The Promethean wire on the windows makes Steve’s room dim, but it’s visiting hours, and that must make it what, eight o’clock? Steve would ask, but talking takes a lot of energy. It’s not just that his mouth is parched and dry, it’s that his thoughts are swimming through a morphine haze.
A chair squeaks. Steve can’t turn his head to look and maybe that’s a good thing, because if he could he might cry.
“This should be me,” Henry says.
Steve can see, in the periphery of his vision, the speed of the rise and fall of his chest increase—but he can’t feel it. Or control it. Steve grits his teeth and grinds out, “Where’s mom?”
Henry slides a bit closer, but Steve still can’t see him. “Nurse said you’ve got visitors—”
“Claire?” says Steve, and there’s hopefulness in his voice … even though he doesn’t want her to see him, he wants to see her. He just wants to know at least some part of him is well, is thriving and will endure.
Henry clears his throat. “No, you’re still in intensive care. She’s too young.”
“Bohdi?” says Steve. Please, be Bohdi, be Loki … Steve squeezes his eyes shut as the names slip together in his mind, blurry with painkillers. He can’t say that aloud. If it got back to Odin ...
He hears the door open and the sound of his mother’s footsteps. She walks slowly into his line of vision, as though afraid she’ll spook him. Steve can’t look directly at her, either. He has trouble meeting his parents’ eyes. He is supposed to be taking care of them now; instead he’s become worse than a child. He bites his lip and internally winces. He often finds himself biting his lips and the inside of his cheeks, because that is all he is physically capable of. He hates it, knows it must make him appear weak. A bitter laugh comes to his lips. He is weak.
“Steve,” his mother says. “Dale flew up from D.C. He’s here.”
“I don’t want to see him,” Steve snaps, and he knows that it will rip Dale up; he knows if the circumstances were reversed he’d need to see Dale. But Goddamn it, he’s the one who’s hurt—his neck hurts and itches, and everything below the neck burns—even though he’s been told he can’t feel anything at all there. Can’t he be a little selfish?
“He’s brought a friend with him from headquarters,” she leans closer and whispers. “The Frost Giant lady.”
Steve’s eyes snap open and slide to his mother.
Her mouth is pulled down into a frown. Her face looks puffy, like she’s been crying. She licks her lips. “I know the elves said they couldn’t help you, but maybe she can?”
Steve looks toward the door—as much as he can. “Yeah,” he says, and it comes out a sigh. “Yeah.”
Because as much as he has faith that wherever Bohdi is he’s working with Amy to make him better, he wants out of this prison that is his shattered body right now.
“Do you want some water?” says his mother.
Steve closes his eyes. He can’t even nod, and that almost makes hysterical laughter bubble up in his chest. But he manages to grind out, “Yeah, yeah, I do.”
His mother lifts the small bottle of water and a straw up to his lips. Steve opens his mouth and sucks when he feels the straw on his tongue. He feels his skin heating in shame as he sucks in a few gulps. He pushes the straw out with his tongue when he’s done. The whole time he can’t look her in the eye.
“I’ll go get them,” his mom says. He can hear the tremor in her voice, and it makes him feel sick, weak, and selfish.
He hears the door open and close. A few minutes pass. Henry might take Steve’s hand. He can’t feel it, but he thinks that’s what his dad is doing. The door opens again, and this time, he hears Dale’s and Gerðr’s footsteps. His brows draw together. He hadn’t realized he could recognize Gerðr by her steps.
A moment later she is standing by his side at the foot of his bed. She’s wearing a knit cap that hides Promethean wire—not that she needs it in this room, but it would have protected Dale outside. Without the aid of magical blocking devices, Gerðr has the ability to turn any man that has any inclinations toward women into a lust-addled ineffectual fool. He swallows. Would it work on him now in his current state? He’s afraid to know … with even less control it would be worse than ever.
“What have they done?” she whispers. Steve swallows again. He can still do that. He can see it becoming a compulsive habit.
He closes his eyes. “Can you help?”
He sees a shadow behind his lids and opens his eyes to see her leaning over him. “Yes,” she says softly.
In the background he hears his mother gasp, and his father softly shushing her.
Gerðr’s nearly white hair drapes down in a stringy curtain. Her eyes are the empty blue that always sets him a little on edge. A lot of the men in the office think she’s beautiful, even without her magic. Steve has never thought her unattractive, but at that moment, with that one word, he thinks she looks like an angel.
“Everyone must leave,” she whispers.
Dale steps forward. “If you need to talk to Steve alone, I could help translate.”
Steve’s eyes flick to his friend. He stayed on a few months after Amy and Bohdi returned to study Gerðr’s native language. Without magic to aid translation, Gerðr is far from fluent.
“No,” says Gerðr. “My English … good enough…for this.”
“Dale, Mom … Dad … ” says Steve. “You can go.”
His parents take a step back.
Dale takes a step forward. Dale’s the picture of the “the man,” with slightly mussed straw colored hair and skin that ranges from slightly peach to permanently flushed across the cheeks. Next to Gerðr, he looks tan. He also looks like a sad hound dog. His hand taps against his thigh. “Steve…”
“It will just be … a minute …” Steve says. He raises an eyebrow at Gerðr. “Right?”
She nods, her head rising and falling in short, staccato, movements.
He hears his parents step away, but Dale hovers near him. He shoots a worried look at Gerðr.
“Dale … ” Steve says. It comes out a sigh.
Dale’s hand taps fast against his thigh. “Alright,” he says. “But … ” Shaking his head, he turns and goes to the door.
Gerðr watches them leave. And then she picks up Steve’s hand. The contrast between their skin tones is shocking … and abstract and strange. Steve can see his fingers in hers but he can’t feel anything. It’s like looking at a ghost of himself.
He looks up to her eyes. She’s crying. Steve’s seen her cry before all of once, when she discovered that a World Gate on Des Plaines Avenue would take her to her home world—but it led to the impassable Southern Wastes, and she couldn’t use it to go home.
She cradles his hand to her cheek, and he sees the tears collect on his fingers.
He seriously considers calling Dale.
He sees her swallow. “Of everyone who has ever …” She takes a deep breath. “I … safer, protected here better than anywhere.”
Steve’s jaw falls. Mostly, Gerðr seems to make it a practice to be as mean, nasty, and unapproachable as possible. He takes a breath. He doesn’t know what to say. Gerðr’s marriage was non-consensual, and as far as he’s been able to gather from intel from Lewis, most of her later liaisons have been. And she’d spent time at Guantanamo …
“I do not know what I do … without you at Bureau,” she says. The tears fall from her eyes, and this time land on Steve’s cheek.
As touching as this is, he would rather have this conversation after he’s better.
“Gerðr,” he says. “You’ll help me?”
Squeezing her eyes shut, she nods. More tears fall, heavier and faster. “I would … anything. No matter cost.”
“Then do it,” Steve says.
Gerðr’s eyes open. She looks oddly hurt. Swallowing, she whispers. “Yes … for you … anything.”
She puts his hand down and lays it on his chest. Reaching over him, she takes his other hand and lays it on top of the first.
She can’t do any magic in this room … and Steve wonders what this is about, but he’s too tired to ask. Even these brief interactions wear him out.
Straightening beside him, she wipes her eyes. “For you … ”
Turning, she leaves his line of vision. And then she’s back, with an extra pillow. She clutches it in her arms.
“Now …” she whispers, pulling it from her chest.
Steve just has time to scream Dale’s name before the pillow covers his face.
x x x x
Bohdi wakes up on Beatrice’s couch to the sound of scratching. He lifts his head. Morning light is pouring in from the door to the kitchen. The scratching is coming from that direction, too. He looks over to the easy boy chair beside the couch. Amy is passed out under a knitted throw blanket.
The scratching ceases.
He blinks and rubs his eyes. Maybe there is a raccoon outside or something?
The last thing he remembers is Amy staying up to watch Fenrir. She’d given the little dog a shot of the canine variety of HIV the night before. Fenrir had taken it with barely a whimper. Or no, she had been whimpering, but she didn’t whimper more when she got the shot. Even though only her hindquarters were paralyzed, she hadn’t raised her head, or even perked her ears. He looks to the spot on the floor where the dog bed is.
And blinks again. It’s empty.
“Amy!” he shouts, throwing off the knitted throw. From the kitchen comes a yip.
“Fenrir!” he cries, running to the kitchen, his relief making his body feel impossibly light. His eyes fall on Fenrir. The little dog is sitting by the door, panting, ears perked. For a moment the day seems dazzling and bright and he feels like he’ll burst. But then he notices her hind legs are splayed backwards behind her.
With another yip she pulls herself in Bohdi’s direction, dragging her useless back legs behind her.
Bohdi feels a lump forming in his throat.
Behind him he hears Amy say, “What is it?”
From the direction that leads to the stairs, Beatrice calls, “Amy, Bohdi!”
“It didn’t work,” Bohdi says, as Amy comes to his side and Beatrice enters the kitchen, wearing some purple silk pajamas.
“I’m sorry,” Bohdi says. “I saw her in the kitchen and I thought it worked.”
Beside him, Amy kneels. Fenrir drags her little body right over and begins nosing Amy’s palm.
“Well, at least she looks more chipper,” says Beatrice.
“Grandma,” Amy says, voice slipping into the low professional sexy tone she uses when she’s being medical or sciencey. “Please get me a scarf.”
Beatrice turns and leaves the room. Bohdi hears her rummaging beyond the kitchen somewhere.
“I’m sorry,” says Bohdi again. “I really thought…”
“Mmmm …” Amy says.
Beatrice comes back in and hands Amy a striped knitted scarf. Amy slips it under Fenrir’s belly and says, “Grandma, tell Ruth and Henry we need to see Steve at the hospital right now.”
Beatrice nods quickly. “Yes, dear.”
Bohdi swallows. “I don’t think we should give up just yet … I mean … we should try again.”
Amy’s head snaps to him. Her eyes narrow, and then she looks away. “No, we have to go now,” she says.
From the other room, Beatrice shouts. “Bohdi, get in here.”
“Go,” says Amy. Standing up, she uses the scarf to lift Fenrir’s back end and the two walk to the door.
“Bohdi!” shouts Beatrice.
Not sure what else to do, Bohdi scampers off after Amy’s grandmother. She’s already at the top of the stairs when he enters the next room. Turning, she says, “Come on.”
Bohdi runs up the stairs three at a time. Beatrice leads him down a hallway and into what must be her bedroom. The quilt on the bed that’s rumpled and tossed aside on the bed looks handmade. All the furniture looks antique. Beatrice walks right to a door, opens it and goes into a walk-in closet. “Come in!” says Beatrice.
“Uh,” says Bohdi. But he does go in.
“Shut the door!” says Beatrice.
And now Bohdi feels really weird. “Ummm …” he says.
“I’m not going to bite you,” she says.
Stifling his unease, Bohdi shuts the door. A dim bulb flickers on. Bohdi looks up and notices the closet is lined with Promethean wire. Promethean wire is rare and hard to get. “How did you …?”
“No time!” says Beatrice. Spinning she goes to the back of the closet and pushes some clothes aside.
Bohdi’s jaw falls and he finds himself staring at a wall filled with guns and ammunition atop a neat set of drawers. He sees the normal FBI-issued pieces: M-4 and a Glock. But there is also a 12 gauge shotgun, an older M-16A2, an AK-47, a Beretta, a Nagant M1895 revolver, and somewhat incongruously, a paint gun.
“Don’t tell Amy about this,” says Beatrice.
Bohdi doesn’t answer. Instead he looks a little more carefully at the clothes lining the walls on either side of him. Intermixed with clothes he’s seen Beatrice wear to the office he sees some cami gear—pants, jacket, and bullet proof vest. On the floor are a pair of combat boots.
“Now which guns do you think I should take?” says Beatrice.
Bohdi blinks. “Pardon?”
“I was thinking,” Beatrice says. “AK-47’s typically are more deadly and durable. But the M-4s and M-16s provide better accuracy, and since that damnable armor Asgardians wear is bulletproof, the only shot might be the narrow gap between the visor and chin you sometimes see when they lift their heads.”
Bohdi turns to the old woman. Her bobbed gray hair is a little mussed. She has deep laugh lines around her mouth and eyes, her cheeks sag a bit. He blinks. But in his mind he can imagine what she looked like when she was younger. “I think I love you a little bit, Beatrice.”
Her blue eyes snap to his. “Focus!”
Tapping his chin, Bohdi turns back to the weapons. “Right. Their armor isn’t as resistant to heat, it’s too bad you don’t have a flame thrower.”
“Oh, I do!” says Beatrice, brightly. She kneels down and opens one of the drawers.
Bohdi’s eyes go wide as she pulls out a long piece of gleaming black metal. It’s shaped a little like a pistol, but with a longer barrel … altogether it is a little over a foot in length.
Standing and holding the weapon aloft, Beatrice says, “I realize that the DM34 is only a single shot deal, but it’s so much lighter and doesn’t have the cumbersome backpack of the M9.”
“Yeah,” says Bohdi. “Longer range, too.” And it gets up to about 2,700 degrees Fahrenheit. The Handflammpatrone DM34 is German made and was in use until about 2001. It isn’t a weapon Marines learn about as part of standard training—or even during the foreign weapons class he’d taken. But one of his instructors was an enthusiast and had given a demonstration. He finds himself starting to salivate just looking at it. Licking his lips he says, “Did I say I think I loved you? Because Beatrice, if you are single—”
“If I what?” she snaps, giving him a funny look.
Bohdi blinks. He was going to say he’d totally be her boyfriend—and he would have only been half joking. But he doesn’t like her tone or the funny look. So instead he gives her a cocky grin, and says something he knows will make her mad. “I’d date you, but it would break Amy’s heart.”
Beatrice narrows her eyes at him. “You wish. Now get out of my closet.”
Bohdi’s shoulders slump. “What about a gun for me?” It comes out a whine.
Beatrice purses her lips. “Take the paintball gun.” Bohdi looks at the toy weapon. “Actually, this might be useful—if I hit their visors, I could get a clean shot at their faces.” Taking the paintball gun off the wall, he clears his throat. “If I had a real gun to shoot with, too.”
Taking him by the shoulders, Beatrice turns him around and pushes him out the door. “I’ll cover you. Now get out of my closet; I need to change.”
x x x x
Bohdi sits in the backseat of Amy’s Subaru. On his left is a suitcase Amy told him not to let slip off the seat. Fenrir is in her little duffel bag carrier on his lap. Mr. Squeakers is on his head, his eight little bug legs digging into Bohdi’s scalp. The paint gun is on his right.
Beatrice is sitting shotgun—she said it was because she has the shotgun. Or flamethrower. And Beretta. Not that Amy knows that; Beatrice had pointedly whispered it to Bohdi when Amy wasn’t around. The canny old woman has the flamethrower—and whatever else she is packing—in a rectangular canvas bag on her lap that to Bohdi screams Weapons! But when Amy asked about it, Beatrice replied, “Board games. We might be there for a while, don’t want to have nothing to do.”
Amy was either too naive or too distracted to notice. Even now she’s leaning forward in the driver’s seat, looking up at the sky.
Pain shoots from the top of his head.
“Squeakers! What are you doing?” Bohdi says, eyes going heavenward, as though he could see the mouse.
Sitting back in her seat, Amy says, “He’s nesting.”
Wincing, Bohdi reaches up and tries to extract the mouse from his hair. The critter won’t let go. Bohdi grumbles, “I still don’t know why we have to let Steve know about this setback. It will only depress him more.” He tugs again at Squeakers, and cringes as the mouse tugs on his hair.
“Because I promised Steve an update,” Amy says too loudly, as though she’s announcing it to the world. Bohdi sniffles. “You were there, you heard me,” she adds. Releasing Squeakers, Bohdi pinches his nose to keep from sneezing.
He knows she knows she didn’t say that. There is a little peek-through flap on the top of the carrier. Opening it he looks in. Meeting his gaze, Fenrir gives him a pant that looks like a smile and a woof that sounds distinctly chipper, but her legs are still splayed out uselessly behind her.
Bohdi closes the flap. It’s not working. Why is Amy so nervous? Odin’s probably chuckling on his throne right now—if he’s even bothering to have his spies look in this direction.
A light turns yellow ahead of them. Amy guns the engine, and Bohdi’s head is thrown back. Mr. Squeakers gives a cheep, and pain shoots through his scalp.
Amy doesn’t slow down past the intersection. She speeds ahead. Turning with a screech at the next corner, she guns the engine again and pulls up so sharply next to the hospital entrance drop-off that the suitcase nearly falls off the seat. Bohdi throws up a leg to catch it. Next to him, the paint gun falls to the floor.
Beatrice peers around the front seat and sniffs. “That’s why you get a toy gun.”
Bohdi sticks out his tongue at her.
Amy hops out of the driver’s seat and says, “You brought a toy gun?”
Bohdi opens his mouth to speak, but Amy’s eyes have left his. Instead she is staring at her grandmother. Beatrice has her old-fashioned, pink flower umbrella in one hand, and the flamethrower in the other.
“You brought a toy, too, Grandma?” Amy says, eyes wide.
Beatrice slips the small flamethrower into her closed umbrella and adjusts the tie to allow for the extra width of the handle. “Yes, dear,” says Beatrice, and Bohdi’s eyes cross as he stifles the almost sneeze.
Opening the door to Bohdi’s left, Amy leans over the suitcase and grabs Fenrir. “Would you get the suitcase, Bohdi?” she asks.
“Yeah, but —”
At that moment Squeakers releases his death grip on Bohdi’s hair and jumps to the top of Fenrir’s carrier, leaving a long trail of sticky web that drifts through the air and catches on Bohdi’s nose and mouth. Spitting out the cobweb, Bohdi watches as Mr. Squeakers gives a cheep and slips into one of Amy’s pockets.
“What’s in the suitcase?” he finishes, but Amy’s turned away and is giving the keys to her car to two agents standing outside the door. He hears her say, “I’m so sorry, but could you please park the car? It’s urgent we get to Director Rogers right away.”
Bohdi blinks. He has no urge to sneeze. Bohdi slings the paintball gun over his shoulder. Grabbing the suitcase, he takes off after Amy and Beatrice and heads into the hospital.
Northwestern Memorial Hospital’s lobby would look like a mall, if there weren’t all the sick people about. The lobby is a huge atrium with a reception desk and tasteful lighting that almost looks like they’re outside. Above them on three sides are three stories worth of walkways with rows of shops and restaurants. A low buzz of conversation hums around them. Beyond the reception is a massive, gleaming, escalator, and a sign that says, “Thank you for your patience during our recent remodeling. Try our new wheelchair-walker friendly escalator.” Bohdi blinks. Isn’t that essentially what a elevator is?
A few security guards come running forward. Amy and Beatrice already have their FBI badges out. “FBI,” says Amy.
“Yes, but …” says the guard.
“Obstructing us would get you jail time,” says Amy.
“What about him?” says one guard, pointing at Bohdi.
“FBI, too,” says Beatrice.
The guard looks at a point above Bohdi’s forehead. “Is that a spider web in your hair?”
The other guard reaches for the radio at his hip. “The FBI does not carry paintball guns. I’m calling this in.”
“Call away,” Amy mutters, walking around the guard, skipping the escalator and going toward the elevator banks beyond.
The guards step after her. “Hey, wait!”
Leveling the tip of her umbrella at them, Beatrice says, “Hold it right there, boys.”
Bohdi’s jaw drops. For a heart-stopping moment he thinks Beatrice might activate the flamethrower. He looks at all the civilians milling about.
She doesn’t, of course. But the guards do stop and lower their hands, very slowly. It’s like watching a film in slow motion. Bohdi’s struck by a sense of deja vu.
“Bohdi!” snaps Beatrice. “Get over here.”
He lifts his eyes. Beatrice and Amy are already close to the elevator banks. A number of the people in the lobby are making a beeline in their direction.
Readjusting the paintball gun, Bohdi takes off in a run. The elevator dings, Amy walks in, and Beatrice backs in. Dodging groups of people, Bohdi slips in after the two women.
Someone behind him says, “Madam, we’d like a word with you.”
Pointing her umbrella at the someone beyond the door, Beatrice says, “Stop right there, fella,” and hits the elevator close button.
The man stops, his mouth drooping slowly open, as though he’s suspended in jello ... Afraid of offending a little old lady? Not that Beatrice looks particularly little old ladyish in her olive green cargo pants, black turtleneck and black vest he’s pretty sure is loaded with ammo.
Amy doesn’t seem to notice the crowd. Rocking on her heels, she’s clutching Fenrir’s carrier to her chest and staring at the lights above the elevator door as they ascend to the ICU unit.
As soon as the door opens, Amy practically runs out. Beatrice falls in step beside her, leaving Bohdi to bring up the rear.
The doctor who had approached Amy the day before is there talking to the nurses. As soon as he sees Amy, his eyes drop to the carrier. “Hey!” he says.
But Beatrice points her umbrella at him and says, “Stop it!” He stares at them, as though confused, and Amy, Beatrice, and Bohdi walk down the hallway.
There are four guards outside Steve’s door again: Two stone-faced guys, whose names Bohdi doesn’t know, and Brett and Bryant.
As they approach Brett and Bryant, Brett lifts his magic detector. Turning her back to him, Amy says, “Don’t point that thing at Fenrir. It might upset her!”
Brett blinks. “Ummm … okay?”
“I think you maybe walked through a cobweb, Bohdi,” says Bryant.
“Why are you carrying a paintball gun?” says Brett.
Steve’s door opens, and Ruth steps out.
“What’s going on?” yells Henry outside Bohdi’s line of vision.
“I think I’m going to be sick,” says Amy.
“There’s a bathroom right here,” says Ruth, making way for Amy to get into Steve’s room.
Amy hands Fenrir over to Bryant. “Watch her, don’t put her inside a room with Promethean wire, or wave a magic detector at her!”
Fenrir growls in Bryant’s direction.
“Um, sure?” he says.
Amy bolts through the door, and then to the left. Bohdi hears the sound of her throwing up. “Come in,” says Ruth to Beatrice and Bohdi.
They step into the room, Beatrice heading right to the bathroom. Bohdi sets down the suitcase and goes in after them. He finds Amy sitting on the floor next to the toilet. Beatrice is sitting on her heels beside her, rubbing her back.
“Amy,” Bohdi says. “Are you alright?” Which is probably one of the lamest things he’s ever asked a person who just threw up.
Amy rubs her temples. “Sorry, bringing about the apocalypse just makes me nervous.”
“I’ll get you some water,” Beatrice says, standing up and going to the sink.
Feeling like he’s missing something, Bohdi’s rubs the back of his neck. “But it didn’t work.”
Amy stares up at him, her eyes strangely vacant, until Beatrice gives her a cup of water. Amy takes a sip, and then pushes herself to her feet. “Come on,” she says.
They walk into Steve’s hospital room proper. Nothing has changed, except for the window ledge. It’s lined with books. Ruth and Henry must have ported over some of Steve’s library. Not that Steve can read it himself …he can’t even lift his hands.
Bohdi swallows. His eyes fall on Henry. Henry’s got his reading glasses on, and a book Bohdi recognizes from Steve’s collection, Peter the Great, his Life and World.
“Bohdi,” Steve whispers from the bed. And it’s only then that Bohdi looks toward his friend. It strikes him that he’s been afraid to look. Steve’s body is in the same position as before, but there is more equipment around him, more gadgets and gizmos on little trolleys.
“Did something happen?” Bohdi whispers.
Wringing her hands, Ruth says, “There was an incident earlier.”
Henry makes a noise in the back of his throat that sounds distinctly like a growl.
“Never mind…” says Steve. “Did you … ”
Bohdi walks over to Steve’s side and drops his head. “I’m sorry,” he whispers. “It didn’t work.”
Amy makes a noise that sounds like the cross between a laugh and sob.
“Of course, it’s working,” says Beatrice. Something softens in her brow. “But I guess you’re too young to have seen enough neural injuries and recognize that.”
Bohdi turns his head. Amy has her hands in front of her mouth. Her eyes are closed. “You didn’t notice … neither did Asgard … if they were looking this way.”
Bohdi takes a step toward Amy. “But Fenrir’s still paralyzed?”
“Fenrir’s not in pain,” Amy says. Dropping her hands she says, “Pain in the affected regions is one of the complications of paralysis. It’s not a symptom Fenrir has anymore.” She’s not smiling.
“What does that mean?” says Ruth.
“Less pain, so I can think?” Steve rasps.
Bohdi turns to his boss. Steve’s eyes are half closed. He remembers his words from yesterday, I hurt.
Amy walks toward Steve. “Yes, but more than that, it means she’s getting better. It’s only been a few hours. I think with continued treatment, she’ll continue to improve.”
“I want it,” Steve says.
Amy takes a deep breath and licks her lips. “We ran into Freyja. She said the only reason they’ve allowed you to live is because this way you make a better example.”
Steve’s mouth opens a fraction. Bohdi can see his cheek bulge a little as he runs his tongue over his teeth; he’s really pissed. A monitor beeps more rapidly, a machine whirs. “Will they target my family?” he whispers.
Henry stands. “We’re already a target, you know that.”
Ruth steps forward. “And you will always be a threat to them. You’d find some way to fight them—even like this.”
Steve smiles grimly and closes his eyes. “Make me better, Lewis, so I at least have a chance when they come.”
Amy takes a shaky breath. “We’ll need a secure room—one without Promethean wire. If I’m going to turn you into a magical creature, the magic has to be able to work.”
“I’ll get on that,” Henry says, and Bohdi catches him giving Ruth a sideways glance. She’s wringing her hands, but she gives him a tiny nod in return. “Let’s go talk to Brett and Bryant,” she says. As the two move out of the room, Steve whispers, “When can we start?”
“Now,” says Amy. She turns to Bohdi, “Would you get the suitcase?”
x x x x
Amy tightens the tourniquet on Steve’s arm. Her heart is loud in her ears. Picking up the syringe she’s prepared, she bites her lip. Needle pointing skyward she hesitates. What she is about to do is illegal, violates all the laws of medical ethics, and makes her a monster.
She swallows and looks for an excuse to stop. “So, this strain of virus was developed to kill stem cells that have become cancerous. We’ll be activating stem cells—”
“What are you trying to tell me, Lewis?” Steve whispers. His eyelids are at half mast, his pupils focused on a point beyond the end of the bed.
“It could cause a brain tumor.”
Steve chuckles. “I don’t care,” he says. “I don’t care.”
Amy bites her lip and looks down. Soon his muscles will start to atrophy from lack of use, but for now his veins are bulging at the inside of his arm. It’s the easiest injection she’s given in her life. But she does not lower the needle.
“Lewis.”
Amy lifts her gaze.
Steve’s eyes are slightly more open and focused on her. “This isn’t on you. I accept all of the consequences.”
Amy takes a deep breath. He doesn’t know the real consequences. She hasn’t told him. And maybe she should ... But he’d tell his superiors, and then there’d be no reason to do this.
“So, is this form of HIV contagious?” Bohdi asks.
She nearly drops the needle. He had to ask the real question, didn’t he?
She remembers his comments from earlier, about how they could be giving the U.S. government a monopoly on super soldiers. That would be as bad as being ruled by Odin … or just one way for Odin to control Earth; they know the Allfather already has friends in the government.
Amy stares blankly at Steve’s arm. In another universe Odin sent nuclear warheads to Beijing. In this universe he’s growing immortality-bestowing apples to use as bribes on human leaders. Still not lowering the needle she says, “The virus that the doctors have been experimenting with was modified to be non-contagious.”
It’s the truth. And a lie.
The virus in the blue test tubes in James’ lab was modified to not be contagious. But Amy used the virus in the red test tube. It isn’t just contagious, it is virulent. It was designed to be a contagious vehicle for a cure in the event of an epidemic. It hasn’t been tested on humans. Yet.
Her eyes flick to the suitcase. She has twenty-one more doses in there. She absently touches her pocket. She has three more doses hidden in her pocket … right next to Loki’s book. She’d brought the book from her house, not sure if she was ever going back.
“Do it, Lewis,” Steve says, his voice almost a sigh.
Amy’s eyes flick back to him. She nods. But instead of moving, she closes her eyes. This is the greatest weapon since the atom bomb. The U.S. government will view it as their property. If she is found out—when she’s found out—will she get the death penalty, like the Rosenbergs?
“Amy?” says Bohdi, his voice very close.
She blinks. She finds Bohdi staring down at her, one hand raised, as though he was about to put his hand on her shoulder. His eyes are wide and worried. Beatrice is next to him, her expression nearly identical. They’ll be safer if they don’t know.
Amy’s stomach flutters. Bohdi helped her steal government property; but Amy is the one turning countless people unwittingly into test subjects and giving away top secret government tech at the same time. She may be executed—but she’s an American citizen and she’ll have a trial—her death will be relatively painless. Bohdi has no country, no one to speak for him. He could be sent to Guantanamo, or receive extraordinary rendition to some place worse. Even more than Beatrice, she can never let him know the truth. She gives them both a tight smile and turns her eyes back to Steve’s vein. If you betray the people close to you, and your ethics to save the human race, does it all balance out in the end?
She bites her lip. Is she saving the human race, or condemning it? Who knows what side effects it will have … Will she turn humans into near gods—or unleash a plague?
She doesn’t know. But in another universe Odin wiped out all of Beijing—and killed Steve. In this universe Odin is preparing to take over.
She slips the needle into Steve’s vein.
x x x x
Bohdi stands in the doorway of Steve’s former hospital room, Fenrir’s carrier in his arms. He watches as down the hallway nurses and doctors wheel Steve into another room. The staff weren’t happy about the move; they’d shooed Amy, Beatrice, and Bohdi away—and warned them that Steve needed rest.
In Steve’s old room, Amy says, “Guys, keep this suitcase. Maybe at headquarters, maybe someplace safer.”
He looks back into the Promethean wire room. Amy is talking to Brett and Bryant.
Standing beside her, Beatrice puts a hand on Amy’s back. “There’s few people that Steve trusts more than these two, dear. It will be safe.”
“We’ll get right on it,” Bryant says and Brett picks up the suitcase. As the agents leave the room, Bohdi holds the door for them. He watches as they make their way down the hall, turn at the reception desk, and head toward the elevators. More agents enter the intensive care unit as they pass.
Closing the door gently, Bohdi enters the room. Amy says short stints inside the Promethean wire room won’t hurt Fenrir, it will just delay her recovery a little bit. Amy doesn’t even glance at him; instead she turns toward the window. Bohdi follows her gaze. Through the Promethean wire he can see blue skies and sunshine. He glances at her profile. She looks pale, even for her.
“Grandma,” Amy says, “I want to take a walk …” She looks down, her shoulders slumped. “When they find out what I’ve done … ” Her voice drifts off.
“What?” says Bohdi.
Beatrice puts her hand on Amy’s arm, and Amy jumps.
Bohdi blinks. Fenrir gives a little whine.
“Is something bothering you, Amy?” Beatrice says. “You’ve been nervous all day …” The older woman gives a wry smile. “I’d think it was the imminent wrath of the Allfather, but frankly, dear, that’s old hat for you.”
Amy swallows and won’t meet Beatrice’s eyes. Instead she says, “Come on, we’re near the lake. Let’s go outside.”
“Okay, dear,” says Beatrice.
Finally lifting her eyes to Bohdi, Amy holds out her arms. “Can I carry Fenrir?” Bohdi hands the carrier to her, and she pulls it tight against her stomach, as though she’s clutching a teddy bear.
Bohdi nervously adjusts the paintball gun on his back. Fresh air suddenly sounds like a good idea. “I’ll come, too,” Bohdi says.
As they leave, Bohdi peers back over his shoulder at Steve’s new room down the hall. The door is surrounded by doctors, nurses, and more agents than he’s seen at the hospital since he arrived.
Beside him, Amy gasps.
Bohdi’s eyes snap forward. Amy’s gaze is trained on the reception. A woman he’s never seen before is there. She has a very modern blonde bob and a deep tan. She’s wearing a leather jacket and jeans over worn boots. She’s almost as curvy as Amy, but much more polished, and undeniably hot. Leaning toward a nurse behind the desk, the woman says, “I’m a friend of Steve’s.”
Bohdi barely contains a sneeze at the lie.
As the nurse shakes her head, Amy’s feet start picking up speed, and Beatrice whispers, “What is it?”
“Can’t I at least inquire about his condition?” the woman asks.
The nurse says something Bohdi can’t hear, and then the woman says, “Well, could you please tell him Cindy stopped by?”
Bohdi almost sneezes again. His skin heats, as he puts the lies together in his mind. Not a friend, so an enemy. Not Cindy.
“She can’t be on Odin’s side, can she?” Amy whispers.
The blonde woman raises her head.
“I’ll find out,” Bohdi says, breaking into a run, the paintball gun bouncing on his back.
The blonde eyes meet his, and then she spins and takes off. Bohdi’s fast, certainly faster than most girls, but he doesn’t catch her before she bangs through the double doors, past the elevator banks, and then bangs through the doors to the stairs.
“Wait!” Amy shouts, probably trying to warn him about what he’s already figured out; the woman he’s chasing is not human, and most likely is dangerous. But she’s after Steve. He slams through the doors to the stairs. He can hear the strange woman’s footsteps echoing from the stairwell below. He peers down the stairs and sees her running. He follows, jumping and running down the steps.
Her footsteps get louder. He’s gaining on her. His hopes rise, and it gives him more speed. He practically flies down the flights, not noticing what floor he’s on. And then the sound of her footsteps stop.
Bohdi keeps going, his heartbeat, breathing, and the sound of his shoes on the concrete and steel steps suddenly loud.
From above, he hears Amy shout, “Bohdi, wait!”
Bohdi doesn’t answer. Or wait. He reaches the next landing, and almost passes it, when he feels an itch building under his nose. He stops.
“Bohdi!” says Beatrice.
He slings the paintball gun around, and turns slowly, aiming at the empty air. He purposely doesn’t stop when he feels the strongest urge to sniffle. Instead he keeps turning, stops, and then quickly pivots back to where the tickle in his nose is the strongest. He fires as rapidly as the gun will allow, spreading the shots up and down, and side to side. He hears a curse. Splatters of pink paint hit the wall outlining a human shape. Bohdi runs forward ... and can’t hold back anymore. He sneezes with such force he almost falls over, colliding with the woman and spattering her with snot.
He hears a feminine, “Ugh.” And then he’s pushed backwards.
Her footsteps echo in the stairwell, the door swings open. It closes as Bohdi recovers and rushes toward it. He sees a pink handprint on the door handle. Following his invisible quarry through the door, he finds himself on one of the mezzanines that circle the lobby. It’s lined with shops. Visitors and hospital patients walk along the aisle. He looks down and sees pink footprints. Up ahead, right where the mezzanine turns left, a man says, “What the—” and lurches sideways.
Bohdi sprints in his direction, paintball gun in his hands. Someone screams from below him. He looks over the railing that separates the mezzanine from the floor below. The escalators run parallel with the mezzanine aisle he now stands on. On the down escalator he sees a ripple of movement as people are pushed aside by an invisible force. He looks ahead and sees a crowd of people in front of him and at the elevator landing. Cursing, he backs up against the wall, slings the paintball gun behind his back, runs, launches himself over the railing and through the air.
… and realizes this is one of the stupidest things he’s ever done.
He doesn’t think he’ll make it … and doesn’t quite … his feet connect with the escalator railing, his legs move up and he just barely manages to drop forward instead of toppling backward. His side and cheek connect with hard metal steps as he rolls and finds himself going up instead of down. Cursing again, he stands and swings himself over the edge of the railings that separate the up and down escalators. He charges downward, shouting, “FBI!”
Amy’s voice comes from somewhere, “Bohdi!”
He reaches the lobby, sees pink footprints and follows them and the growing itch in his nose. He stops abruptly at a pair of pink spattered boots on the floor. She’s on to how he’s been following her and must have slipped them off … but she hasn’t figured out he has one more trick up his sleeve—or rather, his nose. Turning in place he sniffs. When he feels like he’ll sneeze he launches himself toward nothing—collides with something—and immediately sneezes.
As he tackles whoever it is to the floor, he hears her say, “Ugh! Yuck!” And he promptly sneezes again.
Whoever she is flickers into visibility, wiping her face with the back of her hand and grimacing at him. He opens his mouth, about to demand her name, when he hears a gun click very close to the back of his head. He freezes.
“Get off my mother,” says a voice in a smooth East coast accent.
“He’s human,” the woman beneath Bohdi says. “Don’t hurt him.”
“I won’t if he gets off of you,” says the man’s voice.
From somewhere in the lobby comes Amy’s voice. “Sigyn.”