She looked surprised. “What do you know of my life?”

  “Only what Lars told me.”

  Magda’s eyes flooded again. “Lars.”

  Nika impulsively hugged her, and Magda clung to her for a long moment. She whispered in a tear-choked voice, “Grief is so hard to handle.”

  “It is,” she agreed, nodding. “It’s the worst.”

  Magda kissed her cheek, then pulled away, wiping again at the trails of moisture on her face. “All right, then. Here we go.”

  She eased the boat out of the dock and into the bay, headed south.

  ***

  Dominic made it as far as the train station before his pack found him. He was waiting for his train to arrive, ticket in hand, when he got the first whiff of Ulfen scent. He looked around but was unable to see any of the others, although he could tell from the scent that they were approaching. The train station was too loud and too filled with people for him to get any auditory hints of their progress, but when a hand grabbed him by the back of the neck, he knew it was too late to run.

  The hand on his neck force-marched him into a secluded area away from human witnesses. He could feel the press of Ulfen around him, all of them moving under their camouflage, but all of them eager for his blood. They bumped against him as he was pushed into the bathroom.

  “Where do you think you’re going?”

  Ardrik’s voice was a low growl in his ear, pitiless and angry. The grip on his neck became painful, and he was forced to his knees. He cried out, but his alpha was unmoved.

  “Where were you during the attack? We missed you.” His father shook him, and he flopped, the nerves running out of his cervical spine compressed and deadened. “You were protecting vampires, weren’t you?”

  Somehow, he gathered some strength and snarled, “Go to hell.”

  They fell on him en masse, dozens of toothy jaws and slashing claws ripping into his flesh. He screamed and tried to protect himself by shifting into wolf form, but it was to no avail. They shredded him. He tried to fight back, but he was too outnumbered. They threw him into the air and beat him nearly senseless, attacking him until his blood stood in pools on the tiled floor.

  “Enough!”

  Ardrik stopped the mayhem before he was completely unconscious, possibly showing a glimmer of paternal feeling. He dragged Dominic up onto his feet and held him there, since he was unable to stand on his own.

  “You are expelled from the pack,” his alpha told him, his tone steely. “You are expelled from every pack. You are dead to us. Go to your Draugr. Maybe they will take you in. We are done with you.”

  He dropped Dominic onto the cold floor, and then the pack left the room, a few of them sparing the time for a parting kick or bite. When they were all gone and the room was quiet, Dominic dragged himself up onto his hands and knees, blood dribbling from his mouth.

  A human man came in and shouted in surprise and alarm, then rushed to him. “What happened? My God… Help! Somebody help me!”

  He wanted to push him away, but he was too weak. He fell onto his side and lay there, too spent to do anything more.

  Chapter Eleven

  Days passed. Travel occupied his days and his attention, and the farther he got from Bjorn’s house, the clearer his mind became. He remembered the declaration of war, and his failed intervention with the First. He remembered the linnorm dreyri and Magda’s betrayal. Worst of all, he remembered the part he had played in the decimation of the sleeping trolls in their village. He remembered the Huldra, and when he did, he wanted to weep. It had been a return to the bad habits of his past. He could never let Nika know what he had done.

  He followed the directions in his head, but by now, he knew where he was going. He was headed to Ingrid’s little house by the sea. The vala had rescued him. How she had known of his difficulty, he wasn’t certain, but she had always had a knack for knowing things. He was long past questioning the Valtaeigr, but not past wondering at their ways.

  He had lost his cell phone somewhere along the way. He wanted to call Nika, to tell her he was all right. The connection between them was severed, and the loss of it made him ache. He understood now that the breaking of the Chosen bond was the source of the constant pain in his chest. He hoped that she was holding up.

  The road to Ingrid’s house finally ended in her gravel drive, and by the time he had parked the van, she was standing in the front door, waiting for him. She had her white hair pulled back into a long braid, which she had wound into a coil on the back of her head. She wiped her hands on the apron she wore over her blue dress, smiling at him as he exited the van.

  “Erik,” she greeted. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

  “I need to use your phone,” he said. He caught himself, shook his head, and added, “Thank you for helping me. I greatly appreciate it.”

  She smirked. “A late show of gratitude is better than none at all. My telephone is at your disposal.”

  He gave her a sheepish smile and went into her house. It looked the same as it always had, as if no matter how much time passed, this place was a little pocket of unreality outside the stream. Her telephone was an old rotary affair, and he dialed Nika’s number.

  The cell phone rang and rang, and she never picked up. The voice mail greeting began to play, and he waited impatiently for it to finish. When he could leave his message, he said, “Nika, I’m all right. I don’t know what Magda told you, but don’t trust her. I’m at Ingrid’s. Have Lars bring you on his boat. I need to see you.”

  He hung up and turned to Ingrid, who had closed and latched the door. She nodded to him. “Your Chosen is alive and well, although she believes that you have died. She is too strong to waste away, although she tried at first. You should be proud of her.”

  “I am.” He sat at her kitchen table, the heart of the house. She sat across from him. “What am I going to do now?”

  “First, you let me cleanse you of the effects of the spells that little harridan was casting on you,” she answered. “Second, you let me get in touch with Nika and bring her here.”

  “That would be wonderful.”

  She smiled. “Would you like something to drink? I have some dreyri left from when you were here before.”

  “As long as it isn’t linnorm or faery,” he said ruefully.

  “No. Human. Obtained from blood banks and willing donors.”

  He sighed. “That would be amazing.”

  She went down into her cellar and came back with a wooden tankard filled with enchanted blood. She put it down in front of him and sat again.

  “You’re probably wondering what Magda’s game is in this.”

  “I certainly am.” He sipped the drink and his shoulders relaxed, at least marginally. “I know she hates me. That’s been true for centuries.”

  “Can’t blame her.”

  “I don’t.”

  “Good. But even though she’s justified in disliking you, she’s not justified in what she’s doing now.” She looked at him as he drank. “Do you even know what she’s doing?”

  “Other than trying to make certain that the faery have a reason to declare war? Other than trying to set up a nice little business selling narcotic blood to young vampires?”

  She smiled. “Other than that.”

  “If there’s more, I don’t know what it is.” He sipped from his tankard again. “I hope you can tell me. I hope you will tell me.”

  Ingrid folded her hands on the tabletop and said, “She is the vessel for Sigyn, devoted bride of Loki. You recently immolated Loki’s vessel, forcing him back into the cycle of rebirth. You are also the vessel of Vidar, who is destined to kill Fenrir at Ragnarok. And do you know who Fenrir’s father is?”

  “Loki.”

  “Indeed.” She nodded. “This is all about revenge. Magda hates you, and Sigyn hates Vidar, and they both want the two of you dead.”

  “So why enchant me and send me on that raid?” He clenched his fist. “Ingrid, the things we did - if Odin had not punished me already, I would deserve it now.”

  She patted his hand. “You are not responsible for the things you did while under that compulsion,” she reassured him. “And Odin will not punish you, because your vow was to protect humans, not the faery.”

  “They were helpless,” he said bitterly. “They were sleeping and we fell on them with fire.”

  “That was Bjorn’s doing, and Mia’s. Not yours. I know that you have spent years developing a conscience, but now is not the time to exercise it. Put your guilt aside until you have the luxury of time. Right now, we need to stop Magda and Bjorn.”

  He finished his dreyri. “I need to get a message to the Ulfen alpha, see if I can stop this war before it starts. If the Ulfen and the Draugr start to fight, there will be no hiding it from the humans.”

  Ingrid sighed. “It’s too late for that, I fear. There has already been an Ulfen attack.”

  “Where?”

  “Finland.”

  He felt chilled. “Where in Finland?”

  She met his eyes calmly and tried to will him to stay placid. He shrugged of the suggestion. He had had enough of Valtaeigr playing with his mind.

  He answered for her. “Oulu.”

  She nodded.

  “Shit.” He rose. “I need to -”

  “You need to sit down. You haven’t been cleansed yet. If you go back now, you’ll fall right back into their clutches. We can’t have that.”

  He hesitated, then sat again. “What do you need to do?”

  “We need a ritual.”

  He took a deep breath and let it out in a rush. “Terrific.”

  ***

  Magda piloted the boat all the way around the southern tip of Finland and down the Neva to a slip in St. Petersburg. Nika had read about the fabulous Russian city many times, but she had never realized it was so close to Scandinavia. The gilt-edged buildings looked like Christmas cards in the sunlight, and she realized that she was gaping.

  “Those are palaces from the time of Peter the Great,” Magda told her. “Those were heady days. The rest of the city is very nice, but a little less grand.”

  “Amazing,” she said, shaking her head. I wish Erik could see this.

  A young woman with the body of a ballerina was waiting for them on the pier, her hands in the pockets of her trench coat. She was wearing sky-high stilettos and had her scarlet hair loose and cascading over her shoulders. She brightened into a smile when the two women left the boat.

  “Magda!” They embraced, exchanging kisses on the cheeks. “And who is your lovely companion?”

  “This is Nika Graves. Nika, this is Natasha.”

  They shook hands. “A pleasure.”

  Natasha looked down at their connected palms, then back up at Nika with a knowing look in her moss-green eyes. “The pleasure is all mine, Rune Master. So, you are the one who helped burn Loki’s vessel.”

  She didn’t know if that was meant as a compliment or a criticism. “I just cast the spell to hold him in place.”

  “Ah. I see. And the Huntsman burned him to death.”

  “Yes.”

  Natasha and Magda exchanged a glance, but they said nothing. Natasha asked Nika, “Do you need help with your bags?”

  She glanced back at the pile of things, which included bags that had belonged to Sif, Erik and Lars. “I wouldn’t mind it.”

  “I thought as much.” She signaled to her waiting driver, and he helped them get the luggage into the back of the car. It was just this side of a limousine, and Nika was impressed. Apparently, Natasha had been doing very well for herself.

  She seemed to know what Nika was thinking, for she said, “There is a lot of money in Russia these days. There actually always was, but now it’s much more obvious.” She slid into the car, and Nika and Magda followed suit.

  The car took them to an elegant home on the outskirts of the city, surrounded by flowering bushes and a neat white fence. The driver brought the luggage into the house, then left with a tip of his cap. Natasha and Magda embraced again.

  “Welcome home, my dear,” Natasha said.

  Magda smiled. “It’s good to be back.” Her smile dimmed. “The Ulfen killed Sif.”

  “Oh, no.” She touched Magda’s cheek with the backs of her fingers. “I’m so sorry.”

  “That wasn’t supposed to happen,” she told Natasha.

  Nika stood awkwardly, not knowing what to say. The two women, who obviously had a great deal of history and a long familiarity with each other, continued to embrace for a long while, ignoring her. She looked at her purse, which had been left in the house during the attack and showed it. There were long claw marks on one section of the bag, as if the Ulfen had been trying to dig into it for something. She opened the flap and took out her cell phone, but the screen was filled with a spider web of cracks. It was completely broken. She sighed and put it back. She’d had the ridiculous urge to call Erik, just to hear his voice on his voicemail greeting. Now even that was lost to her.

  The two women finally noticed her, and they stepped out of their long embrace. Natasha said, “Magda tells me that you still have a great deal to learn. Did you bring the Book of Odin?”

  “It’s in my bag,” she said, nodding.

  “May I see it?”

  Strangely, her knee-jerk was to tell her ‘no’, but instead she retrieved the book from her suitcase. Magda watched with open avarice as Nika reluctantly handed the book to Natasha. The eldest Valtaeigr opened the book and perused the pages, turning them slowly with her left hand while she cradled the book in her right.

  “Amazing,” she said. “I can practically feel Odin’s power in these runes.”

  Nika nodded. “It’s a very powerful artifact.”

  Natasha chuckled. “‘Artifact.’ That’s right - you work in a museum, don’t you?”

  “Yes.”

  “I suppose that explains your taste for old things.” She looked at Magda, who obligingly laughed at her lame joke. Nika crossed her arms.

  Magda’s telephone rang, and she went into another room to take the call. Nika extended her hearing, listening with Draugr senses while Natasha ogled the book.

  In the other room, she heard Magda say, “Go ahead.” She could hear a female voice on the other line, but she was too quiet for Nika to make out any words, even with her acute hearing. Magda sighed. “Did you at least get it on video? Good. Send it to me, and a copy to our contact. I might have more people for you to send it to later. And find him before he causes trouble.”

  She ended the call and returned to the front room. Nika asked, “Problem?”

  “When you run a bar, there’s nothing but problems.” She shook her head. “I don’t know what I’m going to do without Sif.”

  “You will do what you must until she returns,” Natasha told her. “She will find you, or you will find her. I promise you that.”

  She seemed to be somewhat comforted by her mentor’s assurances. Her phone tweeted for her attention, and she glanced down at it. She seemed pleased by what she saw. “Will you excuse me?”

  “Of course.” Natasha smiled at her. “Why don’t you go upstairs? The reception is better there.”

  When Magda had left them, Natasha turned to Nika. “I think you’ve had a very spotty beginning of your education. I would be happy to help fill in some of the holes, if you would let me.”

  “I’d like that very much.” She forced a smile. “I don’t have anything else to do for the next twenty or so years.”

  Natasha raised an eyebrow. “That’s a very distinct number.”

  “I figure that’s how long it’ll take for Erik to be reborn.”

  “Ah. Well, there’s no set time table for how long a soul stays in Helheim before returning here to Midgard. Maybe it will be twenty years, maybe it will be more, but maybe it will be less.” She smiled. “As with Magda and Sif, he will find you, or you will find him. It is destiny.”

  “I hope that’s true.”

  “Your souls found each other in this lifetime,” Natasha shrugged. “I see no need for pessimism.”

  “I suppose.”

  “Ah! But you’ve had a long trip. Surely you must be thirsty. Would you care for some dreyri? I have a selection in the wine cellar. Feel free to go down and pick out whatever appeals to you.”

  Nika looked around, and Natasha pointed her to the appropriate door. She tried to listen to Magda’s call, but the room she had gone into was completely silent, no doubt magically warded. Nika was deeply suspicious of her hostess’s motives.

  “I’m all right,” she said. “I’m not really thirsty right now.”

  Natasha was a Draugr, too, and she knew a young vampire like Nika needed to feed regularly. She could smell the lie on Nika’s skin, in the pallor of her cheeks and the slight green glow in her irises that she could no longer conceal.

  “I insist,” she said.

  She went into the basement, but not without touching the doorknob and applying a little runic magic to disable the lock mechanism. A small part inside the lock sprang out of place, making it impossible for Natasha to shut her in and keep her prisoner. She was jumpy and suspicious, and she knew it was unfair, since Natasha had been nothing but welcoming. She had no reason to suspect anyone...and yet she did.

  She went down the stairs and into the wine cellar, where row upon row of bottled blood stood waiting for their drinking pleasure. Some of the bottles had more power than others, but there was one particular rack that was filled with dreyri that shone in her mind’s eye. There was so much preternatural power and magic in those twelve bottles that it was almost painful to look upon them. She reached out and touched the dimpled bottom of the bottle with one forefinger, and a shock of power raced down her hand and up her shoulder.

  It came with a vision of five Nordic-looking men, all of them sporting tell-tale Draugr teeth and eyes. The vision was from the point of view of someone these men were attacking with indescribable violence. She gasped and pulled her hand away as if it had been burned.

  Natasha was standing at the top of the stairs. “Are you finding it all right?” she called.