"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 a knife...
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 Odin could 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 Ragnarok was 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 some of the rules were off; perhaps he knew, too, that everything 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 <MI>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 making love 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?"