by C. Gockel
Straightening out her clothes and her hair as much she can without a mirror, Amy walks toward Bohdi. She’s interrupted by a knock at the door. She’s just had time to slip Squeakers into her pocket when it swings open. The maids from earlier stand in the doorway, this time with trays laden with steaming dishes in their hands. Above their heads glowing butterflies flutter, their wings casting light throughout the darkening room. Amy hadn’t noticed how close the sun was to setting.
“Dinner?” says one.
Bohdi says nothing.
“Thank you, come in,” says Amy.
Without a word, Bohdi walks over to the table and sits down.
He’s quiet as the maids deposit the trays and leave, a cloud of butterflies staying behind to light their dinner. It reminds her of the restaurant where Loki created illusions of butterflies to comfort a young girl.
To distract herself, she describes the dishes to Bohdi. Loki probably knew every dish made by anyone anywhere. The man—Frost Giant, incarnation of chaos—ate like, well, not a horse. Loki was very omnivorous—more like a bear. Or several bears.
Bohdi doesn’t say more than “Hmmm” and “Mmmmm.” In the silence, Amy catches herself mentally measuring how much Bohdi eats. He puts down enough that Amy would feel stuffed to the gills, but nothing like Loki, just like a normal human male in his twenties.
She quietly reprimands herself. She’s got to let go of the Bohdi-as-Loki thing. If Bohdi was Loki and sneezed when he heard lies, he would have sneezed when Thor said Loki was in Hel, but he didn’t…because it wasn’t a lie…and Odin didn’t detect a lie either, so Bohdi can’t be…
Slipping a hand into her pocket, she runs a finger between Squeakers’ ears. She has to open up her mind to the idea of a new Loki, a completely different, unimagined so far, Loki. When Thor brings him back, she has to convince him to come back to Earth with her or this whole trip will be for nothing.
She doesn’t know why, but the task isn’t just daunting anymore—it makes her sad for some inexplicable reason. Shaking her head, she lets out a sigh to break the silence. Bohdi doesn’t comment. And suddenly his quiet, and the butterflies that are like that other time, are sickening and oppressive.
“What are you thinking?” Amy asks.
Pushing the remains of some Vanaheim pink potato around his plate, Bohdi’s jaw goes tense. She doesn’t think he will answer, but then, head bowed, he says, “I was thinking about Nidhogg, actually.”
Remembering the dragon, Amy’s shoulders slouch, and she feels a little sick to her stomach. She looks down at her own plate. Nidhogg died so fast. One moment he was there, threatening to eat them, the next he was gone.
“How old was he?” Bohdi says.
Amy can’t bring herself to speak. Older than Loki. Probably older than Odin and Frigga. The things he must have seen and known…
Bohdi meets her eyes briefly.
Looking away he says, “In the Marine Corps, they told us it isn’t uncommon for guys to fire above the enemy’s heads. I used to think that was stupid.” He drops his fork with a clang on his plate, and puts his head in his hands. “Now I’m feeling sad about the death of a dragon that wanted to eat me.”
Amy stares at him. She’s shocked and it takes a moment to realize why. She is still thinking of him as Loki…She can’t remember a time when Loki felt sorry for an enemy. Because he’d lost the ability, or because he was raised in a violent culture, she’s not sure.
…but Bohdi’s not ancient, and he’s not from Asgard. And as much as he’s better at killing things, he’s seen less of death than Amy has.
Biting her lip, she says, “I was having nightmares about spider screams.”
He looks up quickly. “That wasn’t your fault.”
Amy feels her frame soften. “The fire was my suggestion.” She reaches across the table but stops short of taking his hand. “And I’m glad I didn’t die skewered by a spider leg.”
Shifting in his chair, Bohdi says, “Twelve Valkyries are dead. Because of me.”
“The Norns killed them, not you,” Amy says. She looks down at her plate. Thor, Amy, the Valkyries, they’d all been looking for chaos. In one sense they’d found it. Reaching into the pocket not occupied by Squeakers, she wraps her fingers around the Archaeopteryx feathers. She bites her lip again, overwhelmed by the thought of what may be uncovered by sequencing the DNA in these feathers. That’s the thing about chaos—open yourself up to it, and you don’t just open your life to danger; you also open your life to wonder.
Leaning forward so fast he shakes the table, Bohdi says, “But it was because I—” He stops.
Releasing the feathers, Amy looks up at Bohdi. “Because you what?”
Bohdi’s lip curls. “You heard what the Norns said!”
His tone makes Amy pull back. And then her skin heats. “I heard them say that you are a slut, and a man-whore, and that you insulted them. I didn’t hear what happened.” She drops a hand on the table with more force than she intends and the silverware rattles. “And maybe you hit on them accidentally, I don’t know Norn culture, but you wouldn’t have done anything to offend them on purpose and…”
She stops. They said he insulted them…
What had Lache said before she and Bohdi had started eating? “You’ll need your strength.” And then there was Chloe’s comment to Amy about whether she’d ever considered being a boy, and Lache talking in the language that sounded like Hindi, and Chloe’s comment about getting in the mood…
Amy’s eyes rise to where Bohdi is staring at her across the table, a scowl etched deep in his brow.
“They hit on you,” she whispers.
For a minute, Bohdi’s face goes soft, then he smirks and looks at his plate. “What possible reason would the Norns have to want to hit on a human?”
Amy blinks and shrugs. “Maybe having sex with one of every sentient species is on their bucket lists?”
Bohdi’s eyebrows go up. “Why would creatures who are next to immortal have a bucket list?”
A memory comes to Amy. She closes her eyes to try and block the images. “Maybe it wasn’t so much a bucket list as sort of bingo. You know, where they check off a square for every species they—-”
She can’t bring herself to finish.
She opens one eye. Bohdi is staring at her, jaw slack.
She winces. “Between puberty and Anganboða, Loki—”
Again she can’t finish.
“Anganboða?” says Bohdi.
A non-distressing question. Finally. “First real love of his life,” she says. “They got married and—well lived happily, mostly, until she died.” Amy leaves out the committed suicide bit.
“They did have a beautiful little girl named Helen. Hel is where her grave is.”
Bohdi stares at her, face expressionless. It’s only a few moments, but it’s long enough for Amy to start to feel uncomfortable.
Tilting his head, his lips turn up in a tiny sneer. “Loki told you about his sex bingo game?”
“Errrr…” says Amy.
Bohdi shakes his head and shovels up a bit of pink potato stuff. Voice too knowing, he says, “I would never tell my girlfriend something like that.”
Amy’s ire prickles. “Like you’re an authority on relationships!” Mr. Alley Cat!
Bohdi’s head shoots up. “I had a girlfriend!”
“For how long?” says Amy
Bohdi drops his head, and mumbles. “About six months.”
“That’s—” Nothing, Amy almost says, but then she realizes, “That’s nearly a quarter of your known life.”
“Thanks for reminding me,” says Bohdi, scraping his fork across the plate.
The words, “What happened?” slip out. Putting a hand over her mouth, she murmurs, “Sorry, you don’t have to answer.”
Smiling bitterly, Bohdi says, “She was a nice Indian girl, and as you’ve noticed, I’m not a nice Indian boy.”
“That’s…” Amy doesn’t know what to say. She feels terri
ble. “I’m sorry.”
Bohdi shrugs. “It’s no big deal.”
Amy’s eyebrows go up.
He looks at her and rolls his eyes. “I wasn’t in love…” Running a hand through his hair, he sprawls back in his chair. One knee rises and falls as he taps his heel. “I was just trying to regain my heritage, or find a family, or…”
Remembering the picture he’d just been looking at on his phone, Amy swallows. Before she can say anything, outside in the hallway there is the sound of shouts and many footsteps.
“What was that?” says Bohdi.
Amy looks down at their empty plates, and her eyes widen. “Something is wrong. The maids should have stayed to collect our dishes… They must be needed elsewhere.”
Her eyes meet Bohdi’s. Standing as one they go to the main door. Holding a finger to his lips, Bohdi leans and presses an ear to the door. Shaking his head, he shrugs and whispers. “Just lots of feet.”
Amy looks at the doorknob. She reaches out with a trembling hand. Bohdi’s knife is instantly out and open. He nods at her.
She opens the door and sees maids and servants dashing down the halls. There is the clink of metal, and two blurs on either side of her make her turn her head, another blur directly in front of her makes her turn and gasp, and then she’s falling backward.
x x x x
The first thing Bohdi sees when Amy opens the door of their plush prison is two guards in Viking-meets-video game armor. Their backs are to Amy and Bohdi, and their swords are sheathed, but they both hold wicked-looking spears, the metal tips ridged, and gleaming bright. Amy gives a faint sigh, and with the precision of dancers, the two guards swivel on their feet, sweeping their spears around with them.
Bohdi instinctively yanks Amy back. She falls against his chest, and the spears clack together a few inches in front of where her nose would have been. It takes Bohdi a moment to realize they probably weren’t trying to hurt her. Still, his hand shakes on her shoulder, and his eyes flit between the two men. One is Caucasian looking. The other looks a lot like Bohdi, but he sports a thicker mustache than Bohdi will ever be able to grow.
White guy nods. “Pardon, Mademoiselle, but we were instructed not to let you leave your chambers. Unfortunately, there has been a bit of an emergency, and there is no one to guard you.”
Amy visibly perks. Voice excited, she says, “Wait… You have a French accent, you’re actually speaking English, not using magic to translate! You’re human!”
A small smile comes to the man’s lips. “Yes, I was French, Mademoiselle. Now I am one of Odin’s Einherjar.”
Thrusting a hand forward, Amy says, “I’m Amy, and this is Bohdi, so nice to meet you!”
The Einherjar looks her up and down—determining her threat level and checking her out. The new clothes confirmed something that Bohdi had been suspecting. Amy isn’t thick; the proper description is stacked.
Bowing, Frenchie takes her hand and brings it to his lips.
Bohdi narrows his eyes at the man.
Might-be-an-Indian-guy narrows his eyes, too—at Bohdi.
Gently dropping her hand, Frenchie says, “My name is Pascal.” Inclining his head in the direction of his companion, he says, “And this is Gabbar.”
Snapping his ankles together, Gabbar bows. “Gabbar Singh Negi. Pleased to meet you, Miss.” The name is unmistakably Indian.
“Both of you speak great English,” says Amy, a smile in her voice.
Does she have to be so nice to their jailers?
Pascal claps his companion on the shoulder. “Gabbar here fought for the British during Earth’s first World War. I learned as a boy.”
Putting her hands together, Amy says, “Maybe you could show us around?”
Oh, she’s buttering them up. That’s a good ploy. Bohdi swallows. And yet he hopes she fails.
Pascal straightens and steps back. He looks to Gabbar.
“We are warriors, not tour guides,” Gabbar rumbles.
“I’m sorry, Mademoiselle, but this is our post.” Pascal says with a dip of his head.
“Oh,” says Amy, hands going to her sides. “That’s too bad. I would love to talk to you more…and know when and where you were you recruited, and everything you’ve seen…” She sounds distressingly enchanted.
Suddenly, unable to take it anymore, Bohdi grabs Amy’s arm and pulls her into their room. Barely managing to mumble, “Excuse us a moment,” he slams the door shut with his foot.
“What’s wrong?” says Amy, eyes wide.
Sucking air through his teeth, Bohdi whispers, “Can we not make friends with our enemies?”
Amy gazes at him. And then she whispers, “Okay.”
Bohdi’s body sags in relief. His lighter is in his hand. He doesn’t remember taking it out.
Stepping around Amy, he goes to the far wall. “Maybe there’s another way to poke around.” Looking out the window, he scowls. Outside is a small courtyard. They aren’t high up, but Einherjar are standing guard on all sides.
Amy whispers in his ear. “All of these guest rooms have secret passages. If we find one…”
Bohdi turns and finds their faces very close. He licks his lips and whispers. “Where?”
Voice hushed, Amy says, “I don’t know, but I do know one of these walls is a lie. Sometimes magic wasn’t the most efficient way to spy. If we can find it…” Spinning around, she goes to the other side of the room and begins running her hand along the wall. Glowing butterflies follow in her wake.
He doesn’t need to ask how she knows. He grinds his jaw and drops his eyes. And then he blinks. One of the walls is a lie? The Lord of Chaos is supposed to sense lies. And if he is…Bohdi hesitates just a moment, but then he joins Amy, lightly trailing his hand over the plaster paneling. His nose almost instantly starts itching, but for once it might only be dust. The paneling isn’t as smooth as it looks. It feels grainy under his fingers, and when he pulls his hand away there is grime on his fingers. Ahead of him, Amy lifts a tapestry, drops it, and then goes over and tips a chair back to peer intently at the space underneath it.
Bohdi keeps running his fingers along the wall. He’s just passing the fireplace when he almost sneezes. Wiping his nose, he whispers, “Amy, could it be in the fireplace?”
Dropping the chair back down, she turns toward the fireplace. Rushing over, she exclaims, “Yes!” and begins frantically patting down the molding around the fireplace. The molding is a series of circles, with an elaborate twisting pattern swirling around a central three-pronged shape within. Mumbling cryptically to herself, “Norse knot pattern, probably the only real thing in here.” Amy sinks to her knees. She smacks the bottom-most circle right in the center. The plaster jostles slightly.
Bohdi falls to his knees beside her.
“I think this is it,” Amy says. She grabs the three-pronged shape and twists. It spins and there is a whisper from the fireplace. Bohdi and Amy both peek. The back wall of the fireplace has slid to the side.
“Wow, you found it,” Amy says, her eyes sparkling in the butterfly lights. “How did you know?” Bohdi finds himself unable to speak. He could tell her the truth. She probably wouldn’t believe him. He swallows and remembers her hand in his in the throne room. Maybe she would. Maybe she’d even throw her arms around him. He could press their bodies together and tuck his head in the space between her shoulder and her neck. He's cold all of a sudden—and she'd be warm. His legs feel weak, and she could help him stand.
Dipping his chin, evading her gaze, he says instead, “The fireplace arch is shaped like a doorway…”
“Oh,” says Amy with a smile. “You’re right. That was smart.”
Eager to move on, Bohdi says, “You figured out how to open it. You’re the smart one.”
Something like disappointment flickers across Amy’s face. “Right,” she says.
x x x x
Amy waits in the tunnel, just beyond the fireplace archway, Mr. Squeakers in her hand, butterflies swirling above her head. Bohdi
stoops and enters behind her. “I told Frenchie and Mr. Judgmental we were going to be asleep and not to let the maids back in.”
“Great,” says Amy. She’s sure that whatever “excitement” is occupying Odin’s staff is also keeping Heimdall and his raven spies distracted. But another visit from the maids could be problematic.
Pursing his lips, Bohdi looks around the tunnel. No illusions cover the concrete block here. It could be the utility hallway of any building on Earth. At least it’s not dangerous. As soon as she thinks that thought, Squeakers launches himself into the air from her palm. Amy gasps, Bohdi’s eyes go wide, and his side is instantly pressed to hers, his knife in his hand.
“Do you think he knows something we don’t?” he says, scanning the ceiling above their heads.
“I don’t—”
Her words die on her tongue as Squeakers leisurely slips down from the ceiling on a line of spider silk, a butterfly fluttering in his forelimbs. Her spidermouse bites off the butterfly’s head with a crunch.
Amy winces. Reaching for her spidermouse, she turns to Bohdi and says apologetically, “Just because Squeakers is dangerous, doesn’t make him bad.”
Settling into her outstretched palm, Squeakers takes another loud bite from the butterfly’s torso. Amy glances up to see Bohdi looking at her, eyes very wide and soft. But maybe that’s a trick of the light. His lip curls in a slight smile, and he shrugs. “Well, we could use some danger in here.” He looks around the tunnel and sighs dramatically. “No spooky empty suits of armor, no skeletons on the walls.” Plucking the line of spider silk Squeakers left behind, he rolls his eyes. “And only one cobweb.”
Amy smiles, he seems to be himself again. “Come on,” she says, starting down the tunnel.
They haven’t gone far when they come to an intersection Amy recognizes—or Loki recognized. Bohdi only raises an eyebrow when she says, “I think we should go this way,” and leads him toward what she knows are the main rooms of the palace.
They pass by a few doors and then come to a large door that Amy also recognizes. She stops. She bites her lip. On the one hand, they have a Mission. On the other hand, whatever is happening isn’t likely to be over soon, and who knows if they’ll get another chance to go into the room just on the other side of the wall. Her eyes slide to the side. Beside the door, there is a little sort of steering wheel crank thing. There is also a little sliding lever about eye height. Without giving an explanation to Bohdi, Amy slides the lever to the side. She knows that the door is disguised by a bookshelf, and that the little lever opens a window disguised as a book. As the tiny window opens, a butterfly sneaks through, casting a faint light in the space beyond. Amy peeks and sees an empty recessed nook, and beyond that the library proper. Bohdi peers over her shoulder. “Oooo…books,” he whispers. He sounds more excited than she would have expected. “It looks empty to me,” he says. Pulling away, he adds, “And you know…whatever is going on…it’s not like we can stop it, or help, and who knows what magical technology we could discover in a library…even just looking at pictures.”
