Amy hurts. She can’t even tell where she hurts most, because it feels like the front of her body is prickling with a hundred different needles. She takes a breath and the pain in her neck makes all the other pain disappear. Wincing, she opens her eyes and finds herself staring at the familiar whirls of plaster of Loki’s bedroom ceiling. What isn’t familiar is the beeping that sounds suspiciously like a heart monitor, the IV drip in her wrist, or the face of the white-coated, middle-aged woman with a stethoscope sitting next to her.
Amy blinks. No, wait, the woman is one of the doctors from the trauma center, but Amy can’t remember her name. There is a slight sheen of sweat on the woman’s brow, the corners of her lips are turned down, and her eyes are a little too wide. She’s frightened. Amy’s eyes slide to the side. A young man she recognizes as a nurse paramedic is by her side as well.
Amy opens her mouth. The voice that comes out is a cracked whisper. “What happened? How … ”
She tries to sit up but stops as every nerve in her body seizes up with pain.
The doctor puts her hands on her shoulders. “Don’t get up. You received multiple superficial wounds to your abdomen from exploding glass. None were deep, but you do have a lot of stitches.”
Amy sinks down into the bed, the memories coming back. “They opened fire … ”
Why did they open fire?
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 helmet 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, and 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. It’s the council chambers of Chicago City Hall.
“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 Lewis 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—”
“Fine, just get out of our way,” says Steve. The plumbers fall to the side, and Steve and Thor push through. They are almost to the main exit when Steve hears someone shout. “He’s on LaSalle Street. CNN has live coverage!”
Steve turns his head and brings his hand to Thor’s shoulder. For a moment they both stop, mesmerized.
Loki is on the screen. Steve’s breath catches in his throat at the sight. Loki’s armor is so black it gleams blue. Upon his head is a helmet with long curved horns. With the smirk Loki’s wearing, he looks every bit a monster from a nightmare.
“The helmet … ” someone gasps.
Beside him Thor hums. “Horns. Foolish for battle. And look at the armor on his left arm? It isn’t like the rest—the joints are uncovered, and it looks like he’ll be vulnerable from below. Not dwarven or elven made, that is certain.”
Steve snaps his attention to Thor. The large man is eyeing the television screen, his expression calculating. Turning his attention back to the television, Steve sees what Thor means. The plates on Loki’s left arm don’t fit him like a second skin like they do on his right.
Thor speaks again. “Why bother with armor at all? He divined how Frigga made Baldur invulnerable. He could do the same for himself.”
“What are you saying?” says Steve.
Eyes still on the screen, Thor tilts his head. “He plays a game. Perhaps one he doesn’t want to win.”
There are sounds of explosions from the television. Steve turns his head to see police cars on fire, and police with raised guns screaming, frost rising from their bodies.
“A bad game,” Steve says.
“But one we must play,” says Thor, before stepping through the revolving doors. With one last glance at the screen, Steve follows.
x x x x
With one arm Amy leans on the rolling stand of her IV drip. In the other she carries Ratatoskr. She is moving as fast as she can— which isn’t very—down the hallway that separates Loki’s bedroom from the rest of his apartment.
“Ow! Norn’s webs, woman, why didn’t you leave me on the bed?” the squirrel grumbles.
“Have to get away, have to get away,” Amy chants to herself, even though she can hear gun shots in the background.
Entering the foyer, she tries the door, but the handle doesn’t budge. She pounds on it and screams, but there is no answer on the other side. Dropping her forehead to the door, she lets out a frustrated groan.
“Think most people had the sense to get the fuck out of here,” says Ratatoskr. Amy glares down at the squirrel. He gives a little squeak and rubs a paw over his nose. “Just sayin’.”
Lifting her head, she looks towards the living room. She can send an email to Steve. A part of her wonders what good that will do anyone. Grimacing, she presses the little button that administers morphine and marches on.
As she enters the living room she lets out a breath. She sees the sun shining on buildings and the Board of Trade … it may be the drugs, but it looks like it is leaning to one side. Still, the window is not showing the world through Loki’s eyes, and she breathes a sigh of relief.
No sooner has the breath left her lips, than the window shimmers and she’s staring at a pair of double doors swinging open, and then she’s looking across a city street at a mural of Icarus and Daedalus above the entrance of a building. Her legs feel weak, as though they might melt beneath her in dread as Loki turns southward. Suddenly, she’s staring down the long canyon of LaSalle Street, dark despite the sunny day, eerily empty of people and traffic.
“Awww … ” A long string of angry squirrelese flows from Ratatoskr mouth. “I don’t want a front row seat in Loki’s brain!”
In the distance she hears the wail of police sirens getting louder as Loki begins to walk towards the Board of Trade four blocks or so away. She tilts her head. The Board of Trade is tilted a bit from this angle, too.
At the periphery of her vision she sees police cars pull up on West Washington to the right and left of Loki. Men run out and shout, “Freeze!”
“Puppets of the oppressors,” says Cera’s voice. “Let them freeze.”
“No, Loki, no!” Amy screams.
For a moment, the forward motion of the scene stalls, but then the police officers start to scream. Their breath turns frosty as their bodies turn to ice. Their cars explode one by one.
Loki begins walking southward again through the frozen statues of police and burning husks of cars, towards the leaning Board of Trade. Through the smoke Amy makes out the shape of a press van.
“Parasites,” screeches Cera. “We will kill them.”
“No, don’t!” shouts Amy, shaking her IV stand.
“Why, why, why … ” It’s Loki’s voice, sounding distant, and faint.
“The revolution must be televised!” Amy says. She gasps for breath, not really sure where that came from. But Loki’s voice echoes through the apartment, a little louder this time. “She’s right.”
“Whoa,” says Ratatoskr, trembling in Amy’s hands. “He heard you!”
“Yes,” says Cera. “I understand! We will show them our full power, by destroying this monument to capitalism!”
Amy straightens. “Oh, shit,” she says.
“You took the words out of my mouth,” says Ratatoskr. Without looking down at the squirrel, Amy rolls the IV stand over to Loki’s desk and plunks down on his chair. The computer’s screen flickers to life and she does her best to type in the password with one hand. From the window comes the sound of an explosion. She glances up to see the buildings on either side of Loki collapse. Debris falls down in destruction so fast and forceful the chunks of cement and mortar look like the foam of falling water. “He’s destroying the buildings,” she whispers.
Squeaking, Ratatoskr says, “Hopefully, not this one.”
The password works, and Amy’s suddenly looking at live streaming aerial footage of Chicago on CNN. As the window shows a curtain of dust and debris, the scene on the computer shows buildings toppling one by one down LaSalle. Amy’s heart feels like it’s in her throat, and then she hears the voice she’s never heard before echoing through the apartment. “Please, St. Jude, help them. Help those people … ”
Another voice rises in chorus. “Dear God, make it stop.” Another voice comes, sounding suspiciously like Arabic, and then another, and another in still a different language, until there are so many it is like the sound of rushing water.
Ratatoskr meets Amy’s eyes. “Prayers,” whispers the squirrel. “Those are human prayers!”
“They’re watching CNN,” says Amy.
A voice rises among the rest, male, English, but heavily accented and vaguely Indian. “Fuck you! I did not leave India for this!”
“I agree with that one,” says Ratatoskr.
“What is that?” says Cera’s voice loud and clear above the din.
“They are praying for me to save them,” says Loki, and Amy can hear the quirk of his lips in his voice.
“We are saving them!” says Cera. “They will see!”
Loki doesn’t respond.
On the monitor in front of her Amy opens her email and desperately types out a message to Steve. She winces and grips her side. What is she thinking? Circuits are probably jammed, it will never get through. She closes her eyes and says a silent prayer that it gets through—and hears it echo around her in the room. Lifting her eyes to empty air she presses send and flips back to CNN.
From the aerial view provided by CNN, Amy sees two buildings topple a block away from the Board of Trade, the blocks in Loki’s wake completely decimated.
“Fuck!” says Amy.
“Amen,” says Ratatoskr.
x x x x
Steve and Thor stumble out of the building, through the throng of reporters, and into the middle of LaSalle Street. Steve sees the exhaust of cars—cabs, maintenance vehicles and a few police cars—but he can’t hear their engines. The buildings on either side of LaSalle are crumbling and drowning nearly all other sounds. A human-shaped shadow highlighted by shimmering blue approaches through the dust at a leisurely walk. Steve’s jaw tightens. Loki.
His phone buzzes in his pocket, but it is on the periphery of his consciousness. Thor is shouting to some agents by the door, “Evacuate the building!” A few people who ignored the evacuation orders days ago are running from the remaining buildings on LaSalle.
Steve’s phone is still buzzing. Why is it still buzzing? He pulls it out of his pocket. He doesn’t have to click on anything. It’s lit up, a message seemingly scrawled across the surface in glowing blue pen.
Cera is controlling Loki. He’s fighting it. You have to HELP him outsmart her! Amy
It’s obviously magic. But how and why is this message coming through? Steve looks up to see two more buildings crumble only half a block away as Loki approaches. People running down the sidewalk fall over in the debris and dust.
“We have to talk to him,” Steve says, looking at his phone.
How Thor hears his words, barely-audible above the destruction, Steve will never know. “Aye,” shouts Thor. “But first we must clear the dust.” Thor raises his hammer. The sky darkens too quickly to be natural, there is the crackle of lightning, and the boom of thunder. The skies open up and Steve is instantly soaked. His hands flex by his side, but he doesn’t grab his gun.
“Loki!” Thor shouts towards the horned figure glowing in the middle of the street just a few yards away. Loki stops walking. The roar of collapsing buildings is replaced by the sound of rain pounding on the pavement and screams of the wounded. Along the pavement beside them, rainwater begins to swirl, running brown with dust.
“Hello, Thor!” Loki shouts, his voice ringing with laughter. “Ready to die, son of the Tsar of the Nine Realms?”
“If you truly wanted that I would already be dead,” Thor shouts back.
At this distance, Steve can see the wide, maniacal stretch of Loki’s grin and the glint of teeth beneath his horned helmet, the strange plating on his left arm glowing very brightly. “Maybe I just want to play with you!” Loki shouts. “You know how I love games!”
Steve hears the wail of police sirens through the rain. And then there are explosions in the distance and the wailing disappears. The only sound on the street is the sound of people screaming and calling to one another.
“I know there is still good in you, Loki!” Thor shouts.
“Good? Thor, have you been talking to the Christians?” Loki laughs. And then he leans forward and screams. “This isn’t about good or evil! This is about power!”
Coming forward fast, Loki whips his left arm in a wide circle and the rain stops.
Thor raises his hammer and nothing happens. “Let the sunshine in!” Loki screams—and beams of sunlight break through the clouds. Steve finds himself, Thor, and Loki, now only a few paces away, in a natural spotlight.
Taking a deep breath, Steve wills himself to ignore the screams around him. He takes a step forward and a makes a stab in the dark. “After being a pawn of Odin your whole life, you’re going to be a pawn of Cera, Loki?”
Eyes leaving Thor, Loki shouts, “We will kill you, too, Steve Rogers!” Then his head ticks to the side, as though something’s in his ear, and he starts to grimace.
Steve’s gaze slides towards Thor. Thor’s hammer is above the warrior’s head. The large man is pulling on the handle, as though the hammer is suspended on an invisible string.
Loki laughs, and Steve’s attention snaps back to him.
“We should kill you instantly,” Loki says. “But no, I say a game is better, a game is more fun.”
Steve is aware of shadows on the periphery of his vision, agents from the FBI, and maybe police officers slinking through the alleyways of the remaining buildings, guns raised. Steve is torn between telling them to run and being afraid of giving them away.
Smiling, Loki says, “Did Amy ever tell you about the story Thor Versus Captain America?” He giggles and raises his eyebrows. “I was the good guy in that one! Thor was in league with the Nazis … which is oddly appropriate considering his activities during the 40s.”
“Loki!” Thor says, his voice low and steady. “Stop this.”
Steve’s eyes go to Thor. Thor is still trying to pull the hammer out of the air, his face contorted in a grimace, a sheen of sweat on his skin.
Loki takes a menacing step towards Thor. In the distance, another building tumbles. Trying to distract Loki, or buy time, Steve says, “The name of the story is Thor Meets Captain America.”
“Liar!” screams Loki, spinning to Steve. “We shall watch you kill each other!”
“Run, Agent Rogers!” Thor shouts. He’s still hanging onto his hammer—and the hammer is rushing through the air in Steve’s direction.
Steve dives to the ground, asphalt and pebbles digging into his hands and pain shooting through his side as Thor and the hammer hit the ground where Steve just stood, lightning rippling up along Thor’s body. Loki laughs. Steve is once more aware of screaming. And another sound, one that he recognizes from his time in Afghanistan. Jet fighters.
So Big Brother has been paying attention.
“Hey, Thor!” Steve shouts, scrambling to his feet. “Try and get me!” Turning, Steve runs.
Loki laughs. “That’s the spirit.”
Turning into an alley, Steve hears Thor grunt behind him and nearly collides with agents and police in front of him. “Incoming, take cover!” Steve shouts.
Their eyes are wide. Steve turns to see Thor, still holding onto his hammer, flying through the air about seven feet above the ground, coming right at him. “Run, that’s an order!” says Steve. The agents turn and run. Spinning, Steve runs towards Thor, diving down just before the hammer hits his head. Thor and the hammer collide with the ground a few paces behind him in a rumble of thunder and a flash of lightning. At the opening of the alley Loki laughs, but his voice is drowned out by the sound of air cover drawing closer.
Loki looks up, momentarily distracted. From an alley across the street comes the sound of gunfire. Steve is close enough that he hears bullets colliding with Loki’s armor as he stares up into the sky—and then a nearly simultaneous chorus of screams just before the roar of fighter jets becomes nearly deafening. A bright lights streaks towards Loki and he holds out a hand and laughs as an explosion erupts just a few feet in front of him, flames licking out in a sphere. It takes a moment for Steve to understand what he’s just seen. Loki just deflected Hellfire missiles—it shouldn’t be a shock.
A chill runs through his body. For a moment all he can do is stare in breathless horror. He’d imagined Claire would be safe because she was in Lake Forest … nowhere in the world is safe.
Shaking himself, Steve turns to see Thor struggling to his feet, and then he hears a boom in the sky and looks up to see five F-15 Strike Eagles on fire, shooting through the sky like falling stars.
“This is so much fun!” screams Loki. And then the sound of the fighters colliding with buildings becomes too loud to hear anything else.
Steve turns to find Thor beside him. Steve bows his head to the ground, completely at a loss as to what to do … and then he sees something black sliding along the pavement a few feet behind Loki. A manhole cover.
“What are the sewage thralls doing?” Thor rumbles beside him.
An orange hard hat and the muzzle of a shotgun peek up just at the level of the street behind where Loki is staring at the downed fighters. The man aims the shotgun. A shot might have been fired, it’s hard to hear, but what is definite is the sound of Loki’s scream as he clutches the underside of his left arm, his armor pulsing with light.
x x x x
Pain rips along Loki’s left arm as a bullet slips beneath the plating, and the magical energy flooding his body retreats for a moment.
“What is that?” Cera screams.
“Pain,” says Loki. Turning around he sees a brightly colored helmet and the muzzle of a shotgun slip into a manhole. Loki hears a mumble of “Shit, I missed.”
“How dare he!” Cera shouts. “How dare one so low make Us hurt. The fool is the very people We will help! Kill him!”
Loki gasps. In the back of his mind he hears whispers—calls in every human language to every conceivable deity and saint. He hears St. Jude, Jesus, Jehovah, Allah, Shiva and a string of other names that could be Hindi. He hears a few calls to Ananse, Iktomi, Odin and even …
“Loki!” It’s Amy’s voice.
“What are you waiting for?” Cera says. “Stop him!”
What is Loki waiting for? He snarls and winces in pain. Why does he have his mind back? Is it the pain keeping Cera at bay?
At the corner of his vision he sees Steve approaching, pistol raised, speaking into his phone. And Thor is behind him, hammer in hand. Loki has relinquished his hold on Mjolnir in his distraction. Shadows of humans are emerging from the remaining buildings around him, weapons drawn. Part of him wants them to succeed—but knows that is an impossibility. Almost against Loki’s volition, the wound in his arm is healing. Cera is invincible.
He hears Amy’s voice again, begging him. “Please, Loki, don’t be the destroyer, be the transformer.”
There is a ping of a bullet on the back of his helmet.
“Enough of this game! Stop them!” Cera commands.
Loki feels the flare of magic in his body again, as he—no Cera—readies to attack.
Steve is right, he is just a puppet—has always been a puppet. Loki was the source of Asgard’s greatest treasures, its greatest defender, and yet all this time he’s been regarded as a fool. His lips curl. And with good reason. He hasn’t been playing the game, he’s been played. Cera is using him, just as Odin had, just as Amy said Cera would, just as Thor said she would. Why had Loki been so blind? Was it his desire for vengeance, or just because it is his nature to destroy everything and never get anything right?
“Stop the games now,” Cera screams. Magic ripples and pulses along every cell in Loki’s body. Loki feels a cry of despair and frustration rising in his chest. He’s had enough of this game too—enough of all games. Throwing up his arms, Loki screams, “No! Stop everything!”
And Cera obeys.
Power whips through Loki with such strength he lifts from the ground. The humans around him become motionless. Dust and soot hang in the air in front of him like dirty snowflakes. The flames rising up from exploded cars, buildings and bodies become motionless pillars of orange light. The scene around Loki is blanketed in an eerie silence.
Loki gasps. Preserving time in the immediate vicinity is Odin’s trick. Not something Loki is capable of at all, but with Cera … with Cera … oh.
Loki looks up at the sky. Even the clouds have stopped moving. His consciousness slips along with the tendrils of Cera’s power; but he’s still separate, still himself. He feels Earth and all the planets around her sun stop their rotations. He feels the galaxy stop spinning, and the universe itself stop expanding. And he sees. His eyes widen as he realizes what a small branch of the World Tree the Nine Realms are. There are more branches, more realms, more life—too much and too varied to contemplate. He pulls back and looks only at the Nine Realms. His gaze falls upon the elf queen, still as a statue, staring in her pool at an image of himself, and sees Odin upon his throne—Heimdall whispering in his ear, a spear that is not Gungnir is in the All Father’s grasp. Where is Gungnir? Odin had last used the spear to trap Hoenir in his hut. At the moment Loki thinks of Hoenir, he sees the hut, with Gungnir still outside its front door in Muspelheim, the realm of fire, frozen tendrils of flames rising up from its roof like so many jagged teeth.
Stretching his consciousness inside Hoenir’s home, Loki sees his boys immobilized by magic, crouched by the door, armed with Earth-style automatic weapons. Sigyn lies upon a couch looking towards their sons. Mimir’s head is on his favorite staff, leaning against the wall, mouth open, eyes turned towards the statues of Nari and Valli. Loki gasps in disbelief and relief, even as his throat tightens. He can’t fail them again.
Hoenir is not with them; he is at a table, sipping tea. Hoenir is moving. And he is not the Hoenir that Loki remembers. His head is no longer balding, his pot belly is gone.
“Hoenir?” Loki gasps.
From where he is drinking tea, Hoenir looks up. The lines that used to surround his eyes have vanished. He looks so … young, like in the dream with Laugaz. Hoenir shakes his head, as though responding to Loki’s unspoken, Why?
Feeling exposed, bitter and brittle, Loki looks away. Closing his eyes, he takes a deep breath. His sons, Sigyn, Mimir and Hoenir are alive. And Hoenir is moving … Loki suddenly knows how that is possible, and how Loki was able to fight the influence of Odin’s ability to stop time as Loki became older and stronger. Odin’s magic lies in preservation and order, but chaos and creation cannot be stopped forever.
Loki feels a tightening in his chest and lets out a breath. The universe has begun its outward journey again, but it is slower, still tethered … His hands ball into fists. Is he only himself because Cera’s power is diverted? If so, how much time does he have? What will she have him do when she releases the heavens from her hold? He looks around at the world where his body resides, the toppled buildings, the fires of exploded machines, and frozen bodies.
He knows what she will do to Earth. His consciousness spins around the small globe he’s found himself on. He sees hundreds of different countries, divided by even more cultures and languages. New cultures and new language are forming every minute as human societies struggle to accommodate the changes their frantic pace of technological innovation has wrought. Compared to all the other Nine Realms with their static kings and queens, kingdoms and stale magic, this world is chaos.
But Cera will put an end to it. She will combine all of humanity under one monolithic ideology, constrain the minds and ideas she doesn’t approve of, and decide what is best for all—just like Odin.
His vision shrinks to just this one city. Chicago was chaos before he even arrived, diverse, vibrant, and corrupt. Its skyscrapers reach for the sky, even as grass and tree roots break through the shackles of pavement, destroying the pinnacles from below.
Life destroying order. He breathes again, overwhelmed. Life as chaos? He thinks of Helen, of saving her life from the midwives who sought to end her. That was an act of chaos, too, defying the order of the Aesir. Or an act of love? Or maybe love is chaotic? Going to the cave for the lives of his sons and Sigyn … such an honorable thing, and so entirely against his nature. Even Valli knew it. Love could make wretches like him honorable and honorable beings do unthinkable things. Chaotic indeed.
Hovering in midair, in this place outside of time, the voices are gone from his head, but he feels his connection to all of the humans who uttered them. Cera will destroy the voices—the languages, cultures, traditions and the faith behind them. She’ll end this realm of perfect chaos, of real life, and then she’ll expand, won’t she?
His chest constricts and he feels Cera’s power snap as the universe begins to expand again in earnest. The galaxies begin to pull against Cera’s fetters.
He doesn’t have much time left. What does he want for his sons and the voices of chaos in his head? Nine Realms ruled by Odin or a universe ruled by Cera?
A ragged breath comes from his lungs stirring the snowflakes of soot in its wake. Every other realm is in stasis enforced by Odin, and Cera would be no better. This realm belongs to no one; it is ruled by change, life, and chaos.
He smirks, even as he feels the galaxies grind into motion. In a way, this realm is Loki’s.
He doesn’t have to choose between Odin and Cera. He may be an incarnation of chaos, but he’s a trickster, too—and he always keeps his oaths, after all.
Loki turns his eyes towards his apartment. Amy is standing there, an immobilized Ratatoskr in her grip. She is weak, and too young, but she is the only one besides Hoenir and Odin who knows what he is. What he is about to do is unfair, but he isn’t justice incarnate.
“Amy,” he whispers. “Move.”
x x x x
Amy blinks, an afterimage of jet planes on fire in her mind, but what she sees before her is very different. She’s no longer staring out of Loki’s eyes through his windows. Instead the windows show him floating above the ground, his skin back to brilliant blue. The world around him is frozen in place. She sees soot and debris hanging in the air.
Loki is smirking, his eyes on hers.
“Loki?” she whispers. “Is that you?”
The smirk softens. “I don’t have much time. Don’t let me forget next time who I am, what I am.”
“Next time?” Amy says.
Loki shrugs and he gives her a smile that’s too thin and too sharp.
And then she knows. “No, you can’t die!”
He snorts. “Apparently not. But it will hide me from Odin for a while.”
Clutching a motionless Ratatoskr to her, Amy stands and limps to the window. “No, there’s got to be another way!”
“Remember for me,” Loki says. She feels heat upon her forehead and she closes her eyes for a moment, overcome by a wave of dizziness. When she opens her eyes, Loki’s smile is gone.
He sucks in a breath and whispers, “The heavens are on the move. There isn’t much time.”
Pressing her free hand to the glass, Amy whispers, “No, please.”
Tilting his head, Loki sighs. Sounding very tired, he whispers, “I won’t be the destroyer, Amy. Not this time.”
Amy’s brow furrows and she feels a lump in her throat, tears burning in her eyes. “I don’t want you to go,” she says.
Loki swallows. For a moment she sees something like sorrow flicker across his face. “Thank you,” he says.
And then, smiling gently, he gives a sort of half shrug. Dropping his eyes to the squirrel in Amy’s arms, Loki says, “Ratatoskr, you incorrigible gossip, wake up and watch this.”
There is a shudder in her arms, and then a mumbled, “The fuck?”
Lifting his eyes back to hers, Loki’s lips quirk. Around and behind him flames, dust and debris start to swirl as though in slow motion.
“Cera!” Loki cries, turning his face to the sky.
“Loki! We’re almost together again. Why did you make us stop everything?” Cera’s voice says, sounding like nothing so much as a confused child.
“I needed time to think.” Loki says. “You’re right, let’s end the games!”
“We will wipe their minds!” Cera says, her voice chillingly cheery.
“Erp,” says Ratatoskr.
Shivering, Amy bites her lip.
Loki snorts. “Oh, no, this place is too far gone for that. We need to start over completely!”
“Eeep!” says Ratatoskr.
“We can do that?” says Cera.
Amy shudders. Ratatoskr trembles.
“With my imagination? And your power? Of course!” says Loki, grinning maniacally. He throws out his arms, lifting them heavenward. “But first, what we need is a very, very Big Bang.”
Around him light begins to swirl. Loki gasps, his eyes going wide. He glances up in Amy’s direction and gives her a small nod.
“No!” she says, her vision blurry with tears. Ratatoskr trembles more violently in her arms—or maybe that is her trembling.
Loki smiles at her. And then he winks.
Behind Loki flames begin to leap and swirl in earnest, debris falling out of the sky as his body and armor pulse with brightness. And then for a heart beat Loki is a single point of light in a vast emptiness. His mouth opens in a silent scream, and suddenly Loki is a burst of light and fire exploding outward. Amy cries out. The window is a wall of fire …
… and then it is just a window again. Amy is looking out at blue sky peeking out beyond retreating thunder clouds and smoke.
Ratatoskr squeaks. “World Tree’s nuts! He took the damn thing into the In-Between.” His tail swishes. “Loki tricked it into destroying itself!”
The squirrel chitters and then laughs. “The Sly One saved us!”
Amy squeezes him tight, her vision completely obscured by tears. “Yes.”