Loki

by Mackenzi Lee

  “On Midgard,” Loki replied. “Where I was banished.”

  “You weren’t banished,” Thor replied indignantly. “You’re on an assignment.”

  Loki gave him a saccharine smile. “Aw, that’s precious you believe that. Why aren’t you on Alfheim?”

  “Father’s gone alone,” Thor replied. “He’s sending me and a brigade to search for the Stones at a smuggling port near Vanaheim. One of our spies there thinks they might have passed into the black market.”

  Loki almost fell forward into the basin in anger—and also a bit in the hope he’d fall straight into Asgard. “Another heroic quest to add to your generous supply.”

  “He thought it would be a better use of my skills—”

  “Of course he did,” Loki interrupted. “And my talents are better used playing detective with humans.”

  “It’s important work for a king—” Thor began, but Loki cut him off.

  “No, it’s a waste of time meant to punish me. You have to get me out of here.”

  Thor frowned. “Call for Heimdall.”

  “I did. I think Father has told him not to bring me back. The Bifrost is closed to me.”

  “Then I shouldn’t bring you back either.”

  Loki realized he was gripping the side of the basin without meaning to. “Brother, please.”

  “But your assignment—”

  “There is no assignment. Father made up some sham reason to get me off Asgard and to placate these pathetic humans who think what happens to them matters to us. Let me come with you to find the Stones. I’d be so much more valuable to him there. He’s out of the realm, he doesn’t even have to know until I return with you.”

  Thor chewed the inside of his cheek, that familiar vein of consternation popping out in his forehead. “I’m sorry, brother.”

  “Thor, please—”

  “I wish you luck with your assignment, and I’ll see you when you return to Asgard.”

  “Thor!” Loki shouted, but his brother was already gone. Then he came back just long enough to snatch up the towel he had discarded, fold it clumsily, and stalk away again.

  Loki fell backward into the chair, pressing his fists against his forehead and allowing himself a groan of frustration. He had, perhaps, exaggerated in saying that there was no reason for him to stay on Earth. Something magical truly was happening to these humans of London, but he didn’t want to be the one to work it out. He wanted to be scouting the realms for the Norn Stones with Thor, not in a room so narrow he could barely spread his arms, surrounded by human approximations of Asgard and air so dry it made him itch. He wanted to be home. He wanted to be given a chance.

  Loki stood abruptly and pushed through the curtain, almost smashing into Theo, who was leaning against the counter directly across from it.

  “What happened to privacy?” Loki demanded.

  “There was a curtain,” Theo replied, the apples of his cheeks pink. Then, he asked, almost like he couldn’t help himself, “So we’re pathetic humans that don’t matter to your father, are we?”

  Loki blew a long sigh through his nose. “I’m sure the work you do is very important to your realm and its safety and balance and order and all those diplomatic vocabulary words. But you don’t understand the grand scale of the universe. The biggest thing that happens on Midgard is a blip. A moment. The interdimensional equivalent of a sneeze. My brother is about to leave on an expedition across multiple realms to track down one of the galaxy’s most dangerous magical amplifiers, so forgive me for not dedicating all my energy to the death of a handful of humans in this goiter of a city.”

  Theo’s jaw clenched, and Loki sensed he wanted to say more than he did. “Those people have families.”

  “Everyone has a family.”

  “That doesn’t mean their lives don’t matter.”

  “Oh, please.” Loki snorted. “Life is the opposite of precious and rare. It’s everywhere. If you wept for every life lost who mattered, you’d weep until the world ended.”

  “They deserve justice,” Theo pressed on. “And the people here deserve to be safe from whatever it is that’s killing them, as much as your people deserve to be safe from whatever artifacts your brother is searching for.”

  “Are you attempting to move me?” Loki spread his hands. “Do you expect tears? I’m not the crying sort.”

  “No, I suppose that’s too much to ask of you.” They were interrupted by the bell over the door, and Theo spun around. “We’re not open—” he started. “Oh, it’s you.”

  It took Loki a moment to recognize Gem away from the dark hallway beneath the British Museum and dressed in a smart blue uniform with a tall domed hat. Even if he hadn’t seen the officers in the morgue the day before, it wouldn’t have taken much understanding of Midgardian fashion to realize Gem was a policeman. Soldiers looked the same everywhere.

  Gem was red-faced and out of breath, his enormous shoulders heaving like a mountain upset by an earthquake. “They found another one.”

  Theo’s elbow slipped off the edge of the counter. “What?”

  “Scotland Yard,” Gem replied between gasps. “One of the constables over in Clapham, behind the Plough. Another body.”

  Theo cursed under his breath. “Does Mrs. S.—” he began, but Gem interrupted him.

  “I called on her at the museum. She’ll be on her way by now. You know where it is? The blokes can’t see me with you.”

  “I can find it. I’ll grab the kit. And my coat.” Theo started for the back room and almost smashed into Loki. “Oh, and you. You’re coming too.”

  “To a murder?” Loki asked.

  “To a crime scene,” Theo replied.

  The crowd surrounding the Plough Inn was nearly as large as the one that had been waiting outside the morgue. Loki wasn’t sure whether he should be impressed or disgusted by humanity’s stalwart dedication to morbidity.

  At the back of the crowd, Mrs. S. was waiting for them, a dark cloak thrown over her high-necked bodice. She was wearing trousers with wide legs that flared over her short boots, and her bony arms were crossed over her stomach. It may have been meant to look like she was waiting impatiently, but Loki had a sense she was simply warding off the cold. She had a set of dark spectacles perched on her nose, their frames so small that they were hardly bigger than her eyes. “There you are,” she said as they approached her. “I’ve been able to get precious little information from those infuriating policemen, but Gem should have more for us later. It’s Ashford and Baines,” she said to Theo, names that clearly meant something, for his mouth puckered. “Now.” She turned to Loki. “Just to prepare you a bit for what is about to happen—”

  “I’m about to see a dead body?” he offered.

  “Oh.” She paused. “Yes, but that wasn’t what I was going to prepare you for. The police force here is rather hostile.”

  “To everyone?”

  “Yes, but specifically us.”

  “Now, Mrs. Sharp.” Loki mirrored her stance, arms crossed over his stomach. “Why would anyone be hostile to you?”

  “My point being,” she said, “that what precious little time we have to access the crime scene and the body should be used to its fullest extent. You have the kit?” she asked Theo, and he patted the leather bag slung over his shoulder. “Excellent. The prince is your responsibility.”

  “I’m capable of being my own responsibility,” Loki interjected.

  Mrs. S. raised an eyebrow, but didn’t comment. “Follow me, now.”

  This crowd was less animated than the one outside the morgue had been. No more than whispers passed between people, like mourners at a funeral trading gossip about the deceased. Loki noticed several people lean into their friends when they saw Mrs. S., their gazes lingering on her peculiar spectacles and wide trousers. None of the other women on Midgard wore pants, Loki realized.

  Two policemen were standing at the front of the crowd, their arms locked to keep people back. One of them was Gem, doing a good imitati
on of not noticing them. The other officer was just as broad as Gem, his hair cut in the same uneven crop. He cast them a derisive sneer as they approached. “What a very expected surprise.”

  “Good afternoon, Paul,” Mrs. S. replied. “You’re looking well.”

  “You’ve got to call me Officer now, Mrs. Sharp,” Paul replied.

  Mrs. S. clicked her tongue. “Now, I don’t think your mother would appreciate you taking that tone with me.”

  Paul blushed. “She doesn’t want nothing to do with you anymore, and neither do we.”

  “So she’s told me,” Mrs. S. replied. “May I speak with your commanding officer?”

  “Mum says you went loony after your husband kicked it,” Paul went on.

  Mrs. S.’s smile went tense. “It’s so kind of your dear mother to speak of me so. And for you to bring it up now.” She turned to Gem. “Sir, will you please let us pass so I may speak with your commanding officer? Since your brother will not?”

  Loki saw it then, the resemblance between Paul and Gem. It was subtle—he had thought they looked alike in the way all men with large hands and mountain ranges for shoulders looked alike. But they also had the same flat nose and small eyes, foreheads so wide you could have papered them with broadsides.

  Gem cast a glance at his brother. “They don’t do no harm, Paul.”

  “Detective Baines doesn’t like—” Paul started, but Gem dropped his arm and said, “You can go on, Mrs. Sharp.”

  “Thank you, Gem,” she replied, and she, Theo, and Loki passed between the two men. “Tell your mother I am still in possession of my mental faculties in totality, and I hope she’s well.”

  Gem nodded. “Ma’am.”

  The body of the murdered man looked like the others in the morgue, slack features and lifeless limbs, but in the way of sleep and not death. He was dressed in knee-high socks and a rough coat. His hands were black around the knuckles, and a set of long-handled brushes fastened to his back had tumbled into the mud, their strap pulled tight around his neck.

  A few men in the same uniform as Gem were meandering around the alley, turning over crates and kicking at the dirt, looking for anything left behind. A man with a spindly-legged tripod was setting up a camera to take photos. Two men were conversing over the body, one with a thick mustache, the other a lanky redhead with a wispy beard, and they looked up as the group approached. The man with the mustache smiled, his face absent of any emotion to accompany it. “Look lads, the ghost gang has arrived.”

  Mrs. S.’s smile was equally steely. “Good evening, Detective Ashford.” She turned to the redheaded officer and nodded curtly. “Detective Baines.”

  “Mrs. Sharp.” Ashford held up a hand to halt their progress. “You’re trespassing on an official Scotland Yard crime scene. Again.”

  “Would you like to go through the usual theatrics where you make protestations requesting I leave and I object?” Mrs. S. asked.

  “I’d rather just arrest you,” Ashford replied.

  “That doesn’t sound like you, Detective.” Mrs. S. held up her hands, palms flat, and wiggled her fingers. “You generally prefer not to get your hands dirty.”

  Ashford hitched up his pants with a mirthless chuckle. “So what is it that killed him this time? Spooks? A phantom? Was he strangled by a poltergeist? Or did he cross the same witch as every other bleeding corpse in London?”

  “You got a new beau there, Bell?” Baines called to Theo, before Mrs. S. could answer. “He’s a greasy cat, isn’t he? I thought you liked the intellectuals.”

  It seemed inadvisable to perform any spells in front of these policemen, or even voice the threat to do so, so Loki simply gave the man a look that said as clearly as he could, I will turn you into a toadstool.

  “Ignore them,” Theo murmured to Loki, though his voice was tight.

  “What do you think of my trousers?” Mrs. S. intervened, and Theo nudged Loki’s leg with his cane.

  “Come on, we need to take a better look while she has them distracted,” he said.

  “They let me wear these at the museum now,” Loki heard Mrs. S. say as he followed Theo around the fringes of the crime scene.

  “Got to be your own husband now that yours is dead?” Baines asked with a nasty smile. “Why do you try so hard to look like a man, Mrs. Sharp?”

  “Because,” Mrs. S. replied without wasting a withering look upon him, “you lads need a good role model.”

  Theo gritted his teeth, then crouched down beside the body, a tight breath of pain escaping his lips as he shifted his weight off his bad leg. Loki bent down beside him.

  “Here.” Theo fished in his bag, pulling out a set of spectacles like the ones Mrs. S. wore.

  “What are these for?” Loki asked as he took them.

  “You can see the residue of the spell.”

  “I didn’t know spells left a residue,” Loki replied.

  “Only here on Earth, because the air is so absent of magic. I suspect in Asgard, you’re so thick with it you’d never find a mark.”

  Loki held the glasses up to his eyes. The colors around him turned acidic, the light taking on a sickly quality except for a small sliver of white air that hovered above the dead man, like a fine dusting of snow over his whole body. When he peered over the top of the lenses, the glow was gone. He pushed the glasses up his nose, then looked down at his own hand, bringing a spell to his fingertips without executing it, and to his surprise, his own fingers took on the same ghostly glow.

  “Did you make these?” he asked Theo.

  “The glasses?” Theo unfolded his own glasses onto his nose with a shrug. “I put them together, but it’s not my idea. They operate with the same basic principles as the double exposure of spirit photography.”

  “I don’t know what any of that means.”

  “It’s not that impressive,” Theo said. “Do you know what sort of spell this is?”

  “I don’t think spells look different. Here.” He held up his hand for Theo to examine, summoning the energy again.

  Theo frowned, peering over his glasses and then through them again.

  “And I don’t know any spells that can do this to a human. Or any being.” Loki leaned backward, misplaced his hand, and nearly toppled over. He reached out to catch himself; his hand grasped wildly for purchase and landed upon the bare forearm of the dead man.

  He felt the spell, though he couldn’t say quite what it was. Beneath him, the man’s body, still warm even in death, spasmed. His fingers reached out, grabbing Loki around the wrist. His eyes flew open and they stared at each other.

  Then the man fell slack, dead again.

  Loki scrambled away, ripping off his tinted spectacles and staring at the man. He was dead. He was. He had been. And then, for just a moment...

  He realized suddenly that he wasn’t the only one who had noticed. The policemen had stopped talking and were now shouting in confusion about what had just happened. Several people from the crowd, who must have been able to see over Gem’s and Paul’s massive arms, screamed. Someone grabbed Loki by the collar of his coat and dragged him out of the way, then bent to take the man’s pulse. “Nothing,” he called to no one in particular.

  Detective Ashford was white-faced, his eyes wide. “I saw it. I saw him—”

  Baines looked up. “I saw it too. We all saw it.”

  “Bloody hell.”

  “What did you do?” Theo murmured to Loki under his breath.

  “I haven’t a clue,” he replied.

  Detective Baines whirled suddenly and shoved Theo, knocking him backward into a puddle. His tinted spectacles flew from his face and skittered across the stones. “You trying to bloody trick us, are you?”

  “I didn’t do anything!” Theo protested.

  “Like hell you didn’t,” the detective growled, taking a deliberate step onto Theo’s spectacles. They crunched under his foot like a breaking bone. “You crackpots show up at the same time something strange and inexplicable happens? What a
bloody coincidence.”

  “Leave him alone,” Mrs. S. called.

  The detective kicked some of the rancid puddle onto Theo, who flinched. “Don’t think I won’t arrest you again.”

  He raised his foot once more, higher this time, like he was still deciding where the blow would land, but Loki leaped to his feet, stepping in between the detective and Theo. He was itching to slide one of his knives into his hand, but didn’t think that would make a good case for not arresting them. The detective halted, foot still raised. He and Loki stared each other down, then the man slammed his foot to the ground one more time, splashing them both, before they turned away.

  “Mrs. Sharp,” Loki heard Ashford say. “I think it’s best if you and your men leave immediately.”

  Loki turned and offered Theo a hand. Theo took it, and Loki could feel a faint tremble as he pulled him to his feet. Mrs. S. retrieved Theo’s cane from where it had fallen, then nodded toward the way they had come.

  As they pushed back through the crowd, several people started jeering at them, repeating many of the same insults the redheaded detective had used. A few jumped in front of them, begging to know what had happened; they hadn’t been able to see. One man said he was with a newspaper and asked for a comment. Mrs. S. ignored them all.

  “You need a plague,” Loki said as they finally broke into the Clapham Common, the streets stuffed with carriages and wagons but the sidewalks less congested and far less hostile. “Something to decrease your surplus population a bit.”

  “We had one,” Mrs. S. replied. “Several, actually, but somehow the bastards just keep hanging on.” She stopped, turning back to Theo. “Do you want to sit? Are you hurt?”

  Theo shook his head, though he looked distressed. “Let’s go home.”

  “Right. Of course. I’ll find us a cab. Stay with him, won’t you?” she asked Loki, then stepped into the street, trying to wave down one of the passing carriages.

  Theo slumped backward against the wall of a butcher’s shop. Loki leaned beside him, staring down at the bricks beneath their feet, stained dark from the refuse littering the butcher’s alleyway.