Loki is packing his suitcases for Visby when one of his apparitions spies Thor stepping out of the magically-shielded room in ADUO’s headquarters. In his penthouse Loki narrows his eyes. Another apparition had seen Huginn and Muninn at the Bean scolding Thor for being on Earth.
Putting his fingers in the loops of his jeans, he stares out of one of the floor-to-ceiling windows of his Chicago abode. What is Thor’s game? His lips form a tight line. More importantly, what is Odin’s game?
He stares at the cityscape before him, his mind a blank. He can just make out ADUO’s roof from his north eastern window. Loki’s penthouse is just across Wacker Drive on Van Buren. He is barely outside of Chicago’s infamous Loop, the city’s financial hub, shopping district, and location of its most important museums and theater district. The Loop is bordered by the Chicago River and Wacker Drive on the north and west, and by Roosevelt Street to the south. A few faux Greco-Roman buildings dot his view, but mostly the skyline is a homage to every architectural style of skyscraper from every decade since 1885. Some of the buildings are reinforced brick or concrete structures with ornate moldings, stained at every window and corner with the runoff of polluted rain. Other buildings are encased in glass and reflect the sky—Loki thinks of them as giant moving canvases. Bright, clean, new buildings; older soot-covered buildings textured with elaborate motifs—Loki likes both. The patchwork is in stark contrast to the homogeneity that marks the architectural illusions of Asgard.
Rising up from the flat plain that is Illinois, the vertical lines of the Loop contrast with the rest of Chicago, and even the state. Beyond the center, the city sprawls outwards, the buildings becoming progressively shorter, and the streets more and more tree lined—and perhaps, coincidentally, out of sight of the movers and shakers of the financial district, the streets become more and more crumbling. In Loki’s neighborhood the sidewalks and streets are relatively smooth. Where Amy lives the streets are filled with potholes, and the sidewalks buckle above massive tree roots. Amy attributes the poor state of Chicago’s infrastructure to Chicago’s endemic corruption and curses it frequently. Loki’s just amazed that the corruption changes hands occasionally.
Smiling he bounces a bit on his heels. Instead of a professional poker player, perhaps he could become an alderman! And then his jaw tightens. This city is not his.
Shaking his head he turns back to packing. He is catching a plane to Visby in the afternoon, saving his magic for a world walk to Vanaheim the following day. His chest tightens and he takes a breath. Thor is here … and Thor won’t let anything bad happen to Cera or Chicago.
At that moment, in ADUO’s headquarters, one of Loki’s apparitions sees Thor accidentally breaking a styrofoam cup in his hands, burning himself on the hot liquid. In his living room, Loki fights the urge to let his apparition become visible, to make sport of the big oaf. His fists clench. That is just the sort of distraction he has to avoid. With a sigh he quietly pulls all of his apparitions out of ADUO’s HQ.
Stuffing a sleeping bag into his duffel, Loki catches sight of his hands. His skin is blue again. He doesn’t correct it, it’s easier not to, and he’s found that when he is blue Cera’s whining is easier to tune out. Straightening, he looks out towards ADUO’s offices again. He hasn’t heard much from Cera all morning. Just a plaintive grumble of “You’re right. The lightning man is an idiot,” and nothing more for hours.
Raising his head, and glancing out the window, his eyes widen. There is smoke rising up from the direction of ADUO. Straightening, he sends his apparitions back to the building. In his penthouse he walks to his window and puts his fingers to the cold glass. ADUO’s offices are under attack, and men with guns are flooding in through the main security checkpoint. Concentrating, Loki sends more apparitions through the building. The main exits are blocked by green fire. His nostrils flare—it’s elven fire. But the queen of the elves would never attempt such a thing, nor would she allow her people to carry guns. Magic bows and arrows, the occasional crossbow, yes. Guns never. She is such a Luddite.
He blinks. It’s Dark Elves! When he went to Alfheim with Amy the elves in the Dark Lands were carrying guns. Now they’ve come to Earth—how they’ve managed to magically hide their pointed ears and perfect complexions he can only wonder. He’s not detecting illusions around them. But obviously, they want Cera.
He snarls. And Cera most likely knew about it. He taps his hand against the glass. There are hundreds of them! Maybe they know a way to get through the Promethean Sphere protecting Cera? He smirks. If they get her out it will be that much easier to steal her.
In ADUO’s headquarters, one of Loki’s apparitions sees Agent Steve Rogers shout, “We’ve got to fall back to the tunnels! This is a diversion. They’re after Cera!”
Smirk widening, Loki prepares to let one of his apparitions become visible to Steve.
x x x x
In the glow of green fire, Steve sits behind an overturned table and slides a new clip into his Glock. Every magic detector in the building is beeping, and Steve’s nerves are lit with the noise of gunfire. AK-47s would be his guess from the scant glimpses he’s caught and the sound. All of the usual exits from ADUO are blocked. His brow furrows, but the stairway to the tunnels that run beneath Chicago’s streets where Cera resides should be clear. And green fucking fire is really a tell-tale sign that this is all about Cera.
Looking around the room, he sees Jameson and his agents are tucked behind the cafeteria counter. Closer to Steve are Brett, Bryant, and Thor behind overturned tables of their own.
Tapping the headset in his ear, Steve gets a no-service tone. Swearing, he hits a button, switches to a reserved channel and says, “Tunnel security, report!”
An agent’s voice barks back, “Sir, we just started taking fire, from the north, east and west! The tunnels are full of them. We’ve fallen back to reinforce the perimeter around Cera. Two men down!”
A few feet away Thor stands up, bullets ricocheting harmlessly off his armor. With a yell, he throws Mjolnir though the air. The hammer takes out a few of their assailants, knocks through a wall, and comes bounding back into Thor’s hands. Thor gives a triumphant shout.
Steve is about to chew him out, but Bryant beats him to it. Pausing to awkwardly push a new clip into his Glock with his broken arm, Bryant shouts, “That could have been a load-bearing wall, you idiot! Stop throwing that thing around or you’ll bring the whole building down on top of us!”
Steve is too busy firing at a dark shadow moving through the green flames to see Thor’s reaction.
There is a momentary lull in the shooting and Steve shouts, “We’ve got to fall back to the tunnels! This is a diversion. They’re after Cera!”
In his headset, he hears Jameson say, “We can’t get out! We’re trapped back here. You’ll have to do it.” They’re actually in a better position for it than Steve and his boys—but there are a few of ADUO’s cafeteria staff workers and medical personnel back there. Stodgill, their legal counsel, is back there, too. Steve doesn’t argue. Turning to Thor he says, “Stand up! You’re our cover.”
Thor tilts his head and narrows his eyes, but he does as Steve requests. “Behind him!” Steve shouts to the two brothers. “Go to the back exit to the cafeteria. Move! Move! Move!”
The four of them retreat through the secondary door, Brett and Bryant behind Thor—Steve crouching to the side. Fortunately, some of Jameson’s men have more experience than the Director. As soon as Steve and his guys start their mad dash, they cover them, shooting in the direction of the entrance where lithe shadows are emerging from behind green flame.
The hallways beyond the cafeteria are empty, but as they pull into the main office area they find the cubicles consumed by flame, and a group of shadows struggling to open the tunnel door. In front of them, Thor lowers Mjolnir, lightning cracks through the room, and the dark shadows tumble. Squinting his eyes in the smoke, Steve and his men approach the door. Their attackers are holding AK-47s. He can tell instantly that a few of the men are dead, but he hears a few moans. Kneeling down beside one, Thor says, “Curious. These appear to be elves who have cut off their ears.”
“Open the door! We’re going down!” Steve says. As Brett punches in his code and holds up his hand for thumbprint scan, Steve curses under his breath. Lewis had said she and Loki were attacked by Dark Elves with guns. Jameson had refused to let Steve see the ballistics report to confirm it.
The door opens with a whoosh. There is the sound of gunfire below. “Thor’s point!” Steve says. “I’ve got the rear.”
Thor grins. “I’m going to see Cera after all,” he says, and then bounds towards the opening with a yell. Which is exactly the moment Jameson’s voice starts to crackle in Steve’s headset. “He’s a possible security risk! What are you doing?” Steve grits his teeth. Ignoring the director, he backs towards the door.
And then it hits Steve that he didn’t see Amy Lewis in the cafeteria. He scans the sea of burning cubicles. Shadows start to come forward out of the flames, Steve slips behind the door to the tunnels just as bullets embed themselves in the wall around him. He can hear the echo of more gunfire ringing from the tunnel below. Steve grinds his teeth. The girl’s on her own, his primary responsibility is to see that Cera is safe. With a snarl of frustration he lets loose a few bullets before he closes the fire door.
Activating the lock, he turns and finds himself alone on the stairwell landing. He hears Brett, Bryant, and Thor below. Steve slips the clip out of his Glock, takes a step forward … and almost runs into Loki. Or, more likely, through him.
Stopping short, he curses. Loki beams and raises his eyebrows. “Hi, Steve.”
It’s the dumbest thing in the world, but Steve can’t help but notice what Loki, or his apparition, is wearing. It’s a pink t-shirt with an upside down rainbow triangle on it.
Following the direction of Steve’s gaze, Loki says, “Do you like my Bifrost shirt?”
Steve is furious at Loki for his flippancy and his damned distracting shirt. There is a reason agents all dress the same. He’s also furious at himself for being distracted. Narrowing his eyes, he barrels in Loki’s direction. Sure enough, Steve passes right through him. The illusion of Loki catches up and matches Steve’s pace down the stairs.
“You here to help?” Steve says, feet pounding down the metal mesh stairs.
“I think this time I’d just rather see how this plays out,” the apparition of Loki says. The apparition looks down the stairs where Thor stands on a landing, hurtling lightning northward, as Brett and Bryant fire south, taking cover around the corner of the stairwell and Thor’s girth.
“Oh, look,” says Loki. “Thor is imitating a brick wall. He’s good at that.”
Thor turns his head and his eyes light up. “Loki! We fight together again!”
“I’m just here to see you shot at!” snipes Loki.
Thor nods. “Aye, well I would deserve that.” He turns back to casting lightning down the tunnel.
“Of course you deserve it!” Loki shouts. “Because of you, my boys—”
Nodding, but not turning from the fray Thor shouts. “Aye, so it is … But I come to make amends.”
Steve is about to pass through Loki to take up a position between Thor and the wall, but the look on the apparition’s face makes him stop.
“Miss Lewis, she’s swearing. She never swears … ” Loki’s illusion says, eyes wide.
Steve freezes and meets Loki’s eyes. “I hear her,” says Loki.
Once Odin ‘heard’ Steve. It isn’t a physical thing. It’s magical.
Loki looks down the tunnel and swallows, and then he looks up. “Oh, no. No, no, no … ” Without another word, his apparition leaps into the air and through the ceiling and is gone. Steve drops his gaze to see Thor briefly acknowledge Loki’s disappearance with a grunt. Then the giant man turns back to shooting lightning. Steve exhales. Falling to one knee, Steve peers around the tunnel wall, and raises his Glock.
x x x x
“This is all Loki’s fault … Fuck, fuck, fuck. Loki get your ass here and save me!”
Loki’s hands curl against the cold glass in his condo. He shouldn’t let his attention leave the fray because of those words, but it does. He lets his apparition slide up through the ceiling, and through the building, searching for Amy, her voice, her prayer, pulling him along like the current of a river.
He finds her in a hallway, a wall of green flame before her, the flames rapidly getting hotter and turning blue. She’s lying on the floor, hands over her head, face blackened with soot. “Dammit, Loki!” Amy says before she is taken with a fit of coughing. Loki lets his apparition lie down on the floor next to her, propping its imaginary head on an illusory hand. The apparition grins and raises an eyebrow. “You called?”
Amy turns her head and says, “You came!” Before he knows what is happening, she tries to throw her arms around his shoulders—and of course passes right through him. “Oh,” she says, with a cough. “Right. You’re not here. Can you get me out?”
Fading out from under her, his apparition reappears standing in the hall. He sends another apparition through the door near her and feels some of his bravado fade. He can achieve weak telekinesis, even from a distance, but if he unlocks the door she’ll be cooked in the white hot inferno beyond. “You’ve got yourself into a mess here,” he says.
Amy sucks in a breath. Ugh, too hot...He thinks I don’t know that?
It takes a moment for Loki to realize that he’s hearing her thoughts, not her words. He still hears her. He’s never had a connection last this long.
Amy groans and covers her eyes. Her exasperated thoughts tickle his mind. He doesn’t have a plan. Of course he doesn’t have a plan. He’s not a part of some divine trinity, he’d be the God of Goof if he was a stupid god.
Loki bristles. Is her ultimate purpose in his life to insult him? “A little gratitude would be nice!”
“Getting me out of here would be nice!” Amy snaps back, and then coughs, curling herself into fetal position. Getting hotter.
Something in the building groans. Feeling a rising sense of panic, Loki looks up. There is a little spout in the ceiling that should be shooting water, but he doesn’t sense any water in the pipes, and there isn’t enough ambient moisture in the air to create ice. He glances at the flames. Not that it would be much use against the elven fire. His heart begins to race. This is very, very bad. Is her call to him the universe trying to convince him how powerless he is?
He can’t get me out, can he? Amy’s eyes meet his apparition’s and he feels her willing him not to go. I don’t want to die alone …
“You want me to stay here and watch you burn to death!” Loki says, his voice rising in anger at the hopelessness of the situation, and at himself. He should leave now, attend to what is happening below, snatch Cera if he can. Odin would be able to leave. Yes, he hears her, but how important can she be? She’s as good as dead.
Amy snorts and covers her sooty face with an even dirtier hand. Doesn’t he know anything medical related? I’m going to die of smoke inhalation long before I burn to death.
Loki tilts his head. “Charming, very charming!” he snaps, but his voice has taken on a hint of desperation. He destroys everything beautiful …
In his condo Loki’s chest feels tight; he stumbles backwards from the window. If it was him trapped in the hall, he’d use the In-Between, but it’s exhausting and dangerous just for himself in ideal situations, which the elven inferno definitely is not. He’s never used it on another, they’d both most likely die.
In the burning building there is a loud groan, and the floor beneath Amy drops.
In his living room Loki doesn’t pause to think. He steps into the In-Between.
x x x x
Loki vanishes from sight, the floor beneath Amy drops, and for an instant and an eternity she is suspended in mid-air. It is like that moment at the top of the hill of a roller coaster ride and the car plunges so fast beneath you that your body can’t keep up.
She opens her mouth for a last gasp of air … and meets Loki’s eyes going from black to blue gray beneath her. She expects to crash through him, but instead she crashes into him. Heat buffets her face, she catches sight of white hot flames below, and they’re falling.
And then there is nothing. No Loki, no light, no heat—no, Loki is there, she feels him underneath—in front—beside her—arms tightening around her waist. There is no up or down and she feels all the breath rush out of her.
Her lungs scream in agony, her body doesn’t have a chance to shiver. And then, for a moment she can’t feel anything anymore, she is beyond pain, or cold, or fear. She thinks she sees light, thinks she hears something. Beatrice’s voice maybe? You can’t leave yet, Amy …
She wants to say that she wants to stay here, to follow Beatrice’s voice, but before the words can form she is falling again, Loki beneath her. There is up and down once more, and light so bright it is blinding. She glimpses gray sky and they’re falling into clouds. They collide with something and Loki’s body bounces, snapping Amy’s jaw shut on the impact, just catching the edge of her tongue. Gasping, Amy sucks in a breath and thinks she can feel the cells that line her lungs rejoicing, the taste of air is so sweet. She blinks. They’re not in clouds, they’re on a bed with white linens, in a huge room with floor to ceiling windows, furnished with only a bed and a nightstand. Her head is on Loki’s chest; he’s wearing the pink LGBT shirt with the upside down rainbow triangle he calls his “Bifrost shirt.” A shadow above them makes her look up with a gasp … it’s Loki’s sword in a black scabbard hanging above the bed on the wall.
“Amy?”
Amy shifts her gaze downwards. Gasping for breath, and in shock, she can’t respond.
Loki is looking at her, his mouth open, his eyes wide, his skin going from mottled blue to pale peach. He puts his hands to the sides of her head. Flexing his fingers as though checking to see that she is real, he says, “You’re alive?”
Blinking, Amy nods. He closes his eyes and smiles, a genuine smile, not one of his twisted smirks. “Welcome to my home,” he whispers. Lifting his head he bumps his forehead against hers, and then his head drops, his hands fall, and his eyelids droop.
“Loki!” Amy yells, scrambling to her knees on top of him and shaking his shoulders. “Loki!”
He blinks his eyes and mumbles. “So tired … twice … so hungry … need to sleep.”
Her eyes widen. She’s straddling his chest and he hasn’t made a single inappropriate comment. Terrified, she shakes his shoulders. “Are you going to be alright?” she says, leaning in close and biting her lip.
He nods but doesn’t open his eyes. His body trembles as his muscles relax. His head lolls to the side.
Going cold, Amy straightens and puts a hand to her face. She can’t take him to the hospital. Jameson is after him; she just has to trust that he’s done this before and he’ll get better. She idly pushes her purse up her shoulder. She hadn’t even realized it was still on her arm. She freezes. Her phone! They can track her by satellite.
With shaking hands she opens her purse. Her wallet is inside, her keys, and her new birth control pills. But her phone is gone. Remembering dropping it on the floor after her unsuccessful phone call, she heaves a sigh of relief.
… and catches a whiff of herself. Her hair and her clothes smell like burnt chemicals. She remembers how 9/11 victims suffered from strange ailments after the attack, brought on by the cocktail of exotic burnt compounds in the building materials they inhaled. She suddenly has a very strong urge to take a shower.
She looks down at Loki. His hair is ginger, his skin pale and wan. She has a responsibility to him first. His chest seems very still. Amy scampers off of him, and he heaves in a huge breath of air, his eyes spring open, and he coughs.
“Amy … ” he mumbles. “Strangest dream. I was suffocating under a giant rabbit.”
Amy’s lips twitch. She’d been sitting on his chest, evidently cutting off his oxygen supply. Good one, would-be-animal-doctor-girl. Silently incriminating herself, she gently pushes his bangs back from his eyes. His hair is coarse and thick. “Are you sure you’ll be alright?” she asks again.
Nodding, he whispers. “Never did that with two people. Almost killed us both. Need to sleep.” He takes a deep breath of air, his nose wrinkles, and he winces.
Smiling bitterly, she says, “That’s me. I smell like cancer. I want to take a shower, but I don’t know if I should leave you alone.”
Loki shakes his head, eyes closed. “You can’t take a shower.”
Heart catching, Amy brushes her hand softly down his cheek, and leans closer. She’s about to whisper, “What can I do?” when Loki, eyes still closed, lets out a whine. “Not while I’m too weak to spy on you.”
Amy sits up and pulls her hand away. She sighs. “I think you’ll be fine.”
One of Loki’s eyes opens, and then the other, and he smiles again. It’s innocent, filled with wonder, and it’s breathtaking.
“What?” Amy asks.
“I rescued you.” The smile gets impossibly wider and he shrugs, and looks away. “It’s been a long time since I’ve done something so unequivocally … ” He huffs a laugh. “ … Good.”
Some butterflies do a mad dance in her stomach. “Oh, Loki,” says Amy, almost reaching up to put a hand through his bangs again.
Covering his eyes, he nods and sighs almost shyly. “Not since I helped kill Baldur.”
“Oh,” Amy says, suddenly feeling uncomfortable. Yes, Thor did say Baldur deserved it, but it doesn’t stop the chill that Amy feels. Loki doesn’t operate by an earthly moral code. Thinking of the civilians Thor said he had killed in Asgard, she shivers and wraps her arms around herself.
Loki sighs again and closes his eyes. His muscles relax in a wave, and he’s almost instantly asleep, the smile still on his face.
Loki saved her, that is the only thing she knows for sure. Standing up and taking a deep breath, she goes to find the shower.
x x x x
When Loki returned to court from Niflheim, the plague and its victims were already nearly forgotten. Instead there were other rumors.
“Baldur has dreams of his impending death,” Thor says, over a mug of ale. His brows draw together, and he takes another swig from his mug. They are in the home of Loki, Sigyn, Valli and Nari—still called Anganboða’s Hall. Sigyn and Loki are loathe to call it anything else. It is late, the boys are asleep. Sigyn is with them, a smaller mug of her own in front of her.
Sigyn’s gaze becomes hard, but she says nothing.
“Good,” says Loki.
Thor scratches his great mane, and then shakes his head. “But it doesn’t matter. The gossips in court say the queen has begged every creature, every plant, and every rock and mineral in all the Nine Realms not to hurt him and they’ve all given their oath to comply. No weapon can penetrate his skin.”
Huffing, Sigyn says, “That is ridiculous.”
Thor looks up, eyes wide. “But—”
Tilting his head, Loki says, “Since when have plants, let alone rocks and minerals, been ones to make oaths?”
Looking down at his ale, Thor says, “Aye. It sounded strange to me. But Baldur ordered Tyr to throw an iron battle axe at him. It bounced off without leaving a scratch.” He shrugs and drains his mug.
“Well, maybe he should test those oaths,” Loki says. “Perhaps at the training grounds tomorrow we can all take turns throwing things at him?”
Thor beams. “That sounds like fun!”
Beside Loki, Sigyn straightens and her face darkens. Later, as Thor is leaving, Loki puts his arm around her hip and leans down to nip her ear. He’s warm with liquor, cold with the memory of Helen, and he suddenly wants more babies, just to show he is still fighting. Sigyn pulls out of his embrace. Pointing a finger at him, she says, “Odin is setting you up, Loki! You’ll take care of his problem, and then he’ll thank you with torture and banish our children to Midgard or worse!”
“Baldur needs to die!” Loki hisses. Sigyn is the only person he’s told about Odin’s spectral visit to Niflheim. He feels his skin heat and sting at her betrayal—she of all people should understand.
“Yes!” Sigyn says, her lips curling into a snarl. She closes her eyes. “I worry every time Nari or Valli go near Baldur that he’ll … ” she shakes her head unable to finish. Loki remembers Sigyn emerging from Baldur’s chambers so long ago, her face dazed, confused and hurt. Woman or child, boy or girl, Baldur has no inhibitions about using his glamour to charm, seduce, and betray.
He lets out a breath and his fists tighten at his powerlessness. “What would you have me do?” he says through clenched teeth.
“Do the same as Odin, find someone else to do your dirty work,” says Sigyn.
Loki snarls and all the candles in the kitchen flicker to life, and the fire in the hearth leaps. It’s not what he wants; Loki wants to douse Baldur in fire even if it means his own death. He wants the world to see the Golden Prince burn. But Sigyn is right. If Loki kills Baldur, Loki’s family will face banishment—or worse. Sigyn isn’t Aggie, but he loves her; and his boys are monsters, but he loves them with an intensity that borders on madness. He looks away and says nothing.
As it turns out, half of the deed is accomplished by someone else the next day. Thor suggests to the court that they attempt to test the spell protecting Baldur by throwing weapons of various materials and designs at him. In arrogance and vanity, Baldur accepts gamely. It becomes the favorite sport of the court. Unfortunately, just as Thor suggested, nothing seems to work.
Loki does not partake of the sport himself. Instead, he takes to studying the mechanisms of the spell. Some of the more learned at court speculate that Frigga has surrounded Baldur with an invisible layer of magical armor—but Loki doubts that. A layer of magical armor would inhibit sensations from reaching Baldur. He doubts very much that Baldur, ever the ‘sensualist,’ would be willing to part with that. It takes many months, but Loki eventually discovers Queen Frigga has woven her magic into Baldur’s skin. He can feel pleasurable sensations, but heat too hot will be siphoned by magic into realms unseen as well as the atoms and molecules of points too sharp. The force of impact of such implements meets the same fate.
It is a beautiful, infuriating, lovingly crafted piece of work. And in all the days that the warriors make sport of throwing objects at Baldur nothing penetrates his skin. Instead it is Sigyn that discovers the weakness.
“Remember that small plant that you brought from Midgard, Loki? The one that grows in trees?” his wife says one evening. The boys are screaming in the other room. Normally, he would go back, rough house with them, and Sigyn would come in and harangue him for ‘inciting them to riot’. But Loki has had a long day listening to the dronings of Odin and the dwarven envoys from the new Svartalfheim mercantilist faction, and he is in the mood to kill someone. He grits his teeth. He is not in the mood to talk, or listen. He wants to turn off his ears and mouth and drink. He grunts in response and heads to the cupboard.
Not taking the hint, Sigyn says, “Frigga touched it, and her skin developed a rash.”
Popping the cork out of the bottle of ale with his teeth, Loki says, “And this concerns me because … ?” In the other room he hears a crash.
Sigyn scowls. “Because she seems to be intolerant to the substance … I’ve heard of similar things among the Vanir, and the dwarfs … but not among the Aesir. I thought yearly feasting on Idunn’s apples inoculated us.” She tilts her head. “But it’s a new species to Asgard. Perhaps Idunn hasn’t added it to her apples’ magic—”
“Too bad for Frigga,” says Loki, tipping back his ale.
“Loki, such conditions are inheritable!” says Sigyn.
Putting down his drink, Loki stares at her.
Sigyn’s eyes narrow. “And in the proper dosages can be deadly.”
Later that evening he is sitting with a mistletoe branch on the kitchen table. The plant has thin flimsy branches, too weak to be a weapon. Loki taps his chin. “Perhaps if I rub the bark and leaves along a sword or a knife the essence will be enough to break the spell and allow me to drive a blade through his hide.”
From where she is mending, Sigyn says sharply, “You will do no such thing.”
Loki glares at her, but she doesn’t even look up. “Find a way to kill him without it being traced to you,” she says, pushing a thread through a needle. “Or Odin will not get a chance to punish you because I will kill you myself.”
The coldness in her voice makes Loki pause.
“It is no victory if all your children are dead.” Raising her eyes, she says, “I want you to be victorious.”
The side of Loki’s lip quirks. He looks down at the mistletoe branch and his thoughts start racing. “First I’ll need to see if Frigga’s weakness is also Baldur’s.”
Sigyn hums in agreement.
From the mistletoe, Loki crafts a small, lightweight, inconspicuous dart. The next day, he tosses it in the pile of weapons the warriors will fling at Baldur. It’s just his luck that the person who picks up the dart happens to be the nearly blind Hödur. Loki makes himself invisible and tries to steer Hödur’s aim in the right direction, but still the dart just barely grazes Baldur’s arm. And then Tyr heaves a dwarven dagger directly at Baldur’s forehead. As the dagger falls harmlessly, Baldur and all those assembled laugh, but Loki can’t help but notice Baldur scratching at his arm where the dart passed, the skin there mottled and red.
He leaves in glee to tell Sigyn. His glee ends quickly when he returns to where the mistletoe grows to find that the tree it grew in has been cut to the ground.
He stares at the stump, his hands curling into fists. To get more mistletoe he’ll need to go to Midgard. But access to Midgard is restricted—to all but the occasional receiver of prayers. Of late, that has only been Baldur.
For months, Loki can only watch helplessly as Baldur’s behavior becomes more brazen and bold. And then, prayers come to Loki. Typical of Loki’s luck, they come at the best and worst of all possible times.