All of his thoughts at once—it’s too much pressure.

Which way is up? Which way is out?

Can’t hear….

Can’t think….

Can’t breathe…

Buried beneath a pile of blankets, I hunkered in the corner of the sofa and clutched a steaming mug of coffee. Thorin had stoked the coals in the fireplace and added more wood. Flames roared and crackled across from me, but I still trembled.

Thorin sat a few inches away, a stolid sentinel, his gaze never wavering from my face for more than the few seconds it had taken to make a cup of coffee for me. “I’m guessing you’ve never experienced anything like that before.”

“Huh-uh.” I shook my head.

“I thought—” He paused, swallowed, and started again. “For a minute, you stopped breathing, and you went pale as a corpse, and you were cold. You’ve never been that cold.” And he should know. I had lost count of how many times he had moved my limp and unresponsive body after one trauma or another. It’s too many times, that’s how many.

“I felt like I was drowning,” I said. “I couldn’t breathe, and I didn’t know which way was up, which way to go to get to the surface. Everything went dark, but I heard you calling my name. It was a lifeline. I followed it back.”

Thorin leaned forward, teeth grinding, jaw working. His hand balled into a fist on his knee, white knuckled, imperative. “I don’t want you to do anything like that again. Ever.”

I set my mug on the end table next to me and withheld the dramatic sigh trying to escape my throat. “It’s another tool, like my fire. It may take some time and practice to master, but I need to learn to use it.”

“No, Sunshine. I—”

I raised a hand, stopping him. “You wouldn’t discard your hammer just because you smashed your thumb with it one time, right? I’ll only get better if I practice, but I think I’ll stick to working with people whose memories are a bit shallower. Don’t ask me not to, because I’ll refuse.”

Thorin huffed. He leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “It’s pointless to argue with you when you’ve made up your mind, isn’t it? Your ability is a tool, possibly even a weapon, and maybe you should learn to control it.” He raised a finger, stopping me before I voiced my agreement. “Wait, I’m not done.”

Of course he isn’t.

“But we’ll do it carefully, and we’ll do it together, even if you’re practicing with someone else. Don’t try this again on your own. Not without me.”

I nodded. “Okay. I won’t, unless you’re there to watch. You’ll be the lifeguard. You can pull me out when I get in over my head.”

Thorin exhaled and relaxed his shoulders for the first time since I’d regained consciousness. “After all that, I still have to ask: Did you see anything useful? Any memories of Rolf?”

I sank into my blankets and momentarily put aside his question. The worst of my shivering had eased, but a half-frozen slurry still seeped through my veins. I reached for my fire and brought it up to a low, warm roast.

Thorin sucked in a startled breath. “What are you doing?”

“I’m tired of shivering.”

He arched an eyebrow. “Well, don’t burn down the cabin. Baldur won’t get his deposit back.”

Saying his name must have worked like an incantation because Baldur chose that moment to reappear in the middle of the living room. A cowlick of cinnamon hair stood up on the crown of his head like tail feathers. He looked at me, glanced at Thorin, and asked, “What did I miss?”

Thorin and I looked at each other and burst out laughing.

“Long story,” Thorin said after recovering his composure.

“Did you learn anything useful?”

“Only that it’s dangerous to journey through an eternity of memories,” I said. “Otherwise, no.” I gave Thorin an apologetic smile. “Nothing about Rolf.”

“Maybe you have no memories of him,” Baldur said. “Maybe he means to take his revenge against someone else by hurting you.”

Thorin snorted. “There’s no one left who would care if any hurt was done to me.”

“I would be hurt,” Baldur said.

I would be hurt, too, I didn’t say although it was true.

Thorin gestured to Baldur. “Anyone who wanted to take revenge on you vicariously, through someone else, would just take it out on Nina. Not me.”

“Then it looks like you’ll have to wait to find out what this is about until tomorrow,” I said. “Because we’re not going to figure it out on our own.”

“So, in the meantime, we sit and wait?” Baldur stuck out his bottom lip like a petulant child. “I hate that plan. I could put his name out to my network, see what comes up.”

“That’s a good idea,” I said, “and we probably should have done that a while back. Now, it’s probably too late. We don’t have much time.”

Baldur lowered his gaze and shoved his hands in the back pockets of his jeans. “It’s my fault for not taking his potential threat more seriously.”

“Then I’m equally as guilty,” Thorin said. “I underestimated him.”

“It’s too late for playing the blame game.” I shook off my blanket. “Let’s find something better to do with our time than play the Shoulda Coulda game.” After rising to my feet, I turned off my internal radiator, spread my stance wide, and bounced on the balls of my feet. “C’mon, Lord of the Rain Dance.” I rolled my hand in a come-hither gesture. “Let’s see what you got.”

Thorin smirked. “What are you doing?”

“Asking you to dance. What does it look like?”

“It looks like you’re asking for a butt kicking.”

I rolled my head, stretching my neck until several vertebrae popped. “Let’s see how you do without your hammer, Holy Thunder.”

Baldur whooped.

Thorin narrowed his eyes at me, but a smile played on his lips. “Holy Thunder?”

“It’ll be your professional wrestling name. Or how ’bout Wonder of Thunder?”

“I like that one,” Baldur said. “It rhymes.”

In a flash too fast to see, Thorin left the couch, tripped me, and dropped me to the floor.

I wheezed until my breathing found its pace again. No harm done. Thorin had been gentle in his assault, and I had sort of asked for it. “Rolf moves fast like you do.” I rolled over to my knees and pushed myself onto my feet.