Urban Mythic: Thirteen Novels of Adventure and Romance, featuring Norse and Greek Gods, Demons and Djinn, Angels, Fairies, Vampires, and Werewolves in the Modern World

by C. Gockel

  Amy sighs. “Here goes nothing,” she says pulling forward. She hits the gas gently and drives forward...and the front of the car disappears.

  “What!” screams Amy, putting her foot on the brake. “Oh!” says Beatrice.

  “Just go!” yells Thor.

  And Amy isn’t sure why, but she hits the accelerator. Maybe it is her disbelief that propels her, because she certainly wouldn’t have driven forward if she actually believed her car had dematerialized in front of her.

  As the car goes forward, the dashboard, and then the steering wheel, disappear under her hands, and Amy is alone, surrounded by all the colors of the rainbow for the briefest of moments, her foot on the pedal of what would be the gas pedal if...

  ...and then her foot is on the gas pedal, behind her Beatrice is screaming, and next to her the man who still might be crazy is bracing his hands on the dash. “Stop!” he shouts.

  Amy hits the brake.

  Thor-Loki-Whoever, Beatrice, and Amy all take a deep breath. Fenrir whimpers.

  “Have you recovered from your shock?” says Whoever-It-Is.

  She had let the wheel go a little bit, and they might have run off the road. Amy turns her head to him. He’s wearing armor again.

  Her hands are shaking. “No,” Amy says. “I really don’t think so.” Her eyes go to the window. Outside is a road, only a little wider than the alley — definitely not made for two way traffic. For some reason she isn’t surprised it is yellow brick. On either side of the road is a dense forest. But...she peers either way. On one side it is dense and foreboding. On the other side it is open and light, and she has the urge to crack open the cooler and declare it time for a picnic right away.

  He takes a long breath and rubs his face. “How can I help you recover?”

  Amy looks around. “Can I get out?”

  Thor-Loki-Whoever looks at the sun. “I would say yes, but it would be best if we reach our destination before sunset.”

  Amy looks towards the dark wood and then looks back to her grandmother. She is looking in the same direction.

  “That side doesn’t look friendly, Loki,” says Beatrice.

  “Exactly,” says Thor-Loki-Whoever-It-Is, his voice grim.

  Amy puts her foot gently on the gas. “Loki,” she says. He really might be Loki.

  “Exactly,” says the man sitting next to her, and this time she can hear the smirk in his voice.

  Amy wills herself to breathe and keep her eyes on the road. Which is hard. She wants to stop and look. The trunks of the trees look lavender on the light side, the leaves almost blue. On the dark side, the tree trunks look so purple they are nearly black.

  “There was color when we...crossed,” says Beatrice. “Like a rainbow — ”

  “Yes,” says the man who actually might be Loki. “Time acts like a prism at the edge of the World Gates.”

  “The rainbow bridge,” says Beatrice quietly.

  Loki tilts his head. “I believe that humans did call it that once.”

  “The light,” says Amy. “The light here is different.” Everything seems a little bit blue.

  “The star that is this planet’s sun is much older. I believe you would call it a white dwarf,” says Loki.

  “Oh,” says Amy. She blinks. “We’re on another planet.”

  “Yes. In a whole other solar system,” says Loki.

  “My, my,” says Beatrice. Amy looks in the rear-view mirror and sees her patting Fenrir on her lap. “My, my.”

  For a few minutes, Amy drives in silence, too overwhelmed to speak. Beatrice must feel the same because she says nothing. After a while, Amy hazards a glance over at...Loki. His mouth is set in a firm line, his eyes focused far ahead. He looks handsome, noble even.

  “Can you drive faster?” he says. The question sounds genuine, not like he’s second guessing her driving skill.

  Amy looks down at the speedometer. She’s going all of 20 miles per hour. “Can I expect any oncoming traffic?” The road is narrow and straight, and there are a few rolling hills that could be dangerous.

  He closes his eyes. “There is none for at least 30 miles.”

  Amy glances sideways at him. “How do you know?”

  He tilts his head and then blinks. When he speaks he sounds slightly awed. “Astral projection. The concept has entered your vocabulary in the last sixty years. Even though you’re incapable of it.”

  She’s on another planet, on a yellow brick road; astral projection doesn’t seem like that much of a stretch of the imagination. “Good enough,” she says and hits the accelerator.

  For a few minutes, no one says anything. She glances and sees Loki’s eyes focused on the road, his mouth a thin line. She focuses directly ahead, her brain churning.

  “Why so solemn?” says Loki suddenly with joviality that sounds a little forced. “From you, Amy, I would expect it, but from you, Beatrice — ”

  He turns towards the back seat and then says softly. “She appears to be asleep.”

  Amy peeks in rear view mirror. Beatrice is slumped slightly to the side, her head bent, her eyes closed. Amy looks at the clock in the car. “Yes,” she says. “She normally takes a nap this time of evening.”

  “This isn’t exciting to her?” says Loki.

  Amy tilts her head. “It is exciting, maybe so exciting she needs a mental break...and...” Amy bites her lip. “People tend to nap a little bit more as they get older, and then not sleep so well at night. That doesn’t happen to...your people?”

  “We don’t get old,” says Loki.

  “Oh,” says Amy. She tilts her head. “Lucky.” She goes back to focusing on the road. Another planet...and Loki said something about time bending at the edges of the World Gate so —

  Loki sighs loudly. “Come now, there will be plenty of time for silence when you’re dead, and I’m...” He waves a hand dramatically, “Gagged with wire or stuck in a cave. Surely you have questions for me?”

  Amy’s eyes widen. “Sorry, I’m just over here quietly revising everything I thought I knew about the universe.”

  He chuckles. “What a novel way of expressing it.”

  And then Amy has a thought. “Astral projection isn’t one of your powers in the myths, but it is in the movies and comic books.”

  “I’m not sure I’m clear on how comic books and movies differ from myths,” says Loki. “Except in the medium.”

  “Well, myths exist for the purpose of explaining the universe and imparting moral values,” says Amy.

  “Don’t leave out entertainment,” says Loki.

  “Okay, and entertainment,” says Amy. “And comic books and movies, well, the type of movie and comic book we’re discussing, are for entertainment.”

  Out of the corner of her eye she can see Loki turning towards her, puzzlement on his face. “They don’t impart moral values or attempt to explain the universe?”

  Amy is about to say no, but then she blinks. “Actually...I guess they do. But in a more round-a-bout way.”

  “Myths aren’t exactly straightforward,” says Loki.

  “Touché,” says Amy, scowling at the road in front of her.

  “...or completely accurate,” he mutters.

  Amy smiles. “Yeah...no shape shifting. Right. Are you Thor’s brother? In the comic books you are.”

  There is a snort. “No.”

  Amy grips the steering wheel and narrows her eyes. “What about Sif’s hair.” It’s probably the most famous Loki myth. Sif was Thor’s wife. Loki cut off her hair as a prank and paid dearly for it, if she remembers right.

  She can hear the grin in his voice when he says, “Snip! Snip!”

  “Really?” Amy says, twisting her hands on the steering wheel. “Why?” It sounds positively childish.

  “To prove that she was a lying, cheating whore.”

  “How does cutting someone’s hair prove they’re a whore?” says Amy, gripping the wheel more tightly.

  “It is the traditional punishment for female adulterers
.”

  Remembering the story as her grandfather used to read it to her, Amy scowls. “So you sneak up on her in a glade and cut off her hair and that is supposed to prove she is a ho?”

  There is a moment where the only sound is the hum of the engine. And then Loki erupts into what can only be described as cackles. “I didn’t sneak up to her in a glade. I facked her!”

  Amy’s eyes go wide. “Facked?”

  “Am I getting the verb right? Fac, from the Latin, ‘to do’. Oh, wait, no that isn’t right. I fuck — ”

  “I understood!” says Amy. She glances at him, her mouth agape.

  He is blinking at her, smiling, looking very pleased. “It was really very selfless of me. No one really appreciates that. Everyone knew she was a whore, but no one else was brave enough to bring it to Thor’s attention. Well, except Odin, but he went about it in this convoluted way where he disguised himself as an old man...” There is a snort. “...like that was difficult. And told Thor to his face, but as a stranger. I delivered proof.”

  She thought he was handsome? She thought he looked noble? Amy’s lips curl up in disgust. “Wasn’t Thor, like, your best friend?”

  There is silence again. Amy glances over and immediately looks back at the road. She swears his eyes are glowing. “No,” says Loki, and the air seems to ripple with his voice. “No, not then. Not at all.”

  Loki is close to 50 earth years old. He and Thor, not much younger, are waving goodbye to a group of happy human peasants who are jumping up and down and waving at them. The humans haven’t changed since Loki’s first visit here. They are small, dirty, smelly, and lacking many teeth. But their love is still palpable — which keeps Loki from sneering at them, or picking disdainfully at the troll guts sticking to his armor.

  Said troll lies dead behind Thor and Loki. It was a particularly large creature, nearly as big as an Earth Asian elephant — they had a few in the gardens of Asgard when Indian clothing and architecture were in vogue.

  “Heimdall! Bring us home!” Thor shouts to the sky.

  There is a flash of light, a blur of color, and then Loki and Thor are facing Heimdall in the great circle of Midgard’s World Gate on Asgard.

  “Four times!” roars Thor with a smile on his face. “Four times I’ve been to Midgard troll hunting and not once did I find a troll. The one time I bring Loki, this beast — ” he gestures with his hand towards the felled troll. “— this beast sets upon us immediately.”

  “It is a fine trophy, my Lord,” says Heimdall, and his voice holds only reverence. Since Thor’s return to court, Odin’s bastard son has done nothing but make friends. Mostly because Baldur the beautiful, crown prince, son of Odin and Frigga, has taken a shine to his “big brother” and declared Thor “fitting to be in a court among Gods.” Baldur possesses a type of magical glamour that not only makes him beautiful, but allows none to gainsay anything he says. Even Frigga has decided she likes Thor now.

  Before Loki knows what is happening, Thor swats Loki’s back with his hand. Stumbling forward, Loki barely manages to keep his feet. “From now on you come with me on every troll hunting expedition, Loki!”

  “Lovely,” says Loki, scowling down at the troll innards on his armor. Not that he doubted it would be otherwise. Just before this trip Odin informed Loki that his job as retainer now was to accompany Thor on all his quests.

  “We should tell Baldur!” Thor declares, pulling Loki by the arm away from the World Gate. “We’ll invite him to come with us on our next adventure.”

  Loki’s stomach twists and he scowls. He detests Baldur. He detests that everyone thinks Baldur is beautiful, brave and wise. He detests that they think Baldur is good. And he detests that Mimir has suggested that the reason for this seething dislike is jealousy...and that there may be some truth to that.

  Loki would never be accused of being ugly, but his ‘fair countenance’ is almost an insult in itself. He doesn’t look as roughly hewn or as square in the jaw as a typical Aesir, or even Jotunn. He’s only of average height, and he’s too thin, despite the fact that only Thor’s appetite is a match for his.

  And Loki’s not considered brave. He’s simply not much good at feigning battle lust or interest in killing trolls. If he wasn’t ordered by Odin to watch after Thor, he would have spent the last few days in the library — he’d really like to master astral projection.

  Finally, absolutely no one would consider Loki wise. He has too much fun with his magic. Loki knows he shouldn’t take such delight in making himself appear like a Valkyrie upon occasion, or pulling the occasional flower from Odin’s nose, but he just can’t help himself.

  Looking for any way to avoid a run in with Baldur, Loki says, “Shouldn’t you go home to see your wife Sif first?”

  “No, no, no,” says Thor, walking briskly towards the palace, now under the illusion of Roman Golden Age architecture. “She’ll understand. She is a fine wife, Loki, and doesn’t begrudge me a bit my adventures and traveling — this is just a bit more of the journey.”

  Loki raises an eyebrow. She doesn’t begrudge it probably because it leaves more time for her whoring. Sif is so easy with her affections, even Loki is uninterested in her.

  Thor smiles and looks sideways at Loki. “But perhaps you’d just like to see your Lady Sigyn?”

  “She is not my lady,” says Loki , feeling heat rise to his face. Are his affections so obvious? Sigyn left the court for a few decades to live in the realm of Alfheim — the stay has given her an interesting perspective on a foreign culture and on Asgard’s own. She is a rather fascinating companion for conversation. And she still seems to fancy Loki, maybe because Loki occasionally protected her with his magic when they were children, or maybe because she hasn’t been steeped in court gossip — Loki does have a bit of a reputation. It is pathetic, but her genuine warmth towards him makes Loki go absolutely soft inside. And although he protests her decline of his physical advances he actually rather respects her for it. How many times after a physical conquest has he decided the prize was too dull to be worth keeping? Even Freyja for all her beauty and charm was rather a bore after a while.

  Loki blinks. Perhaps Sigyn does know his reputation.

  “She hasn’t hooked you yet then!” yells Thor, slapping Loki’s back again jovially. Loki tries not to wince; it takes effort. “But she will!”

  Loki keeps his eyes forward. The idea of being hooked by Sigyn is strangely not as unsettling as it should be.

  They veer away from the palace proper to Briedablick, Baldur’s hall. As Briedablick comes into view, Loki scowls again. He’s heard the place is quite beautiful to others' eyes; everyone tells Loki it glows. All Loki can see is the dark swirl of Baldur’s magic around the massive gray stone structure as they approach. As usual, when he is around Baldur, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck rise.

  A few minutes later they are ushered into the foyer by a servant who bows and says, “I will go inform my master you are here, Thor.” Tipping his head first to Thor and then Loki, he leaves.

  From down the hall in the opposite direction of the servant’s departure comes a feminine squeak and a rough male gasp.

  Thor’s eyes go wide. “The servant went the wrong way!” he says delightedly.

  Rolling his eyes at Thor’s childishness, Loki says, “So it would seem.” Tipping his head in the direction of the exit, he says, “We should go.”

  Another male grunt echoes in the foyer.

  Snickering like a little boy, Thor doesn’t move. “Who do you think is sampling Baldur’s beauty right now?”

  Loki’s jaw tenses and he stares at the large man before him. Despite the fact that Baldur likes Thor, Loki doesn’t hate him. Thor is loud, gregarious, and far too trusting. But he actually complimented Loki on an illusion he cast to confuse the troll they killed — it is nice to have his abilities are appreciated for once.

  And Thor isn’t stupid, no matter how he tries to hide his brain on occasion. They had a decent conversation about Tro
ll nesting habits as they started out on their quest. Loki thinks he could actually like Thor, if he were to let himself. Even Mimir has said that Thor has the potential to be Loki’s ally and true friend...and Loki can see that happening, if he just plays along and is nice.

  But he can’t quite do it. Smirking, Loki says, “Well, I think we can safely assume it isn’t his mother.”

  Thor tilts his head, his childish grin fading.

  Lifting an eyebrow, Loki crosses his arms over his chest and leans against the wall. “But other than that...really it could be anyone.”

  “I think you insult Baldur and a great many virtuous women,” says Thor, a furrow settling in his brow.

  Loki should stop, should apologize. Instead, he lets the truth slip from his lips. “Oh, I suppose the old men are probably safe, and probably the livestock, too.” His lips quirk. “Maybe.”

  Thor steps forward, his face going a little red. “End this jest now, Trickster.”

  And Loki should, because Thor, like everyone but Loki, is blind to Baldur’s shortcomings. Thor doesn’t see how Baldur’s charms, illusory though they are, are irresistible to all of Asgard. Thor doesn’t see how Baldur abuses them.

  Loki shouldn’t test Thor this way, shouldn’t set himself up to lose a potential comrade. There is a loud grunt from down the hall. Thor turns his head, momentarily distracted.

  Loki should apologize. But he can’t.

  There is the sound of a door creaking. And then there is the sound of soft feminine footfalls. Thor, looking in the direction of the footsteps, smiles. It isn’t a friendly smile.

  Curious despite himself, Loki lets his gaze go down the hall...and sees a rumpled Sigyn emerging.

  Loki’s mouth drops. He feels like he may throw up.

  Thor pulls away from Loki to let Sigyn pass. Her eyes go up to Thor’s and her face reddens. And then her eyes meet Loki’s.

  Her face crumples into a look of confusion and sadness. “Loki... I...”

  Loki’s mouth goes to a hard line, and he looks away from her.

  From the corner of his eye, he sees her bow her head. Turning, she runs out the door.