I stepped closer to the blaze—maybe I wanted to tame it—but it was too hot, even for me. The sour odor of burnt hair, my burnt hair, drifted in the air. Compelled by a nameless force, I tracked the inferno’s path, intent on locating the source.

“Fight fire with fire, they say.” A woman’s distant voice carried above the roar of the blaze. “If only they knew how true that was.”

“Who’s there?” I asked. “How are you doing this?”

The woman laughed but did not answer.

I walked and walked, traveling hundreds of dream miles until, finally, the row of flames thinned and shortened. At last, they narrowed to a fine point, a torch, vomiting a conflagration across the whole of my dream world. The torch bearer noted my approach and recoiled as if preparing to run away.

“Wait.” I reached toward her. “Who are you? Why are you doing this?”

She swung the weapon and revealed it was no mere stick coated in pitch. She grasped a sword constructed entirely from flames. The shadowed figure motioned for me to approach. Light flickered off the high places of her face, but darkness kept her features vague, indistinguishable. Despite the fire’s threat, I stepped closer—an unknown impulse controlled me. The swordswoman reared back, holding her weapon high, ready to strike. Fear lurched up my throat and tasted of bile, but I continued my approach, helpless and intent.

“What are you going to do?” I asked.

The swordswoman laughed again. She lunged, and her blade sliced through me.

I woke screaming loudly enough to shred my throat. Before I took in a breath to scream again, my door burst open, filling the doorway with light and the concerned faces of Val, Thorin, and Baldur. Val rushed to my side and turned on my bedside lamp. He studied my face, probably looking for a clue about what had happened.

“What was it?” Val asked, taking my hand in his. “Another dream? What did you see?”

“Fire,” I said stupidly. Part of me had remained in the dream, and the reality of my hotel room was slow to return.

“What fire? Your fire?”

I shook my head. “No.”

“Is the hotel on fire?”

“No. Back off and let me think.”

Val scowled but did as I asked, dropping his death grip on my hand. I drew in a deep breath and surveyed my visitors. Baldur stood in the doorway, frowning, deep lines etching his brow. Thorin had stopped at the foot of my bed and wore his usual stoic expression.

“It was a sword of fire, and she said she was fighting fire with fire.”

Everyone spoke at once, their excited questions jumbling into confusion.

I stuck my fingers between my lips and blew a sharp whistle. “Jeez, y’all, it’s like an Abbot and Costello routine in here. Next thing, somebody’s going to ask, ‘Who’s on first?’ I’ll start from the beginning. It won’t make a lick of sense, but I’ll tell you what I saw, and don’t interrupt, or I’ll kick you all out and go back to sleep.”

The three men all managed to look properly chastised, even Thorin. I told them of the dream, beginning to end.

Then I inhaled another deep breath, exhaled, and let my shoulders sag. “Anyone have any ideas?”

Baldur, Val, and Thorin looked at each other, silently deciding who should tell me the bad news. Thorin scraped his fingers through his hair and stepped closer to my bed. “Surtalogi,” he said.

“Gesundheit,” I said, deadpan.

Thorin turned his eyes heavenward as if praying for patience. “Surtalogi is the name for the sword that belonged to Surtr, the fire giant who brought the final destruction on the world at the end of Ragnarok. It was his sword of fire that burned out the world.”

“How did that work, exactly? You all keep saying the world burned, but how did you survive it?”

“Asgard was not the only plane of existence,” Baldur said. “There was Niflheim, where Hela rules the spirits of the dead. It was untouched. And there was Gimle, a heaven of sorts. That’s where most of the surviving Aesir went.”

“You had a heaven to live in, but you gave it up for earth because…?”

Val snorted. “There’s only so many millennia I could bear to be in the presence of the same handful of Aesir. And humans were starting to get interesting.”

A pang of foreboding shivered through me. “So why am I dreaming about the sword now?”

Baldur moved away from the doorway and stepped closer. “No one saw the sword again after Ragnarok,” he said. “But many have searched for it.”

“Maybe Helen found it and is bringing it into play,” Baldur said.

“If she has Surtr’s sword, then the battle is won,” Val said.

“Solina’s dreams are often premonitions of what is to come. She prevented my death at the Aerie.” Thorin deliberately avoided meeting my eyes, probably because that would have been too much like admitting my deceit had benefitted him after all. “If her dream was about Surtalogi, then it may be possible for us to find it first.”

“But we probably don’t have much time,” I said. “My foresight tends to be rather… shortsighted.”

“It’s first on our list,” Val said, rising to his feet. “We’ll start hunting for it right now.”

“No,” Thorin said. “The wolves come first. Helen won’t dare use the sword until Solina is dead. She’s reenacting the old events in the same order as before. Using the sword at this point goes against the rules.”

Val scoffed. “Helen plays by rules? Since when?”

“She wants a predictable result. She’s a cold, calculating bitch.”

A growl rumbled in Baldur’s throat. “I concur with Thorin’s assessment.”

“You’re a prejudiced old fool,” Val said.

Thorin lunged, but Baldur shot out an arm and held him back. From my seat in the bed, I watched the three ageless beings spit and snarl at each other like wet cats until I could take it no more. I rolled my eyes, slid under the blankets, and let out a noisy sigh.

Thorin heard it. “Save this for later,” he said. “Let her sleep—she’s been through hell enough for one day. The least we can do is give her a chance to recover.”

Val huffed. “She wouldn’t be in this condition if you hadn’t gotten caught up in Helen’s obvious trap.”

“Enough!” I yelled from underneath the covers. “Walking into that trap got us Skyla back. That alone was worth the risk. So, let this argument go, okay? Let’s all go back to bed or whatever it is you guys do while the rest of us sleep.”

When no one said anything in reply, I peeked over the blankets and glared at them. Thorin responded first. He squared his shoulders, spun on his heel, and strode from the room. Baldur followed, offering an apologetic smile on his way out.

Val turned and gave me a pleading look. “That sword is no joke. If you know where it is, you have to tell us.”

“I don’t know where it is, Val.” I pointed toward the open doorway. “Let me go back to sleep—please.”

A twinge of something piteous passed over his face. He nodded and left my room, closing my door behind him. I fell back on the pillows. The woman in my dreams wasn’t Helen Locke, I was sure, but further speculation was impractical and a waste of energy. I curled into a ball and pulled the covers under my chin, and the rest of the night passed, devoid of any more interruptions from the Nordic three stooges.