“Stop it,” said Heimdall. “We’ve heard your opinion. We understand the risk. Why else would we be here, making bargains with the Folk?” He sighed, looking suddenly tired. “I see no honor in this, Huntress, and if you ask me, you’re taking a damn sight too much pleasure in it.”

“Very well,” said Skadi. “Then I’ll let you do the talking. I’ll keep my distance and only intervene if there’s trouble. All right? Is that fair?”

Heimdall looked surprised. “Thanks,” he said.

“All the same,” said the Huntress, “perhaps the parson should be here. If Odin comes armed…”

But on that the Vanir were united. “The six of us can deal with him,” said Njörd. “We don’t need the preacher fellow or his Word.”

Skadi shrugged. By the end of that night she was quite certain that they would think otherwise.

Odin came an hour later, in the silvery glow of a false dawn. In full Aspect-a vanity that must have cost him the greater part of his remaining glam-tall, blue-cloaked, spear in hand, his single eye shining like a star from beneath the brim of his Journeyman’s hat.

In wolf guise Skadi watched him from the outskirts of the village, knowing that he would come prepared for this meeting. His signature glowed; he looked relaxed and rested-all part of the act, of course, but she had to admit that it was impressive. Only her wolf’s acute senses were able to discern the truth beneath the glamour-the faint scent of anxious sweat, of dirt, of fatigue-and she snarled a smile of satisfaction.

So she’d been right, then. He was bluffing. His glam was at low ebb, he was alone, and the only advantage he still possessed-their enduring loyalty-was about to be taken away.

She raced him back to the parsonage and, entering through the half-open side door, made her way rapidly to awaken Nat. “He’s here,” she said.

Nat replied with a curt nod. He did not seem at all confused by his sudden awakening-in fact, Skadi wondered whether he had been asleep at all. He stood up, and she saw he had slept in his clothes. His eyes gleamed in the moonlight, his teeth grinned, his colors showed nothing but excitement, and one hand went without hesitation to the Good Book at his bedside while the other clutched at the golden key on its leather thong.

“You remember what to do?” she said.

Silently he nodded.

Ethelberta had shrieked to see the white wolf at her bedside, then shrieked even louder as Skadi had resumed her natural form. Neither the Huntress nor Nat himself had paid her the slightest attention.

Now, lying in bed in her nightgown, she was trembling. “Nat, please,” she said.

Nat didn’t even look at her. In fact, at that moment he didn’t look much like Nat at all, standing next to the bed in his shirt and trousers, his long shadow brushing the ceiling, and a glow-she was sure it was some sort of glow-coming from his eager eyes.

Ethelberta sat up, still mortally afraid but struggling to express her outrage, her fury at this shameless creature-this naked harpy-that had seduced her husband into madness and worse. She knew herself she’d never been a beauty, not even in her younger days. And even if she had-the May Queen herself couldn’t hold a candle to the demon he called the Huntress. But Ethelberta loved her husband, vain and shallow as he was, and she was not about to stand by and watch him consumed.

“Please,” she repeated, clutching at his arm. “Please, Nat-just send it away. Send them all away, Nat. They’re demons; they’ve stolen your mind…”

Nat only laughed. “Go back to bed,” he said, and in the darkness his voice seemed to have a resonance that it had not possessed in daylight. “This is no concern of yours. I’m here on the Order’s business, and I’ll not have you interfering in it.”

“But, Nat, I’m your wife…”

He looked at her then, and his eyes were pinwheels of strange fire. “An Examiner of the Order has no wife,” he said-

And collapsed.

He was out for only a few seconds. Skadi revived him with a sharp pinch while Ethelberta sat with eyes brimming and her hands clapped tightly over her mouth.

An Examiner of the Order has no wife.

What was that supposed to mean? Ethel Parson was no more regarded for her intellect than for her beauty-everyone knew she’d bought her rank with her father’s money. Nor was she much of an independent thinker. No one had ever encouraged her to speak for herself. It was enough, she was told, to do one’s duty: to be a good daughter of the Church, a good mistress, a good hostess, a good wife. She’d also hoped to be a good mother-but that joy had never been granted her. Nevertheless, Ethel was no fool, and now her mind raced to comprehend what was happening.

An Examiner of the Order has no wife…

What did that mean? Ethel, of course, had no illusions regarding her husband’s devotion to her. An ugly girl rarely marries for love. And money, unlike beauty, often increases with age. Still, to be rejected in such a crude way, and in front of her-

This is no time for self-pity, Ethelberta. Remember who you are.

The inner voice that spoke these words was harsh but somehow familiar; Ethelberta listened to it in growing surprise. Why, that’s my voice, she thought. It was the first time she had ever really considered such a thing.

She looked at her husband, still lying on the floor. She was conscious of a number of feelings: anxiety, fear, betrayal, hurt. She understood all of those. But there was something else too, something she finally recognized-with some surprise-as contempt.

“Ethel…,” said Nat in a weak voice. “Bring me water and some clothes. My boots from the scullery and a gown for my lady. Your pink silk will do well enough, or perhaps the lilac.”

Ethelberta hesitated. Obedience was in her nature, after all, and it felt terribly disloyal to stand by and do nothing while her husband was in need. But that inner voice, once heard, was difficult to ignore. “Fetch it yourself,” she snapped, and gathering her dressing gown about her shoulders, she turned and strode out of the room.

Her departure did not particularly trouble Nat. He had other things on his mind-matters of importance, not least what had occurred just before he passed out: that rush of energy, that certainty of purpose, that overwhelming feeling of being someone else, not just a country parson with nothing on his mind save tithes and confessionals, but someone quite different.

He reached for the Good Book at the side of his bed, strangely comforted by the small familiar weight of it in his hand and by the warmth and smoothness of the well-worn cover. Then, taking the golden key from around his neck, Nat Parson opened the Book of Words.

This time the rush of power barely slowed him down. And the words themselves-those alien, terrible canticles of power-made more sense to him now, scrolling off the page, as easy and familiar as the rhymes he’d learned at his mother’s knee. It made Nat feel a little light-headed: that what only yesterday had seemed so new and intimidating should have become so quickly, so hauntingly, familiar.

Skadi was watching him, closely and with suspicion. What had happened? One moment he was lying on the floor, giving orders to Ethel and calling for his boots, the next he was simply…different. As if a light had been lit or a wheel spun that had turned him from the soft, rather vain individual he’d been into another creature altogether. And all that in the batting of an eyelash. The Word, perhaps? Or simply the thrill of anticipated action?

It was a matter she would have liked to explore more fully, but there was no time. Odin was on his way, and for the moment she needed this man-and his Word-if her plan was to succeed. Afterward she would see. The parson was expendable, and when he had served his purpose, Skadi would have no regret in terminating their arrangement.