It’s only been an hour since Steve sent Bohdi out of the conference room. He’s a few doors away in an unused hospital administrative office sitting on a chair. A folded-up cot sits beside him. In his hand he holds his phone: on it he has downloaded the book Steve gave to him: Trickster Makes this World by Lewis Hyde. He’s several Chapters in but he keeps coming back to the quotes in the Introduction. Paul Radin, whoever that is, apparently said, “Every generation occupies itself with interpreting Trickster anew … ”
Bohdi tilts his head and flicks his lighter. He hopes that’s true. Amy told him Loki always kept his oaths, even across lifetimes ... and Loki’s last oath was to have Odin kneel before him while Asgard burned to the ground. Bohdi swallows. He doesn’t want Odin to kneel ... Kneeling would give him a chance to do some magic voodoo. He flicks the lighter again. He would like Odin dead. But he wouldn’t want Asgard to burn. He’s not Loki; he does care about collateral damage. The flame goes out by his thumb. He closes his eyes and tries not to think about the troll invasion. They’re still searching for bodies.
Opening his eyes, he slides his finger across the screen. Another quote catches his eye, this one from a Frank Kermode. “ … We interpret always as transients.”
He looks at the folded-up cot. It’s where he slept last night. He hadn’t minded sleeping in the hospital. He doesn’t really have a bed of his own; if he wasn’t here he’d be sleeping at the house he’s sort of house-sitting. Before he was there he was subletting a place; before that he was sleeping at Steve’s parents’ place, in Steve’s old bed. He looks at the floor. In a way ... he’s always been homeless.
Shaking his head he finds another Paul Radin quote: He knows neither good nor evil yet he is responsible for both. He possesses no values, moral or social … yet through his actions all values come into being.
Bohdi flicks his lighter and snorts. Good and evil don’t exist! Those are completely relative. But he does possess morals! He values his friends, and his family. Why did Steve think he should read this silly book?
He skims down the page to a quote from Hyde himself. “ … if he ‘steals fire’ to invent new technologies, if he plays with all boundaries both inner and outer, and so on—then he must still exist in this world.”
Whoa. He did steal new technology when he stole for Amy, didn’t he?
He drags his finger along the screen a few pages and reads:
“ … if trickster can disguise his tracks, surely he can disguise himself. He can encrypt his own image, distort it, cover it up. In particular, tricksters are known for changing their skin … sometimes tricksters alter the appearance of their skin; sometimes they actually replace one skin with another.”
Running a hand through his hair, Bohdi drops the phone to his lap. This Hyde guy is creepy.
In his lap the phone starts to vibrate. Picking it up he finds a text from Steve. Where are you?
Bohdi starts to type back, but before he can finish Steve’s already texted him again. Need your help. Now.
Bohdi remembers the black-suited, ominous, old people he’d passed on the way out of the improvised conference room. Jumping from the bed and sliding his phone into his pocket, he races for the door.
x x x x
In the Promethean wire room, Steve paces back and forth. He and Dale had just escorted the senators to the roof and a waiting helicopter. Agitation, spurred by the senators’ request, spurred his legs to start working again.
As Steve paces, Dale sits on a chair, elbows on his knees. “Sorry I didn’t tell you about them, but I was under orders.”
“I’m not mad about that,” Steve says, swatting at a fly that hitchhiked from the roof back into the room with them. Orders are orders.
“You’re still mad at Gerðr?” Dale says. “She said you’re the only person she’ll go with. I don’t think she was motivated by hate—”
“I know your theory about that,” snaps Steve. Dale thinks Gerðr was motivated by respect, and maybe more… and that’s more than Steve wants to think about. An emotionally fragile Frost Giantess is not what he needs now … or ever.
Dale idly swats at the buzzing insect. “Then—?”
Steve rubs his eyes. “I just thought I had more time.” He just got Claire back. He just got well. “Where is Bohdi?” he says, brushing a hand at the insect.
“I don’t get why you think you need that kid,” says Dale, sounding slightly petulant.
Steve wipes his jaw, stubble biting his fingers. He doesn’t respond.
At just that moment, the door erupts inward and Bohdi dashes in. Flipping his pocket knife out and sliding to a stop across the linoleum floor, he whips his head around. “Where are the old people?”
“Speak of the devil,” mutters Dale.
“He’s not the devil,” Steve snaps, not wanting that thought to worm it’s way into Bohdi’s head.
“What’s going on?” Bohdi shouts. “I thought you were in trouble!” He flips his hand and the knife flies through the room and embeds itself on the chair next to Dale.
“Ooops,” says Bohdi.
Jumping from his seat, Dale turns to the blade. “Jesus Christ! He hit the fly!”
“Oh no, not again,” says Bohdi, going over to retrieve the knife. Pulling it out of the chair, he picks up the dead bug with his free hand. Gazing down at his palm, he whispers, “Sorry, little guy.”
Dale turns to Steve and raises an eyebrow. Steve doesn’t sigh aloud. What a way for the kid to make an impression. He goes to the door that Bohdi left open and gently closes it.
Lifting his head, Bohdi says, “Um, so what did you need me for?”
Steve runs his tongue over his teeth. “The old people, as you call them, are senators. I’ve been asked to escort Gerðr back to Jotunheim, to the realm of King Utgard, as a gesture of goodwill, and in an effort to open up talks between our people.” There’s more to it than that, but Bohdi doesn’t have to know.
Bohdi shrugs. “So when do we leave?”
A weight lifts from Steve’s chest. For a moment he can’t speak. What he’s asking for is difficult and dangerous, and Bohdi didn’t even stop to think about it. He shakes his head. The kid is nuts, but he’s Steve’s nutty kid. “That’s still uncertain.” But they will go. Somehow.
“We’re taking Amy, right?” says Bohdi.
Steve takes a step back. “I wasn’t planning on it.”
“But she knows everything,” says Bohdi. “I mean, a lot, and she’s good in these situations.”
“It will be very dangerous,” Steve says. “Everyone we take will need to pull their own weight and be able to defend themselves.”
Bohdi pushes his bangs back with the hand holding the knife, somehow managing to avoid scalping himself.
Steve starts to pace again. “Besides you, Gerðr, the Asgardians, and Dale, I’ll be leading a platoon from a Navy SEAL team.” The team’s speciality is arctic warfare.
“Pffffftttt …SEALs,” says Bohdi. “Their physical requirements are what …only slightly tougher than Marines? Full of themselves.”
Steve turns fast in Bohdi’s direction. “It’s not the physical training that really makes or breaks a SEAL. It’s the mental training. All of these guys are combat tested, and they’ve all completed SERE training.”
Bohdi blinks.
Leaning against the window ledge Steve says, “Survival, Evasion, Resistance and Escape training. It’s intense.” And Steve hasn’t done it. He looks away. He didn’t even finish his deployment in Afghanistan in the field. He was in Kandahar for a few weeks. Got to see some cute little kids and an adorable newborn baby goat. Got a great picture with them for his mom—wanted to show her that things there weren’t as bad as she heard, even if they were. From that baby goat he had contracted Q-fever and had to be airlifted out of the valley and taken to a hospital in Kabul. He took a desk job writing press releases while he was recovering. It came to his superiors’ attention that Steve was a good Marine in the field, but he was a great Marine behind a desk. He was reassigned and spent the rest of his deployment coaching the brass, helping them respond to difficult questions in front of the camera, and writing up dispatches for the media.
As if reading his thoughts, Dale says, “You were in the field long enough to shoot and be shot at. You have hand-to-hand combat experience. You’ve been in kill-or-be-killed situations, Steve. And you’ve got the political skill to handle any situation that arises with King Utgard. It will be enough.”
Steve eyes his friend. That may be enough for the brass, but he’s sure the SEAL in charge won’t be impressed. Gerðr said she’ll only go if Steve leads the mission. But as brilliant as Steve is with political strategy, he isn’t a brilliant military strategist. Which means he can’t really be in charge, and if he’s in charge in name only it will be a shaky chain of command—not optimal in the office, and potentially life threatening in the field.
Dale shrugs. “I have less field experience ... and I’m even less a diplomat.” Holding two fingers over his lap, he pantomimes holding up a napkin.
Bowing his head, Steve laughs, because it’s funny, or because he’s so incredibly on edge, he isn’t sure.
“What?” he hears Bohdi say.
“Oh,” says Dale. “So right after officer training, Steve and I were out on the town and we met these two beautiful French girls, and Steve here convinces them they should go to dinner with us.”
Sounding hurt, Bohdi says, “How do I not know this story?”
Snorting, Steve lifts his head. “Because it goes nowhere.”
Dale laughs, sounding vaguely proud instead of ashamed. “Yeah, it was going great, but then we sit down at the table and I pick up my napkin and it’s white you know, so I wave it in front of me, and I say, ‘What’s this? Oh, it’s the French flag.”
Bohdi snickers, and Dale says. “Got an hour and a half long lecture on World War I and the 1930s and how decimated the French people were …”
“In French,” says Steve.
“Yeah, but …” Dale rattles off into French. Dale is so big, and so Texan, and it’s weird the way the elegant words slip out of his mouth so easily. And weird how Dale, a brilliant polyglot, can speak so many languages, and at the same time not know what to say. Dale can insert his foot into his mouth in any language. But the Prometheans had chosen him because he’d learned Gerðr’s language, has military training, and is divorced with no children.
Steve crosses his arms over his chest and looks down. Steve has no wife, but he has Claire … he closes his eyes. What is best for the human race, is best for Claire. He believes that. He has to believe that. Waving a hand, he says, “Enough, you two.”
Bohdi and Dale turn back to Steve. Taking a deep breath, Steve says, “The original plan was to open the gate Gerðr first came through in—”
“Afghanistan,” says Bohdi, brightly.
“Hey!” says Dale. “That was classified. How do you know that?”
“Ermmm …” says Bohdi.
Steve’s jaw goes tight. “I’m sure it was a lucky guess on Bohdi’s part.”
Bohdi gives Dale a wide, cheesy grin. “Yeah!”
“Back on topic,” Steve says, smothering an urge to laugh. “The Promethean Project is having it’s funding cut.” He pauses a moment to let the implications of that sink in.
Bohdi’s goofy grin fades away. He meets Steve’s eye. “Odin’s got the Senate.”
Steve nods. The kid’s a nut, but not stupid. Steve starts to pace. “But there is a gate in Chicago. It leads to the Southern Wastes. Gerðr doesn’t know the way from there to her homeland, but it’s possible Sigyn or her sons do, and we plan on sending drones—”
“You should really talk to Amy,” says Bohdi, finally putting his knife away.
Drawing to a stop, Steve sighs. “Bohdi, the further away she is from this the safer she’ll be.” Prometheus himself had told Steve to keep Amy safe.
Bohdi drops his eyes to the dead fly he’s still cradling in his palm. He says nothing.
“Besides,” Steve says, “Sigyn and her boys are much more likely to know of a path through Jotunheim’s Southern Wastes. And Nari and Sigyn can both open World Gates if something happens to Gerðr.”
Leaning back in his chair, Dale says, “How can you be sure you can trust them?”
“I’m not certain,” Steve says, wiping his forehead. But he’s not sure how much he can trust anyone. Certainly, not Gerðr. But maybe not the Prometheans either. When Odin wanted Sleipnir back, the FBI Director gave Steve orders to return the horse without giving any consideration to Steve’s opinions. The Prometheans say the Director was taking orders from above and isn’t on Odin’s payroll, but Steve has his doubts. And then there is the matter of Loki’s sword, Laevithinn. He wouldn’t need magical backup to open World Gates if he had the sword. With Laevithinn, and a ring of Promethean wire, humans can open gates themselves. When Steve had brought that to the Promethean’s attention, they’d said it was too risky, that the sword couldn’t be allowed to fall into the wrong hands.
“Sigyn and the twins aren’t working for Odin,” Bohdi says quietly, rocking a little on his feet and staring down at the bug in his palm. “I’m positive.”
Steve looks at Bohdi. What had Bohdi said? His only magical power was to detect lies? That ability alone makes him a powerful weapon.
Walking over to Bohdi, Steve puts his hand on the kid’s shoulder. “And I trust you.” He inclines his head to the door. “Will you go get Sigyn and her boys for me?”
Bohdi stares at him for a moment, and then nods his shaggy head. Still cradling the bug in his palm, he turns and walks out the door.
x x x x
In Steve’s hospital room, Amy walks along the window ledge that has been turned into a bookshelf. It’s lined with biographies, and oddly, books on Buddhism. Sigyn is sitting on the bed, reading a book about Eisenhower. Beatrice is munching on a tuna sandwich from the cafeteria. Valli is standing in the middle of the room, remote control in his hand, flipping through the channels.
Beside Amy, Nari pulls a paperback book off the window ledge. “A biography of Peter the Great,” he says. “Does Director Rogers revere this man?”
From across the room, Beatrice pipes up. “Steve always says to know his enemy.”
Amy blinks and turns to her grandmother. “Is that why he reads the National Review?” She’s caught Steve reading that right-wing magazine a few times.
Dropping her sandwich to her lap, Beatrice says in a scolding voice, “Dear, just because you don’t agree with—”
From the floor at Beatrice’s feet Fenrir lunges toward Beatrice’s lap, grabs her sandwich, and then scampers under the bed.
As Beatrice and Amy stare, mouths agape, over the TV speakers an announcer says, “The Democratic Party has announced that Gennie Santos, Chairman of the Illinois Terrorism Task Force, will be their new candidate for mayor.”
Sigyn puts down her book. Nari turns to the screen. Beatrice stands, brow furrowed. “Gennie Santos is a good person. I’ve met her. Did wonders after the first invasion, helping to get the city repaired ... Still, it’s a shame.”
Amy’s eyes flick to the screen. The television shows a podium set up in City Hall. Gennie Santos stands behind it, face unsmiling. She’s a stout, no-nonsense looking woman. Dipping her head to the microphone she says, “It is with mixed emotions that I accept the nomination for mayor—”
In her pocket, Amy’s phone starts to buzz with a text. She pulls it from her pocket and sees a note from Bryant. Amy, we have the suitcase of serum. Some FBI agents are here saying they can have it? Kind of want to avoid a felony if we can.
Amy stares at the screen. She expected this, didn’t she?
She closes her eyes for a moment and takes a long breath, and then types back, Yes.
“The serum that made Steve magical?” Nari says, and Amy nearly jumps. He’s standing so close she thinks she can feel his body heat. Or maybe that’s just her, feeling warm.
Before she can answer, the door opens and Bohdi walks in, hand upraised, fingers lightly grasping something. His eyes go to Amy and then to Nari. The hand clenches and something slips through his fingers and to the floor. Fenrir dashes from the bed, and Amy hears her jaw snap shut.
“Bohdi, what was that?” Amy says, running to Fenrir.
“A dead fly,” says Bohdi.
“Why were you carrying a dead fly?” says Valli.
“Because I killed it,” says Bohdi.
Amy swears she hears the whole room blink in collective bafflement.
And then Beatrice tsks. Amy turns her head to see her grandmother standing with her hands on her hips, staring at where Fenrir is cowering under the bed, looking vaguely guilty. “Amy, I think you created a monster.”
Amy remembers Bryant’s text, and her whole body goes cold. Her legs suddenly feel weak.
“Doctor Lewis,” says Nari, and his hand is suddenly at her elbow. But Amy looks to Bohdi. “The FBI took the rest of the serum,” she whispers. “Just like you said they would.” She turns toward Nari, but can’t raise her eyes to his. “I’m not the spreader of magical democracy you thought I was.”
“And I was just about to ask you if we could use the serum to bring back my memories,” Bohdi says. Amy’s eyes shift to his. He gives her a thin smile
Amy’s hand goes to her pocket where the book and the extra test tubes are still safely tucked. “It’s—” Nari gently squeezes her elbow. Amy freezes, as warmth floods her. Nari’s magic? She looks to Loki’s son. His eyes are on Bohdi. Raising an eyebrow, Nari says smoothly, “You said that it was impossible that the serum brought back memories.”
Bohdi’s eyes narrow at Nari and he takes a step forward. “No,” he says, voice rising to almost a shout. “I said that there is a big freakin’ hole in Dr. Lewis’ hypothesis about why the serum works.”
Amy jumps a bit at his outburst.
Bohdi’s eyes flick to where Nari’s holding Amy’s elbow, and he mutters. “Scientifically illiterate Asgardian.”
Amy’s jaw drops. That’s just ... hurtful. Why is Bohdi being so weird and mean?
“What flaw is that?” says Sigyn.
“Yes,” says Amy, her skin going hot at the accusation and his weird behavior. Is he jealous—has he forgotten he’s her pretend boyfriend?
“Explain,” says Nari, his body shifting closer to Amy. Almost unconsciously, Amy steps a little away. It’s not that she doesn’t like Nari …exactly ... it’s just she’s not entirely sure how much she likes Nari and how much she is being affected by his charm.
Bohdi draws back. His jaw gets hard, he looks to Amy, and back to Nari, and then says, “Never mind. Steve wants to talk to you, your mom, and Valli in the Promethean wire room.”
The three Asgardians glance to each other, and then, sliding from the bed, Sigyn says, “We will come with you.”
Bohdi rubs the back of his neck. “So …none of you are working for Odin, are you?”
“How dare you insult us!” shouts Valli. He lunges in Bohdi’s direction. Bohdi ducks and runs out of the door. Valli charges after him, and Amy hears Bohdi shouting, “Just checking, don’t—erp!”
Sigyn rushes through the door, Nari hot on her heals. “Let him go, Valli!” Sigyn snaps. Amy hears a bit of a scuffling and a door shutting.
Amy goes and peeks around the corner. The hallway is empty ... no bodies of weird, bipolar probably-Indian programmers lying on the floor. She supposes she’s glad.
At her feet, Fenrir whines her “I am so hungry” whine. Shaking her head, Amy says, “Come on, grandma, let’s go get some food for my monster.”
x x x x
Ten minutes later, Beatrice and Amy are in Steve’s room trying to cut grilled chicken breasts into bite size chunks. Hard enough with plastic silverware, harder still with Fenrir doing a happy dance at their feet. The door opens and Amy looks up. Bohdi is standing there again, alone, flicking his lighter. “Steve needs to talk to you, too.”
Amy blows her bangs out of her face but doesn’t move.
“It’s important,” Bohdi says. He takes a breath. “Lives depend on it. I’m sorry.”
Wiping her hands on her hips, Amy says, “Sorry for what?”
Bohdi looks up pointedly at the ceiling. “Can’t talk about it here.”
Beatrice puts her hand on Amy’s arm, “Amy, you don’t have to go.”
“Please?” says Bohdi. He looks worried and concerned.
Patting her grandmother’s hand, Amy says, “I’ll be fine. It’s just down the hall. Will you stay here with Fenrir?”
“Humpf,” says Beatrice, but doesn’t protest when Amy follows Bohdi out the door.
As they walk down the hall, Bohdi says, “I didn’t tell them anything.”
Amy feels a chill run through her. Before she can ask what anything might be, Bohdi opens the door to the hospital room that’s been turned into a magically-shielded conference room. He holds the door open. Amy hesitates a moment before she goes in.
Dale is gone. Steve is leaning against a window ledge at the far end of the room, arms crossed over his chest. Sigyn is seated on the bed. Valli is pacing. Nari is sitting on the room’s two chairs, but stands up when she enters the room.
Walking into the room, Amy lifts her shoulders. “What?”
The door behind her closes, and Steve says, “Bohdi seems to think that you might know a way through Jotunheim Southern Wastes to the realm of King Utgard.”
Amy feels all the air leave her chest. She does know. She wraps her arms around herself and shivers.
x x x x
“Where in Norns’ names are we?” Thor bellows. He turns to Loki, nostrils flared, and face red.
Warmed by the magic, he stills his teeth and surveys the terrain. The World Gate was supposed to drop them off at night fall, just outside King Utgard’s castle in Jotunheim. It’s nightfall. And based on the snowy plain that Thor’s chariot sits in and the tiny bean-shaped moon that hangs in the sky, they’re in Jotunheim, too. But there is no castle or Frost Giant habitation to be seen.
“The Gate must have shifted!” Thor roars.
“Well, obviously,” snips Loki.
“Don’t get cranky with me,” says Thor.
Loki bristles. “You’re the cranky one!”
Pointing his hammer at Loki, Thor rumbles, “You asked to come on this trip. Now be helpful and figure out where we are!”
Loki glares at Thor. And then he drops his head. He did ask Thor to come on this trip. For once he wasn’t ordered by Odin to attend to Thor on one of his damn fool adventures. He frowns, pulls out his knife, and embeds it into the chariot wall.
It’s the sort of thing that Thor normally tries to pound him for … and a near pounding would completely justify Loki setting Thor’s cloak on fire. Loki would rather like to see the big oaf have to drop and roll in the snow. Thor’d come out of it looking like a Yeti and Loki could mock him for it for centuries.
“Ach! Loki,” Thor says, putting a giant hand on his shoulder, “you’re still feeling down about Sigyn not wanting to renew your marriage vows, aren’t you?”
Loki’s skin heats ... and so must his armor, because Thor draws his hand away and shakes it. “Ouch, that smarts,” he says. But, the giant, insufferable, bastard son of Odin doesn’t get mad, which makes Loki almost as furious as the knowledge that Thor has him figured out. Loki is here to escape from Sigyn, which is ironic at some level, as soon enough he may be separated from her for good. In Asgard, marriages are renewed every few centuries. Loki and Sigyn’s has lasted longer than most, confounding his detractors at court to no end. But now she is not certain if she wants to extend their vows, and Loki doesn’t understand why. So he’s run away … probably the worst thing he could do. But he can’t threaten her. She won’t be cajoled. And he will not beg.
“Would you like to eat something?” Thor says. “I can roast one of my goats, you can make a fire … ”
From where they stand yoked to the front of the chariot, Thor’s goats shift on their feet and give soft fearful bleats. They have magically-regenerating bones and have been eaten hundreds of times. Mimir says they don’t remember being eaten, but Loki supposes after a few hundred years they might have some inkling when Thor’s feeling peckish.
One of the goats stamps its hooves. Remembering previous meals, Loki’s mouth starts to water. “Why not?” he says. “We won’t reach Utgard’s palace before he closes the main gate, anyway.”
Thor scans the horizon. “Perhaps we should make our way to one of those small hillocks? They have trees … ”
Loki hops out of the chariot. The goats, despite their unease, don’t fly off with the chariot in tow. The snow only comes up to his knees, but a few paces away it forms a drift. He heads in that direction. Waving a hand, he says, “No need, I can split the water molecules in the snow, and we’ll have the perfect fuel.”
He concentrates on the drift, imagines the molecules ripping asunder and the hydrogen electrons dancing in a frenzy. The drift erupts in flame, but Loki doesn’t relax his concentration until he feels magic itself rippling through the drift, gently sustaining the reaction.
Turning around he finds Thor scratching his head. “Do you think that could be dangerous?”
Loki waves his hand. “I’m not that powerful. It will die out in a few hours.”
“Hmmm…” says Thor.
Trudging back toward the goats, Loki says, “Come, I’ll hold one while you slit its throat.” Fortunately, the goats may be uneasy, but they don’t apparently speak Asgardian.
“Very well,” says Thor, falling into step with him. And then he says, “You know, with all that your family has been through lately, it’s no wonder that Sigyn is not herself.”
Loki begins unhooking one of the beasts. “I said I wanted to eat, not talk.”
Thor, the idiot, keeps talking. “It was a bad business with Valli,” Thor says. “A bad business with the dwarves … and a blot on the integrity of Asgard.” Thor’s voice drops to a whisper. “And my father.”
Loki’s hands still. During the Black Dwarf “operation,” Valli had been assigned to a squad that was mostly mercenaries, while Sigyn had remained with Valkyries and Nari had been among the diplomatic corps. Although War Rights had been strictly forbidden, some of the brutes had taken them anyway. Valli is savage and thick headed, but what he saw in the field traumatized even him. Since the operation he has dark circles under his eyes. Nari says he doesn’t sleep. Once, Valli had become exhausted enough he’d fallen asleep at Loki and Sigyn’s home, but woken up screaming. He’d lain in his mother’s arms afterwards, whispering, “They were so small, they were so small.”
Sigyn keeps saying they fought for the wrong side. When Loki counters that had they fought for the other side they would be dead, she says there are things worse than death. Loki has promised her that he will make sure that in the next engagement Valli is a guard for the diplomatic corps, but it doesn’t make her happy.
“I don’t know how to make her happy anymore,” he whispers. “I don’t know how to make my son better.” The words slip out without him meaning for them to.
“You’re a good husband, Loki,” Thor says quietly. “Give her some time … and give Valli some time. How many horrors have we seen?”
Sometimes, for an idiot, Thor is very wise. Loki can’t look him in the eye, but he nods. Noticing his armor has become cold, he concentrates, and wills it to warm again. He unhitches the goat, and then he hears a crack. Thor spins and raises his hammer. Clutching the goat, Loki turns around. The fire is going at a nice clip, but it hasn’t become dangerously large. He sees no creatures on the plain, nor in the sky.
“I don’t see anything,” says Thor.
“Nor I,” says Loki. Without discussing it, he and Thor trudge toward the sound.
At just that moment, Loki feels a strange sensation, like he is moving backward, although his feet are moving forward.
Behind him, the goat, still yoked to the chariot, screams in fear. There is a sound of tiny hooves thudding quickly in snow, and the chariot creaking into motion. Thor and Loki turn around just in time to see the goat leaping into the sky, pulling the chariot along with it. The chariot and goat are briefly a shadow in front of the tiny moon, and then the beasts lands among the trees and hillocks Thor had pointed out earlier.
Scratching his head, Thor says, “What has scared it?”
From behind them comes another crack, and then another. The snow in front of the blaze juts up as though caught in an earthquake, but instead of earth, ice rises and water gushes out, rolling toward Loki and Thor.
“What … ” Thor roars.
A white spear juts up from the icy rise.
Before Loki can respond, a giant orca-like whale, spear atop its head, and wicked spiked plates upon its back, lunges out onto the ice. It’s twice as big as an Earth orca, though it’s skin is completely white, and unlike any orca whale Loki’s seen, it has claws at the end of its fins.
It lunges out of the icy water they must surely be standing on, bugling a blood curdling cry.
“We’re on the Southern Wastes!” Loki yells. “This must be Lake Balstead!”
The beast slithers forward with unnerving swiftness, mouth open, teeth glinting in the moonlight.
“Shut up and run!” shouts Thor.
Sometimes, for an idiot, Thor is very wise.
x x x x
“Dr. Lewis?” says Steve.
Amy jumps slightly. “Why do you need to know?” she asks.
“We’re going to take Gerðr back to her home. Open up diplomatic relations.”
Amy stares at Steve for a moment. And then she huffs. “Bull. You’re not taking Gerðr home for diplomatic relations.” It’s amazing what having hundreds of years of political intrigue in your brain can do for your understanding of such things.
Steve pushes himself up from the ledge and looks down at her, his jaw very tight. She hears Bohdi’s lighter flick.
Looking away, Steve says, “No, of course not.”
Amy blinks. “Besides King Sutr of the Fire Giants, King Utgard is the only credible threat to Odin’s rule.” She drops her eyes. “Are you going to join forces with him?”
“No,” says Steve.
Amy lifts her head. “Then—”
“We plan on taking them weapons and armor.”
Behind her Bohdi says, “Kevlar is resistant to spear points and can withstand plasma blasts. We haven’t tested incendiary rounds on Asgardian armor, but flamethrowers work great.”
On the bed Sigyn says, “And I doubt Asgardian armor could withstand some of your surface-to-air missiles, even with magic.
Amy blinks and looks down again. “I don’t know if even with those things, Utgard could win. Odin still has the power to create and destroy World Gates. And I don’t know if we’d want Utgard to win … he’s still a king.”
Steve sighs. “Our intelligence suggests that the Asgardians, Vanir, and Elves have turned the tide against the Fire Giants.”
Amy remembers Loki’s fears of Nari and Valli being captured by the Fire Giants. “I don’t think we want King Sutr to win either,” she says.
“No,” says Steve. “But we want to keep them busy.”
Amy raises her head. “A proxy war?”
“‘Cause that worked out well for the U.S. in Afghanistan against the Russians,” says Bohdi.
Steve’s eyes narrow, but he doesn’t reply. Instead he takes a step closer to Amy. “We’re not trying to win any war. We’re trying to buy time. Humans are close to being able to stand up to Odin.” He gestures to his legs. “There’s what you’ve done, Dr. Lewis, and there is more.” Bending a little, so his eyes are closer to her level, he says, “We have physicists and Dark Elves working to create hybrid tech. Soon we’ll be able to destroy gates before they open and create gates that don’t exist. We’re working on better magic detection that won’t be susceptible to the likes of Freyja. We’ll be able to make our own Promethean wire.”
Amy’s eyes slip to the floor. Loki could destroy gates, Odin, too …but she knows of no other enchanters that can do it.
“Dr. Lewis,” Steve says, “Will you help us?”
Amy looks up at Steve without really seeing him. If they achieved such feats of hybrid technology, humans wouldn’t have to worry if Sutr, Utgard, or any other magical creature took the reins from Odin. Humanity would be independent—free to destroy themselves—but they’d never be the slaves of other races.
“Yes,” she says, her vision clearing. Steve is leaning over her, his expression gentle and kind. He nods at her.
“But how will you help us?” says Valli. And then to his mother, he says, “She can’t lead us through the Southern Wastes to King Utgard’s castle!”
Amy spins on her feet. “Yes, I can.” She looks to the window, darkened by Promethean wire. “I mean, I might, probably, depending on where in the Southern Wastes we arrive ... I’d need to get my bearings, but if we head toward the Canyon of Kings, then follow the trail over the mountains, we will arrive at the sea, which is frozen over most of the year at the Strait of Sorrows …we could walk across.” She rolls on her feet. “The trail through the mountains isn’t particularly hard, but it is cold, and you have to know what you’re looking for. And there are the Yeti—”
“How do you know this?” says Sigyn.
Amy’s eyes rise. “Errr … Loki went there?”
Valli lets out a long exasperated sigh. “We know that. The trouble is, The Canyon of Kings, and the very narrow trail through the mountains to the strait …are hard to find unless you’ve been there.”
“Ah …” says Amy, realization dawning.
Her eyes go to Bohdi, and he meets her gaze. “They’re sending a SEAL platoon,” Bohdi says. “Sixteen guys, Gerðr, Steve, Dale ... They’re going to go, whatever you say.”
Amy looks around the room at Loki’s family, feeling slightly sick. These are the last people she wants to reveal this to. It will lead to questions that she doesn’t really feel like answering. But people’s lives are at stake, and she has to get over it. She straightens her shoulders. “I remember the way …because Loki dumped his memories in my head.”
She takes a deep breath. Sigyn slips off the bed and comes forward, her elegantly coiffed head tilted to the side. She’s beautiful, can fire a gun, shoot a bow, raise babies, mend clothes and burns, cook better than Odin’s chefs, open World Gates, make herself invisible, and threw Loki’s bull poop right back at him. She’s not afraid of anything or anyone. How could Loki not have been in love with her?
“What? Why?” says Valli.
“To protect her,” Bohdi says and Amy almost sighs. He interprets it so much nicer than the truth.
Focusing on no one, Amy says, “No, because I was there. I figured out he was the incarnation of Chaos and …”
Valli takes a step forward. “How did you figure that out?” He sounds angry, insulted, and hurt.
Amy takes a step back, Bohdi steps closer to her, and Steve puts a hand on Valli’s shoulder. It must be a firm grip because Valli looks down at it, and then up to Steve, his face contorting into a terrifying snarl. Steve’s face is completely impassive—and somehow that is more terrifying. Nari puts a hand on Valli’s other shoulder, and whispers, “Brother,” but then his eyes go to Amy. He looks … distrustful maybe? Hurt?
Amy knows Loki was the incarnation of Chaos because Loki projected his other lives while he was sleeping. She sucks in on her lips. But that’s not all. “He was turning blue ... his hair becoming black ... And one day we were eating at an Indian restaurant, and it happened, and I saw a picture of Shiva, the Hindu God of Chaos, and I knew …” She raises her eyes. “And so did every person in the restaurant. They begged him not to dance.”
She looks to Sigyn. “I think, if he’d given the memories to you, he wasn’t sure Hoenir would explain, and you might not have any context …and he wanted to remember the next time, this time, that he isn’t evil. He doesn’t only bring destruction. He is change …wherever he is, whatever he is.”
Sigyn doesn’t look angry, only curious. She raises an eyebrow, and her lips quirk. “All his memories?” she says.
Amy’s jaw drops, and her eyes widen. She feels a blush spreading across her cheeks, and takes a step back, because now that Sigyn brings it up, the memories of Sigyn and Loki come back, too, and knowledge that there is one more thing that Sigyn is better at. She’s just all around …fearless.
Sigyn’s quirked lips break into a real smile.
Across the room, Nari says in a low, warning voice. “Mother …” He looks slightly ill. As does Valli. Steve and Bohdi are also looking at Sigyn. One of Steve’s eyebrows is up, Bohdi’s lips are parted, and he looks like he might drool. Amy’s brow furrows and she looks at her feet. Who isn’t Bohdi interested in?
A light hand lands on Amy’s arm. She looks up to find Sigyn standing next to her. “Forgive me,” the other woman says. “I made you uncomfortable. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot like that.” Squeezing Amy’s arm gently, she whispers, “Truly, Dr. Lewis, you have accomplished amazing things.”
Amy blinks. This is why Sigyn is perfect. She’s fearless and kind.
Beyond her, Nari wipes his face with a hand and mutters. “After hundreds of years ... it’s still uncomfortable thinking about one’s parents … ” Valli sticks out his tongue and shudders.
Bohdi rolls his eyes. “This is why Amy’s hypothesis on magic and memories doesn’t work.”
Nari and Valli look at each other. “Because our parents—”
“No!” says Bohdi, stepping closer to Nari. “Because if magic was the reason thousand-year-old creatures could keep their memories, then Amy shouldn’t have all of your father’s memories in her non-magical brain.”
Amy feels heat rise in her. She’s just admitted to something that she’s pretty sure is going to lead to, “so you had sex with my dad …” and dug up memories that are, frankly, painful, and he’s worried about proving he’s right?
A triumphant-looking smirk on his face, Bohdi puts his hand on his chin. His eyes sweep over the walls and ceiling. “And how do you even have access to them in a Promethean wire room?”
Amy’s skin heats. “Is that the most important thing right now? Proving your point?”
Bohdi’s mouth makes a small ‘o’. Clenching her fists at her side, Amy turns to Steve. “I’ll help in anyway I can.” From down the hall she hears, a “Woof” and then a “Hey, that puppy is in the food cart!”
“I have to go now,” she says.
Spinning on her heels, she turns to the door. Her hand is on the doorknob when she has a terrible realization. Her skin goes hot. Turning around she says to Bohdi, “Fine, you’re right. My hypothesis doesn’t work. Are you happy?”
Bohdi winces. “That’s a trick question, isn’t it?”
From the hallway comes a shout of, “That isn’t a therapy dog!” And then a shout of, “I’m calling animal control.”
Ire changing to alarm, Amy bolts from the room, the door slamming behind her.
x x x x
Bohdi jumps a little when the door slams behind Amy. “Sorry?” he says, not entirely sure what happened.
Carefully not looking at Nari—the bastard’s probably gloating—Bohdi turns around. Sigyn is eyeing him, one eyebrow arched. Steve’s massaging his forehead, giving Bohdi his patented “you are an idiot” look. Dropping the hand from his temple, Steve says, “That will be all for now.”
“You’ll take us, too, won’t you?” says Valli. “I want to be part of the struggle against Odin. You’ll find no swifter sword, and I am good shot as well. Nari … well he won’t slow you down, and mother is the Goddess of Victory!”
Steve turns to Sigyn, “Really?” His eyes seem too bright.
“No, Valli exaggerates,” says Sigyn, golden cheeks turning a few shades darker. “My name means victory woman, but I am no goddess.”
Steve rubs his jaw. “I could use all the help I can get.”
“You have my help,” Sigyn says.
“And ours,” says Valli, clapping his hand on his brother’s shoulders.
Nari’s eyes dart between his mother and brother. Clearing his throat he says, “Yes.” He looks paler than a few moments ago. Bohdi’s jaw tightens, his hand finds his lighter, and he gives Nari a smirk.
“Thank you,” Steve says. He shakes Valli’s and Nari’s hands, and dips his head at Sigyn. And then he puts a hand on Bohdi’s shoulder and says, “I need a moment with my right hand man ... If you don’t mind?”
Something makes both of Sigyn’s eyebrows jump, but she nods. “We will wait for you in the other room.”
From the hallway comes a shout. “Is that a wolf pup?”
“It sounds like Dr. Lewis could use some help,” Nari adds, heading with his family to the door. Bohdi’s hand tightens on his lighter, and his nostrils flare as the door shuts again.
“Have I ever told you how smooth you are?” Steve says.
Inspecting his lighter, Bohdi says, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Steve snorts. Glancing down at Bohdi’s arms, he says, “What happened to the book I gave you?”
Bohdi blinks at him and pulls out his phone. “I downloaded it, Steve. I’m not some primitive savage.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Why haven’t you told Lewis?”
It takes Bohdi’s neural processors a while to catch up to what Steve means, and then to process his shock at Steve’s deduction. But Steve is Mr. On-top-of-things, isn’t he?
Flicking his lighter, Bohdi looks down and shrugs. “I’m not Loki.” When he looks up, Steve’s expression has softened. “No,” his boss says, “No, you’re not.” Bohdi feels his muscles loosen. He slips his lighter away.
“I’m going to need your help,” Steve says. “Can you tell when someone is telling a lie in a Promethean wire room?”
“I don’t know,” says Bohdi.
“Pretty useless to me if you can’t,” says Steve.
Bohdi sighs. “Yeah, sometimes I find it more of a burden than a gift. Especially when I was in boot camp and the guys were always lying about everything. I thought I’d developed an allergy to air.”
“That was a lie, Bohdi.”
Bohdi blinks. “Oh.” And then his eyes widen. “I can detect lies when I eavesdrop on the other side of Promethean wire!” Bohdi’s neural processors all shut down, and then light up at once. “Maybe the lie isn’t with the speaker, but in the lie itself. Wow, the philosophical implications of that—”
“Will have to wait,” says his boss. Bohdi feels some of the air go out of him.
Heading for the door, Steve says, “Right now I’m just glad it does work. We’re going to need every advantage we can get. ”
There is a knock at the door, and Steve opens it. His mother enters the room. “Steve,” she says, “Gennie Santos, the new candidate for mayor, is downstairs. The elves have her checked out. She and her entourage are all human. She wants to meet with you.”
Steve’s shoulders fall, and he takes a step back.
“Should I tell her now isn’t a good time?” Steve’s mom says.
Steve looks around the room. “No,” Steve says. “I’ll talk to her. Just give me ten minutes.”
Ruth nods and quietly leaves. Bohdi runs his hand through his hair. “How do your parents know so much about the elves?”
Steve sighs. “The World Gate the Dark Elf refugees are using is in their neighborhood. My mom found a little lost elf child in the alley behind the house.”
Bohdi snickers. “She invited him in and gave him cookies, didn’t she?”
Steve sighs. “And hot cocoa. She called me, and the next thing I know my parents’ house is the first stop in the Dark Elf Underground Railroad. I couldn’t convince them to stay out of it.” Steve frowns. Turning from Bohdi, Steve goes over to the window and looks out at the city. Bowing his head, he says, “At least the Dark Elves will give Claire magical protection when I’m gone.”
Bohdi’s heart falls. He doesn’t like the idea of leaving Claire, either. And she’s just an adopted kid sister to him. He remembers her look of fury earlier; she won’t be happy about this. “You know, I’m sure if you just walked out there right now, and told the world you’re recovered, they’d declare you the candidate, and you’d win, and have an armed guard all the time, and—”
“I had guards at the conference,” Steve says, putting his hands behind his back. “No, Odin wants me dead. And he’s already put civilian life on the line to achieve that. If I were mayor, every time I went out in public, I’d be putting civilian lives on the line. I’d be putting my family on the line.” He chuckles darkly. “And as mayor I might have more political capital, but I’d have less firepower behind me than I do at the FBI. The National Guard is controlled by the governor. I’d be at the mercy of politicians downstate.”
“Oh,” says Bohdi, feeling distinctly small. He hears someone walking by in the hall, most likely with a walker. Someone calls a nurse.
“Bohdi, why do people enter politics?” Steve says quietly.
“Patriotism?” Bohdi suggests. It seems like the safe answer.
Steve chuckles again and leans against the glass. “Vanity, power, and because they enjoy playing with people’s lives.”
“But not you,” says Bohdi.
“Don’t lie, Bohdi,” Steve says.
Bohdi’s mouth drops, about to protest, but Steve cuts him off. “It’s true. I always want to be in control.”
“Because you like to keep people safe!” says Bohdi. If it weren’t for Steve, he’d be in Gitmo. Steve is the most moral person he knows, next to maybe Amy, who wouldn’t let him go when he was falling to his death in Nornheim.
For a long moment Steve says nothing. And then, very softly, he says, “When I’m at my best.” He turns around. “But when I’m at my worst, I just find it ... fun.” His hands clench at his sides. “Doing this ... going to Jotunnheim, will help keep people safe—my family safe. Maybe this is just the universe keeping me at my best?”
Bohdi shakes his head. “That sounds too much like fate to me.”
Steve’s eyebrows rise, but he doesn’t respond. Instead he looks around the room. “There are at least a half dozen reasons why it might be a good thing if the general population thinks I’m still incapacitated. Help me find me some hospital clothes.”
A few minutes later, Steve’s lying in the bed, a hospital gown thrown over his undershirt. Bohdi has Steve’s shoes and shirt in his hand. “Hide ‘em, will you?” Steve says.
There’s a knock at the door. Bohdi dives for the built-in cabinets, and Steve says in a very raspy voice, “Who is it?”
A little unnerved by how convincingly ill Steve sounds, Bohdi looks over his shoulder and whispers, “And you say I’m the trickster?”
From outside the door comes Amy’s voice, “It’s me.”
“Come in,” says Steve, in a clear voice this time.
Amy enters the room, carrying a bunch of medical paraphernalia and looking a little paler than usual.
Steve says, “What is it?”
“I need to collect some blood for some tests.” She shrugs. Not meeting his eyes she says, “The HIV strain you have shouldn’t show up on ordinary screens, but I should check.”
Steve’s eyes shift to the bag she’s carrying. “That’s fine …but that looks like a blood donation bag. How many tests are you going to perform?”
“A lot. Why are you in the bed? What is Bohdi doing?”
Stuffing Steve’s clothes in a drawer, Bohdi says, “Hiding Steve’s miraculous recovery from the general population.”
“Yes,” Amy says, going over to Steve. “We wouldn’t want to give quadriplegics undue hope.” Her voice has a touch of bitterness that Bohdi’s not used to hearing.
“It’s not about that,” Steve replies. “This is experimental technology that belongs to the United States government.”
Bohdi turns to see Amy hovering over Steve. He can’t decipher her expression. Scared? Angry? Both? “Of course,” she says, voice nearly inflectionless.
Steve rolls up his sleeve. “Go ahead and stick me. It will make this look more convincing. Bohdi, grab her that doctor’s coat, and then stand outside the room. Leave the door open, and keep your ears open …” Holding out his arm for Lewis he mutters, “After Gerðr tried to kill me yesterday I’d rather someone always be listening in.”
“What?” Amy and Bohdi say in unison.
There is at knock at the door, and Bohdi quickly throws the doc coat to Amy. As she slides it on, Bohdi opens the door. He finds himself face to face with a woman in her early fifties. She has medium length brown hair and is wearing a suit. She’s a little stout, but she’s not unattractive. Of course, Bohdi finds most women attractive ... Which paired with his ability to bring chaos, might be a reason Bohdi would make a very bad boyfriend.
Bohdi steps out of the Promethean wire room and holds out his hand. “Gennie Santos?”
“Yes.” She extends her hand and Bohdi shakes it. “How is he?” she asks.
“Fine,” says Bohdi absentmindedly, staring at their hands. She has a firm, honest-feeling handshake. His mind starts snaking off on an inconvenient trajectory of just all an older woman with a firm hand could do for him. He releases her hand quickly, but catches her giving him a too-knowing eyebrow raise. He smiles weakly and steps away. She strides into Steve’s room.
Bohdi goes and stands just outside the door. He hears Gennie Santos declare, “Steve, we’ll get the bastards who did this,” and he doesn’t have a single sniffle.