I Bring the Fire Part IV: Fates: The Hunt for Loki Is On

by C. Gockel

  Amy blinks at him. Is she supposed to be the responsible person here? She probably should be…but the library is ordinarily empty this time of night, and she really wants to see the medical section.

  Apparently taking her silence for reluctance, Bohdi continues, “And you know the old saying, when in Rome…” He pauses and looks up thoughtfully.

  “Plunder the libraries?” Amy supplies with a snicker.

  Shrugging, Bohdi smiles like a shark. “Works for me.”

  A few minutes later, they’re trailing through the cavernous expanse of shelves, butterflies lighting their way. Instead of aisles, the shelves extend stories above their heads. Little trellised walkways and sliding ladders provide access here and there. As Amy and Bohdi walk past, the titles and authors on the spines of the tomes flicker and glow.

  “Do you think they have a physics section?” Bohdi asks.

  “I’m sure they do,” says Amy, leading him straight to the medical section. Stopping, she pulls a large tome on troll anatomy from the shelves. The illustrations and neat cursive scrawl light up as her eyes traverse the pages. She sniffs. Magic aside, the pictures aren’t as good as Netter’s Atlas of Human Anatomy.

  Bohdi peers over her shoulder and then ducks away. She’s vaguely aware of him climbing up a ladder. She’s just reviewing the troll’s anterior cruciate ligament—more human than orangutan, definitely, when she hazards a glance up at Bohdi. He’s sitting on the highest rung of a ladder, nose buried in a book. The title on the spine makes her eyebrows hike, Mating Rituals Among the Elfish People.

  Stifling a snort, Amy licks her lips and says as innocently as she can manage, “Whatcha lookin’ at there?”

  Not looking at her, Bohdi says, “Oh, you know…dry, boring, anatomical…stuff.”

  “Uh-huh,” says Amy, going over to the ladder.

  He’s so engrossed, he doesn’t notice her slinking up below him until she almost whips the book from his hand.

  Lifting the book and snapping it shut, he glares down at her from between his knees. Raising an eyebrow, he turns it over and looks at the writing on the spine. Eyes going back to Amy he says, “So you can read Asgardian, not just speak it?”

  He knows. Amy’s jaw falls. She should have told him, but she didn’t—at first because she didn’t want their guests to know. And then…because why?

  “What else do you know, Amy?” he asks.

  Amy takes a step down the ladder. The conversation they could have plays out in her mind. You know how Loki wiped your memories? Well, he gave me all of his. They’ve been really convenient. Sorry your amnesia has been a bit more of a bummer.

  She can’t speak.

  Opening the book again, Bohdi says, “I think I’m going to keep this.” He gives her a leering grin. “For the guys in it.”

  Amy’s mouth falls.

  He chuckles. “They’re so scrawny they make me feel buff and masculine.”

  Amy snatches the book from him and looks down at the pages, purely out of scientific curiosity. The pose on the page looks too painful to be arousing. What’s more… “The men make me look buff,” she says. And the women look as tiny and delicate as ballerinas. She scowls remembering her trip to Alfheim. “They must have thought I looked like a bloated cow.”

  “You?” says Bohdi. “No.”

  The assurance in his voice makes Amy flush. Snapping the book shut, she hands it back up to him. Not wanting to meet his gaze, she instead looks to the side. Her lips purse. “Of all places…how did you wind up in the reproduction section?”

  Bohdi looks around at the books. Voice excited, he says, “They’re all about sex?” He quickly yanks another book from the shelf and flips it open. His whole body stills. And then he says softly. “This one is about adze.”

  Amy remembers the dragonfly men and how their sexless, hairless bodies were more discomfiting than nudity. Face expressionless, Bohdi hands the book down to her. “What does it say?”

  Amy looks down at the page. There is a tiny line illustration of an adze, and a whole lot of cursive text. Her hands begin to shake a little as she reads.

  “What is it?” Bohdi whispers.

  “Well…” she says. “Guess it’s kind of obvious that they don’t reproduce sexually…When they devour a hominid, the bones will sprout muscles and ligaments…nerves…skin…and create a new adze.”

  “Oh,” Bohdi whispers.

  Amy’s hand starts to shake as she skims the page. “But it doesn’t require that the victim be devoured—a single scratch, or bite, is enough to ensure the transformation.” At just that moment a butterfly alights on her scabbed knuckle. Bohdi glances down.

  Amy looks at the neatly healing cuts.

  “Where did you get those, Amy?” Bohdi says.

  Clutching her hand to her stomach, Amy says, “When you were unconscious…but it must have been the tree branch.” She shivers and glances at the text. “Apparently, if it was an adze scratch, I’d be an adze by now.” She lets out a slow breath of air and looks up at him. “Still scary to realize how close I was to…”

  “Yeah,” says Bohdi. She glances up. His jaw is very tight. He gives her a wan smile.

  Looking away, he slips the book of elven mating rituals beneath the front of his tunic. Smacking where it’s caught in the fold above his trousers, he says, “So can you find the physics section?” He gazes upward. “Or would that be the magic section here, or are they one and the same?”

  Amy’s mouth drops. “Yes, but…are you stealing that book?”

  Bohdi flutters his long lashes at her. “I am appropriating new knowledge for the benefit of all mankind.”

  Amy’s eyes narrow. “You do know that it will be appropriated by ADUO as soon as we get back to Earth?”

  Bohdi’s nostrils flare slightly. “How dare they plunder my plunder!”

  Amy sighs. “Believe me. They don’t let you keep anything you pick up in another universe…or even just when you disappear from the face of the Earth for an hour.” She looks down. “They badger you with questions until you think you’re not even allowed to keep your memories, or not-memories. If Squeakers wasn’t able to scurry off and hide on his own…” And if Loki’s journal hadn’t been so small, so easy to slip into the front of her bra, she wouldn’t have that either.

  Bohdi shifts above her. “What do you mean when you disappear for an hour?”

  Amy blinks up at him. “Oh, it’s nothing.” Bohdi sniffs. She looks past the butterflies into the darkness. No, that’s not right. It was something…

  “What happened?” Bohdi asks.

  Amy looks up at him. “I don’t remember.”

  Bohdi’s chin dips. “And that doesn’t bother you?”

  “No… Maybe it should?” She hardly ever thinks about it.

  A crease settles in Bohdi’s brow. Leaning closer, he says, “Maybe?”

  Amy bites her lip. “But before that time, I was really hurt. There’d been a SWAT raid of Loki’s apartment, and they shot me in the neck, and my stomach was a pincushion for shattered glass.” She remembers the itch caused by the morphine, and the smell of antiseptic and shivers. “And then when I came back, I was better, and Beatrice was with me, and she was better, and so was Ratatoskr…so it must have been okay?”

  The crease in Bohdi’s brow grows deeper and his lips part. He looks slightly worried.

  Amy shakes her head. “Really, the only thing that bothered me was the interrogation afterward. They kept asking me questions.” She winces at the memory. Like they thought she was hiding something.

  Her head ticks to the side. Is she hiding something? Yes, Loki’s memories…But that’s not it, is it?

  “Come on,” says Bohdi softly. “Let’s go check out the physics section.”

  Grateful for the change of subject, Amy starts climbing down the ladder. “I didn’t know you liked physics,” she says.

  Following her, Bohdi ducks her gaze. “It’s just a hobby. I’m not a Ph. D. candidate or anything. I…” He rubs
the back of his neck. “It’s not like math, computer languages, Hindi, or English. I like it, but I don’t know it…” he huffs softly. “Well, I know it better than Steve does.”

  Amy hums a small laugh. “Is that hard?”

  Bohdi snorts. “Yeah, maybe not.” In a perfect imitation of Steve’s voice, Bohdi says, “Bohdi, how come World Gates keep popping up in Chicago when the World Seed is gone?”

  Amy laughs at the impression and then says, “He just is so stuck on the linearity of time!”

  Shaking his head, Bohdi says, “Newtonian physics… Sometimes you just have to let it go.”

  He gives a small smile and says, “But I shouldn’t make too much fun of Steve.” Putting his hands in his pockets, he shrugs a bit. “He’s kind of my best friend.”

  Amy’s gaze slips sideways. His eyes are on hers and they seem…softer. It’s terrifying. Looking away, Amy says, “It’s kind of hard to imagine you and Steve as friends. He’s so…straight-laced.”

  “It’s true,” Bohdi says as they pass a cozy reading nook and enter a section that houses the physics-magic books. “Without me, he might die of boredom—but without him, I’d be in Gitmo, so it all evens out.”

  Gitmo? Amy opens her mouth to ask and then hears a noise. On her shoulder, Squeakers goes rigid. Bohdi halts at her side. The butterflies continue to swirl in the air above them.

  Amy’s eyes slide in the direction of the sound. It’s footsteps, coming from around a corner in front of them—an alcove that leads to the main hallway beyond the library. A voice says in Asgardian, “I’m sure I saw lights in here.” There is another sound—a clinking noise. Armor?

  Amy looks behind them. The door to the tunnels is too far away; they won’t make it, even if they run. Mr. Squeakers gives an ill-timed cheep on her shoulder.

  “Did you hear that?” says the first voice.

  A deeper voice says, “Yes.” And then there is the sound of fast footsteps.

  “Hide!” Bohdi whispers, inclining his head in the direction of the nook.

  Amy nods, and they turn into the tiny space just as the footsteps enter the library proper.

  “Quick, behind the chairs!” Amy turns and slips into the dusty corner behind an enormous, overstuffed chair. Bohdi slips behind the other.

  The butterflies follow, dancing just above the chair backs. From beyond the nook comes the sound of their pursuers. “Do you see butterfly lights?”

  Amy reaches up and tries to catch the flitting insects. Bohdi does, too…but with much more luck.

  The sound of her heart is competing in volume with the footsteps that are only a few feet beyond the nook. Amy bows her head. Maybe if they play dumb…just tell Frigga they happened upon the tunnels. And were bored. And if they apologize profusely…

  “Look, the butterflies!” says the first voice. “What’s making them so excited?”

  “I’ll check,” says the deeper voice.

  Amy looks up. Her eyes lock with Bohdi’s. This is it.

  She hears the sound of a sword being drawn. “Come out, whoever, whatever you are!” says the deeper voice. There is another footstep. She can see the armored boot of its maker around the corner of her chair.

  Amy sits paralyzed. So does Bohdi.

  Squeakers does not.

  Leaping from her shoulder, Squeakers catches a fluttering butterfly midair, and lands on the back of the chair. Settling back on four legs, he bites into the butterfly with a crunch.

  The screams that come from the man’s mouth sound inhuman. Which Amy guesses, they technically may be, but still, it seems excessive…

  “A spidermouse! Kill it!” the first man screeches.

  “No! The whole library could be infested with them!” shouts his comrade. There is the sound of thudding retreating footsteps.

  “We must get the mages!” says first man, his voice now very far away. Amy and Bohdi creep out from their hiding places. Amy peeks around the corner of the nook. “They’re gone,” she whispers.

  She turns and sees Bohdi holding Squeakers in his palm. Smiling and scratching Squeakers behind the ears, he says, “Who could be afraid of such a cute little mouse?”

  Amy’s lips purse. Considering that Bohdi is holding Mr. Squeakers in his palm, it seems an inopportune time to point out that in another universe, she’d learned that Squeakers is venomous enough to knock out even a very powerful Frost Giant—and probably could kill a human.

  “Errr…” she says instead. “We better go before they get back.”

  Bohdi nods, and then says, “Can I get a book on physics first?”

  Amy blinks at him. Bohdi shrugs and smiles. Rolling her eyes, she runs to where they first heard the footsteps and pulls the first book she sees from the shelf. The Theory and Practical Application of Magic, by a Hellbendi so-and-so.

  Waving it at Bohdi, she says, “Can we go now?”

  “Yep,” says Bohdi with a grin, still holding Squeakers in his palm.

  They’re just slipping into the tunnel, the few remaining butterflies flitting in behind them, when they hear voices rise from the library. Bohdi and Amy twist the crank. There’s only a centimeter left to close when Amy hears a man’s voice say, “Are you sure you are up to this task?”

  “I’m sorry, Sir…but with the invasion and skirmishes with the Fire Giants, all the more adept mages are busy.”

  Amy puts her hand on top of Bohdi’s before he can finish closing the door.

  He stops and looks at her.

  Holding a hand to her lips, she says, “They’re talking about an invasion…”

  “Invasion? Where?”

  Beyond the tunnel, one of the men says, “How many mages can be needed for an invasion of Earth?”

  Amy looks at Bohdi, her eyes go wide, and she sinks to her knees.

  Chapter 22

  Shrugging his coat against the cold, Steve quickens his steps. He’s almost across Jackson when his phone vibrates in his pocket. Stepping onto the curb, he pulls it out and scans the screen. A new text from Prometheus.

  Still no news on the whereabouts of Miss Lewis and the other human?

  Steve starts walking again, somewhat surprised by the question. They’ve been assuming that Prometheus was at least located in Asgard part-time. Maybe he isn’t. Or maybe he is and this is just a ploy to uncover how much Steve knows. So Steve punts that ball right back at their sometime source.

  No, Steve types. It’s a lie. From the last transmissions received by the drone, ADUO is almost dead certain that Lewis and Bohdi are in Asgard.

  Tapping his thumbs on the screen, he asks, Do you have intel?

  Three little dots flash on the screen.

  For a few seconds, there is nothing. And then a message appears. I cannot see into Nornheim, but I do not believe that the Norns will harm Lewis. When will you send in a recovery team?

  So much emphasis on Lewis. And certainty that she is still alive. Interesting.

  Logistics under review, Steve types back.

  A one-word reply appears on the screen: Understood. And then Prometheus disconnects.

  Steve sighs. Well, at least someone understands that a mission to Nornheim is a little more than a walk in the park—or even a rescue from Somali pirates.

  Slipping the phone into his pocket he walks across the courtyard that separates the Board of Trade from the building to the east of it. He spares a look up at the Board of Trade—a hulking, bent shadow against the weak winter sun. His heart sinks. There has been no progress on rehabbing the structure. It’s a monument to defeat. He’d almost rather see the damned thing torn down, but it’s a national landmark, and that’s not going to happen.

  Shaking his head, he reaches the east side of the courtyard and ducks into the restaurant there. He’s met by a new waitress. She’s pretty, in a typical way. Blonde, busty, with a tan that is too expensive for a waitress salary.

  “Just one?” she asks. Her accent sounds vaguely Norwegian. There has been a small surge in immigrants from Scandinavia sin
ce the appearance of Loki.

  “Meeting some people,” Steve says.

  Picking up a menu, she says, “Oh, you’re Steve Rogers. I’m Cindy. Your party is in my section. Right this way.”

  A few minutes later, Steve is sitting down at a table with three members of Chicago’s Democratic Party, “Fats” MacNamara, a stout, ruddy-faced man in his fifties, and two young guys. Harrison, an African American with an East Coast accent and Harvard degree who Steve has mentally nicknamed “Two-for,” and Richard, a young white kid with stringy, dirty blond hair and a baseball cap. “Two-for” and Richard have convertible tablets open in front of them, every now and then their fingers dance across the keyboards. The conversations of scientists and tourists fill the restaurant. In the corner a TV is tuned to CNN.

  “Thing is, Steve,” Fats is saying, “you’re divorced, and still unmarried. And voters don’t like that…”

  Richard blinks up over the screen of his tablet. “Oh, come on, unmarried divorcees have become mayors before…”

  Two-for shoots a withering glare in Richard’s direction. Fats’s face goes a little ruddier.

  Steve’s lips twist into a bitter half-smile.

  Looking embarrassed, Fats says, “Steve is black.”

  Steve rolls his eyes and resists the urge to hold up his hands and say, What? I am? If Bohdi were here, he’d make that joke for him. Tapping a finger on the table, he smiles tightly.