Loki woke to the sound of gentle rain on the window-
sill.

He had fallen asleep on the floor beside Theo’s filthy mattress, but sometime in the night he must have shifted, for now they were both lying on it, burrowed like rabbits under their respective blankets. Theo was still asleep, his hands pulled up to his face and his mouth slightly open. Loki rose as quietly as he could, pausing only to help himself to the black umbrella leaning against the door. No point wasting the energy for a spell. Or raising the questions that might come with being the only one unaffected by rain on a busy city street. Theo would likely know where he’d gone, or at least guess. Perhaps he’d tell Mrs. S., or simply follow Loki himself. What did it matter? Though the SHARP Society did not have his father’s most attentive ear, Loki was certain that if Mrs. S. delivered a report of his fraternizing with Amora, he would be sucked back up the Bifrost and locked inside the palace before he could so much as breathe the same air as her again.

The walk to the Inferno Club wasn’t long, but the air was bitter with the frigid rain, and Loki found his nerves mounting as he drew nearer. Why was he nervous? It was Amora. His friend. They knew each other. Perhaps that was exactly the problem. He looked down at himself, still in his all-black ensemble from the night before, and considered changing the color of his tie to emerald to match the green veins in her eyes. But if she noticed, he’d likely die of embarrassment, and if she didn’t notice, he’d die of disappointment. Either way, dead. Not ideal.

He wasn’t sure Amora would even be at the club, or that he’d be able to get in, but he sent a note to her dressing room with one of the men sweeping up the tunnel, and a few minutes later he returned to tell Loki the Enchantress wanted to see him onstage. In the overcast dawn light, the club interior looked silly and garish. The tabletops were smeared with the sticky remains of last night’s spilled drinks, the floor littered with oyster and peanut shells crushed underfoot. The plaster demons had cracks, and chunks were missing from their bodies. Loki recognized the man sitting on the bar reading a newspaper as the ticket taker from the night before, looking strange and out of place with his shirtsleeves rolled up and a kerchief around his neck. The headline on the front page read in block letters LIVING DEAD KILLER STALKS SOUTHWARK; ANOTHER RIPPER?

He didn’t glance up as Loki crossed the empty barroom and passed through the curtains leading to the stage. The theatre was as dark as it had been the night before, but the gaslights were glowing, casting slender beams that traced Amora’s silhouette against the backdrop. She had pushed the chairs back from the table with the talking board and was on her knees, one arm craned to adjust something underneath.

When she saw him, she stopped and stood, her shadow falling long and dark behind her. “Loki. You came back.”

He stepped onto the stage, into the same column of light illuminating her. It felt like a small universe the two of them shared. This close, and in the harsh lights of the stage rather than the dreamy firelight of her dressing room, her face looked softer than he remembered it. Amora was never the sort to let her guard down, let the gaps between her plates of armor show. Maybe she thought the darkness covered her. Maybe she didn’t care if Loki saw her like this. Maybe she had a reason for showing her softness.

He didn’t know what to say, so instead, he pointed to the table. “Can I help? With...whatever you’re doing.”

“Rigging a new trick.”

“You mean you don’t use actual magic to contact actual spirits?”

She rolled her eyes. “What a waste of my precious life. Come here, I’ll show you.” She pulled a couple of the chairs up to the table, and he sat in one obediently. “Now,” she said, sitting down in the other. “Pretend there’s someone you want to contact. Someone who has died and you’re desperate to tell them one last thing.”

“All right.”

She reached under the table and withdrew a bell on a stand. She placed it in the center, over the painted alphabet. “Sometimes I like to do a bit of theatrics—going into a trance and spiritual tremors and all that.” She did a halfhearted demonstration, and he laughed. “That proves your spirit is here.”

“There were no such theatrics last night.”

“Yes, well. I was too distracted for a proper trance.” Her eyes flicked downward, mouth curling in a small smile. “So we call to the spirit of whomever it is you’re wanting to talk to, and I see if they’re here.” She rapped her knuckles on the table, then looked around the room as though searching for a face in the dark crowd, her arms raised. “Spirit, if you are here, make yourself known!”

A pause. The silence of the theatre suddenly felt vast. In the club above them, Loki heard the tinkle of a glass breaking.

Then the bell on the table rang once. Twice. Three times.

Loki jumped, though he had expected it. Even knowing it was her operating it, a chill still went through him. Amora bit her lip, suppressing a laugh. “Do you want to ask the spirit a question?”

“Spirit, how did you do that?” Loki asked. He looked from the bell to her hands, still raised, trying to find the string or the mechanism in her fingers.

She pulled back the tablecloth and he saw the foot pedal beneath her chair, the rod leading up to the bar on which the bell was suspended. When she pumped the pedal, the bell rang.

Loki laughed. “That’s quite clever.”

“If it’s clever enough to fool you, the humans will be dumbstruck.”

“What else is down here?” he asked, starting to drop off his chair, but she held up a hand.

“Don’t look, you’ll spoil it! Let me show off for you a bit.” She fished in her pocket and came up with the planchette, then placed it over the top of the letter A on the talking board. The letter was magnified through the hole in the center.

Amora ducked under the table, then crooked a finger at Loki to follow. The tablecloth dropped around them, suffocating and thick. Amora slithered onto her back, motioning for him to lie down beside her, staring up at the bottom of the table, where the mirror image of the board on top was painted. Amora reached into her pocket again, this time coming up with a magnet, which she pressed against the board atop the letter A. “Usually one of the stagehands is under the table for the show, if we use the board. He got kicked in the face once by one of the customers, and his nose was bleeding all down his front for the whole show.”

“So you mean to tell me last night I was having an intimate conversation with a stranger under a table?” Loki demanded with false indignation.

“I make exceptions. There are some people worth wasting your magic for.” She winked at him, and he laughed. “So the person asks a question and then...” She slid the magnet across the underside of the table, and over their heads, he heard the scrape of the planchette’s wheels against the table grain, spelling out HELLOLOKI.

He smiled. “Hello to you too.”

“Here, go sit at the table and try it.”

He slid out obediently and took his seat again. Her legs were jutting out from under the table, and she clicked her heels together as she called “You first must greet the spirits.”

“All right.” He placed his hands flat on the table. “Um, good morning, spirits.”

The planchette slid across the board with a low scraping sound and landed upon the word HELLO. A few select words surrounded the letters, simplifying the answers of the spirits.

“They’re not as formal as a good morning,” Amora called. “It takes too long to spell.”

He laughed again, and he felt the muscles in his shoulders unclench. Had he felt this relaxed since he arrived in Midgard? Had he felt this relaxed in years? How much tension had he been carrying in his body without realizing it until it floated away? It felt like the past few years had lifted; like he was with Amora, in court, before the Godseye Mirror had written his future for him.

“Now you ask your question,” she prompted.

He pressed his fingers together against his lips, not sure how much of this was a game and how much was her baiting him. “What shall I have for breakfast?”

The planchette shuddered for a moment, and it felt suddenly eerie, though he knew it was her controlling it below him. Then it slid across the board in slow formation, spelling out the answer. BLOODOF YOURENEMIES.

“A good suggestion,” he replied frankly. “How much longer will it rain?”

The planchette spun this time before landing on the first letter of FOREVER.

“I fear you’re right again.” He fished with his foot under the table until he found the softness of Amora’s stomach and poked his toe into it. She laughed, and the planchette lurched. “What wise spirits you are.”

“Ask them a real question,” she called. “Something they can tell you about your future.”

He paused. He could always tell when Amora was trying to manipulate him, but he’d never been able to resist it. She would open her arms, and he would step into them every time, whether or not there was a knife in her hand.

“Will I be king of Asgard?” he asked.

The planchette scrabbled back and forth, like it couldn’t make up its mind, flying from one corner to the other and back. Then, at last, it spelled out:

MAYBE.

“Sometimes they must be vague,” she said, sliding out from under the table. Her hair was speckled with clumps of fuzzy dust. “Simply to avoid being wrong.” She smiled. When he didn’t return it, hers faded. “Come here.” She patted the ground beside her. He slid to her side, and she pushed herself back under the table and he followed so that they were lying side by side. Above them, the white letters of the alphabet on the talking board seemed to glow, fireflies against the black wood.

“I wish I could help you,” he said.

“Help me?” She snorted, reaching up to trace the alphabet with her fingertips. “With what? I think I’ve done quite fine on my own, princeling.”

“I wish I was king and could bring you out of banishment and back to Asgard.”

“To practice simple spells and be a docile queen, like your mother?”

“To be a sorceress,” he said. “The most powerful sorceress in the Nine Realms. To never have to hide your strength.”

“I wish I had any strength left to hide.”

“How long can you last?” he asked. “Without taking anyone’s life force?”

“It depends,” she replied. “Though it’s becoming less and less.” She let out a laugh laced with bitterness. “I don’t even have the strength to be strong.”

“If you could hold out, just for a bit,” he said. “Let everything die down. Let the SHARP Society think it’s all over. If I can find something else to blame it on and convince them it’s all been cleared up so long as no one is finding bodies. I can pretend to find some other reason no one else is dying, the murders stop long enough for father to bring me home, and then...” He trailed off.

“And then I stay here until either you are made king or I die?” she finished for him.

He reached out and let his fingers brush her wrist. He couldn’t lose her, now that they had tumbled back together. It had to be more than just luck or chance. “We just need some time.”

“Time until what?”

Loki bit his lip, weighing his next words carefully. “Just trust me,” he finally said, though it sounded sillier when it left him than it had in his head. “I won’t let you die.”

“I don’t think you’ll have much say in the matter, Your Majesty.”

“I’ll take you somewhere else. Somewhere safer. We’ll find a way to restore your power without the humans.” She didn’t say anything. “What’s the matter?”

“I just wish you thought bigger.” She pressed her forehead into his shoulder. “Promise you’ll raise me along with your living-dead army when you conquer Asgard, won’t you? I would hate to miss the fun.”

She said it lightly, but he felt the sting of it, of all the years since that feast day when Odin had looked at him with distrust, every time he had favored Thor, every time he had overlooked Loki because he was too afraid of what he and his power could do.

“Maybe there’s a reason people fear us,” Loki said.

“They should fear us,” Amora replied. “Because we’re strong.”

“Not because we’re dangerous?”

“What’s wrong with being dangerous? Odin is dangerous. That’s why he rules the Nine Realms. I’d rather be deadly than dead.” She rolled over on her side, pillowing her head upon her hands, and though he didn’t look at her, he could feel her gaze hot upon his face. “You can’t save everyone, darling. Best to think of this as good-bye and good luck.”

“No. You’re here because of me.”

“It was my choice.”

“It was my fault.”

“Let’s not waste any more time on the past.”

“Then what is there to dwell upon? The future, me as a second son and you turned to dust?”

“Why not the present?”

He rolled over so he was looking at her, and suddenly he realized how close their faces were, how beautiful her hair looked, puddled around her fair skin, how long he’d wanted to know what her mouth felt like to be pressed against his—not in a way that was accidental or quick. He’d never truly kissed her—not even when they spent every moment together in Asgard, when he’d thought of it as often as breathing. He’d never been brave enough. Never thought she would say yes. He still wasn’t sure she would.

“Any final questions you want to ask the spirits?” she said, and her eyes flicked to his mouth.

How long had he missed her? How long had he wanted her? How long had he been certain she was the only person who knew him, the only person who would ever know him or understand him? The only person with the same fire in their blood, but hers buoyed by a current of certainty that they were made of gemstones and light, made to shine brighter than others? As he looked at her shadowed face in the pale glow of the gaslights, he almost believed it too, all the things that had made him feel strange and outcast turned to gold by the strange alchemy of being near her again.

“May I kiss you?” he asked.

She leaned forward and closed the space between their mouths, still and gentle for a moment before her lips parted against his, teeth playing with his tongue, and then she rolled over on top of him, her legs straddling his hips and his hands pinned in hers.

She was intoxicating, like sweet wine. He’d be drunk before he realized she’d refilled his glass. Had it always been like this? Even when they were children? Had he truly never noticed, or was it easier to ignore because she was the only person who made him feel like he was worth noticing? Any sort of attention had become water in the desert after being so long neglected by his father.

This, he thought, and released a deep breath against her mouth. As his heartbeat swelled, the stage lights flickered and died, leaving them gasping and moving together in the darkness.