by C. Gockel
Loki blinks at her forceful rejection of the idea. And then he waggles his eyebrows. “I suppose you would notice that I’ve been otherwise occupied.”
Amy huffs. “It’s not just that...”
She looks away. “Loki, they think you’ve kidnapped me...Laura, Brett and Bryant sent me emails. They’re all worried...” She bites her lip. “Not Steve, though. He doesn’t believe that.”
Loki takes a step forward, his skin heating. He’s not sure if he likes Steve knowing him that well.
Looking up, Amy meets his eyes. “Steve says they need you. No one can tell them why the World Gates keep opening...and Loki, you can close gates!”
“And why should I help?” says Loki. “Let them deal with the wyrm, trolls, and manticore they’re blaming me for. I was on my way to Vanaheim before the elven invasion—”
“You don’t owe them anything,” Amy says. “But I have to check in.”
Loki reels back. She’ll tell them about his ability to walk the In-Between. “Don’t,” he says quickly. “Come with me to Vanaheim.”
For a moment her face lights up. He can see the gears in her brain working, the wonder glowing in her eyes.
“We’ll need to pick up some camping gear here in Paris,” Loki says, taking advantage of her enthusiasm. “The World Gate from Visby drops one off in the most inconvenient location. We’ll have to camp a day to make sure I’m up for a walk through the In-Between to Vanaheim’s main city...”
“Should we take a car?” says Amy, a smile growing on her face. “You could rent one. I could drive it!”
Loki grimaces. “I wish. No the Vanir will not take kindly to me bringing a human to their realm. A human vehicle would raise too much suspicion, though it would be terribly convenient.”
Amy’s lips crumple into a worried frown. “They don’t like humans?”
Loki starts to pace. He waves a hand, “No, no. They’re fine with humans. But they were the first to believe in the policy of non-interference with human affairs. If they discover you’re human they’ll spare your life but likely end mine.” He scratches his chin. “Nonetheless, I think I can hide your, ehhh...humanity, with an illusion.”
Amy’s face falls. “I can’t cause you any more trouble.” Her throat moves as she swallows. “Go to Vanaheim. I can go to the American embassy here in Paris after you’re gone. I’ll even wait a few days if you think it’s safer for you.”
Loki looks up at Amy sharply.
From the corner, Cera says, “Maybe you should kill her after all.”
She swallows again. “I should probably physically check in, anyway. Everyone knows you can fake my appearance and voice.”
Loki stops pacing. No, this will not do. She’ll have to explain how she came to Paris, and how she escaped the fire. Even if he told her to lie for him, he’s not convinced Steve couldn’t wrangle the truth out of her. Given Amy’s nature, possibly with only the rise of an angry eyebrow.
Amy licks her lips. “I don’t suppose you know why the gates are opening with more frequency...I mean, you don’t owe them anything...and Jameson’s an idiot but...”
Only half listening, Loki begins pacing again, contemplating the feasibility of walking the In-Between with her to Visby right now. She’d be furious, but he could beg forgiveness later.
“...but it is my city,” she says softly. “People have died. And if they knew why, maybe...”
Loki stops short. “Gates opening with greater frequency?”
“I’ve been meaning to ask about that,” Cera says. “But it is upsetting the enemies of Josef...so I don’t think I mind very much.”
Loki’s eye slide to Cera. She creates Gates—openings to branches of the World Tree— inadvertently with the ambient magic that is inherent to her physical form. The Promethean Wire mutes that magic only slightly.
Loki’s eyes widen. His back turned to Amy he says quietly, “Did Steve say anything about the Promethean Sphere around Cera breaking down?”
“No,” she says. “He says it isn’t breaking down at all, and that’s why everyone is so confused.”
Loki looks at Cera. Cera flickers. “Nope, my prison’s still intact.” The mist of her non-corporeal form expands and shrinks as though sighing.
Amy tilts her head and her brow furrows. “And also, this is really weird, but the elves say gates in Chicago opened up before Cera had even arrived...”
And suddenly Loki knows what is happening. He should have guessed right away. Magic has a very different relationship to time. For humans, time is a one-way street that they hurtle along at one speed in one direction. Loki can take short cuts through time and space through the In-Between and slip along the branches of the World Tree. Still, time for him is essentially a linear thing, too. But for magic, time is more like a pond. Magic itself is a stone that sends ripples through the surface. Cera is essentially magic given life. The ripples she creates are strong enough to open World Gates.
...And ripples move from a cast stone in all directions.
Loki’s heart starts to pound in his ears. “I will come back to Chicago with you, Amy,” he says quietly, a smirk forming on his lips.
“You will?” says Amy. Hiding the smile with a stern look, he turns around and meets her eyes. They’re wide and trusting.
Still trying to appear stern he says, “I will help your people.”
Amy bites her lip and nods.
“But listen to me, ADUO believes I am the enemy...I need you not to tell about my skills in teleportation.”
Amy nods again, eyes wide. “Of course, in case you need to escape!”
Loki smiles. That was so easy. But he won’t be able to let her out of his sight, lest someone connive it out of her. He tenses slightly at the thought
Amy lunges forward and wraps her arms around his neck. “Thank you, Loki! Thank you for helping!” She squeezes her body tightly against him, and Loki smirks. Ah, to be treated as a hero, when actually his ends are quite selfish.
Cera’s ripples are increasing in frequency, because a great deal of magic is soon to be unleashed. More magic than Cera knows how to unleash on her own—omnipotent she may be, but about as omniscient as a three year old.
He almost laughs aloud. Instead he tightens his hands on Amy’s waist and drops his forehead to hers with a smirk.
Loki doesn’t know how it will happen...but he does know, very soon, Cera will be his.
Wrapping his arms around her, he breathes in the scent of her hair, and runs his hands down along her spine, enjoying the feel of her shudder—he may still have time to claim a hero’s reward.
Chapter 10
Walking through the revolving doors of headquarters, Steve is first assaulted by a riot of phones ringing off the hook. And then by Laura Stodgill. Carrying a digital tablet, she slides next to him. “I’m so glad you’re here. But we still don’t have a script.”
Striding through the throng of people, Stodgill falling into step beside him, Steve says, “Script?”
Pushing back a loose strand of hair, Laura’s lips flatten. “Yes, talking points, what you’re authorized to say about—” she lifts her hand in a gesture that says, ‘everything.’
Steve runs a hand over his head and narrows his eyes at her. So, he’s the liaison that isn’t allowed to liaison? To her credit Stodgill has the decency to look a little ashamed.
A group of police officers press by. Somewhere beyond them he hears someone say, “It is a contagion. We’re all going to die as mindless green killing machines. That’s why the airports are closed—that’s why the feds aren’t here.” The officers pass and Steve can’t locate the source of the voice.
His eyes fall on Agent Hernandez sitting at a desk; a line of men and women stand beyond him.
“They’re here to volunteer,” says Stodgill, tilting her head in the direction of the line.
A flash goes off somewhere. “Press,” says Stodgill. “They keep sneaking in. I’ll take care of it.” She steps quickly away.
Steve walks towards Hernandez. Just as he reaches the agent’s side, Hernandez says, “Name?” to the first person in line—a tall lanky kid with dark skin and a mop of uneven straight black hair.
“Bohdi Patel,” says the kid with a thick Indian accent. He’s wearing rumpled jeans and a thick wool jacket that looks like it’s seen better days. A box of cigarettes and a lighter peek out of a pocket.
“Occupation?” says Hernandez.
“Cab driver,” says Bohdi. The kid has to be of legal age to drive a cab, but his eyes are very wide with long thick lashes most women would kill to have—they give him an innocent boyish look.
Hernandez looks up at Steve and nods. Hernandez’s eyes go to Bohdi, back to Steve again, and he raises an eyebrow. Maybe he’s thinking what Steve’s thinking—the kid looks too young for this.
Eyeing Bohdi, Steve says, “What type of vehicle do you drive?”
“It’s a cab—a minivan cab, sir,” Bohdi says.
“That will work,” says Hernandez. “Too big for a manticore to pick up, agile enough to dodge trolls. Is the vehicle yours?”
Bohdi winces and bites back a smile. “Sure...but I, uhhh...don’t have the registration on me today...”
Steve’s eyebrows go up at the obvious lie.
Dropping his smile, Bohdi says, “But I want to help people, this is my city now.” And those words seem sincere enough. Steve looks at the line behind Bohdi. They don’t have time or enough manpower to be choosey.
Putting a hand on Hernandez’s shoulder, Steve says, “He’s good, Agent. Assign him to the West Loop.”
“Okay,” says Hernandez. “You heard the man. You’ll be ferrying people who don’t have cars from their homes to the refugee camps up by O’Hare. A police escort will guard your passengers as they leave their buildings—”
Laura materializes at Steve’s side. Turning towards her, Steve misses the rest of Hernandez’s conversation. “Where is Jameson?” Steve asks Laura. “Any ETA on that script?”
Laura shakes her head. “I think he’s working on it right now with the higher ups...”
Steve scans the room. Police officers and firemen are milling uncomfortably around the desks where ADUO agents man the phones. A couple of men in hazmat suits stand in a corner. A television is tuned to CNN. The screen shows tent cities by Chicago’s airports. He can’t hear what the announcer is saying but the subtitles are on. Despite the disruption to commodities in the midwest, grain prices haven’t seen a significant rise. The Russians, Ukrainians, and Belarusians are apparently having bumper crops again this year.
Following his eyes, Laura says, “The same countries trying to give the elves the benefits of the Geneva convention?”
Steve doesn’t have time to think about it; his head piece is beeping in his ear. Checking the caller ID he sees Brett’s name. Steve had sent him out to scan the skies for manticores. Tapping to accept, he hears Brett’s voice on the line. “Steve...Bryant and I just got a pretty strong reading on the 200 block of Van Buren. We weren’t able to get an exact location but...”
Steve hears Brett take a sharp intake of breath. “What is it?” says Steve.
“Yeah, well, we’re pretty sure it came from near the top of one of the high rise buildings over here...we don’t see anything but...”
Steve’s mouth goes dry. A gate in the sky, perfect. Who knows what could be thinking of coming through that?
Taking a breath, Steve says, “Let’s set up a post there. Brett, you’re first watch.”
“Yes, sir.”
Steve taps his headpiece to disconnect and scans the room again. A few more flashbulbs go off somewhere and he scowls.
Beside him Laura says, “Rumor has it the Feds are busy securing every sensitive military and nuclear site in the country—and that’s why they haven’t taken over here yet.”
Steve rubs his jaw. He doubts any sentient magical being would be interested in anything on Earth but Cera. But the Feds are scared. Everyone is scared, reacting instead of acting.
Nearby he hears a man shout, “Agent Rogers, Agent Rogers!”
Steve turns to see a grumpy looking Thor next to a harried looking FBI agent. “Sir,” the FBI agent says, one hand on his ear piece. “There are reports of a boy and his mother bringing a bobcat with an elephant nose into a veterinarian's office. Should I send a team?”
“It’s a baku,” Thor says, as though everyone should know what that is. “It’s a good omen. It will protect the boy and his mother from trolls and nightmares.”
Steve stifles his anger at the agent’s CYA. Waving a hand in Thor’s direction, Steve says, “You heard Thor. Focus on magical invaders that eat people.”
“Agent Rogers! Agent Rogers!” someone else shouts. “Troll reported in the South Loop.”
Steve grabs a passing police woman. “See anyone in this room familiar with the South Loop?”
“That’s my beat, Sir,” she says. She swallows. “But I’m less familiar with trolls...you have to shoot them in the heart, right?”
Steve’s breath catches. They don’t even know how to kill the monsters they’re dealing with? “It’s the eyes or mouth; you need a direct path to their brain,” Steve says.
The police woman’s eyes go wide, and her skin pales.
“Thor,” Steve says pointing at the police woman, “you’re with her.”
“Ahhh...a shield maiden!” Thor exclaims, a wide smile on his face. Steve watches them leave the room, stunned by the woman’s lack of intel.
He hears another whisper of “contagion” and some disjointed, fearful whispers of “dirty bomb,” “smallpox,” and “shoot for the heart.” Searching for the sources his eyes fall on an empty desk at the far side of the room. Didn’t he just get angry at an agent for CYA? Tightening his jaw, he walks towards the desk, vaguely aware of Laura following him.
Steve likes to maintain plausible deniability when he breaks rules. He tells himself he’ll talk himself out of the trouble he’s about to get into later, if he’s still alive.
“What are you doing?” Laura says.
Kicking out a chair by the empty desk, Steve steps up onto the seat and then to the desk. “Writing my own script,” he says. Turning to the rest of the room, Steve opens his mouth, prepared to ask for quiet, but the room is already silent. A whisper breaks the hush, “It’s the guy who killed the snake!”
He feels a rush of something like exhilaration. There are clicks and a few flashes of light from cameras and phones, and for a moment Steve is blinded. “I’m Agent Steve Rogers,” Steve says. The flashes all but stop as his words fill the room. It may be adrenaline, but as Steve continues to speak he hears his voice as though it comes from a different person, a person wiser and more confident than him. His eyes meet the faces of the people below him, and as their expressions morph from fear to determination, Steve feels another rush.
For all that is going wrong, that rush shouldn’t feel good. But it does.
x x x x
Amy pulls herself up out of Loki’s embrace, the sound of thunder filling her ears. For a moment she doesn’t understand what is going on, or even where she is. Gasping, she blinks in the dark. She can just barely make out the outline of shades—not heavy, luxurious, drapery, covering the window. She’s not at the hotel in Paris anymore. She’s in Loki’s home. They’ve traveled back through the In-Between. She takes a deep breath. The thunder is fading away...no, not thunder....
“Just a helicopter,” Loki mumbles. “Not Thor...” One blue hand snakes up and pulls her back down to him. Pillowing her head on his shoulder, she wraps an arm around his chest.
Loki’s body begins to tremble as he slips back into sleep, but Amy’s body feels abuzz with nerves. She bites her lip. She was so tired when they arrived she didn’t even check his computer for messages from ADUO. She should have sent a message to them—but she was worn out and afraid in her exhausted state she’d accidentally let slip where they are. She runs a hand through Loki’s black hair. It feels d
ifferent when it’s black, lighter, finer, cooler. Magic. She sighs, wondering when she’ll get to run her hands through it again.
She closes her eyes. The bravery of what Loki wants to do is overwhelming—she wants her city to be safe, but not at the price of Loki’s life. He needs rest to be able to walk the In-Between at a moment’s notice if Jameson or his goons do anything stupid. Reluctantly, she pulls her hand away.
Her eyes go to the doorway leading to the living room. Maybe she can send a note now...
Loki’s body jerks beneath her and the room begins to glow. She blinks her eyes and she’s lying in long green grass, but the scene fades out into golden hazy light just a few meters in front of her. Loki is dreaming again.
She hears a whinny and looks around. There is a mare nearby facing off into the hazy golden distance. Sitting up she says, “Well, hello.”
The mare turns its head in Amy’s direction, but Amy can’t really tell if the animal is responding to her, or the sudden trill of insects in the grass. The horse is dapple gray, delicately boned, and relatively small. With large eyes, dainty muzzle, and high crested neck she almost looks Arabian. Turning away again, the mare looks off into the distance and shapes begin to form on the horizon.
Amy’s gaze follows the mare’s and she sees a walled city...she blinks, one part of the wall is concealed by scaffolding. She sees a line of horses pulling driver-less wagons filled with stones. A familiar larger horse is running down the column, nipping at their haunches.
“Svaðilfari,” Amy whispers.
At mention of the stallion’s name, the mare swings her head around, ears pricked in Amy’s direction. Amy lets out a small breath of surprise. The mare did hear her. Only one person hears her in Loki’s dreams. Oh.
“Loki?” she whispers. She puts a hand down into the grass beside her and feels Loki, the real Loki, beneath her hand. His breathing is even and regular.
The mare shakes its head, and then it looks away and begins to walk towards the Asgardian dream city. It must be an illusion of the dream, but the scene around Amy blurs by, the grass beneath her turning in a heartbeat to stones and then a road, the city in the distance approaching incredibly fast.
