Winter Lost

He’d had a lover in Europe who played the harp and taught him a little. A small skill that Gary had pursued whenever the whim took him. As his father said of one of Gary’s half brothers, “Of course he’s an extraordinary idiot. Take any skill and add years of practice and you get extraordinary.” Modesty not being one of Gary’s virtues, he knew he was a good harpist. He enjoyed it all the more because he didn’t look like someone who would play a harp. Guitar, maybe, but not a harp.

It amused him that the harp, which all but vibrated with the magic it held, took so much tuning, as if it were an ordinary harp with new strings. But eventually he was satisfied.

He put his fingers to the strings and started to play.

Fiddly to tune it might have been, but the sound it made was extraordinary. Eventually, he lost himself to the music.

He didn’t even hear the snowmobile. The first hint that the owner of the cabin was back was Garmr’s cold nose on his bare foot. Without slowing his fingers, Gary smiled at the dog, who wagged his tail happily in return.

When the door opened and Hrímnir stepped inside in a wave of cold air, Gary did cease playing, stopping the strings with a careful hand.

“I didn’t expect to see you back here,” said the frost giant, closing the door.

Gary didn’t know if he was happy to see that Hrímnir was in his most human shape or not. The frost giant was smarter and more rational like this than in any other of his many forms, but Gary wasn’t sure that would work in his favor.

“I came to apologize,” Gary said. “I feel I owe you that.”

“Sorry you stole the harp?”

“The lyre,” Gary said. “I’m not sure I could have sneaked out with something this big. But no. I’m not sorry I stole it. My father didn’t tell me everything, but he does not lie to me. It was necessary for me to steal the lyre.”

“Then what are you sorry for?”

Gary couldn’t read Hrímnir’s tone or expression, but Garmr, with his nose resting firmly on Gary’s left foot, wasn’t alarmed.

“I’m sorry I hurt you,” he said. He stood up and set the harp gently on the floor. Then he took two steps forward, rose on his toes, and kissed Hrímnir lightly.

Big arms closed around him, and Gary felt a wave of relief. He was forgiven, it seemed.

“I am leaving soon,” the frost giant told him. “It is time for me to find a new place.”

“I will not stay,” Gary said, thinking of Honey. Then, choosing words the frost giant would understand, words Hrímnir himself had given him, Gary said, “I am fated for other things. Another person.”

Hrímnir nodded. “But not today.”

“Until you have to leave,” Gary said solemnly.

“Yes,” agreed the frost giant in a voice like the wind in the trees. “Until I leave.”

Epilogue

Mercy

We headed home two days later—as soon as the roads looked passable. We had to guess because neither the Internet nor any of the cell phones, sat phone or not, were working yet. Probably some lingering effect of the storm or the marriage interfering. The lodge’s landline hadn’t worked in years.

As we drove through Libby, its citizens in the process of digging themselves out, Adam asked, “When do you think we’ll start forgetting the wedding?”

“I don’t think we will,” I told him. “I talked to Liam about it before the wedding.” I’d told him what Hrímnir had told me in the barn. “He thinks that because of the spark of divinity I carry because of who my father is, the forgetting part of the spell won’t affect me. He was pretty sure that our bond would keep you from forgetting, too.”

Adam’s shoulders relaxed a little. “Good. Having Sherwood in the pack makes the thought of someone altering my memories unwelcome.”

“Doesn’t it,” I agreed.

It wasn’t until we came down from the mountains at Bonners Ferry that our phones started working. We took turns returning calls.

I wasn’t surprised to hear that my brother had recovered just fine. He’d headed out as soon as they opened the interstate, and we’d probably pass him at some point. Mary Jo was still fighting with Renny, but Honey thought that relationship might still go somewhere, because people like Renny weren’t quitters. In New Mexico, Darryl and Auriele had killed the bad guys in a way that wouldn’t get anyone in trouble and were headed home.

“The upshot,” I said when we were done making calls, “is that the pack, your business, my business, and the Tri-Cities all survived us being away. It’s kind of lowering finding out we aren’t as important as I thought we were.”

Adam laughed. The winter sun struggled through the frost-edged windshield to love my husband’s face. I really didn’t care that he was beautiful—but I wasn’t blind.

“I love that dimple,” I told him, reaching out to touch his face.