by Mackenzi Lee
“Thank you,” Theo said after a time.
Loki shrugged. Gallantry made him uncomfortable, but it seemed needlessly cruel to tell Theo he hadn’t meant to intervene. Hadn’t even realized he was standing until he was halfway to his feet.
“Is it always like that?” Loki asked. “With the guards.”
“You mean the policemen?” The ghost of a smile flitted across Theo’s face. “Usually. Sometimes they spit on us. More name-calling. It was rather tame this time.”
“Do you have to work with them often?”
“It’s generous to say we work with them. But we cross paths. Often. Usually when there’s something magically disruptive, the police are called to investigate its disruptiveness. Thinking it’s non-magical, of course. And we’re usually there, and they usually would rather we weren’t, so words are exchanged.” He took off his cap and ran a hand through his knotted curls. “But we’ve got Gem on the inside. And...others.” He pinned on the final word with no resolve.
“Your vast network of secret society members,” Loki remarked.
Theo glanced sideways at him. “Right. Vast.”
Mrs. S. returned then. “I’ve got us a cab back to the office.” She reached out and looped an arm through Loki’s. “Come along, Your Majesty. It would be my honor to show you how we humans deal with our frustrations.”
“How’s that?” Loki asked.
“We get well and truly drunk.”
They drank back in the SHARP Society office, sitting around the table that was too large for the small back room. Mrs. S. had a bottle of a clear liquid in a cupboard and poured three glasses, draining hers twice before the others had picked theirs up. Loki sniffed his—it smelled excessively acidic and a bit floral. He managed only a few sips before his eyes began to water, and he set his glass down, certain the alcohol had done some sort of corrosive and permanent damage to his insides. Theo picked up his glass, took a long drink, and seemed to regret it immediately. He pressed a fist to his chest, lips held tight together and cheeks puffed like he was trying not to sputter it everywhere.
“So,” Loki said after a silence. “You’re not really a vast secret society, are you?”
Theo looked to Mrs. S., who was pouring herself yet another drink. “We are not a government-recognized organization, if that’s what you’re asking. No uniforms or salaries or protection by law or any of that.”
“How many of you are there?”
“Three.”
“Only three additional men?”
“No. We three are the entire society.” Loki had suspected it, and expected to take some pleasure in hearing her say it, but instead pity swelled inside him. Mrs. S. swiped her thumb over the corner of her mouth and reached for the bottle again. “Small in ranks, but we make up for it in personality. Didn’t Lord Byron write that?”
“No,” Theo said without looking up.
Mrs. S. waved a hand. “What’s the bit about the band of brothers, then?”
“‘We few, we happy few, we band of brothers,’” Theo recited. “‘For he today that sheds his blood with me / Shall be my brother.’ Though that was most definitely not written by Lord Byron.”
Mrs. S. nodded at Theo proudly, then said to Loki, “One of us has a university education.”
“Half,” Theo corrected. “Half a university education. They threw me out, remember?”
“We have attempted,” Mrs. S. said, holding up her glass to the light of the fire, like she was examining it for flaws, “to explain our situation to the police before and request their assistance. And to warn them about threats that may be beyond their understanding. But we have been met largely with ridicule and disbelief.”
“Exclusively,” Theo corrected. “We’ve been met exclusively with ridicule and disbelief.”
“How do you know about my father?” Loki asked. “And Asgard and the Nine Realms and all of it?”
Mrs. S. pulled her drink into her and said, very seriously and in a low, confidential tone, “My mother was a Valkyrie.”
Theo looked up, his mouth hanging open. “Hold on, really?”
Mrs. S. didn’t say anything. Her eyes were locked on Loki’s, one eyebrow making a slow, precise ascent toward her hairline. He scanned her face for a moment, then leaned back in his chair and shook his head. “I don’t believe you.”
Mrs. S. laughed loudly. Theo rolled his eyes, then heaved himself to his feet. “I’m going to go take a piss.”
As Theo disappeared behind the curtain, Mrs. S. leaned back in her chair, pulling one leg under her and staring up at the ceiling. She was silent for so long Loki thought she must have forgotten the question, but then she said, “My husband and I were archeologists. We traveled the world and collected antiquities, primarily for the British Museum, though we did some private trade. Hence”—she waved a hand vaguely at the shop—“we purchased what we thought were Viking relics at an auction in Paris, but when we brought them back to the museum, they refused to authenticate them. Said they were fakes. My husband was quite determined to prove them wrong, and in the process discovered that they weren’t fake, they were Asgardian, and the seller was a smuggler from Vanaheim stealing from your father. Odin’s men showed up to reclaim the stolen items, and in thanks, he sent my husband and me a ship full of gold—”
“A whole ship?” Loki interrupted.
“Just a wee one.” Mrs. S. held up her hands in demonstration. “But it’s been enough to keep me comfortable. After that, my husband and I volunteered to keep an eye out for any other inter-realm crises on Earth, and your father accepted, which is when our partnership began.”
“What sort of crises?” Loki had never heard Sharp’s name from his father’s lips before he was sent here.
“All kinds of things. Some time-traveling thieves using the doors of Prague as portals between dimensions. A demon summoned from Hel possessing monks in Italy.” She took a sip of her drink, then said, her tone grave, “My husband died in your father’s service, hunting down animated gargoyles that were terrorizing Paris. It was a foolish task to try to take on alone, but by the time your father was able to send assistance, it was too late. For my husband,” she added quickly. “Not for Paris. It’s still kicking.”
“How long ago was this?” Loki asked.
She shrugged. “Not so long. A few years.”
Loki frowned. He had sat in on every court meeting in the last two years and was almost certain he’d never heard about gargoyles on Earth. He also knew he’d never heard of the SHARP Society from his father. Whatever cries for help had been sent from Midgard, they’d never found their way to the Asgardian court.
Mrs. S. ran her thumb along the top of her glass. “We keep watch over the fairy ring outside the city as well. Not sure what you’d call it on Asgard. They’re spots where, when things break through the Bifrost and fall into other realms, it’s where they land. Portals. Ley lines. Thresholds. The places where things fall from the sky.” She finished her drink, then pushed the glass away from her. “Don’t let me have another. I’m going to attempt to pour myself one but you must tell me no.”
“So you took up the work alone?” Loki asked.
Mrs. S. nodded. “It’s difficult to be a lady in any professional field, but particularly one no one believes exists. It’s amazing the ways men find to box you out of even imaginary places.”
“Where did you meet Theo and Gem?”
“I’ve known Gem since he was a tiny thing. His mother and I were friends. But she and her husband decided not to associate with me and mine once our professional interests shifted. Thought we were batty. Gem had just returned from military service in South Africa and came to tell my husband and me about a woman with green skin he’d met there, who said she came from outer space. I think they had a bit of a romance. I never asked.” She started to reach for the bottle, then paused. “Whatever had happened between them, it affected him enough to seek us out. And now he’s a police officer, but helps us as well. It’s nice to have a
man on the inside. And a bit of muscle.”
Loki snorted. “What about Theo?”
“Ah. Theo is a bit more complicated.” She glanced at the doorway, making sure Theo wasn’t returning, then said in a low voice, “He was at Wandsworth.” When Loki stared back at her, uncomprehending, she clarified, “A prison.”
“He’s a criminal?”
“I know, he looks so harmless, doesn’t he? The leg really fools people. Though I suppose whacking someone over the head with a cane is as good a way as any to commit a murder. He’s not a murderer,” she qualified quickly. Her fingers flexed around her glass, knuckles splotching. “Just after my husband died, I was investigating what I thought may be the use of otherworldly technologies in the munitions factories belonging to this man called Stark—” She cut herself off with a hand wave. “The details are not important. But it led me to Wandsworth to interview some of the men who had been arrested in relation to the factories, and one of them was a lad called Theo Bell who looked like he hadn’t eaten a square meal in a year and had a broken leg because someone had found out he was a...what he was...and stepped on his femur and no one had done a bloody thing for him.”
“And he was involved in this factory scandal?” Loki asked. He was surprised by how sincerely engaged he was in all this. He had thought humans so small and uninteresting, and had been so determined to particularly despise these ones who were responsible for calling him here. And yet here they were.
“Only in as much as he was present in the factory when a mass arrest was made. He was a student working on a project updating factory machinery.”
“He shouldn’t have been arrested if he was just there,” Loki said. “That’s not fair.”
“So little is. I suppose it’s the same in your realm as well. I think that’s one of the universe’s rare consistencies.” She leaned back in her chair, tipping her head to the ceiling. Outside, evening was creeping in, and in the faint gloom, the lines of her face looked precise as a straight edge. “They let everyone else go, but they held him on an indecency charge.”
“Indecency?” Loki repeated.
Mrs. S. lolled her head forward and squinted at him, then let out a hissing laugh through her nose. “My, it really must be an idyllic paradise of equality where you come from—do women have the vote there as well?”
“Can women not vote on Midgard?” Loki asked.
Mrs. S. stared at him, like she was trying to decide if he was in earnest, then said, “Theo’s a boy who likes boys. Not boys exclusively, I don’t think. We’ve never discussed it at great length. But that’s a criminal offense in our realm. To have intimate physical relationships between two men.”
“Oh.” Loki didn’t know what to say. He knew what it was to be cast out and unwanted and taunted for the fabric you were stitched from. To want to find strength and pride in the things that made you you in spite of the world telling you that you should hide them. It was a particular kind of dissonance that was hard to understand until your ears rang with it.
“Don’t mention I told you—he’s not keen on chatting about it,” Mrs. S. said, leaning in confidentially, though there was no one to overhear them. “I’m a little drunk. I didn’t promise you good spirits, but I did promise strong ones.” She knocked her empty glass against his, which was still full. “You aren’t having any.”
“It’s vile.”
Mrs. S. pressed a hand to her chest. “How dare you speak ill of my national drink. How would you like it if I came to your planet and insulted your mead?”
“You wouldn’t—it’s very good.” Loki took another sniff of the liquid, thinking he might try to muscle down one mouthful to make her feel better, but instead nearly vomited. “Particularly in comparison.”
Mrs. S. laughed just as the curtain behind them parted with a dusty flump and Theo appeared again, this time with Gem stomping behind him. “Look who I found.”
Mrs. S. tottered to her feet, opening her hands to them. “Geo!”
Gem raised an eyebrow at her. “Are you drunk?”
“A bit. Not as much as that slip-up would lead you to believe.” She hooked a foot around a chair and pushed it toward Theo before seating herself again. Gem huddled over the stove, warming his hands. “What do you have for us, Gem?”
“The man’s called Rory Garber. Twenty-one years old, chimney sweep. Had three girls show up at the morgue to identify his body.”
“Daughters?” Theo asked, but Gem shook his head.
“Wives.”
“He’s a Mormon?” Theo asked, his mouth falling open.
Before Loki could ask what that meant, Gem shook his head. “Just an arsehole. All three of them thought they were the one and only.”
Mrs. S. let out a loud laugh. “Oh, that’s a devastating realization over a deathbed. Pour me some coffee off the burner, won’t you Gem?” As Gem handed her a teacup, she said, “Anything more about the cause of death? Or the time?”
Gem shook his head. “There’s nothing, same as the others. No cause of death as far as anyone can tell. According to all three of his wives he was in perfect health. Not a clue of when or how.”
“No witnesses, I suspect,” Mrs. S. said.
“None. But he did have six shillings, a penknife, a calling card, and a set of dice in his pocket.”
“Whose card?” Theo asked.
Gem squinted, trying to remember. “The Inferno Club. One of those grizzly death saloons over in Covent Garden. A lady’s name was on it as well—some medium. Likely had his cards read or some such.”
Theo glanced at Mrs. S. “Worth investigating the club?”
Mrs. S. pressed a hand to her forehead. “I swear to God, every body that’s been found has a different card in its pocket, and none of them have been even suspicious yet. This city is obsessed with fancy stationery. Oh, there is one more thing we should probably discuss.” Mrs. S. leaned forward on her elbows toward Loki, her long fingers curled around her cup. “You, my dear, did something to that dead man.”
“I don’t know what.”
“You brought him back to life,” Theo said.
Loki glanced at him. “I don’t think so.”
“No, you definitely did,” Theo replied. “We all saw it. The whole bloody street saw it.”
“I can’t bring the dead back to life,” Loki protested, his defenses rising, though he wasn’t certain why. “My magic doesn’t work like that.”
“You certainly animated him in some sense,” Mrs. S. said.
“I didn’t do anything!” Loki protested. “I was showing Theo what my magic looked like in contrast to whatever spell it was that killed the man, and then I touched him and...”
“And gave him a momentary breath of life,” Mrs. S. said.
The living dead. Loki felt a shadow pass over his heart. He heard the words in his father’s voice.
“Are all them protestors right?” Gem asked. He had poured himself a cup of coffee and the teacup looked doll-size in his massive hands. “Maybe they can be brought back.”
He looked to Mrs. S., but she didn’t reply. Her lips were pursed, and she was drumming one finger on the tabletop. Theo stretched out his bad leg, massaging the knee with the heels of his hands. “It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Be more specific,” Mrs. S. said.
“There is no pattern to these deaths. They’ve nothing in common—even the Ripper had a type. He killed prostitutes in Whitechapel. Whoever’s doing this is all over the bloody map.”
“What are you suggesting?” Mrs. S. asked with a frown.
“It’s definitely magic, but maybe it’s not a killer,” Theo said. “Perhaps it’s something else.”
Gem snapped his fingers suddenly. “The Enchantress!”
Loki’s head snapped up. “What did you say?”
“The Enchantress,” Gem said. “She’s the medium in Covent Garden. She’s the one who was on the card.”
Loki felt his face get hot, all the blood rushing to his head with a
speed that made him dizzy.
The Enchantress. Years and realms between them, and had he found her here?
It couldn’t be her.
It had to be.
“Friend of yours?” Theo asked.
“No,” Loki replied quickly, though he knew his face had already betrayed him. His heart was beating so fast he sounded winded. “I just like the name. Perhaps I’ll use it for myself one day. Loki the Enchantress.”
Theo snorted. “You do know what it means, don’t you? It’s the feminine version of enchanter.”
“Does that matter?”
“It would to most men,” Mrs. S. replied. “Wouldn’t want to be feminine; that’s weakness.” She let her head fall backward, staring at the ceiling. “We should look into the club. We’ve got no other leads.”
“I’ll do that,” Loki said, trying not to infuse his voice with excessive enthusiasm and failing entirely.
Theo arched an eyebrow. “Will you?”
“I mean, it makes the most sense, doesn’t it, if there’s some sort of magical something going on, for me to be the one to investigate it, since I am the only one here who can actually do magic? Not that there is magic. Or that she can do magic. She’s not a, you know, real enchantress. I don’t think so, anyway, but I wouldn’t know, because I don’t know her!” What is the matter with you? he chided himself. Be normal! He swallowed hard, then said, more casual this time, “Besides, Theo’s leg is sore and Gem was just on patrol and you’re drunk. So. I’ll go.”
Theo was still frowning at him, and Loki was certain he was about to protest, but Mrs. S., who was either growing drunker or simply didn’t care, spoke before he could. “Good to see you finally investing in our cause, your lordship.” She raised her empty glass. “To the prince of Asgard. May he conspire with the humans for many happy years to come.”
By the time he arrived at the Inferno Club, the sun was a sluggish splash of amber over the tops of the buildings. He passed a flock of black sheep grazing on a dying lawn, only to realize they weren’t black sheep at all, rather white sheep that had spent too long in the city and been turned a dingy gray. The streets were crowded with people everywhere he went, and the city felt like it was overflowing. Canvas awnings hung over the pavement, shop fronts discolored with mud and whatever noxious chemicals were living inside it. The streets were congested with carriages and people darting between them, and in the narrow alleys where the carriages didn’t fit, feral cats roamed, dodging backed-up drains and piles of stinking rags.
