I shook my head and furrowed my brow. “I don’t understand.”

Thorin opened his mouth to say something, but then he stopped and drew out his phone. He thumbed the screen until he found something satisfactory. “These are some artistic renderings of it,” he said, passing me the phone.

I studied the images on the screen. Some looked like tiny, stylized hammers. A few resembled another kind of weapon. “An arrowhead,” I said.

“That’s what it most resembles when its size is reduced. It remains in that form, and anyone can carry it. But to transform it to full size and use it as a weapon, Thor’s blood must run in your veins, and you must have these.” Thorin motioned to his wrists, indicating his bracelets.

“I think I’ve seen it,” I said. Thorin drew back from me as if I had breathed fire. “No, really. The night we had drinks with Helen. She wore a gold necklace with a strange charm on the end of it. I remembered thinking at the time that it looked like a weird arrowhead.”

Thorin leapt to his feet and pounded his fist into a trashcan beside us. It crumpled under his assault. A nearby couple recoiled from us and stepped back. They gave Thorin a wide birth and eased to the other side of the bridge to pass us. Everyone else either ignored us or was too caught up in their own conversations to care. “In plain sight,” Thorin growled. “This whole time she’s had it hiding in plain sight.”

“Don’t beat yourself up. Women check out each other’s jewelry all the time. Men aren’t supposed to notice those things.”

“But it’s my weapon. I should have recognized it.”

“She kept it tucked in her cleavage. I think it says something good about your character that you weren’t paying attention to her bust line.”

Thorin grunted. “I was too busy looking at yours.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that I knew he wasn’t joking. He wasn’t necessarily giving me a compliment either. He was merely stating the truth. “Well, see, there you go,” I said, withholding another blush. “It was my fault all along.”

“Don’t worry, Sunshine. Unlike Val, I have an excess of self-control.”

Screw your self-control. “I don’t know what to say to that.”

“Say thank you. I have my own interests at heart, and nothing threatens the security of my perpetuity. I intend to stay focused on my objectives and won’t be distracted by sexy blondes playing naïve games of romance. You’d do well to remember that.”

I leapt from the bench and stumbled away from him, my anger making me unsteady on my feet. “It’s amazing you can remain upright while bearing the immense weight of your ego. But rest assured that if I play romantic games, it will be with someone who is receptive to them.”

Thorin rumbled. “If you’re going to sleep with Val, then do it and get it over with already, so both of you can move on and focus on what’s really important.”

I stepped back from him again, afraid I was about to go up in another ball of flame. “Why do you have to be such a tremendous asshole sometimes, Thorin? I suspect there’s a decent man, or god, or whatever, inside you, but then you go and say things like that. You’re mad at yourself for your own mistakes, and you take it out on me. But when it comes to keeping me safe, a little trust and respect would go a lot further than bullying and intimidation. I don’t deserve to be treated this way.”

I spun on my heel and strode away. Not toward the hotel where Thorin knew where to find me, but into the crowds of Las Vegas. A fortuitous taxi pulled under the portico of another hotel adjacent to the end of the footbridge just as I drew near. A couple disembarked, and I rolled into the backseat to take their place.

“Ms. Mundy, this conversation is not over,” Thorin called from several paces away.

“The hell it ain’t!” I said and slammed the door shut. The driver, noticing the huge, angry warrior storming toward us, had the sense to pull away before asking for my destination.

“Just drive,” I told him. “Get me far away from that man.”

The taxi glided to a stop beside a donut shop a block off the main strip. Its appearance conveniently coincided with the taxi’s meter arriving at ten dollars. I had brought twenty bucks in my clutch purse because my dad raised me never to accompany a man anywhere without bringing funds of my own, in case I needed to make a quick getaway. Thanks, Dad.

I gave the driver the twenty, waited for the change, tossed him a tip, and then went to get a cup of coffee because I wasn’t quite ready to head back to the hotel. I was still too mad and shaken up. Also, in a city where so many things were strange and foreign and overwhelming, a coffee shop presented a little bit of familiarity. It suited me better than going alone into a strange bar or a casino, and with only ten dollars in my purse, coffee was about all I could afford.

A few customers glanced in my direction, but briefly. Seeing a woman done up in her best hair and make-up, wearing a man’s suit coat and little else, standing in line for a latte at ten o’clock at night—it probably registered as less than mundane in a city that notoriously attracted the bizarre and outrageous. During the taxi ride, for example, I had seen what had to be a six-foot-tall man wearing platform combat boots, a six-inch red mohawk, and an embroidered hot-pink silk robe.

Cup in hand, I stepped out onto the sidewalk next to the coffee shop. It was darker here, less populated, and the air smelled funny. Like a cat had peed on something rotten. I scurried down the block, eager to return to the main strip that was flush with tourists and the police who patrolled them. Caught out in the wrong part of town by the wrong people, I might wind up as a headline in the paper, or worse. I looked behind me as I walked, checking the shadows for wolves.

When I set foot back on Las Vegas Boulevard, I paused to catch my breath, say a little prayer of thanks, and gather my bearings. Then I turned and started toward the hotel, just another block away. I had asked the taxi to take a circuitous route because I wanted to ditch Thorin, not spend the night hiking the sidewalk in heels.

My cell phone rang. I stopped and rooted it out of my clutch. Val’s name appeared on the screen. I debated not answering the call, but curiosity won out.

“Where the hell are you?” Val said when I answered.

I glanced at the busy street beside me. “Las Vegas Boulevard.”

“Solina, I’ve been held in a casino basement for the past three hours and threatened with things I thought only happened in Scorsese movies. I’m in no mood.”

“Neither am I. What do you want?”

“I want to know where you are, why you went to dinner with Thorin, and why he came back without you, slamming doors and practically punching holes in the walls.”

I stopped and knelt to loosen the buckles on my shoes. I was only a block from the Bellestrella, but my feet were already screaming. “Ask Thorin what happened.”

“He’s not in an explanatory mood at the moment,” Val said.

“That makes two of us.” After hooking my fingers through the straps of my shoes, I padded down the sidewalk, careful of broken glass, discarded hypodermic needles, and whatever else littered the filthy sidewalks in a town known for exploiting human depravity. I refused to look too closely.

“I’m blowing off some steam,” I said. “I’ll be back pretty soon. Maybe you could meet me for drinks.” … and give me your opinion on Helen’s request to meet with me.

“Drinks? Yeah?”

“Five minutes, at the bar past the craps tables. Don’t mention it to Skyla or Thorin.”

Val harrumphed. “It disturbs me that you thought you even had to say that.”

I hung up and opened the clasp on my tiny purse to stuff in my phone, but it slipped and sent everything jumbling; cash, makeup, and room key clattered to the ground. My coffee splashed, spilling over the front of my dress and coating my phone. The coffee burned like hot lava. I squealed and juggled the cup, trying to keep from drowning my phone and scorching myself again in the process.

Distracted by my fumble, I paid no attention to the traffic around me, or the long black car that pulled to the curb. The rear door swung open, and a pair of strong arms swept me off my feet and shoved me into the waiting vehicle. I hadn’t even begun to formulate a proper protest before the door shut behind me and the car peeled away from the curb.

My abductor sent me sprawling across a leather limousine seat, and a heavy someone put a knee in my back and pinned my arms to my side. I screamed and struggled against the constraint. I kicked and flailed and prayed my strange and unpredictable powers would choose this moment to manifest. I sensed it boiling deep inside me, but how did I call it out? How did I command it, submit it to my will?

A vaguely human shape sat on a seat perpendicular to mine, careful to keep the shadows drawn over his or her face. The shadow moved closer, reaching for me. “No!” I yelled and thrashed against my captor again, but the knee in my back did not relent. A piercing pain shot into my thigh. My protest came out rather like, “Squeech!” but the figure darted away into the depths of the car before I could retaliate.

Memories of the wolf attack leapt into my thoughts. Rancid panic and terror. Hot and bitter anger. All the emotions of my nightmares washed through my awareness: powerlessness, helplessness, horror. It was all so useless, so pointless, all the agonies I had suffered over the injustice of Mani’s death. It was all going to end like this? Unavenged and impotent.

A fog rolled into my head, immediate and thick. “What’s this?” I asked. Numbness shivered down my legs and across my arms and chest.

“A safety precaution,” said the stranger, a woman by the sound of her voice. “I can’t have you setting us on fire before I have time to explain.”

“Explain,” I mumbled as a strange heaviness filled my body and numbed my lips.

“Not now,” she said. “For now, you sleep. When you wake, we’ll talk.”

“No,” I moaned, but it was a pointless objection. Darkness crept toward me, a burglar coming to steal my consciousness.