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  Silence.

  Chiana waited as Lillian closed her eyes, steeling herself to hear the “yes” that she felt was coming.

  “Oh, I hope not,” Lillian answered. “I believe you’ll be all right if you can keep your mood changes under control, defeat whoever Odin has sent after you and find a way to keep your human side dominant so others who might follow can’t identify you.”

  “Oh, is that all? Piece of cake. Let me start on it now.”

  “Sarcasm is unnecessary,” Creed said. “You asked for Lillian’s opinion, she gave it to you.”

  “I believe she expected something more constructive and concrete,” Lillian responded. “Like being told that if she turns around three times and mumbles the right words backward, poof! Her troubles will disappear.”

  That was exactly what Chiana wanted to hear. She wanted to turn back the clock to the moment she called in and went off duty. She wanted to get back in her Mustang at that very moment, drop Mick off at his house and find the sanctuary of her own. If they hadn’t stopped for breakfast, if she hadn’t lingered so long over coffee…

  She would still have been tagged. Her rational mind knew that. Odin’s warrior would have located her, touched her, and she’d still be in this mess.

  She dropped her head, afraid they’d see the tears glistening in her eyes.

  “There’s no way out, is there?”

  “Options always exist, my dear.” Lillian cradled Chiana’s hands in hers. “The enemy is time. Most of the world considers the supernatural to be mere myths. Zombies, ghosts, hell’s creatures…those of us who have had a brush with the other beings that populate our plane know the truth.

  “Your pursuer comes from a different reality, but that makes the threat no less serious. He must limit his time in our world and return to his own in order to refresh himself. But each time he comes, he will be able to stay longer, and he will be stronger.”

  “Tell her the rest,” Creed said.

  “Based on my studies, I believe he is most comfortable assuming the form of a raven. His inability to maintain human form may drive the spirit to attempt to inhabit a mortal body to get to you.”

  “Oh, shit.” Chiana’s eyes widened, and her skin turned cold. She could have lived without that little piece of news.

  “Any body except mine.” Creed gave her a tight smile. “Thrills you, huh?”

  Lillian nodded.

  “He’s correct. The spell that binds you to him, and which keeps you from being able to hurt him, also allows you to see him in his true form at all times.”

  “Well, whoopee,” Chiana muttered, realizing how many millions of people there were in the world for Odin’s errand boy to use.

  She didn’t bother asking why they didn’t hole up here, a long dirt road from civilization. The answer was probably something else she didn’t want to hear. Like the ghost chasing her had the ability to walk through walls if the house was made of stone.

  She sighed deeply and shook her head.

  “So what you’re saying is that I might as well go out, stand in the front yard and wait for whoever comes by to fit me for a breastplate and hoist me on a battle horse.”

  Lillian laughed, although Chiana didn’t think what she said was particularly funny. Of course, it was hard to keep hold of your sense of humor when you had a brand burned into your skin.

  Creed watched Chiana throw her hands up and stalk out to the porch. As far as he could tell, she was back to her usual self. Or what he assumed was her usual self, since she’d done her share of personality changing since he’d met her.

  “Two shots left,” he told Lillian.

  “Wait here.” She walked toward the kitchen, leaving him to watch Chiana through the open door.

  She returned with a small plastic bag packed full of a brownish-green substance.

  “This is it?” Creed asked.

  Lillian nodded. “Keep the bag hidden on you; don’t let Chiana know you have it. Use its contents wisely, please, only in desperation.”

  Creed studied the bag, cocked his head and asked, “Any permanent side effects?”

  Lillian shrugged and smiled. Her response was less than reassuring he decided as he slipped the bag into his pocket beside the syringe case then picked up the stack of esoteric books Lillian insisted he take for reference.

  Their goodbyes were quick. Heading back down the gravel road, Creed ran through his conversation with Lillian. She’d verified what he believed, that it was possible to keep Chiana here. Possible didn’t mean easy, though.

  “Now what?” Chiana asked from the passenger seat. “Do we drive around in circles until we get dive-bombed by a raven from loony land?”

  “Wish I knew,” Creed said. “We’re talking a dimension I know diddly-squat about, and I’ve been doing this longer than you have. Lillian suggests we go where we can draw on natural magnetic strength, hoping that the magnetism will play havoc with time and space.”

  “And that would be?”

  “Southeastern Ohio. A chain of caves to be exact.”

  The incredulous look on Chiana’s face matched his own doubts. How prowling around underground was going to keep Odin’s man from finding them, he wasn’t sure. He did know Lillian was a hell of a lot smarter than he was, and he couldn’t come up with anything better.

  “Before we take a tour of stalagmites, or whatever those pointy things are called, can we eat? Not that the cookies weren’t wonderful, but I need a steak. Or two.”

  Creed glanced at the dash clock.

  “We ate a couple of hours ago,” he said. “I don’t feel comfortable being out in the open.”

  “Yeah, well, that stuff you just stuck in me does something to my metabolism. Feed me again or regret it, that’s all I’m saying.”

  Creed weighed the options. His gut instinct was to haul ass and damn the consequences. Trouble was the consequences might be more than he could handle going eighty miles an hour. Besides, a run-through at a burger place wouldn’t slow them down much.

  As if she’d read his mind, Chiana said, “I want a sit-down place, where they’ll refill my glass a dozen times and food comes on real plates.”

  “We’re in a hurry.”

  “For what? Sounds to me like your plan is to hunker down underground and hope nothing happens.”

  Although Creed longed to contradict her, that was pretty much as far as he’d gotten. His experience with Norse gods was limited to what he’d learned in his high school literature class and his agency training. Neither one taught how to protect a Valkyrie half-breed from being hauled to another plane of existence.

  Lillian’s books might help, if he could find time to read them.

  “So what’s the verdict here?” Impatience colored Chiana’s voice. “You gonna find a nice steakhouse, or do I have to salt and pepper your biceps and start chomping?”

  Creed rolled his eyes.

  “Only if you agree to some ground rules.”

  Chiana held her wrists toward him.

  “Cuff me and drag me in. Chain me to the chair. Whatever it takes to get a fat T-bone in front of me.”

  Creed wasn’t sure whether her good mood was the real Chiana or an effect of the shot she’d had. One thing he did know was that if the switch turned on and she became a raging warrior or a seductress, he wanted to be able to control the situation. Assuring her they’d stop as soon as he found the right place, he upped the truck’s speed and headed for the interstate.

  He slowed as they passed through a small town about a mile from I-77. Spotting a flash of neon, he turned right into the three-block downtown. As he suspected, the neon sign belonged to a bar and grill, whose parking lot was half-full. He pulled in beside a Jeep and a pick-up with more rust than paint.

  Creed got out and walked around the truck to open Chiana’s door. She was already standing by the front fender when he reached her. In her arms, she held some of the books Lillian loaned them.

  “I’m not going to run,” she said. “At le
ast not until I get some food in me.”

  “I didn’t expect you to,” he lied.

  “Oh, yeah, you did,” she retorted with a quick grin. “Gentlemanly manners didn’t bring you around to this side.”

  She was right. He’d long ago given up the niceties of civilized society. And he hadn’t missed them until now.

  “Let’s go get a steak,” he said, taking the books from her. “The biggest one they have.”

  “You paying?” Chiana asked.

  Creed nodded.

  “Then maybe I will make it two.”

  Chapter Seven

  Caroline sat at the bedroom window, watching the dawn become daylight. She’d tried sleeping, but finally decided it was a lost cause. At least she didn’t have to work today and try to hide the effects of her sleeplessness with makeup.

  She had other ways to occupy her time.

  The programmed coffeemaker began its drip, drip, drip and filled the kitchen with the fragrant aroma. When the scent wafted down the hall and to the chair where Caroline rested, she padded to the kitchen and began her familiar morning ritual. Her favorite cup waited on the counter. She pulled the hazelnut creamer from the refrigerator and poured in a generous amount before opening two yellow packets of sweetener and dumping them in.

  She sat at the small drop-leaf table and opened the red journal in which she wrote every morning and every evening, a suggestion by a psychologist before she left the hospital. Caroline knew he’d meant it as a way for her to vent her feelings, and sometimes that was exactly what she used it for.

  Most times, though, she filled its pages with observations of the world around her and worlds unseen. She flipped to the entry she made after the odd incident in the diner parking lot. She’d done the right thing in making that call.

  She hoped.

  Sighing, she began to write on a blank page, capturing her dream before it slipped away entirely. She called it a dream although she knew what the agency psychologist would say, if she bothered to see him anymore. He’d say her memories were returning as she slept, and she should see him even more to talk about them.

  Caroline was tired of talking. After the agency finished debriefing her, she had spent a mandatory two weeks living where shrinks could watch everything she did and listen to everything she said. She’d managed to fool her keepers during the day, telling them what she thought they wanted to hear. But the nights…

  She buried her face in her hands. Time was supposed to heal things. Memories were supposed to fade.

  Last night, she’d heard the drums again, felt the beat run through her body, threw off the covers as her blood heated. She’d been back in Haiti under the sultry sun, partnering with Creed Davies as they chased a particularly wily demon.

  Her conscience was still clear then. She was tightly focused on a goal. Kill the demon, go home and collect a bonus for getting the job done fast. If she’d been Creed, nothing could have stopped her from doing her duty.

  But she wasn’t like him. She wasn’t able to turn her back on everyone and everything except what the agency wanted. When she’d seen that young mother encased in the aura of death, she’d let her sympathy rule.

  The sudden, loud burr of the phone dragged her back into the moment, back to the peaceful neighborhood where everyone knew her as a quiet, single woman who grew roses.

  “Hello?”

  “Miss Morton, this is Eastside Animal Clinic.”

  Caroline relaxed as she confirmed Beggar’s appointment for the next day. The shreds of the past slid away, replaced by the careful routine she’d established over the last three years. She started with a breakfast of one egg and an English muffin then hopped into the shower. She grabbed the list of errands off the refrigerator as she went out the door and followed it for the next two hours. Library, grocery store, a stop at the no-appointment beauty salon to have her hair trimmed and her eyebrows waxed.

  Back home, Caroline fixed herself a ham sandwich for lunch, refilled Beggar’s food dish and headed across town to do her weekly penance, an afternoon volunteering at the veterans’ hospital. Home again to chores spaced out to fill the hours between dinner and bedtime, augmented by a television show or two to keep her mind filled with make-believe.

  There were still too many empty minutes left for worry to creep in. Worry that she’d been wrong to make the call, worry that she’d done the right thing. She’d learned at a devastating cost that sometimes, nothing you did made a difference.

  * * * *

  Rhori longed for the world he once knew, where he was a man among men, a warrior dedicated to his god Odin. The longer he spent on this plane, the deeper grew the sorrow in his heart. Unable to walk as a man, he stretched his wings and soared above the dirty city, seeking the woman warrior Chiana. He’d found her once; he could do so again.

  That experience had taught him much. She surrounded herself with other warriors, men who felt their blood sing for battle as he did. She had learned to hide herself within the limitations of this world, tamping down her heritage.

  He was stronger now. He was learning more of this world’s ways.

  Valhalla awaited.

  Sweeping down low, he searched for the energy of the man who had been with Odin’s chosen when he first found her. Maintaining human form wearied his spirit. Inhabiting a creature such as that one would allow him to pursue her in a way she would never expect. She would welcome this warrior.

  When he saw the shiny building with the lights of many colors, Rhori knew the man was near. This was where he first saw her, walking into the building with the man he sought. This was where he’d tried to take her before he knew how heavy this world was for him, what the challenge was that Odin put before him.

  Patience was a warrior’s weapon as much as his sword or his arrow. Rhori was prepared to wait as long it took for the man to come back. He flew in narrowing circles until he spotted a metal pipe coming from the top of the building and felt the warmth emanating from it.

  Here he would watch.

  Here he would wait.

  For as long as it might take.

  * * * *

  Mick rolled over and cursed at the alarm clock beside his bed. Six-frigging-thirty a.m. He should be sound asleep, enjoying his first Saturday off for weeks. Would be, if that weird shit at the diner hadn’t gone down.

  He swung his legs over the side of the bed, sat up and buried his face in his hands.

  What the hell was he going to do?

  He’d tried the tracker and got nothing. Nada. Zip. The device should have given him a steady blinking yellow that he could follow when the Mustang was in motion, a blink that would turn green when he got within five miles.

  The thing had a radius of two hundred and fifty miles. No way could she have gotten that far away. Which meant Davies had taken her away. Her beloved Mustang, the only thing she truly valued in life, must still be sitting by that piece-of-crap church he’d found her in.

  He sat up and blew out a breath. In thirty-six hours, their time off would be over and the agency would expect them back on the job. And Harrington, the bastard, would know if he reported in for duty and she didn’t.

  Easy money. That’s all he’d seen when he made a bargain with that devil. Money he could stockpile until he had enough to tell the agency to go to hell. Money he could use to buy a house in the best neighborhood and establish himself as something other than a came-from-nothing kid who wound up hunting down beasties most people dismissed as a fairy tale.

  His game plan meant his friends were few and his relationships casual. The women he chose were easy to walk away from. They met a need, the same way that a good steak satisfied his hunger when he was ravenous. When he reached his goal, when he had his big house, he’d look for the right kind of woman, one who would believe him when he said an investment in software paid off big for him.

  If Chiana met him at the agency tomorrow night to go on the hunt for whatever hellish creature was on the loose, everything would be fine. If she
didn’t…

  He wasn’t going there. She’d show up. She never called in sick; she never took a personal day. Chiana took her position as senior agent seriously.

  Mick turned the alarm clock around so he couldn’t see the time, slid back under the covers and punched the pillow beneath his head. He had nothing better to do than sleep, and he’d welcome a few hours of black unawareness. When he woke, it would be that much closer to time to go back to work, that much closer to knowing whether he’d live long enough to see his dream become reality or wind up with Harrington putting out a kill order on him.

  * * * *

  “It’s a good thing there’s no limit on my credit card.”

  “Ha, ha, very funny.” Chiana studied the food in front of her with satisfaction. The steaks were perfectly cooked, the baked potato was rich with butter and sour cream and every golden kernel of the corn accompanying it was without flaw. She cut off the first bite of T-bone, popped it in her mouth and sighed.

  “That,” she said, “was almost worth every bit of trouble it’s taken to get me to this place at this moment in time.”

  Creed lifted an eyebrow.

  “I said almost,” she retorted before taking the first fluffy forkful of her potato.

  Across from her, Creed picked up his cheeseburger and took a bite. Unlike his companion, he viewed food as a simple necessity. The right combination of protein and carbs could keep him rolling.

  Chiana demolished the first steak before he was halfway through his own large burger. She’d flagged down the waitress and ordered peach pie à la mode by the time his pile of fries had diminished. She wasn’t kidding when she demanded to eat; her body had needed sustenance.

  Waiting for her to finish gave him time to think. The easiest thing was to call the agency and let them send a team to pick her up. Since she was one of their own, she’d be placed in what the agents called the VIP Suite, a hotel-like room with a one-way viewing window. She’d still be studied, tested and probed, but the experiments would be conducted with an eye to her dignity.

  Trouble was the easiest thing wasn’t necessarily the right thing. Chiana’s mother must have gone to extraordinary lengths to give her daughter a life here, in this imperfect and often brutal world, which meant the empire over which Odin ruled must be pretty damn bad.