Hel's eyes narrowed slightly. "What I must know is why you have come to Niflheim. Can you answer that?"
I cleared my throat, and was irritated with myself for having to do so. "I want to speak with Loki."
Hel sat back slightly, which left her face in deeper shadow.
"That is what Baldr said. I did not believe him."
Hel fell silent. I had no idea what to say in response to that. I'd only been telling the truth, after all; sitting here was not my idea. The longer she remained silent, the more I sweat. I caught a glint in her eyes as her look sharpened, and the brief flash of sharp teeth as she licked her lips with the tip of a pointed tongue.
"Precisely what did you want to discuss with my father?"
"I have reasons for wanting information about Sleipnir."
"And those reasons are?"
I had to clear my throat again. "Private."
Her blond eyebrow rose. "I see." She picked up a knife—its handle was carved with scenes of blasted crops, skeletal men and beasts—and cut into a slice of meat on a dish shaped like a starving child's bloated belly. My jaws worked. I clamped them shut on nausea when she bit into the bloody meat and chewed thoughtfully.
"You realize that I am vitally interested in anything to do with Loki?"
I was aware of the reasons, and nodded.
"Good. You do understand why?"
I nodded again. Odin had imprisoned her father. He had also imprisoned her and her two brothers, simply because they were supposed to make trouble at some future, unspecified time. Given the gods' unshakable belief in predestination, I supposed it made sense from their point of view, despite the fact that they themselves believed the action would prove futile. Eventually the siblings—Fenrir and the World Serpent—were supposed to escape. Their wretched treatment ensured a well-whetted appetite for revenge. It looked to me like self-fulfilling prophecy; but then, given what I now knew, it was easy for me to point out what looked like flaws in Odin's thinking.
An idea nudged the fringes of my awareness then; but Hel spoke again, and I couldn't devote any attention to it.
"You are indeed an odd mixture of signals and portents, mortal. I wonder whose side you choose in this conflict? Mine? Or Odin's?"
The name was spat out. Her eyes flashed, daring Baldr to protest. He held silent. Wise man.
I sympathized with her, truly I did. The part of me on the side of justice cried out for the wrong done her to be righted.
Unfortunately, the day Hel's wrongs were redressed, everything I had ever known and loved was supposed to come to a fiery end; a consideration that tended to push me toward Odin's side of the bargaining table—where I emphatically did not want to be.
"Let's say I'm on my side," I answered, forcing a tight smile. Truth, Justice, and the American Way... Gary would've been proud.
She looked at me with astonishment. "Your side?" she echoed. Baldr looked equally baffled.
"Well, my world is caught in the middle, isn't it?"
She started to speak; then stopped and looked thoughtful. Taking another drink from her goblet, she studied my face for a long, tense interval before answering. What she finally said left me cold, sweating, and on my feet.
"I think," she purred, glancing up at me from beneath her eyelashes, "that you are entirely too dangerous to leave running about loose. It has been a long, long time since I took a hero of your strength to my bed, mortal. I think you will find my hall... less unpleasant... once you are dead."
I knew she had a thousand ways at her disposal to do me in right where I stood. And the wonderful knife in my hand wouldn't be the slightest bit of help against most of them. You can't fight off bubonic plague or a heart attack with a knife. Not even a supernatural one. I had to move fast... .
"Look, Hel, before you kill me, there's something you ought to know."
She paused in the act of lifting one slim white hand.
"Yes?" Her red eyes reflected morbid curiosity.
I wanted to glance at Baldr, and didn't dare. "Baldr," I growled, "get the hell out of here, will you? This is between me and her."
He hesitated. Then went without a word spoken. I heard the door thud softly shut behind him. I was alone with Death.
Hel had risen to her feet. She moved around the table toward me; I backed up involuntarily, and swung the knife up between us.
Her lips quirked in amusement. "You are certainly entertaining, mortal, and uncommonly brave; or perhaps merely foolhardy. It is hard to decide which." Her eyes actually twinkled for a moment, looking like flame-shot rubies. "What is so secret that you do not wish Odin's son to hear it?"
Cut the crap and get straight to the point... .
"I don't plan to die yet, Hel, and it's not in your best interest to kill me."
Both her brows soared this time. "Oh?" That came out softly dangerous.
Sweat dripped into my eyes. "You want something I can give you."
Her voice filled the room with threat. "And what can you possibly know of Death's desires?"
I forced a laugh. It sounded one helluva lot braver than I felt. "What does every goddamn god and goddess in the entire stinking Norse pantheon want? Revenge."
"Revenge?" Her eyes narrowed. After a moment, she turned away to pace toward the hearth. Firelight glowed behind her, casting green luminescence through the filmy gown she wore. Firelight highlighted exquisite thighs and hips through sheer cloth rendered virtually invisible. I swallowed hard, and tightened my grip on the Biter. It squeezed back reassuringly.
She turned without warning and fixed me with a cold stare.
"Yes," she hissed quietly, "I do want revenge. Odin tortures my poor brother Fenrir, who did him no harm, and denies me my rightful place in the ruling councils of heaven. I have the dead"—she laughed coldly, and the bitter sound made my flesh creep across my scalp—"but the dead do not swell to near bursting with the lust for life, as I do. Cold lot of miserable, ambitionless slaves..."
She regained her composure and blinked in surprise for a moment. Then her brow furrowed deeply. "You are dangerous."
She reminded me of a cat about to pounce on a hapless beetle.
"Yeah." I grinned, still sweating. "I do believe I am. But not to you."
Her glance swept me from boot soles to crown. "Are you trying to tell me you won't fight to the end of your strength when I come for your soul?"
I managed a nonchalant shrug. "Who says you are going to collect it? I've got several deities vying for that right. Personally speaking, I'm not done with it just yet."
She actually gaped. Then laughed aloud. "Not done with it yet..." She wiped genuine tears from the corners of her eyes. "So tell me, little man," she said, still chuckling, "just what is it you intend to do with your soul while it is still in your possession?"
She hadn't killed me yet. If I could just keep her talking... I remembered somewhat desperately bargaining with Frau Brunner for that knife I'd given Odin. Gary'd told me, "If you could bargain that way when it really counts..."
"You want revenge on Odin. So do I. That makes us allies, not enemies. You're the goddess of death, yes; but only death from accident and sickness and old age. I've got a lot of fight left yet, which means Freyja and Odin both have a stake in me, too. Who knows, I've been so much trouble I might end up getting thrown into Niflhel with all the real badasses."
She smiled coyly. "That could be arranged."
"Huh. I'll bet it could. My point—my first point—is this. You've only got a one-in-three chance of getting hold of me. And if I'm dead, I can't finish what I set out to do."
She nodded impatiently. "Get to your real point. Why should I let you live?"