“You do?”

“Of course. Anyone who gives a homeless girl a job without any references or proof of experience must be a really wise woman.”

“You proved yourself,” Nikka said. “What you lacked in experience, you made up for in effort.”

“But you didn’t know that I wouldn’t just rob you blind and head for the hills.”

“This isn’t my first rodeo, and I also have great intuition.”

If that were true, she wouldn’t have wasted her time trying to befriend me. But for whatever reason she wanted to attribute, Nikka had provided a much-needed job and a place to lie low while I recovered my powers. Nikka didn’t ask for a driver’s license or social-security card. She set me up in the apartment over her bar for next to nothing. I told her my name was Sabrina Moody—close to the real thing so I would remember to answer to it—and Nikka never asked for proof. She paid me in cash and respect. I hated lying to her, but what other choice did I have?

Nikka probably suspected I was running from a bad relationship. She was right if one could call the thing between Skoll and Helen Locke and me a relationship—an apocalyptic hate triangle, more like.

“It’s only been a few weeks, Nikka. I could still make my getaway.”

“Nah,” she said. “You got Pacific Ocean in your veins, I can tell. Just look at you—blond hair, that bronze skin. You look like an advertisement for the ideal California Girl.”

“Maybe. I do like it here. A lot.”

Nikka nodded in a knowing way. “So, you’re hooked, and you’re not going anywhere, which brings us to the next question: What are you doing for the holidays? You worked through Thanksgiving, and I thank you for that, but I always shut down the bar for Christmas. So, you’ll have no excuse. You cannot spend Christmas alone.”

“Don’t tell that to this crowd.” I motioned to the ragtag group of late-night diners around us. “Besides, I was looking forward to a grand-slam breakfast with Joe.”

“Who is Joe?”

“I don’t know for sure, but if you wander around Chicano Park long enough, you’ll probably find a guy named Joe camped out under the Coronado Bridge. And I bet he likes chocolate-chip waffles at least as much as I do.”

Nikka rolled her eyes upward and talked to the ceiling. “She’s been in San Diego four weeks, and she’s already as cynical as me.”

I laughed and sipped coffee from my cup. Outside the restaurant, San Diego was waking up. The rising sun had turned the sky from black into an enchanted lilac. The gloaming hour suggested weakening barriers and the surge of possibility—as though anything could happen. I closed my eyes and imagined that when I opened them again, I would see my brother standing on the sidewalk outside the diner. He’d be laughing about something with a buddy or tapping his foot, impatiently waiting for me.

When I opened my eyes, my gaze fell not on Mani, but on a tall, dark-haired stranger standing under a streetlight near the front window. He stepped out of sight before I got a good look at him, but something about the way he suddenly turned away—or the way the hairs on the back of my neck stood up—made me think he had been watching me.

“He was checking you out the whole time you had your eyes closed,” Nikka said.

“Who?” I drained the rest of my coffee.

“That guy out there.” She flung a hand in the direction of the stranger, who had disappeared. “Don’t act like you didn’t notice.”

“Hmm.” I shrugged and looked away.

The incident made me uneasy, but Nikka didn’t need to know that. She might have asked why I was so jumpy, and that was not a story I wanted to tell.

Nikka leaned forward, intent on making her point. “Totally intense. Like he knew you or something.”

“I don’t know anyone here except you and Tre,” I said, naming the San Diego police officer who worked security for Stefanakis in his off-hours.

“Maybe you just look like someone he knows. Or maybe it was love at first sight. You should go after him. Give him your number. If you’re going to make new friends, you could definitely do worse than him. He was… spectacular.”

Cold waves rippled over my shoulders. I shivered and shrugged off the chill. No making friends with handsome strangers. Letting Nikka into my life had been risky enough.

Nikka must have sensed my mood change. She frowned and tossed a couple bills on the table, enough to cover my check and a tip. We slid out of our booth and headed for the door.

“We should do this again,” she said. “Soon.”

No. No, we shouldn’t. Routines and habits and friends made a person comfortable. Comfortable people made mistakes like letting down their guards and trusting. Trusting opened the way for betrayal and broken hearts.

Chapter Three

“Faster,” said Tre Hobbs, my sparring partner. He raised a padded strike shield to chest height. “You’ve got to bring up that left. It’s not about technique right now. It’s about speed.”

I sucked in a deep lungful of air and caught my breath. The krav maga gym smelled like sweat and stale body odor—the perfume of hard work, pain, and tenacity. I nodded. Tre nodded back and readied for my assault.

Hit, hit, hit—left, left, right. I pounded my fists against the pad. Hit, hit, hit—right, left, left. Tre had me focused on my left strike, working to strengthen my weaker arm.

“Good,” he said. “Much better. Now, let’s see that speed again but with a little more control.”

“Uh,” I said, voicing my exhaustion.

We had sparred off and on for nearly half an hour and spent the last few minutes on intense upper-body work. I had maybe one round left in me before my arms melted to Jell-O and my lungs self-combusted.

“One more time, Sabrina. You’re fighting for your life. Exhaustion means defeat.”

After weeks of steady eating, routine sleep, and a semiregular schedule, my fire had mostly rekindled, but that stint of powerlessness had showed me the danger of depending on the fire as my sole weapon. My supernatural abilities were depletable resources. When the flames were gone, my fists and fierceness remained. Damned if I wouldn’t learn how to use them.

Two intense weeks of training among the Valkyries had knocked off the dust and awoken my survivor instincts, but I was far from mastering proficiency in combat. My so-called fight against Skoll had enumerated my many inadequacies, and Hati’s incineration was the result not so much of skill but of blind and incoherent rage.

I welcomed any tool, any asset that increased my odds of survival—no waiting for others to save me, no more helpless human. Fists, fire, or cunning, I would stand firm and retain a position of strength, even among gods and monsters.

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep breath. Then I nodded but kept my eyes shut and waited for Tre’s assault. Tre used that technique, the blind attack, to hone my reaction time. “Your attacker won’t usually give you a warning,” he said the first time we had trained that way. “No ‘Here I come, better get ready’ speeches.”

Tre pounced, soundless and sudden, like a cat—one of the large panther varieties. He nearly knocked me off my feet when he shoved the strike pad against me, putting all his weight behind the assault. I stumbled and opened my eyes. Strike, strike, strike—left, left, right. Tre shifted toward me, and I struck again—right, left, left. The last hit fell short, and I faltered and fell to my knees.

“Oh,” I wheezed. “Oh, that’s done it. I’m just going to stay down for the night. Tell the staff to sweep around me when they close up.” To emphasize my meaning, I slumped to the floor.

Tre’s chuckle sounded like a grizzly growling. He reminded me of a large brown bear, minus all the fur. “I guess that’s enough for one night.”

“Maybe I should call in sick tomorrow. How can Nikka expect me to pull a beer tap or shake a martini?” I wagged a shoulder, and my arm slid to the floor. “See? Limp noodles.”

Still laughing, Tre shook his head and leaned over. He extended a hand to me. “You’ll leave a grease stain on the mat, and I’ll have to revoke your guest privileges.”

I snorted. “Okay, okay.”

Tony, the owner, kept his studio meticulously clean and threatened to kick out anyone who messed it up. It wouldn’t do for Tre to lose his membership because of me, and I couldn’t afford to train in that gym on my slim paycheck. Also, I tended to avoid membership forms—they asked too many personal questions.

I took Tre’s hand and let him tug me to my feet. “Can you meet me again tomorrow? I have to work, though, so it’ll have to be earlier in the afternoon.”

Tre’s brown eyes widened, and his mouth fell open. “What are you? A robot? Take a break. You’ve been at this for a week straight. Those ghosts you’re trying to fight will still be there when you come back.”