Hot springs were not uncommon in the Rocky Mountains, of which the Cabinets were a small chunk. Many of them were secrets—there was one in the Marrok’s territory that I was pretty sure only Charles and I knew about. But at the turn of the previous century, building hotels and health spas around largish and safe-ish hot springs had been popular. Most of those naturally occurring hot springs had been considered sacred by the original inhabitants of the land. A place that held the touch of God, by whatever name people addressed him by. Holy.
Holiness was one of those things that I knew when I felt it—but I couldn’t have described it coherently if my life depended upon it. I was unclear if holiness was something that was independent of belief or not. I wasn’t even absolutely certain what it was—a force, a warding, or something else entirely. I did know that it could affect magic strongly, and sometimes unpredictably.
“Someone stole your harp from you and ran to the hot springs, where you couldn’t follow them. The harp and presumably the person or people who stole it from you are at the resort. They can’t leave, and you can’t go in to get it.”
“Yes.”
“You have made it so they cannot leave. They will die. Your harp will stay there, and you will never recover it.”
Hrímnir roared, a sound that carried with it the force of the winter wind. Cold bit at my face and burned everywhere I had skin exposed.
“Unless…” I said, letting my voice trail off.
He turned his head to me, and I felt his attention as a wave of cold. I didn’t shiver, but it took an effort.
“What if we go in and get it for you?” I suggested.
Interlude
Zane“Did you hear that?” Ezra said. “They’ve canceled the flight to Missoula—winter storm.”
A cold chill went up Zane’s spine. They had to make it to the wedding.
“You might not make it to your own wedding, buddy.” Leon’s big grin split his face. “Don’t look like that. Have you even met Tammy? She’s not going to hold the biggest storm in a hundred years against you. You should wait until the weather dies down and go to Hawaii—which is where all December weddings should be held.”
Ezra shook his head. “Nah, this is where generational wealth does its work. Go to it, Zane.” He waved a hand at him, as if inviting him to work real magic.
“I don’t have a wand,” Zane told him, imitating the Harry Potter gesture Ezra had given him.
“Nah,” Ezra said with a grin. “You have real magic. Get your phone out and work your spell.”
With a reluctant smile, Zane pulled out his phone, quickly discovering their flight to Missoula wasn’t the only one canceled. He couldn’t get a flight into Kalispell, Helena, Butte, or Bozeman. Billings was a possibility. When he checked it, Billings was more than five hundred miles from Libby—the nearest town to Looking Glass Hot Springs.
Wealth or not, it was Ezra with his military connections who found a pilot willing to fly into Spokane as long as they didn’t close the airport.
Two hours later they were climbing into a twenty-year-old Cessna 172, having shed most of their luggage.
The pilot gave the three of them an odd look—saying something in Spanish to Ezra, who laughed.
Zane knew they seemed an odd lot. Ezra was a forty-something retired MP and looked it, the son of migrant parents who had grown up working hard and continued to do so. Leon was twenty-seven, and he’d grown up harder than Ezra—whose family was still tight.
Leon was an inner-city kid and wore gang tattoos on his shoulders, though that part didn’t show—much. He’d gotten himself out on scholarships, had a newly minted medical degree, and was working on his internship—the reason that they hadn’t gone to Montana days ago. Medical interns were at the mercy of their programs. Finally, there was Zane himself, who was an advertisement for a life of privilege.
The avenger and the caretaker and the scion. Part of the carefully balanced magical equation that was his destiny. Two years ago, he’d known neither of them—now they were his best friends.
They shouldn’t have been friends at all. But, his inner selves told him, fate was a funny thing. He knew they’d continue to be friends throughout his lifetime. They always did.
Leon caught his elbow. “You okay, Zane?”
“Fine,” he said, planting himself firmly in the here and now. “Let’s get going.”
7
MercyThe storm resumed its fury as soon as the gryphon flew away.
“What do you think?” I asked Adam.
It had been too bad he’d been stuck in wolf form, unable to help negotiate. He was better with words than I was. I hoped I could deliver on my part of the bargain.
“Maybe I should have tried to contact Coyote instead of coming here.” As soon as I said it, I realized that might have been smarter. Instead, I’d dragged Adam out into this storm on a wing and a prayer—and the word of a lying frost giant who lusted after our pack. “Coyote might have been able to free Gary without this journey to winter hell.”
Or not. Coyote was unreliable help at best—and I knew exactly what Gary would say about asking our father for anything. Gary knew Coyote better than I did.
The wolf gave me a sly smile, and warmth blossomed through our bond. Apparently, my husband preferred the path we’d taken. I hoped we could deliver on my promise. Finding a stolen harp and returning it didn’t sound too difficult, given that we knew it was at the resort. I hoped it wouldn’t take very long.
The wind hit my wet jeans, and my toes burned from the cold. My boots were too short, although I wasn’t sure they made boots tall enough for this kind of snow. Snow had snuck in from the top, and my socks had wicked the moisture all the way to the soles of my feet. Adam bumped me toward the SUV.
I shut myself in the blessed warmth of the car, leaving Adam outside to continue his role as guide. My wet jeans clung to my knees, fighting me when I put my foot on the accelerator. Once we left the area Hrímnir had cleared, the snow got deeper. There were a couple of times that even in four-low, I had to back up and hit the drifts at higher speed before the SUV could break through.
We’d traveled another two miles in about twenty minutes when the road made a few sharp turns and ended abruptly in front of a huge log building fronted by a massive porch. A giant rustic sign hung from the rafters in two parts. The top sign read Mountain Home Guest Ranch. A larger sign hung below it, connected by two thick chains. It read Welcome friends.
I turned off the engine and got out of the car. The wind whistled around the buildings, and there were a few shingles on the otherwise pristine white surface. The covered porch had a few feet of wooden planks visible, where the wind had scoured the snow. The rest of it was buried deep. Beyond the ranch house, set at a little distance, was a huge red barn.
“We missed the turnoff for the resort,” I told Adam, who huffed an acknowledgment.
“Since we’re here, I might as well see about those horses that could be tucked up somewhere in the barns.” The horses had been bothering me since the conversation I’d had with the people at the gas station.
It was legitimately an accident that I’d missed the turnoff. But I’d have felt driven to find my way up here tonight anyway. I was here on Gary’s business, and part of that was taking care of his responsibilities.
There were other buildings visible—cabins and garages—but I didn’t care about those. The barn, painted bright red, was maybe a hundred yards behind the main building. I picked it as the most likely place to confine a couple of horses out of the weather. In the summer, the barn was probably a convenient distance from the main building. In knee-high snow with drifts up to my hips, it was a trek.