Three days later I was back in the airport, heading home with a brand-new hand-knit hat, scarf, and mittens, plus an emergency survival kit for my car, thanks to Santa. Not that I was complaining. I gave my folks gift certificates to their favorite diner and a subscription to a Portland microbrew-of-the-month club. The McDonald family was nothing if not practical.

I had to take three separate flights to get from Bangor, Maine to Bozeman, Montana. Of course, I got stuck at O’Hare, and I spent my entire four hour layover frantically emailing John my notes for the faculty meeting I was now going to miss. Then I had to sprint through Denver International Airport to make it onto the tiny propeller jet headed to Bozeman. It was the last flight of the day, and everyone in the plane looked either pissed off or exhausted. Or both.

I leaned back in the seat and closed my eyes—

****

—I WAS STANDING IN YELLOWSTONE. It was night, and there was no moon. Even the stars looked faded, as if the darkness spilling from the mouth of the great, looming cave before me was somehow sneaking across the sky, blotting out the sparks of light.

“Vali?” I whispered in the darkness.

There was no response. The burnt smell hovered in the air, stinging my nostrils. I took a step closer to the cave.

“Vali?” I said.

My voice echoed across the open space, sounding far louder than it should have been. The world seemed to be trembling, holding its breath.

Waiting.

I woke shivering, and I spent the rest of the joltingly bumpy flight to Bozeman staring out the window, trying to convince myself there was nothing blotting out the icy pinpricks of stars above me.

****

IT WAS TEN BELOW ZERO in the Bozeman airport parking lot, and my goddamned car wouldn’t start. I left my suitcase in the trunk and walked back inside, blowing on my fingers in the baggage claim, waiting for Courtesy Services to give me a jumpstart.

By the time I made it home it was just past midnight, which meant it was two in the morning in Maine. I’d been traveling for twenty hours. There was a sparkly gift bag wedged behind my screen door, but I didn’t see it until I’d kicked it halfway across the living room.

“Shit,” I muttered under my breath.

I turned on the light to see what I’d just sent skidding across the floor. It was a bottle of Glenlivet single malt scotch, from Susan. To Karen, she’d written. For all the odd goods. I smiled for the first time since I left the Bangor airport twenty hours ago. The scotch went on the kitchen counter, and I collapsed into my bed.

But my dreams were unsettled and disturbing. I woke tangled in the sheets, my heart racing, certain I’d been running from something low and dark and close behind my back.

Headlights swept my bedroom ceiling in a cold, pale arc as I stared at the ceiling. My heart knocked frantically against my rib cage. The alarm clock on my dresser said it was barely past three in the morning. I sighed and kicked off my blankets. If I wasn’t going to sleep, I might as well answer some emails.

I heard someone in my kitchen.

It was impossible, but I heard the soft tsh of a cabinet drawer closing, and then the low hiss of the kitchen faucet.

I froze. My muscles tensed and my fingers knotted into fists. Was it Susan? Who the hell else had a key? I looked around my darkened bedroom for something I could possibly use as a weapon. I didn’t own a gun, and all my knives were in the kitchen. I needed something solid, something heavy... I finally settled on a lumpy, oversized coffee mug I’d gotten from a local artist at the farmer’s market.

I came to my feet as silently as possible and wrapped my hands around the coffee mug. The back of my mouth tasted metallic and bitter. Taking a deep breath, I crept toward the kitchen, trying to see what I could make out in the dim glow of the streetlight outside my window. Someone was standing at my kitchen stove. Someone tall, dressed in black. My fingers tightened around the coffee mug as I prepared to bring it down on his skull.

But I hesitated. What I saw didn’t make any sense. The man in my kitchen wasn’t going through my stuff, trying to steal God knows what from my cabinets. He was just standing there, at my stove, watching the red glow of the burner under my tea kettle. I frowned.

The dark figure turned to me.

“Karen,” he said. “Lovely to see you again.”

The light switch clicked on, and I flinched at the flood of white light. The man smiled. He was very tall, with red hair. And he wore a dark suit.

Loki.

The last time I saw him, he’d been pulling himself out of the blood-stained snow in Yellowstone.

“What the fuck are you doing in my kitchen?” I yelled.

He looked from my stove to the counter next to my sink. Three mugs stood in a neat row on the speckled countertop. “I’m making tea. Or would you prefer the scotch?” He gestured to the Glenlivet bottle on my kitchen table.

I shook my head. “No. What the fuck are you doing here? Now?”

“Making tea,” he said again. He gave me a disarmingly handsome smile, and I had to fight the urge to smash the coffee cup into his face.

My tea kettle whistled, and Loki moved to the stovetop, pouring hot water into the three empty mugs. My kitchen filled with steam and the scent of lavender and chamomile. Loki picked up my white coffee mug with MAINE written on the side in bright red lobsters and offered it to me. I shook my head. Then I stared back at the kitchen counter, and my heart jumped.

“Why are there three?”

Loki smiled, grabbed the remaining two coffee mugs, and walked past me into the living room. “Come on,” he said. “We’ve got something to discuss.”

There was a soft rustling noise in the living room. I followed Loki through the door. He bent over my couch, handing a mug to a dark figure sitting on my couch.

“Caroline?” I asked.

“Hi,” she said, somewhat apologetically. The swell of her pregnant belly was enormous; she looked pale and tired in the half-light from my kitchen. “Sorry about this. I didn’t want to wake you.”

“What are you doing here?” I demanded. “I mean, shouldn’t you be...” My voice faltered as I made a vague hand gesture around my abdomen.

“It’s fine,” she said, waving her hand dismissively. “I’m on sabbatical this semester.”

“That’s not exactly what I meant,” I said, trying not to stare at her stomach.

She laughed. “Oh, right! No, the baby’s not due for another two weeks. And besides, it’s not like getting to the hospital is going to be a problem.” Her eyes flickered over Loki, and she smiled.

Loki did not smile. I felt the first small tendril of fear creep along my back, and I wrapped my arms around my chest. “What’s this about?”

Loki met my gaze. “Vali,” he said.

The fear gathered in a hard knot, low in my stomach. “No way. No fucking way. I’m not going to help you. You tricked me this fall. Both of you. You set me up so you could catch Vali.”

Caroline held her hands up. “I’m sorry about what happened in November. If there had been another way—”

I laughed, but it came out as more of an angry bark. “Oh, screw you! You knew exactly what you were doing. You wanted to find a wolf, right? Well, you could have told me you were looking for Vali! You could have told me—”

“And what, exactly, would you have said to that?” Loki said, his pale eyes flashing.

I fell silent. The soft tick of the clock in my study filled the room. The refrigerator hummed. Finally, I shook my head and stepped back.

“Vali doesn’t want to be found,” I said. “So, I’m not helping you. And there’s nothing you can say that will change my mind.”

Caroline sighed. Loki’s hand moved to cup her shoulder, but his eyes didn’t leave my face. The clock in my study ticked again.

“There’s the front door,” I said, pointing. “Shall I open it for you?”

“Karen,” Caroline said. “Let me explain—”

“No.” I stalked to the front door and opened it. A blast of cold air rushed into the room, ruffling the stack of Christmas cards on my coffee table. I tilted my head toward the door.

Loki followed me, stepping onto my front porch and offering Caroline his hand. She stepped outside, wrapped her arms around the swell of her stomach, and shivered. Ice crystals shimmered on the sidewalk, reflecting the light spilling out my windows.

“Well,” I said, reaching to close the door, “it’s been a pleasure.”

“He loves you,” Loki said.

My hand froze above the doorknob. Loki reached out and pulled the door closed between us.