Immortals After Dark 03 - No Rest for the Wicked

her Spartan, nondescript living space. If he hadn’t smelled her scent on her silk pillow and finally found a collection of weapons, shields, whips, and manacles in a closet, he might have wondered if Riora and her Scribe had even given him the correct address.
    And now this.
    “Low-hanging fruit,” Riora had said. “She’ll stay close by Europe,” she’d reassured Sebastian. Yet he’d appeared in the wake of an unwieldy vehicle choking out black smoke as it crawled over an icy plain.
    His Bride was doubtless in that vehicle, and tracing to her had taken him very far from “close by Europe.” With fumbling fingers, he dug the scroll from his pocket, then scanned the ten choices. Antarctica .
    He could see the tips of his fingers blackening from near instantaneous frostbite. Bloody hell. Fortunately, Antarctica was dark twenty-four hours a day this time of year; unfortunately, it was bloody cold. This was something for a man who’d been raised along the Baltic Sea to say. He needed coverage against the elements—more than the mere coat and gloves he’d bought last week.
    In an instant, he traced to one of the clothing stores he’d purchased from, sure to appear in a dressing room—which luckily did not have another customer in it. After grabbing insulated gloves and layers of clothes to go under a heavy trench coat, he noted the name of the store to send payment to and exited the same way.
    Fifteen minutes later, he was back again in the wake of the same vehicle, though it seemed he could have thrown it farther than it had traveled.
    He wrapped a black wool scarf over his ears and face, then pulled out the scroll once more. Within the highest peak in the Transantarctic mountain range was a couloir, an ice tunnel. Inside the couloir were three amulets.
    Kaderin was traveling to the mountain range towering over this plain, so that must be it. He traced to the highest overhang he could make out on the tallest mountain. From that vantage, he saw one even higher up and traced there.
    Directly in front of him—a tunnel. He traced within it as far as he could see, reached the end of the first straightaway, turned left, and progressed to the next end. He easily covered ground this way. Yet even dressed in heavy clothing, he was still suffering from frostbite at his extremities, then healing from it in grueling intervals.
    A narrow ledge marked the end of the tunnel, and atop it were the three small amulets that looked like jagged mirrors carved from ice. He grasped the one he intended for Katja, then traced back to the overhang to scan for her.
    As he waited, he gazed out over the alien scene. He’d never imagined a landscape like this. During his human life, Antarctica had been a rumor, an impossibility.
    Here the stars didn’t glint but were motionless and dead like the static photographs he’d seen everywhere in London. The moon didn’t rise and set, but in the half hour he’d been here, it had floated farther to the left over the horizon.
    He wouldn’t have been able to see this preternatural scene if he’d died. He wouldn’t be waiting anxiously for his Bride.
    What to say to her?
    Suddenly, two helicopters roared overhead, circling before landing at the base of the mountain. Curious, he traced down. Two other competitors were organizing ropes to climb to the slender overhang. A plan formed. If Kaderin thought he was quiet and unassuming—well, he was most of the time—but if she thought that was all that he was, he was about to surprise her.

    Kaderin swore imaginatively with every foot she climbed higher up the rock face, irritation running rife in her.
    She mimicked Regin’s voice to say, “Why, they must have a thermoelectric anti-icing system!”
    Regin had never riled her like this before. Kaderin had always been one of the few older Valkyrie who could tolerate her for long periods of time. But Regin had to play “Radar Love” at least eight times. As if they were chugging along fast enough to merit a song like that. The Cadillac-o-Snowcats redlined at ten miles per hour.
    Regin played “Low Rider” just as many times. If Kaderin heard that freaking cowbell one more time...
    When they’d finally crawled to the base of the mountain, it had seemed there was a parking lot of choppers. But no one could climb faster than Kaderin could, including Regin, so she’d been left behind, happy to guard the snowcat and “rock out.”
    Kaderin had to keep telling herself that she would pass