Back pressed to Bohdi’s chest, Amy gasps. “Brett and Bryant? Here? How?”
Bohdi shakes his head, his chin brushing the top of her head. “I don’t know.” He guides her through the crowd, following Harding. Or maybe Amy guides him. For a few minutes, he’d forgotten where they were and coming back to reality is painful.
Ahead, he sees Harding bent over her equipment. Branches in the rafters wave in her direction. He feels Amy’s hand tighten around his.
“Marine,” Steve says, standing by Harding’s shoulder, trying to hold back a creeping vine. “You have to stay calm.”
“Don’t you hear them? You have to hear them!” she says. “They’re here …”
She flips a switch, and turns a nob, and suddenly Bryant’s voice crackles in the speakers. “I don’t think they can hear us, Brett. There’s no reason they’d have their comm equipment on.”
Frost Giants and Asgardians back away fast from the speakers.
“We can hear you!” Harding shouts, one hand on a knob, the other pulling out a little microphone. Tiny branches from the ceiling wave in her direction. Steve swipes them away and hands them to Rush and Cruz. Their delicate tips still wave in Harding’s direction.
“Bryant!” shouts Steve.
“You hear us?” Bryant says.
Steve takes the microphone. “Loud and clear. How did you get to Jotunheim?”
“We’re not in Jotunheim,” Bryant says, his voice fast and clipped. “We’re in Chicago. We sent a ‘bot beneath the rubble and opened the World Gate just enough to send a signal.”
Bohdi gapes. He has enough of a comm education to know that the distance between the World Gate in Lake Balstead and the Iron Wood is too far for a signal to broadcast clearly without multiple relay stations. Even if the balloon is still aloft, the signal shouldn’t be reaching them.
Harding pulls her hand away, her jaw slack. The signal goes to static, and the branches in Rush’s and Cruz’s hands stop their dance. “Marine! Hand on the knob,” Steve says, eyes glancing at the sagging branches. Harding does, and suddenly, Bryant’s voice comes on. “I think we lost them. Director—Captain—do you hear us?”
Amy whispers, “Her talent, it’s hearing radio signals … of course, it’s her specialty.”
“Where did you get a magical object strong enough to open a World Gate?” asks Steve.
There is a moment of silence. And then Brett’s West Virginia twang cracks over the speakers. “Well, now there’s the weird thing.” He clears his throat.
“Brett made it,” says Bryant. “He can funnel electricity into magical objects … it’s his gift. We’re both magic. Don’t know why.”
Bohdi feels a flutter in his stomach. He looks over at Harding. Brett and Bryant had a thing with Harding and Mills before they left Chicago, and the serum is contagious.
For a moment Steve is silent, but Bohdi can see him cataloging that data. Instead of asking how Brett has a magical gift, Steve says, “You would need a lot of electricity to make a magical object strong enough to open a World Gate.”
Bryant coughs. “There have been a few blackouts in Chicago lately.”
Bohdi’s brain spins. How much electricity would you have to drain from the electrical grid to cause a blackout—and just how much magic would that make?
Brett’s voice cracks. “We have to leave soon. Keep it short.”
“Where are you? Are you safe?” Bryant asks.
Steve’s eyes flick up to the Asgardians. “We’re at Gullveig’s Keep in the Iron Wood—Thor and some friends are here—but the place is neutral. Like Switzerland. We’re safe for now.”
Bohdi looks across the room at their Asgardian guests. He snorts. It is exactly like being in Switzerland with Germans at a remote ski resort, right before WWII. Just to be cheeky, he smiles and waves at them. Ullr takes a step forward, but he is abruptly yanked back when a branch whips out and wraps around his hand where it’s reaching for his sword. Face going red, Ullr glares at him—the others look about as happy. But Thor gives a crooked half-smile and waves back, and it frightens Bohdi more than the bluster of the others.
Bohdi hears Brett mutter, “Well, that’s awkward.”
His voice going faint, like he’s not speaking into the microphone, Bryant says, “Daevas, do you know where that is?”
“I know where the Iron Wood is, yes,” says an unfamiliar man, who must be Daevas. “The cold won’t bother me, but bad weather could slow me, and the trees could be problematic. Perhaps if your friends can create a landing pad?”
“We have a plan to bring you home,” says Bryant. “I don’t want to go into it now … for obvious reasons, but what do you need? What can Daevas bring you that can keep you alive for a few more months?”
Daevas? Bohdi searches his memory for anyone by that name in any mythology and draws a blank. “Do you know who he is?” he whispers to Amy.
“No,” she says.
“Ammunition,” says Steve, looking straight at the Asgardians as he says it. “Promethean wire. Food.”
“I can carry some,” says Daevas.
There is the sound of static. And then Brett says, “We have to move. Ginnie Santos has control of the city. But she’s not Santos anymore, she’s Innana … I mean Freyja. Daevas calls her Innana, but she’s the same person. The place is a ghost town—they’re rounding up Dark Elves and people are scared and leaving the city. We’re on forced leave from the FBI, so is Laura Stodgill, and Dr. Ogawa, and anyone who knew about what happened. We may not be able to get back in touch for a while.”
“Do you know what happened to Keyif?” says Larson, stepping closer to the mic. Bohdi swallows. Keyif was one of the SEALs guarding the bridge in Chicago before Freyja called in an airstrike. In the confusion, no one had been able to see what happened to him.
“Unknown,” says Bryant.
“Dale?” says Steve.
Bryant starts talking very fast. “He’s okay, we took him to the trauma center at headquarters, because we were worried …” There is the sound of static. Then Bryant says, “He has a rare blood type, we used Steve’s and now he ... like us. They took him down to D.C. ...” There is more static. “Melinda … where is Karen?” It takes Bohdi a moment to piece the question together. Melinda is Harding’s first name. Karen is Mills’s first name—was her first name. Bryant’s voice cracks like he already knows the answer. Bohdi swallows.
“I’m sorry, Hon,” says Harding, her own voice cracking.
Bohdi’s eyes flit from the speakers to Steve’s face. Steve looks hard at Harding, and Bohdi can see him taking in the familiarity in Bryant’s voice and hers. He watches Steve’s jaw get tight and his eyes slide toward Amy. Bohdi knows he’s pieced it all together. Dale got his magic from Steve’s blood. Harding and Mills were more than friends with Brett and Bryant, and that’s how the two brothers got magic.
Sounding distant, Daevas says, “We have to leave. But I am coming.”
“Wait!” says Larson. “Daevas … who are you? How can we trust you?”
There is a pause. “I am myself. I was Vanir. I need to speak with Dr. Lewis … Laura … Ms. Stodgill says she is with you.”
Stepping out of Bohdi’s arms, Amy says, “I’m sorry, I don’t remember you?”
The speakers buzz with interference, and Brett shouting, “Move! Move! Move!” and then there is only silence … on the comm and in the room. The wind whistles through the vents in the roof.
The Frost Giants begin to murmur. Bohdi sees two Asgardian warriors bolt for the door. No doubt Odin will know about Brett and Bryant’s message—and Daevas. Hell, maybe Odin will even know who, or what, Daevas is.
Heiðr, flanked by several Frost Giants, steps up to the comm. She lifts an eyebrow at it and smiles. Steve answers with a smile of his own. “We’re being so rude.” Holding up his arms, he says to the room at large, “Who would like some more music?” There is a moment of silence, but then the Frost Giants start laughing and shouting, “More, more, more!”
Steve turns to Harding. “Put some music on. Play it nice and loud.”
“Yes, Sir,” Harding says. The music begins to play, and as it does, Steve walks toward Amy and Bohdi, very slowly and deliberately. Larson falls into step beside him, Gerðr trails after him. A flash of pink at the edge of his vision makes Bohdi turn his eyes. Beatrice is approaching, umbrella upraised. She’s flanked by Nari and Sigyn.
Amy takes a half-step back and bumps into Bohdi just as Steve gets close enough to be heard over the rapidly escalating din. “Doctor Lewis,” he says, lowering his chin, “we need to talk. Outside, now.”