FAITH IS A SHIELD

When Hugin spoke privately to her master, she used a tongue that was by now just a faint and ancient echo of the modern Norse languages. Actually, she didn't really have to speak at all, but when Odin was Donar Vadderung, he insisted that Hugin and Munin keep to their human roles as much as possible - even when he was alone with them.

It was not Hugin's place to ask why. When the All-Father spoke, she obeyed.

"The Black Court is in disarray," Hugin reported quietly. "Three of them have been destroyed in the last month. They are puzzled by the circumstances."

Odin frowned thoughtfully and leaned back in his chair. They were currently in the Oslo offices of Monoc Securities.

"Are there any common elements to these incidents?" Odin asked.

Hugin nodded quickly, "Yes, sir. All three incidents occurred in the United States. The vampires were apparently hunting when they found their end. Their intended victims survived, but gave the usual confused reports to the mortal authorities. Two of the intended victims were members of the military. The third had been recently discharged."

"Anything else?" Odin asked.

"No, sir. I was not sure if you would find this of interest. Do you wish me to pursue the matter?"

Odin drummed his fingers on his desk. This really wasn't in his purview, but...

But knowledge was power. And the Starless Night was coming. Who knew what information might prove to be valuable when Ragnarok finally arrived?

"Continue investigating," Odin said with a casual wave of his hand. The gesture looked oddly like a falconer releasing his bird.

Hugin left Odin's office.

Hugin started her investigation in a rather direct manner. She tracked down a vampire and beat it into submission. Then she tore steel posts from a nearby chain-link fence and used them to pin the vampire to a masonry wall.

"Finish it, damn you," the beaten and broken vampire whispered pitifully. A blackish granular substance was leaking from its wounds.

Hugin shook her head. "Not yet. Tell me about the vampires of your kind who were recently destroyed. Three of them were killed in just a few weeks."

The vampire looked at Hugin with sunken eyes that were dead and rotting. If physics and biology actually counted for anything with the Black Court, he should have been unable to see.

"I know nothing," it gritted out.

"You will end tonight," Hugin pointed out coldly. "It can be painful or painless. Tell me something useful and I will be quick."

The vampire stubbornly mustered its will and once again tried to mentally dominate Hugin.

"I am an instrument of the All-Father," Hugin snarled with a disdainful shake of her head. "Your tricks mean nothing to me."

The vampire hissed out a long, agonized sigh. Then its head slumped downward.

"Painful or painless?" Hugin repeated.

"Give me your word that I will die easily," the vampire finally said, still looking down at the alley floor.

"I swear on my service to my master," Hugin replied evenly.

The vampire looked back up at Hugin. "What happened to the lost vampires resembled contact with a holy symbol, but our agents among the mortal authorities say no such instrument was involved."

Hugin's eyes narrowed. "A holy symbol?" she repeated slowly.

"Yes. Now do as you promised."

Hugin kept her word.

Of course.

Charlie Ohm was a working-class white guy from Spokane, Washington. He joined the Army because that was what his father and grandfather and great-grandfather did when their country needed them. Charlie knew it wouldn't be easy, but he was proud to continue the family tradition.

But now it was over and Charlie was finished with war and killing. He'd done more than his duty - two tours in Iraq and one in Afghanistan - and now it was time to get on with the rest of his life.

He'd been out for about a year now, and he'd finally found a decent job. His ex-wife was being reasonable and was letting him see their daughter again. He was staying out of fights and the nightmares weren't as bad as they once were. He was even able to spend a night in a local bar and not end up blind drunk.

Charlie figured that his life was finally getting back on track.

And now - the Lord works in mysterious ways - a hottie had struck up a conversation with him. She was gorgeous, with coal-dark hair, cream-white skin, eyes so blue that they were almost purple, and long fingernails that were an oddly steel-like color. Her very short hair wasn't a style Charlie normally found attractive, and maybe she was a little on the skinny side, but he was initially quite happy to chat with her.

Initially.

"You say you're a reporter?" Charlie asked suspiciously as he shifted uneasily in his chair. He was sitting in a local coffee-shop. Lately, Charlie had taken to steering clear of the bars.

"Yes," Hugin replied earnestly. "I am an eager young journalist with a major news entity that is definitely not a blog. I will be intimate with you if you will give me a hot lead for my important scoop of a news story."

Charlie stared at Hugin.

"I will provide sex in exchange for your help," Hugin explained carefully. She wasn't sure if she had been too subtle for Charlie.

"Women who look like you generally don't have time for men like me," Charlie said slowly.

"I like warriors," Hugin replied. Actually, that part was absolutely true.

Charlie smiled and picked up his coffee. "Go away, sweetie. I don't have anything for you."

Hugin blinked in surprise. She really didn't want to beat information out of this half-broken, half-healed soldier.

"I know what you're after," Charlie continued after he took a swallow from his cup. "Some kind of war-crime or scandal. Well, I'm sorry, toots, but I can't help you. The guys I served with weren't saints, but they were definitely straight shooters - in both senses of the phrase. We played by the rules as much as we could."

"I do not want anything like that," Hugin protested.

"So you want the other news story?" Charlie snorted. "The one where I weep and whine about being a poor, pitiful, victim?"

Hugin looked puzzled.

"Well, I'm just fine," Charlie lied to himself, to Hugin, and to the Universe at large. "I'm getting by and nothing that's going wrong in my life is anyone's fault but mine. You want a cry-baby, go talk to someone else. God knows, there seems to be a million of them."

"You misunderstand me," Hugin said quietly.

"Then what do you want?" Charlie asked truculently.

"I understand you were attacked two weeks ago," Hugin replied. "Can you give me details?"

Charlie blinked in surprise. "That business? It... uh... it was just a mugging that didn't work out like the mugger thought it would. He took off when I fought back."

Hugin looked Charlie in the eyes. "At first, you told the police that you killed your attacker. And that he turned to dust," Hugin pointed out.

Charlie licked his lips and seemed to carefully consider his words. "I talked to the cops the next day and told them that I was pretty lit up and saying crazy stuff. They laughed it off and told me it was no problem - they sort of figured that. They said they were glad I was okay and agreed to forget what I'd said. I thought that would be the end of it."

Hugin smiled tightly. "I would like to hear more of the original version of your story."

Charlie's return smile was quite cold. "That version of my story might put me in a psych ward."

"I do not think you are insane," Hugin said quietly.

Charlie stared at Hugin for a long moment. Then he made a decision that he wasn't sure was wise.

Hell, he had to talk to somebody about it. It might as well be this strange lady. Besides, she was such an odd-ball that nothing she could tell anyone else would be taken seriously.

"I was walking home from a bar," Charlie began. "I'd had a few too many and didn't think it was smart to drive. Then this guy who stank like an open grave came out of a dark side-street and jumped me. He was stronger than hell - he threw me around like I was a kid. Then he pinned me to the ground, tore off my shirt, and went for my throat."

Charlie paused, waiting for Hugin's reaction.

"Go on," Hugin said. She seemed more interested than anything else.

Charlie looked away. Then he shook his head and continued. "There was a flash of light and the bastard screamed. He screamed so loud I thought my eardrums might bust. Then he jumped away from me and started running. For some reason, he ran right into a brick wall and knocked himself flat- put a good-sized dent in the wall, too. And one of his hands... well, it looked like it had burned away. It was the damndest thing. That was when I finally got a good, long, look at the guy. He was like a week-old corpse. And trust me, I know what a dead body looks like."

"What did you do?" Hugin probed.

"I beat his skull flat with a loose brick," Ed said calmly. "Whatever the fuck he was, I didn't want him going for someone else - like maybe a woman or a kid."

Hugin nodded. "That was a wise decision."

Charlie smiled bitterly into his coffee, but then went back to his tale. "But he didn't turn into dust. It was more like sludge. It was kind of green and black and filled with dark chunks. I showed it to the cops after they showed up, but they didn't believe me."

Hugin nodded again. "Do you have any idea what happened to the... man... who attacked you? What drove him away? What burned off his hand?"

Charlie just shrugged.

Hugin thought for a moment. "Could you take off your shirt?" she eventually asked.

Charlie raised an eyebrow at Hugin.

"Please?" Hugin added awkwardly, as if courtesy was a slightly foreign concept to her.

"You're weird, you know that?" Charlie said as he wondered why he was cooperating. Then he unbuttoned his shirt and let it hang open. No way he was taking it off in a public place. He like this coffee-shop. He didn't want to get thrown out.

Hugin stood next to Charlie and shifted his shirt around, checking out his chest, stomach, back, and upper arms. The young lady tending the counter and several customers watched curiously, but said nothing.

"Interesting tattoo," Hugin said eventually, pointing roughly in the direction of Charlie's heart.

Charlie smiled. "I like it."

Hugin gazed at the tattoo for a moment. "Did the creature who attacked you touch it?"

Charlie opened his mouth. Then he paused. Then an odd look came over his face. "You know... I think he did."

"Thank you," Hugin said. "Where should we have sex? Do you live nearby? Or would the bathroom be fine?"

Charlie actually laughed. "Look, sweetie, but that's not gonna happen. I'm sort of hoping to get back with my ex-wife. She flipped when I volunteered to stay in Iraq for a second tour, but I think she's coming around. So please don't be offended, but no thanks."

Hugin nodded.

Pity.

Sergeant Hector Martinez was from Austin, Texas and joined the Army because he was hoping for... for... something. Something better than a crappy, minimum-wage job and hanging out with high-school 'friends' who were obviously just a pack of losers increasingly adrift in the loser's world of drugs and petty crime.

Actually, what Hector was really looking for was some kind of structure in his life. And he found it during a tour in Afghanistan. A lot more structure than he bargained for, as a matter of fact. However, he did his job and eventually made some rank - and now the kids in his squad looked up to him and his seniors trusted him.

Hector had found a place for himself. It wasn't a perfect place, but what was?

Another twenty-five years and Hector would be able to retire. However, he would still be young enough to find something additional to do with his life. He just had to make sure that in the interim his path didn't intersect with some flying shrapnel or high-explosives.

Hector was taking a chance and he knew it, but it seemed like a fair deal. Hector didn't like to make a production about it, but he was a brave man.

When the crazy reporter girl said she'd trade sex for a story, Hector was more than a little surprised. He'd never been more than moderately talented with the ladies - and this one was beautiful.

Eventually, they ended up in a cheap motel. Hector had offered to take the girl someplace nicer, but she said she didn't mind.

"Wow," Hector said slowly as he peered breathlessly up at the ceiling. Then he let out a long sigh as he wiped sweat from his short hair. He was in pretty good shape, but this lady had just given him quite the workout.

"That was... something else," he told Hugin - meaning every word.

"Thank you," Hugin said as she turned on her side to face Hector.

"Are you some kind of enemy spy, or something?" Hector guessed. "If you are, I really don't know anything all that secret. You really should talk to an officer instead."

Hugin smiled for a brief moment. "You were attacked a few days ago?" she asked.

Hector made a face. "Oh... that. Yeah, some guy jumped me. He was way stronger than he looked."

"What happened?" Hugin asked.

Hector looked into Hugin's eyes - they were really lovely - and smiled. "It didn't work out for him."

Hugin traced a finger along one of Hector's biceps. He had a tattoo there. As her finger touched it, she drew back. She could feel the thrum of power in the tattoo. Just like with Charlie.

Interesting.

Lance Corporal Lisa Chance was a compact and sturdy black girl from a tiny town in Georgia. While talking earlier, Lisa had given Hugin a long list of practical and responsible reasons for joining the Marine Corps. However, Hugin believed none of it. It was obvious to her that Lisa had actually joined the Corps because she was going to prove to the whole damned world - and her daddy in particularly - that she was a bad-ass.

Lisa hadn't seen war yet, but it was coming. The rumors that her unit was going to be deployed had just ceased to be rumors. Being a Marine and the toughest of the tough-girls, Lisa couldn't admit to anyone that she was scared. So instead she found a quiet place to have a drink or two. Then she met a pretty girl with somewhat parallel tastes.

Things developed from there.

Hugin slipped out of bed. Lisa stirred a bit and then rolled over onto her stomach as she sleepily reached out for her bed-partner.

Standing over the bed, Hugin gazed down at the woman - the girl, really - that was laying in it.

Hugin's expression was almost sad. The stories were the same, over and over down through the millennium. So were the reasons: duty, honor, family, faith, country, self-esteem, arrogance, greed, glory, cruelty, and escape.

And sometimes, it was all just for three meals a day and place to lay your head.

Those were the reasons warriors marched off to their battlefields.

Hugin carefully shifted the blanket away from Lisa's upper body. The tattoo was there, on one of her shoulder blades.

Hugin bent over and kissed Lisa on the small of her back. Still asleep, Lisa murmured approvingly.

Sitting down on the edge of the bed. Hugin allowed her thoughts to drift.

In Hugin's dark and predatory mind, Odin's eye turned towards her.

*I have found something,* Hugin reported, *but I do not know what it is.*

Odin liked to walk among mortals, but he didn't have many opportunities to do so. The world was both bigger and smaller in this day and age, and that limited the time and choices available even to him.

On the other hand, McAnnally's Pub served a pretty good beer. And Odin knew he could find someone there.

There was no particular reaction when Odin entered the bar - except from Dresden and Ramirez. They were at a table in the back of the room, sharing a beer and quietly discussing the sort of things that a pair of White Council Wardens were inclined to discuss in this decadent excuse of an age. Things like conspiracy, sedition, and treason.

Unlike almost everyone else in the bar, Dresden and Ramirez knew who they were looking at. They both froze, but otherwise did a commendable job of not showing fear - Dresden more than Ramirez, of course. After all, Ramirez was younger and didn't have Dresden's oft-times suicidal need to piss-off the powerful.

Odin didn't bother to ask permission, he just sat down at their table. Mac also didn't bother asking - a beer appeared in front of Odin without any delay. Odin flipped Mac an ancient coin as he idly wondered what Dresden knew about Mac.

Probably nothing, but that wasn't why Odin was here. He needed a different answer.

From the interior pocket of his coat, Odin pulled out a piece of paper, unfolded it, and put it in the center of the table. It was a sketch that Hugin had drawn and then carefully colored in. She had a surprisingly deft hand for someone who didn't really have hands.

"What is it?" Odin asked.

Dresden glanced down and frowned. Ramirez tore his gaze away from Odin and also looked down. Then he blinked and switched his gaze to Harry. Both men obviously recognized the symbol, but Ramirez was deferring to his friend.

"Why do you want to know?" Dresden asked.

Odin tried not to smile. Sometimes even he had to pay Harry's pain-in-the-ass tax.

"Mortal lives may depend on it," Odin replied. He didn't bother to explain further. He'd paid the tax, and now Harry would cooperate or pay the consequences.

Dresden's eyes narrowed as he stared at Hugin's drawing. "It's a shield," he said.

Odin could see how that might be. The modern age didn't have much of a use for them, but Odin had spent untold years seeing men carry round-shields into battle. However, the design on the shield - the central star and the bright circular bands - was far too colorful for Odin's taste. It was the sort of thing a man only carried if he wanted to be seen. Perhaps if he wanted enemies to concentrate on him instead of his fellows.

It was the shield of either a very brave man or a very stupid man. Odin somehow sensed that in this particular case, it was the former rather than the latter.

"Who wields this shield?" Odin asked as he approvingly took another sip from his beer. He really had to get to Mac's more often.

"He's called Captain America," Dresden answered.

"His real name is Steve Rogers," Ramirez interjected suddenly.

Odin glanced at Ramirez. The boy tensed, swallowed hard, and carefully met Odin's gaze.

This one bears watching, Odin thought to himself. Dresden does seem to attract some remarkable people.

Odin tossed another gold coin onto the table.

"Have a round on me," he said. Then Odin got to his feet.

"He isn't real," Dresden added.

Ramirez nodded his head jerkily in agreement. "Captain America is a fictional character from comic books. And the movies."

Odin smiled at the conceit of the young. "Oh, he's real. Very real indeed. So real that who he is and what he represents has become a thing of power to some."

Still sipping from his bottle, Odin left the pub. The mystery was settled and now he had places to be.

And - once again - Odin had been reminded just how powerful of a force human faith and belief could be.

Behind Odin, Harry and Carlos looked at one another.

"What the hell?" Carlos said. It was partially a question and partially just a statement of confused amazement.

Harry shrugged helplessly as he finished off his beer.

Carlos looked at the door Odin had just exited by. "Chris Evans must have some fans he doesn't know about."

Mac brought two more beers to them, but left Odin's coin on the table.

The coin had changed. In the center was a star. And around it were three concentric circles.