For a Good Time, Call Loki (The Loki Adventures)

by Blair, Dawn

  The emergency door opens with a pop and out comes the spill of passengers onto the pavement. As I said: humanity, not the sharpest axe in the woodshed. Two gentlemen stay to help others off, but most look around the side of the bus to see my hellhound son before running the other direction.

  Fenrir snaps the folding door from its hinges and flings it aside where it slams against a cement support column. Glass sprays like bean-sized hail over the sidewalk and scurry like little ice fairies playing a game of freeze tag.

  Continuing to grow larger, Fenrir is on the bus now. I see him trying to squeeze his massive shoulders down the aisle between the seats. Black vinyl and the sorry yellow stuff they claim as padding is being shred by his teeth and claws. My boy. For what every Chihuahua is in his mind, Fenrir is in actuality.

  Yet I am nagged by this feeling. He is a transdimensional being and he is getting a little close to the fleeing humans. I suppose it’s one thing to let Fenrir play a little, but I’d probably receive a “Bad Loki” if I let him have some fresh meat. Considering the conditions of my parole, Odin would probably do a little more than scold me.

  Also, I know I should find out what my son has been up to lately. It might give me a clue into my opponent. After all, the snowman was left in the airport as a sign.

  “Fenrir,” I say, but the sound comes out as a wolf growl.

  All movement in the bus stops.

  I wonder if he’s found someone hiding away on the bus. I’m about to go look when four little paws come screeching to a stop by the driver’s seat and beautiful Malamute-like blue eyes sparkle playfully as puppy Fenrir appears. His mouth his open, tongue rolling out as he happily pants. A bit of leftover padding falls off his face and bounces down the tilting bus steps.

  “Papa!” he squeals. It comes out as happy yips.

  “Come on,” I say. “You’ve had your fun. Let’s be going.”

  He jumps out, but stops to lift his leg on the side of the bus before following. “Bad human boat on wheels,” he says running along by me. “Did you see it hit me?”

  “You sure showed it, didn’t you?”

  “I did, Papa. I think they’ll be beached ashore for a while, don’t you?”

  “It’ll take massive oars to get them rowing again,” I say.

  By now we’ve made it through the commoner’s cheap outside parking lot and have neared the street. I grab Fenrir up by the scruff of his neck between my teeth and carry him.

  “Papa,” he whines, struggling to get free.

  “Hold on.” I wonder where I’m going as I pad down the sidewalk. A park with a stream sounds really nice about now. In my mind, I can already hear the sound of water trickling over rocks. I could really go for a little peace and meditation.

  “Papa, let’s go to a Japanese garden. Come on, Papa!”

  My heart feels suddenly heavy within my canine chest. “Pick your favorite one, Fen, and take me there.” He doesn’t know about my parole, only that I don’t live in Asgard any longer. I wonder if he’d still respect me if he knew how many of my powers Odin had removed.

  No, dammit! It was exactly thoughts like that which had made me mellow. Midgard is starting to get to me. I’m too damn peaceful here, even amongst the sheep that fight among themselves. Stupid world.

  Of course, there was nothing in my parole that said I couldn’t use Fenrir’s powers to have a real good time.

  At first glance, I have to say that Fenrir landed us in a Japanese garden that is actually in Japan. Getting home might be interesting if I got separated from Fenrir. I wonder how Jason's travel logistics will work for this.

  The sun is halfway up in the eastern sky and just starting to burn the chill off the morning. In the distance, I can see the high slanting roof of a Japanese castle. For half a moment, I wonder which one it is but then I remember I’m here to relax.

  The park is filled with twisting trees, maples and cherry. We’re near the middle of the grassy area with just a couple trees around us. In the distance I can see an arching bridge over a small pond. Raised flowerbeds are surrounded by stonework walls. A paved road meanders through the garden toward a distant gate.

  I put Fenrir down in the shade of a red Japanese maple tree. "Good job," I tell him. Fenrir barks happily.

  As I stretch out on the grass, I retake human form. For a moment I consider making my clothes be a plaid shirt and blue jeans, but that would be so ordinary. When have I ever been ordinary? I opt for my usual black suit with white dress shirt. Style has its own rewards and feeling like a million dollars is one of them.

  "Papa, you look so funny like that," Fenrir says in a series of what would be taken as barks and growls, but he curls up to me anyway.

  "Who have you been with lately?" I mentally ask.

  "No one," he answers.

  "No one? Hasn't your sister, Hel, been looking after you?"

  "She's busy and no fun."

  "Someone's been taking care of you," I say to let him know he isn't fooling me.

  He snuggles his muzzle into my side. "I just wanted to come see you. I hope that's okay."

  Oh, this apple didn't fall far from the tree, sly one that he is. I reach over and pet down the short length of his body. He didn't fool me for one moment, but I might as well let him think he was. If I didn't, he'd make himself look even younger and if he got any younger he'd need his mama back.

  He needs some time. I can’t push. Fenrir won’t open up right away and tell me what’s been going on, so I must wait. Unfortunately, waiting makes me fidgety. Thus ends my relaxing.

  I pull my phone from its case and flip it open.

  "Who you gonna call?" Fenrir asks.

  "Ghostbusters," I say, receiving the curious look from him I knew I would get. I have been on Midgard for way too long. "Now you just lie there and let Papa work."

  I press the star button, then dial my code, and follow with the pound key. Then I listen.

  Fenrir yawns and closes his eyes.

  A case, a normal case, is all I want right now. Average even. Something run-of-the-mill to take my mind off all the nagging little questions regarding Fenrir’s appearance which I refuse to let surface long enough to contemplate. I wish I could believe Fenrir was just here because he wanted to see me. I wanted to believe we could just have a good time together as father and son. I wanted to believe there was nothing more.

  I know better.

  The line buzzes with the talk of all of Midgard. I suppose to a human it might sound like hundreds of bees swarming a flowering tree, but hey, I'm not human now am I? To me, I process every call, catch every voice, hear the laughter and the tears. International business transactions, one where the man's Spanish is not the right accent. A man in Canada is hiring an assassin to kill his father for insurance money. I pause there. Bad dialect is not a reason for concern, but assassination is another and might be more than just human. A few moments later, I move on. Just another human killing. A dancer is scheduling an audition. A library book needs returned, actually there are about ten of those calls going on right now. When are you going to pay your bill? I'll pay you when I get paid. Can I order more things now? Yes you may. Here's my credit card. Cell phone is cutting out. I'll call you later. Guess what song I'm listening to? It's Lindsey Sterling, by the way. He never called. What time is practice? I better go, my wife is home. My husband is home. Working late again? Bags packed for the trip? Is the contract coming through? Didn't you get my email? Blah, blah, blah.

  Come on, universe. Throw me a bone. Something splendid. Something to take my mind off the fact that I should send Fenrir home right now.

  Wouldn’t the other gods of Asgard love to hear this: Loki doing his mission because it helps him keep from being homesick. I can’t help what is true though. Isn’t that why I’m doing all of this anyway? Am I not gathering Valkyrie hairs for a purpose? I mean, damn, each hair is a spell that I could be using. Instead, I squirrel them away like a miser saving his pennies.

  I roll over and tousle Fe
nrir’s fur.

  I will prove my innocence.

  Therefore, I need a case. Someone, call me now.

  Chapter 6

  “If only I could wish,” a soft voice whispers on the line, “I would wish to go home.”

  I am half asleep on the cool grass of the Japanese garden with Fenrir curled warm beside me, the phone cold between my ear and the ground. The heat of Fenrir is almost more than I can stand. But the voice rouses me and I sit up crossing my legs in front of me.

  Do I have something?

  I look down at the keypad on my phone and click 5-6-5-4. Focusing on the voice I’d heard, I ask, “Where are you?”

  “Did you hear me?” the boy responds. He’s about twelve by my guess from the high-pitched, cracking, and annoying voice.

  “Who are you?” I ask, boldly daring.

  “Elliot.”

  “Okay, Elliot, where are you?”

  Fenrir gets up, glares at me for disturbing his nap as he turns, and sinks down with his back against my thigh.

  “I don’t know,” the boy responds.

  How rare is that in which someone doesn’t know where they are? “Hold on, Elliot. I’ll find you but you have to give me a moment. All right?”

  “Yeah.”

  I barely hear the boy’s reply. Already I’m dialing.

  “Please hold,” says the operator on the other end of the line. “I’m connecting you now.”

  “Passphrase,” Heimdall says a moment later.

  “It’s Loki,” I dare, hoping he doesn’t hang up on me outright. “I need to speak with Bronwyn.”

  “I’m sorry, that call is not allowed,” Heimdall answers.

  I stand up as though reaching my full god height will have any bearing on intimidating Heimdall who can’t see me anyway. Fenrir is right there by my side, tilting his head as he gives the phone a curious expression. “I have a case, but I need her to run a trace.”

  “I’m sorry, that call is not allowed.”

  He thinks I’m lying to him! Of all the insane, maniac, ridiculous… Don’t get me started. “Heimdall, Heimdall,” I shout hoping he isn’t already in the process of hanging up. “Please. Please, I need her help.”

  I hear a breath on the other end, but I can’t decipher what it means.

  The line clicks.

  He’s disconnected me. Damn, I didn’t really have a Plan B, but I guess I better start working on one now.

  “Hello?” Bronwyn answers.

  I’m so shocked I almost drop the phone. Thank the gods! I will never lie to Heimdall again. Never! I swear. Pinky promise. “Bronwyn, it’s Loki.”

  “Loki?”

  Then a deep voice cuts in. “He said he needs you to run a trace,” Heimdall says. “I’m going to stay on the line just in case.”

  Just in case this is a trick, I finish the thought for him. “I have a call on my second line. A boy. He doesn’t know where he is,” I say rapidly.

  “I’m ready, Loki,” Bronwyn says.

  Good girl, brilliant girl, I think as I click back to conference the first call in. “Elliot, you still there?”

  “I am,” the boy answers.

  “Good. Can you describe where you are? What do you see around you?”

  “I’m in a well.”

  “A well?” I wonder if that is why the call feels so odd, seems kind of old-fashioned.

  “Yeah, like a wishing well. It’s dry now. There’s no water in it.”

  “Did you fall in?”

  “No, my father put me here.”

  My thoughts instantly go to Martin from the daycare and when he’d been teleported to the wraith dimension. Had Elliot gotten caught in someone’s plan?

  “Loki,” Bronwyn says, “I have a location, but a calling card isn’t being generated.”

  “Send me what you have,” I say in a voice that no human could hear. I know the boy hasn’t heard Bronwyn since this is more like a separated conference call where I can hear both parties, but they cannot hear each other.

  Yet the boy says, “I have nothing to send you.”

  How had he heard me, unless, of course, he wasn’t human? Could that be why the calling card wasn’t generated? Was this boy a transdimensional in need of rescue here on Midgard? Like that would ever happen!

  My phone vibrates as the tracer card comes through.

  “Hold on, Elliot,” I say before opening up the back of my phone. The card is supposed to be white until I get close to the subject, but it is already red and pulsing like a heartbeat. I look around the garden knowing I’m already warm. “I’m close, Elliot. I’ll be there in a moment.”

  I put Elliot’s line back on hold and go back to Bronwyn’s line. “Do you have any more information on this child?” I ask.

  “Nothing. He’s not even using a phone.”

  “Then how did I hear him? How come I have him on my phone?” I started walking, Fenrir pacing behind me. I’m looking for anything which could be a wishing well while holding the flashing card in my hand. It directs me, flashing slower when I turn the wrong direction and grow colder in regards to the boy’s location.

  Cherry blossom trees have shed their flowers and the ground is covered in little pink petals which try to stick to my shoes and slid off the polished black surface. There is a pond with lilies and an arching bridge. Rocks intermingled with trees. But no wishing well.

  I look down at Fenrir. How much of my powers did my own child have? He could speak in the mental telepathy of the gods if he so chose, and that really did depend upon his mood at the given moment. I test my theory. “Elliot?” I ask deeply in my mind.

  “Yes?” comes the reply.

  “He’s the son of a god, Bronwyn,” I say into my phone. “Find me the son-of-a-bitch who would do this to his child and point me at him.”

  Heimdall laughs, reminding me that he is there. “Is Loki going for the Father of the Year Award?”

  “No,” I snap back. “I’m going for the Let’s Be Decent to Each Other Award.”

  It was out of my mouth before I could think about what I was saying. Heimdall roared. “This from Loki, Loki of Asgard?”

  “Give it a break. You know such a thing doesn’t exist,” I say trying to repair the damage. I swear, where were these lame lines coming from? What was going on with me? “The world wouldn’t know what to do without bad asses like me.”

  “Stop, Loki, stop,” Heimdall pleaded, choking. “You’re killing me.”

  “The father is not in Midgard,” Bronwyn reported.

  “Too bad,” I say, not really sure if I’m responding to Heimdall or Bronwyn. I close the phone and slip it away in my case.

  I’m under wisteria trees now, close to the pond. I’ve still seen no well. “Call for help,” I project to Elliot.

  “Help!” I hear him call out both mentally and vocally.

  A bubble surfaces from the pond. Where better to hide a dry well than under a pond?

  Chapter 7

  I step out onto the pond. The surface of the water freezes beneath each step I take.

  “Papa,” Fenrir calls. “Wait for me.” He’s trying to leap carefully onto one of the ice footprints I’ve left behind.

  “Stay ashore,” I command. He sits. Children should always listen to their parents so well. At least one of mine does.

  I’m looking at the water, but seeing more than just the surface reflecting the blue sky above me. Mostly I see the bottom covered with rocks, algae, and frightened coy. They’ll probably be a little more than frightened as my ice starts to melt in their water. Guess they’ll just have to chill out awhile.

  “I see you,” Elliot calls out.

  Amid my footsteps, I can see the edges of a well underwater. Since he’s already said he’s not wet, I surmise that a magic spell prevents water from spilling into the well and yet also provides for the flow of air.

  I slid my feet in circles to cover the area above the well with ice.

  “Now can I come, Papa?” Fenrir asks.


  “Stay.”

  He sinks down and puts his head on his paws.

  Bending down, I place my hands on the ice I’ve created and start to push it to the sides. Carefully I mold the ice with my fingers and the heels of my palms forming a bowl before me. Gently, gently, I remind myself.

  Thor would just smash it with a hammer.

  The thought distracts me and suddenly the side gives way. An unsuspecting coy slips into the bowl I’d been creating. It swims in a panic around the ice and whips its tail out of the water, splashing me.

  Damn this lower being of Midgard. There are just too many of them and it’s hard not to sometimes hurt one of the lesser species. I hope they never count against me.

  I hesitate in just throwing the fish back into the pond, not because I’m grossed out by the thought of slimy fish scales, but rather I wonder if my hands would kill the fish after working my ice magic. I had to do something.

  Pulling my hand inside the sleeve of my suit jacket, I splash more water into the bowl.

  “Sorry,” I say to the fish as I flash freeze the water surrounding it.

  A frozen fish will come back to life when it unfreezes, right? Hadn’t I heard that somewhere. I certainly hope it’s true. If not, it’s only a fish, right? I’d really hate for Odin to prolong my punishment in this realm all because I didn’t save the coy. I can’t help looking over my shoulder for a raven or two.

  Because I froze the water in the bowl so quickly, it scoops out like ice cream on a hot spoon. I drop the frozen chunk back into the lake. Maybe it’ll serve as a warning to keep the other fish at bay. No more coy attacks please.

  I think of Seattle’s Pike Place Market and the fish tossed around by the fishmongers. “Another tuna off to Canada,” I can hear the vendors chant from my own memory. Bet none of them every said, “Another coy sunk to hell.” Wouldn’t it be funny if they did though?

  I try again to mold the ice with my hands, carefully creating a cylinder around me as I go. A tunnel grows up around me and I’m sinking lower and lower into the pond, cocooning me in ice.