A wash of cool air, accompanied by a pelting of icy droplets, rolled off Mikill and gusted over me as we headed out of town.

“Forgive me.” The frost giant shot me an apologetic look. “It cannot be helped.”

I shivered. “I know.”

Steering with one massive hand, Mikill reached into the tiny storage area in the back and hauled out a thick fur coat. “Here.”

I draped it over me, snuggling under it. “Thanks.”

The Pemkowet Dune Rides was a mile or so north of downtown, its gaily painted sign promising thrilling family-friendly fun, vistas of the lake, and even a glimpse of Yggdrasil II, the famous world tree. At this hour, it was closed for the night, all the big, tricked-out dune schooners in their stables, the windows of the gift shop dark. Mikill gunned the engine and roared around the establishment on a narrow side track before plunging into the wooded dunes beyond. Bouncing involuntarily in the seat, I clung tight to the roll bar as we hurtled into the darkness, careening around steeply banked curves at death-defying speeds. In daylight it might be exhilarating. At night, lit only by the buggy’s headlights, it was pretty much heart-stopping. I admit, I closed my eyes a few times.

The official Dune Rides trails were graded and maintained, both for the sake of safety and the environment. They had to be. Sand dunes are sort of like living things. They don’t stay put, moving and shifting, especially if they’re not anchored by indigenous flora.

This fact escaped the attention of the settlers of Singapore, who built a logging town here on the shores of Lake Michigan in the 1800s.

Yeah, a logging town. Brilliant, right?

And once they’d cut down a sufficient number of white pine trees, the dunes rolled over the town and pretty much swallowed it. Talman “Tall Man” Brannigan, the lumber baron responsible, slaughtered his entire family in a fit of madness and despair. Supposedly, the Tall Man’s ghost roams the dunes wailing for forgiveness, and if you see him, it means you’re going to die.

According to local legend, Hel moved into town during World War I. It is a fact that the most powerful earthquake ever recorded in Michigan took place in the late summer of 1914, which was when Yggdrasil II was first spotted erupting from the sands. It’s pretty tough to hide a pine tree the size of a large missile silo.

And yes, I know, the original Yggdrasil was an ash tree. Like any immigrants, even goddesses have to adapt. Apparently the species of tree wasn’t as important as having the Norns water its roots. I don’t know; I’m not an expert.