I Bring the Fire Part III: Chaos

by C. Gockel

  Creating an illusion of a key fob in his hand, Loki uses magic to open the lock to the front door. He holds the door open for her and she walks through like a queen. “Good boy,” she says.

  He smiles and walks quickly to lead her to the elevators. There was a man who asked him for investment tips recently at a bar, a man who casually mentioned he’d be out of town...Loki scans the man’s penthouse apartment on the 11th floor. It is empty as expected, and well appointed.

  They ride to the 11th floor in silence. Maria is fighting a smile. Loki is concentrating, sending an invisible projection of himself to the lobby. He sees half a dozen cars pull up to the curb, ADUO agents spill out and mill just outside the door of the building. He tilts his head. He hadn’t expected quite so many; his heart beats a little faster.

  He doesn’t think that their satellite link to her phone can detect with accuracy what floor Maria is on, and that they will need her to send them the exact unit number so they can have a warrant issued. He’s betting extreme inconvenience on it.

  Exiting the lift, Maria turns, crooks a finger at him, and beckons him to follow. Obliging, he lets her lead—even as agents pour into the building and fan out to the two emergency stairwells and vehicle exits. Stepping in front of her when they reach the door for unit 1101, Loki creates another illusion of a key and lets her in—covering up the personal photographs that line the foyer with illusions just in time.

  Eleven stories below his projection watches as more agents arrive. They pace in the lobby, stairwell and garages, hands on headsets, eyes on magic detectors, awaiting instructions. He has to keep his projections moving and inconsistent to avoid detection. His heartbeat quickens again. He is cutting it close, but nothing ventured...no fun had.

  Maria stops in the foyer. He notices her slip her phone from her purse and put it between her breasts. She does it with great skill. If he hadn’t had an invisible projection in front of her, Loki would have missed it.

  She holds out her arms. Taking the silent order, Loki slips off her coat and hangs it quickly in the closet by the door. She doesn’t say thank you, she just smiles. She scans the ‘photos’ Loki has illusioned—closeups of Helen, Sigyn, Valli, Nari, Hoenir, Fenrir—the real one, not Amy’s little beast—and one of Anganboða,, sadly as fuzzy as Loki’s memory of her. There is even a picture of Thor. Under his breath Loki curses; he should have thought of photos that were more original. Maria tilts her head at the picture of Helen, perhaps thrown by his daughter’s half-blue half-pale skin.

  “Halloween costume,” he says quickly, using the same excuse for his blue skin that Amy gave the cab driver earlier that evening.

  Thankfully, Maria doesn’t ask anymore questions, just turns and walks into the main room. Turning, she points to the couch and says, “Sit. Put your hands on your knees.”

  When Loki does as he’s told, Maria tsks. “Sit up straight.” Loki adjusts his back so he’s sitting primly.

  Coming over, bending low to give him what should be an absolutely delicious view, she drags a finger down his forehead, over his nose, across his lips to his chin in a slow, languid motion that Loki imagines is almost regretful. “I’m going to slip into something a little more comfortable,” she whispers, her jaw tight and eyes alight. “Don’t. Move.”

  Loki swallows obligingly, biting back his smirk.

  Turning her back to him, she walks towards the back of the condo, her high heels clicking on polished wood floors. Belatedly, Loki remembers the man whose home he’s borrowing is expecting his first child. He sends an invisible projection ahead of Maria—there is a nursery; if she goes there she’ll know this is a ruse...

  Thankfully, Maria makes a beeline for the powder room and Loki releases a breath. As she closes the door, Loki stands up, magically muffling the sound and leaving an illusion of himself behind. He sends an invisible projection into the bathroom with Maria. As he expected, she is texting ADUO with the unit number. Eleven stories below another invisible projection watches as agents begin moving up the stairwells. On the 11th floor Loki exits the condo and sprints for the elevator bank. He hits the call button and the doors open immediately.

  Like most buildings, the elevator doors in the lobby have lights with numbers above showing where the elevators are. Loki makes sure the number for his elevator is 3 floors below its actual position, and then scowls when one of the ADUO agents in the lobby pulls out a beeping magic detector. “I’m getting another reading down here!” the agent shouts. Another agent pulls out her own detector. “Triangulate!” she says. An instant later she says, “It’s the numbers above the elevator!”

  Loki bites the inside of his cheek and hits the 8th floor button as the two agents in the lobby instruct the agents in the stairwells to sweep every floor. Exiting the elevator, Loki hits the third floor button so the elevator will continue without him and sends projections through all the units on the 8th floor. They are all occupied, so he breaks into the nearest one, muffling the sound of the lock and his footfalls. He closes the door as gently as he can behind him. An instant later he hears the heavy fire doors from the stairwell slam. Taking a deep breath, he closes his eyes and lets all of his projections dissipate. Heavy footfalls sound outside in the hall. He hears the beep of a magic detector and his eyes open in shock.

  Down the hall he hears an agent say, “I’ve got something. It’s kind of faint...but...”

  “Yeah, I’ve got the same reading,” says a second agent.

  “This way!” shouts the first voice. Over the sound of his own rapid breathing, Loki hears the sound of fast footfalls coming in his direction.

  x x x x

  ADUO’s offices are a flurry of activity. The heaters are clicking and the offices smell like wet hair and wool. The rain outside the window is mixed with snow. The Chicago weather forecast on Steve’s computer has been adjusted for thunder flurries. Odd weather for late October, even in Chicago.

  “We’ve got the warrant from the judge for South Sangamon Street unit 1101!” someone shouts. “Agents already have all the exits blocked and they’re fanning out throughout the building.”

  Sitting at his desk, Steve’s gripping a file folder so hard his knuckles are a shade lighter and his fingers ache. He’s furious...at Loki...at Jameson...at himself for being made to look like an incompetent fool by an incompetent fool.

  “Get me a car!” shouts Jameson, striding through the office towards the front door. He doesn’t ask Steve to follow.

  Steve taps a finger on his chair arm as the office slowly empties of everyone but Brett and Bryant. The two agents are looking at him through his open door. There is pity in their eyes. He looks away.

  Something is nagging at him. There’s something about that address. It is a rental unit. While researching the address for the warrant, the guys pulled a listing from Craig’s List for it from a few weeks back. They haven’t been in touch with the owner yet; they don’t want to lose the element of surprise.

  South Sangamon...South Sangamon...Unit 1101...

  Spinning to his rolodex, Steve starts rifling through the business cards, skimming the ones that look well worn. Twenty minutes later he’s going back through the deck again, swearing that he’s going to have Amy load all his contacts onto the computer. And then he finds it. Ronald Kalt. Steve met him at a function he’d gone to a week or so ago for the mayor. Ron’s a real estate agent, young, rich, renting a place while his row house is gutted; he and his pretty wife are expecting their first kid. Ron works out of his home and he’d just had the cards made up when Steve met him. Nice enough guy, though truth be told, Steve wouldn’t have paid as much attention to him if he wasn’t the mayor’s nephew.

  Staring at the card, Steve pulls out his phone...and stares at the card some more, a wicked smile forming on his lip. He bites it back and swallows a laugh. Jameson is going to crash and burn.

  Standing from his desk, Steve grabs his coat and heads for the front door. Somewhat reluctantly he hits speed dial on his phone to alert Jameson.
He’s transferred to voicemail of course. Steve bites the inside of his cheek to keep from grinning as he walks by Brett and Bryant.

  Loki didn’t let Steve down after all.

  x x x x

  In the darkness of the condo unit, back pressed to the front door, Loki forces himself to relax, forces his mind to empty—

  He hears the footsteps getting closer outside the door. He can teleport if he has to, but he really doesn’t want to. Not only is it draining, but ADUO has watched Cera transport people and things into the In-Between. If Loki steps through now, the readings might be similar. ADUO might discover his ability.

  He takes a deep breath. He hears a beep from outside the door, and then an agent says, “Huh, it’s gone.”

  “Sometimes these things pick up ambient magic,” says the other agent. The two pace outside in the hall, and then one says, “We should cover the stairwell doors.”

  “Yeah, right.” The two pairs of footsteps split up and Loki hears the creak of fire doors opening.

  Loki slumps down and catches his breath, hands on his knees.

  It is then that he notices his skin is blue. He almost gives a maniacal laugh but manages to stifle it. Being blue is the least of his problems. He needs to stay focused, he needs to wait...

  He listens to the sounds in the condo: the whoosh of the heater, the tick-tock of a clock somewhere. He catches a brief feminine sigh, and the sound of a small child’s cough, but otherwise everything is still.

  He just needs to wait...

  Loki stares at his blue hands. But...waiting has never been his strong suit. And waiting like a frightened rabbit in the dark is humiliating. And boring.

  The obvious thing to do is to set the building on fire and slip out during the mayhem. Sitting up he smiles at the plan, but just then the child in the bedroom begins to cough again. A light switches on around the corner from where Loki sits, and he hears a man say, “Is his fever up again?”

  “I don’t know,” says a frantic sounding woman. There are scampers of two pairs of feet and a pitiful toddler wail.

  Loki slouches in his hiding spot. Well, damn. He’s suddenly not as keen on setting the building on fire. His gut clenches. Odin would laugh at him.

  Listening to the parents soothe their child, he taps his blue fingers on his knees.

  His brow furrows. The magic detectors are sensitive, but how accurate can they be if they receive inputs from multiple sources? He tilts his head, one side of his mouth quirking. An experiment could be more fun than setting a fire!

  Closing his eyes, Loki creates multiple illusions of himself in the shadows of Ron Kalt’s condo...making sure none of them are on the couch where Maria left him.

  Maria is standing in the living room, wearing a strappy contraption with high heels that Loki doubts is comfortable but is extremely pleasing to the eye. Behind her back she holds a gun, her phone is tucked in a garter, its face lit up.

  “Loki,” she says with admirable calm, “I told you not to move.”

  Loki lets one of his illusions step from the shadows behind her. “And I told you,” his illusion self says, “I’m a very, very, bad boy.”

  Spinning and lifting her gun, Maria says, “You’re under arrest.”

  Loki lets his eyes rove over her body. “You look delectable. I wish I could have more than one of you.” Raising his chin he grins at the agent. “Oh, wait, I can.”

  All the illusions of himself in the shadows step forward, shimmer and become replicas of Maria.

  She spins around, gun upraised. “Illusions,” she mutters to herself.

  Heavy footfalls sound down the hall.

  “Hmmm...yes,” Loki lets one of his illusions say, as he hears pounding at Ron Kalt’s door. “Immaterial...but I think I can fix that.” He lets one illusion slip forward and around Maria. The agent looks down at her hands. He’s made her look just like him. She curses loudly, and the voice that comes from her mouth is his.

  On the 8th floor, Loki hears the sound of the agents’ voices echoing down the hall. “My sensor is going crazy. Maria’s got him on the 11th floor and Jameson is in with them!” Loki bites his lip to keep from laughing. Maria continues to curse as Ron Kalt’s door crashes open, and Loki lets his illusions of Maria fade temporarily.

  As agents fan into Ron’s apartment Jameson steps forward. His phone buzzes in his pocket but he ignores it. “Loki, you are under arrest,” Jameson says to Maria who now looks like Loki.

  Holding her hands above her head, Maria protests. “I’m Agent Hill.”

  Loki lets all of his illusions of Maria reappear. “No, I’m Agent Hill,” the lingerie-wearing illusions say in unison.

  Jameson gestures at Maria, her Loki illusion still in place. One of the agents in black runs forward, grabs her wrists. Cuffing her wrists behind what he thinks is Loki’s back, the unnamed agent says, “He’s solid! We’ve got him!”

  “Of course I’m solid, I’m Agent Hill, he’s disguised me!” Maria shouts in Loki’s voice.

  “Over here, over here!” shout all of the Maria illusions.

  Jameson smiles smugly. “Nice try, Loki.”

  On the 8th floor, just barely containing his laughter, Loki lets all the illusions of false Maria’s fade, but keeps his appearance and voice on the agent herself. Or magic keeps the illusion in place for him; at this point it requires little physical effort.

  Smiling, he casts his mind through the building. It’s getting close to dawn. Agents are still milling in the lobby, in the stairwells, and by the emergency exits. Loki frowns and taps his knee. He may have to wait quite a long time. He lets his consciousness flit to the garage. There are agents there, too. Most are standing at attention, magic detectors at ready. But two are arguing. Loki recognizes one as Agent Hernandez, one of Steve’s men. Hernandez is locked in verbal conflict with another agent Loki’s never seen before, one of Jameson’s from DC, most likely.

  Pointing at the ceiling above him, Hernandez snaps. “And I’m telling you, Director Rogers—”

  “Acting Assistant Director Rogers,” the DC agent corrects in a bland voice.

  “— says this is a mistake!” Hernadez finishes, pointing at his cell phone.

  “He’s been saying that since the beginning,” says the other agent.

  In the condo Loki blinks, uncertain of the agent’s meaning. In the garage Hernandez’s voice breaks into a shout. “He says this unit is a mistake!”

  Loki smirks. Steve’s discovered Loki’s deception just a little too late. Serves the bastard right for his part in this farce.

  At just that moment the garage door opens and a dark blue SUV begins to pull in. All of the agents spring into action.

  Loki’s brow jump as he recognizes the driver. It’s Ron Kalt. Putting his hands over his mouth he stifles a snicker. This is getting better and better.

  x x x x

  Steve is heading west down Van Buren street. The sky is filled with the reflection of artificial light on snowflakes, an eerie and orangish pink. The wipers on the FBI’s black sedan swish across the windshield, sweeping away thick wet flakes of snow. The ground isn’t cold enough for it to stick, but it makes visibility piss poor. On the plus side, the raven spies Huginn and Muninn that Odin usually has spying on Steve and terrifying Claire, Steve’s daughter, are nowhere to be seen.

  Steve’s a block away from Sangamon when there is a distant flash of lightning in the sky, mute and high above the horizon. Up ahead a blue SUV that definitely doesn’t belong to the FBI turns into the alley behind Ron’s building.

  Steve is past the alley, looking up Sangamon Street at the line of Bureau vehicles there when the thunder finally comes. Something in his stomach constricts with foreboding. Checking the street behind him, Steve hits reverse until he’s in line with the alley. There’s a line of row houses. Beyond that is the condo building, and beyond that and to the east are ancient midrise office buildings. He can just barely see a blue SUV bumper peeking out of the condo’s garage. The garage will def
initely be filled with FBI agents.

  Cursing, Steve turns into the alley way and hits the gas. The garage door is still open, the blue SUV’s bumper just barely in the electronic sites of the door.

  Turning off his engine, Steve hits his emergency lights and jumps from his car. He hears Ron say, “Here’s my identification, what’s going on?”

  “He’s in unit 1101!” someone shouts.

  “Sir, put your hands up!” an agent shouts at Ron, as Steve runs under the door.

  “What?” says Ron, his back to Steve, confusion and anger in his voice.

  “He’s not with them,” Steve says, but the garage has erupted into a cacophony of voices.

  “Agent Rogers—” another agent begins to say as still another agent holds up a gun and aims it at the passenger side of the door. “Get out of the car, now, madam.”

  “Don’t point that gun at her!” shouts Ron looking like he’s about to lunge across the hood of the SUV.

  “Sir, if you resist arrest,” says one of Jameson’s guys.

  “I tried to warn them—” Steve hears Hernandez say from somewhere.

  The agent by the passenger side of the car lifts his gun. “Get out of the car!”

  Steve’s eyes widen and he dashes around the back of the SUV. Mustering his most official, most USMC drill instructor voice he shouts. “Agents, stand down!” His voice thunders through the garage. He does his best not to look surprised when everyone, even Jameson’s agents, technically not under him, stop everything and look at him.

  Putting his hands on his hips, Steve puts himself in front of the passenger door. Summoning his inner drill instructor again, Steve lets his voice boom. “I know this man. Do you really think that he and his pregnant wife are accomplices of the target?”

  “Steve!” says Ron. Steve holds up a hand in Ron’s direction and thankfully he falls silent. One of Jameson’s guys step forward. “They could be accomplices, Agent Rogers.”

  “Accomplices of who?” shouts Ron, his voice hot and belligerent.