by C. Gockel
She can’t see him anywhere. She scowls. He’s such a drama queen. It’s a good thing that Agent Marion Martinez staked her claim as soon as they got back from Asgard—if she hadn’t, Amy might have done something she regretted.
She stamps her foot, bites her lip, and lets out a breath of frustration. The trouble is, despite her annoyance, she’s worried about him.
He has been so touchy since their return. She’d offered to drive him from the office to this meeting because it was raining—and his car had been towed. Again.
In the car, NPR had confirmed the stories about Sleipnir, an eight-legged horse and child of one of Loki’s incarnations. Recently, Sleipnir has been sighted with a herd of unicorns roaming free in Grant Park. NPR’s validation of the rumors had been a vindication of sorts. Amy, Bohdi, and Steve had helped engineer the horse’s freedom.
Bohdi had laughed and smiled at the radio. “Sleipnir’s got some honeys.”
Amy smiled back. “Yeah…” It had felt so good to see him smile. She’d looked down and noticed he was wearing a pink shirt. “Hey, that shirt looks familiar,” she said.
Bohdi’s frame had stiffened. Frowning, he snapped. “Yes, I wore it yesterday…I spent the night at some chick’s house and didn’t get home to change.”
Amy blinked. Why was he so angry? And did he always talk about his girlfriend so crudely? “Oh,” she said, trying to cover her shock. “I was going to say it looks like the shirt you had on when we went to Nornheim.”
For a few moments, he’d been very quiet, and then he’d said abruptly. “Let me out.”
In the ballroom, Amy sighs and stands on her tiptoes. And where is her grandmother? Beatrice had worked from home today to meet a plumber; but she said she’d be here.
Amy turns around just in time to see Steve enter through a side door behind the podium. As always, he’s impeccably groomed. But whereas usually he’d be in a black suit, today he’s a little flashier—in a gray suit. It contrasts smartly with his dark skin.
He smiles and waves to someone and then sees Amy. He inclines his head, his brows drawing together. She can read the question in his eyes. A moment later, he’s at her side. Before he asks, Amy says, “I don’t know where Bohdi is. He asked to be let out of my car a few blocks away.”
Steve snorts. “Most likely getting a smoke. You haven’t been able to convince him to give up that habit?”
Amy blinks at her probably-soon-to-be-not-boss. Towering over her at nearly six foot five, his dark eyes are flickering over the crowd. Her brow furrows. Steve navigates social situations with an ease she’s never possessed. Usually, she thinks he’s sensitive to interpersonal matters. Turning back to the crowd, she says, “I think you overestimate my influence over Bohdi.”
“Hmmmm…” Steve replies.
Her eyes flick back to him. He’s looking down at her, his face unreadable. Lifting his head again, Steve says, “So did you like that book I loaned you?”
Amy’s mouth drops a little. “Yes…yes, I did.” Wild Swans: Three Daughters of China is the true story of three women’s lives during later imperial, revolutionary, and then Communist China. It is surprisingly good. Surprisingly because Amy isn’t normally interested in biographies…also because Steve lent it to her. She just wouldn’t think he’d be the type to read a book like that, though Bohdi insists Steve tears through all sorts of biographies, and oddly, books on Buddhism.
Steve nods and smiles, eyes still on the crowd.
Amy tilts her head. Lately Steve has seemed to take an extra effort to be nice. Inviting her and Beatrice on team building outings, sending her with Bohdi to the Michio Kaku TED talk on magic.
She blinks. It’s not that he wasn’t nice to her before, but Steve uses people, and he had use for her before. Now that he’s leaving the FBI and going to City Hall, she’s not sure why he’s continuing to be solicitous.
“Oh,” he says, “Thank you for showing Claire those baku kits. She can’t stop talking about them.”
Amy softens at mention of the bakus, the adorable little creatures with elephant trunks and lynx like bodies. She’d thought Steve’s daughter, Claire, would get a kick out of them. “She’s welcome to come and see them any time.”
Steve graces her with a smile that’s wide and genuine. “I’ll let her know,” he says.
Amy can’t help but smile back. She likes Steve’s kid. Claire is fun, cute, and doesn’t wince when she sees blood. And it’s hard not to be moved by the plight of a little girl whose mother was killed by Odin.
Bowing his head, Steve averts his eyes. “Thank you. I worry about her. Hanging around you, she’s decided she might want to be a veterinarian…and I’m just glad she’s happy and excited about something positive.”
Amy ducks her head and turns away. If Steve is using her for Claire’s sake, Amy doesn’t mind.
Steve’s phone starts playing a Bollywood tune. With a grunt he pulls it from his pocket and says, “Where are you, Bohdi?” Amy looks up to see him scowling. Steve snaps. “Your timing is great.”
Meeting Amy’s eyes, Steve speaks into the phone. “Yeah, yeah, I will. But you can cool your heels in there for a while.”
“Where is he?” Amy asks.
Turning off his phone and sliding it into his pocket, Steve growls. “Jail.”
Amy’s eyes go wide. Before she gets a word out, Steve shakes his head and rolls his eyes. “I’ll bail him out. But he can wait a few hours.”
Before Amy can think of something to say, a woman’s voice rings out in the crowd. “Amy!”
Starting, Amy turns. Her jaw drops. Walking quickly toward her is her friend Katherine, arms upraised. Katherine is a neuroscientist who’d relocated to DC shortly after Amy went back to veterinary school. Amy hasn’t seen her since…since Loki.
Katherine catches Amy in an oxygen-stealing hug. “I haven’t seen you in so long!” Katherine says.
Hugging her back, Amy says, “I thought you were in DC.”
Pulling away, Katherine says, “Our research group just moved back to Chicago—so much is happening here!”
Beside Amy, Steve says, “Dr. Swanson…I didn’t know your group was coming back to Chicago.”
Katherine looks up to Amy’s boss. “I’m sorry, I don’t know you…”
Amy’s lip part. If Katherine doesn’t know Steve then how—
Holding out a hand, Steve gives Katharine his most charming smile. “Steve Rogers, I work with Dr. Lewis at the FBI.”
At just that moment, a throng of press swarms around them with the usual Steve-are-you-or-aren’t-you-gonna-run-for-mayor questions.
Giving Katherine a little grimace, Amy pulls her away.
As they sneak past the mob, Katherine says, “So he of the unfortunate-name, he isn’t with you?”
Amy’s mouth drops open. It takes her a second, but then she pieces it together. All the pictures of Loki when he tore up Chicago were grainy, and he’d been wearing a ridiculous horned helmet. Just before he tore up the city, Amy and Loki had attended a talk Katherine had given on REM sleep. After the talk, Amy, Loki, Katherine, and her husband James had met up with some other science buddies for beers in a pub. Katherine didn’t know she’d met the real Loki that night. Amy swallows. Or Katherine can’t believe she met the real Loki. Loki had fit in so well with all their friends…
Amy gives what she hopes is a please-don’t-ask smile. “No, he’s not.” Trying to change the subject, she says, “So, I don’t think I know exactly what your research is.”
Katherine turns to her. “You know…you work for the FBI now…I think I’m allowed to tell you.”
x x x x
From across the room and over the reporters’ heads, Steve sees the exact moment Lewis knows. Her face drops, her eyes flash in his direction. For just a few loud beats of his heart, he thinks maybe she’ll confront him privately.
But then she abruptly turns from where she is talking to Dr. Swanson and strides in Steve’s direction, hands fisted at her sides.
And what did he expect? She once called Thor the So-Called God of Blunder and shouted at Steve’s boss in a meeting. Going into damage control mode, he scans the room. The side door he came through is guarded by two security guards. They’ll let him through, and any member of ADUO, but not the press.
Smiling at the reporters, he pulls out his phone. “Sorry, guys—and ladies—I have to take this, but I’ll be right back to answer your questions.” Before Lewis is close enough to confront him, he spins on his heels, the reporters’ questions ringing in his ears. Holding his silent phone to his ear, feigning deep concentration, he steps through the side door. The hallway he enters isn’t the main thoroughfare for the hotel ballrooms and is nearly empty. He sees a few Chicago police officers by the fire exit at one end of the hall. In the same direction he sees a vaguely familiar, too-tan serving woman with bobbed blonde hair going in a swinging door. He hears the clatter of a kitchen beyond that. Looking the other way, he sees the intersection with a larger foyer. A few more of Chicago’s PD are standing there.
He rubs his head. He can’t miss this conference. This confrontation with Lewis is happening here and now. He looks back to the door he just came through. Backing away from it a few steps, he puts his hands on his hips and waits for her to barrel through.
It takes too long. He wipes his face. Maybe she ran into the press. Maybe she’s telling them. Steve’s heart sinks, and he feels all his ambitions begin to unravel.
He takes a step forward. The door swings open, almost hitting him in the face, and there is Lewis, phone out and lit up in her hand. Tears are streaming down her face—and that makes Steve wilt a little—even if he should have expected it. Once Lewis had told him he was a good dad. Would he have done to his kin what he did to hers?
Holding his hands out toward her, he says, “Let me explain—”
Lewis’s voice comes out in a strangled sob. “Fuck you, Steve! You hid it from me, and I would fucking kill you—” she wipes the tears from her eyes and waves her phone at him, “—if Fenrir hadn’t just hit a car!”
Steve blinks, and Lewis spins toward the main foyer. Uttering a loud “Arrrggghhhh!” she breaks into a run, nearly toppling over a woman coming down the hallway as she does.
The strange woman’s eyes meet Steve’s. But he doesn’t really see her. Will Lewis talk to the media? He puts his hands to his face.
The woman comes forward. “What was that all about?”
Steve’s attention snaps to her, and he almost does a double take. The woman he is looking at is of African descent, nearly six feet tall and athletic. Her hair is hanging down her back in loose black ringlets. She’s gorgeous. Steve’s mouth goes dry and damage control starts to take on several meanings.
“She works for me…Her dog was hit by a car.” Although Amy had said Fenrir had just hit a car. It must have been a slip of the tongue. “She’s upset.”
The woman’s brows draw together. “How sad…”
Steve releases a breath.
She looks at the door he just came through and then back to Steve. Putting her hands together, she winces. “So it might be a bad time to ask…but will that door take me to the Technomagic Initiative meeting? I’m not invited…but I was thinking of crashing the party.”
Steve’s breathing starts to return to normal. His mind spins at her question. Space had been very limited to the meeting. He should be suspicious, but he’s grateful for the change in subject, and finds himself wanting to help her sneak in. Still, old habits die hard. “Are you press—or a scientist?”
She looks at the ceiling and bites her lip. “Neither, I’m actually a pediatrician. I was in the hotel for a meeting—learning to identify the physical manifestations of psychological trauma in children—and helping children recover.” Her lips turn down. “As doctors, we’re often on the front lines of such things…”
There is something about her words, the compassion on her face. Steve doesn’t believe in love …and yet…He takes a step back. His heart is starting to beat fast, his suit is beginning to feel too warm.
She smiles and shrugs. Meeting his eyes, she says, “I just find magic fascinating.”
And maybe there isn’t such thing as love, but there is loyalty, and there is need. His eyes scan her fingers for rings, and he feels a little rush of victory when he sees none. “There are guards behind these doors,” he says.
Her shoulders fall. Behind him he hears a door swing, footsteps, and the sound of serving ware clinking.
Steve leans toward the woman. “But I may be able to help with that.”
The woman beams at him, bright white teeth showing between full burgundy lips. Steve smiles back and moves toward the door. The woman steps close, her hand going to his arm…
Behind him he hears a gasp. And then a voice rises in the hall. “Stay away from him!”
Steve and the woman beside him turn. Down the hallway, pushing a serving cart, is the same familiar-looking blonde staff worker he’d seen earlier. There’s something about her too-expensive tan…
“Who are you?” says the woman beside him.
“I know who you are, Freyja!” says the blonde woman, pulling something from the smock she wears.
A cold jolt goes down Steve’s spine. Freyja, Goddess of Love and Beauty, capable of being anyone’s ideal. Steve instinctively pulls away from the woman beside him. Turning to him, she meets his eyes. “This woman is obviously unstable—”
The woman by the cart comes running in their direction, a blur of something gray and sharp in her hand. Steve’s about to intercept her, but the woman next to him is faster. Stepping forward, she catches the gray blur the other woman holds between her hands.
“Stop!” screams the blonde, her chest heaving.
The mouth of Steve’s beautiful companion drops. Her eyes go wide, and she seems to freeze in place. And then her face appears to melt…and Steve is staring at a very different woman. She is not African—or any discernible race, really. Her hair is dark brown and straight, her lips are thinner, her skin is olive, and her eyes that had just been nearly black are a light brown. She’s still tall. Still beautiful. But in a way that is generic.
He looks to the blonde woman. For some reason, his eyes catch on her earrings—a pair of gray pearlescent orbs that look oddly familiar… And then another thought strikes him. His magic detector isn't working. The woman’s eyes go over Steve’s companion’s shoulder. “Einherjar!” she says.
Steve turns to look behind him. Eight police officers are coming down the hall—they’re a very mixed ethnic group—a few look Asian—but very tall, a few of African descent, even someone who looks Native American… Obviously, Steve’s all for integration, but his skin crawls. In this city, especially on this beat, the police are almost exclusively white.
“Can you trust me?” says the blonde woman.
Meeting her eyes, Steve says, “I don’t think I have a choice.” He blinks, suddenly recognizing her. She was his waitress months ago in the restaurant the day Claire’s mother was killed. “Cindy!” he says.
Nodding, she wraps her hand around his wrist. Steve’s eyes snap to the movement…and he sees nothing. His jaw drops. He looks down at his body. He’s disappeared. He glances toward Cindy—and sees only empty air. He feels a tug on his wrist, pressure on his shoulder, and a gentle gust of air by his ear. “The police at the fire exit are hers…to the kitchen,” Cindy whispers.
But Steve’s eyes are glued to the woman who must be Freyja. In her hands, she appears to have caught the sharp blade of a spear. The spear point winks from existence, and Freyja starts to move, immediately uttering a loud curse. Steve’s eyes snap to her. Her appearance changes again—her ears begin to grow, her frame shrinks, and he’s staring at a delicately-boned blonde elf.
“Quickly,” Cindy whispers. Turning from Freyja, Steve jogs toward the kitchen door—and collides with something soft. He hears a muttered female, “Oomf,” from Cindy.
“Sorry,” he whispers automatically.
&
nbsp; “I’m all right,” says Cindy, but she sounds breathless, and she isn’t moving.
From behind him he hears a click. Turning his head, he sees Freyja has pulled out a semi-automatic handgun. Instinctively, Steve reaches for his Glock. He raises it and realizes he can’t see his own damn gun or even his hand—he can’t aim. Beyond Freyja and her men there are other guests in the foyer. Someone says, “Is there a problem, officers?”
Cindy starts to pull him toward the kitchen again. They’re only steps away. Freyja utters something that might be a curse, and the police officers answer in kind. One of the officers by the fire exit begins to charge toward the kitchen door. It swings open in front of Steve, and he’s yanked through.
Shouts erupt from the other side of the door and from the kitchen within. Letting himself be led by Cindy, Steve keeps his face turned toward the door—his gun raised in the general direction. He hears kitchen staff around him, the bang of pans, the rush of water. A police officer comes through the door, gun raised, screaming at Steve in a language that isn’t English. Suddenly Steve sees himself flickering into view. In a heartbeat, he readjusts his aim. Pulling the trigger he feels the shock of recoil, hears the cartridge fire, and then Cindy is yanking him to the left. The man falls, but the door swings open. “Down!” shouts Cindy, and Steve drops to find himself sheltered by a stainless steel work station, just as shots ring out through the kitchen.
Cindy has a phone in one hand. Pressing it to her ear, she’s shouting in a language that sounds a lot like the one Freyja was just speaking. Steve saves his questions for later, just keeps down and fires a few rounds at the imposter police officers crouching in the doorframe. He hears a scream and sees blood running to a drain in the kitchen floor.
“Come on,” Cindy says, grabbing Steve’s arm. “Help is coming.”
Nodding, Steve follows her through the kitchen, crouching low to stay behind the islands. Bullets fly overhead, someone left water running somewhere, and it’s pouring out onto the floor. In front of them is an emergency exit. Steve hears the door behind them swing open, and the sound of many feet.
