In Steve’s hospital room, Amy runs a magic detector over Steve’s forehead and gets a riot of beeping. His eyelids don’t even flutter. She runs it down the length of his body and gets a steady beeping the rest of the way. It’s been twenty-four hours since she administered the serum. Fenrir recovered in as much time.
Across his body, Nari gazes down at Steve’s unconscious form. “When I had a similar injury I recovered much quicker. As did your ... ” His eyes go to her little mutt, “err, thing—pet.”
Standing back, Amy looks nervously to where Henry sits at the edge of a chair. Steve’s father is leaning forward, a book dangling from his fingers. He’d dropped the book from his eyes as soon as Amy started the exam. Beside Henry sits Beatrice, a pile of knitting in her lap, her umbrella leaning against the chair beside her. Amy drops her eyes. Steve should have had some return of function by now. She feels ashamed, even if she shouldn’t.
She looks up at Steve’s forehead and sweeps the magic detector over it once more. The device beeps with such intensity it’s almost a constant whine. Pulling it away, she bites her lip. The frontal lobe of the brain sits behind the forehead. Among other things, the frontal lobe is responsible for planning, reasoning, and problem solving. In humans, the frontal lobe is comparatively big.
She looks at Fenrir. Fenrir looks up at her, pants, wiggles her body, and wags her stump of a tail. In dogs, the frontal lobe is much smaller. Amy’s dog chases cars and eats dead things that other dogs pass up. Fenrir’s frontal lobe might be small even by canine standards.
“Your brain was already magically wired when you had your injury,” Amy says, not looking at Nari because looking at Nari makes her stomach do funny things. He resembles nothing so much as Loki’s better-looking brother. “Steve’s brain wasn’t.”
“What are you getting at?” asks Nari.
“Maybe it’s the complexity of Steve’s brain that’s slowing things down,” Amy says. “The magic matter isn’t just working on his injury; it’s rewiring his mind. In Fenrir it wasn’t an issue because … well, there’s not that much in there to be rewired.”
As if agreeing with her, Fenrir gives a happy bark and wags her body.
Nari looks down at the dog. “She did try to eat that used gauze earlier.”
Amy winces. Fenrir didn’t try to eat it so much as swallow the two foot spool of filthy used bandage whole. If Amy hadn’t induced vomiting it would have been another trip to the vet emergency clinic for sure.
Fenrir barks and goes to the door. “Speaking of the little monster,” says Beatrice, putting her knitting down.
Amy looks between Steve and her dog. Amy took a shower earlier, and she’s wearing some clean clothes that ADUO agents acquired for her; but she hasn’t left the hospital, or even this floor, since the troll invasion. She’d like to take Fenrir out, just to go outside. Sigyn is fairly confident that if Amy stays close to the hospital and keeps a magical guard, Odin’s unlikely to try another abduction ... at least for a while.
She looks at Steve and bites her lip. The thought of leaving makes her feel negligent.
As if reading her thoughts, Henry says, “Dr. Lewis, why don’t you go. Being here isn’t going to speed anything up, and you need a break.”
She looks toward the old man. Tucking the book under his arm, Henry puts his hands on the armrests of his chair and pushes himself up. Amy sees him wince a little. He walks toward her, massaging his fingers. The subtle signs of chronic pain make Amy’s heart fall, and yet she knows pain isn’t the thing most on Henry’s mind. He hasn’t left the room either. The only reason Ruth has left is to look after Claire. She’s down in the lobby with her now, Sigyn with them.
Amy looks at Steve and suddenly finds herself drawn into one of Loki’s memories. Helen, Loki’s half-blue daughter, was dying on Loki’s lap in Niflheim. On the periphery of Loki’s vision mist swirled. There were monsters in the mist, but all of Loki’s attention was on his daughter. The side of her that was pale and human hued was covered with lesions. The side of her that was blue was unmarred. Her eyes were closed to nearly slits and she was not looking at him, but her fingers were wrapped around his. Her magic was dimming and Loki wished more than anything in the Nine Realms that they could switch places.
Amy blinks away the memory before tears have a chance to build. Her own parents tend to contact her when they need something. Loki probably didn’t have much in common with the upright Henry, or the tender Ruth, but at least in love and devotion to his children, he was the same.
“Go,” Henry says. It’s not a suggestion. And it strikes Amy that maybe he wants some time alone with his son. Loki never cried about Helen’s death when he returned to Asgard. Not in front of anyone. On Niflheim he wept until his eyes were dry.
Putting the magic detector on the nightstand, she backs away. “Okay.”
“I’ll come with you,” says Beatrice, setting aside her knitting.
“As will I,” says Nari, looking straight at Amy. Amy does her best not to look back.
The three are just at the door of Steve’s room when Nari says, “My scabbard, I forgot it!” Without waiting for a response he turns and goes back into the room. The magic scabbard is the same one that a not-so-mythical Arthur used to hold Excalibur. As long as he wears it, Nari cannot be injured, but it has a low-grade ambient magic. Although it normally doesn’t set off magic detectors when not in use, Nari had slipped it off just to be certain it didn’t influence Amy’s magic readings.
As Beatrice and Amy wait in the hallway, her grandmother wags her eyebrows and smiles. Dropping her voice to a whisper, Beatrice says, “He likes you.” Giving Amy a nudge with her elbow, she adds, “And he saved your life in the cave!”
Amy flushes, remembering Nari’s body draped over hers. Excalibur’s scabbard had protected him from harm; it wasn’t like Loki jumping through the In Between to rescue her from the fire, or Bohdi refusing to leave her in the spider nest. She looks down at her shoes. Still, he had thought of her. She shakes her head, “Romance isn’t what I need, right now.”
“Or it might be exactly what you need,” Beatrice says brightly.
Amy’s gaze flashes in her grandmother’s direction.
Beatrice tilts her head. “He’s a nice boy, who is nice looking, and nice to you. Is that really so bad?”
“He’s not a boy, Grandma,” Amy whispers.
Beatrice raises an eyebrow. “But is he nice?”
Amy feels her shoulders go slack. Despite his readiness to surrender earlier, Nari isn’t really a coward. His courage is just more intellectual than physical. In his life, Nari has been more than nice, he’s been brave enough to stand up to Odin himself.
x x x x
At Odin’s right hand, Loki sits at the long feasting table swirling his mead. Thor sits at Odin’s left. Around them the hall rumbles with the shouts and cheers of warriors. There are the upright Einherjar, and uptight Valkyries—Sigyn now among them. Asgard’s own native warriors dot the room—Loki’s eyes drift down the table to where Valli is sitting. As usual, his brave and reckless son is flanked by the brashest and most foolhardy of the Valkyries. Nari is also in attendance. His more thoughtful, but cowardly, son has managed to convince Hisbernia, Idunn’s daughter, to attend the rowdy feast with him.
In attendance are also Vanir, Frost Giants, elves, and even a few dwarves. They are the remainder of the foreign forces that helped Asgard beat back the Fire Giants ten years ago. They are the same undisciplined, ungrateful foreigners who pushed Odin to reinstate War Rites. They are the loudest, most unruly revelers in attendance. Loki despises them like he despises fire lice.
Normally, he’d despise playing Odin’s lackey, too. But ... his eyes drift back to Nari and Hisbernia Things being what they are, he’s actually glad he came. He lets an invisible double of himself slip toward the couple. The double is almost in earshot when Odin slaps a hand on Loki’s back, spoiling his concentration. “I smell magic. Who are you spying on, Trickster?”
Loki stews under the hand, gaze still on his quarry. Too late he realizes his gaze has given him away. “You are spying on Nari and his woman!” Odin declares. He snorts. “You’re just like a woman, Loki, interested in your children’s latest romantic foibles.”
Leaning around his father, Thor says brightly, “I see them, Loki. A good match!”
Withdrawing his hand from Loki’s shoulder, Odin sits back in his chair and grumbles. “You’re both women!” With that he tips back his mead.
Ignoring his father, Thor says excitedly, “Hisbernia is certainly clever enough for your Nari.”
Loki looks down the table at the daughter of Idunn. Idunn is an elf. Despite being only half elf, Hisbernia is the spitting image of her mother, her ears are pointed, and her frame is delicate. Once long ago, Loki had an affair with Idunn. He scratches his head. Actually, maybe it had been Hisbernia he’d slept with, he can’t remember … and they look so alike. Hisbernia works in the orchards of her mother, and by all accounts, is as talented at growing and caring for the immortality-bestowing apples. She is a suitable match for Nari. Witty, charming, and one of the few in Asgard who actually does something rather than simply living off the stipend Odin doles out from the tolls collected at Asgard’s World Gates.
A meaty hand hits his shoulder with such force Loki nearly falls off his chair. His head whips in Thor’s direction. Thor has an upraised fist hovering in the air. Though aimed at Loki, the fist hovers in front of Odin’s nose. The Allfather rolls his eyes.
Brow furrowed, skin a shade darker than usual, Thor says to Loki, “Of course, if you’re a grandfather before me I will be furious.”
Loki draws his head back. “You have hundreds of grandchildren.”
Sighing, Thor drops his fist. “Yes, well, they’re all human. They die so quickly. I wish Magi or Modi would get to it.”
Magi and Modi are Thor’s illegitimate sons by Jarnsaxa, a Frost Giantess ruling over a small kingdom in Jotunheim. Thor has proposed to her on several occasions, but she always says no. Loki is not sure why; he’s heard her declare her love to Thor and sensed no lie.
Thor gazes mournfully into his cup. Loki’s not sure if the big oaf’s thinking about his rejected proposals, his lack of magical grandchildren, or the passing of his human descendents. But Loki is sure it’s his duty to distract Thor—after all, what are friends for? And there is the delightful business with Pru, Thor’s daughter by his ex-wife Sif. “There’s always Pru and that dwarf she fancies,” Loki says with his most charming leer.
Loki feels a charge of electricity sizzle in the air. Thor’s face goes bright red. “Why, you little—”
A mug of mead crashes into the wall behind the Allfather’s head, interrupting what was bound to have been an epic tirade. Thor, Loki, and Odin all turn to look at the source. A group of Vanir “warriors” are shoving each other and shouting, oblivious to their grave faux pas.
With a grunt, Odin grabs Gungnir, his magical spear, and raps the ground. “Enough!” The hall goes quiet. The guilty parties pause their fighting, turn, bow their heads, sink to their knees and weakly thump their right hands over their hearts. The Allfather says nothing for a few long minutes, and the hush in the hall begins to take on physical weight. Rapping the spear one more time, Odin says, “You may be seated.”
The men sit down hurriedly. The hush turns to an ambient whisper, the whisper to a low din, and then the shouting resumes again.
Loki prepares to speak his mind when Thor does it for him. “Father, why do you tolerate such lack of discipline? These men are brigands, not warriors. Throw the lot of them out!”
Eyes still on the men who threw the mead, Odin says, “I’d rather keep my eye on the disorder this rabble raises than have other, wiser men use the rabble to rise against me.” Leaning back in his seat, Odin says, “Besides, I will have use for them.”
As if on cue, someone in the hall shouts, “May the Merchant Dwarves rise against their masters so that we have cause to kill them all!” Cheers go up around the room.
Across the room, Sigyn turns to Loki and locks eyes with him. She’s urged Loki to convince Odin to ignore the Merchant Dwarf uprising. Loki has tried—to no avail. She says the trouble is that he doesn’t really believe in the cause of the Merchant Dwarves. Which is true. Loki could give a damn about their desire for self-rule; but he does care about his sons, and Sigyn and would rather they not be caught up in a military scuffle.
“May they rise so I have an excuse to thin the ranks of those idiots,” Odin grumbles.
“Father,” says Thor, “I realize the Merchant Dwarves are too weak militarily to pose a real threat—but don’t send these men. Sent in your name they become the face of Asgard. Send the Einherjar, the Valkyrie ...”
“They’re needed elsewhere, and too valuable to be wasted on petty squabbles,” Odin says.
“Father … ” says Thor, his voice low, hands slipping to his hammer. For just a moment Loki feels the prickle of electricity in the air again. His heart skips a beat, a showdown between father and son? No, Thor would never …
Odin waves a hand in Thor’s direction. “Oh, don’t fret. I’ll send a few Valkyries and Einherjar to insure the job is done right.”
A movement down the table catches Loki’s eyes. He turns to see Nari and Hisbernia rising but making no move to leave the room. Instead they stand together, facing the seated guests. Loki’s heart skips a beat, this time in joy. Are they going to publicly announce a betrothal? Nari’s never seemed much interested in such things, but maybe there was a happy accident?
Nari’s voice rings clear and true across the din, hushing the room instantly, a trick of Nari’s particular glamour. “Why go to battle with the Merchant Dwarves at all?”
Loki deflates. He looks to Sigyn, expecting to see a similar look of disappointment. Instead she is holding her chin high, pride shining in her eyes.
Nari’s voice rises again. “They merely want their freedom from the tyranny of the Red and Black Dwarf kings!”
Loki leans back in his chair. The dwarf kings are rather a horrible, venal bunch. Maybe it is because the true wealth of their realm lies with the merchants and craft guilds and they are jealous. Maybe it is because they are horribly inbred and stupid. But they tax their people cruelly and insist on ridiculous rules—they don’t allow anyone outside of the nobility to wear colors, dress in silks or cottons, and the lords and ladies have the right to arbitrarily declare goods, services, and lay people as property of the crown. If they bothered to run the realm well, it might be forgiven. But certain segments of the Merchant Class, forced by the nobility into enormous ghettos, have had to learn to govern themselves. Sadly for the dwarf nobility, and inconveniently for peace in Loki’s marriage, they’d discovered they prefer self-rule.
“What business of ours is it that some of the dwarf Merchant Class wishes self-government?” Nari says. “It might be in Asgard’s interest. Without the arbitrary confiscation of their wares they might have more to trade with us.” He turns to the Einherjar and Valkyrie in the room. “The dwarves are the finest metalworkers in all the realms. Imagine more and better armor and weaponry—that is what you would have if the dwarf nobility weren’t having their precious metals turned into rings and silly ornaments.”
Surprisingly, some of the Einherjar and Valkyrie look thoughtful … possibly because their numbers had been considerably thinned by the war with the Fire Giants.
Odin stands from his seat and raps Gungir on the floor. “We have treaties with the Red and Black Dwarf nobility. We cannot renege on those; it would be dishonorable.”
Loki sees the Valkyrie and Einherjar nod among each other at the Allfather’s words. There is nothing worse than dishonor in their eyes.
Beside Nari, Hisbernia raises her arms. “We would not be reneging on our treaties if we negotiated new treaties.”
Murmurs rise up around the hall. Odin’s face remains impassive, but Loki feels the Allfather’s magic rising in the room.
Nari holds up a hand for silence, and then Hisbernia continues. “We could offer the Dwarf nobility more apples—they’d grant their Merchant Class their autonomy for immortality.”
More murmurs rise in the hall. And Odin raps Gungnir on the floor for silence. “We do not have a limitless supply of apples!”
“But we could have more!” Hisbernia says. “I know, I work the orchards alongside my mother. And we need not give them to all the nobility; even offering it to the kings would be enough.”
“And you would have such treasures be doled out to the Dwarf Nobility, well known for their avarice and sloth?” Odin says. “They don’t deserve it.”
“And for that reason they do not deserve to rule over their Merchant Class!” Nari shouts. “We should not go to war over this!”
A din rises up among the Einherjar and Valkyries as they argue the merits of war and buying off the Dwarves. To Loki’s surprise, some of them agree with his son. He hears shouts of, “The Red King and the Black King are worse than the Merchant Class—let them get fat on apples!” But from the foreign born mercenaries, a chant begins to rise, “War, war, war, war … ”
Rapping Gungnir on the floor for silence, Odin bellows across the room. “The honor of the Red and Black King is not our concern. Our concern is our honor. Don’t you value that, Nari Lokison?”
Angry eyes flick to Loki and back to Nari. Loki feels his face go hot, and bile rises in his throat. He is generally regarded as the court jester. Odin is using Nari’s kinship against him. Loki resists the urge to speak, but every candle in the room flares. People jump back from the table, more angry looks shoot in Loki’s direction … and Nari’s.
Odin’s magic rises in the room in an ominous cloud and the candles snuff out. The Allfather’s voice rises. “It is no secret you do not thirst for battle, Nari Lokison. You speak noble-sounding words, but they are laced with magic!”
Whispers rise around the room. A look of distress crosses Nari’s face, and Loki’s stomach ties in knots for his boy. Nari can no sooner strip the magical charm from the words than Loki can strip the skin from his body. It is Nari’s intrinsic magic, like Helen’s magic was to reveal truth.
The Allfather raps his spear on the ground once more. “Admit it, you don’t wish to go war because you are a coward!”
It is, as Loki would gleefully point out in more civilized circumstances, an ad hominem. But the accusation of cowardice is such an anathema to the crowd’s deepest held beliefs about themselves that it works. Shouts rise up from the Valkyrie and Einherjar, “Odin’s warriors are never cowards!” And the mercenaries continue to chant, “War, war, war!”
Nari raises his hands, and his magic flows around him, making him for an instant glow like starlight, or reason, and truth … But his magic fades in the blink of the eye. Odin’s magic is everywhere, threading between the crowd. Magical creatures that they are, the crowd doesn’t see it or acknowledge it. That would take too much concentration—and admittance that they paid attention to such a womanly thing as magic.
“How is it cowardly to suggest peace in a room full of warriors?” Nari demands. Loki only hears him because he’s staring right at him, willing himself to hear. He sees Sigyn step close to their son. Glancing to the side, Loki sees Valli raise his mug in a toast to war with a pair of Valkyries. He closes his eyes.
When he opens them he sees Nari arguing with some Einherjar, Hisbernia by his side. Sigyn is staring at Odin. Rising from his seat, Loki goes to his wife. Putting his hand on the small of her back, he whispers, “It will be a short skirmish. Valli is brilliant in battle, and Nari has his scabbard. Our sons will return to us unharmed.” The first part is the truth. The second parts are a hope that Loki speaks aloud to reassure his wife and himself.
Pulling away, Sigyn glares at him. “Don’t you understand, it’s not about that anymore!”
“What is it about then?” Loki snaps, frustrated, frightened, and uncomprehending.
Sigyn’s eyes slide to the Allfather, and then back to Loki. Shaking her head, she turns away.
x x x x
The image of Sigyn’s turned back dances at the forefront of Amy’s mind. She can feel the way Loki’s stomach turned to lead as Sigyn did ... Was that the beginning of the end? Or the first time Loki noticed how deep the cracks were?
“He’s easy on the eyes, that’s for sure,” says Beatrice. She’s peering through the window on Steve’s door. Despite herself Amy looks.
Nari is talking to Henry, his back to them. Loki’s son is wearing dark jeans and a gray v-neck sweater. Both fit him perfectly—or maybe he fits them perfectly. She draws back. The sort of guy who would have nothing to do with her, she’s not all that and ...
Amy blinks. Her face flushes, and she’s suddenly struck by a memory of Loki sitting at Hoenir’s table, casually eating a rack of lamb. Loki was about seventeen. Waving a rib he said, “Hoenir, could you turn me into a woman?”
Where he was sitting across the table, Hoenir spit out his tea.
Propped up on the counter edge, Mimir said, “Errrr … Loki, what brings this on?”
Loki bit a piece of meat from the bone, barely pausing to chew it before he swallowed it down. “It just seems like it’s so much easier for women to have sex.”
Hoenir went bright red and started coughing.
Loki continued. “If you’re a woman, all you need is the barest minimum of looks and hygiene and you can have sex with just about any man.”
“Would you marry just about any woman?” Mimir said, raising an eyebrow.
Loki drew back in his seat. “No.” Pointing a finger, he said, “Don’t be offensive, Mimir. We’re just talking about sex here.”
Recovering from his coughing fit, Hoenir rolled his eyes.
“And you’d have sex with anyone,” said Mimir with a sigh.
“No …” Loki tapped his chin. “Well … almost. But I wouldn’t marry just anyone … ” He shrugged and feigned an air of indifference. “If I ever get married at all.”
Amy feels her skin go hot. She’s flustered by Loki’s flippancy and shallowness, and then she blinks, remembering Anganboða. When he first laid eyes on her Loki thought she was the most beautiful woman he’d ever seen. But that isn’t why he fell in love with her. He loved her because she laughed at his jokes, but knew he was more than a fool; she saw through Baldur’s illusions, and she was smart and loved magic.
Amy looks toward the nursing station where they first saw Sigyn. Sigyn is beautiful, but on Asgard her looks aren’t special. Loki loved her because she loved Helen, and for her strength of will—her willingness to stand up to him, stand up for him and his children, and her wisdom and perseverance.
Amy takes a step back, memories flooding her mind. Loki wasn’t an outlier. When it came to love, men required a certain level of health, but beauty was subjective, and usually it wasn’t really what made men fall. A lot of times they just wanted to be with women who genuinely liked them.
She squeezes Fenrir’s carrier tight. It’s a dizzying realization. She looks back to Nari. He is someone she’d generally qualify as out of her league. But she never really gave men she’d classified as out of her league a chance before, had she?
She really isn’t all that, but she is clever, she is kind, and she does have perseverance, if not Sigyn’s indomitable will. So why didn’t Loki have the same love for her he did for Sigyn and Anganboða?
“I’m back,” Nari says, and Amy lifts her head to see him buckling on his scabbard. He gives her a smile, and then his face flushes a little.
Averting his eyes, he whispers some words, and the scabbard and the gun he wears slung over his back vanish. The magic detectors of the agents at the door beep once or twice and then go silent as the three step away. Amy looks back at them as they walk. They’re still not sure how Freyja is disabling the magic detectors. Killing the little microscopic organisms that power them? Covering up their sound and light with an illusion?
“Dr. Lewis,” Nari says, snapping her from her musings. “You’re very knowledgeable about magic. It’s quite remarkable.”
“Oh, thanks,” says Amy, feeling herself go warm. They pass the sign-in desk; there’s a waiting room there, and some elves sit reading magazines. They look up and nod as the three pass. Amy catches a thread of the news report playing on the television. “ ... two-hundred people dead, eighty-eight trolls in Chicago ... if it weren’t for the aid of Asgard the toll would have been much higher.”
The warmth she’d felt a moment before turns to cold dread. Amy’s pace slackens. Her mouth feels dry and her eyes hot. She finds her breathing coming fast and ragged. There is a children’s museum on Navy Pier.
Her grandmother takes her arm. “I’m glad they didn’t get you,” Beatrice says.
On her other side, Nari says, “Yes. You’ve made humans magical.”
In the carrier, Fenrir gives a little yip.
Raising an eyebrow, Nari looks at the carrier and adds “ And other … things … magical too.”
The elevator opens. Entering after Beatrice and Amy, Nari shakes his head. “It’s a feat I would have only thought possible of Hoenir ... maybe Odin.” She feels rather than sees his eyes on her. “But you managed it with only human science.”
Not only, but Amy doesn’t feel like talking about it.
Eighty-eight trolls and two hundred dead, Steve unconscious and still paralyzed. She looks up at the numbers above the door, her gut churning.
“It’s the democratization of magic,” Nari says. “I can’t even put into words how exciting I find this.”
Amy glances in Nari’s direction. He’s leaning toward her, lips slightly parted. He is interested in her—but Amy’s too wrung out by recent events to be really excited … even if he is the most gorgeous man she’s ever met.
Clutching Fenrir’s carrier tighter, Amy looks back to the lights beside the door. Rocking on her feet, she silently wishes for the elevator doors to open.
As if heeding her silent prayer, the doors open and some other visitors get in. Nari falls silent, but in the smooth metal of the walls, Amy sees him. His eyes remain on her.
x x x x
As soon as they’re outside Amy puts Fenrir on her leash and lets her out to sniff. Fenrir promptly relieves herself at the nearest tree. And then, tugging at the collar, Fenrir leads her down the block. Amy doesn’t protest. The street is lined on either side by cement planter boxes filled with hedges cut just below knee height, and thin, young trees. The pavement is dark and wet with a recent rain; the leaves of the plants are bright green. It’s kind of pretty. Fenrir gives a full body wag, stands on her hind legs, and waves her paws in the air. Amy follows the point of her dog’s nose down the block. Bohdi is standing on the corner, back to her, Valli beside him.
Trailing alongside Amy and Beatrice, Nari huffs. “Who is this Bohdi?” Amy’s head whips in his direction so fast, her ponytail gets stuck in her mouth.
Eyes wide, he holds up his hands. “Not that he didn’t fight valiantly yesterday, but I heard him say he’s not even a citizen. He shouldn’t be working for the FBI.”
Pulling her ponytail away, she faces forward and grinds out, “He helped me bring magic to the people. You should like him.”
“By his own admission, by being a thief,” says Nari. “Where does he come from? Where does he live?”
Amy scowls. “I don’t know where he lives, and I don’t care.”
Nari stands a little straighter at that. What is that in his eyes. Hopefulness?
Amy turns away.
Ahead of them Bohdi still has his back to them. He drops his arm to the side, flicking ash from a cigarette as he does.
Beatrice tsks.
Amy remembers Bohdi’s cry as Gabbar was ripped off of him. She can’t begrudge him the cigarette. Even from behind she can tell he’s staring in the direction of Navy Pier.
Fenrir barks, and Bohdi and Valli turn around. Valli beams at his brother. Bohdi doesn’t smile or say a word; he just flicks some more ash and gives her a nod. He looks wiry and lean next to Loki’s son, but he’s nearly as tall.
Still smiling, Valli throws up his arms. “Brother, what is the Chinese blessing? May you always live in interesting times?”
Bohdi takes a drag on his cigarette and turns away, gaze following a helicopter heading toward the pier.
Walking up to Valli, umbrella upraised, Beatrice says, “That’s a curse, dear.”
Nari grins. “No, no, this is the best of times for us.” Amy feels his eyes on her, but doesn’t look.
Valli comes over and slaps his brother on the shoulder at the same time Fenrir gives a yip and lunges in Bohdi’s direction. Bohdi turns, and looks at the little dog, but there’s an emptiness to his gaze, as though he isn’t really seeing her.
Nari and Valli start chattering in Asgardian, musing together about the damage sustained by Odin’s forces.
Leaning over to Beatrice, Amy whispers, “Just give me a moment with Bohdi, okay?”
Beatrice’s lips make a tight line, but then she rolls her eyes and whispers, “Fine, I’ll handle these jokers.” Turning around she lifts her umbrella, jabs Valli in the ribs, and says something in Ukrainian, or maybe Russian. Valli and Nari answer in kind—magic, Amy realizes—and quickly dismisses it. Her eyes go to Bohdi. Sitting down on his heels, cigarette in his mouth, he reaches out to Fenrir. Fenrir lunges so hard on the leash, the dog flips backwards and falls over.
With a gasp, Amy steps toward her little animal. But Fenrir’s already up and wiggling over to Bohdi. Clenching the cigarette in his teeth, he rubs Fenrir’s chest. From above his long black bangs are like a curtain over his eyes.
“How are you doing?” Amy says, and then mentally kicks herself. If he feels anything like her, he feels like a large part of his insides have been taken up by a mass of lead.
Not looking up, he says, “I’m still taking it all in.” Standing, he turns back toward Navy Pier. Amy looks with him. She hears the sound of helicopters, but no explosions. Last she heard there were tanks and trucks dumping cement at the gate—a crude, but very effective way to keep trolls out.
She blinks and looks down at her feet. No other race in the Nine Realms could react so quickly or effectively ... She feels her heart rate quicken. Odin is going to have to act fast. And unless something big happens, he will.
“How are you doing?” Bohdi asks, snapping her back to the present.
“Steve isn’t better.” That’s not what she was thinking, but maybe it’s what she thinks he will judge her hardest on.
“He’ll get better,” says Bohdi, like he might say, “the sun will set.”
Amy looks down at her feet. She scuffs her shoe on the sidewalk. And what happens if Steve does get better? An epidemic of magic on the human race. If it doesn’t kill them, it might save them ... But the recipients won’t have a choice in the matter.
“Amy,” Bohdi says, “is it just me … or do Fenrir’s paws look bigger?”
Amy looks down at her dog. Fenrir’s as still as a statue. One of her front paws is up, her nose is pointed toward one of the cement planter beds. Amy looks hard at Fenrir’s paws. Her jaw sags. “You know, I think they do look bigger.”
Fenrir drops to a low crouch, nose still pointed at something in the planter.
“What are you looking at?” Amy says. Drawing back on the leash, she leans over into the hedge and sees a half-eaten hot dog, crawling with ants and covered in mud.
Bohdi leans over beside her. “Ugh, Fenrir!” Grimacing, he turns away.
A movement low to the ground catches Amy’s eye. She holds up her hand for silence and hands Fenrir’s leash to Bohdi. “Keep her close,” she whispers. Crouching low, she watches as the leaves and branches bend and snap, as though an invisible something is passing beneath them. A very small something.
In her pocket, Mr. Squeakers peeks out and gives a cheep. Amy skips through the hedge after her invisible quarry, her sneakers sinking into the mud with loud sloshes. She hears Beatrice say, “What are you doing?” and Nari say, “I sense magic.” But she’s too busy chasing the invisible something. It heads directly to the edge of the planter, and Amy launches herself through the air, lands on the pavement just beyond the something, spins, and drops to a crouch.
Curled at the base of the planter is a rodent tail—seemingly attached to nothing. But in the nothing are two black eyes, a pink nose, whiskers, and the pink inside of little round ears. Amy’s jaw drops. “It’s an invisible rat!” At the sound of her voice its visible little pink nose and whiskers tremble, its tail thumps, and its black beady eyes blink. “Mostly invisible,” she amends.
“Hold Fenrir,” she hears Bohdi say. And a moment later he’s sitting on his heels beside her.
Amy’s heart beats fast in her chest. “It’s a new species! A magic species! We have to catch it!”
“Just what this city needs,” Beatrice grumbles. “Invisible rats.” Amy hears safeties click. She looks up and sees Beatrice and Valli raising handguns, Nari holding Fenrir’s lead.
Holding up her arms, she whispers. “No! We’ll catch it to study it!”
She hears a cheep from Mr. Squeakers. Amy looks down and sees the rat making a break around the corner.
Slipping off his jacket, Bohdi says, “I’ll catch it.”
Seeing the critter’s tail vanish into the next planter over, Amy says, “I’ll corner it!”
Fenrir growls. Nari says, “It’s vermin.” Ignoring Fenrir and Nari, Amy runs to the new planter box. She sees a tail slide within. It looks like a giant earthworm but moves too fast. “I see it!” Amy says. On the other side of the planter, holding up his coat like a net, Bohdi says, “Me, too. Maybe scare it this way?”
“Okay,” says Amy walking into the planter and spreading her arms wide, trying to look more frightening than Bohdi. The critter decides they’re both frightening and darts sideways and out of the planter. Bohdi springs to the side and throws his coat. It lands on the sidewalk in a rumpled heap. Amy’s eyes dart side to side. Where is the rat?
“We caught it!” Bohdi says.
Amy looks at the coat. One of the rumples moves and her heart leaps. “Yay!” she says clapping her hands together, not caring if she’s acting all of five years old. Bohdi darts forward and gathers the coat into a bundle; inside, the rat squirms. “And he’s fine!” Bohdi says, sounding oddly amazed by that. “Look at him wiggle!”
Amy bites her lip. “A new species! What will we call it?” she bounces on her feet. “What do you call a magical rat?”
Giving her a mischievous grin, Bohdi says, “Mickey Mouse?”
Amy bursts out laughing. And even if the world is headed to Armageddon ... or Ragnarok ... it feels good.
Fumbling with the coat, Bohdi says, “Oops.” Inside the makeshift net, Amy sees furious wiggling. “He’s got fight in him,” Bohdi says.
“Don’t squish him,” says Amy.
Brow furrowing, Bohdi says, “Trying …” Out of the top of the bundle pokes a nose and whiskers—they twitch in Bohdi’s direction. “Hey, get back in there,” Bohdi says, raising a hand as though about to push it back down.
“Don’t! It might have rabies!” says Beatrice.
Bohdi’s hand freezes midair.
“In Illinois that’s more common in foxes and skunks,” Amy says.
Bohdi looks at her, brows high.
“But don’t touch it,” Amy says quickly.
In the moment of Bohdi’s distraction the rat manages to turn around so it’s facing Amy. It hisses at her. Amy draws back; rat teeth suspended in nothing is more disquieting than she would have expected.
“Hey, don’t talk to her like that!” says Bohdi.
Squeakers gives an answering hiss. Fenrir growls.
“It’s just scared,” says Amy, trying to mollify Squeakers with a pat.
The rat writhes a little farther forward, hissing in Amy’s direction.
“Ummm ...” says Bohdi. Amy hears the scrape of claws on cement. The rat slips from the top of the coat bundle. Amy jumps backwards, the rat jumps at her, but before it lands on Amy it’s intercepted in midair by a gray blur of flying Fenrir.
Amy gasps. Bohdi drops the coat. Fenrir lands a few paces down the sidewalk. Amy hears a crunch, and her little dog turns around. The rat is just ordinary gray, and hanging limply in Fenrir’s jaws.
“It’s dead,” says Nari.
Wagging her body, Fenrir tilts up her head and swallows the rat in a single gulp.
Amy’s jaw drops. “Fenrir!” Fenrir opens her mouth in a happy pant and wags her body.
Sounding vaguely bored, Nari says, “The leash slipped from my hands. But it’s a good thing.”
Bohdi sighs. “Oh, Fenrir …”
Amy glances at him. The disappointment and mild horror on his face mirror her feelings exactly. Sighing, he says, “Fenrir, for you that was practically cannibalism!”
Fenrir barks cheerfully and wags her body. Amy might laugh if she wasn’t still a little in shock. How had Fenrir managed to swallow the rat whole, without even chewing?
Fenrir licks her lips and barks again.
Nari snorts.
“I think you’re going to have to induce vomiting again,” says Beatrice.
Amy tilts her head and eyes her little dog. Considering Fenrir swallowed bones and fur, she probably will. Definitely gross, but on the other hand … “I’ll be able to get a DNA sample that way.”
Nari’s nostrils flare. “Ewwww …”
Bohdi’s phone starts to play the Darth Vader theme. Amy blinks. Where has she heard a phone play that theme before?
Pulling it out, Bohdi looks at the screen, jumps to his feet and shouts, “Steve’s awake!” He takes off in the direction of the hospital. Scooping up her little cannibal, Amy takes off after him.