Rangrid rolled over, and eyed the mess askance; then turned and unexpectedly licked the inside of my right knee. I jumped. Her tongue tickled. Especially after . . . what . . .three? Gad, a personal record. . . .

"Tasty," she approved.

"Oh, yeah? Let's see."

She shrieked as I pinned her down, licking and tickling mercilessly. About an hour later, we managed to stumble into the hot tub again, where we scrubbed away the sticky remains.

Gerta arrived to say she'd freshened the bed. Rangrid smiled her thanks. We lay in each other's arms in the heated water for a long time without speaking. I listened with surprising contentment to our mingled breaths and the soft hissing of the coals beneath the tub. I could get used to this. . . .

But then, Loki probably was on the verge of getting loose . . . and I still hadn't done anything about Gary . . . and Odin was just waiting for morning. . . .

And Rangrid's softness was more distraction than a man could bear.

I had to concentrate on Odin. He never had given me the answers I'd asked for. He'd given me a speech-and a bad one, at that-but no answers. Certainly not an answer to why he'd been snatching folks like Gary. Killing me made sense; at least it did after I'd sworn to wring his neck and proved I was dangerous enough to be a real threat.

Odin was afraid to give me back the Biter, which meant he was afraid of the knife, at the very least.

Had he kept trying to kill me because I owned the Sly Biter? Was that why he'd killed Gary? Because of a knife? Baldr had said the Biter turned up when the balance hung precariously, and he'd confirmed what Gary's grandmother had said, about it choosing who carried it. Maybe Odin was systematically eliminating everyone who owned the thing. I should've asked Skuld about the Biter; but talking to Skuld, even for a few seconds at a time, was a soul-shaking experience.

Still, I should've asked.

The idea that Odin might have murdered Gary Vernon over aknife . . .

That brought me squarely back to tomorrow morning. Why had Odin challenged me to a duel- instead of just murdering me-when he knew I wanted to fight him? Was he that confident? Or that skeptical of my chances? I worried over that like a rat with a bone, looking for a trap I knew had to be there. All my plans hinged on whether or not Odincould be killed. I didn't mind taking the risk-or I wouldn't have been where I was-but I would've felt better, knowing. It would have helped to know for sure whether I'd killed Loki's wife, or just injured her. I suppose that made me callous; but certainty beats blind speculation any day.

What if I couldn't kill him?

I wasn't normally so philosophical. All that mead was having an effect, and I wasn't certain it was a good one. I'd accomplished what I had by charging in feet first, and counting the cost later. Changing tactics now might be fatal; but I couldn't afford to ignore the possibility that Odin might not be killable.

I narrowed my eyes, and considered alternative tactics. Maybe I could defeat him without killing him? I snorted. Right. He wasn't about to quit fighting until I was very much the deceased Randy Barnes.

This wasn't getting me anywhere.

I tried to come up with some sort of battle plan, and instead found myself thinking about Skuld, and Loki, and predestination. Maybe it was just the major events that were planned out in advance. Maybe nobody understood the game plan when it came to details. If everything were predestined, then maybe Ragnarokwas inevitable, and maybe Loki being freed was inevitable, and I'd merely been used as a tool of convenience.

I didn't much care for that scenario. Nor did it fit known facts. Obviously, Odin knew at least someof the rules were off; perhaps he knew, too, thateverything was changeable. Given his spy network, even Odin could have figured that out, eventually.

I began to feel a little better. Not much; but a little.

I'd have felt better yet with the Biter in my hand. Funny, how naked I felt without it. I wondered if Gary had felt the same way. He was out there, somewhere, in that vast, dark hall. I wondered if he was awake, too, and what he was thinking. I missed having him around to bounce ideas off, or to offer advice. Right now, I needed Gary Vernon's advice. Nobody on Earth realized it, but I was the only thing standing between them and Odin's version of Ragnarok. That left me holding several billion lives in my water-wrinkled hands.

My lips quirked wryly. If I were Earth's best chance, Earth was in big, big trouble.

Rangrid stirred, and lifted her head. She saw me, and made an unhappy sound in her throat.

"It's time, isn't it?" I asked.

She nodded silently.

"Rangrid-"

"Don't. Please."

She left the tub quietly, and dried herself; then turned and held a clean towel for me. She kissed my lips again, with tears in her beautiful eyes; but she didn't shed them, and her chin came up resolutely, reminding me of someone, from long ago. . . .

She hugged me fiercely. I held her for long moments, with my heart thumping so hard it hurt. I wasn't sure whether she hugged me for comfort, or to offer it, but I wasn't ready to let go yet when she finally pulled away. I cursed Odin and followed her into the bedroom, where she dressed me in battle clothing. It felt alien and awkward. Heavy leather pants and shirt offered minimal protection. Over these went a sword belt, to which I supposed I would hitch some sort of scabbard. I certainly didn't have a sword of my own, and wondered darkly if Odin intended to offer me one. Last came my own boots, carefully cleaned and laced with new leather laces.

"Neither of you will wear armor," she said softly, "for this is a duel of skill, to test your cunning and strength. You will carry a sword; Odin will carry sword and spear."

"Isn't that a little lopsided?"

She bit her lip; then nodded.

"Dammit, Rangrid, this isn't a duel; it's a goddamned execution, and you know it. I've never carried a sword in my life; yet Odin's got his favorite weapons, and twice as many, to boot. Why? He's already got the advantage. Is he that goddamned scared?"

"We need you," was all she would say.

Like bloody hell.

I didn't answer at all. After a moment she crossed the room to a heavy cabinet, where she took out a sword and sheath. She squared her shoulders; then turned and held out the weapon. The gesture was familiar. . . .

Abruptly I knew.

Knew, and hated the very sight of her. The pride in every line of her body was the same. Although the hair that tumbled around her shoulders was golden instead of silver, and lines of age and grief had been erased, all the little familiarities had clicked into place.

It was her.

Ingrid Vernon.

I had spent the night with my best friend's grandmother.

And she worked for Gary's murderer.

"You-"

I couldn't even get the curse out past my throat. I wanted to strike her, punish her for such a cruel deception, for playing games with my life, and Gary's. Everything I'd felt while holding her, while makinglove with her, burned to ashes in an instant.

"You. . .murderous . . .bitch . . .! " I stalked forward, fists clenched- She whipped the sword up between us. Its flashing point stopped me cold. Angry as I was, I wasn't about to get myself killed before my chance at Odin came.

I narrowed my eyes to slits, and calculated my chances of ducking under her guard.Not very damned good . . . She held her distance, but that wicked sword hung poised to strike.

"What's wrong, Rangrid?" I gritted. "Aren't you going to press the attack? Oh, sorry, I forgot.

You're saving me for the boss, aren't you? Just exactly what was your assignment,Mrs. Vernon ? Keep the fool busy screwing his brains out half the night, so he'll be nice and tired for the grand finale? Damn you to hell,did you kill Gary yourself before Sleipnir took him? "

I thought for an instant shewould strike. I hoped she did, so I'd have an excuse to kill her. Rangrid was trembling. Her eyes flashed like the edge of the sword between us.

"I did not kill my grandson!"

"Blow it out your-"

"I DIDN'T KILL HIM!".

Something broke inside her. I could see it snap. The sword point dropped about six inches. She heaved one great sob, and caught it back again, then squeezed shut her eyes. In that instant, I could've taken her. I was ready for just that kind of opening. Ready, and more than capable of snapping her lovely neck in about a quarter of a second. In that moment, killing her would have been easy.

I almost lunged. Almost.

A faint, high moan, and the convulsive swallow that followed it, stopped me. Her hand was shaking despite the steadying weight of the sword. She opened too-bright eyes, and found my gaze. Something told me she knew how close I'd come to testing her speed with that sword. Something else told me she wouldn't have struck.

Which was crazy.

Rangrid was one of Odin's closest allies.

Her voice came at last, so choked I could hardly hear her.

"Did you think the old stories weren't true? Of course we lead mortal lives, take lovers and husbands, give birth to strong warriors, fiery daughters. Your race is stronger and better for it. Not all our sons bleed for the Valfather. . . ."

Her voice strangled.

Mine came out cold, each word a piece of ice dropping into the silence. "Gary wasn't supposed to die."

"No! He was not! I still don't know why Odin took him! It wasn't the righttime . There should have been a wife, children. . . ."

There were no words to express what was inside me. There was nothing in striking range for me to kill. So I bit down on it, and stored it up to give to Odin when the time was right.

"I even went to Skuld," Rangrid said harshly. "I demanded an answer. She wouldn't say anything!

Wouldn'tdo anything. She just looked right through me, like it wasn't my affair. . . ."

Her laugh hurt me.

"Can you imagine," Rangrid said, her voice shattering again on a semihysterical note, "not my affair?" Her eyes met mine again. "Andyou ," she snarled-the sword came up again-"how could you possibly say such things to me? I should havemade Skuld take back the Biter, rather than let it fall to the likes ofyou -"

"Skuld?" I interrupted. "What do you mean? Why would you give the Biter to Skuld?"

Rangrid blinked. "My God. You really don't know what I gave you, do you?"

I very nearly exploded. Instead, I counted to thirty-in German, English, and Spanish, then started over in German, just to be sure-and said, "No. How could I?"The tip of her sword dropped just the tiniest fraction. Rangrid frowned. "Skuld carved the Biter with her own hands, before the Valfather was born."

That explained why it was black. Whatever it had started out as, her hands had burned every millimeter of its surface. A chill settled over me. If Skuld were the living personification of the future, which burned away each second of our lives, what in God's name was the Sly Biter?

Rangrid's voice went bitter again. "All of us, all the valkyries, share that in common with the Biter.

All of us are older than Odin. We rode to battle at Skuld's bidding long before he took over Asgard, long before he tried to banish the Vanir."

She shook wildly tumbled hair across bare shoulders. "He did not succeed! No more than he succeeded in stealing the Biter for himself. I've kept it hidden away in my mortal family for centuries, where not even Hugin and Munin thought to look. After all the centuries we've spent in Valhalla, Odin trusts us valkyries, and never suspected." She sniffed, with a long, long lifetime of disdain in that single sound. "Besides, Skuld is my elder sister. Naturally, when the last of my family died, I took the Biter back to her for safekeeping."

I tried to digest all these bits of news. Shook the wrinkles out of them and put them in perspective with everything else. "And just what did Skuld say when you tried to return it?"

Rangrid frowned. "It didn't make sense, then." She met my eyes, and scowled. "Although it makes too much sense now. Skuld told me a stubborn young fool was going to need it, because he was probably on his way to making some serious enemies."

"Huh." That was putting things mildly.

A tiny vertical line between her brows marred perfection.

"It was so unlike Skuld to say that, too. Strange things are happening in the Worlds. . . ."

"You bet your sweet . . . life."

Skuld's blade-Skuld's!

How had they known the way I would react to Gary's murder? Actually, that was no great mystery. Given the circumstances of Gary's death-and my own peculiar personality-it wouldn't have taken a genius to figure that out. Skuld had made a couple of logical guesses, and tossed the knife into my likeliest path. The Sly Biter had simply hopped aboard my bandwagon, and come along for the ride, lending a hand now and again when I got myself inevitably into trouble.

Quite unexpectedly, I felt a whole lot better. The Biter might not be in my possession, but it wasn't part of my enemy's arsenal. That had to count for something. And Odin was terrified. Rusty tools, abandoned at the foot of the Norns' carved hall, flashed through my memory. I smiled- And Rangrid shuddered.

I glanced into her eyes and a plan took form. "Rangrid, I'm going to ask you a question-and you'd better think very, very carefully before you answer. I'm here for one reason. I doubt I have to tell you what. Odin murdered your grandson, maybe even your son and your husband-are they here, too?" I asked abruptly.

The flinch in her eyes was all the answer I needed.

"Dammit, he's killing the whole world. All nine of them. No more. I'm going to stop him. One way or another. If you support him, then you'd better leave right now. But if you aren't lying to me . . . Well, last nightyou were the one who pointed out you're not like him, right around the time you started gushing about honor. Just now . . ."

What could I possibly say about just now?

"You've put up with his bullshit longer than anybody should ever have to. If I were in your place, I'd want his head on a platter, for what he's done to your family, not to mention all the other people he's murdered-yes, dammit, murdered, don't pretend it's anything else."

She closed her lips over a protest she didn't finish.

"Support me, Rangrid. All I want is a fair chance. For my world."She stared at me. Then slowly, she lowered the sword. Its point dug into the floor. Maybe my plan was working. When she spoke her voice was so soft I had to strain to catch her words.

"I admired you-wanted you-from the moment you came to his grave. You were . . . afire. From within. But held so tightly in check . . ." She shivered. "It terrified me to think what would happen when you let that fire loose. Part of me wanted to see you take on Odin face-to-face; part of me . . ."

She looked up, met my gaze. "I didn't want you to die, too."

I believed her-despite everything-and felt like a heel. There had been that moment, in her living room, when my gaze had locked with hers. . . . For a couple of heartbeats, it was almost like I'd never left Oregon. I found, to my intense shock, that I was still willing to die to give this woman-thisvalkyrie -what she wanted. But not until I'd given Odin what was coming to him.

Rangrid whispered, "My sisters ride for accident victims now. Men who die of poison gases.

Earthquake and flood and fire victims. Hel hates us. We-at least I-hate ourselves, what we've become. But what are we to do? Skuld no longer speaks with us, and Ragnarok is upon us, and we are not ready-"

"Would you be ready anyway?"

"Yes, I-"

I interrupted wearily. "Rangrid, you wouldn't be ready if you had another thousand years. Odin's hell-bent on dying in a blaze of glory and gore. He's dragging you and everything else down with him. Do you really want to die with a sword through your guts? Or drown in your own blood from poison, or have Surt's bully boys burn you alive, and do it so fast you still have time to hold your skin as it falls off- ".

"Stop!" Rangrid was ashen. "Please, stop, I know what Ragnarok will be like, and I know it's hopeless-"

"Then why keep doing Odin's dirty work?"