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She knelt, pushed aside the pile of her own clothing, and picked up the pendant hidden underneath. Once again, for a moment, her vision blurred.

And then, tucking the pendant under the crate, Anna dressed and went to look for Gabi.

She found the young Latina wandering among the rows of tents covering the parking lot nearest Illinois Street, her black hair whipping about in the wind, her chin bent to her chest. She glanced up at Anna with surprise and a sudden start, as if she had been caught in the midst of guilty thoughts.

But it was not she, Anna thought, who should be feeling guilty.

“What’s wrong?” Anna asked, resting her hand on Gabi’s shoulder.

“Everything,” Gabi said, hunching her shoulders.

She told Anna about Eir. Anna was genuinely shocked and sorry, though her duty would not allow her to dwell on the loss too long. She let Gabi talk and held the younger woman’s hand, slowly chanting the spell in her mind as she began to trace the Rune-staves on Gabi’s palm.

In the end, Gabi was far more susceptible than Hrolf had been. It was almost easy for Anna to convince the young woman to show her the vault, and after that the spell took over, widening the crack in Gabi’s resistance.

Once Gabi showed her what she wanted to see, Anna touched her pendant to Gleipnir and Jarngreipr. Gabi remained blind to Anna’s actions as well as her own dereliction of duty, and when they left, the younger woman carried no clear memory of anything but speaking of Eir to a sympathetic listener.

Clutching the pendant, Anna could feel the new energy throbbing at its heart, almost too great for the small piece of stone to contain. The weight of the chain pulled on her neck and cut into her skin.

But soon it would belong to another. And Orn might be more willing to forgive her other mistakes.

She badly needed someone to forgive her.

*   *   *

There were literally hundreds of them: men and women of every age, size, ethnicity and profession, all gathered on Illinois Street and waiting in silent expectation.

Waiting for
me, Mist thought.

“I spoke to a few of them,” Captain Taylor said. He stood beside her in front of the loft, as solid and unshakable as a rock. “It’s the same as with all the others. They were drawn here, knowing they had to come but not sure exactly why.”

And I didn’t even try,
Mist thought.
She
hadn’t summoned them.

But you used the glamour at the plaza,
she reminded herself. She hadn’t sent out any kind of wide-ranging signal.…

Unless it had happened during that period she couldn’t remember. And however this had come about—even if it was against her conscious will—she needed every person who’d shown up.

Loki’s piss
.

“What about Freya?” she asked, making sure no one else was close enough to hear.

“We took her to the loft,” Taylor said, lowering his voice. “She’s still unconscious, but otherwise seems stable. No visible injuries. I posted several guards outside and one inside at the door. I also sent someone to get Eir, but these people were already here when we returned, and I haven’t followed up.”

“I’ll take care of that,” Mist said. “For now, I want you to set up a station with as many of our people as you think can answer the recruits’ basic questions. We know from past experience that they’ll mostly be willing to accept what they’re told, but we also have to assume they have no idea of the kind of commitment they’ll be making.”

“We’ve been fortunate so far,” Taylor said, his gaze sweeping the orderly crowd, “but with so many, there are bound to be some who have commitments and relationships that will preclude their joining us.”

“Of course I trust your judgment.”

“I know you’re overwhelmed right now,” Taylor said. He laid his big hand on her shoulder, as familiar and sympathetic as a loving father or brother. “You still have trouble delegating, but that’s what the chain of command is for. You can give your usual speeches and interviews after we’ve laid the groundwork.”

Mist ducked her head. “Thanks for your support, Captain. It means … I’m grateful to have it.”

“Stop being grateful, Chief. It’s your right.” He dropped his hand and glanced at the heavy clouds churning overhead. “We’ve got to get these people under cover. Looks like it’s about to rain again.”

More like snow,
Mist thought. There hadn’t been any this season … yet. But when the first real snowfall had come along two years ago—before she’d ever suspected the true cause for the radical changes in weather—it had started in October. This year, even the summer had been cold.

“If that’s all, Chief,” Taylor said, “I’ll—” He broke off and looked toward the warehouses across the street. Mist followed his gaze. Gabi was approaching slowly, her feet dragging, eyes downcast.

“Something’s wrong,” Mist said. Forgetting Captain Taylor and the strangers who were so intently watching her, Mist ran to meet Gabi.

And skidded to a halt as if a Jotunn had swung a club full-force into her belly.

“
No,
” she said before Gabi could speak.

“I’m sorry,” Gabi whispered, her eyes filling with tears. “Eir’s gone.”

Mist took off again, hardly feeling the cold drops of stinging rain that fell on her face and shoulders. She burst into the warehouse and crossed the floor at a run.

One of the EMTs and a nurse were hovering over the cot. Both mortals moved hastily out of Mist’s path as she came to a stop.

Mist fell to her knees and slowly uncovered Eir’s face. It was quiet and untroubled in death, as if she were simply dreaming of some happy moment in her long life.

“I’m sorry,” the nurse said, coming to stand beside her. “Gabi said she didn’t suffer.”

“But she looks so normal,” Mist said, keeping her voice level in the hope that if she pretended to be in control of her emotions, she actually would be. “So much better than she has for the past several months.”

“I know. Maybe you should speak to—”

“I’m here,” Gabi said. She glanced at the nurse, who left her alone with Mist. It was clear that Gabi had been crying; her eyes were swollen and her nose was red.

So were her hands.

“You tried to heal her?” Mist asked.

“I … couldn’t.…”

“When?”

“About two hours ago.”

“Something must have happened.” Mist latched on to her anger, so much safer than grief. “Did she get the message about Freya?”

“I don’t know about any message.”

“Did she push herself too hard? Did she—”

“I don’t know!” Gabi cried. She scrambled to her feet and stood facing Mist from several feet away, trembling as if she’d been struck. “I’m sorry!”

Gods,
Mist thought, closing her eyes. Gabi had loved Eir, too. She didn’t deserve to be punished this way.

“It’s okay,” Mist said. “Do you have any idea why she looks so much better now than when she was alive?”

Gabi hugged herself. “I did what you told me I could do if things got bad. I tried to use one of the seeds.”

Mist nodded slowly and took Eir’s cold hand. It no longer felt like bits of bone barely held together by wasted muscle, tendon, and flesh.

Something in the Apples had worked. Just not well enough.

“I know you did all you could,” Mist said. She rose, kissed Eir’s mouth and forehead, and then covered her again.

“What will you … do with her?” Gabi asked.

“She’d want to be given back to the earth where she lived so long,” Mist said, thinking of the native spirits who had helped her and Mist fight Loki for possession of the Apples. “We can’t take the time to do that now. But we we’ll protect her body until we can.”

“Where?”

“With the Treasures. She can guard the Apples again.” She paced away from the bed, her hands locked behind her back. “I want you to rest. I’m pulling everyone back from patrol. We’re going to try to avoid any fights for the next few days.”

“I saw the protest on TV this afternoon. Did Loki cause it?”

“I don’t know yet. But I’ll find out.”

“Okay. I’m going to lie down now.”

“Good. And try not to blame yourself, Gabi, even though I know you want to.”

“Are you gonna take your own advice?”

Before Mist could answer, Gabi rushed out of the infirmary. Mist remained a while longer, fighting with her grief until she was sure she had it under reasonable control. Then she went across the street to check on Freya.

Several of the Einherjar bikers and two other mortal recruits were watching the loft. They greeted Mist with worried looks and stood aside to let her pass, clearly bursting with questions but too well-disciplined to ask them.

Mist found the Lady in one of the spare bedrooms, but there was no guard at the door. Instead, two of Lord Konur’s healers were with the goddess, murmuring to each other in Old Elvish.

“Lady Mist,” the female elf said, inclining her head as Mist joined them beside the bed.

“Who sent you?” Mist asked. “Where’s the guard?”

“We saw no guard,” the male healer said. “Lord Konur witnessed the Lady’s return. He asked us to observe her, and help if we could.”

Funny, Mist thought, that the mortal guards hadn’t mentioned any elves. She had a strong suspicion that the Alfar had slipped past them, and she wasn’t happy about the deception. Especially since there was no apparent reason for it. It wasn’t as if the Alfar, mortals, and Valkyrie hadn’t been living, working, and fighting together—more or less—for the past nine months.

If circumstances had been different, Mist would have interrogated the healers then and there. But she wasn’t prepared to imply a lack of trust in people whose help she badly needed, and she’d be talking to Konur soon enough.

She examined Freya, trying to see past that blank spot in her own mind where important memories should have been. Taylor had been right: no wounds, nothing to suggest a reason for the Lady’s continued unconscious state except for the signs of aging in her face and skin.

Why don’t I feel more?
Mist asked herself. Eir’s death had devastated her, but now it seemed that she was looking down at a stranger … a stranger for whom she couldn’t spare even the most disinterested compassion.

You’ll feel something if she dies, and you’re stuck facing Loki alone again
.

“You don’t know what’s wrong with her?” Mist asked, trying to shake off her disgust at her own icy pragmatism.

“We have been unable to determine the nature of this illness, or its source,” the female healer said, “but we will continue to do what we can.”

Mist left quickly, not even pausing to ask the guards outside if they’d seen the Alfar enter the loft. She was headed for the elven camp when she almost literally ran into Anna.

The young woman nearly jumped out of her skin when she recognized Mist, her skin flushed and her movements awkward.

“Are you okay?” Mist asked.

“Yes,” Anna said quickly. “Yes, of course. I heard you just got back. Gabi and I saw everything on TV.” She glanced toward the warehouse. “I guess no one was hurt?”

“Freya’s suffered some kind of attack.”

“An attack?” Anna’s eyes widened, and Mist noticed perspiration beading along her hairline. “What kind of attack?”

“It happened while she was working magic, but we’re still trying to figure out what caused it.”

“Oh. Is she getting better?”

“She’s got far too much of an ego to stay down long.” Mist smiled to ease Anna’s obvious unease. “Keep this quiet, okay? We don’t want anyone to panic.”

“I understand.” Anna swallowed. “I just heard about Eir. I’m really sorry.”

“She lived a good life. She died doing what she wanted to do.”

Anna set off almost before Mist had finished speaking. Mist stared after her, wondering why the young woman seemed so particularly nervous when she usually kept her cool so well.

Maybe she was suffering from some of Horja’s worst memories, or even Rebekka’s. Mist certainly hadn’t had many chances to talk privately with her and assess her state of mind.

Now was obviously not the time to start, especially since Mist could already feel her mask beginning to slip again. Gabi had been right to wonder if she could take her own advice and try not to blame herself for Eir’s death.

The simple fact was that Eir had been as much her responsibility as all the others, from the youngest mortal to the eldest Alfr. But Eir had also been a friend. A Sister, to whom Mist hadn’t even been able to say good-bye.

But Mist knew she couldn’t let any of her troops see her paralyzed over one woman’s death, and those few she might turn to for comfort had their own important work to do.

I’ve got to get out of here,
she thought. Maybe a ride up to Twin Peaks, where she could look down on the city and pretend it wasn’t on the verge of exploding into a battlefield.

What would happen if Loki knew that Freya was down?

Turning her back on every one of her vital responsibilities, Mist jogged back to Silfr and sped away from the loft, merging onto 280 south and following the curve in a wide semicircle to the west. She continued on O’Shaughnessy Boulevard, Portola Avenue and Twin Peaks Boulevard, stopping when she found a safe place to pull off to one side of the winding road.

Mist removed her helmet and shook out her hair. San Francisco
did
look peaceful, in spite of the ever-threatening clouds. Traffic moved in a steady stream over the Golden Gate and Bay Bridges, and the bay was calm. There could have been a hundred battles raging in back alleys all over the city, and you’d never know it up here.

A fierce gust of wind circled Mist like a seeking spell homing in on its target, and she zipped her jacket more for the comfort of the act than because she felt the chill. She could still remember the first time she’d seen the city, back in the fifties, when she’d been looking for a place to settle after the war. Then, she’d been seeking escape from the memory of other deaths, and from the burden of her own guilt and grief.

She’d found that escape, for a while. It had taken some years, but she’d finally settled into a “normal” sort of life, though she’d kept pretty much to herself. She’d become expert at forging fine replica swords, axes, and knives for collectors, which served the dual purpose of allowing her to maintain some link with her past—a past she hadn’t yet been ready to surrender—and earn a living at the same time.