of carpet, then a wood lathe, from the floor. Underneath was a small chest.
"You put her in there?" Jotun protested.
"She said it was the best way. She isn't really aware of time passing when she isn't being worn. And she finds it tiring, after a while, to interact with..." She searched for the right word. "Us, people with bodies." Gwyneth pulled the chest out and set it on the bed. Taking a small, brass key from the pouch at her waist, she inserted it in the lock and flipped the lid open.
The key fell from nerveless fingers, hitting the floor with a faint ping. The velvet lined casket was empty