Midnight Rescue
I guessed that Marissa must have found time that afternoon to have a talk with Belle,
for that night before bed, my daughter told me that she and the bareback rider had a most
interesting discussion regarding men.
"She seemed to think I was suffering from a broken heart, Father," Belle said
pointedly. "I wonder who gave her that idea?"
"I did. It wasn't intended, it just, uh, slipped out," I said lamely. "I figured it might
do you good to get a woman's perspective. That it would help you, uh, decide what you're
going to do about Leif when we finally find him. Did you find Marissa's advice to be
helpful?"
"Actually, I did. And when we finally do find the scoundrel, I'm going to ask him a
number of very pointed questions," my daughter said with a determined glint in her eye.
Then she cocked her head and said, "She told me you're letting her ride Heror in her
performance tomorrow night."
"Her horse went lame and Heror's the only horse we've got that can do the maneuvers
she requires," I answered softly.
"And is that the ONLY reason, Father?" Bella asked sweetly.
"What's that supposed to mean, you impudent child?"
"You never let anyone ride your horse, Father. Remember, you told me once that
Heror is a horse who only tolerates a single rider—you. But he allowed Marissa to ride him.
He told me you insisted. He also told me she was quite a lady and you were to be
commended in your choice of women."
"He said what?" I gaped. "Why that—that impudent, stupid—he's got some nerve!"
I sputtered angrily.
"Why Father, I've never seen you get so . . .agitated over a woman before," Belle
teased, smirking. "Could it be that Heror's right? That you do have . . .feelings for Miss
Turner?"
I glared at her. "That, young lady, is none of your damn business."
"Mimir's Well, but I think you're actually in love with her!" Belle cried. "How
wonderful."
"Oh, shut up, Belle. There's nothing wonderful about it. It's a love doomed to
failure." I snapped bitterly.
"But why? Marissa seems like a good match for you. She's smart and funny and
compassionate and she loves animals and—"
"Stop!" I held up a hand before she could go on listing all of Marissa's considerable
virtues. "I know all of that, you interfering minx. I also know that she's mortal and a love
between a human and an immortal is always doomed to failure. It just doesn't work."
"Who says?"
"Everyone. Remember all your legends, Belle. Zeus and Semele, Brunhilda and
Sigurd. No one I've ever known who's ever loved a mortal has ever managed to have a happy
lasting relationship. Someone always ends up hurt in the end."
"Then why don't you make her immortal?"
I groaned. "You say that like it was as easy as my changing an apple into a pear. It
isn't, my girl. In order for me to do that, I need permission from Odin, and the last time he
gave permission for a mortal to become one of us was over five centuries ago. Not only that,
but the mortal has to be told everything about us and agree to keep all she knows secret. And
finally, in order to make someone immortal requires a very great sacrifice on the part of the
immortal. It means I'd have to give up part of my power, part of my very soul, to make her
one of us. Which is something I'd only agree to if I truly loved her."
"Well, don't you?"
I sighed. "I don't know. I like her, but I don't know if I trust her with all I am. And
I don't have time to find out. The end of the month is drawing near. We've only got a few
more days, then I make my move and take Gungnir and we go back home."
"What about Leif?" she demanded. "I'm not leaving until I speak with him,
wherever he is."
"Belle . . ."
"No, Father. I mean to settle this once and for all. I won't throw away my heart and
then spend the rest of eternity regretting it like you did."
"I never threw my heart away," I cried.
"Not yet, but if you leave without Marissa you will be," Bella said quietly. "And
you'll regret it forever. Trust me on that. I've Seen it."
"You had a vision of me and Marissa?"
She nodded solemnly. "But even if I didn't, I know she's meant for you."
"Really? And what makes you an expert?"
"I'm a woman," was all she said. Then she kissed me on the cheek and said she was
going to bed.
I stayed up and drank tea and brooded, scowling into my teacup. But I've never been
much of a diviner, and all I saw was a bunch of wet tea leaves. First Heror, then Bella. Had
everyone I knew been bitten with the romance bug? I wondered sourly, then I thanked the
Norns that Olga and Ava weren't here, because they'd probably have agreed with them,
seeing as both of them were female and incurable romantics. No doubt Flicker would put her
two cents in tomorrow morning when I fed her as well.
I snorted in disgust. All of them were crazy. Marissa didn't love me. Or did she?
More to the point, did I love her? I shivered, for I wasn't sure if I wanted to know the answer
to that question. Yet deep inside, my traitorous heart whispered that I did, and that terrified
me.
Marissa's performance the following night was a thing all who saw it would
remember for all of their lives, never to be forgotten. Her final trick off my cantering black
stallion, a triple backwards somersault done from a poised stance on his back brought the
audience to their feet with gasps and the roars of approval when she landed perfectly
balanced on the ground behind Heror's flowing tail. They'd never seen such splendid daring,
such pure grace, and aerial perfection.
To tell the truth, neither had I.
Indeed, I applauded and shouted as loudly as any when she took her final bow in the
center ring. The center ring, by the way, is only given to the top performers in the
circus—those with the best acts and sure to draw a large and enthusiastic crowd. Performers
like Marissa and the Flynns. And Belle and myself, whose magic act continued to hold
people spellbound, as well as it ought to. Mere human stage magicians have nothing on yours
truly, even when I'm only using sleight-of-hand techniques. Nothing beats several centuries
of practice.
Matthew said later that Marissa's performance on Heror was nothing short of divinely
inspired. He was right, though not in the way he thought. I had no time to congratulate her,
however, since my magic act was up next.
Dressed in my familiar black ensemble, I waited in the wings for Matthew to
announce me, while Belle set up our props in the ring. I gave my usual eye-popping, heart-
stopping performance, though I was not quite up to form on some of my more elementary
tricks, since my mind insisted on replaying how Marissa looked balancing on one foot, her
glorious dark hair flying behind her like a living curtain of ebony.
Not that the audience noticed, though my daughter did give me several pointed
glances whenever our eyes met, making me flush like a schoolboy who's forgotten his lines
in front of the class. Angrily, I pushed all thoughts of Marissa out of my head and
concentrated on my act.
But once it was over, I sought Marissa's wagon to give her a proper congratulations
on a phenomenal performance. I didn't even bother to strip off my cape or change out of my
costume. The only thing I did do was remove my white gloves and tuck them into a pocket.
The night was cool and the moon was a three-quarter orb above my head, providing
plenty of light to find my way inbetween all the circus wagons. Not that I really need the
moonlight, for as an immortal I have very good night vision, as good as any cat or predator
that hunts in the dark. My act had lasted maybe an hour to an hour and a half at the most,
plenty of time for Marissa to rub Heror down and picket him by my wagon and return to her
own for a cooling drink and a change of costume as well.
Normally I would have stayed to watch the Flynns' performance, as Belle had, but I
wanted to speak to Marissa alone and thus I left as soon as I could get away. As I threaded
through the darkened wagons, I listened to the myriad sounds of the night—the croaking of
toads, the whine of mosquitoes, the soft whuffle of horses grazing nearby. Further back, I
could hear the crowd yelling and clapping as one of the acrobats performed some insane
tumbling routine upon the tightrope. Or at least, it looked insane, I amended. I knew that
Marco carefully choreographed all their routines to ensure the maximum safety of all his
family during a show. Not only that, but all of them wore nearly invisible wires upon their
persons when they danced on the tightrope, just in case one of them did slip, the wire would
prevent them from hitting the ground.
As I neared the western end of the circle of wagons, I heard a woman's voice raised
in anger, followed by a man's harsh bark of laughter. Frowning, I went forward, for I was
quite certain the voice was Marissa's. I didn't recognize the man's, but it made all the hairs
on the back of my neck prickle in warning.
I could see the bright circle of a lantern hung in the window of Marissa's wagon,
which had the door half open as well. That was definitely not a good sign. I quickened my
pace, alarm racing through me.
There came the sharp crack of a hand striking flesh, followed by a man's soft snarl.
"What the bloody blazes was that for, Rissa?"
"Get out, Mr. Tims. Before I have you arrested," Marissa's voice floated to me, sharp
with anger and outrage. But beneath the anger I caught the unmistakable tang of fear.
"Arrested? Me? For what? Stealing a few kisses?" he chuckled. "Girl, you've got
another thing coming if you think the law in this town will do anything to me."
"What do you mean, sir?"
"It's amazing how a little thing like a few dollars in the right hands will get you the
freedom to do what you want, even out here," Tims was boasting.
"I should of known scum like you wasn't above bribery," Marissa snorted. "But if the
sheriff won't do his job, my father will once he learns of your despicable behavior tonight.
I suggest you pack your bags, sir, because your employment with this company is over."
"Like hell it is!" Tims roared. "You breathe one word about this and I'll—"
He never finished his sentence for in the next instant I had him by the back of the
neck, hauling him out of the wagon to land in the dust before me.
Dazed and befuddled, reeking of cheap whiskey, he gazed at me in shock.
"You'll what?" I asked in a deadly soft tone, my eyes blazing with all the thwarted
fires of hell. "Strangle her? Rape her? Beat her brains in? Not at all the act of a gentleman,
Mr. Tims. But then, I've never thought you were one."
He scrambled to his feet then, giving me a furious glare. "What's the big idea,
magician? Me and Rissa were havin' a private conversation, you had no call to do what you
did."
"Didn't I? Fortunately for you, I got here before you tried anything with her. I
distinctly recall the lady telling you to leave and you refused. Again, not the act of a
gentleman. But then you're not one, despite your fancy clothes and fine airs. You're nothing
but a two-bit con artist on the make, Tims. How long have you been skimming profits? One
year, two? Oh, don't bother to deny it, sir, I know a liar when I see one."
Tims was sweating now, probably wondering how in God's name I'd found him out.
But he was too stupid or too proud to admit defeat. "You don't know anything, you
Scandinavian freak. You won't be able to prove anything either. You or the frigid bitch in
the wagon."
Hearing him call Marissa that made my blood boil. Furious, I clenched a fist. But
before I could let it fly, Tims reached into a pocket and pulled out a revolver.
"Don't move, Sigurdson. Get your hands in the air where I can see 'em. That's good.
Not so bold now, are we, magician? Don't got anything to say now, do you? No fancy tricks
to pull out of your magic hat this time. Too bad!"
Behind him, I heard Marissa gasp. I kept my hands in the air as he'd ordered, letting
him think he'd won. Were I a normal man, he would have. But I was no helpless mortal and
I needed nothing save my will to work my magic.
I made the handle of the gun too hot for Tims to hold.
He dropped it with a howl, clutching his seared hand.
Then I moved, slamming him in the jaw with my best haymaker.
He went down like a shot and did not move.
"Dear God. Is he dead?"
I glanced up at Marissa, who was silhouetted in the open door of the wagon, her
brown eyes wide with alarm and the dregs of anger and panic.
"No. Just knocked out." I kicked the still smoking gun away from the prostrate Tims.
"How did that happen?" she asked, coming down the folding stairs to peer at the
firearm.
I wrapped my hand in a fold of my cape and picked up the gun before she could
examine it too closely. "No idea. Must have been defective. Lucky for me." I slipped the
gun in a pocket of my cape. "You all right? He didn't hurt you, did he?"
Her lower lip trembled, but she answered calmly enough, "No, thank God. Though
not for lack of trying." She wrapped her arms about herself and shivered. "If you hadn't
come along when you did, Loki . . ."
"Hush," I whispered, reaching out a finger to catch a tear that had fallen onto her
cheek. "I did and you're safe now. I promise you that, Marissa Turner."
She gazed up at me, vulnerable as a lost lamb. "I never liked him, but I never thought
he'd stoop to—to murder and—and rape and bribery."
"Desperate men do desperate deeds," I said softly, wanting to reach out and take her
in my arms, but afraid to do so after what had almost occurred.
"He probably had gambling debts or something. His kind always do," she said with
a faint bitter note in her voice. "He always did like to spend a night or two in town at the
tables. I overheard Pa giving him hell about it once." Another tremor shook her. "And to
think he wanted me . . .he expected I would . . .the vile, stinking, low-down, miserable
bastard!" her voice broke on that last word and she stamped over to give the comatose man
a kick, looking down at the ground so I wouldn't see the tears in her eyes.
Her attempt to retain a portion of her dignity touched me more profoundly than a
spate of tears would have. I longed suddenly to wake up the miserable bastard just so I could
have the pleasure of pummeling his sorry ass into oblivion all over again. The mere thought
of him putting his greasy paws on her made me long to have Mjolnir or Baldur's sword in my
hand, so I could smash his skull in or cut him to pieces. In that instant I reverted to the
savage ferocity of my Aesir kin, and had I not been restrained by circumstances and the
woman by my side, I might well have gone for the knife I carried in my boot and allowed the
dark fury welling up in me free reign.
An instant later I quenched the darkness with my implacable iron will and turned to
Marissa, who was shivering and sniffling, reaction overwhelming the anger she'd displayed
earlier. "We should tie him up," I said quietly, half-reaching out to her.
"Yes," she said softly, then she moved to stand within the curve of my arm.
I reacted instinctively and my arm wrapped about her slender waist, drawing her
against me. The top of her head barely came up to my chin. She said nothing, merely nestled
against me like a child seeking solace from the dark.
For several long moments we stood there, our breath and our heartbeats mingling. I
felt the tension coiled inside her body flow away and she relaxed against me. Then she
shifted, tilting her head up to look into my eyes.
"I owe you my life, Loki."
"No. I did what any decent man would do upon seeing a lady in distress," I answered.
"You owe me nothing save what you choose to give me, Marissa."
"Thank you for that," she said, then she kissed me.
It was tentative at first, and I recognized immediately that she'd never kissed a man
before. That I was her first both humbled and delighted me. I let her lead, then when I was
sure it was what she wanted, I kissed her back, one sweet kiss of desire that promised many
more to come.
I drew back then, all too aware that my control was not what it should be. And I had
no intention of taking advantage of her any further. "Well, I came here to congratulate you,
not play a knight in shining armor," I joked, releasing her from my embrace. "Lucky for you,
I'm adaptable, Miss Turner."
She smiled at that. "Lucky doesn't begin to describe it, Mr. Sigurdson."
"Why don't you go on inside and make yourself a cup of tea?" I suggested. "I'll finish
dealing with Billy the Kid here. Do you have an extra coil of rope around here?"
She rummaged about beneath the wagon bed for a few moments, emerging
triumphantly with a dusty coil in her hand. "This should do." She tossed to me.
I caught it deftly, then proceeded to truss up Tims like a Sunday turkey dinner.
"There! He won't be able to wriggle out of that anytime soon," I said, dusting off my hands.
"Good. I'll inform my father of the varmint's actions after I've had that cup of tea
you mentioned. Care to join me?"
"It'd be my pleasure," I said, and gave her a smooth bow, my eyes twinkling.
I followed her up the stairs into her wagon, seating myself at the small table while she
put the kettle on. I fished the gun from my cape, it had now cooled, and set it on the table.
"Make sure you give this to your father when you tell him about Tims."
"I will." She eyed the gun with distaste. "Figures a snake like him would be packing.
When I saw him pull that revolver, Loki, I thought for sure we were both dead." She closed
her eyes and I winced at the pain on her face.
"Good thing the gun backfired then," I reminded her. "I'm not too good at mending
bullet holes."
"How can you joke about this? He almost . . ."
"Almost only counts in horseshoes, Marissa. And it's better to laugh about it than to
cry, isn't it?"
Slowly, she nodded. "I guess. But I've never been so scared in my life. Not even
when a rattlesnake almost bit Pa."
"Want to know a secret? Me either."
"You sure didn't act like it."
"I know better than to show fear in front of a predator. Though I have to admit, I
probably could have wrestled the gun from him if I'd had to. He was drunker than he looked.
Even if he'd shot at me, he probably would have missed."
"Still, I'm glad he never got the chance. A bullet hole would have ruined your
costume considerably," she teased back.
"Definitely." I chuckled. I had to admire her spirit. Most women would have been
crying hysterically after what she'd been through tonight, not trading quips with her rescuer.
The kettle began to whistle and Marissa rose to remove it from the stove and pour it
into two mugs. Soon the heady aroma of mint tea pervaded the small wagon. I added a few
lumps of sugar to mine and stirred it, then sipped it. "Ah! Fit for the gods."
Marissa raised an eyebrow. "Thank you. I always find that mint tea soothes and
refreshes me after a performance."
"Speaking of that, I originally came here to congratulate you on your amazing
routine."
She blushed in pleasure. "Thanks again, Loki. But most of that was Heror. With a
horse like that under me, I could perform just about anything and have it turn out brilliantly.
He's the most amazing animal I've ever ridden."
"Don't say that too loud, please," I cautioned her with a smile. "If Heror hears that
he'll be insufferable for days. He already thinks he's royalty."
That made her laugh, as I'd intended. "I could almost believe it. What are his
bloodlines?"
"He's part Arab and something else, probably Thoroughbred or Andalusian," I
hedged, wishing for the seventh time that I could just tell her the truth. The whole truth. "I
got him as a young stallion from an Arabian horse dealer. They were going to geld him
because he was too wild for them to handle and his blood wasn't pure enough for their
breeding program," I lied blithely. Thank the Norns Heror wasn't here to listen to this, he'd
have kicked me into next week for maligning his heritage that way.
"They thought they'd sold you a scrub, right?" Marissa guessed, her brown eyes
twinkling. "Guess that time the joke was on them."
"You can bet your boots on that," I said, taking another sip of my tea. "Heror's worth
more than money can buy. To me, at least."
"I'd have to agree with you there. But would you ever consider selling a foal of his?"
"That would depend. Flicker, my daughter's mare, is his filly. She's got her sire's
conformation and speed. Not to mention his temper. I couldn't promise a foal of Heror's
lineage to just anyone. They'd have to know how to handle prickly horses."
"Which I do. How about it, Loki? Would you agree to give me a foal of Heror's,
provided you can find a mare worthy of him?"
I nodded. "Absolutely. You I know I can trust." I made a mental note to send her the
second foal of Heror's bloodline. "Although you know I can't promise the foal will be
anything like his sire."
"I know. Still, any foal with Heror's blood is bound to have a few surprises." She
shifted in her seat. "The final act must be in progress. I'd better go and find my father and
tell him what happened. The sooner he kicks Tims' sorry behind out of here the better." She
exhaled softly. "The idiot doesn't know how lucky it was you came along instead of Pa. Pa
would have done more than just knock him out. He'd of shot him dead."
"Believe me, I thought about it. If I'd had that gun to hand . . ."
"I almost wish you had shot him. Then again, you don't deserve to go to jail for
murdering a swine like Tims. If Pa can prove he was swindling us, Tims'll be the one in
prison. Either way, it's better than he deserves."
I couldn't have agreed more. I finished my tea, then accompanied her back to the
big top to find Matthew Turner.