The lights of the elevator buzz and flicker above Amy. Steve stands beside her. Steve is as tall as Loki is—was—and his head nearly brushes the ceiling. The FBI’s Chicago headquarters are new, but the building is old. The elevator smells musty, shakes as it moves, and is hot. Amy is sweltering beneath her thick white down jacket, but the thought of taking it off and hauling it around under her arm is just too exhausting.
“Thanks for coming in,” Steve says.
Yawning into her hand, Amy manages a low “Mmmmm” in response. Her ‘last’ day as Steve’s receptionist was a few weeks ago. She never thought she’d be back here so soon. Her eyes flutter. She’s tired and doesn’t know why. Maybe just stress?
The elevator draws to a stop and Amy’s stomach lurches. Did she eat something that disagrees with her? Or maybe it is the memory of the pictures released by the Tribune this morning. Shutting her eyes, she tries to will away the image of children huddled together, their tiny bodies suffocated beneath debris. Their school collapsed on them during the earthquake Loki caused...right before he destroyed three blocks of Chicago’s financial district, and froze or incinerated the mayor, ADUO’s Executive Director, and half of the city’s police department. And even if he had been under the influence of Cera, the World Seed, it still—
“Amy?” says Steve.
Swaying slightly on her feet, she opens her eyes. Where the fluorescent light’s harsh glow touches Steve’s dark skin, his face appears ashen.
The doors of the elevator are open to a wide room where ADUO agents are setting up desks, cubicles, phones, and computers.
Leaning towards her slightly, Steve says, “Are you alright?” He holds out a hand, as though he might steady her, but then quickly pulls it away.
Shaking her head, Amy steps out. “Yes, I … ” She doesn’t finish. The eyes of a black-suited agent are on her. Is he glaring at her? She blinks. The agent’s eyes are still pointedly aimed in her direction.
She looks away, her stomach churning as Steve leads her down a narrow lane between the cubicles. What did she expect? Even if Loki did save the world, his moments of madness before the end still caused the death of thousands. Loki was her lover, and Amy’s guilty by association. She smiles ruefully to herself. Lover. What a joke. Loki didn’t love her.
As she walks with Steve down the aisle, her eyes dart to the side. She catches more hostile looks and a few looks of pity. Averting her gaze to the window she sees the wreckage of LaSalle Street. There are grim-faced construction workers out there between the piles of collapsed buildings and the snow drifts. There are also teams of scientists from all over the world scampering about, looks of awe, wonder, concentration, and joy on their faces. Small Geiger counter-like devices are aglow in their hands, detecting “magical” energy. As yet, no one really knows what “magic” energy is—they just know it’s real and seems to be in Chicago to stay.
A policeman on the street turns and looks in her direction. She’s certain he can’t see her behind the glass, but she feels like he’s looking at her accusingly. She’s heard about what Loki did to the SWAT team that raided his home. There’d been no survivors—
“Amy?” Steve says.
Lifting her eyes, Amy sees they’ve reached the edge of the main office space. Steve is standing between two men guarding an open door. The guards are wearing black suits and crisp white shirts just like Steve is. With square jaws and crewcuts, they might be Steve, but slightly shorter, 20-year=old Caucasian versions.
Steve clears his throat, his brow constricted slightly. Amy straightens and follows the direction he gestures her in. She finds herself in a windowless conference room filled with only a long conference table. As Steve closes the door, she looks around. The walls, floor, ceiling, and even the door are covered with a dark wire mesh. Promethean Wire. It will seal all magic out of the room.
She sways slightly on her feet again.
“Are you sure you’re alright?” Steve says again.
Amy closes her eyes. The policeman’s gaze, the photo of the children, the mayor’s eyes crusted over by ice, fill her mind. “Should I feel alright, Steve?”
Opening her eyes, she finds Steve’s expression flat and unreadable.
“I was—” Amy raises her arm towards the door and gestures vaguely, “—sleeping with the man who was a mass murderer who—” Rubbing her temples she lets out a long breath. Steve leans back against a conference table. “You didn’t know it would come to that.”
“I’m an idiot. I should have realized—”
“No,” Steve says, crossing his arms. “You shouldn’t have.”
Jaw tensing, eyes prickling, Amy gives her boss—former boss—a hard stare.
His stare is equally hard. “Amy, Loki was, if not a perfect gentleman to you, always protective of you. He never hurt you, and in your presence was never violent unless he thought he, or you, were in danger. You weren’t an idiot for trusting him or … being involved with him.” He draws a breath. “Other people put up with worse and get less. Loki did care about you—and no one could predict their … partner … would fall under the influence of a mind-controlling World Seed that fancied itself the second coming of Josef Stalin.”
Amy’s vision goes blurry with unshed tears. She’d thought that—maybe—but to hear it from someone else. “That’s a good speech, Steve,” she says, wiping an eye.
Uncrossing his arms, body visibly relaxing, Steve says, “Good, I’ve been practicing variations of it for the first time a man breaks my little girl’s heart.”
Amy almost smiles. “You’re a good dad, Steve.”
Tilting his head, Steve says, “Of course, after I give that speech to her I will hunt the man down and kill him.”
Amy does smile at that. And for a moment she almost feels better. But then she remembers what Steve doesn’t know. Loki only cared about her because he thought she was part of his “higher purpose,” which he was convinced was burning Asgard to the ground.
Turning towards the table, Steve says, “Sorry to bring you in, but ADUO wanted you to identify something for us.”
Body tensing again, she shoves her hand into her pockets and jumps as a small squeak pierces the air. Something warm and soft squirms under her left hand. Looking down, her eyes widen in surprise. She has a stowaway. Peering up from her pocket is Mr. Squeakers, the eight-legged spidermouse Loki gave to her.
Steve looks towards the air conditioning duct. “Was that a mouse?”
Patting Mr. Squeakers’ head back into her pocket, Amy says, “I didn’t hear anything.”
Steve raises an eyebrow but turns his attention back to the table. A large piece of folded black fabric lies there. Pulling away a fold, Steve reveals a gleaming, slightly curved sword. Amy releases a gasp.
“Can you identify it?” Steve asks.
“It’s Laevateinn,” Amy says. The name means troublesome twig, but she doesn’t say that. All she adds is, “Loki’s sword.” As she says the words, Loki’s memories come rushing in. As a final parting ‘gift,’ he’d planted his memories in her mind. They don’t invade her every waking moment, but when she stumbles upon something relevant they come to her. She shakes her head. When she tries to think back to the time right before he destroyed Cera, she gets no insights as to why he’d chosen to give them to her. She thinks it was just an impulse. Her jaw goes hard and her eyes prickle.
“That’s what I told them,” Steve says. “But our experts identified it as Japanese katana, from the Edo period. They wondered why a deity associated with Norse peoples would have a Japanese sword.
“It’s surging with magical energy,” Steve says. “Outside of magically sealed rooms it drives our sensors off the charts. The only stronger thing we’ve seen is Cera.”
Almost without thinking, Amy reaches towards Laevateinn. Last time she’d seen it, it had pulsated with magical blue light. Inside the magically sealed room, it’s just a sword, but the blade gleams brightly.
She runs a hand absently over the handle. Suddenly caught in another flashback, she says, “Thor and Loki were in Japan at the beginning of the Tokugawa shogunate looking for samurai to join the ranks of the einherjar.”
“Einherjar?”
“Humans recruited to serve in Odin or Freyja’s elite guard. Usually the valkyries did it, but Odin was desperate. Loki and Thor joined in … ” A memory comes to her of Thor, disguised by Loki’s illusions to look like a short Japanese samurai hitting his head against the top of the frame of a door. She snorts. Thor bumped his head a lot in Japan, and Loki seems to remember each and every time.
Amy lifts the sword, and Steve shuffles nervously beside her. “It is very sharp,” he says. “Even without magic.”
Pointing the blade carefully towards the opposite wall, Amy rotates the handle in her hands. “It’s so light—you’re sure it’s not magical even here?”
Humming reverently, Steve says, “It’s the magic of exquisite craftsmanship. A thing of beauty, isn’t it? Look at the blade. The surface is as smooth as glass.”
Amy smiles. “It’s like a lightsaber!”
“The closest we have on this world,” says Steve, his voice hushed.
At that moment from behind them comes the sound of the door opening. A voice with a Hindi accent says, “Steve? You want some coffee?”
Steve turns beside her. “Bohdi, how did you get in? The door was locked, and there are guards outside.”
Amy turns to see Bohdi give Steve a shrug, unruly black bangs falling over one eye. Always a little embarrassed in Bohdi’s presence, she turns quickly away. Loki had wiped Bohdi’s memories. When she tries to think about it, to understand why Loki seemed to have some personal vendetta against Bohdi, she gets nothing. Another impulse?
In Amy’s hands Laevateinn begins to pulse with light.
Behind her Bohdi says, “I didn’t see any guards, and the door wasn’t locked.”
Amy lifts the sword towards her eyes. Her reflection stares back at her. But around her reflection, where there should be the room, there is darkness.
“Maybe they went to help with the troll outside?” said Bohdi.
“Troll?” says Steve.
Tilting her head, Amy says, “Something is happening to the blade.” Instead of tilting its head, her reflection looks behind itself.
“Oh, cool sword,” says Bohdi, his voice suddenly closer.
“Put it down, Amy,” says Steve.
Amy feels a prickle like static in her hands. “Right,” she says, lowering the blade back to the table. She tries to release it, but blue current writhes up her arms. She turns towards Steve, “I … ”
“Ms. Lewis!” says Bohdi.
“Drop it!” shouts Steve, his hand reaching for her wrist.
And then everything is blackness. Amy is suspended in the nothingness of the In-Between with only Laevateinn’s cold glow. There is no Loki to tether her to life with his warm embrace. She has seconds to live, and she aches for him to be with her in the darkness.