“He looks great,” Amy says, lifting Cannonball’s arms above his head. Lying on a dresser, he gazes up at her with glowing eyes. She looks at Bjorna. “I’m more worried about you at this point.”
Bjorna is pale even for a Frost Giantess. The woman shakes her head. “No, I must get up. It’s afternoon! Can’t be useless ...”
She struggles to get up and reaches for Cannonball. Her hands are shaking. Gem, coming in the door with food, gives a cry. “Lie down!”
Bjorna collapses with a scowl. Gently picking up Cannonball, Amy presses him into the nook between her body and her arm. “You’re both going to be okay,” she says, “but you need rest.” She smiles as she says it, because it’s true, and also, she’s just in a good mood.
From the open door comes the sound of Rush’s hacking. She’s in a good mood, despite having to be Rush’s nurse. She’s back in her own clothing, and her electronics are charged. She takes out her phone and checks the time. Nodding to Bjorna, she leaves the room. She passes Beatrice’s door—her grandmother had gone with Nari this morning to the market to attempt to use their ‘tradeable goods’ to procure food. Amy’s brow furrows—she’s still not even sure what ‘tradeable goods’ are. Shaking her head, she continues down the hallway. She hesitates by the doorway to the room she had shared with Bohdi last night. It is only slightly larger than the two beds Gem pushed together for Amy. Bohdi had to sleep at a diagonal dead in the center. It should have been uncomfortable, but it had been great. Bohdi’s got an interesting definition of “snuggling,” but it’s probably why she’s in a good mood.
The alarm on her phone buzzes, and she hurries down the stairs to the mud room. Rush is sitting wrapped in a blanket, head over a bucket. Even Loki, not known for moderation, wouldn’t have had more than a thimbleful of tuber beer—the stuff is delicious—but potent. Rush took some from Ullr and is suffering from severe dehydration. She goes over and peeks into the bucket. It’s empty. “Congratulations, Rush, you can have some more electrolyte solution.”
He doesn’t even grunt. She didn’t expect him to. He hasn’t acknowledged her once this morning, even though her “doctor’s orders” saved him from having to go out and dig out Gullveig’s chamber.
Going to the kitchen, Amy grabs a little packet of electrolyte mix and is about to dump it into a canteen when she hears familiar footsteps in the foyer. She goes to peek. Sure enough, it’s Bohdi. He grins at her, winks, and says, “Ma’am, you’re needed by the team. Captain sent me to collect you.” She blinks. They dug out the tunnel fast. Now they’ll want her to corroborate that they’ve got the right place. She grins back. “Sure thing. Let me just attend to my patient.”
“Patel!” Rush shouts, “Is that you? Get in here!”
Scowling, Bohdi looks toward the sound of Rush’s voice. He shakes his head but follows Amy into the kitchen and then goes to the mud room.
As Amy prepares the solution for Rush in a canteen, she hears the SEAL say, “Patel, Captain told me that you and Valli saved me last night. I would be dead in the snow if it weren’t for you.”
Bohdi makes a noncommittal noise, and Rush mumbles, “I really fucked up.”
And boy did he. Amy heard him recounting the events of the night before to Steve and Larson. Rush accused Ullr of tricking him into drinking the beer. “How did he do that?” Larson had demanded. “He told me more than a sip was too strong for me, Sir!” Rush responded. “So he didn’t so much trick you as tell you the truth?” Steve roared. There had been a moment of silence; then, Amy was sure from rooms away that she could hear Steve’s jaw grinding and the veins in Larson’s forehead popping. She winces; she’d actually almost felt bad for Rush during the joint tirade.
“Yes, you did fuck up,” says Bohdi.
“Larson and the Captain read me the riot act this morning,” says Rush.
“I heard,” says Bohdi, as Amy picks up the solution she’s mixed and a mug.
“So you spent the night here?” says Rush. There’s something gleeful in his voice, and it makes Amy stop in her tracks.
“What did you do to get on the Captain’s good side?” Rush says. “Last night Beatrice tried to cock block you and he convinced her to back down.”
Bohdi doesn’t respond to that, and Rush keeps going. “So did you and the doctor … ?”
Bohdi’s voice is curt when he responds. “My people wait until marriage, Rush.”
Amy almost chokes on her spit. Thumping her chest, she enters the mudroom and pours a small amount of liquid from the canteen into the mug. “Here you go, Rush.”
Rush is staring at Bohdi wide-eyed and slack-jawed, but he takes the mug from Amy. “Drink it all,” she says. He obediently downs the liquid.
As he lowers the cup, Bohdi says, “Aren’t you going to say thank you to the doctor?’
“Uh, I thought I did.”
“No,” Amy and Bohdi say in unison.
“Sorry, man,” says Rush to Bohdi.
“Say it to her!” says Bohdi. “Not me. What’s wrong with you?”
Rush turns his head in her direction, but doesn’t meet her eyes. “Sorry. Thanks.”
“No problem,” says Amy. “You can take another sip in thirty minutes if you haven’t thrown up. Keep that down and you can take another sip after that in fifteen minutes. Don’t throw up after that and you can up the dose to a quarter cup every half hour.”
Rush nods.
“Say thank you,” says Bohdi again. His eyes are narrowed, and his voice is low and dangerous. It actually makes her uncomfortable.
“Thank you,” Rush mumbles, not looking at Amy.
Bohdi huffs, and Amy says, “I’ll go get the rest of my gear on.” She heads up to her room; Bohdi follows on her heels and closes the door behind them. She expects a kiss or a hug, but he immediately goes over to the window and scowls at whatever he sees outside.
The guys brought her gear over earlier, and Mr. Squeakers came with them. He cheeps and scampers into Amy’s pocket as she swings on her parka.
Snapping the last closure, she pats her breast pocket, making sure Loki’s little white book is safely tucked within. “What’s going on?” she whispers.
“I’m not sure.” Still gazing out the tiny window, he taps his radio headpiece and says, “Captain, looks like there are some new Frost Giants moving into town. They don’t look dangerous, but there are a lot of them.” Steve’s response is too faint for her to hear. She snaps on her own headpiece and goes to the door. She’s just about to turn the handle when Bohdi sneaks up behind her. Pressing the full length of his body against hers, he catches her hand. Kissing the back of her neck, he says, “Nuh-uh.”
Amy feels her legs get weak. She turns around, prepared for a kiss, but instead he just grins at her, and says, “Ma’am, let me get the door,” and steps out of reach.
She glares at him.
“Ladies first,” he says, opening the door for her.
“That’s a mean game,” she says, narrowing her eyes.
“I like games. I’m good at them.” He sounds so cheeky, Amy fumes a little.
Spinning on her heel, she says, “I guess I’m lucky your people wait until marriage.”
Bohdi chuckles like he doesn’t believe her ire. Which he probably shouldn’t—this morning was too much fun.
As she descends the staircase, his footsteps are very fast behind her, making her descent down the staircase more treacherous. “You seem rushed,” she says. Because of what’s outside?
Bohdi halts behind her on the steps. Amy turns around and sees his Adam’s apple bob. “I’m just … if we find the mirror, I might find out who my parents are,” he says, ducking his eyes.
She’s suddenly angry at herself for wanting to make out. The end of his search could be here, in Jotunheim. She crosses her fingers, smiles at him, and says, “Maybe.” And then she turns and runs as fast as she can down the stairs. He follows right behind.
When they reach the front door, Bohdi swings his rifle around. It’s not one of the heavy Barrett rifles; instead it’s what she’s pretty sure is an M4—they’re ideal for urban combat situations. That realization makes her gulp.
“Let me go first this time,” he says.
Before she has a chance to ask, he slips outside. She peeks through the door after him. What passes for a street has a line of Frost Giants trudging along it. They are pulling sleds loaded with sacks of goods and leading shaggy donkeys and goats. Children follow the sleds or sit atop the animals. The newcomers’ clothing looks carelessly tossed together. Instead of tailored leather coats and trousers they wear linens, with animal hides draped over their shoulders.
Amy sees a few Frost Giant men standing on the opposite side of the street, clutching their cloaks to their chests. They incline their heads toward the inn. Amy sees one spit in the snow. She nervously adjusts her earpiece and slips out behind Bohdi. The temperature has dropped and she pulls her muffler up to just below her nose. Thomas and Cruz are on guard outside. They have a giant metal trash-can thing between them; smoke billows from its top, and heat radiates from its sides. Thomas inclines his head to the group of loitering men and says to Bohdi, “Can you see what’s up with them?” Neither Thomas nor Cruz did well in Amy’s Jotunn lessons.
“Right,” Bohdi says, leaving Amy, Cruz, and Thomas, and stepping across the street. Holding his hands at chest level, in their own language Bohdi says, “Is there a problem?”
“Would you translate for us, Doctor?” Cruz asks. Amy relays Bohdi’s question, even as one of the Frost Giants answers, “What are you?”
“I’m a human,” says Bohdi.
Mutters rise in the line of Frost Giants, and the men take a step back. One of them mutters, “Ragnarok.” A child screams.
The man who addressed Bohdi says, “I thought this was a dwarf dwelling?”
“The inn does belong to a dwarf,” Bohdi says.
“Belongs?” says the man. He spits in the snow. “Still?”
Bohdi lowers his hands. Before Amy finishes translating, Cruz and Thomas, possibly sensing tension in the air, raise their rifles. The line of Frost Giants comes to a halt. The space between the inn and the men clears.
“Yes, it still belongs to her,” says Bohdi.
One of the other Frost Giant men takes a step toward Bohdi. “Are you going to give us lodging?”
“I don’t like this,” Thomas’s gravelly voice rumbles before Amy’s even translated.
“You’ll need to speak to Gem, the proprietress,” Bohdi says.
One of the Frost Giantesses snarls, “We will not beg a dwarf for lodging!”
“No,” says Bohdi, “I would expect you to pay Gem for lodging.”
“Weakly human,” snarls one of the men. His cloak slides to the ground, and he rushes toward Bohdi, a knife suddenly in his hand. Amy gasps … if Thomas or Cruz fires, they might hit Bohdi and ...
Holding the knife like a fire poker, the man slices in a quick horizontal motion, and Bohdi steps forward, instead of back. Amy puts her hand to her mouth. Bohdi catches the man by the wrist with the space between his upper arm and his forearm as though it’s a vice. He pivots and launches his palm up to the man’s elbow in a single fluid move. The man screams in pain, and the knife falls to the ground. Bohdi takes a step back. Raising his hands, he beckons to the onlookers. “Does anyone else want to dance?” The branches above him loosen and snap toward Bohdi like angry tongues.
The Frost Giants draw back, and then disperse, casting angry glares in Bohdi’s direction … all except the one with the broken arm. Hunching and cradling his arm, he runs.
Amy hears one of the gull-like birds give a cry. When all the men have vanished from sight, Bohdi turns around, jaw tight, eyes not meeting Amy’s. “That was too easy,” he says to Thomas and Cruz.
Cruz nods and says, “He was clumsy.” Amy blinks. She thought the exchange was scary. But when she thinks of it, she remembers Odin teaching Loki how to hold a knife. Holding it like a poker was not the way to do it.
The line begins to move again, but Amy notices the travelers quicken their pace as they step past the humans.
“They look like peasants,” Thomas says, “not like warriors or hunters.”
Amy watches the hard-scrabble giants walking past them. “I think you’re right.” In her ear, her radio buzzes. “Patel, Lewis—everything alright?”
Cruz answers, “Had a little trouble here. Patel was attacked.”
“What?” Steve’s and Larson’s voices snap in unison. But then Steve says, “Bohdi, are you alright?” And Larson says, “What did he do?”
“It was unprovoked!” says Amy.
“I’m fine, Captain,” Bohdi says. “Thanks for asking, Lieutenant.”
“It was unprovoked,” says Thomas. “There’s an influx of civilians here. Look almost like refugees. Apparently, they don’t like dwarves.”
There is silence over the radio.
Bohdi ducks his head and says, “Maybe I shouldn’t have broken his arm? I just didn’t think.”
Amy touches his shoulder. “It’s not like he gave you time to think. You shouldn’t be so hard on yourself.”
Bohdi finally meets her gaze. His jaw softens, and his eyes are soft.
Amy has to look away. She can’t say why her knees feel weak; instead she just tries to stick to the situation at hand. “I don’t think we should leave Gem and Bjorna alone.”
“I agree with that, too,” says Thomas. “Captain, permission to remain outside of the inn.”
Larson’s voice crackles in her ear. “We’re already spread thin.”
Amy tenses, but then Steve says, “Cruz, Thomas, stay there. Patel, Lewis, do I need to send an escort?”
“We’ll be fine,” says Bohdi. “They’re not dangerous.”
Amy blinks. That’s not how she’d summarize the situation. But she steps to Bohdi’s side, matching his pace as he walks down the alleyway that passes for a street. They turn between two buildings and leave the main thoroughfare to plough through the ankle deep snow of the sparse forest.
“Wheeeeeeeeee!” Claire shouts above Steve and the team’s heads. Steve looks up and instantly regrets it. Claire is hanging upside down at what looks like a hundred feet above the ground, branches wrapped around her knees. She’s swinging with her upper body just like she learned to do on the uneven bars in her gymnastics classes back home. “I can see the ocean from here!” Claire shouts.
Steve looks through the door of the building they’ve set up above what they hope is Gullveig’s cavern. Just inside is a manhole-sized tunnel they’ve dug at the base of a medium-sized iron wood tree. The tunnel stretches about six feet at a sharp angle to a crumbling brick wall. Berry is down there, completely out of view; Tucker is standing just behind him. Berry passes a brick to Tucker, who carries it outside of the structure they’ve erected for shelter. They’ll need to keep guards here. Out of sight, Berry says, “The mortar is so crumbly we’ll be able to pick apart an opening with our hands. I’m trying to go slow to make sure I don’t damage the structural integrity.”
“Good plan,” Steve says. “Less haste, more speed.”
“Wheeeee!” Claire shouts again, and Steve refuses to look up.
“If we could get up there we could see what’s going on back at the village,” says Larson. “Maybe if we called Claire down here, she could attract some branches our way?”
“Would be better if we could learn to do it ourselves,” Steve muses aloud.
In Jotunn, Gerðr says, “I don’t think you can do it.”
Sigyn, standing nearby, sighs. “Magic takes years to master. Claire has merely discovered her talent.”
Gerðr’s eyes go to a spot beside a nearby tree where Redman has begun furiously building a snow sculpture. Branches sway above his head but do not touch his body. “As has Mr. Redman,” she adds.
Valli shakes his head. “It’s such an unmanly talent.”
Ignoring him, Gerðr says, “But as you can see his magic is not strong enough. You humans are still too magically weak.”
Steve feels his skin heat. He hates being told what he can’t do. To Larson he says, “Don’t call Claire, I’m going to do this.”
He turns away, hands balling into fists at his side. Claire can call that magic feeling. Steve can’t call it, but he’s been overwhelmed by it—it feels like clarity, and there must be some way to recreate that feeling. He blinks and knows something that might work.
Steve had suffered PTSD after his short stint in the field. He’d nearly broken the wrist of a nurse when he was recovering from Q fever. She’d been trying to put a hand on his forehead—he’d seen a shadow through his eyelids and reacted. After that, he’d taken to studying mindfulness and meditation to try and self-medicate—his continued study of the martial arts had been part of that. It had been a way to meditate and focus while getting a workout—he’s always been one for efficiency.
“Captain?” says Larson.
“I need a moment of silence,” says Steve, raising a hand.
The team stops talking. They probably think he’s crazy. He almost runs his tongue over his teeth … but stops. Steve keeps his back turned to the team. He unballs his fists. Feeling silly, but also curious, he takes a deep breath through his nose, focusing on the sharp bite of the cold and the sensation of his lungs filling. Holding the breath, he focuses on letting his muscles loosen, and then he exhales through his mouth. Nothing happens, and he feels a rush of disappointment ... That is completely natural. As he acknowledges it, he feels the negative emotion drift away like a leaf caught in a breeze. He takes another deep breath, and repeats the process, and another … and another …
“Captain!” says Tucker.
Steve’s head snaps up. A branch is dangling about four feet above his head—too high. No, he will not accept that. Flipping off the tops of his mittens, he squats down, and taking another long breath, he imagines his muscles flooded with light, just like Claire had described. The branch slides a little closer, and Steve jumps before it can retreat. He’s vaguely aware of Valli swearing and the gasps of Sigyn and Gerðr. He catches the branch, trying to envision the light still flooding through him. He doesn’t have that feeling, and the branch doesn’t wrap around him, but he can climb a rope in a dead hang. He quickly pulls himself up. Steve’s not quite at the level of the mushroom-like cap of the iron wood tree and the thicker less mobile branches, when Gerðr says, “Captain Rogers is a remarkable man. Perhaps we should not be surprised.” Steve resists the urge to roll his eyes. He knows exactly what will happen next.
Sure enough, he hears Larson’s feet thudding across the ground. A second later, the branch jerks and then swings as the lieutenant catches it in a running leap. And then Larson is climbing up beneath him, trying to prove he can be remarkable, too. Steve hesitates for a moment, hoping the branch doesn’t break. When it doesn’t appear to give, he continues his climb, Larson just below his heels.
Steve makes it to the first large horizontal branch, pulls himself onto it, and stands.
“Yay, Dad!” Claire shouts, still high above. Larson is next to him an instant later. No one cries, “go,” or declares the finish line, but Steve knows they’re in a race, and the finish line is Claire. He jumps up to the next branch, and then the next. Larson goes to the other side of the trunk, and they race to Steve’s daughter. Steve wonders if it would be politically expedient to let Larson win, but he can’t bring himself to let it happen.
A few moments later, he’s panting for breath, and his fingers are threatening to seize up with cold. Hauling himself up onto the last branch, he reaches over and pats the top of his daughter’s head. She grins wide at him, sitting on her own branch, as casually as if it were a swing at the park. Larson pulls himself up to them, and Claire gestures with her chin. “Look over there, Dad and Bobby. It’s the ocean.” Steve follows her gaze, and his breath catches. From the tree top they can see over the edge of the mesa, to the forest that continues to stretch for a few miles. From so high, it looks like a carpet of gray ivy. Taking out his binoculars, Steve scans the forest. Twisting between the dark gray is a line of thinner cover that stretches from the mesa down to the ocean, where it curves around the peaks rising to the East. It’s a road, he realizes, and on it are people, walking slowly toward the mesa and the Keep. With his eyes, he traces their source. Near the ocean he sees a few dark geometric shapes between the tree line and the water—houses and boats drawn ashore for the winter. Is it a fishing village? He wonders if the orcas of Lake Balstead only reside in freshwater.
He looks out across the ocean. It’s mostly frozen near the shore, but further out he sees deep blue waters and a rock formation that makes a natural arch—the waves crashing against it look like tiny white lines. Steve focuses on the arch and tries to guess its distance. “That arch must be huge,” he says.
Larson grunts. “It looks like Thomas was right, influx of civilians in town.” And Steve remembers that’s what he’s supposed to be looking at. Lowering his binoculars, he turns around; from his perch he can see the line of Frost Giants trickling along the town’s main thoroughfare.
“Market day?” asks Larson.
“Heiðr didn’t say anything about it,” says Steve.
At that moment Claire shouts, “Bohdi and Dr. Amy!” Before Steve knows what is happening, she dives head first from the branch she was sitting on. He almost falls out of the tree trying to catch her, but Larson pulls him back by the back of his parka. He hears his heart thudding in his ears.
A branch whips around Claire, slowing her descent. When she drops below the mushroom-like cap, she swings around and out of the branch’s embrace, jumps to the ground, and throws up her arms in triumph.
Bohdi chuckles. “Claire, you’re going to give your old man a heart attack.”
And isn’t that the truth. “Thanks,” Steve mutters belatedly to Larson.
Already slipping down the tree, the lieutenant says, “Don’t mention it,” and Steve realizes they’re in a race again, but after watching Claire bungee jump from the tree without a cord, Steve’s arms are shaking. His foot slips, and he almost curses. He slides down and his hand slips.
He sits down on a branch, and focuses on his breathing again, this time to keep from falling. He doesn’t stop—not even when he feels the branch wrap around his waist. He keeps breathing … looks down, sees Larson almost on the ground … and realizes that below him there is a gap in the branches just big enough for him to slip through.
Grabbing hold of the branch, Steve lets himself fall. Someone shouts, and he loses his concentration as he hurtles to the ground. The branch uncoils from his waist, but he catches it with his hands. His weight pulls it down further, and he lets himself slide down as though it were a pole—bypassing Larson as he does. He winds up having to drop about six feet, but he’s ready for it, and lands lightly enough to surprise himself.
Claire laughs. Steve looks up at the lieutenant and grins. Larson glares.
In a fair imitation of Darth Vader, Bohdi says, “Impressive, most impressive, but you are not a Jedi yet.”
Mood still ebullient, Steve cracks into his best imitation of Yoda. “When forty-one-years-old you reach, be in as good shape, you will not.”
The human members of the team crack up.
Lewis’s eyes go wide. “Steve, I didn’t know you watched Star Wars!”
Steve blinks. “What?” It’s true it’s not his favorite movie, but who his age in the United States has not seen Star Wars?
“You seem too jocky,” says Lewis. She grins. “I think I respect you more now.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Get into the hole, Padawan, and let us know if we’re in the right place,” he says, using what he hopes is the Star Wars word for apprentice.
Lewis actually giggles. “Yes, Master!” She gives Bohdi a smile, and then she jogs over to the hole in the ground. Steve’s eyebrow arches. So all he has to do to get cheerful and immediate obedience is use Star Wars speak? How had he not known that?
Redman hands Lewis a flashlight, and she disappears. The team hovers over the hole, except Bohdi. Fenrir lopes over and drops her head over his shoulder.
Gaze on the kid, Steve cocks his head.
Scratching Fenrir’s chin, and not meeting his gaze, Bohdi says, “Heard you talked Beatrice down last night.” He takes a deep breath. “Thanks.”
Steve’s first impulse is to harangue him about keeping it on the down-low and not getting Lewis pregnant. Steve only let Bohdi go fetch Lewis because he had a sneaking suspicion that if he sent someone else, Bohdi might have gotten testy. Steve’s taking a chance, betting that it’s better to give him orders he wants to obey, to keep him loyal until he has to give an order Bohdi will hate. Instead of haranguing the kid, Steve keeps to the Star Wars theme and pulls a Han Solo: “That’s two you owe me, Junior.”
He expects a sharp retort—Lewis and Bohdi did save Steve from paralysis after all. Instead Bohdi says, “Yeah.”
A cold wind buffets Steve’s back. He has a feeling like the earth just shifted beneath his feet, but he knows there has been no quake.
Lewis comes out of the tunnel and says, “This is it, I’m sure of it.”
Swinging his M4 around, Steve says, “I’ll take point. Down the hatch.”
Bohdi’s heart is beating fast as he stands on the dark staircase just outside Gullveig’s chamber. He shouldn’t get his hopes up, he knows that, but the mirror is so close and the potential to finally know his true origins is overwhelming. He feels a force as strong as gravity or lust drawing him toward the chamber, but Steve insisted on having the SEAL team make sure the secret chamber was all clear.
At his side, Claire says, “Can we go in yet?” Bohdi wants to suggest they just ignore Steve’s orders, but that would piss Steve off and maybe terrify him since Claire is involved. So he hangs back with his friend’s kid, Amy, and Gerðr. Fenrir was too big to come down, but she’s taken guard up top.
“We’re ready,” Larson says. Lights flicker on in the chamber.
Bohdi bolts in, briefly blinded by the light. As his eyes adjust, he sees long desks loaded with books and scrolls. There is also an easel, but it’s empty and Redman is standing above something on the floor beside it. “Captain, I think I found the mirror,” he says.
Bohdi hurries over, but Steve is there first. Steve sits down on his heels beside the mirror and frowns. “It’s broken,” he murmurs.
“No,” Bohdi says, falling to his knees beside Steve. A dark, flat object lays on the floor before them. It’s glass covered in dirt, he realizes.
He feels Amy’s hand on his shoulder. “Does it still have magic?” says Amy.
Sigyn sits down on the other side of Steve. Touching the glass, she murmurs. “Yes.”
Steve gently picks up the largest shard. Amy and Bohdi peer over his shoulder. The glass is dusty, and there are all three of them, faces indistinct behind the grime. Steve cleans the mirror with his mitten. “Hoenir,” Steve whispers. The three of them disappear and for a moment they’re staring at mist. Someone swears, and Claire gasps. Amy’s hand has somehow snuck its way into Bohdi’s, and she squeezes. The mist does not go away. “The Creator,” Steve says quickly. The mist disappears, and the mirror shifts in Steve’s hand, but all that it shows is their reflections again.
“Its magic is fading fast,” Sigyn says. Bohdi holds out a hand to the mirror, and it’s strange, but he can feel the magic leaving. It reminds him of goofing off at a playground with a girl, sliding down the longest slide and hearing static jumping to his hair and clothes, prickling beneath his skin. As he’d stood upon the rubber ground the feeling had dissipated. That’s sort of what it feels like now. He knows he should save any last visions for the team, but his brain lurches forward. “My family,” he says, the words pouring out of his mouth before he can stop them. There is a swirl of mist again. Bohdi’s jaw sags, but then he’s just staring at his, Amy’s, Claire’s, and Steve’s reflections, with Redman, Berry, Nari, Valli, and Sigyn peering over their shoulders. Bohdi sighs.
“I’m sorry,” Amy whispers.
“Close enough, I guess,” he says, trying to make a joke.
Amy squeezes his hand, which he expects. Steve pats his shoulder, which he also expects. But as Steve moves away, Redman puts a hand on his shoulder, and so does Berry. “Of course, we are,” says Berry. In the periphery of his vision he sees Valli nod, and he has to turn away or he might well up. And then he realizes Nari isn’t in the cavern … he blinks over to where Redman is picking up another shard. Redman whispers something, and his eyes get wide. “I see—just me.” His shoulders slump.
“There’s not enough magic left in the shards,” Sigyn says.
Bohdi takes a breath. Seeing Nari was probably just a trick of the light. The team falls silent. Bohdi swallows; he isn’t the only one who is lost—they all are. For a moment there is no sound but their boots on the stone floor. Then, scowling, Larson lifts his canteen to his lips. “Damn,” he says, “it’s still frozen.” He tips it upside down and a pea-sized chunk of slush slides onto his hand. He glares at it.
“I can thaw your water for you,” Sigyn offers. “We are beyond the trees’ reach.”
Jaw getting tight, Larson says, “No.” To Gerðr he says, “Explain to me again how magic unfreezes ice.”
Gerðr starts speaking in her own language. “After harnessing magic, you have to imagine the water at its most basic level, at the level of atoms and molecules.”
“Imagine the structure of water?” Larson asks, in Jotunn. Bohdi tilts his head. He has only ever seen Larson speak Jotunn to Gerðr.
Leaning close, Amy whispers, “I think understanding her is Larson’s talent.”
Before Bohdi can digest that, Gerðr screams, Sigyn gasps, and Valli hoots. Bohdi looks at Larson’s hand. Where the pea-sized ball of ice was there is now a small puddle of water.
Tilting his head, Larson says in Jotunn, “It could have just melted with my body heat …” But then, before Bohdi’s eyes, the tiny puddle turns to ice.
Grinning, Larson sets it at the top of one finger. It looks like a malformed contact lens. He speaks in English. “Well, I guess I won’t be forming ice bridges anytime soon. Still, kind of cool.” He snorts. “No pun intended.”
“It is your talent?” Sigyn says, but she sounds uncertain.
“No,” Larson says, “I just focused on that feeling, and then I imagined water at the molecular level.”
Gerðr holds her hands to her mouth. “No,” she says. “That cannot be it. For Claire, to be gifted in magic, yes, maybe. And Steven, since he and Claire are related, and abilities run in families, yes, but more …”
“It takes years of study to make ice,” Sigyn protests. “You should not be able to do it.”
Bohdi takes out his canteen. He still feels a little wrung out after briefly getting his hopes up. But if he could work magic, that would be something. It might even lead him to the smiling man and woman on his phone. He shakes the canteen; it’s still slush. He knows what water looks like at the molecular level. Unscrewing the cap, he imagines water molecules in his mind, or at least the textbook 3D-rendered versions: two little hydrogens bound by an oxygen in between at an angle, connected by loose hydrogen bonds to other molecules. Nothing happens.
“You have to feel the magic first,” Larson says. He shakes his head. “I can’t believe I just said that.”
Bohdi frowns. He feels magic when he needs to kill someone. He doesn’t want to feel that.
“Hey, I did it!” shouts Steve, holding aloft a tiny icy contact lens of his own.
“Steve,” Amy says, “How?”
Steve narrows his eyes at Amy. “I have taken basic chem, you know.”
Rolling her eyes, Amy huffs. “No, I mean, how did you put yourself in the ‘zone’ to do magic?”
Steve’s eyes rove over the room and stop on Bohdi. Shoulders falling, Steve looks down at the melting ice on his finger tip. “I use mindfulness, it’s a meditation thing. I’ll teach everyone how to do it.” His is uncharacteristically quiet, probably because admitting to meditation is a step away from admitting he has PTSD—and admitting he almost broke a woman’s arm. Bohdi wishes he could go over and punch him on the shoulder to snap him out of it, but he’s playing the good Marine, and good Marines don’t punch their officers.
Amy nods. “That’s how Hoenir and Odin taught Loki to harness magic at first.” She winces. “Of course, with Loki, sometimes all it took was getting excited.”
Bohdi looks down at his canteen. Magic without the desire to kill someone … he rolls on his feet and looks around the room.
“Can I try to make a snowball?” asks Claire, holding out a hand for Steve’s canteen.
“I think I can put myself in the ‘zone’ another way,” says Redman. He takes out his canteen, shakes all the slush onto his hand, begins shaping a little statue out of the ice—and it abruptly changes to water and slides through his fingers. “It worked!” He laughs aloud, and jumps. “Wow.” Bending over, he puts his finger in the tiny puddle—tracing a pattern with his finger. Where his finger touched, a trail of frost follows.
Bohdi shakes his canteen and hears the icy sound of slush instead of water. He stares down at the green plastic bottle. Steve’s explained mindfulness to him before. It’s just about accepting the here and now. He focuses on the weight of the canteen in his hand, the gentle currents of air in the room, the feel of his parka on his shoulders. At the same time he tries to imagine the water molecules in the rigid crystalline structure of ice loosening ...
“It’s hot in here,” Amy says, walking over to Claire. Bohdi tries to ignore her, but she swings off her parka and peels off the first under-layer, so that all she is wearing is only the tight black poly-undershirt. Completely opaque, it hides everything and nothing. He still hasn’t seen what hides beneath, but last night he had rolled her body on top of his in the tiny bed they’d shared, and he’d felt how soft she is. The molecules of water he’s envisioning break apart in his mind. Heat races through his fingers. “Whoa!” shout Redman and Berry.
Dropping his canteen, Bohdi stares in amazement as a cloud of steam billows from the container to the ceiling. He tilts his head—something beside rage works.
“Wrong state,” says Larson, dryly.
“What were you thinking about?” asks Amy from across the room.
“Mindfulness,” he says quickly.
Berry and Larson snort, apparently knowing where his eyes had gone.
“Can someone show me what water molecules look like?” Claire asks. “I want to do it, too!”
“Come here, Squirt,” Redman says. “I can draw a picture for you on the floor.” As Claire hustles over, Bohdi notices that Gerðr, Sigyn, and Valli are backing away slowly, their eyes wide.
“What?” says Bohdi.
“You shouldn’t be able to do that,” Sigyn says, eyes flicking between the humans. Her voice is shaky, and her normal cool is gone. “I don’t understand.”
“I think I do,” says Amy. She’s frowning. Whatever she knows apparently doesn’t make her happy at all.
Amy feels all the eyes in the room on her. She meets Steve’s gaze. His eyes are glowing purple again. She gulps. It’s not unheard of for someone to have a “tell,” an external sign that they were performing magic. That is why Helen’s skin was blue—she was always “on.” As far as Amy knows, that is why Loki’s skin was blue toward the end.
“What do you know, Doctor?” Steve asks. His voice is both calming and commanding, and it sets her mental gears in motion. His magic? She shakes her head; it’s not a command she wants to disobey.
She remembers visiting the university with Loki; he’d been amazed that there would be a whole room full of microscopes. “We’re taught about science and math from an early age. We’ve all looked in microscopes since junior high school—”
“Third grade,” Claire says.
Amy looks at the girl. Claire shrugs. “We got to start using them in third grade.”
Amy tucks a lock of hair behind her ear—that’s even earlier than her first experience. “Part of using magic is harnessing it, and part of that is believing in it. But the biggest part of believing for magical creatures is believing in the microscopic world, the world they can’t see.” She turns to Sigyn and Gerðr. “Isn’t it?”
Sigyn’s mouth falls open. Gerðr nods. “Yes.”
Amy swallows. “But for humans that is the easy part. Science is a religion for us—we believe in it, even for people who don’t understand that electricity is the flow of electrons, they believe it will still turn on their light and power their phone.” And they are bound to have seen a picture of an atom somewhere. She looks at the lieutenant. She knows his undergrad was in chemistry—she shouldn’t be surprised he’d figure it out first. Bohdi’s hobby is science; Steve had gone to Yale and had to have taken chemistry—but even Redman picked it up fast.
Putting her hand to her mouth, Amy looks at the ground, the implications becoming clear. She gave humans magic so they wouldn’t be defenseless against magical creatures. But humans will be more than protected from magical creatures—they’ll be dangerous to all the creatures of the realms—and each other.
“When Odin finds out, he will be terrified,” Sigyn whispers.
Amy meets Sigyn’s eyes.
Steve’s voice rolls through the chamber, deep and low. “That might not be an advantage.” It is exactly what Amy was thinking.
“Why not?” says Bohdi, his lip curling a little.
“Cornered animals are the most dangerous,” says Steve.
“It’s not just Odin who should be terrified.” The words come from Tucker. His baby-blue eyes are focused on a drop of water on his finger. He’s been mostly silent the whole time, and Amy had nearly forgotten he was there.
Smiling thinly at the water droplet, Tucker says, “We’ve given infected members of the human race a loaded weapon.”
Bohdi steps closer to Amy, but his eyes stay glued on Tucker. “So? All of you believe the Second Amendment gives you the unfettered right to bear arms.” Amy exhales. That is the truth. In her humble Liberal opinion, she would classify all the SEALs as “gun nuts.”
Tucker narrows his eyes at Bohdi. “This is worse than firearms. Firearms are predictable, and anyone can use a pistol or a rifle. But this …” He waves his hand. “Only some people will be able to control it. Some people will be dangerous by accident. Some people will be dangerous because they want to be.”
Berry clears his throat. “But it’s under control. Just us … Keyif …” His mouth opens and then suddenly gets hard. He turns to Steve. Berry is built like a fire plug; he’s the shortest man on the team and has to crane his neck to look up to Steve. Still his bearing is utterly confident. “Just us, right, Captain?”
Amy rocks back half a step. That’s right, not everyone knows about the contagiousness of the serum. Steve’s eyes go completely purple. Crossing his arms, Berry says, “You’re formulating a diplomatic response, but I’d be happy just with the truth.”
Tucker shifts on his feet.
Steve exhales. “It’s contagious, transmissible the same way HIV is.”
“We have to get home,” says Redman. “My girlfriend … Odin is going to hunt her down, isn’t he? Or maybe the same people who trapped us here.”
Amy’s stomach ties in a knot.
Lips in a grim line, Larson looks down at the floor.
“It’s not generally known to be contagious yet,” Steve says.
Berry cocks his head. Eyes still on Steve and Larson, he says, “But you know.”
Lifting her chin, Amy says, “They know only because I told them. I secretly made it contagious so it wouldn’t belong just to the government and … and … super soldiers.”
Larson’s jaw gets tight. Berry looks thoughtful. Redman rubs the back of his neck; Amy sees his Adam’s apple bob. “My girlfriend, she might be pregnant. How would that affect the baby?”
All the air leaves Amy’s lungs.
“You don’t know, do you?” Tucker whispers.
Steve’s voice rumbles through the cavern. “As soon as we get settled here, we’ll start making lists of everyone we’ve come in contact with who may be infected by the virus.” His voice is so low and smooth, it reminds her of honey. She feels her muscles start to loosen.
Eyes still glowing, he walks over and puts his hand on Claire’s shoulder. “We’ve already seen that developing humans handle the virus well. The virus saved Claire’s life. I’m sure that if your girlfriend is pregnant, and the virus does infect the baby, he or she will benefit from it.”
Amy lets out a breath. She wants to believe Steve, but …
Bohdi sneezes, and it’s like being slapped in the face, and Amy can’t say why.
Blue eyes still on her, Tucker huffs. “And they say your ex-boyfriend was Chaos.” Amy can’t look at him. Among the SEALs, Tucker is the one she’d pinpoint first as a “good guy.”
She feels Bohdi’s hand on her shoulder, and she reaches for it automatically.
From the stairway comes the sound of fast footsteps, and then Nari’s voice. “Valli! Mother! Captain!”
Everyone’s rifles are suddenly swinging around. Nari runs into the chamber, gasping for breath. “Captain! The refugees, they’ve surrounded the inn. There is a mob!”
“Lewis, Gerðr, Claire,” Steve says. “You put up what Promethean wire we have so that no one pops into this cavern while we’re gone.”
Claire cries, “I want to come!”
“No,” snaps Steve.
Amy sees Claire’s jaw get tight. She remembers how strong the little girl can be and says quickly, “I don’t have magic, Claire. And Odin’s out to get me—I need extra protection.”
“Exactly,” says Steve as the rest of the team files to the stairwell. “Please, Claire?” her father says.
Claire’s nose twitches. Crossing her arms across her chest, she mutters, “Okay, fine.”
As he leaves the room, Steve glances at Amy one more time. He gives the tiniest of nods, and his relief is palpable. Bohdi gives her a thumbs up and a smile, and then they’re gone. Amy tells herself that she really shouldn’t be with them. But the cavern feels more like a cage.