by Kendall Grey
A waitress shows us to a booth away from the other customers and asks what we want to drink. Darryl Donovan orders carrot juice. I wrinkle my nose and tell the lady I’ll stick with the provided water.
I look around at wall art depicting vegetables in various states of erotic undress. Skins peeling off seductively, water droplets sprayed across smooth surfaces, a green phallic-shaped monstrosity resting against a pink rose with dewy petals. I shiver.
“What the Hel is this place?” I ask with distaste.
Darryl Donovan smiles. His teeth are bright white and perfectly aligned. “I make a point of eating at Vegstasy every time I visit Vegas. Best vegan food in the world.”
“What is ‘vegan’?” I’m afraid to ask.
“Food prepared without any animal ingredients,” he answers. “It’s so much better for you than meat.”
I scoff. “Better than goat? I find that difficult to believe.”
“What you put into your body defines you,” he says. “Consume a bunch of junk, and you’ll get junky performance. Input equals output.”
“So, you’re telling me to eat nothing but vegetables? Why on Earth would I want to torture myself that way? Vegetables are for the weak. I’ll stick with goat, thank you very much.”
“Well, tonight, you’re eating clean. You can go back to poisoning yourself tomorrow,” he says. “Now be straight with me. Why am I here?”
“I don’t know,” I reply. “Why did you agree to come?”
He looks through the dark window at the glitzy street lights and ever-present traffic. “I’ve been thinking about you since we first met in Atlanta. I don’t want to think about you. You give me headaches and indigestion. Yet, here I am.”
“The universe is funny that way, isn’t it?” I ask, dipping a finger into my water to retrieve a piece of ice. I slurp on it, wishing it were one of Freddie’s WeedPop suckers.
He settles his elbows on the table and leans forward. “Why can’t I get you out of my head? I know you, yet I don’t remember how. It’s maddening. I’m not one to subscribe to hocus pocus, but I can’t help but believe we were associates at some point. Before now.” He pauses. “Before this century.”
“I’m the god Loki,” I say. “I knew a lot of people back in the day. Maybe you were one of them.”
He dismisses me with a wave and frowns. “No, I’m not hearing that bullshit. Delusional? Yes. Schizophrenic? Maybe. A god? Definitely not.”
“Why not?” I challenge. “Who’s to say you’re not a god yourself? I mean, you certainly have the body for it.” I make no bones about taking in his hard angles and righteous lines like a cool sip of water on a hot Vegas day.
A crack of thunder bellows in the distance. Several patrons’ heads pop up and quirk at the sound.
“A lot of people have bodies like this,” Darryl Donovan says. “Doesn’t mean they’re gods. Neither am I.”
I’m not so sure, Laguz chimes in.
With my luck, he’s probably someone who really hated me. Like Thor. Wouldn’t that be ironic? Except Thor wasn’t smart enough to be a lawyer, and he certainly didn’t eat plants. I’m pretty sure he was allergic to deep thought and green food.
“Anyone can be a god,” I say absently. “Even me. Even you.”
“Neither of us is a god.” His liquid amber eyes narrow on me. He licks his lips. “But something does pull me to you.”
I toss my hair, jiggle my boobs, and laugh like a girl. “What can I say? I have a magnetic personality.”
He keeps his focus on my face. “You do. And for the record, I’m not interested in your body, but the rest of you fascinates me.”
I mope, but inside I’m a little humbled. So many Midgardian men spend their time ogling my bodacious boobs or following the curve of my arse as I walk away. Yeah. I notice these things. Probably because I used to be the one doing the ogling. But Darryl Donovan is different. He seems more interested in the inside parts of me—the real me—than everyone else. Well, aside from Gunnar Magnusson and Freddie.
Lightning snakes through the sky, zippering open the night with crackling forks of blue-tinged light. Another burst of thunder follows a couple seconds later. I look through the window and search the parking lot for signs of my friends, but it would seem they’ve abandoned me. Very disappointing. Maybe I should travel with Darryl Donovan from now on. He came millions of miles from Atlanta to bail me out of jail, which is far more than lovesick Gunnar Magnusson and playboy Freddie did for me.
“I suppose I should be flattered that you respect my mind,” I say. “To be honest, your body trips my trigger, but I won’t let it get in the way of a burgeoning friendship.”
“Let’s keep it professional for the time being and call it a partnership instead.”
“Okay. What are we partnering on?”
He shrugs. “I say we start with putting you on the straight and narrow path.”
“Boring,” I moan.
The waitress drops off Darryl Donovan’s carrot juice and whips out a little notebook. Pen poised above the paper, she says, “Crazy night, huh?”
Darryl Donovan nods. “Rain coming.”
“We don’t see much of it here, and we only get the sky acrobatics once in a blue moon. What can we fix you for dinner?”
Darryl Donovan says, “I’ll have the soy burger with a baked sweet potato and the garden salad.” He nods to me. “She’ll have the loaded nachos.” He folds his menu, grabs mine, and passes both to the waitress. She nods her thanks. When she walks away, Darryl Donovan sips his disgusting carrot juice.
“What is ‘loaded nachos’?” I ask. Gunnar Magnusson and Freddie never ordered food for me. Wonder why Darryl Donovan did.
He makes a face and says with a hint of accusation, “You don’t know what loaded nachos are.”
I shake my head.
“Corn chips with vegan cheese, black beans, tomatoes, avocado, jalapenos, chopped green onions, and cashew sour cream. You’ll love them, I promise.”
“Do they taste like goat?”
“I wouldn’t know. I don’t eat goat.”
Disappointing. The current line of “vegan” discussion depresses me, so I change topics. “I’m curious about why you came all the way out here. I’m guessing it wasn’t because of my aforementioned charming personality.”
“You ever have dreams that make you want to do something in reality?” he asks.
I shift in my seat and fight to keep my voice from trembling. “Like what?”
He lowers his volume and leans closer, targeting me in his honey gaze. “I keep seeing you. In my dreams. Except you’re not you. You’re someone else.”
“A man?”
“Yes.”
“A god?”
“Maybe.”
A full-body shiver overtakes me. The Norns are sending him signs about me and about his true identity in his sleep. “Loki.”
“I don’t know.” He pauses as if reconsidering. “Possibly.”
“What do you look like in these dreams?”
“I can’t see myself. Only you.”
“Are you a man?”
“What kind of question is that?” he demands with a furrowed brow.
“You just said I looked like a man, which I’m clearly not.” I poke out my chest to prove my point.
“Yes. I’m a man in the dreams,” he concedes.
“What happens?”
“I keep saving you.”
“From what?”
“Monsters, giants, angry women. Every time I see you, my bones itch.” He pushes back a sleeve and scratches his wrist.
This isn’t good, Loki, Laguz says. He’s close to uncovering who he was, and I have a feeling we’re not going to like his secret identity.
Another crack of lightning gouges out a slice of dark sky with its electric talons. The ensuing bluster strikes two seconds later. The entire building shakes as if in fear. Slashes of blinding light play tag outside. All heads in the restaurant turn toward the show. Some lay
down their utensils. Mouths hang open. I hear strain in their voices.
“What’s with the thunder?”
“This is gonna bring some wicked flash floods.”
“I’m looking at my weather app, and it’s not showing any signs of rain here.”
Mother Nature mocks their silly apps. The fast-swirling clouds open and purge their water and wind and lightning and thunder all at once.
I stand up, thrusting the chair behind me with my knees, and run to the window. It’s hard to see with the sudden deluge dropping visibility to almost nothing, but when another fork of lightning sears the sky, I catch sight of a small roundish figure rolling around in the parking lot.
No. It can’t be.
I return to Darryl Donovan and say, “I need to check on something out there. I’ll be right back.”
He starts to stand, but I point to his chair. “Please. Stay here.” I visually press the words into his face as if molding them like clay to seal his mouth. “Swear to me you won’t come outside.”
He frowns. “What’s going on, Loki?” He lifts his chin to look through the bank of windows.
I step left to block his view. Sweat beads in my arms pits. Licking my lips, I fold my hands in prayer and bow my head to him. “You got the charges against me in Atlanta dropped. Now you’ve come a long way to bail me out of jail in Las Vegas. I appreciate everything you’ve done for me. More than you’ll ever know. I lied to you about some things when we first met, yet you still trusted me enough to go out on a limb and help me. I’m asking you to trust me once more and stay inside while I deal with something of great importance to me.
“I realize you paid three grands to get me out of trouble. I swear I won’t run away. Just do me this one last favor, and I will pay back the money as soon as I retrieve my poker chips.” I’m not sure I still have my poker chips, but if I don’t, I’ll find a way to repay him, regardless of who he is. A god doesn’t renege on his oaths.
Darryl Donovan grunts his disgust and resettles in the chair. “You’re gonna tell me what this is about as soon as you come back.”
I nod. “Yes. Absolutely.”
“If you’re not sitting in that chair by the time your food comes, I’m eating your nachos.” He shoos me away and defiantly resumes his carrot juice.
With a smile, I point at him. “Deal.”
I trot to the door and dart outside into the pouring rain where Huginn struts around, anxiously pacing. He’s soaked to the skin. His feathers stick together. His wonky eyes bulge when he spots me. We run toward each other, and I scoop him into a cuddle.
“What are you doing here?” I squeeze him.
He lays his head on my shoulder. “Loki, I’m so glad I found you,” he squawks excitedly, his gnarled chicken feet paddling in the air. “You need to get to a hospital.”
I pull away and look at him. “Why? I’m fine.” Aside from my arm being numb again.
A low buzz infiltrates the space between thunder cracks, which have become more frequent in the scant seconds I’ve been outside. I glance up to see a grouchy Muninn dodging huge raindrops. Something is not right.
“Come over here,” I say, guiding them around to the side of the building, away from the windows. If he gets close, Muninn’s presence will reactivate Darryl Donovan’s memories. I’m not ready for Darryl Donovan—or me—to find out who he used to be. We duck under an awning. Rain cascades off its slope like a waterfall.
Muninn lands on my shoulder and shakes fitfully, spraying me with a fine mist. I’m already soaked to my skivvies, so I don’t complain. Shivering, I set Huginn on the ground so he can slake some water too, but he just stares up at me, sad and soggy.
“What the Hel is going on? Why are you two here?” I crane my neck to look at Muninn. “I thought I told you to stay away.”
Muninn levitates off my shoulder and hovers in front of me. “I’m here because Huginn asked me to come. He said you won’t listen to him anymore. Maybe you’ll listen to me for once, bitch.”
I strap my hands to my hips and try to appear offended, but it’s hard when I’m shaking all over with a chill. This Las Vegas heat must’ve altered my tolerance for cold. I lean into the brick wall, feeling a little dizzy.
“Why did you tell me to go to the hospital?” I ask Huginn. “And where have you been? Gunnar Magnusson said you ditched him.”
Huginn’s wonky eyes round and converge into a straight line of focus, fixed on me. “Odin captured me. He threatened to kill me if I came here, but I couldn’t let the Norns have their way with you. You’re in trouble, Loki. Big trouble.”
“What he’s trying to say is you’re about to die, bitch,” Muninn interrupts. “Get your ass to the hospital.”
Startled, I shoot my gaze around, looking for a pissed-off frost giant, an angry Odin cocking his glowing gold spear, or giant venom-dripping snakes. I take a step forward. Sway. Grab the wall for support. And realize with a lurching heart that none of my enemies are coming after me. I’m coming for myself.
“What’s happening to me?” I ask weakly. My legs buckle, and I struggle to remain standing.
“Loki, call 911,” Huginn shouts. “Now!”
My mind swirls with too much information to process, so I leave it to Laguz to sort things out. I tug my phone out of my pocket. It’s switched off again. I power it up.
I pin my spine to the wall and slide weakly to the ground. Huginn bounces over my prone legs, kicking and scratching my pants. “Don’t die, Loki. Please don’t die. I sacrificed everything to get to you.”
I lift my too-heavy head to look at him. Two identical chickens merge in and out of each other’s bodies in a darkening tunnel.
The phone is taking forever to turn on. Why does my jaw ache? I try to swat at it, but the numbness has immobilized my arm.
“Hurry!” Huginn squawks.
I swivel my neck toward Muninn, but my eyes refuse to focus. “I don’t understand.”
“Odin put out a hit on Huginn after he escaped,” Muninn confirms. “You’d better not fucking die, bitch, or we’ll both be supremely pissed.”
The apple appears on the screen.
“You broke away from Odin … for me?” I ask Huginn.
“I had to warn you,” he moans, “but I’m afraid it’s too late.”
The full screen blinks to life. I lift slow fingers that don’t want to move and tap in my passcode. Notifications of twelve phone messages pop up from Gunnar Magnusson and Freddie. Maybe they tried to find me after all, and like an idiot, I forgot to turn the stupid phone on again.
Lightning grins. Thunder laughs.
The night wreaks terror above us with its frenetic light and sound show. My heart clenches in a fit of spasms with each successive pound of the sky’s hammer.
Thunder.
In Las Vegas.
The middle of the desert.
Laguz twitches at my hip and utters an epic, Oh shit.
And everything becomes clear.
“Well,” I say, “it’s probably for the best. Because if Muninn doesn’t get out of here in the next two seconds, Thor’s gonna show up and finish the job.”
“Thor?” Huginn asks, turning his beak left and right, apparently scouting for the god in question. “Where?”
Ignoring the twenty flashing text messages, I open the keypad on the phone.
9
1
1
Drawing on my last ounce of energy, I smash the green button.
The phone tumbles from my clutching fingers, clacking to the wet concrete. “911, what is your emergency?” a tinny female voice asks from the ground beside me.
“Vegstasy,” I choke, though I doubt she can hear me over the driving rain and earth-shaking rumbles tripping order from its moorings into the sea of chaos swelling around me.
In slow motion, Darryl Donovan rounds the corner. Against the blackness above his imposing frame, lightning ignites white fire in the unmistakable shape of a hammer I know all too well. The deafening th
under accompanying his appearance is enough to drag me under, but I resist its command long enough to yell, “Get out of here, Muninn!”
Chapter Twenty-Two
This dream is not a nightmare. It’s more like an omen. The promise of a future I didn’t expect.
I walk along the planks of a burning dock. It is quiet except for the occasional pops of flame-eaten wood relinquishing bits of ash to the wind. Twilight settles over the virgin-white landscape behind me. The sea is calm after days of thrashing; the air is frigid.
A gently bobbing ship waits at the end of the dock. It’s as big as a Viking hall. I board it and admire its massive prow carved in the shape of a woman whose face is bisected by a line down the middle. One side boasts fine, delicate features with a hint of coldness. The other side is an ugly troll’s visage, complete with a bulbous nose, unruly angles, and a wicked eye that seems to track my movements.
The ship sets sail without a captain, gliding smoothly on the back of the black sea.
I hold up my hand. It’s a man’s hand, attached to a man’s arm. My clothing reflects the style I wore B.B. (Before Breasts), and I am taller. When I look down, a red-tinged beard rests against my chest.
I am Loki. Version 1.0.
Across the water, Valhalla, the hall of the slain, looms in the distance, noble but imposing. A chill falls upon my skin, wet like melted snow. I scan the sea, the dock, the land I walked here from. I see no one. Not even the moon.
Ah, yes. My son Fenrir ate it.
This must be the post-Ragnarok cycle where I somehow escaped the final cut of Heimdall’s sword. But where is everyone else?
Standing on the deck, I turn in a circle. Whispers reach my ears, but I can’t tell if they’re coming from within the ship or from the leagues of ocean below it. The voices grow louder as we close on Valhalla. Faint lights glow from hundreds of doors and the golden shields that comprise the structure’s roof.
