Even though she’s wearing a thick fleece sweater under her lab coat, Amy shivers. She’s in the magical creature morgue in ADUO’s basement.
The room is white walled and has steel operating tables. It would almost look like a human morgue except that the operating tables are elephant sized. A single troll cadaver covered by an enormous swath of fabric lies on a table at the center of the room. She shivers again, not because the morgue creeps her out; it’s just really cold.
Putting a hand in the pocket of her lab coat, Amy idly rubs her thumb between Mr. Squeakers’ ears. The little mouse makes a tiny sigh and curls into a tighter ball in her pocket, apparently untroubled by the nearly overpowering smell of formaldehyde in the room.
Brow furrowing, Amy remembers Beatrice’s words as her grandmother followed Steve and Laura Stodgill into Steve’s office.
“Don’t worry, dear, Steve is very competent at these things. He’ll get me off the hook,” Beatrice had said.
“It’s a good thing we were already in the process of getting you authorized to carry a weapon on premises,” Steve grumbled.
“You were?” Amy said. Her grandmother hadn’t told her that. Her grandmother hadn’t even told her that she could fire a gun—let alone fire a gun so well.
Steve, Laura, and Beatrice had all stared at Amy. She'd felt her face flush as she realized she was missing something. Patting her arm, Beatrice leaned forward and whispered, “I think that’s the story we’re going with.”
“Beatrice, shut the door!” Steve shouted.
With an apologetic look, Beatrice had shut the door, but not before Amy heard Steve grumble. “You’re going to help me deal with the blizzard of paperwork this is going to cause.”
Amy had found herself staring at Steve’s door, still shaken by the sight of Skírnir planted face-first in a puddle of his own blood, Gerðr’s guards in a bleeding heap just inside the giantess’s cell door, and Gerðr herself, concussed and barely conscious, being carried away on a stretcher by ADUO’s paramedics.
But it was what she signed up for when she chose to come back to Chicago. So she’d taken a deep breath and come to her lab.
Now in front of the covered cadaver, her nose wrinkles at the smell of chemical preservatives. The only good thing about the morning was that Odin’s plans to contact the Norns had been delayed.
Bowing her head she tightens her ponytail. Maybe Steve can convince Gerðr to open the gate to Nornheim for them? If ADUO could get to the Nornheim first…if they could find the Norns….
Hoping for some clue that could help, she closes her eyes and picks up the strand of memory she’d seen before.
x x x x
In an impossibly short time, Odin, Sleipnir, and the Einherjar are standing in the shadow of the cavern formed by the enormous column’s roots. The ceiling of the cavern is at least as high as seven men, the mouth at the base more than thirty paces wide. They have too few men to defend the place adequately, and yet it’s the most defensible position they’ve seen.
Odin pulls Sleipnir to a halt and Loki has weight again. Dismounting, Odin barks at the two Einherjar closest to him. “You two with me.” Gesturing toward the rest of the men, he says, “Prepare for the adze attack!” Loki looks behind and sees the shadows in the sky. They look to be in the same position they were before, but now they’re closing fast.
Loki prepares to dismount from Sleipnir. “Can I help you make the gate, Allfather?” he asks. To see a World Gate created, not just opened, might make all this terror worthwhile.
But Odin holds up a hand. “Your talents are not in this, Loki.”
Loki stills on Sleipnir’s back. Odin comes and lays a hand on top of Loki’s own. “Help the Einherjar, but stay on Sleipnir—I’ve gone through too much to lose you again.”
Blinking, Loki nods, tightening his hands in the animal’s mane. Odin murmurs a word to Sleipnir, and the great animal turns back toward the warriors.
As they stride away, lights flickering in the great column catch Loki’s eye. Whispering for Sleipnir to halt, he turns to look. The column’s surface shimmers, and Loki begins to see shapes forming, as though reflected in a milky mirror. Before his eyes, the shapes coalesce into a scene: an infant with pale, nearly translucent Jotunn skin and a shock of bright orange hair, lying in a smoldering pile of rubble. Loki’s mouth gapes. The picture is so life like…An Aesir man who looks vaguely familiar, with wide green eyes, approaches the infant and—
“Loki!” barks Odin, so forcefully Loki jumps in the saddle. Turning, he meets the king’s gaze. In his deepest, most commanding tone, Odin says, “Do not look at the pictures in the column. You’ll drive yourself mad.”
Loki nods, and faces forward again. Behind him, he hears Odin start to chant. He swallows. The images in the column are so bright in his mind. He tries not to look, but finds himself turning his head to see the babe and the familiar yet unfamiliar man again…
Before his eyes have a chance to focus, Sleipnir sidesteps so quickly, Loki almost loses his seat. “Whoa, boy,” says Loki. Wondering what has the great animal spooked, he looks beyond the cavern in the direction they came from. His breath catches in his throat and his body goes cold. The swarm of adze is so close, he can see moonlight glinting on their bald heads, the talons at the ends of their long spindly fingers, and the whole of their hairless, weirdly sexless bodies.
The Einherjar fan out at the mouth of the cavern. For the first time, Loki notices many don’t have swords, shields, or bows and arrows. They must have lost them in the battle in the tent. Some have found long sticks in the underbrush around the column and in the cavern, others are merely brandishing their knives. None of them wavers or shows any sign of fear. They simply stand watchful and waiting, gazing up into the night. It makes Loki’s urge to slip beneath Sleipnir and hide just that much more cowardly.
The Einherjar that had identified the adze turns to Loki and pushes a tree branch half as long as Loki and nearly as thick as his forearm into his hands. “Do you think you can set them on fire?” the warrior asks, eyes flicking to the swarm.
Loki nervously eyes the distance between the adze and the pitiful band of Einherjar. The swarm can’t be more than five hundred paces away. He’s so frightened, his legs are vice-like on Sleipnir’s sides, making the great horse paw the earth nervously. He’s never set anything on fire from so far away. He doesn’t have the courage—or even the voice—to admit that to the Einherjar. He just stares wide eyed at the approaching shadows.
From the swarm, one of the adze gives a blood-curdling cry that makes the hair on the back of Loki’s neck stand on end. The cry is echoed by the others in the swarm, and as one, they begin to glide to the ground. Loki’s vision blurs with fear, and a little bleep comes from his mouth; simultaneously, a few dozen of the adze’s wings burst into flame. Those adze drop like stones, but the sky remains thick with their twisting, pale, hairless bodies.
Still, the Einherjar give a cheer. And the one closest to Loki says, “Well done!” Raising his voice, he shouts to the others. “They cannot hover! They are weak flyers, and they will land and then attack. Their strength is in numbers only!”
Looking up at the hundreds of swirling, shrieking, shapes, Loki isn’t comforted by that information.
While most of the swarm coast overhead just outside the cavern, a dozen adze hurtle to the ground. Raising their weapons, the Einherjar easily evade the clumsy bombardment. The warriors lash out with their knives and makeshift staves, but the creatures keep coming.
Loki raises the branch in his hands as an adze lands to Sleipnir’s right. With a cry, Loki aims the butt end of the branch at the creature’s face. There is the sharp crunch of bone and the sickening squish of pulverizing flesh. The adze drops quickly, but another falls from the sky to take its place, one of its brothers landing to Loki’s right, and then another and another all around.
Some instinct in Loki’s mind kicks in. He doesn’t think; he just acts. Snarling, guiding Sleipnir with his legs, he urges the mighty animal to pivot on his hind legs. The turning, rearing animal bowls over the adze that wind up in the path of its withers, and strikes at them with its four forward hooves. The ones the horse doesn’t hit, Loki dispatches the same way he did the first, his staff sliding left and right, a shout of rage rising from his lips.
Loki’s blows land every time, and a dim part of his mind wonders at how easy it is. Whatever sliver of triumph he feels evaporates as he looks up. The adze keep coming, and even though they fight without finesse—and aren’t agile enough for true aerial assaults—there are too many of them.
Before Loki’s eyes, one of the swarm manages to drop from the sky directly upon the back of the dark-skinned Einherjar who had praised Loki moments ago. Loki brings his staff over the creature’s head even as it sinks its teeth into the Einherjar’s neck. The staff hits home, the adze falls—but although the warrior’s wound is minor, the man wobbles on his feet, and then crumples—his body disappearing as adze pile upon him and each other with frenzied shrieks.
Loki doesn’t have time to be horrified. More of the swarm is landing, slipping between the warriors, behind and in front of them. Loki pummels with his staff in every direction at the same time he tries to guide Sleipnir like a battering ram into the fray.
“To me!” shouts Odin above the sound of the shrieking swarm.
Loki turns to see Odin, silhouetted by a circle of light just large enough for Sleipnir to slip through. The Allfather is swinging his sword, but his movements are wild and there is no energy behind his strikes. He looks like he has been fighting for hours, not just minutes. Two Einherjar are beside him, guarding his flanks, but they fall even as Loki watches.
Loki sends Sleipnir barreling in the direction of his guardian. A few of the swarm land between Loki and the Allfather, and Loki roars in fear, hatred, and desperation, his skin heating so much, he thinks his blood is boiling, his vision turning to a tunnel of red, the sound of the swarm’s shrieking being joined by a sound like a thousand twigs cracking.
The adze in front of him drop out of view, and Sleipnir hops over their bodies. Dismounting, even before the horse has stilled, Loki is at Odin’s side a minute later. For the first time, he realizes that what he took for a tunnel of red is a tunnel of flame, the sound of twigs cracking the sound of adze’s wings on fire.
Odin falls into Loki. It is all that Loki can do to keep the heavier man upright. Beyond Odin, the circle of light is dimming. “Quick, we must get through the gate,” the Allfather mutters. Pulling Odin to Sleipnir’s side and helping him into the saddle, Loki looks back the way he had come. Only one Einherjar is still standing. The warrior breaks through the dwindling flames toward Loki and Odin but is set upon by dozens of screaming adze. An instant later, he vanishes into a pile of writhing bodies. More adze fall on the smoldering remains of their own kindred and the fallen warriors. Loki’s jaw drops.
“Loki!” Odin says. “We must leave.”
Odin’s voice shakes Loki from his stupor. Fear and adrenaline give him enough strength to leap onto Sleipnir’s back. Bracing the Allfather’s dangerously listing body, he gives Sleipnir a quick kick. The horse darts forward. Even though the circle of light has gone out, Sleipnir has the ability to open World Gates and walk between realms, just as the beast’s mother had, just as Odin and Hoenir can do…and as Odin says Loki will one day be able to do, too.
There’s a flash of rainbow colored lights. For an instant, Loki can’t see Sleipnir’s ears, then his neck, and then the shrieking of the adze is gone, replaced by the clatter of Sleipnir’s hooves on stone. Instead of darkness, there is sunshine pouring through a window. Instead of a sky filled with the darting bodies of adze, there is a ceiling. Loki looks up to see an ornate mosaic, a depiction of the Greek myth of Leda and the swan.
“Father,” calls a small voice, as the last of Sleipnir’s hooves clacks into the room. Loki brings his gaze down. Odin has opened the gate directly to his own chambers. To one side, there is an enormous bed with heavy draperies. To the other side is a fireplace, above which is a painting in the realistic perspective that is the new-elfish style; it features Odin, Frigga, and a golden-haired, straight-limbed, clear-eyed, pink-cheeked Prince Baldur.
Leaping from a plush chair by the fireplace is Baldur himself. To nearly everyone, the painting is the spitting image of the prince—but Loki sees something very different. Loki sees a fourteen-year-old who is chubby, his hair a dingy brown, his eyes a muddy hazel. And his face is peppered with acne. Loki supposes if no one can see your imperfections, it’s very difficult to fix them.
In front of Loki, Odin lists dangerously. Loki manages to keep him on Sleipnir’s back, but it’s a close call. “Guards!” shouts Baldur.
Loki hears several sets of footsteps behind Sleipnir and another voice, this one feminine. “Odin!”
Loki turns to see Queen Frigga striding into the room with Odin’s two most trusted servants. They run to Odin’s side and Loki eases the Allfather into their arms.
“You see, Mother,” says Baldur. “I knew if he was forced to make a gate, he’d open it here. He’d never let the court see him so weak.” At those words, Baldur narrows his eyes at Loki.
“The prince is always wise,” says one of the servants, carrying Odin to his bed with his comrade. Normally Loki would roll his eyes at the sycophantic words, but he can’t bring himself to care. As he dismounts Sleipnir, he notices his hands are shaking.
Baldur trails after the servants. Frigga and then Loki follow, Sleipnir tagging behind Loki like a dog.
Odin’s eyes flutter a bit as they prop his head on a pillow.
“Get him some water and food!” Baldur commands the servants. The men bow and leave the room. Baldur sits on the edge of the bed beside his father and takes one of Odin’s limp hands. Climbing onto the bed, Frigga sits next to her husband on the other side. Laying a palm upon his forehead, she murmurs, “He is warm, he was not scratched or bitten.”
Loki swallows. Feeling relieved, but anxious to see Odin recover completely, Loki stands a few feet away, head bowed. He wants to sit on the bed, too, but that would be overstepping his station.
Baldur’s eyes go to Sleipnir, then to Loki. “Wonderful, the whole family is here.”
Behind Loki, Sleipnir lets out an angry sounding snort—perhaps picking up on Baldur’s tone? Loki blinks. It’s the only time that Baldur has ever called Loki one of the family.
Baldur drops his head to his father’s hands. “Wake up, Father,” the prince says. Voice cracking a little, he whispers, “I hate seeing you like this.”
Loki bows his head again…and the images of the falling adze flash before his eyes. Maybe Odin was bitten or scratched, maybe he is more than just magically exhausted…
Taking a step forward, Loki says, “Are you sure he will be all right…”
Voice not unkind, Frigga says, “He is just magically exhausted from creating a New World gate. He cannot do it with the ease of Hoenir.”
Raising his head like a viper, Baldur hisses. “You weren’t worth the risk.”
Taking a step back, Loki bumps into Sleipnir and the horse gives a whicker, then drops his head over Loki’s shoulder and stamps all eight of his feet.
On the bed, Odin’s one eye opens. “No, Baldur.”
Baldur and Frigga turn their eyes to Odin. “It was terribly risky,” Frigga says.
Patting her hand, Odin says, “Yes, but as soon as I found Loki, we both knew the odds would rearrange.”
Frigga sighs. Loki sees only the back of Baldur’s head and can’t see his expression.
Odin’s gaze finds Loki’s. “You fought well.”
Loki remembers all the Einherjar they’d lost. The praise feels hollow, but he nods.
Odin smiles gently. “Now would you mind taking Sleipnir out of my bedroom?”
Loki flushes and stammers, “Yes, of course.”
As Loki turns to grab Sleipnir’s magic bridle, he sees Baldur frowning at him. He’s just entered the hallway when he hears the prince say, “The court will say that he’s your toy, that you’re buggering him—”
Loki draws to a halt.
“Baldur!” says Frigga.
“Any man that says that will have his tongue cut out,” says Odin. “I am Loki’s guardian, and I treat him as a guardian should—such rumors would dishonor me as much as him.” Standing a bit taller, Loki smiles. Whistling loud enough for the royal family to hear, he leads Sleipnir down the hall.
x x x x
Eyes still closed, Amy brings a hand to her forehead. To see Loki so young…so distraught by violence and bloodshed, and so different than the Loki she knew… It makes her hurt, and miss him…even though that was a Loki she never knew. But she had seen that Loki, in bits and pieces, hadn’t she?
She lifts her chin and exhales. It doesn’t matter. That Loki is gone. All that matters is finding the new Loki and letting him—or her, or it—know what he is. She presses a hand to her temple. As interesting as the family dynamics in the memory were—Odin’s protectiveness, Baldur’s jealousy, and Loki’s obliviousness—there isn’t anything that will help her find the Norns.
Still, when Steve is done with Beatrice’s paperwork blizzard, she’ll talk to him. They have to try and find Loki.
She shakes her head. But will Steve agree?
She opens her eyes and turns her attention to the task in front of her. Work is always a good distraction from unpleasant thoughts. Straightening her shoulders, she pulls the sheet off the troll’s body, and her heart quickens.
Normally, she’d rather put critters back together, but being able to dissect a troll—a real-life alien—is pretty darn amazing. Laid out on the operating table, the chest of the beast is a foot above her head. If the troll were standing, it would be as tall as an elephant, and perhaps broader side to side. It has some greenish hair on its head and greenish skin marked by regions of swelling that look a lot like boils.
She blinks, and another Loki memory comes to her. Loki, was a little boy, sitting on a workbench beside a rough-hewn table. He was playing a hand-slap game with a hand that was protruding from a box…much like the hand from The Addams Family. Only this hand was giant, green, and covered with boils.
Next to the box was Mimir’s head, propped up against a crate. Long ago, Mimir had been decapitated by the Vanir for talking too much. His body had been lost, but his head had been magically preserved and animated so that all of his wisdom would not be lost.
“Trolls’ native habitat is the surface of Svartálfaheimr, land of the dwarves,” Mimir said, in his most officious, school master voice. “Svartálfaheimr’s molten core is hardening, its magnetic field weakening, and its surface is buffeted by cosmic rays. The dwarves moved underground long ago. The trolls stayed above ground, their hides becoming tougher and tougher to resist radiation. But water is scarce on Svartálfaheimr’s surface, and most other species have gone extinct. Trolls derive some of their nutritional needs from the symbiotic bacteria that make their skin green, but it isn’t enough. Whenever a troll discovers a World Gate, it will open it and cross through in order to find food. That is why they now inhabit all the known worlds.”
“Except for Earth, right?” said Loki. He couldn’t have been more than eight; the troll’s hand was easily as large as his head.
“Well, Hoenir is working with Odin to get all the trolls off Earth…” Mimir said.
Beside Loki, there was a cough, and he turned to see Hoenir approaching. An apron was pulled over Hoenir’s paunch, and what was left of his hair was pulled back in a ponytail. The older man held a nearly barrel-sized jar of a purplish liquid with hand-sized bobbing eyeballs.
On the table, Mimir said, “Loki, would you please stop playing with the troll hand? Hoenir needs it to open the velociraptor treats.”
Hoenir cleared his throat, and Mimir added too quickly, “Did I say velociraptors? Having velociraptors about would be against Odin’s orders…”
“Then who are the treats for?” said Loki.
Mimir’s eyes slid toward a doorway at the far end of the room. “Loki, did you know the spidermice that moved into Hoenir’s dresser just had kits? Wouldn’t you like to see them?”
“Yes!” Loki shouted, standing up and dashing from the workroom.
The memory ends and Amy is staring at her troll again. Scrunching her eyes shut, she tries to recover any memories involving troll anterior cruciate ligaments.
Nothing comes.
Opening her eyes, she sighs. But not unhappily. Really, even if she could find those memories, she’d still want to see the ligament for herself. Putting on a pair of goggles and reaching for a scalpel, she approaches the cadaver’s left kneecap.
Forgetting the day’s trauma turns out to be easier than Amy expected… partially because dissecting the troll is much more difficult than she expected. The troll’s skin is so tough that after her fourth scalpel blade is dulled to the sharpness of a butter knife, she gives in and takes out an electric bone saw.
She’s finally through the outer layer of dermis, turning off the saw, and picking up a new scalpel when there is a knock at the door.
x x x x
Shifting the plastic bags from 7-11 to one hand, Bohdi checks the time on his phone. Scowling, he knocks on the door to the morgue again. The duffel bag on his shoulder nearly slides off with the movement.
Bohdi checks his pocket one more time for his lighter and his knife. He’s not authorized to carry a gun, and hadn't had time to surreptitiously borrow one from an agent. Patting his stomach, he looks down. But at least he is wearing his lucky pink shirt that ticks Steve off; he’s set.
Adjusting the bag and his shoulders, he waits for the door to open.
And waits.
And waits.
He’s reaching forward, about to knock again, when the heavy metal security door groans inward.
Bohdi’s jaw drops, and so do the 7-11 bags he’s holding. Propping the door open with a hip, Amy’s holding a wicked tool that looks like the baby of an electric drill and a saw, and she’s got a scalpel awkwardly clutched in the same hand. Covering her eyes are goggles flecked with what looks likes the remains of bugs that met a windshield…but that’s not what makes him gape.
Behind the plastic lenses of the goggles, Amy’s eyes widen a fraction, as if to say, “What?”
Swallowing, Bohdi points very slowly to the top of her head. “I, umm…I think a tarantula is eating a mouse…” He winces. “In your hair.”
Amy stares at him for a few heartbeats. And then she backs up so fast the door nearly slams in his face. Catching it with a sneakered foot and grabbing his bags, he enters the morgue.
Backing up, Amy drops the drill-saw and scalpel on a small rolly table in front of a very large, dead troll that smells like chemicals and cold. Bending slightly, she reaches up to the top of her head.
Holding up a hand, Bohdi blurts out. “Do you think you should…”
…touch it.
Before the words are out of his mouth, the spider-eating-a-mouse comes hurtling toward him and lands on the top of his outstretched hand. Bohdi is too shocked to move.
“Don’t hurt Mr. Squeakers!” Amy says.
Bohdi looks to Amy. She has one hand pressed to her mouth, and she’s pointing at the thing that has just sprung on him. The gears in his brain start to turn again, and he looks down at the critter that must be Mr. Squeakers. It isn’t a spider eating a mouse; it’s a little gray mouse with eight long black spider legs.
“He’s a friend…pet…spidermouse,” says Amy quickly.
Oh. Well, then. Peering closer, he drops his duffel and the 7-11 bags. He holds out a finger to the little guy. Mr. Squeakers grabs it with his two front legs. Bohdi grins. “He’s kind of cute.”
And then he feels a familiar sense of disorientation. “Are spidermice something else I’ve forgotten, or are they new things?”
“Ummm…” says Amy. “He’s a magical creature, if that’s what you mean…and new. I don’t think you’d have ever heard of one…”
Bohdi lets out a relieved sigh and brings the spidermouse up to his face to get a closer look. Mr. Squeakers pokes his little nose at Bohdi and wiggles his whiskers.
“Please don’t tell Steve,” says Amy quickly. “He’s just a harmless mouse.”
The only warning Bohdi gets is the tickle at the back of his nose. He pinches his nose and closes his eyes, but it’s too late. He barely turns his head in time to miss sneezing on Squeakers and Amy. Sniffling and looking for a Kleenex, he hands the mouse back to Amy. “Sorry, little guy, I think I might be allergic to you,” he says.
Tucking the mouse into her lab coat pocket, Amy takes off her goggles. “Why are you here?”
Bohdi reaches into his pocket and finds the comforting shape of his lighter. Why is he here? He must be crazy—his life is good, great job, great friends, and what he’s about to do will terrify Ruth and Henry. He swallows and thinks of the man and woman in the picture.
He knows more now about the immigrant experience than he did when he first “woke up.” A lot of immigrants send money back to their families. Bohdi’s parents are wearing simple clothing in the photo. They don’t look particularly wealthy. But even though he’s lost some of his mind, what he has left works rather well. Bohdi speaks English, Hindi, and the same regional language that is spoken in Bangalore—but with a Kashmiri accent. He also knows the three regional languages of Kashmir—but speaks them with a Bangalore accent. He reads mathematical notation with ease, and several computer languages. And even if his knowledge of recent history is nearly non-existent, he has weirdly accurate knowledge of the WWII era and prior. He may not have a college degree, but someone made sure he had an education.
He takes a breath…There’s no way he would have gotten his sweet job with the FBI without them. And if he’d been smaller, and weaker while he was in the Marine Corps…
He has to find his parents. He owes them everything.
Shifting on his feet, his fingers tighten on his lighter. He can’t bring himself to say all that. Instead he just smiles as cockily as he can and says, “Want to go to Nornheim?”
Amy says nothing for a few long seconds. And then her gaze becomes hard and calculating. “How?”
It takes a moment for it to register in Bohdi’s brain that she hasn’t said no, or called him crazy. But then, Amy hasn’t traveled just between realms; she’s traveled between universes if what he overheard her telling Steve once is right.
Feeling a little small, he spins the wheel on his lighter and says, “With Thor.”
“Thought he lost his ride?” Amy says.
Picking up his duffel, Bohdi opens the zipper to reveal two spools of Promethean wire, each about two feet long and a foot in diameter. “We’re his ride to Nornheim. He’ll show us the way to the Norns once we get there. All we need is the exact location of the gate in Loki’s condo…”
Amy’s face softens at the mention of the “secret” gate in her ex-boyfriend’s old apartment. It makes Bohdi weirdly uncomfortable.
Amy’s eyes drop to the Promethean wire. Two years ago, Amy held up Laevithin, Loki’s magic sword, in a room sealed with Promethean wire. Bohdi had walked into the room, broken the seal, and allowed some of Laevithin’s magic to open a pathway to the In-Between. The physics guys theorized that Promethean wire, when forced to contain too powerful a magic source and not sealed completely, can create tears in space time. Picking up on what he plans, she speaks quietly, “We need a magical power source.”
Laevithin, the power source she’d inadvertently used for her unplanned trip between universes, had been taken by the guys in DC. Bohdi jokes that it is in the same warehouse as the Arc of the Covenant. Steve says he shouldn’t watch so many old movies with Brett and Bryant. However…
“I think Mjolnir will do the trick,” Bohdi says.
Amy lifts her eyes. Voice a little shaky, she says, “You know…if we accidentally open a pathway into the In-Between, we won’t be able to get back…when I did it…I had…” she crosses her arms over her chest. “Loki’s…” Biting her lip, she looks down. “The baby was magical and saved me.”
Bohdi’s mouth goes dry. He can’t help but remember that night when he found Amy lying in the snow, calmly and matter-of-factly asking him to call an ambulance as blood bloomed like a crimson flower around her. That memory made missing pieces in a puzzle click in Bohdi’s brain. When Amy had opened a pathway to the In-Between, instead of turning into a spacecicle, she’d gone into another universe. Bohdi had wondered how. Now he knows—and he feels like he just punched her in the gut. He wants to say sorry…or…something…but they’re running out of time. He says what he’s sure she already knows. “That’s why we need you to show us the exact location of the World Gate. The physics guys are pretty sure if we set the wire where a branch of the World Tree connects with Earth, we’ll slip right past the In-Between and into another realm.”
Head still down, Amy nods and crosses her arms. Looking up at him abruptly, she says, “Does Steve know about this?”
Bohdi grimaces.
Rolling her eyes, she turns away and waves a hand. “Then there’s no way for us to even get past security and into Loki’s apartment. Talk to Steve, come up with a real plan, and then…”
Stepping forward, Bohdi catches her shoulder. Spinning, she reaches into her pocket, grabs Mr. Squeakers, and holds the little guy up in the space between them as though the mouse is a can of mace. Her nostrils flare slightly. For his part, the mouse just wiggles his whiskers.
Backing up, Bohdi holds up his hands. “I know how to get into Loki’s condo. If we wait for Steve to do this officially, it will take…weeks…months…Thor isn’t going to wait that long, he’ll go home, find another wizard guy, and find another way.”
Amy purses her lips. Bohdi’s eyes catch on them. They look extra kissable when she’s pouting.
Mr. Squeakers gives a cheery cheep from her hand, bringing Bohdi’s attention back to task. He looks at the mouse, and then back up to Amy. Smiling and giving a shrug, Bohdi says, “See, even the mouse agrees with me.”
Amy looks down at the mouse, and her eyebrows rise. Sighing, she closes her eyes.
“All right,” she says. “I’ll do it. When did you plan to leave? We need supplies, camping gear, food, and my grandmother will want to come. Considering what a good shot she’s become, that might be a good idea.”
Whipping out his phone, Bohdi checks the time. “We have fifteen minutes.”
“What?” says Amy.
Sliding the phone back into his pocket, he says, “In fifteen minutes, Thor is going to kidnap us while we’re having a romantic picnic on the roof.” He holds up the 7-11 bags triumphantly and smiles. He’s really got this well thought out.
Amy cocks her head to the side and puts a hand on her hip. “Kidnap us while we’re having a romantic picnic?”
Bohdi shrugs. “It has to look like a kidnapping so we have plausible deniability.”
Amy doesn’t move.
Bohdi tries again. “A platonic picnic celebrating your return to ADUO?” he suggests.
Amy rolls her eyes and turns away, but this time she says, “Let me get my coat and first-aid kit.”
Bohdi blinks. That actually…was easier than he expected.
x x x x
“This is what you call a romantic meal?” Amy says, holding up an unopened protein bar and wrinkling her nose. They’re atop ADUO’s “green roof.” In winter, it isn’t so green, and in the lowlight of the evening, it is positively gray. She and Bohdi are sitting on two benches in an open rectangular area among raised beds filled with the husks of dead grasses and spotty snow.
Strands of Amy’s ponytail are whipping around her face in the frigid Chicago wind, but she doesn’t look at all cold. She’s dressed in a cozy-looking down coat. The messenger bag with the first-aid kit is draped over one shoulder.
Shivering in his cheap winter coat, bristling at her insult, Bohdi says, “Well, it’s a good thing it’s only a welcome back meal.”
She raises an eyebrow at him. Mr. Squeakers, peeking from the pocket of her down coat, gives a squeak that sounds strangely disappointed and then pulls his head back and disappears.
“I wanted something that could double as rations,” Bohdi adds defensively. “We don’t know how long this trip will take.”
Both of Amy’s eyebrows go up, and she looks down at her protein bar.
The wind increases and whips her ponytail around her face. Brushing it back, she looks up to the sky. Handing Bohdi the protein bar, she says, “I’m saved.”
Turning, Bohdi sees Thor in his chariot hurtling down from the sky. Bohdi and Amy both jump from their seats as the chariot whips past them, bouncing to a stop on a patch of grass.
At that moment, the door to the stairs creaks open and Brett and Bryant come through, coffee cups in their hands.
Uh-oh.
“Thor?” says Brett.
“Amy and Bohdi?” says Bryant.
Amy grabs Bohdi’s arm and pulls him in the direction of the chariot, even as Thor shouts, “Get in!”
“Where y’all going?” says Bryant.
Following Amy through the snow and dead grass, Bohdi manages to say, “Ummmm…”
A weight falls on his shoulder. Bohdi turns his head and sees Thor’s enormous hand; and then he’s yanked back so quickly he falls on his butt on the floor of the chariot. His duffel bag lands on his lap, and the 7-11 bags cut into his wrist. The chariot immediately starts to lift, Bohdi’s feet hanging over the edge.
“We’re being kidnapped,” Bohdi shouts as they rise vertically into the sky.
“What?” says Bryant, lifting his head. “Going for a joy ride?”
Bohdi opens his mouth to respond, but they zip forward so fast his reply is lost to the wind.
“That was convincing!” Amy shouts over the rush of air around them.
Scowling at her, Bohdi whips his phone out of his pocket, presses a few buttons, and holds it up. “Thor,” he shouts to the Asgardian warrior standing beside him, “I programmed directions to Loki’s condo into my iPhone just in case…” In case Thor forgot. According to the classified reports Bohdi wasn’t supposed to read, Thor’s been to the apartment before. It suddenly occurs to Bohdi that Thor might be insulted if his sense of direction is questioned. Bohdi really doesn’t want to insult him. The big man’s calves are right by Bohdi’s nose—and look about as wide as Bohdi’s head.
From his hand, Siri’s voice is barely audible over the wind. “Four blocks west…”
Grunting, Thor takes the phone and holds it up. “Chariot!” he bellows, “Follow the Myeyephone sprite’s directions!”
Bohdi’s eyes go wide and shift to Amy. Standing on the other side of Thor, she meets Bohdi’s gaze, winces, and shakes her head.
In Thor’s hand, Siri says, “One block south.”
The chariot careens left so fast, Bohdi slams against the right wall and Amy crashes into Thor—who doesn’t budge. The giant man gently rights her as the chariot’s course evens out.
In the distance, Bohdi thinks he sees a traffic helicopter. He squints. Is it his imagination or is it coming in their direction?
Amy slides down the opposite wall of the chariot and tucks her knees up to her chin. “So how do we get past security?” she shouts above the wind.
Feeling instantly more confident, Bohdi smirks. “By not going past security…”
He doesn’t get to finish the details of his brilliant plan. Above them, Thor shouts, “Cover your heads! There may be falling glass!” And then the large warrior drops a visor Bohdi didn’t realize his helmet had and raises Mjolnir.
There’s a flash of light and Bohdi feels a prickle, as though every hair on his body is standing on end. Above the rushing of the wind comes a crack, and then a sound like discordant chimes. Beside him, he sees Amy tuck her head beneath her hands and draw her legs in even tighter.
Bohdi barely has time to do the same before they are swooping down into a shadow—sharp splinters prickling his shoulders, hands, and scalp as they do. The chariot’s wheels connect with something hard, and they bounce—again and again. Bohdi’s teeth are still rattling when they lurch to a stop, snapping his head against the chariot wall behind him.
Thor strides from the chariot and surveys the room, “I will hold back any guards that attempt to come through the door. You will need Mjolnir…” Bringing the hammer to his lips, he whispers some words in a strange guttural language. Thor nods once and hands the hammer to Bohdi. “Call for lightning when you need it,” he says.
Groaning, Bohdi gets to his feet, clutching the duffel bag, shards of glass falling from his shoulders. He hesitates, eyes glued to the hammer. It’s surprisingly crude up close. The handle is too short and…
“Take it,” says Thor. “It won’t bite you…” He smirks. “Unless you attempt to betray me.”
Bohdi lets the 7-11 bags fall into the chariot and gingerly takes the hammer. It’s heavy, but lighter than he expected. He’s vaguely aware of Amy going around them to stand near the open window.
Lifting Bohdi’s iPhone to his eyes, Thor asks, “Can Myeyephone work any defensive magic?”
“No,” say Bohdi and Amy at the same time.
Thor sighs. Eyes still on the phone, he says, “Never fear, sprite, I will keep you safe as well.”
Bohdi’s eyes go wide, but he decides not to correct the big guy. Instead he quickly surveys what was Loki’s apartment. He’s not sure what he expected—but the place is modern, sleek even, with two walls made of floor-to-ceiling windows. Well, one wall has a window. The wall they just crashed through has a jagged hole of glass.
Thor presses the iPhone back into Bohdi’s hand, snapping his attention back to the present.
Tilting his head at Bohdi, he says, “Get to work.”
Amy steps forward. “No, wait! Before we help you, do we have your oath that you will return us to Earth safely?”
Thor blinks. From somewhere in the background, Bohdi hears muffled footfalls and shouts.
Thor’s eyes slide to the door and then back to Amy. “We don’t have time for this.”
Amy puts her hands on her hips.
Grumbling, Thor says, “Fine. You have my oath.” Shaking his head, the big man jogs away in the direction of the muffled voices.
Amy turns and goes back to the window. Kneeling, she says, “Ratatoskr slipped through right…about…here.” She holds up her hands, spreading them about two feet wide. “There was a little circle of light…”
Opening the duffel, Bohdi drops to the floor beside her. He can hear more muffled shouting in the hall, much louder this time, and a bang.
Thor’s shout echoes through the apartment. “I’ve blockaded the door, but it won’t keep your warriors at bay forever.”
“They’ll call helicopters,” Amy whispers.
Bohdi nods as he unwinds one of the wide spools of Promethean wire. It’s a little like chain link fencing, but the holes are octagonal, the wire itself is coppery, and it’s more flexible—still his fingers are starting to stiffen with the bitter wind coming through the broken window—making working with the metal difficult.
He unspools enough of the Promethean wire to make a loop in the space Amy’s still patiently indicating the location with her hands. The finished loop is slightly wider in diameter than Mjolnir’s length. Then a horrible thought occurs to him. Turning his head to Amy, he whispers, “If this is the width of the gate, Thor is too large to get through.”
Amy meets his gaze. Jaw hard, she says, “Put the hammer in and fire it up. We’ll worry about that if this works.”
Bohdi blinks. She’s right. Dropping the head of the hammer onto the part of the loop that’s on the floor, he clears his throat and pulls back his hands. “Umm…lightning?”
The hammer trembles and sparks fly. Bohdi drops his head and gazes through the circle. Peering through the loop, all he sees is the city of Chicago. His hands suddenly get clammy and his heart rate quickens. It’s not working.
Ignoring the sparking hammer, Amy sticks her hand into the loop. About halfway through, her hand disappears. She gasps. “It’s working!”
Bohdi’s jaw falls, the Promethean wire trembles, Mjolnir sparks more brightly, and then the loop starts to grow, drawing more wire from the spool as it does.
“Wha—” says Bohdi.
Amy pulls her hand back out. The wire loop stops growing…but now the loop is wider. Without a word, Amy sticks her head into the loop…and suddenly Bohdi is staring at a headless Amy, the Promethean wire shuddering around her, Mjolnir sparking madly, and the loop continues to grow—but it’s still not large enough for Thor.
From behind him, he hears Thor shout. “How goes it, son of Patel?”
“Uhhhh…” says Bohdi staring at the widening loop, “just a minute.”
Sitting back on his haunches, he gazes at the unspooling wire and Amy’s shoulders. The gate is still too narrow. This is never going to work. He winces at the sight of her headless body. Is she even still alive? This is creepier than he anticipated.
Amy’s hand lifts and makes a beckoning motion.
And suddenly Bohdi doesn’t care about creepiness or if this is going to work; he has to see whatever Amy sees.
Ducking his head, he fills his lungs like he’s about to dive into a pool, grabs the handle of Mjolnir to steady himself, and plunges his head through.
There is the brief flash of light in every color of the rainbow, and he finds himself…or at least his head, in pink-tinged sunlight, a gentle breeze ruffling his hair. He laughs aloud.
“Welcome to Nornheim!” Amy says.
Bohdi is too excited to question how she can verify where they are. He starts to push further through the gate, but something grabs him by the shoulder and holds him back. He looks down. Where his one shoulder has pressed through, Amy’s hand has grabbed him.
Lifting his eyes, he sees Amy’s head…weirdly cut off at the neck. “Look down,” she says.
Bohdi’s eyes drop. About ten feet below him is what looks like a fine latticework of glass through which he can see the ground. It’s very far away…like up in an airplane faraway-faraway… He makes an undignified-sounding noise.
Amy inclines her head in the direction of the latticework. “My guess is that it can hold a squirrel’s weight, but I’m not sure about ours.”
Bohdi nods.
Amy’s head, eerily suspended in midair, turns to him. “So, if our heads are here and our hearts are there—” she looks in the direction that would be Bohdi’s body. “How come we’re still alive?”
Bohdi raises an eyebrow and gulps. “Probably best not to think about that right now?”
Of course, now that she’s raised the question, Bohdi can’t not think about it.
In his hand, Mjolnir trembles, and Bohdi feels the bite of sparks against his skin. “Something’s happening,” he says.
With a jerk, he pulls his head back through the loop and feels the bitter cold of Chicago’s wind whipping down the neck of his coat.
The loop doesn’t look like it’s increased in size, but as soon as he takes his hand off Mjolnir, it suddenly expands to a width that even Thor’s chariot can fit through. If they all huddle together, they’ll make it.
Amy emerges an instant later. The expansion stops, and she looks up and gasps. “The loop has gotten larger. How?” Amy says.
Bohdi’s mind races. “I don’t know why it got bigger, but you know how we stayed whole when half of us was here and half of us was there? Maybe it isn’t so much a ‘gate’ as an envelope in space time…but at a certain point light can’t escape and so…”
Beside him, Amy inhales sharply.
He stops. His eyes slide to her. He licks his lips nervously, prepared for, “What are you talking about?” or “Wha—?” or as Marion would affectionately say, “You weirdo.”
Instead, Amy says, “Like a magical event horizon!” Her eyes are sparkling, and she’s smiling at him.
Bohdi’s heart rate increases. He licks his lips again, this time for a completely different reason. He opens his mouth…and lets out a startled, “Erp!” as Thor lifts him and Amy both by the collars of their coats.
“Eep!” says Amy.
“They’ve almost broken down the door!” shouts Thor, getting into the chariot. He pushes them in the direction of the vehicle. Picking up the duffel bag with the remaining spool of wire, Bohdi darts with Amy toward the chariot.
Behind him, Thor yells, “Chariot, back up!”
The chariot rolls toward Amy and Bohdi and they leap in. A loud boom echoes through the apartment and Bohdi hears shouts of, “This is the FBI.” He’s aware of the sound of a chopper behind them getting louder very quickly.
Turning his head, he sees Thor lifting Mjolnir so that the head of the hammer is at the top of the loop, now about four and a half feet off the ground.
“Stop!” someone shouts. Bodhi turns in the direction of the door and sees three agents striding forward, guns raised. He’s not sure if he’s sad or relieved his friend Marion isn’t with them. He and Amy both drop their heads behind the front wall of the chariot. The chariot keeps rolling backward. There is the sound of gunfire and bullets ricocheting off the chariot. Thor’s body is suddenly pressing between Amy and Bohdi, squeezing Bohdi’s shoulders against the chariot wall with such force, Bohdi grits his teeth. Bohdi’s eyes slide to the big man ducking beside him, holding up the hammer, keeping it in contact with the Promethean wire even as gunfire slams into the armor of his wrist…and then the back of Thor’s shoulders disappear and suddenly Bohdi, Amy, Thor, and the chariot bathed in the pink light of Nornheim.
The chariot drops. Thor pulls Mjolnir to his side and shouts, “Chariot, level!” And then they are floating in midair.
Bohdi starts laughing with relief.
Gasping for air and smiling, Amy meets his eyes.
Thor stands and looks to the sky. The sun is almost directly overhead. Muttering a few words, Thor tracks it with his thumb. “It is mid-morning here.”
Breathing heavily, Bohdi scans the sky. “The light is so pink…” He’d thought when he first poked his head through that it was sunrise or sundown.
Beside him, Amy speaks, her voice far away. “The sun is a red dwarf…”
“Aye,” says Thor. It strikes Bohdi that he is breathing hard, too. Also, the air is warmer than in Chicago, but it’s still cold.
Thor nods to himself. “We aren’t at the highest level of filaments, but the air is thin here…”
Grabbing the lip of the chariot wall, Bohdi stands as Amy rises shakily beside him. Gazing upward for the first time, he sees a glint in the sky—another latticework like the one below them?
Amy gasps. “The lacey glass filaments—they’re the branches of the giant columns.”
“Yes,” says Thor. He spreads his feet and the chariot wobbles at the movement.
Holding on more tightly, Bohdi turns and looks down. The latticework he’d seen earlier rolls out beneath them, getting thicker and sturdier looking as it approaches what looks like a tree of sparkling glass about thirty meters away. The tree’s trunk keeps rising beyond where his eyes can see, similar lattices stretching out from it along the trunk above them.
“The branches of the columns catch cosmic rays and solar radiation,” Thor says. “The Norns convert those forces into magic and use it for their own purposes. The Norns are three of the most powerful beings in the Nine Realms—but only here on Nornheim.”
Bohdi turns his head sharply to Thor. Somehow, solar radiation and cosmic rays were the last words he’d expected to hear from the space Viking. He sees Amy looking at the big guy with a similar look of surprise on her face.
Raising an eyebrow at them both, Thor says, “I am over one thousand years old. I have picked up a bit of mag—” Speech halting, he tilts his great head. “Scientific knowledge.”
Bohdi swallows. “Ummm…right, sorry.”
“Errr…yes,” says Amy. “Of course.”
Shaking his head with a bit of a smirk, Thor gazes downward. “Now to discover where we are so that we may make our way to the dwellings of the Norns.” He looks at Bohdi. “I don’t suppose Myeyephone would know where we are?”
“No,” say Amy and Bohdi in unison.
Thor nods, sagaciously. “Of course, of course, the sprite has never been here before…ah, well.”
Before Bohdi or Amy can respond, Thor shouts, “Chariot, down!” and the floor beneath Bohdi drops so fast he almost flies out. They crash through the latticework below, it tinkles like breaking glass, and Amy gives a startled yip.
The world below comes into more vivid focus—forested hills interspersed with more columns—and are those swaths of white tents? Smiling, Bohdi shakes his head and grins. They did it! They made it to a new world without major injuries and only minor property damage. He almost laughs. It went so perfectly… Usually, his plans have a way of going horribly wrong.
x x x x
“The news says that Thor took Bohdi and Amy!” Steve’s daughter’s disembodied voice rings so loudly that Steve pushes the phone away from his ear.
“They’re fine,” Steve says, pacing the length of the hallway in Loki’s building. “They’re with Thor. They’re not in any danger.”
Even as he says it, Gerðr’s words ring in his mind. “They are in Nornheim, the realm of everything dangerous, dreadful, and deadly.”
“He kidnapped them!” says Claire.
Rubbing his temple, Steve scowls and remembers Bryant’s and Brett’s descriptions of events and doubts it. All he says to Claire is, “That has not been confirmed.”
And then another thought hits him. “You’re ten years old—what are you doing watching the news?”
On the other end of the line Claire huffs. “It’s called Social Studies, Dad. We’re doing a unit on current affairs. You have to get them back!”
“I know,” says Steve. He respects Lewis, and needs her skills and knowledge. And Bohdi…
When Steve first took Bohdi in, it was partly out of charity, and partly out of curiosity. When they had found him, the kid’s brain was temporarily humming with magic. Why, out of millions of people, had Loki wiped Bohdi’s memory? Did Bohdi know something? It was a situation Steve wanted to keep an eye on. Over the past two years, Bohdi’s become something of a friend. Or maybe a sidekick. Or an obnoxious little brother. And even if Steve wants to strangle him half the time, he doesn’t like the idea of him dying in pain and agony on some far off planet.
Trying to switch subjects, he says, “How is your arm?”
“Daddy!” Beatrice’s voice rings behind him. “Director Rogers!”
Steve rolls his eyes. “I have to go, honey. Love you.”
“Get Bohdi, back,” says Claire just before Steve clicks his phone shut.
“Director Rogers!” says Beatrice, holding up her umbrella. “Why don’t we send in paratroopers?”
Steve turns around and finds himself face to face not just with Beatrice, but with Gerðr and two female agents.
Gerðr had opened the gate for ADUO…well, for Beatrice. The giantess hadn’t been completely unconscious when Skírnir tried to kidnap her. In thanks she offered to cooperate with the agency. She was able to verify the realm that Thor had taken them to was Nornheim, and had even allowed Steve and Beatrice to peek over her shoulder for a few moments when she’d opened the gate.
The magic shielding bracelets and helmet had to be removed for her to open the World Gate. They still haven’t been put back on.
Gerðr’s wearing nearly formless winter clothes, and Steve’s eyes go to the face of the giantess, the other women around her fading to just amorphous clouds at the edge of his consciousness. Gerðr’s skin is so pale it’s nearly transparent, her eyes are a cold gray, and her hair is so blonde it’s nearly white. The giantess narrows her eyes at him and her nostrils flare slightly. Her looks and personality are as bitter and cold as the Chicago winter. But Steve still feels his body heat when he looks at her, feels his pulse rate increase, and can’t help but think of what his dark skin would look like pressed against hers.
Beatrice clears her throat, and Steve spins on his heels, averting his eyes and licking his lips. Damn magical glamour.
“Paratroopers, Steven! Why don’t we send them?” Beatrice says.
Keeping his body carefully turned away from the giantess, Steve meets Beatrice’s gaze. “We have no idea where they went, Beatrice, and they are in a flying vehicle—”
“We could send in gliders!” says Beatrice.
“We’re sending in drones, Beatrice! Intelligence-gathering drones. For now, nothing, and no one else!” Steve snaps.
From over Steve’s shoulder, Gerðr speaks. Without magic blocking cuffs, her English is flawless. “The Director’s plan is wise, Beatrice. It will do the most to find your granddaughter, and will be the least offensive to the Norns.”
Steve’s not sure if he turns to look at Gerðr because it’s one of the very few civil things she’s ever said about any human…or if he just wants to look at her… His eyes fall on her lips. They’re not particularly full, but they are well shaped…as is her whole face. It’s like she has been carved out of marble. Steve thinks he could spend hours tracing the perfect angles and valleys of her silhouette with his eyes, his fingers, his tongue…
Beatrice clears her throat again, and Steve throws a hand up in front of his eyes. “Can you just turn off the glamour?” Steve snaps.
Leaning forward with snakelike speed and grace, Gerðr hisses. “You’re a dog!” The two agents behind her grab her elbows and pull her back, scowling at the giantess as they do.
Keeping his hand aloft, Steve sighs and rolls his eyes, “Believe me, I feel like one.”
Down the hall, Hernandez pokes his head out of Loki’s apartment. “Sir! We have a press conference at the front of the building in three minutes.”
Steve sighs. “Thank God,” he mumbles as he strides past Gerðr and the agents, now wrestling with the giantess’s arms.
As he steps into the elevator beside Hernandez, he’s still thinking about Gerðr, his mind wandering off in uncomfortable trajectories. Rubbing the back of his neck, Steve grumbles, “Is it just her magic or—”
He lets out a huff, and shakes his head. Or loneliness. He can’t bring himself to say it out loud. He’d thought, when he’d been talking to Frieda, the lawyer he’d met the other night, that there was something there. She’d been sexy in the best kind of way—the kind of way that came with confidence, success, and a passion for life. He thought she was someone Claire could look up to.
But then she’d gone back to her hotel with Bohdi… Is desperation causing Steve to lose his ability to read people?
“It’s magic,” Hernandez says. “We’ve got to keep the Promethean cuffs and the helmet on Gerðr or one of our guys is going to get in trouble.”
Steve snaps out of his reverie, his brain catching on the words, “one of our guys will get in trouble.” What about Gerðr, herself? After the ill-fated meeting with Skírnir, when Beatrice was busy filling out forms, Steve had taken some time to reacquaint himself with the myths surrounding Gerðr. Her husband Freyr had fallen in love with her from afar, but she’d wanted nothing to do with him. So Freyr sent his servant Skírnir to convince Gerðr to allow him to court her. Skírnir had tried to convince Gerðr with threats of pain and death. Gerðr had refused. And then Skírnir had threatened her father, and in some stories, her father’s lands and people. Skírnir had also promised to “wed” her to a three-headed giant. In the end, Gerðr had married Freyr.
Steve had always taken the myths with a hefty grain of salt—there were some stories where the union between Gerðr and Freyr was a happy one. But then Amy had confirmed that a darker interpretation of the couple’s origins was the truth.
“We need her magic, and she’s been very cooperative since Beatrice shot Skírnir,” Steve muses almost to himself.
“We only need her magic when she’s opening the gate,” says Hernandez.
“But without magic, she can’t communicate as well,” Steve counters.
“It’s for her own protection,” says Hernandez.
Raising an eyebrow, Steve says, “That’s what the Taliban says about burkas.”
Staring at the numbers above the elevator door, Hernandez says, “That’s a fallacy, sir—this is magic we’re talking about, not just ordinary urges.”
The elevator dings and the doors slide open.
Steve rubs his temple. “I think I’m getting a headache.”
“Magic will do that,” says Hernandez as they walk through the lobby.
When they step out into the frigid air of the Chicago night and are instantly set upon by a gauntlet of the press, it’s actually a relief. As flashbulbs go off in his face, he feels his adrenaline surge, and a smile comes to his lips.
Above the din, a man’s voice rises. “Is it true that Thor kidnapped two American citizens?”
Steve raises his voice. “There is no solid evidence a kidnapping has occurred, Frank.” Steve makes a point to address the investigative reporters that trail him by name. They eat it up.
There are a few more questions that Steve answers deftly enough, carefully restraining a mischievous smirk. Steve’s used to leadership, but the tango he does with the press is new. He can’t help but think of it as a game.
An unfamiliar woman’s voice, precise, clipped, and British, comes from Steve’s left. “Thor apparently entered this building in his chariot, but hasn’t exited the building. Is there perhaps a portal to another realm in one of the flats above?”
Steve’s head snaps in the direction of the voice. His eyes settle upon a woman with skin nearly as dark as his own. She’s either very tall or wearing impressive heels; her eyes are just a few inches below Steve’s. Her unstraightened hair is tied up into a soft bun at the back of her head. Her eyes are warm and brown. And she’s beautiful. Not in the perfect way Gerðr is beautiful. This woman is beautiful in a way that’s real—there’s a dimple in one side of her face and not the other. Her bottom lip is a little too large for her top, she has smile lines, and two lines between her eyes. A woman who thinks, worries, and laughs about things—a human being.
Steve tilts his head. “I’m sorry, I don’t know you,” he says, and it’s not just an evasion.
Thrusting a hand between the other reporters, she says, “Tara Inanna, BBC science correspondent.”
She’s wearing a fitted coat, and Steve gets just the barest hint of curves beneath it. He smiles, takes her hand, and feels the sharp edges of a business card in his grip. “What do you know about inter-realm portals?” he asks.
“Is there a portal?” another woman shouts.
Without turning his head, Steve says, “Unconfirmed, Miss Andrews.”
In front of him, Tara smiles and pulls her hand away. “I may know more than you. I have a degree in physics from Oxford.”
Steve’s eyebrows lift, and his stomach does a weird little flip flop.
Another reporter shouts, “How will this affect your candidacy for mayor?”
Turning his head, Steve smiles. “Did someone write me on the ballot, George?”
There are chuckles all around. Hernandez suddenly grabs Steve’s elbow and drags him out of the way just as the door to the condo building swings open. Steve had forgotten the agent was still next to him.
Beatrice shoots out of the door and walks directly over to Steve, Gerðr and her two agent minders trailing behind. The giantess is still not wearing magic blocking cuffs or a helmet.
“There has to be more we can do!” Beatrice says.
Shouts and flashbulbs erupt from all sides. Steve grabs Beatrice’s elbow, consciously avoiding looking at Gerðr. At the same time, he motions for Hernandez to start clearing a line through the crowd to the waiting car.
As he guides Beatrice forward, he cranes his neck around to look for Tara, but she’s disappeared.
When they reach the car, Beatrice slides in first, which means Steve gets the awkward honor of sitting next to Gerðr. He inclines his body in Beatrice’s direction, but swears he can feel Gerðr’s body heat radiating off her, even through his clothing. He’s dimly aware of Beatrice saying, “The drones should be armed,” and of one of Gerðr’s female guards slipping into the front seat.
He looks down at the business card in his palm. On it, in neat blue ink, Tara has written, “Let’s discuss physics over dinner sometime.”
Steve grips the card in both hands and imagines the dimple on Tara’s cheek, large full imperfect lips, and warm brown eyes.
“Strange, I thought I sensed magic,” Gerðr says, shifting slightly, her knee brushing Steve’s briefly and sending a lightning bolt of heat jolting up Steve’s spine.
Steve’s phone rings, but he’s afraid to reach for it, afraid to even lift his eyes from the business card. The message goes to voicemail, and then Beatrice’s phone rings. A moment later, she’s pushing it in Steve’s face saying, “Steve, it’s your mother.”
Steve’s eyes slide to Beatrice.
The old woman lifts an eyebrow. “Your mother and I are on the Inter-church Chicago Reconstruction Committee, have you forgotten?”
Steve’s vaguely aware of Gerðr turning her head in their direction.
Steve takes the phone. Rubbing his temples and closing his eyes he says, “Yes, Ma’am?”
Steve’s mother is usually a very calm woman. From the South, she usually speaks with a cadence slightly slower than the Chicago norm. But now she is speaking rapidly, and the tone of her voice is unusually high pitched. “Steve, I just got off the phone with Claire. Thor, that giant space alien has got Bohdi—and Bea’s girl, Amy, too!”
Bea’s girl? It takes a minute for Steve to realize that his mother has a nickname for Beatrice, not just her phone number.
“You know, Bohdi’s like a another son to me!” Ruth says.
“Painfully aware,” says Steve, the headache he’d felt earlier suddenly blooming full force.
“Where has Thor taken them?” says Ruth.
“I’m not really sure exactly, Mother,” Steve grits out.
Gerðr shifts beside him again, and she’s not really touching him, but she’s almost touching him…and good Lord, what is Steve, thirteen?
Beside him Beatrice pipes up, “The drones should be armed!”
On the phone Steve’s mom says, “You have to find him!”
The car turns sharply and Gerðr slides into him.
Steve stifles a whimper even as his mother says again, “Find him. Claire is so upset,” Beatrice says, “What is the range of a drone?” and Gerðr, oddly deciding to be solicitous, says, “Excuse me.”
Find Bohdi? Steve wishes he could join him. No matter how deadly Nornheim is, Steve is being crushed between magic-induced lust, a protective grandmother, and his mother—who is invoking his daughter’s name.
There is no way Bohdi could be any more miserable than Steve is right now.