“I think so.” I clambered off the Night Hag, who scuttled backward to crouch against the headboard of Cody’s bed, scowling bloody murder at me. “You see her, right?”

“I sure do,” he said. “Nice work.”

Oh, good, apparently I really was awake this time and we were all on the same plane of corporeal reality. “Thanks. Will you do me a favor and fetch dauda-dagr?” I said to Cody, keeping my eye on the Night Hag. “Just grab the belt and be careful not to touch the dagger itself.”

“You don’t have to remind me,” he said drily. “And by the way, it’s considered impolite to ask a werewolf to fetch.”

I gave him a tired smile. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

The Night Hag continued to glare at me in mute fury while Cody went out back to retrieve dauda-dagr, but when he returned and I buckled the leather belt around my waist and pulled the blade from its sheath, she let out a shriek and shrank farther back against the headboard. “You render me helpless and dare to draw cold iron on me?” she said in a querulous tone. “I have done nothing to warrant such a punishment!”

“I beg to differ.” At some point during our struggle, Cody had turned on the overhead light in the bedroom. Let’s just say artificial lighting wasn’t kind to the Night Hag. She looked gray and shriveled, shrunken in on herself like the desiccated corpse of a spider. Only her crimson eyes were as malevolent as ever. “You killed an elderly woman.”

“And nearly caused a man to kill himself,” Cody added, leaning against the doorjamb, his arms folded.

The Night Hag sniffed. “I killed no one.”

“Let’s not split hairs.” Standing beside the bed, I tilted dauda-dagr so the light made the runes etched on it flare to life. “What’s your name?”

She bared the blackened stumps of her teeth at me. “You accuse me? I didn’t destroy the world!”

“Neither did I,” I said. “People do all kinds of things in nightmares that they’d never do in real life.”

“Is that what mortals tell themselves in their waking hours that they may endure the fearsome truths of their dreams, half human?” the Night Hag asked me, a cunning expression on her face. “I always wondered.”

“Ignore her, Daisy,” Cody murmured. “She’s just trying to get in your head.”

The Night Hag glanced at him. “Wrong, wolf. I’ve been in her head and I know what’s inside there.”

I really, really didn’t want to continue that particular line of conversation. “Did I or did I not just bind you to my will?” I inquired. “So I’m asking again, on pain of cold steel, what’s your name?”

“Gruoch,” she muttered.

“Gruoch,” I repeated. “Okay, here’s the thing. You’re in Hel’s territory without permission, preying on innocent victims. Whether you’re willing to own it or not, you caused a woman’s death. As Hel’s liaison, as far I’m concerned, that’s a mortal offense.”

Her crimson eyes widened. “I was invited!”

“Excuse me?” I said. “I don’t think so. Hel herself told me you weren’t welcome here.”

“Not by Hel,” Gruoch said in an aggrieved tone. “I never claimed it was Hel. But it’s written plain and simple on the Pemkowet Visitors Bureau’s website. It says Pemkowet is an inclusive community that welcomes all visitors.”

I stared at her. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re citing the PVB’s website as justification?”

She sniffed again. “In accordance with eldritch protocol, that constitutes an invitation. This seemed like a nice place for a getaway,” she added. “I’ll be noting otherwise in my TripAdvisor review.”

Oh, gah!

“No one invited you to hunt here,” Cody reminded her in a low voice tinged with a hint of growl.

“It was not my fault that the old woman’s heart stopped.” Gruoch drew herself up with a semblance of dignity. “I did not cause the dreams that plagued her, no more than I did any of them. But she suffered. She suffered greatly. If I must be held responsible for her most timely death, I will claim it as an act of mercy.”

“And the soldier?” I asked. “What about him?”

The Night Hag shrugged her bony shoulders. “He is a broken thing. It might have been better for him.”

“He’s a human being who served his country with valor and distinction,” I said. “No matter how ill-conceived the cause. And broken things can be mended.”

“Oh?” Her bloodred gaze fixed on me. “Will you be able to mend the vault of heaven after you’ve broken it, child?”

I hesitated, then shoved dauda-dagr back into its sheath. “Gruoch, in accordance with the binding I’ve laid upon you, I forbid you forevermore to prey upon innocents.”

She let out an earsplitting screech. “You cannot deprive me of my very sustenance!”

“I can,” I said. “Unless you’d care to try to convince me that the boy you attacked deserved it? Danny Reynolds?” I reminded her. “Seven years old? Afraid of the night? Is he somehow better off for having been terrorized by you?”

Gruoch glowered at me, but held her tongue.

“I’m sure there are plenty of mortals with guilty consciences out there for you to prey on,” I said to her. “Mortals who actually do deserve nightmares. If you want to haunt the dreams of someone who committed murder and got away with it, fine. But not here. Not in Pemkowet, and not on my watch.” I held up my rune-marked left palm. “Gruoch the Night Hag, in Hel’s name, I banish you.”