Winter Lost

On the other side of the parking lot there was a lake, or at least a very large pond—it was hard to be sure in such poor visibility. It was bitterly cold but the water at the edge of the parking lot was not frozen. A vast wall of mist rose up, like a great white dragon obscuring the view of the shoreline nearest the resort as well as the edge of that giant old building.

I waded through the parking lot snowdrifts and almost bumped into a sign that told me I stood on the shore of Looking Glass Lake. It also advised me not to swim in the lake, as the hot springs could be dangerous.

In my experience, hot springs were usually just that. Small pockets of water bubbling up from the ground steaming hot. Sometimes there were lots of pockets of water. Here, apparently, those pockets were underneath the lake.

The resort—which is what the locals had called it at the gas station in Libby—had been built on the edge of the lake. The building was half-obscured by darkness, storm, and mist, but it didn’t look like a resort to me. It had the spare, efficient lines of something erected with an eye to efficiency—probably at least a century ago.

And it was haunted.

I tried to pretend that the wisps drifting between me and the building were just an effect of the hot springs, but I could hear their quiet, ghostly voices. A lot of people had died here at one time or another. I eyed the rectangular building and thought sanatorium or hospital—and the label fit.

A random swirl of wind allowed the bare bones of a wraparound porch to emerge briefly from the mist and shadows, hinting at a past or possibly future attempt to soften the stark lines as the narrow white boards it was sided in did not. The roof of the porch was completely gone, but from the winter-dormant wood that draped over the structure, some kind of climbing plant grew over the frame in the summer.

Maybe if it had been daylight or if the numerous lights around the parking lot and building were lit, it would have looked more welcoming. As it was, three floors of blank windows stared out at me in a way that did not feel friendly. I could not imagine seeing this place and thinking, “This is where I want my wedding to be held.”

Hrímnir had called this a holy place and a refuge. I’d been given the word “sanctuary” by whatever being claimed this location. Sanctuary, in the medieval meaning of the word, had been both holy and a refuge. Historically, a person who had been given sanctuary could not be arrested as long as they stayed upon the holy ground. In real life, of course, this had been more true in some times and in some places than in others. But the tradition still lingered in modern times, culturally if not legally.

It didn’t look like a safe place. Unease finally got the better of me and I retraced my path through the snow to the SUV, putting it at my back so I could watch the lake.

I wondered what the clear warning I’d been given that this was a sanctuary would mean for our quest. Recovering stolen property shouldn’t be a problem. Hopefully, we wouldn’t need to hurt anyone. I tried not to wonder what Hrímnir would do after he got his harp back. Somehow, I couldn’t see him just letting the thief go—even if we did have a bargain. The frost giant wasn’t fae; maybe he wasn’t bound the way a fae would see themselves bound. What would I do if I brought the harp back to Hrímnir and he didn’t take the spell off Gary? Maybe if I proved Gary hadn’t done it?

He was my brother. I wanted to think he would never have been so stupid as to steal an artifact from a frost giant, but I couldn’t manage that.

I rubbed my face with cold hands. If I wasn’t going to use my gloves, I should have just left them at home. I remembered that I’d intended to grab our luggage, but I couldn’t make myself turn my back on the hot springs. Something out there was watching us. I squinted, but I couldn’t see anything.

I put my hip against the quarter panel of the SUV for the connection to Adam—it felt like it was taking him forever to change. In the dark, with the SUV’s tinted windows, I couldn’t see him, but the subtle rocking of the vehicle told me he was in there.

I pulled out my phone, but was unsurprised to see that I still had no reception. I couldn’t look this place up on the Internet. Or contact Honey or Mary Jo to check on Gary. We weren’t cut off, I reminded myself. We could use Adam’s sat phone.

Cold seeped up from the damp legs of my jeans and into my bones.

Eventually the door behind me opened and shut. Safely back in his human body, Adam nudged my shoulder with his own.

“Let’s get you out of the cold,” he said.

He grabbed his duffel and my backpack and took the lead on the way to the main entrance. I was braver with him, so I could take my attention off the lake and look at his backside instead. The jeans he wore weren’t as good as the ones he’d destroyed, but the view was still nice. I trekked behind him, in the path through the drifts that he made, humming an old carol softly to myself.