“What is it?” I asked. “What do you want?”

“Above all else, you must keep yourself alive.”

“I know.” I lost my patience and threw my hands out at my sides. “Your life is so important to you, but is it possible for you to realize mine is at least as important to me? Unlike you, I get a finite number of years. I’m not anxious to give them up any earlier than I have to. So stop reminding me how important it is that I stay alive. I know. I know it like I know the sky is blue.”

Thorin’s lips quirked up in a half smile. “So, you’re still trying to convince me it isn’t always about me?”

“I don’t know why I bother. It’s an impossible task.”

“Mostly, yes. You’re right. But sometimes…” His voice drifted away, and his ghost of a smile went with it. The brown in his eyes deepened to black.

I met his gaze, though it took a great deal of self-confidence to do so. “Sometimes what?”

“Sometimes, there’s something… else.”

The air between us filled with potential, the kind of energy waiting for one spark to set it loose. I couldn’t do it, though. I wouldn’t be the one to strike the flint.

Thorin drew a deep breath, and his hand fell away. “One last thing before you leave.” He raised a hand, and Mjölnir dangled from his fingers, swaying on its gold chain. He undid the clasp, slipped the pendant from the necklace, and stuffed the hammer into his pocket. “Wear the chain. When the hammer is separated from its lanyard, they can be used to track each other. As long as you are wearing this and as long as I have Mjölnir, I will be able to find you, no matter where you go.”

I let him put the necklace around my neck, substantially lighter without the golden nugget of Thor’s Hammer weighing it down. Thorin let me go without another word. My heart thudded as I trudged through the hotel.

Mani used to listen to my problems, giving advice when I asked or lending a sympathetic ear when I needed that more. Having a guy’s perspective had kept me out of more than one bad relationship. Actually, it kept me out of pretty much any relationship. Maybe that explained my problem. Enduring emotional conflict with Thorin—and Val—on my own totally sucked.

“You smell like him,” Val grumbled when I climbed into the Yukon’s passenger seat.

I turned to face him. “I accept I clean up pretty good sometimes. I’ve come into some nifty special powers. But, really, it’s not every day an otherwise ordinary, small-town girl has two immortal men chomping at her heels. What is it? If it’s my deodorant, I can switch brands.”

“So you admit he’s trying to seduce you. That pretentious, two-faced—”

“Stuff it, Val. Neither of you are paradigms of virtue.”

“At least I don’t put on a show, trying to make you think I am.”

“He’s not trying to seduce me.” Thank God for small favors. And big ones.

Val cut his blue eyes to me with a beleaguered expression before turning his attention back to the road. “We had this discussion before, Solina. You need your ego stroked or something?”

“Just the opposite. I need a reality check.”

“Your loyalty, courage, dedication to something you believe in… it’s a rare thing.”

“It’s not so rare,” I said and scoffed. “And you knock Thorin for it all the time.”

“Because it’s misplaced. His attachment to Baldur is going to wind up getting everyone in trouble.”

“I agree, but I also see Thorin’s point. Everyone needs a friend when they’re standing on the edge of the abyss.”

“Hmm,” Val said in an evasive way. “But back to your original question. I’m more than happy to tell you all the reasons I find you irresistible.”

“No. Forget I brought it up.”

“You need someone in your life to remind you of these things so you never have to doubt.”

I rolled my eyes at him. “I might get an overinflated sense of myself.”

“Having healthy self-esteem is a good thing.” Val grinned, and a mischievous sparkle lit in his eyes. “Besides, your ego will never be bigger than mine.”

“Too bad you can’t just pop us through space like Baldur,” I said when Val and I arrived at the outskirts of Mendocino, “teleport or apparate or whatever you want to call it.”

“It’s always been that way,” Val said. “Not sure why. Maybe it’s one way Baldur can limit us and exert some of his own superiority. If I try to, uh, transport you, we would mostly stand around with a lot of popping and ringing in your ears. If I had one of the ancient weapons, Gungir or Surtalogi, they might amp up my battery enough to make a jump with someone in tow, but it doesn’t matter since both items are missing.”

“Gungir isn’t missing,” I said.

Val snorted. “Seeing Odin’s spear in your dream is not the same as knowing who actually possesses it. I think if someone did have it, they wouldn’t keep it a secret for long.”

Thorin had, of course, decided to keep his possession of Mjölnir quiet, but how long would that last if he continued to use it as he had in the desert? Mjölnir’s gold chain suddenly hung a little heavier around my neck. Val sensed the downturn in my mood, and we spoke no more about ancient weapons.

Hours later, when we turned onto the long driveway leading up to the Aerie, I caught the acrid scent of a spent fire. We passed a couple of sheriff’s cars leaving the scene, covered in grime and smoke residue.

“This is going to be ugly,” Val said as we bumped along the gravel path.

“I’ve tried to prepare myself for the worst.” And I did, but my theorizing and imagination wasn’t enough.

The early-morning sun lent enough light to expose the tormented old home, charred and still smoking in spots.

Skyla came running the moment we turned into the parking lot next to the house’s dormitory wing. “Thank the gods you’re here.” She flung her arms around me. She smelled of smoke, and soot had settled on her like a sticky shadow. “It’s been so awful.”

I hugged her back, trying to give some of the comfort she so obviously needed. “I can see that.”

Val stood behind us, arms crossed over his chest, and surveyed the destruction. His face wore a neutral expression, but it looked more like a mask covering something not so amiable beneath. Fiery destruction, smoke and flames… Maybe it all reminded him of Ragnarok and the home he’d lost so many years before. How long did memories like that stay with beings like him? If I was immortal, a million years wouldn’t soften the ache of losing Mani.

“What can we do to help?” I asked.

“I don’t even know where to start,” Skyla said. “One fire truck is still dousing the dormitory wing. Most of it will have to be demolished. We’ve got to go through and see what can be saved, what can be cleaned, what has to be trashed.”

“What about the kitchen?”

Skyla gave me a funny look. “I guess it’s fine. Most of the main house escaped the worst of the fire. There’s no power, though.”

“If the equipment is gas, then we should be okay.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m a Southern girl. That means I deal with tragedy and grief by stuffing it full of food.”