Sven looked from his twin to Stenmark and back. “Jan?” he asked the mortal. “Is it now?”

  Aron looked confused. “Has the order been given?”

  Ulf answered for him. “The helicopter is almost here. Now isn’t the time.”

  “What order?” Erik demanded.

  Stenmark stood up, his automatic pistol in his hand. “Now is the perfect time.”

  He raised the gun and fired at Erik. The Veithimathr was able to dodge the first two bullets, but the third struck him solidly in the stomach, the silver burning deep into his body, just the way he’d taught them to shoot. Erik doubled over. Emboldened by their companion, the Jansen twins opened fire on him, as well. Erik took two more bullets, one in the leg and one in the shoulder, before he was able to take cover behind a ventilation stack.

  Holm’s voice came through the loudspeakers on the helicopter. “Finish the job!”

  More bullets ripped into the roof and the metal he was hiding behind. Erik was bleeding heavily, and the silver lodged in his body was like a living thing, the burning and twisting pain making his vision swim. He ground his teeth and took a chance. Rising to his feet, he ran to the side of the building and jumped off.

  The silver was poisoning him, and its disruptive power prevented him from taking flight. He plummeted nine stories to the pavement, where he landed on his side. Bones snapped on impact, and he groaned.

  In his mind, he heard Nika’s a voice. Erik!

  Stay where you are, Chosen, he told her. He managed to drag himself to a nearby car. The door was locked, but he still retained enough strength to wrest it off of its hinges. The helicopter crested the roof of the building, a spotlight on its underside searching the alley for him. He hauled himself into the driver’s seat and reached under the steering column as the helicopter passed by overhead. After a few clumsy attempts, made more difficult by the way his hands were trembling, he hot-wired the car. The ignition roared into life, and he straightened in the seat.

  The helicopter got halfway down the street before it reversed directions. It bore down on him and the spotlight shone through the windshield, lighting him up. He swore every vile curse he could think of and slammed the car into reverse. The guns on the chopper opened up, scoring the street and his stolen car with heavy ammunition. This time, the slugs were only lead. It would hurt if they hit, but they would not kill him… not like the silver that was already inside of him.

  He swung the car around a corner and then pushed it into forward gear. He floored the accelerator and roared through the narrow streets of Gothenburg. The helicopter followed, but it stopped shooting. Erik hoped that he could count on Holm to have an aversion to killing civilians.

  Sickness twisted inside him, and he could feel the bullets burning their way deeper into him, digging channels through his flesh. The pain was excruciating.

  Nika spoke to him again. Erik, what’s happening?

  I was betrayed, he told her. His mental voice sounded anguished even to his own ears. He could not prevent it - it was impossible to lie mind-to-mind.

  A spasm gripped him, and he nearly went off the road. He took a wrong turn onto a one-way street. The headlights of onrushing vehicles looked unreal, dazzling his eyes like Christmas lights in the fog. He avoided one collision, then another, clinging to the steering wheel in desperation. His consciousness was slipping away.

  He found the entrance to a parking structure and drove inside. The helicopter’s pursuit was frustrated by the masses of concrete that now shielded his escape. He drove around the structure’s tight turns, headed toward the lowest level. His vision was beginning to fade.

  His foot slipped off of the accelerator, and he twisted the steering wheel, avoiding a concrete pillar by less than an inch. He tried to clear his eyes, but the fog in his head was spreading, and he was growing weak.

  One bullet worked its way out of his leg, starting in his calf and burning all the way out on the other side, creating an agonizing through-and-through injury. It fell onto the floor with a thud. There was less silver inside him now, and he sagged with relief. It helped.

  He parked the car and struggled out onto his feet. There was a roaring in his ears like the sound of the sea raging against a wooden hull, and he swayed, unsteady. For a moment, he saw himself as he used to be, standing on the deck of his drekar with his brothers around him. He shook his head to clear it, but the vision refused to budge.

  Dark clouds. Angry lightning. The judgment of the gods. It was all around him now.

  A spasm of pain shook him, and he fell onto his knees. In his vision, the warrior beside him turned his head, his face wet with sea spray, his beard stained with blood. It was Gunnar. Erik reached a hand toward him, but his best friend refused to accept it, shaking his head.

  “No, brother,” Gunnar said. “It’s not yet time.”

  “Gunnar…” he groaned.

  The silver twisted inside of him again, and he groaned in agony. In his vision, the ship rocked, and he pitched forward onto the ground, landing face down on the asphalt. His last conscious awareness was of strong hands that grasped him under the arms and hauled him away.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Nika leaped to her feet when she felt the first bullet rip into Erik’s body. Ingrid watched her calmly. The young woman paced in the tiny house, her hands gripping each other in anxiety. She could feel his pain, could feel the way the silver was sapping his strength.

  Erik!

  Stay where you are, Chosen.

  She was marginally relieved to hear him respond to her so quickly, and his mental voice sounded strong, but she knew he was in horrible pain. It brought tears to her eyes. She spoke without looking at her companion. “Ingrid, he’s hurt.”

  “Do you know where he is, child?”

  “No.”

  “Can you help him with your tears?”

  Nika turned to face her. “No.”

  “Then dry them and sit here again. Calm yourself. You have much you need to learn, and you will help him more by learning it than by airing a woman’s grief.”

  It took everything she had, but she swallowed hard and sat back down facing the old woman.

  Ingrid smiled at her. “Good. Now put him from your mind so that you can concentrate.”

  “Put him from my mind!” she exclaimed, scandalized. “How can I do that? He’s my Chosen!”

  “No, darling. You are his. Until you are a vampire, too, you can’t Choose anybody.”

  She reached out to him. Erik, what’s happening?

  She heard Erik’s words, I was betrayed, and it was so full of hurt and physical agony that she could not contain her sorrow and fear. Nika buried her face in her hands and wept. Ingrid allowed her a moment, and then put another cup of tea in front of her.

  “Now, now, that’s enough.” She offered Nika a handkerchief and waited for her to pull herself together. “Your man is strong. He’s survived centuries. You don’t get to be that old without being very smart, and very tough, and very lucky.”

  Nika balled the cloth up in her hand. “How do you know him?”

  “Of course I know Erik Thorvald, Chieftain of the First, Champion of Odin, vessel of the Forest King. All Valtaeigr know him.”

  “Champion of Odin…?”

  “Yes. When the time comes, he will be fighting at Odin’s side.”

  She took a deep breath and reached out for him, but she could not sense him anymore. Tears welled up in her eyes, but she blinked them away. “You’re talking about Ragnarök.”

  “And other things.”

  She was finding it difficult to sit still. Somewhere out there, Erik was hurt, possibly dying, maybe already dead. She fidgeted. “Do you have some sort of magic that can find him?”

  “Yes, but I won’t use it.”

  Nika looked at her, aghast. “Why not?”

  Ingrid smiled like a saint in some Renaissance painting, distantly unreal and serene. “He’s where he needs to be right now.”

  “How do you know?” She clenched her fist around the handkerchief and shifted in the chair, ready to bolt. “How do you know any of the things…”

  “I know because I have the gift of Seeing, and I have the gift of Foresight.” She looked unmoved by her guest’s emotional upset. “I know that he will not die this day, if that is what you fear the most. I also know that there are worse things than death.”

  She asked the obvious question. “What is happening with him?”

  “What needs to happen. There are consequences for every action. When we lay down with dogs, sometimes we get up with fleas.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “He has kept bad company, and now he pays the price. Den som ger sig in i leken, får leken tåla. He who enters the game must endure it.” She waved a hand. “Enough about him. He is on his own path, and now you must see to yours.”

  Nika stilled herself. Ingrid was right. Having hysterics here and now would do nothing to help Erik, and it wasted time. She clenched her hands in her lap.

  “You have things you need to teach me.” It wasn’t a question.

  Ingrid nodded. “Yes. Are you prepared to learn?”

  “I must.”

  The old woman smiled. “I know. Now… I know you have questions. I have answers. The sooner we get you caught up to speed, the sooner we can get on with the work at hand. Ask me anything, Nika, and I’ll answer you if it’s relevant.”

  “How old are you?”

  “Seventy-six. Irrelevant. Try again.”

  “Who was Berit?”

  “She was your former self.”

  “I know that,” Nika said, beginning to feel irritable. “But who was she?”

  Ingrid took a deep breath. “She was King Magnus Barefoot’s daughter by a druid priestess from the Orkney Islands, which at that time belonged to the Norse. She was a princess, and she was beloved by her father. One day, the Draugr came to raid old Barefoot’s longhouse, and the Veithimathr came to help defend the humans against them. Berit was in the longhouse, and that was when she met Erik.

  “If you reach very far back into your mind, you no doubt will be able to remember. But that will be a story for another time. The important thing is that Berit became his love, and everyone could see it. They were a beautiful pair – the strong Veithimathr chieftain and the delicate Valtaeigr princess.”

  She studied Nika’s face, her head tilted to the side as she considered her. “You resemble her, you know. Berit. But you are stronger. She was never a healthy woman.”

  “Is that why the vessel ritual killed her?”

  Ingrid nodded. “Yes. Do you remember it?”

  “No. I remember the altar, and the chanting, and I remember Erik bringing me the cup that the priestess had prepared. The rest is gone.”

  “That is a blessing,” the old woman told her. “Berit did not die well.”

  That was an unsettling thing to hear. She shifted slightly in her seat. “Erik told me that I have the blood of immortals in my veins. Am I descended from the Draugr?”

  “No, dear. The Draugr are dead. They cannot create offspring in that way. You are Valtaeigr, descended from the line of priestesses called the vala. If you were full-blooded, you would be immortal, as the pure Valtaeigr are.”

  “But not Draugr?”

  “No. Our immortality comes from a different source. We were not cursed by Odin. We were blessed by Hel.”

  Nika’s stomach soured. “By Hel? The Goddess of the underworld?”

  “Yes. She who is half alive and half dead, the light and the dark. She will be the source of Ragnarök one day. We Valtaeigr are the workers of the light half of her spirit – the seers, the magic users, the healers.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask, but is there a group who represent her dark half?”

  Ingrid nodded. “Yes. Immaterial for now.”

  “Are you sure?”

  The old woman laughed. “Child, I am Frigg. I see all. Of course I am sure.”

  She reached out for Erik again, almost reflexively, and received nothing but an echo. She sighed. “Do the Valtaeigr predate the Draugr?”

  “Yes. We go back into the mists of time, so far that the sagas cannot tell us when we began.”

  “What magic can the Valtaeigr do?”

  Ingrid smiled broadly. “Ah! At last, one of the questions I have been waiting for you to ask.”

  She went up the ladder to the loft and came back down a few moments later with a massive leather-bound book. It was girded with iron, with locking clasps holding the covers shut. Ingrid put the book on the table in front of Nika.

  “Open it, child.”

  She looked at the book carefully without touching it, trying to gauge its antiquity and fragility. The leather was both clearly old and in pristine condition. It appeared to be from the skin of a cow. The iron bands that secured the cover were speckled with oxidation, but someone had cared for it, keeping the metal oiled and rubbed. She hesitantly reached out a finger to touch one of the locks.

  Before she even made contact with it, the lock sprang open, and the book flipped onto its spine. The boards fell to the side and the pages flipped rapidly like leaves in the wind, riffling through from back to front until finally the book fell open. The pages that were now displayed were covered with a painted rendering of destruction. A wooden palisade at the top of a hill was burning, and men were tied to the posts, caught in the inferno. In the foreground, a trio of women stood, books in their hands. Their mouths were open in the painting.

  “I’ve seen before,” she breathed, “In a dream.”

  “Tell me your dream.”

  “I had it several times when I was a teenager, but I haven’t had it for years. I don’t remember all of the details now. But... in the dream, I was standing with my sisters and we were praying. Chanting. And we were burning people alive as sacrifices.”

  Ingrid nodded and pointed to the trio of women in the picture. “This is Frigg. This is Ithunn. This… this one is Hel.” She nodded into Nika’s look of surprise. “This is when the gods walked the earth. This is when the Valtaeigr were created.”

  “Those poor people in that fire…”

  “They were killers and thieves. Do not waste your tears on them.” She pushed the book toward her. “You wanted to know what magic we can do. It is all in there, but until you relearn Old Norse, the writings won’t be of any use to you. I can tell you that we can heal. We have the gift of prophecy. And we have the gift of rune casting.”

  “Rune casting?”

  She smiled. “Yes. It’s the art of reading the future in the runes, and some Valtaeigr have the ability to scribe runes and imbue them with great power.”

  They were interrupted by the sound of tires on the gravel drive. Ingrid frowned and stood. Nika looked up at her. “Were you expecting someone?”

  “No.”

  The old woman went to the front window and looked out. When she parted the curtain, Nika could see a gleaming black sedan. A tall blonde woman exited the vehicle, her smart suit and high heels making her look out of place. She was wearing dark glasses and leather gloves, and her hair was swept up into an immaculate bun.

  Ingrid opened the door. “Angrboda.”

  The visitor removed her sunglasses. “Frigg. May I come in? I have business with Ithunn.”

  “Ithunn isn’t here.”

  Angrboda’s eyes narrowed. “Don’t lie to me, old woman, or you’ll be preparing for your next incarnation.”

  “I do not lie. Ithunn is not here, but her vessel is.”

  Nika, tired of being spoken of in the third person, went to the door. “What do you want?”

  The newcomer smiled tightly. “I have a message for you. My lord would like to meet with you, alone, to discuss a business proposition.” She held out a business card. When neither Nika nor Ingrid moved to take it, she tucked it into the fence. “The time and place are written there.”

  “What if I don’t show?”

  “Then my master will kill Erik Thorvald.”

  Nika’s stomach lurched. “And who is your master?”

  “I am Angrboda,” the woman said archly. “Work it out.”

  She climbed back into her car and drove away. Ingrid stayed in the doorway with her arms crossed until the car was out of sight.

  “Loki,” Nika said. “Angrboda was his wife.”

  Ingrid nodded. She took the card and handed it to Nika. “You will not be seeing him alone, not until you’re ready.”

  “When will that be?”

  She put her hand on Nika’s arm and guided her back into the house. “That all depends on how quickly you can learn.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  He woke to pain hanging over him like a blanket. He was blindfolded and manacled, lying on a hard, cold surface that he assumed was a floor. His body was still burning from the silver bullets that remained lodged inside of him, and the bones he had broken in his fall had not healed. He groaned.

  “You’re awake.” It was a man’s voice, completely unfamiliar. He was speaking Old Norse.

  “So it seems,” he replied, using the same tongue. He struggled to sit upright, but when he tried to move, his body refused to obey. The effort made his suffering close over him, and he fell still, trying not to lose consciousness again. “Where am I?”

  The man chuckled. “Somewhere safe from the mortals who were trying to kill you.”

  Every breath Erik took was a fiery misery. He stayed silent.

  His captor spoke again. “Why do you think they were trying to shoot you, Thorvald?”

  “I don’t know,” he admitted.

  He heard footsteps approaching, with the crunch of hard soles on pavement. There was an echo of the sound, and he guessed that he must be in a basement or some sort of concrete bunker. He wished he could see.

  The man crouched down beside him and stuck a probing finger into the bullet wound in his gut. Erik groaned in agony and tried unsuccessfully to evade the intrusion. The man clicked his tongue.

  “You realize, of course, that this is what happens when you teach humans how to kill your own kind. Eventually they turn on you. Seems fitting for a traitor like you.”