“Then tell me where I went,” I said, challenging him. “Tell me where I was for that four weeks. Who was I? What was I?”

“You were Sol. You were her essence, the pure power that is her soul.”

“How did I come back?”

Rolf shrugged and stepped closer, moving around Tre’s lifeless body. “It’s not important.”

“You don’t know, do you?”

“I just said I know everything. I didn’t say I would share all the secrets of the world with you. I am not here to be your tutor; I am here to take you to Helen.”

“Not without a fight.” I made my way down the stairs, fast but cautious. Tripping or falling meant losing the fight before it started.

My fire flickered in Rolf’s eerie eyes. The light reflected on his gleaming teeth. He looked demonic and possessed by evil. “This should be fun,” he said.

“You need to find a new definition of fun.” I lowered into a fighting stance, ready to hit, hit, hit. Strike, strike, strike. Kick, claw, bite, anything to defend myself and prevent him taking me to Helen. Or at least make him think I was ready to fight.

“I know the secret for dealing with you,” Rolf said. “If I avoid you long enough, you’ll burn out, and I’ll take you when you’re exhausted and vulnerable.”

“I don’t plan on giving you the chance to wait that long.” I lunged forward, aiming a kick for his knee.

Rolf danced aside and laughed. “Ha ha, Solina! You weren’t joking.”

I gave him no time to reassess but brought out my other hand, the one holding my key ring, the ring on which I kept a tiny can of pepper spray. Misdirection was not a technique reserved solely for the use of magicians. Pickpockets, con artists, and smart women fighting for their lives depended on it, too. I thumbed the pepper spray’s trigger and pointed it at Rolf. The stream struck his face, and he screamed. Blinded and in obvious pain, he stumbled away. I dropped my keys, rekindled my fire, and attacked—kicking, hitting, yelling, burning. The pepper spray coating his hair and skin ignited. Rolf roared, and the scent of his charring flesh and hair filled the space between us.

I leaned in for another punch, but my fist met air. My ears popped as they did whenever the air pressure changed. The alley felt empty, devoid of Rolf’s animosity and ominous presence. I raised my flames higher, encouraging them to light the scene. The fire’s glow revealed nothing more than the still and silent figure of Tre, crumpled at the bottom of my stairs. I peered into the darkness overhead, searching for the dark figure of a man or a crow or anything out of the ordinary. Maybe Rolf had changed shape and appeared as that crow on my balcony, or perhaps he had other agents spying on me. Either way, he had disappeared, and the alley seemed empty except for me and the police officer at my feet.

I snuffed my fire, crouched beside Tre, and searched for a pulse in his neck. It thumped, slow and weak, beneath my fingertips. I blubbered in relief and dashed into the bar, where I grabbed a phone, called 9-1-1, and told the operator about the wounded police officer lying in an alley behind Stefanakis Spirits and Suds. Nikka kept a list of San Diego taxi companies by the phone so we could call a ride for our overindulgent patrons. I chose the first number on the list and told the dispatcher to have a driver pick me up at the diner down the street, the one where Nikka had bought me chocolate-chip waffles.

Before the ambulance and a whole throng of SDPD showed up and started asking questions I couldn’t answer, I raced up the stairs to my apartment and grabbed my prepacked tote bags. On my way out, I patted my ugly old couch. “Sorry, girl. Don’t think you’ll fit in the trunk, or I’d bring you along.”

Nikka deserved a call from me or a note, at least—some words of good-bye and thanks. If I didn’t tell her I was going, she couldn’t give a precise indication of when I had left if anyone thought to ask her.

Muddy the trail, Mundy. Skyla’s voice was urging me into action. Thinking of her made my heart hurt.

One tote bag slung over my shoulder, a duffle bag in one hand and another tote in the other, I started for the door and steeled my emotions against regret and disappointment. Damn Rolf Lockhart, whoever he is. Damn him and Helen and the entire Norse pantheon for screwing up a perfectly good life. I stifled another sob. Indulging in self-pity was a tempting but pointless waste of energy.

I passed Tre on the way out. He moaned and made an effort to move that ended in another painful groan. I felt like a humongous jerk for leaving him like that. Actually, jerk wasn’t a big enough word for how I felt. No word in my vocabulary properly conveyed my self-loathing at that moment.

A distant cry of sirens cut through the night, telling all the neighborhood help was on the way. I crouched, pressed a kiss to Tre’s forehead, and left him moaning behind me. There’s probably a special torture awaiting me in hell for leaving him like this.

I hurried down the sidewalk, checking over my shoulder for signs of pursuit. Storm clouds had moved in, and lightning lit up the night sky, followed by the ominous rumble of thunder. I thought of Thorin and his lineage—God of Thunder. Had he retrieved Mjölnir during our time apart? Helen wouldn’t have given it up without a fight.

The taxi was waiting for me when I reached the diner. I ducked into the backseat and asked the driver to take me to the nearest bus station. Greyhound and I were getting to be fast friends. I should probably buy stock.

The taxi pulled away from the curb, and I turned to look out the rear window. Across the street from the diner, centered under a ring of light from a dim streetlamp, stood Rolf Lockhart, looking pristine and untouched by my fire. He raised a hand and waved a two-fingered salute. I gasped and ducked down. Quit being stupid. He already saw you.

When I looked for Rolf again through the rear window, he was gone. The place where he had stood under the streetlight seemed a little darker than the space around it. I let out a heavy sigh, and the taxi driver glanced at me in his rearview mirror. Rolf had let me get away. After his earlier threats, why would he let me go? Hmm. Not sure I want to find out.

Chapter Five

At the Greyhound station, I bought a bus ticket, and my destination was anywhere that got me out of town quickly. That meant I ended up in the back of a bus traveling north on Interstate 5. Sometime near dawn, the bus stopped at a depot in Sacramento, and I reserved a room at a nearby motel. With paint peeling from the exterior trim and fraying carpet on the outside walkways, the motel looked like the kind of accommodation that attracted truck drivers and traveling construction crews. The parking lot smelled like old pee and ancient hamburger grease. Maybe that was a good thing. Maybe no one would think to look for me there.

In the privacy of the motel room, I settled on top of the bed’s polyester comforter—no way was I touching those sheets—and powered on my little burner phone. For so many weeks, I had remained purposefully disconnected, theorizing that my anonymity equaled safety, but Rolf’s appearance had refuted my beliefs, so I had no reason to hold on to them anymore. I sent a text to Nikka, set the phone on the bedside table, rolled over, and let my thoughts drift until I fell asleep. I dozed off and on until my ringing phone brought me fully awake sometime near noon.

“Oh, thank God,” Nikka said when I answered. Panic sharpened her tone. “I didn’t know what happened to you. The police came by and told me Tre had been attacked behind the bar, and then you were missing…”

“I know, Nikka. I was there.”

“What happened?”

“It was that guy at the bar. Rolf Lockhart. But I’ll bet you anything that isn’t his real name.” I rehashed the story of the fight, leaving out my fire and giving credit to Tre for keeping Rolf distracted until I chased him off with the pepper spray.

“Who the hell is this guy, Sabrina? I thought you didn’t know him.”

“I don’t know him, but there are a lot of people looking for me that I don’t know. I think it’s safe to say I won’t be back to San Diego. I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you in person.”

“Let me help you. I’ll call the police or the FBI, or—”

“No. No, Nikka. Just, please, stay out of it.”

“But if something happened to you, I don’t think I could live with myself.”

“And I’d feel the same way if something happened to you because you got yourself mixed up in my mess. Tre was already hurt because of me. How is he? Is he okay?”

Nikka sighed. “He says he’s all right. Not that he’d admit it if he wasn’t.” A moment of uncomfortable silence passed over the airwaves. “I’m so sorry this is happening to you. You seem like a nice girl. You probably don’t deserve this kind of life.”

I laughed, but it wasn’t warm or friendly. “I am a nice girl, and I totally don’t deserve this life.”

“What do you want me to do with your paycheck? Can I mail it somewhere?”

I shrugged even though Nikka couldn’t see it. “Donate it to charity. Put it back into your operating accounts.”

“I won’t hear from you again, will I?”

“No, probably not.”

Nikka sighed. “I’m going to miss those brownies you make.”

“I’ll mail you the recipe, someday. Thanks for everything, Nikka.”

“Try to stay out of trouble, Sabrina.”

“Ha. Too late for that.”

Nikka and I said our good-byes and ended the call. I got out of bed, showered, and changed into fresh clothes. My little black phone sat on the nightstand, daring me to pick it up again and make the call I dreaded most of all. With a huff, I snatched the phone, flipped it open, and hit the button preprogrammed to dial Thorin’s store.

The phone rang once, and I hung up.