20

Present day

Alfheim’s bridge stone remained exactly where it had always been. It did not appear exactly as I’d remembered it.

As with all the bridge stones I used—and all the Alfar before me had used, when there had been more than just me—this one stood a distance apart from civilization, in a clearing on a hilltop. White-barked birches guarded the perimeter. Tall grasses green enough that my eyes ached to look on it filled the center. The sun stood just above the eastern horizon, spilling rose-gold light across the rune-carved alabaster obelisk at the clearing’s center.

But the gleaming white had been cracked and blackened by fire. Soot and weather-crusted ash coated the misshapen communication crystal in the stone’s eye. The birches that surrounded it were all slender-trunked—new growth and not the same trees I recalled at all. All the brilliant colors, all the plant life, were new growth covering the burnt-out shell of a burnt-out world. Bittersweet anguish filled my heart.

I was home. But it would never truly be home again.

An early morning breeze stirred the leaves overhead, spinning them like emerald discs, and sifted through my hair. Despite the overwhelming sadness that filled me, for the first time in forever, I felt like I was actually breathing.

I hadn’t been here since bringing Odin and Thor and Baldur, when they’d come to investigate why my world had burned.

Of all the places to run to now.

But maybe that was all right. Pain as fresh as the day after Alfheim’s destruction stabbed through me when I realized where I’d brought myself. But no one here would present a threat to me. Heimdal couldn’t follow. And no one else lived here.

I didn’t think Heimdal could follow, anyhow. Even as I thought it, I wondered—Heimdal had figured out how to cut my magic out of me. Had he also figured out how to bend it to his own will, somehow? He must have, in order to return to Asgard after he’d cast me out. In order to return to Midgard now in pursuit of me.

That thought tore my eyes from drinking in the colors of Alfheim and drove me to my feet.

If Heimdal could follow, then maybe he wouldn’t think to look for me here, at least not right away. I’d refused to return before. He might think I would refuse to return now.

“What just happened?” Claire’s voice was small and came from near my feet.

Claire leaned against the guidepost, a combination of pale flesh with dark clothing and hair, like a snippet of black and white film in a Technicolor world. She pressed her hands flat against the ground on either side of her and turned her head slowly from side to side as she took in the abruptly new view.

“Are you hurt?” I looked Claire over as she spoke, but the other girl didn’t appear to have a scratch on her. No blood. No visible bruising.

“No.” Claire hesitated before adding, “So… is this a dream? I wouldn’t think to ask if it was a dream if it really was. Would I?”

All things considered, Claire sounded calm and reasonable. No traces of outright hysteria, at least.

“We just… traveled.” Keep it simple, at least to start. Test the waters one step at a time. “A long distance. Very quickly.”

“Right.” Claire kept looking around. She didn’t stir from her seated position. “And you… made that happen? There was a… tunnel? Lots of colors. Flashes of light.”

Claire believed in ghosts and witchcraft, I suddenly recalled. Convincing her to believe me might not be as difficult I’d normally think.

A second later, Claire proved my instincts right. She tipped her head back and peered up at me, wide-eyed.

“Magic?” She intoned the word with sheer awe, the way most people used disbelief when they spoke the word.

“Magic. Yes.” I glanced around the clearing one more time.

Still no signs that Heimdal or anyone else intended to come after us. Maybe my imagination was just too pumped up. Too much had happened in the last few hours. I was still processing.

Heimdal couldn’t follow me here. In Alfheim, Claire and I were the only living beings.

Another twinge of old grief. I avoided looking too hard into the trees. I didn’t want to glimpse what lay beyond them. I still wasn’t sure I was ready for that.

“Magic,” Claire repeated in a whisper. “Like, a spell? I didn’t hear any incantation.”

Claire shoved herself to her feet and brushed absently at the butt of her jeans. A multitude of bracelets, black and gold and red, jingled against her wrist.

“It’s not really a spell.” I couldn’t recall ever having explained my magic to a mortal. To anyone, really. No one had ever asked. “It’s about light. I’m an… Alfar.”

I didn’t offer the translation, “light elf.” I’d lived on Midgard long enough to suspect that uttering the word “elf” might trip even Claire’s open mind toward believing I was making things up.

“I’m not from your world,” I added. “I’m from here.”

Claire ceased brushing dust and grass from her tattered jeans and looked around. Her eyes still seemed too wide and unfocused, and I frowned. But she seemed coherent enough.

Under the circumstances.

I pressed on with my explanation. “My people can manipulate light.” I caught myself. “Could. They could. I can. I sort of… bend it, until a way opens to someplace else. Like a bridge.”

Bivrost. Little rainbow.

“Like a wormhole.” Claire stood in place and turned slowly. “Wow.”

“I guess.” I had no idea if they were at all similar. But if it helped Claire believe, then fine. Like a wormhole.

I glanced around again, myself, but I was doing more thinking than looking.

We couldn’t stay here forever. Sooner or later, I needed to take Claire back to Midgard. And I needed to figure out how to evade Heimdal for the long term. The thing was, I’d only ever thought about wanting my magic back so I could leave Midgard. I’d never planned where exactly I’d go after that.

“So, where is here?” Claire asked from beside me.

“Alfheim.” I turned to face her, preparing to ask what part of the mortal world she’d be all right with being set down in. The nearest bridge stone to the part of North Dakota we’d just fled was in Grand Forks. I wasn’t sure that was a good idea—too close to the place we’d just left—but there were others on the North American continent. Or maybe Claire would want to visit Europe.

Claire stared at me. Her eyes remained wide.

Fresh concern tweaked at my gut. Her face really was very pale, even for Claire. Her pupils, though, those were what really stopped me. They were enlarged to nearly taking over her irises, unnaturally large for the amount of sunlight that drifted between the tree branches.

“Cool.” Claire whispered the word, her mouth barely moving.

Claire wavered on her feet. I reached for her.

What the hell kind of drug had her asshole boyfriend fed her?

Or maybe she has a concussion from you crashing your Jeep with her in it.

It was possible that being unexpectedly yanked to an entirely different world played a part in things, too.

As I closed my fingers around Claire’s elbow, her knees gave way. I lurched forward and managed to catch most of her weight against my body. She leaned heavily into me.

“Let’s just sit back down,” I suggested.

Claire didn’t argue. As I eased her toward the ground, she twisted her face and peered up at me.

“Joel might get worried,” she murmured.

The boyfriend, I assumed. What I couldn’t quite fathom was why she cared if he worried.

“He’s not good for you.” I hadn’t intended to say it out loud, but what the hell. What was the deal with jerks who somehow managed to convince perfectly sensible women that they were—

With Claire halfway to the ground, I froze.

I’d smelled something dark earlier when talking to Claire—twice, once in the Cox General Store’s back room and again on my cabin’s doorstep. I’d written it off as stale weed smoke and incense.

Now, it swirled again into my senses. Again, it seemed less like a simple smell and more like a weight in the air. Maybe being on my home world had sharpened my senses, but here in Alfheim the scent darkened even further, until it seemed to affect more than one sense. It felt almost like a presence.

I inhaled sharply. My fingers dug into Claire’s arms, drawing a murmured, “Ow.”