by Blair, Dawn
I head to the longest security line there is and call my scepter to hand. I know what you are thinking, human. How is that going to help: a weapon and a long line? Asking for trouble, aren’t I?
What part of god don’t you understand?
I give my scepter a bit of a twirl up in the air before me. The scent of warm, melted chocolate fills the room. Even I am a little enchanted by the smell. Damn, I’m good.
“Do you smell muffins?” one lady asks her traveling companion.
“Yes,” he answers, looking around.
I twist, turning elegantly on my shined shoes and slip invisibly around them. Winding my way around people like a serpent gliding, I hear more references to chocolate. You see, tension and chocolate equals distraction. Hence my reason for choosing a long line as waiting always generates stress. You’re such an instant gratification society and it makes you predictable. Even the security guards are inattentive though they do try valiantly to not be inflicted by their normal human weaknesses.
To my dismay, I see Jason watching me now from the open area behind the queues. He’s watching my every movement. Of course, how can he not? I am moving like nothing he’s ever experienced before. I turn my head as I pivot once more, certain that he can see me and it bothers me. How can he even see me? He shouldn’t be able to.
I walk through the security arch, a mere shadow behind the man moving through the gate now, and flow with his movements. For just a moment, I touch upon the grace directed from the fabric of Midgard being channeled to this person. It is such a sensation that if everyone could touch this essence there would be no war or hatred among men.
But it’s good for me, as an Asgardian, that most humans don’t open themselves to receiving their own magic of their realm. It’s a birthright they disregard.
I turn, gliding away from my momentary symbiotic human who got me through security and find Jason waiting for me, though he is holding his shoes.
“Took you long enough,” he says.
“How did you get through security without a ticket?” I ask. I know how I did it, but Jason was a human. He had to live completely within the confines of earthly laws.
Jason pulls a ticket from beneath his jacket. “It’s not like you’re going to miss five hundred bucks,” he says confidently. “I not only carry your card on me, but I have another card memorized. Either way, like a Boy Scout, I’m always prepared.”
I start walking for the gate we need. “That could be considered embezzlement.”
“Please, Loki,” he says while rolling his brown eyes. “With a boss like you, I have to mind the details. It’s not like you’re going to.”
“Whatever,” I reply knowing he is right and not wanting to admit it to him. “Just remember that a bankrupt god is an angry one. If that’s not enough, keep in mind that my brother controls lightning and carries a big hammer.”
“Hiding behind your brother, Loki? Surely you don’t expect me to take that threat seriously. Now, actually, truly firing me might be scarier.”
I don’t like being mocked. I wonder if Jason realizes how much he’s playing with fire? Yet it’s too late for any retaliation I could dream up. We haven’t even reached the gate yet when I see my target wearing a short, black leather jacket, baseball cap to hide his curls, and big dark glasses grabbing a sandwich from one of the many vendors on the thoroughfare. He is paying now, muttering a quick “thank you” with a thick British accent.
“Want to tell me what we’re doing here?” Jason asks, interrupting my thoughts.
As I look back to my target, I spot someone watching me. The man turns and hurries toward the actor. I imagine their quick conversation as they huddle: “Who let the crazy fans in here?”
I’d love nothing more than to swing my arms wide and announce my presence when I hear a growl. I stop to look, partially giving a quick, sidelong look to Jason to see if he'd heard it too. Since he is still walking forward, I know he hasn't. He halts, half turning to give me a what’s-your-problem look.
My skillful mind starts flashing through the catalog of transdimensional creatures that growl. I realized in stunningly record time that the list is too long. Hadn't nearly every being I'd ever sent home snarled at me at one point or another?
What I really should be concerned about is the fact that I can hear it but I can’t see it. Invisible and growling are generally not a good combination.
Hellhounds jump to the top of my list. If someone wanted a human dead in the most horrific, gruesome, and terrifying fashion, a hellhound works perfectly. They track on the scent of fear. The more scared a victim, well, the easier the tracking and the more fun a hellhound will have.
So far, the actor feigns to not have seen me. It also means he hasn’t heard the threat. Perfect. I follow him to his loading gate where he sits down in a blue chair at the end of a row and continues to pretend I’m not there.
His travelling companion, probably an assistant much like Jason, takes the chair next to him, setting his own belongings in the third chair of the row to keep someone from sitting there. That marks him as a smart man, proficient at his job. But then he ruins my first impression by throwing me furtive glances while pulling out a small folded booklet which he hands to the actor. He’s nervous, not feeling in control of his charge or the situation. Not like Jason who had boldly pronounced that he was always prepared. I can almost hear Jason in a tone like Sebastian from Black Butler say, “Because I’m one hell of an assistant.”
People are beginning to enter the waiting area, always keeping a seat or two between anyone not in their party. Humans have an inbred “stranger danger” which makes them naturally divide up and territorialize any room. If someone’s not part of the clan, then they are out.
I survey the area looking for anything out of the normal, something that doesn’t belong: a flash, a glimmer, a large hellhound sneaking beneath the chairs.
I notice the actor who portrays me in so many movies looking at me. There’s a moment of curiosity in his eyes. I feel myself retract. Actors! Always the great pretenders they are. Their whole job is to tell a lie for the sake of entertainment. I wonder how many of them carry their falsehoods back into their real lives. How many know their authentic selves after portraying so many others? In some ways, I can relate.
The actor looks back down at the booklet and falls into conversation with his assistant. I’m not even sure if I even want to get close enough to hand him my calling card. After all, which of my own secrets would I find hiding in his eyes? Even lies have some basis in truth and I’d want to know who had showed him my skeletons.
Another low growl spurs me back to action.
I step up to a brunette girl at the help kiosk. "Can you look up this booking for me?" I ask as I slid the calling card to her.
As she types away at the keys, I glance around. Something here is making the hair on the back of my neck raise.
The actor has yet to eat his lunch. His sandwich remains wrapped on top of his black carry-on bag which sits beside his knees. Does he feel it too? Can he hear the hostile snarl?
I wonder if the aggressor is a werewolf. Every immortal sense I use to seek out the attacker returns with that one answer. But surely I would see it. Besides, this is the daytime, evening time actually, but still not exactly prime time for werewolves. I look for shadows, but they are hard to see on this gray-blue carpet. I know, why would something invisible cast a shadow, right? I am hoping for a camouflaged transdimensional being rather than truly invisible. A camouflaged lizard is still easier to spot than one that is wholly intangible.
"I'm not finding anything under that name, sir," the lady answers. "Are you sure you have the correct gate?"
"Yes," I respond, giving a nod of my head and staring at her lovely brown eyes as if nothing else in the world matters. “You do like helping your airline’s passengers, don’t you?”
"Yes," she mutters back as she hands me the card. It barely touches my fingers before it disappears.
A
terrible cheat, I know, but I want this deal sealed and I quite frankly don't care how that gets done. Back in my hotel room, a special totem has appeared inside one of the jars still sealed away in the case. I wonder what Tom Hiddleston's totem looks like? I imagine it to be a little Loki crocheted doll, something sappy and mewling perhaps.
As I smirk, I feel the taste of snake venom pour into my mouth. Yes, I had been bad and deceived the girl with my charms. Bad Loki! Who cares? Time to move on with the mission.
“When are you going to tell me what we’re doing here?” Jason asks.
I step forward. My foot knocks against something on the floor. It's a snowman figurine.
There's another growl. It's closer, louder now.
"Get that," I say to Jason, pointing at the plastic figurine on the floor.
I still haven't seen my adversary.
Jason makes a grumpy face as he leans over to fetch the snowman. I step forward, heading toward the would-be victim.
The growl turns to a whimper. I smile. Though I might not be able to see the beast, he can see me and he knows I am here to send him home.
I reach out with my thoughts, now trying to find him with my mind. It's not fear I sense though, but relief. Is this transdimensional glad to be going home?
"Loki, I swear..." Jason starts.
He barely has the words out when something gray, white, and black darts over his back and rushes at me. No, not at me, but rather toward the actor behind me. Teeth are bared. The growl is deep. Saliva lathers in a mouth twice as long as my hand.
The beast jumps.
Chapter 4
"What the..." Jason exclaims.
I turn, looking back as Jason speaks, and am now sideways to him. I see the hellhound jump off Jason's back toward me and I barely have time to react as it hurdles through the air.
The hound is as large as a Great Dane and as muscular, though more agile than a gymnast.
I jump like a wide receiver diving to catch a football and seize the beast. We both crash to the ground and roll, coming to a stop at the base of the chairs where the actor sits. I clench the hellhound in a tight grip against my chest, half afraid that it will fight to be free. If I anger the beast further, it will continue to grow until it breaks from my grasp. As a hellhounds rage increases, so does its size. I’ve seen some grow until it can smash a car beneath its paw. Yet this one shrinks in my hold, becoming littler and littler until he is a puppy in my hands. Knowing I have my chance and a slim one at that, I jump to my feet and come up face to face with a man who looks very much like me, or I should say I look like him. I grin at my fraternal twin as the shock registers on his face.
“Don’t you just love it when Loki saves the day?” I ask, with a smile.
I duck away, taking the captured pup with me as it barks and squirms still trying to break from my arms. I know I should speak the words that will send the hellhound back to its home dimension, but I can’t. My heart is thundering with the hope of possibility. Dare I think…?
There is only one hellhound which I could stop in my grasp and I have to know if it is him.
"Fenrir!" I shout as I turn and lift the puppy before me, my fingers sinking into his soft gray and white fur.
Fenrir greets me with several licks to the face and gives an excited yap. There’s nothing quite like puppy-breath.
I spare a glance and noticed the actor who is not me has tugged his cap further down over his face and turned up the collar of his leather jacket as he hurries to board his plane. I know I should follow, make sure he is no longer in danger. Yet somehow, I feel his totem has now disappeared.
I am left wondering who would send Fenrir after someone and why?
I don’t bother looking for a Valkyrie hair. I’m carrying the transdimensional being, Fenrir, with me instead of sending him home. There will be no good dog treat for this paroled god today.
"We're leaving?" Jason asks as he catches up to me. "Want to tell me what just happened back there?"
"Not really," I reply. "But if you must know, I had to pick up my son from the airport."
Jason looks down at Fenrir falling asleep curled up in my arms. "Your son? Not much of a likeness."
I'm tempted for half a second to put on my wolf face. Instead, I just say, "Takes after his mother."
Fenrir gives a big yawn, stretching out a long tongue which he curls back into his mouth in just the sweetest fashion.
"Uh-huh," Jason mutters.
I'm walking fast now and thinking at about twice the speed. Fenrir is plump, which means he has been cared for. His fur is soft and that probably meant baths and brushing. He's in puppy form, so that means someone's been playing with him, a lot. Training even, maybe. Training to kill? Perhaps. But if that were the case, wouldn't Fenrir's capturer want him back in his full wolf form?
Unless they aren’t taking me seriously.
I stop so abruptly that Jason slams into my shoulder. It jostles Fenrir awake. I scratch his head and rub his ears before he starts to growl at my assistant. I really don't want the two starting off on the wrong foot, or in Fenrir's case, the wrong paw. My son doesn't take insults lightly.
Wonder where he gets that from? Hmmm….
I turn to my assistant who is staring back at me with questioning eyes. He knows something is coming, just not what and he’s trying to judge my mood.
"I'm scary, aren't I?" I ask Jason.
With a dubious look and a step back, Jason says, "Yeah, Loki, you're scary."
"You're lying to me, aren't you?"
Jason pauses, then he starts to grin. "Yeah, just a little sarcasm." Layered sarcasm is more like it; icing on the cake. He hadn’t even tried to hide it in his voice either time.
“Damn, where have I gone wrong?” I ask as I start walking again. “When did I mellow out? Me?” Oh, I can see this situation must be remedied. I am supposed to be feared. Instead, I’m being sent on a wild dog chase after a puppy and an actor.
“Well played,” I shout. “Well played indeed.”
Passengers heading to their gates sidle to the sides of the walkway closer to the businesses. Anything to be far away from me. That’s the way it should be.
“And who are we talking to?” Jason asks.
I realize that Jason is out of the loop. He knows my house is a bridge and that’s about it. Well, and that I needed a new car. How odd this must be for him, seeing only a third of the story, knowing only a fraction of the danger. I smile and continue walking.
I extend my hand toward Jason and my keys appear within my curled fingers. He knows what I am. There is no need to keep up the pretense. “Take the car back to the hotel. Leave the keys at the desk and take a cab home,” I order. “This time, do it.”
“Loki, wait,” Jason says as the keys land in his palm. “What are you going to do?”
I step in front of Jason and he comes to an abrupt stop before hitting me. “Do as I have told you to do. If I find you at the hotel when I get there, I might just rip your throat out.” I show him my wolf face then. Fenrir jumps from my arms as I transform and we begin to run.
There’s a shriek as a woman realizes there are wild animals loose in the airport. I can’t help but to rush toward her. I slide close behind her leg, bumping her knee just a little, that she gets caught in my slip-stream and she falls over. The wolf in me laughs.
Fenrir is beside me, yapping and nipping as we run amid the terrified shrills. A couple security guards, upon deciding to check out the situation, try to chase us but can’t keep up. Like they could have even if we didn’t already have our god-like speed.
Fenrir jumps for me, misses, and rolls. With a surprised yorp, he staggers to his feet and continues the chase. He runs under me and around my legs as we twist our path playfully around each other.
A cacophony of myriad voices: “How did a wolf get in here?” merges with “Wolf!” More screams. “Look, Momma, doggie,” “Loose!” “John!” “Holy f**k, look at that.” “Nice doggies.”
Th
e automatic double doors slide open before us as man enters. The portly gentleman drops his carry-on bag as he dives out of our way, falling to the sidewalk. I jump over him while Fenrir climbs over his belly like it’s a great mountain to be conquered.
We race out into the road while cabs swerve to miss us. Drivers yell profanities out the window at us as if real animals could understand their words as I make it to the other side of the lane.
A bus is departing. I hear the brake release and the engine heave.
Fenrir isn’t near me.
I skid to a halt on all four paws and turn as I hear a yip. Damn, Fenrir has hit the bus.
Poor bus.
Chapter 5
The bus had been all nice and clean and shiny gray. Not a scratch, not a ding. Even the tires looked brand new as if they’d been changed at that very spot on the airport road. That was over.
I wait. Fenrir needs his moment.
The whole bus begins to rock as the driver opens the door. Poor guy. He thought he’d hit a little puppy. Fenrir’s hulk-like rage has made him turn back into a hellhound. The folding door quickly shuts as the driver sees a furry monster currently the size of a St. Bernard ripping the front tire off the rim and shaking it like a dog would a dirty sock. Of course, a sight like that is bound to make anyone scream.
Now, humans are herd animals, let’s face it. One starts to panic and ten more will follow. Throw in a cliff for additional fun and they’ll all find a long drop down. Not a single one will stop to say, “I’m not a sheep.” Nope, just over the edge they go.
That being said, more people scream and the bus sways as they shove from their seats in a rush to get to the back.
I sit, positioned so I can see the rear of the bus and wonder if a panicked passenger will get the emergency door open. It’s not a high cliff, but the five foot drop could be worth some amusement.
Fenrir’s massive wolf jaws have ripped the metal panel away from above the wheel well. Bits of rubber are scattered around. I wonder if he’ll chew on the axle for a while. If he decides it’s a nice bone, we could be here for a bit.
