Loki's Sin

by Saje Williams

  "It's going to be a big event,” he acknowledged. “Your guest list is pretty damn impressive, considering the number of high-profile types that have already RSVP'd."

  Athena grimaced. The City Manager, the Police Chief, and several state Reps, along with one Congresswoman and several local business leaders. “Did you book a band?"

  "Of course.” He looked disgusted that she'd even asked. “Some old friends of mine, actually. Don't worry—they're tame enough,” he added, raising his hands as if to fend off an attack.

  "Who?” She wasn't going to take his assurances for granted.

  "The Werewolves,” he replied.

  Athena nodded. She knew the band, by ear and reputation, at least. They would do. What they used to call ‘Southern-fried rock'. I can live with that.

  She walked into her office, leaving Thor behind, and stopped, slipping into a defense stance before her conscious mind caught up with the fact that she wasn't alone in there. A shadow disengaged itself from near the window, dissolving into the tall, stark figure of Thoth. “How long are you going to put off your lessons, Athena?"

  As long as I can. “I'm not putting them off,” she told him, not quite honestly, “I just have too many other things to do right now. Didn't we agree not to do anything about it until after the New Year?"

  "Hmmph,” he grunted testily. “I can't speak for Thorne, but I'm tired of carrying this burden alone. For several centuries the mortals have been walled away from magic and none of you wanted to learn. I know that Thorne offered more than once."

  She vaguely remembered that. Why had she turned him down? Ah, yes. He'd made the offer twice, once after he'd first started learning the arts, then, many, many centuries later, just before her clash with the guillotine.

  Some of it had been a natural suspicion of other immortals—something nearly all of them felt for one reason or another. Some of it had been—frankly—little more than laziness. She hadn't seen the need to expend the energy. She wasn't about to admit that aloud, though. “As soon as the holidays are over, you'll get your first class. Loki and I, for sure ... possibly others."

  He nodded. “I'll accept that, and hold you to it.” Then, suddenly, he seemed to fold in on himself and was gone. A gentle popping sound accompanied his disappearance.

  Now there's a neat trick. I wonder how long it takes to learn. She fell into her chair and started pouring over yesterday's reports. Things were going well, at least for Shea Industries. Profit was up three percent since she'd taken over. That struck her as rather odd, but she set it aside for the moment.

  She found it difficult to concentrate. Tomorrow's event was taking up entirely too much of her attention. Part of her regretted ever making the decision to host it in the first place. But she'd accepted Thor's advice—she needed to make connections among the powerful mortals of this era, as she had in centuries past. She no longer had the luxury of remaining on the fringes. That had vanished with Deryk Shea.

  She glanced at the clock on her monitor. Nearly five a.m. Would Nemesis be awake this early? Or would she already be at the station, ready to go out on patrol? Athena realized that she didn't really know her friend's schedule.

  She needed someone to talk to—someone she could trust. Not that she couldn't trust Thor to some extent, but this feeling wouldn't go away chatting with any male, much less one so overtly male as Thor. No, she needed some girl time.

  Eighteen

  The diner was one of those rustic, back road type places, perched on the edge of a small, nameless town in the middle of nowhere, North Dakota. The frigid wind swept in from the North, bringing with it the threat of more snow. Pulling his ‘borrowed’ jacket tighter around himself, Loki pushed the door open and strode carelessly into the midst of the swirling stench of grease, sweat, and stale cigarette smoke.

  Eyes stinging, he pulled up short and looked around him. Despite the smell assailing his nose, the place looked clean. Nearly spotless. A bald old man with gnarled hands around a cup of coffee and a cigarette hanging out of one side of his mouth sat perched on a stool, leaning over the counter and flirting with the waitress, a squat, tough-looking woman of about forty-five with cold, hard eyes and a perpetually disdainful expression.

  They both glanced over as he came in, kicking snow off his shoes. “Afternoon,” he said, with a polite nod to both.

  The old man grunted and turned his attention to the newspaper spread out in front of him. The waitress tried on a tired smile, grabbed a cup off a shelf below the counter, and wandered toward the window booth as he slid into a seat. “Good afternoon,” she said, not sounding for a minute like she meant it.

  Not that Loki cared. All he wanted right now was a cup of coffee and something to eat. He'd been trekking through this rugged wilderness for eighteen hours straight, separated from the rest of his team and chilled to the bone.

  Movement in the parking lot jerked his head up and he spotted a cop car pulling in. Well, this could be bad.

  He was expecting the cliché—the portly, grizzled, terminally bored small town cop. The fellow that climbed out of the car wouldn't have looked too out of place on a college campus. Tall, blond, and confident, he looked more out of place here than Loki felt.

  It came as no surprise when the young cop slid into the booth opposite him. He regarded Loki out of eyes the color of a clear sky. “So, what brings you to Challenge, stranger?"

  So that's the name of this town. Loki filed it and shrugged. “Just passing through.” This could be a little more cliché, but not easily.

  "Didn't notice a car out front,” the cop—the Sheriff?—remarked casually. Or not so casually, as he was obviously fishing.

  Loki gave him his best smile. “Car broke down a ways back. Caught a ride with a passing motorist. He was heading straight through, but said I could rent a car here if I needed to."

  "Rent a car? Nonsense,” said the Sheriff. “We don't have any rental cars here. I'll get you a tow here to the garage and Burt, our mechanic, can fix you right up."

  Loki hadn't counted on this. Small town hospitality countering his carefully conceived explanation. And the fact that this one-horse town didn't have anywhere he could actually rent a car. He mentally brought up a map of the state and verified his earlier thought—there were no towns of note for six hours or more behind them. This burg—Challenge—was the first town in three hundred miles large enough to possibly rate a rental company.

  "You're talking about a twelve hour round trip,” he told the Sheriff. “I don't have time for that. I need to be in Washington tomorrow—and would have if the damn car hadn't crapped out on the side of the road."

  The young Sheriff seemed to consider this a moment. “Okay. So what's your name, and why do you have to be in Washington by tomorrow?"

  Loki dug into the back pockets of his ‘borrowed’ jeans, pulling out his own wallet, handing over his ‘Simon Coyote’ ID. “I work for a company called Shea Industries. Heard of it?"

  His sarcasm didn't go unnoticed. It was a little like asking if he'd heard of Microsoft. The cop's face turned hard. “What, you on vacation or something?"

  "Exactly. It ends today. If I don't get back by tomorrow, my boss is going to have my ass."

  "I might know someone interested in selling you a car—if you can go that route."

  "I can. Will he take Visa?"

  "Debit or credit?” the Sheriff asked with a slight smile.

  "Either or,” Loki answered. “I don't have any cash on me. Damned inconvenient, I suppose."

  "A bit foolish out here in the hinterlands,” the Sheriff replied smugly.

  And here I was thinking he couldn't possibly know a word like hinterlands, Loki chided himself. Silly me, letting stereotypes run amuck in my head. “Well, I guess if I were an experienced traveler, I'd know that."

  "Guess so. C'mon then. I'll give you a ride. Name's Trygvie, by the way. Trygvie Gnorlson.” He held out his hand, which Loki took firmly. He knew better than to act the least bit hesitant. No doubt
that's what Sheriff Gnorlson was waiting for him to do. He finished his cup of coffee in one gulp and stood, digging his debit card from his wallet. “Don't bother,” Gnorlson told him. “Sophie—put it on my tab, will you?"

  "Sure thing, Sheriff.” The waitress—Sophie, apparently—actually deigned to smile a little, showing yellow teeth and gums so red Loki repressed a shudder. No wonder she doesn't smile much.

  He followed Gnorlson outside into the deep-freeze, grimacing as the icy wind caressed the back of his neck. The Sheriff walked over to his car and unlocked the passenger door. Apparently that hooded parka that served as his uniform jacket was far more protective than the one Loki wore. Next time I'm in this situation, I know whose jacket to steal, he told himself. Not that I plan on being in this situation again any time soon.

  Gnorlson slid into the driver's seat and started the car. Warm air blew from the heater vents and Loki leaned back with a sigh.

  "Enough bullshit, Coyote. What are you really doing here?"

  He shot a look at the Sheriff and realized, in a sudden flash of insight, that this young mortal wasn't at all what he appeared to be. Loki tuned his vision just so and saw the unmistakable shimmer of glamour. “What the—"

  Gnorlson's fist caught him on the side of the head with enough force to send his thoughts spinning into oblivion.

  * * * *

  He couldn't have been out long. Immortals are notoriously difficult to knock unconscious, and it usually lasts little more than a few moments. But, regardless, he found himself in the dank interior of something that had to be a jail cell with no memory of how he got there. Other than Gnorlson's sucker punch, that was.

  He sat up, groaning. His head hurt. Why had the big goof thrown him in a cell anyway? He'd spun a convincing tale—he'd had thousands of years of practice. No one had ever lied with as much skill as Loki.

  "I see you're awake.” Somewhere out in the darkness beyond the bars, the Sheriff watched him. “I must have hit you harder than I thought."

  "You think? What the hell were you thinking? You can't just go bludgeoning hapless travelers and—"

  "Shut up, Loki."

  That did it. His mouth snapped shut. He leaped to his feet, ignored the rapid throb in his head, and slammed his open hands against the bars. “Let me out. Now."

  A huge shadow approached the bars from the other side, this one probably carrying twice the Sheriff's considerable bulk. “I have survived all these centuries no thanks to you, Father.” The words came out as a growl and Loki detected the distinct scent of canine heavy in the cold moist air.

  Ohmygod. Fenris. I thought you were dead. Long ago, after he'd created so many monsters, Loki had attempted to create a hero to fight them. He'd used the very last of his supplies from the Mythrender, poured his heart and soul into his creation.

  Fenris had been the result. Born in the guise of a child, Loki had raised the creature from infancy. He spurned any help from the other immortals. He wanted to create a strong man, a hero for the ages. But he hadn't reckoned with the gift he hadn't mindfully bestowed. Fenris was a shapeshifter, able to assume the form of a wolf at will ... eventually even a huge massive form halfway between wolf and man. The form he wore now.

  "You instilled in me a sense of justice, Father. Trained me to fight your monsters. Turned me loose on the world. Then you abandoned me."

  Loki shook his head. Not in denial, but in aggravation. At the time he'd thought of Fenris as a tool. The truth of that felt like a weight on his chest. It was growing hard to recall exactly what he was thinking in those days. Maybe he'd been half-mad with grief over the death of his world. His madness had always expressed itself in irreverence, mockery, and impulsiveness. File this little venture under impulsiveness. Or just plain stupidity. “I know, Fenris. I can't tell you how sorry I am for that."

  "Sorry? The great Trickster, sorry? My ears deceive me."

  "No, Fenris, they don't. I've done a lot of growing up recently."

  "Not enough, apparently. Do you think I see all the freaks and not see your signature all over them? You're doing to them the same thing you did to me."

  "Not quite,” Loki answered. “I'm not abandoning them.” A calculated risk, he thought. Depends on whether he's angrier about being abandoned himself, or the fact that I've done this to other mortals offends his sense of justice.

  "Nice to hear, Father. So what brought about this change?"

  Loki felt the grin spread across his face before he knew it. “Love,” he said simply.

  "Love? You've got to be shitting me."

  "No, Fenris. I met a woman—and, no, she's not mortal. She's something else."

  "Something else? That covers a lot of ground."

  "She's a vampire."

  "One of your experiments, I suppose? There's an irony for you. Your son is a werewolf you created thousands of years ago—your mate is a vampire.” He sounded bitter, but not angry. Loki breathed a silent sigh of relief.

  Loki told him everything, leaving nothing out this time. It took a while, but Fenris, like all immortal beings except Loki, had an astounding reservoir of patience upon which to draw. Loki had never mastered it, despite the infinite time he had to work on it.

  He was just funny that way.

  When Loki finished, Fenris grunted and unlocked the cell. “You're a moron, you know that?” He sounded vaguely disgusted, but amused as well. “If you're not lying, I guess my life of relative peace and quiet is over.” He stepped back and let Loki exit the cell. “I should hate you. I did hate you. If you immortals actually had any laws to break, you'd be a criminal for what you did to me. You made me everything that I am, then left me to fend for myself. I didn't even have the luxury of the rest of the immortals as a support community, you ... creep."

  Creep? You're kidding me, right? What are you, Fenris—an overgrown boy scout? “Take my word for it,” Loki muttered, “they're not much of a support community anyway. Things have changed a little with Athena in charge, but back then?” He shook his head. “So what's the plan?"

  "The plan is to get you to Tacoma, even if I have to drive you. It's a good thing nothing really happens around here. My deputy should be able to handle it until I can make it back. If I make it back. I was really starting to like it here."

  "You only had about forty more years though,” Loki reminded him.

  "Yeah, I know. But it sure felt like home,” he said, unlocking the outer door and leading the way into the main office. By the time they stepped through the door Fenris had resumed his human shape. “First place I've ever been that felt that way."

  "Maybe you'll find another. Tacoma's a city, but it's not a bad city."

  Fenris shook his head. “I can't run in full wolf shape in a city, Father. That'll never make it home for me. So do you have a way to contact these superheroes of yours?"

  "Cell phones,” Loki answered with a wince. “Which are—"

  "—useless out here. Smart, Father. You never did think ahead worth beans."

  "You have a better idea, Fenris? That's all I could think of."

  "Didn't think hard enough. Military grade walkie-talkies would've worked. Twenty mile radius. Hell, you could've gone with satellite phones, if nothing else. Cell-phones. Sheesh.” Fenris shook his head in apparent disgust. “There are miles and miles of nothing out there. For all you know they could be hurt, dying, whatever..."

  Loki shook his head. “I doubt it. They're probably halfway to Tacoma by now, in a hell of a lot better shape than I am.” He rubbed the side of his head, which was still sore from where Fenris had punched him. “You pack one hell of a wallop, you know that?"

  "Black belt in eight different disciplines,” Fenris grunted. “Added to the strength and speed you programmed into me from the beginning...” He shrugged. “Sorry about that."

  "No you're not,” Loki replied. “But that's okay. I guess I deserved it."

  Fenris laughed, a low chuckle filled with genuine amusement. “You have changed.” He walked over to the
radio sitting on a nearby desk, picked up the microphone. “Gabby—you out there?"

  What sounded like a little girl's voice came back. “I'm here, Tryg. What's up?"

  "I've had a family emergency come up. I need to take at least a few days off to go to a funeral. Can you handle everything that long?"

  "I don't know, Tryg. The lost cows and stray dogs might prove my match."

  "Smartass. Okay, fine. I'll keep in touch.” He replaced the mic on the desk and turned to Loki. “Let's get out of here. We'll take my truck."

  * * * *

  His ‘truck’ was a huge SUV that probably got something like two miles to the gallon. Loki took one look at it and nearly groaned aloud. Sure, it was probably very handy out here in the sticks, but in the city it would be like driving an aircraft carrier down I-5. Of course, Loki was prejudiced. He liked small sports cars. Always had.

  An hour later they were zooming down the highway, the deep rumble of the SUV's eight cylinder engine strangely reassuring. Going home.

  Fenris didn't have a lot to say. He turned on a local radio station playing country music and softly sang along with it as he drove. Loki tried to ignore it, a lot easier said than done. After a while, he closed his eyes and fell into a dreamless sleep-like state, the closet he could actually get to sleep.

  "Loki?"

  "What?"

  "What's Athena like?"

  Loki opened his eyes and stared over at Fenris, whose knuckles had grown white as they clutched the steering wheel. The question meant a lot more than it seemed on the surface. Loki wondered not only why he was asking, but what answer he expected. “Complicated."

  "That's not an answer."

  "I don't know what you want, Fenris. It's a simple question with a whole host of possible answers."

  "She's running your show these days, right? I want to know what kind of woman is calling the shots. If she's like Gaby, she'd be great at it. Despite the little girl voice, that little redhead is all spitfire."

  "I doubt if anyone would call Athena a spitfire. She has too much baggage for that. She's thoughtful, sober, and beautiful. But there's a core of her that's been deeply hurt, and it's like a deep infection that needs to be lanced and never has."