by C. Gockel
The doctor nods her head. Her hair is slightly graying; it’s pulled in a tight bun. “You also took a bullet to the neck. It lodged between your carotid artery and jugular.”
Amy’s fingers twist in the duvet. She’d been just millimeters from death. “How...” How did she get here.
“He brought us here,” says the doctor. She smiles tightly. “He said you’d be more comfortable away from ADUO.”
Amy closes her eyes, in exhaustion. She remembers telling Loki she loved him, and his dismissal. She almost laughs. And then he does something like this...Forget God of Goof, if he were a god he’d be the God of Mixed Signals.
“We are very lucky,” says the nurse.
Amy opens her eyes, not sure what he is talking about.
“Indeed, you are very lucky.” It’s Loki’s voice. Amy’s body freezes; something sounds...off. “Miss Lewis is alive.”
Turning her head towards Loki, her body goes cold in shock. Loki is wearing his armor. But where it used to blend into the environment around it, now it is black with a strange glowing sheen on it—almost like oil on a puddle of water. The glow catches and condenses in the crevices of the armor’s joints; where there should be shadows there is white light. The sword and scabbard at his waist have the same glow. The left arm of the armor is different, though. It seems to have no physical surface, just plates of iridescence at the shoulder, arm and forearm. It’s all magical and should be beautiful, except for the helmet. Amy stares. Where Loki used to wear a round helmet with a visor, now there is a helm with two curled horns.
Loki grins, showing all his teeth. “Like it? We decided to try something more traditional. We want to be recognized.”
Amy’s eyes move to his face. His skin is pale again, but it looks mottled. There are dark circles under his eyes, too.
“Loki, what’s happened?” she whispers.
Raising two fingers towards the nurse and the doctor, Loki says, “You two can wait in the other room.”
Instead of moving towards the door, they both draw back, the doctor drawing in a breath with a sharp gasp. And then there is a soft whoosh of air, Amy’s ears pop, and the man and woman are gone.
Amy turns to Loki, “Where have they gone?”
“Oh, don’t worry,” Loki says. Sauntering over, he unbuckles his belt and sword and then plunks himself down on the chair beside her. “We sent them to the other room through the In-Between. Just like we pulled them and the equipment from the trauma center.”
“We?” says Amy, meeting his slightly bloodshot gray eyes.
Nodding, Loki leans forward. “Cera and I. We are one now.” He smirks. “More convenient than carrying her around and now she—we—have feet.”
Amy stares at Loki. She feels a chill go through her even though there are blankets heaped on the bed. She swallows. Manipulating the In-Between is exhausting for Loki, but he doesn’t look tired. In fact, he seems possessed by a manic energy. And yet...
“You’re not blue,” Amy says. She associates Loki being blue with him being healthy, with his magic being at full power.
Loki tilts his head and closes his eyes. His mouth gives a funny tick. “Barbaric. False idols. False gods, there is no God. I—she—we...no blue.”
I, she, we...Amy draws back into the pillows, with a wince.
“But enough about us! This is about you!” Loki says. “We have to make you better, you are important to us!”
Leaning forward Loki whispers, “We thought about healing you ourselves, since we are very nearly omnipotent. But omnipotence isn’t omniscience. Oh, we can move elephants and hadrosaurs through the In-Between, and make all of ADUO’s eyes and sensors see nothing in this apartment. We even tried our hand at fixing glass in the other room. But healing? I said no, it was better to trust the doctors.”
I? Is there a little bit of Loki left in there? Meeting his bloodshot gray eyes, Amy says, “Thank you, Loki>.”
Smiling, he straightens. “But now you are mostly recovered, and we have something that should help you the rest of the way.” Winking, he says, “Or we will have something!”
With a sharp quick movement, he swipes his hand through the empty air in front of his nose. There is a shrill screech, and both Amy’s and Loki’s eyes widen. In his hand is a madly chattering red squirrel with tufted ears.
Scowling at it, Loki says, “Ratatoskr!”
Amy blinks. The squirrel that carries messages along the World Tree in Norse legend?
“Loki! What the fuck?” squeaks the squirrel. Really, compared to trolls, elves, spider-mice, and hadrosaurs, a talking-swearing squirrel should hardly be surprising. Still, Amy nearly jumps in her skin.
Lashing his tail furiously, the squirrel tries to push himself out of Loki’s hands with his little paws. That failing, he raises a tiny fist at Loki’s nose. “I work for the Norns! Unhand me, you—” There is a long string of chatter that sounds suspiciously like more swearing.
Rolling his eyes, Loki tosses the squirrel over his shoulder. It hits the glass window with a squeak and a thud and slides to the floor. Amy stares at the creature with wide eyes. Ratatoskr doesn’t move.
“We didn’t want him anyways,” says Loki. “Horrible gossip, and so vulgar.”
“Help him!” says Amy.
Scowling and bending towards her, Loki says, “No, it is more important that we help you.” With that he swipes his hand through the air again. This time when his hand stills, it holds an apple. If it weren’t for the slight flecks of red in its deep yellow skin and the rich apply smell that instantly wafts through the room, Amy might think it was made of gold. Staring at it, her mouth begins to water. She wants the apple more than she’s wanted anything, and she knows instantly what it is. “One of Idunn’s apples,” she says, her voice a sigh of awe.
“Just for you,” says Loki, bowing his horned head.
Amy takes a breath. “You’ve already destroyed Asgard, and you’ve brought this back?”
Loki’s head tips to the side, and then springs back up, as though he’s fighting an itch. “Sadly, no. I—“ His lips tick again. “It’s more important to start here. First we fix Earth. We need to, for Josef. Otherwise Loki might forget.”
Shivering, Amy draws back into the covers. Loki—or Cera—looms over her, hand with the apple outstretched, the points of his new horned helmet glowing above her. “Eat this. It will help you heal, make it as though the last year and a half has not aged your body at all, and give you magic.”
Give her magic...the Einherjar become magical when they eat the apples. Loki’s told her magic takes different forms in everyone. For the briefest moment she wonders what her magic would be like, what powers she would have.
Or maybe she would just be more vulnerable to Cera? No humans have fallen under Cera’s control.
Loki smiles, and Amy shivers.
“Eat it. Be with us as we unite the world as one,” Loki says.
Amy’s terrified, yet she knows she cannot accept the apple, even if something in her cries out for it, as though she’s been waiting to take a bite from it her entire life. Swallowing, she says, “So, ummm...maybe I should tell you about guys with horns offering women apples in my religious tradition.”
Loki sneers. “We know you’re not religious. We wouldn’t like you if you were! Take it and eat it.”
Amy takes a breath. She’s injured and even more powerless than usual. She stares at the apple, and has to lick her lips, her mouth is watering so much.
And suddenly it strikes her. She isn’t completely powerless. She almost smiles. “No. I won’t take your apple. I won’t be part of us.” She feels strangely light, strangely good as the words leave her mouth.
Loki’s head tilts to the side. For a few long moments he says nothing, but his jaw twitches frantically. At last, standing from his seat, his lips curling, he whispers. “We should kill you.” And then he laughs. “Instead we will let you watch your world burn!”
There is a whoosh of air, Amy’s ears pop, a
nd just like that, he’s gone. Apple, horns, and all.
Amy stares at the spot where he was. She sits for a few minutes completely dazed, and then she remembers the doctor and nurse. But when she calls out, “Hello? Hello?” there is no answer. She swallows and tries to raise her hand to her head but it gets stuck on the IV. She groans in pain and frustration and then notices that attached to the IV is a little device that looks like a finger sized microphone, only where the speaker input would be is a little button. Her brow furrows. It’s right next to a bucket of ice, a plastic cup of water and Loki’s white book on the nightstand. Her eyebrows rise—he’s left his book...and Laevithin is leaning against the nightstand, shimmering with the same light as his armor. Such details fade from her mind as she realizes the little button gadget thing is the control for her morphine drip. Squelching a groan, she reaches for it. Picking it up she presses the button furiously before she remembers it’s not a good idea, and then sighs as the pain seems to wash away in a warm wave. Maybe it was a good idea? She’s about to hit the button again when she hears a little squeak from the corner.
Amy turns her head. Ratatoskr is rolling over onto his stomach.
“Hi, little squirrel,” Amy says. “Are you alright?”
“No! I feel like crap!” he says.
It might or might not be the drugs, but Amy can’t help laughing.
He tries to get up but groans instead. “Fuckity fuck,” he mumbles. “I think one of my ribs is fractured.”
“You need to put ice on it,” says Amy.
“No shit!” says Ratatoskr, his little nose wiggling side to side and his tail thrashing.
Amy snickers. “There’s some over here. I’ll come over and pick you up.”
Forcing herself to sit, Amy grabs hold of the little rolly stand with her IV attached. She’s wearing a hospital gown that is pretty drafty in the back, but she’s not sure the squirrel will care. Standing with a groan, she walks over to the squirrel.
“Don’t suppose you know how the bloody Hel Loki managed to nab me out of Idunn’s orchard?” the squirrel says as Amy kneels beside him.
Amy tilts her head as she scoops him into her arms.
“I was there checking to see if the harvest was ready. Not stealing apples.” Eyes wide, he blinks up at her innocently. “Really, I wasn’t going to eat the apples.”
Amy tweaks his trembling little nose. “Sure,” she says. Her brain is kind of fuzzy and her skin is kind of itchy, but she remembers he asked her a question. “Loki stole the World Seed,” she says as she lays the squirrel down on the bed.
“You’re shitting me, right?” Ratatoskr says as Amy settles beside him.
Amy giggles and rubs him behind the ears. “You have a potty mouth.” Turning to get the ice bucket, Amy says, “But I’m not shitting you.”
“Damn. We are so screwed,” says Ratatoskr.
That makes Amy laugh so hard pain blossoms through her morphine high.
Ratatoskr chitters a few times and then says. “Where the fuck did Loki go, anyway?”
“No, idea,” says Amy. “We...”
Suddenly Loki’s voice rises in the room, everywhere and nowhere at once. “>No, no magical lobotomies> for the human race. Lobotomies are so boring.”
“That’s Loki’s voice!” says the squirrel, pushing the ice cube to his side, and glancing frantically side to side. “Where’s it coming from?”
“Loki?” says Amy.
And then another disembodied voice rises up, high and childlike, but with an ominous hiss to it. “But it would be so much more efficient!”
“Did you hear that?” says Amy.
The squirrel’s nose trembles. “I think you are high, and I am suffering from a concussion.”
“In every revolution there must be blood,” says Loki.
“Yes, yes, you cannot make a revolution with silk gloves!” shouts the child.
“I am high, but we do hear him!” says Amy. “And Cera the World Seed, too!”
“Uh-oh,” says Ratatoskr, eyes wide.
A flashing light in the window catches Amy’s eyes. She turns to see the blue sky outside fading, colors swirling in the glass and taking form. And then it’s as though the window is a floor-to-ceiling television screen and she’s looking through a camera at an auditorium with lush red carpeting. Desks form a semi-circle around her with wide-eyed men and women in business attire seated at them. Amy’s eyes widen. The scene is famous—or infamous, Chicago City Hall council chambers.
“What the...” says Ratatoskr.
Amy swallows. “Recently Loki’s subconscious has been projecting...I think through the window we’re looking out his eyes.”
The squirrel squeaks and snuggles against her hip. “Great, he was already losing it before he got the World Seed.”
Directly in front of the camera is the back of what can only be Mayor Ronnie’s head. “Our city faces another threat of unknown quantity—”
A woman near the back shouts out, “So the SWAT raid you authorized on my condo building didn’t solve our problems after all?”
There are a few muffled boos through the room.
And then Loki’s voice cuts through the din. “You authorized the raid on my—our—home?” Amy can’t see him, but his voice seethes with fury and she can imagine the sneer on his face.
Throughout the chamber there are gasps. Mayor Ronnie spins around, lips turned up and brow furrowed. Amy’s ready for one of his famous screaming tirades, but as his jaw drops, what looks like white lace blossoms on his tongue and spreads out from his mouth over his face, coating his eyes. His whole body stiffens. Steam or smoke or something comes off his body in waves. It’s white and misty, whatever it is, like his body is casting out his ghost. A hand reaches out as though from the person holding the camera and knocks the mayor over. The mayor falls to the ground and the camera angles downward as the mayor’s body shatters, shards sliding out over the floor like glass.
“Eeep,” says Ratatoskr, and Amy’s hand goes to the squirrel.
“Oooo...neat,” says Loki’s voice coming directly from the window-screen.
The camera cocks to the side as though Loki’s tilting his head. “We didn’t realize he’d do that if he was extra cold.”
Amy straightens. Loki’s voice rings out again in the council chamber, the camera of his eyes sweeping around the room. “We are your new leader. We will make your world a better place. I would prefer if you fought us...but we will gladly accept surrender.”
“To Hell with surrender! This is Chicago!” says a middle-aged man with white hair and a slight Irish lilt to his voice. He pulls out a handgun and raises it. Maybe Amy is hallucinating. Are aldermen allowed to carry guns in city hall? Her brow wrinkles. Of course, this is Chicago, would they care if they weren’t allowed? A few of the other men in the room stand and raise guns as well. Screaming and shouting, the rest of the aldermen and women stand up and bolt for the door.
“Oh, this is going to be fun!” says Loki, and this time it is as though he’s whispering over Amy’s shoulder.
“A lobotomy would be easier,” says Cera, her voice rising near Amy’s other ear.
Amy closes her eyes. But she still hears the gunshots and gurgled cries of pain coming from the window looking into the City Hall.
x x x x
The room Steve and Thor occupy is small and windowless. Fluorescent bulbs blink and hum overhead; an air conditioner hums. Steve is sitting on a rickety metal fold-out chair at a cheap table—one that hadn’t been deemed worthy of using out in the open area where emergency dispatchers are taking calls and routing police, firemen and volunteers. When he leans to get closer to the speaker phone on it, the table rocks and squeaks.
“Sirs,” Steve says, “police and firefighters are stretched too thin with civilian evacuations, troll, wyrm and manticore attacks. They cannot handle the additional threat Loki poses.” Steve would like to imagine Loki going directly back to Asgard—but if that was his plan, he doesn’t think Loki
would have taken Amy and the medical staff with him.
The voice of the head of the Senate’s Armed Services Committee comes on. “Without an act of Congress, it is up to the Illinois governor. The current alien attacks are uncoordinated. They do not qualify as an invasion force. But you can be assured that we are monitoring the situation closely.”
Steve’s brow furrows at that. Surely they have drones. Do they have fighter jets available for close air support?
The President’s voice comes on the line. There is a loud ambient hum behind him. The sound of Air Force One’s engines, maybe?
“What sort of threat does Loki pose exactly?” says the President.
Pacing around to the opposite side of the table, Thor raises an eyebrow at the phone on the table. “He is capable of anything he can imagine.”
A voice on the other end barks, “We don’t even know where he is. He could be on his way to Washington. We should continue using all federal resources to secure strategic assets!”
Steve’s brow goes up. The rumor mill was right. At that moment Steve’s phone beeps. Looking down, Steve sees a text from Bryant. Brow furrowing, Steve stands. “Loki has been sighted at City Hall. Police have already been dispatched.”
Thor straightens. “Agent Rogers and I must go,” says Thor.
“Just a minute, you cannot go until authorized,” says another voice on the phone. “We will decide—”
There is a blur at the periphery of Steve’s vision. He pulls back just in time to see Mjolnir crash on the phone, breaking it into splinters of metal and plastic and collapsing the table below it.
Lifting Mjolnir to his shoulder, Thor glares at Steve. “We do not have time for democratic debate. Loki heard you before, he may hear you again. You will come with me.”
Steve stares at the phone. “Right.”
Passing through the crowded hub of HQ a few moments later, they nearly collide with a group of men and one woman in dirty jeans, all with orange reflective vests and helmets walking beside Stodgill. A few are brandishing shotguns. Steve scowls in frustration at the roadblock. Seeing his look and misinterpreting, Stodgill says, “Yes, they’re the plumbers for the blockage under LaSalle, Sir, but they have a right to be armed, no matter what city ordinance—”
