“He is?” I blinked. “In the army?”

“Well, he’s not there on his honeymoon.”

“You don’t have to get sarcastic,” I said. “I’m just surprised I didn’t know.”

Lee shrugged. “I don’t know why you would.”

“It’s a small town,” I reminded him. “So I guess that means you’re still in touch with him?”

“Yeah.” His voice softened. “The character Dan Stanton in my first-person shooter was named after a buddy of his. Kind of a tribute. Ben’s the one who suggested it, even told me to use it as an alias. Said his buddy would have thought it was hilarious.”

“This is a buddy who . . . didn’t make it?” I asked. Lee nodded. I thought about that for a minute. Ben Lewis had been a short, stocky little guy in high school. Everyone called him the Hobbit. It was hard to imagine him in a war zone. “I’m sorry.”

“You didn’t know.”

“How about Steve?” I couldn’t remember anything about Steve other than his name, which was sort of ironic; he’d been the kind of kid who made so little impression, he didn’t even have a nickname.

“He’s fine. He’s in New York.”

“Doing what?” I asked.

“Set design.” Lee regarded the toes of his Converse sneakers. “It was his major at NYU.”

“Huh. Good for him.” It felt strange to realize that two people I’d grown up with, however little I’d actually known them, had left Pemkowet to make such diverse lives for themselves elsewhere. Three, if you counted Lee. I wondered what had prompted him to return.

Before I could ask, Mikill and his dune buggy pulled into the alley beside my apartment, waiting patiently while Lee and I came down to meet him.

“Daisy Johanssen,” Mikill greeted me in a booming voice, raising his left hand. A spear-headed rune glimmered on his palm, indicating that he was one of Hel’s guards. “Your request for an audience has been granted.” Rivulets of meltwater dripped from the icicles in his hair and beard. Mikill was a frost giant, eight feet tall with pale blue frost-rimed skin and eyes the color of dirty slush.

Well, unless you happened to be mortal and of mundane birth. Then he just looked like a huge, hairy guy who was sweating profusely.

“Who the hell is that?” Lee asked, the words emerging in a squeak.

“Hi, Mikill.” I raised my left hand in reply, displaying my own rune. “He’s our escort,” I said to Lee. “He’s a frost giant.”

Lee glared at me. Whatever goodwill had been emerging between us evaporated. “Oh, very funny. Ha ha, you got me.”

“Look, I realize he doesn’t appear . . . Mikill, can you drop your glamour for a minute?” I asked.